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1800-lemonadeg1rl · 18 hours

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Sniffle any louder

Natasha Romanoff x reader

Minors dni!! Masterlist°•☆

Summary - when you show up to work il lit aggravates Natasha that is until she sees your dire state

Warnings - mention of illness, nonsexual nudity, hurt comfort, as usual not proofread

Word count - 2k

A/n - I started rushing at the end because I wanted to have it out by tonight so the ending might not be as good srry

Fractures of pain shot through your aching body like icicles as you left the team meeting. God how you wished you'd just admitted you were ill this morning instead of letting your pride get in the way and pretended to the team that you were right as rain. I guess that's what happens when your on a team with literal super soldiers, you too start believing your above any illness or injury. Oh, but how wrong you realised you were when this flu hit you like a ton of bricks. The combined migraine alongside with the distrsssing chill of your bones left little energy left for you to do anything except lie down and rest, which you hated to admit and wouldn't ever given the choice, despite how sickly you'd begun to look.

Your usual bright eyes full of life and wonder became dull and bloodshot from the lack of sleep your blocked nose had caused you the previous night when you chose to ignore it. The skin on your face that was often painted a rosy colour now paled almost deathly looking, comparable to that of a ghost. Your unshakable senses, often remarked as some of the best had become overworked and dulled from the sickness using up all your remaining energy causing you not to notice people around you until they had begun to speak. The gravelly gasping and choking noises that spluttered from your inflamed throat were foreign to your usual bubbly voice.

Despite these stark and clear changes in not only your physical appearance but also how you carried yourself around the compound you had tricked yourself, somehow, into the belief no one around you would notice. Obviously you were unwell anyone could see that from a mile off and if you didn't think out of a house full of spies, enhanced beings and military personnel that not one of them would pick up on something up with you then you must have been seriously down with something.

Unlucky for you someone did notice after your sniffling had interupted their train of thought for the seventh time, it didn't take a genuis but she'd been ignoring the signs since you arrived. Natasha Romanoff had been trying to reread and correct a badly written mission report written by an incompetent intern. This had already been stressful enough for her without the woman next to her trying to desperately through her blocked nose instead of just going home. The first time she actually noticed something was up was when you nearly walked into the door, stumbling around like bambi on ice. This was something someone with your spacial awareness and high senses would never manage to do if they were as okay as they were telling everyone they were. She spotted it again when you began to cough like a smoker and at that like someone who smoked at least five packs a day, a thing she knew you were not. You'd told her a while back that despite your bad habits which were endless and definitely on show today that you never wanted to smoke because it reminded you of your mother. So unless you'd switched up on that which she very much doubted and had taken up chain smoking the answer was clear; you were ill, very ill.

She also questioned why you were even here, how you were even here. Natasha would leap at the first chance to avoid these dull meetings even if it meant admitting illness to the rest of the group. She'd actually faked being ill before to skip debriefs and instead head to the gym. At one point she had no clue how you were even still able to be alive and functioning with how shallow your breaths were. Everytime your mouth opened a disgusting noise alike to the disgust she felt at nails on a chalk board rung from deep in your throat. Aswell your ever scratcher voice that was beginning to drive her insane. It was one thing to come in sick, it was another to make yourself more ill by working harder than usual.

This had made her angry more than anything, angry at your selflessness. Angry no one else would ever do this, including herself. Angry you put working above your own physical health. Angry that you'd risk everyone else getting ill instead of taking a sick day. Angry you couldnt just admit your illness and leave.

Your eighth sniffle really sent Natasha over the edge as she turned to look dead at you and gave you a menacingly dirty look. A scowl that could kill glowering into your soul. Yet in feverly state you could hardly even register the spy looking in your direction as you still tried to process something said in conversation several minutes ago. Throughout the rest of the meeting she sideyed, scowled, gritted teeth, frowned, muttered under breath and cursed in your direction much to you ignorance. On an average day you could recognise what emotion someone was going through just by being in the same room as them and the tone of their breath but right now even with Natasha directly next you, practically right in your face you couldn't pick up a single negative emotion.

After the meeting you quickly stumbled in the direction of your room, hoping to avoid anyone on the way there, which you managed with much ease despite your worsening condition. Once you reached your room you shut the door without bothering with the lock. Stripped to your underwear and crawled back into bed without a sound. Curling up under your soft thick duvets you shivered and slowly cried yourself into a feverish slumber.

Natasha stayed behind to finish her reports, which she easily could have done hours ago without your incessant coughing and sniffling and all round ill noises. It only infuriated her more as she worked quickly, alone and welcoming the silence since the end of the meeting. When she finished up the work she was just about ready to give you a piece of her mind. And thats what she was gonna do. She had strong feelings about you prioritisation of work over wellness and she was gonna share them with you whether you wanted to hear or not.

Easily, she threw open your door and it hit the wall with a bang, enraged she didnt notice your crumpled whimpering figure writhing under the duvet.

"Sniffle a little louder next meeting." She comments loudly and sarcastically before instantly wincing at the sight of you in the bed.

Instantly her whole demeanour changes into one of care and pure unhidden worry. Natasha crouched over your trembling figure on the bed. Quickly she removed the pile of blankets from overtop and pressed a palm to your forhead before just as swiftly pulling it away with a frown. You were boiling 38°c at the very least and yet your body was still shivering. Without thinking twice Natasha knew the best thing for you was a cold, very cold shower.

She carried your somehow still sleeping figure easily into the bathroom as if you were no more than a light weight to her, which you probably were considering her max dead lift. Gently and ever so carefully she sat you down in the bath before turning the cool shower on next to you. Adjusting it so the water pressure was lower than usual so that it maybe less of a shock for when you fully woke.

Soon after the water began to flow your eyes opened to the hazy view before you. Natasha knelt over the bath making sure you were just alright. When you noticed the water and the bath, definitely not where you fall asleep you began to panic. Quickly flailing much like a fish out of water. Thrashing to get out the bath and attempting to scrabble to your feet. Natasha noticed your sudden frenzy and much quicker than you could, grabbed a hold of your hands halting your movements while whispering affirming words to you.

"Shh sh its okay. Your just in the bath, don't worry were just trying to soothe your fever." She begins to rub your palms slowly in a way which soothes you and instantly slows your panic as you go to rest your head on the bathroom wall.

"Hm don't do that darling. Try and stay awake while your in the bath, just for now." She's says quietly afraid to worsen the headache you already had as she coaxes your head off the wall. "That's it good girl. You can do this."

Her small praises would have usually annoyed you and felt almost condescending but right now they were almost enough to make you smile. She was making you feel as if your feeble attempts to stay conscious were really doing anything.

"M' so tired." You mumbled out a response that slumped together into your mouth so it was barely understandable to Natasha yet she still smiled and nodded at you, not wanting you to feel any worse than you already did.

"That's okay sweet girl, the sooner we get you out the bath and some medicine down you the sooner you can sleep." All the while she kept rubbing at your hands and fingers to keep you grounded in the moment. "I'm going to find you some fresh clothes just stay here."

You nodded but the minute Natasha left your head flopped back against the wall as if magnetised towards it. Upon her return with fresh clothes Natasha tutted.

"You really aren't well, are you?" A small attempt at a nod on your part did not surprise her one bit. "See if you told someone earlier we wouldn't be here right now. You have to ask for help when you need it." She knew her words meant little to you in your current state but she wanted to start bedding them in now nonetheless.

"Now, do you need help getting dressed? There's no shame in needing the help."

"Uhm.. I think a bit." Your response was croaky and your voice was beginning to sound worse by the second.

"That's okay, I'll help you then." She gives you a hand getting out the bath and holds you upright as she helps fully undress you. In her panic to get you in the bath she hadn't thought to remove what you were wearing.

You weren't insecure about your body but something like this would usually not be on with you. But right now you knew you couldn't refuse the help Natasha was offering as you could barely even stand still yourself. So begrudgingly you allowed her to undo your bra and slip off your underwear before tossing them in the bath saying something about getting them to the wash later. Putting on the fresh clothes was easier than either of you anticipated as you didn't resist and her strength helped you from falling against the cold tile floor.

Natasha helped you hobble back towards your bed which you instantly fell against ready to embrace sleep again.

"Ah. Not so quick, first the medicine then sleep." She said softly handing you first a couple pills and some water. "For your headache." Begrudgingly you took them and Natasha smiled as she saw the look of grimace on your face finding it both amusing and adorable. "Okay sweet girl just the syrup left, this will help for your throat." You stared at the syrup in your hand with a frown. Just the smell of its contents was enough to make you dry heave and its colour wasn't tempting either. After two minutes of more convincing and praise you managed to stomach it, not all of it but enough so Natasha was happy enough to stop bothering you.

You knew after that you could finally emmerse yourself in a blissful slumber and with little care curled up, face pressing into Natasha who watched over you as you slept making sure nothing interupted your much needed rest.

Tags: @wandasfifthwife @yanaromanov @idkwhatever580

#natasha x reader #natasha romanov #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x you #natasha x y/n #natasha romanoff x you #natasha x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x female #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #hurt/comfort natasha romanoff #sickfic #fanfic #natasha Romanoff sickfic #marvel natasha #natasha mcu #natasha avengers

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justlemmeadoreyou · 24 hours

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2. the offer (restaurant owner!harry x chef!y/n)

(part 1 here)

summary: as you settle into the grueling routine at Haus, you find yourself seeking out any moment of praise or feedback from harry. you two develop an understanding, but it's still hard to focus when he's being...him. safe to say, it ends contrary to what you would have done if you were still the 16-year old smitten fangirl.

words: 5k

warnings: flirtations, some inappropriate behaviour, cursing

finally managed to use this pic in a fic!

***

"Keep your eyes on your own work, newbie!" Thomason's gruff yell made you jump, nearly burning your knuckles on the hot grill.

You whipped your head around guiltily to see the grumpy head chef scowling at you from across the kitchen line. His eyes followed your sheepish gaze to where you had been not-so-secretly watching Harry chatting easily with the maître d' by the kitchen's swing doors.

Feeling your cheeks get hot, you stammered an apology to Thomason before fully focusing on the sizzling food under your tongs. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the burly man roll his eyes in disgust before barking at someone else down the line.

Ever since that surprisingly nice interaction with Harry a few nights ago, you found your wandering thoughts kept getting...preoccupied whenever you had a free moment. You hated to admit it, but some unprofessional part of you kept replaying his words praising your potential while those kaleidoscope green eyes held your gaze with seeming sincerity.

Just remembering the slight rasp of his voice was enough to give you butterflies in your stomach anytime Harry was nearby. You tried to push those feelings down with shame, scolding yourself for entertaining even a hint of inappropriate conduct.

This was your dream job, your long-awaited chance to finally prove yourself in a real professional kitchen. Getting distracted by your silly childhood crush could derail everything you'd worked so hard for.

But despite your internal pep talks, you couldn't quite shake the electrifying tingles that spread through your body whenever Harry was within fifteen feet of you. As embarrassing as it was to admit, just his nearness alone was enough to make you flustered.

You blinked hard and refocused with renewed determination on assembling the line of beautifully seared steaks. Keep your head down, you firmly reminded yourself. Don't mess this up over some silly fantasies about your boss!

As if testing your resolve, you looked up from garnishing the plates to see Harry striding through the pass, easy grin in place. He opened his mouth to speak to one of the sauce cooks but seemed to notice you watching. His lips curved a bit smugger as his jade eyes met yours from across the sizzling line.

With a subtle but obvious look up and down your body, Harry winked before turning to murmur his instructions. Your heart nearly stopped in your chest as an unexpected spike of nerves shot through you.

Was...was Harry actually flirting with you? Or had you just been so obviously drooling over him that he was amused to throw you a bone? Your face burned as you ruthlessly shook the thoughts away.

In any case, this was no time for getting flustered - the height of Friday night dinner service was upon you. With sheer willpower, you blocked out everything except perfectly executing each plate and order. Harry Styles was now off-limits in your mind.

Until, that is, you heard Thomason's gravelly shout over the din: "Styles! We need you over here!"

You risked a quick glance to see the head chef gesturing for Harry's attention from across the kitchen. With one last considering look in your direction, Harry sauntered over to join Thomason at the expo station just as the evening's first orders began flying in.

You watched, trying to be subtle, as Harry fell effortlessly into the choreographed rush. He moved with an easy confidence as he inspected each dish, adding a sauce here, delicately plating a garnish there. His broad shoulders flexed under his snug black t-shirt as he reached over cooks, communicating with nudges and gestures.

This kitchen was clearly his domain; Harry commanded the space with the born ease of a natural leader. You stared, captivated by the smooth fluidity of his motions, the barely contained power in his lean, tall frame. It was mesmerizing watching him work like a master conductor.

Without seeming to think about it, Harry's brow would furrow in concentration whenever a plate arrived at his station. His gaze would rove over each element, those full pink lips pursing as he scrutinized the arrangement intensely. There was something utterly gripping about watching him wield that intense focus on each dish, his large hands deft and precise.

Your mouth went dry as you caught the shift of taut forearm muscles beneath tanned skin as Harry wiped an artistic streak of sauce. He gave a curt nod to Thomason, his chiseled jawline tightening in approval.

You realized this raw charisma and talent was putting on an entrancing performance for you...almost like a private show if you let your thoughts wander inappropriately. Smacking your forehead sharply, you earned a concerned side-eye from a nearby cook. Yanking yourself back to the present, you redoubled your focus on the tickets before you. No more watching Harry, not when you couldn't afford a single mistake.

Despite your best efforts, the rest of the evening flew by in a blur. You cooked and plated automatically with precision...yet couldn't stop tracking Harry in your peripheral vision.

You saw him ducking out to handle a special order, then return with a rare olive oil for a dish alteration. You watched him joking with the bread server before snatching a buttery roll to taste the fresh bake. No matter where you turned, Harry always seemed to orbit nearby, that addictive charisma and easy grace undercutting your indifference attempts.

By the time Thomason finally called for station breakdown, your knees wobbled from the marathon stress combined with subtle Harry overload. You couldn't even feel good about handling such intensity because you were so emotionally drained.

As the crew began the process of cleaning and sanitizing, you heard a polite throat clearing behind you. You turned, already flushing, to find Harry watching you with an unreadable expression.

"Uh, hey," you croaked, shocked at your own cracking confidence around him. Harry arched one perfect brow but said nothing, seemingly waiting for you to gather yourself.

You swallowed hard before trying again. "Was...was there something you needed, Harry? I'm just about to start shutting everything down."

A slow grin spread across his lips as his eyes crinkled at the corners. For a strangely open moment, you felt like you could see straight into Harry's core - the intelligence and intensity normally hidden behind his lazy facade.

"You did brilliant tonight, you know?" he murmured, looking you up and down consideringly. "Thomason worked you hard, we all did - but you kept steady through the chaos no matter what."

Your stomach clenched with surprise at his open praise, tingling warmth blossoming outwards.

"O-oh. Um, thank you?" You winced at how flustered and uncertain you sounded.

But Harry's smile only deepened as he took an unhurried step towards you, decreasing the distance to mere inches. You could now catch the woodsy, leathery notes of his cologne taunting your senses.

"Nothing uncertain about it," he murmured, voice lowering an octave. His eyes traveled over your face before lingering on your chest. You felt unable to breathe under that smoldering gaze. "You're really getting the hang of this kitchen, aren't you?"

Despite your racing pulse, you bristled slightly at the implication. "Well, I still have a long way to go to be the cook you and Thomason are."

Those full lips curved at one corner. "True - but we both see the potential there, don't we?" Harry's voice had taken on a low, gravelly timbre that made something in your belly stir.

He took another casual step forward, crowding you back until the counter dug into your thighs. This close, you could see the gold and amber flecks in his green irises, feel the clean warmth of his body heat between you.

"You've got a long road ahead," he continued, so close now his words rasped against the side of your neck. "But I'd be lying if I said I haven't noticed how quickly you're accelerating."

The way he said that last word made you shiver despite the kitchen's heat. Harry's gaze dipped to your parted lips, then flicked back up, intense.

"Tell me," he said in that same rumbling baritone. "Would you be open to my...personal mentorship? I could help get you up to speed even faster."

His meaning slammed into you like a shove. Was Harry...propositioning you? In an utterly inappropriate way that could get you fired?

Heart pounding, you could only gape at him, at a total loss. Part of you screamed at how wildly wrong this was, how you needed to shut it down immediately. This was your celebrity chef boss, for God's sake!

And yet, another part of you was utterly enthralled by the clear want in Harry's gaze, the visceral attraction crackling between you. All you'd need is to give a single nod and you could potentially experience pleasures you'd only fantasized about with one of the world's most desirable men...

Harry must have seen the conflict on your face because his lips twitched in a knowing smirk. Another half step forward brought your bodies almost flush, the hard planes of his chest brushing against your soft curves through his thin t-shirt. Your breath caught at the heated friction.

"Tell you what," Harry purred, his voice thick with suggestion. "Take a nice, hot shower after your shift tonight. Really think over my offer while you're alone."

With a searing look that felt X-rated, Harry reluctantly leaned back, restoring a sliver of propriety between you. Still, he held your heated stare as he reached out with one large hand and trailed his fingertips feather-light down your flushed cheek.

The barely-there caress sparked tingles everywhere. Your lips parted helplessly on a silent gasp as every nerve ending in your body felt sensitive.

A devilish glint sparked in Harry's eyes at your reaction. With a final wink, he turned to saunter off through the kitchen doors. You watched him go in a stupefied daze, unable to process anything beyond the strong throb now pulsing between your thighs.

What...had just happened? Your brain whirred trying to comprehend what precipitated that completely unprofessional come-on. Had you unconsciously encouraged Harry's advances somehow? Led him to believe you were open to that kind of...inappropriate relationship?

The mere thought of anyone perceiving you as willing to use your sexuality to get ahead made your stomach churn with shame. You had worked too damn hard to get here - you wouldn't risk tanking it all for some secret fling!

Yet a tiny part of you couldn't stop replaying Harry's scent, the timbre of his voice calling you "pet"...the unmistakable promise of illicit thrills in his heated gaze. You gave yourself a harsh internal shake, appalled that you could be so quickly led astray by such baseless temptation.

Steadying your breathing, you forced yourself to refocus on meticulously cleaning your station. One step at a time, that was all you could think about. Allow yourself to get distracted by Harry's appeal and you were doomed.

Though it took every ounce of willpower, you managed to lose yourself in the monotony of scrubbing and sanitizing. The rhythmic motions gradually purged those unwelcome jolts of arousal, until you felt more like yourself again.

Some twisted part of you couldn't resist a bitter laugh. As if Harry Styles, world-famous millionaire, would ever seriously pursue someone like you. No, whatever sparked that bold flirtation, it was undoubtedly just him amusing himself by yanking your chain hard.

Shaking your head disgustedly, you stacked your clean pans. This kind of negative self-talk was just as unproductive as indulging fantasies. Squaring your shoulders, you decided to follow Harry's advice - a hot shower was wise after a shift like tonight, then straight to bed.

Tomorrow was a new day to refocus and earn your place, plain and simple. As you hung up your apron, you resolved to greet Harry with a clear head, a smile, and firm professional boundaries from now on. Time to nip this nonsense.

Unfortunately, maintaining those boundaries proved far easier said than done. Over the next couple weeks, it seemed like Harry launched a campaign to slowly chip away at your sense of propriety.

It was like a game, seeing how far he could push before you combusted. Every time you'd settle back into your usual groove, Harry would level you with flirtatious comments.

Like when you restocked the walk-in shelves, so focused you didn't hear the door open behind you. The first hint of no longer being alone was the heat of Harry's chest against your back, molding from shoulder to hip.

His raspy exhale ghosted your neck as he purred, "Need any...extra hands to reach those hard-to-reach places, love?"

You nearly jumped out of your skin at the suggestive comment. Whirling around, you found yourself centimeters from his chiseled jaw, close enough to feel his amused chuckle.

He took a single step back, eyes shamelessly roving over your body before meeting your gaze, one eyebrow arched invitingly. You could only gape, robbed of coherent thoughts.

"I-I didn't hear you come in," you eventually stammered, trying in vain to will your blush away.

Harry simply tipped you a wink before squeezing past you through the narrow opening, his body dragging against yours with every micro-movement. By the time he sauntered out whistling, you were gripping the shelves to keep upright.

It wasn't just the innuendos and lingering looks Harry leveled at you that made you feel like you were losing it. He'd instigate small, casual intimacies while you worked, completely eroding your focus.

Like when you labored over a roulade during prep, Harry hovered at your shoulder to murmur appreciated groans about "how good you are at working that lengthy meat with your bare hands."

You froze, blood rushing to your cheeks as Harry's heated gaze bore into you. His lips twitched as he deliberately looked you up and down, taking in your flushed throat.

"Among other things," he added in a tone dripping with innuendo, making you nearly drop the roulade. Harry threw you a scorching look before sauntering off, leaving you flustered.

Another time, you garnished a plate when you felt Harry's hard body press against your back. His large hands caged you in as he leaned down. You froze, breath catching, as his nose skimmed along your neck to the soft spot beneath your ear.

"Mmm, you smell delicious," Harry rumbled, his gravelly voice sparking tingles everywhere his warm breath hit. "I could just eat you up, petal."

You barely suppressed a whimper at the heated promise in his tone, squeezing your thighs together as arousal flooded you. Harry chuckled low, leaving you feverish and shaky after brushing his lips along your ear.

Moments like these rapidly became the norm - heated glances, suggestive remarks laced with innuendo, lingering casual touches far past professional boundaries. It left you feeling unmoored and disoriented, certain the prize was something deliriously illicit.

You tried to shut it down at first, offering polite reminders about conduct. But Harry only grinned, as if you barely registered. "Relax, love. Harmless flirting between coworkers never hurt anyone."

As the incidents persisted, your token protests grew weaker. Though you refused to admit it, some part of you began craving Harry's heated focus and suggestive teasing like an addiction.

He always paid you those inappropriate compliments while deeply engrossed in showpiece cooking. As if he derived pleasure from flustering you amid such intense artistry.

Truthfully, it did add an undercurrent of charged tension to mundane tasks - feeling Harry's eyes tracking your hands as you worked, knowing he was eye-undressing you. Though you refused to meet his gaze, a delicious shiver inevitably rippled through you.

He'd hover nearby with a murmured narration: "Oh yeah, petal...use both hands to really get a good grip on that shaft...fucking gorgeous watching you stroke it like that..."

No matter how disciplined you tried to be, Harry's sly innuendo always made your mind race with X-rated visuals of intimacy. You'd bite your cheek to keep from whimpering, consumed by arousal and shame equally.

By the time work ended each night, you felt punch-drunk and disoriented, like you'd run an erotic marathon. More than once, Harry would further mercilessly bait you in those vulnerable moments.

"You look thoroughly debauched, petal," he'd purr, eyes burning into yours before dragging down your sweat-dampened form. "Care to skip the hot shower and come home with me instead? I'll give those talented hands a real workout..."

You swore Harry could make any phrase sound filthy. On too many nights, you fled to your car - face flushed, breath uneven, core throbbing - envisioning how those invitations might unfold.

In quieter moments, bitter self-recrimination was your companion. How had you let yourself become such a pathetic, distracted mess over meaningless flirting? No matter how heated Harry's stares felt, he was your famous boss while you were nobody.

Your entire career and reputation rested on maintaining a strict professional boundary, no matter how electrifying and tempting your boss's overt sexuality. You resolved on more than one drive home to simply start shutting things completely down as soon as inappropriate comments began, no matter how intoxicating they felt.

Sadly, as soon as you stepped back into the thick of Harry's potent charisma and sensual magnetic field, your willpower tended to erode embarrassingly fast.

One morning during a high-stress meal prep, you trudged towards the walk-in in search of more chives. Harry looked up sharply from his sauce station as you passed his station and snagged your wrist to halt you. The unexpected gesture made you jump, and you whirled to find his eyes already roving hungrily over you.

"Wait," he rumbled, not bothering with any professionalism as his heated stare settled on your lips. Before you could question him, Harry tugged you flush against the long hard planes of his body, caging you against his workstation with his pelvis slotted snugly between your thighs.

The sheer eroticism of that ardent man-handling and friction punched the breath from your lungs. You could only stare up at Harry with wide, lust-blown eyes, momentarily bemused into stillness as his forearm came to rest beside your head, his deliciously musky sandalwood scent surrounding you in an intoxicating cloud.

"You've got a smear of sauce right..." Harry breathed against your mouth, so close now you could taste the earthy spice on his warm breath. His free hand came up to cup your jaw tenderly, rough thumb swiping out to trace the seam of your parted lips. "Here."

Your chest heaved against his in tiny, panting gasps. Any remaining illusion of boundary, lay in crumbling ruins around your feet. There was no mistaking Harry's seduction for mere playful teasing at this proximity, and indecency.

This was him finally making his play, naked want and desire radiating off his tall frame in scorching waves as his searing gaze clung to your mouth. Every ounce of blood in your body rushed straight between your thighs in anticipation.

You remained utterly motionless, rendered speechless and hyper-focused entirely on the sizzling feedback of sensation Harry's proximity inspired. He was absolutely everywhere - the heat of his body seeping under your skin, the slow rhythmic rise and fall of his chest brushing against yours, the gravelly white noise of his ragged breathing surrounding your senses.

Every rational thought in your mind screamed at you to gather some shred of control and push him away, firmly shut this down before it escalated further than you could ever recover from. But you remained frozen in place, utterly possessed by the intoxicating anticipation of what those plump, virile lips would feel like finally slanting over your own.

Just as your last vestiges of propriety and worry threatened to shatter, a ringing clatter of trays against metal echoed in the hallway. Both of you jumped as if electrocuted, the tension between your pressed bodies dissipating in an instant as reality came crashing back. You stumbled backwards, putting several feet between you, just as one of the prep cooks rounded the corner lugging a heavy trolley.

Harry cleared his throat roughly and shifted to put more workspace between you, drawing in a deep, steadying breath. The aborted moment seemed to penetrate the fog of arousal, harsh light returning to his dilated emerald eyes as they flickered across you. You wrapped your arms around your midsection defensively, suddenly feeling small and skittish under the weight of his palpable discomfort.

The prep cook sailed by with a polite nod, oblivious to the fraught tableau he'd interrupted. As soon as he rounded the corner again, Harry shook his head and grasped the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, squeezing his eyes shut in clear frustration.

You watched with bated breath, anxiety coiled in your belly, as he seemed to wrestle with some internal dilemma. When Harry finally opened his eyes again, the naked hunger that had consumed him only moments ago was carefully veiled once more behind that affable, dimpled mask.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, more to himself than you. Straightening, Harry met your uncertain gaze head-on, his own shuttered and inscrutable. "That was...completely out of line. Unprofessional of me."

Your heart stammered in your chest at the curt dismissal, warm arousal rapidly cooling into brittle rejection. Of course this had all been a mere game to Harry, one he lost interest in as soon as the threat of consequences loomed. You were such a fool to have let yourself get caught up in the fantasy.

Fighting to keep your expression neutral, you gave a small, tight nod. "It's alright, Harry. I understand. We got...carried away there for a moment." The flimsy excuse felt pathetic even to your own ears, but you pressed on. "It won't happen again, I can assure you."

Something flickered behind Harry's gaze at your reassurance, though you couldn't parse its meaning. He maintained the weighted silence for a heavy pause before finally replying.

"See that it doesn't," he replied evenly, a subtle edge to his deep timbre. "We're professionals in a workplace, after all. No matter what harmless games we play at, I'd hate to see you get...distracted from your goals here, petal."

You flinched at the petname, once again. Color bloomed hot across your cheeks at the insinuation that you would be the one unable to draw the line between flirtation and flat-out unprofessional conduct.

Disappointment and shame swirled sickeningly in your gut alongside lingering arousal. Before you could formulate a response, Thomason's bellow echoed across the kitchen, shockingly close. "Oi! Either get back to your stations or take the grope fest to the alley already! Some of us got shit to do today!"

If you thought you were flushed before, it was nothing compared to the full-body conflagration sparked by the head chef's words. You opened and closed your mouth soundlessly, utterly mortified at being caught out in such compromising circumstances, as Thomason stomped closer into view with a disgusted scowl.

"What the fuck are you two playing at, huh?" he demanded gruffly, stabbing an accusatory finger first at you then Harry. "Styles, I expected this kind of shitty lack of focus from a prima donna rock star jackass - but you?" He swung his narrowed glare your way, making you shrink back involuntarily. "If you want to keep getting world-class knowledge dropped on your dumb ass, try keeping it in your goddamn pants around the maestro for five fucking minutes!"

If possible, your flush deepened even further at his harsh reprimand. Shame roiled nauseously as you struggled to meet Thomason's furious glare, much less Harry's eerily impassive one. This was it, the humiliating moment you'd been dreading - getting outed as just another silly starstruck girl unable to rein in inappropriate impulses around her famous boss.

Just as you began mentally drafting your letter of resignation, Harry finally broke the tension by letting out a low chuckle. You shot him an incredulous glance, but he simply shook his head, dimples creasing his cheeks ruefully. Raising placating hands, he turned to the seething Thomason with an engaging grin.

"Easy there, Paulie. No need to get your apron twisted, nothing skeevy going on here I assure you." Dropping one hand to your shoulder, Harry gave it a firm squeeze, muscles in his bicep flexing enticingly. "Our young prodigy and I were just engaged in a bit of innocent culinary mentorship. You know how hands-on and intense those private tutorials can get."

His lascivious emphasis made it clear there was nothing 'innocent' about the nature of contact you'd nearly devolved into. But Thomason seemed to relax marginally all the same, giving a grunt of grudging acceptance.

"Fine, but keep your dick out of the dough while you're on my clock, capisce?" he growled at Harry, ignoring your scandalized gasp as he turned on his heel to stomp away. "Christ, I feel like I'm running a fucking fry shack instead of a Michelin kitchen..."

You watched his retreating back, utterly stunned into speechlessness by the unbelievable turn of events. Was...that seriously it? Harry had just implicitly outed your unprofessional indiscretion, and the consequences amounted to mild ribbing and a halfhearted reprimand?

Slowly, you pivoted to face Harry once more, utterly at a loss. His hand was still a scorching brand on the cool exposed skin of your shoulder, eyes glinting with that same indefinable mischief you'd witnessed him deploying to charm countless others.

As if sensing where your thoughts were headed, Harry quirked a knowing smile before finally withdrawing his touch. "Don't look so stricken, love. Paulie likes to play the crusty hardass, but far as he's concerned - as long as the work gets done right, whatever happens off the clock is nobody's business but our own."

His emphasis on those last few words rang with clear unspoken suggestion. But unlike before, you felt firmly centered in yourself enough to shake off any arousal. Lifting your chin defiantly to meet his smoldering gaze, you replied in a low, measured tone:

"Then with all due respect, Harry...I believe I'll pass."

For the first time all evening, the suave restaurateur looked briefly taken aback. You refused to let the flicker of uncertainty show as you pressed on, keeping your voice carefully modulated.

"I've put in far too much time and hard work getting here to jeopardize it all over some...tawdry infatuation. So while I'm flattered by the attention, and your willingness to keep things discreet, I have to draw the line at anything more than a professional mentorship."

Harry's eyes narrowed fractionally, clearly unaccustomed to such outright rejection. You refused to quail, squaring your shoulders as you laid it all on the table.

"My dreams are bigger than being another disposable conquest for my famous boss to slum with in secret. If you can't see me as more than that...well then, I wish you the very best. But our relationship can only be strictly chef-to-chef from here on out."

You paused to let the weight of your impassioned words hang between you, searching Harry's expression for any flicker of reaction. For several tense moments, the only sounds were the distant murmurings of kitchen noises and your own thundering pulse.

Then, as if an invisible switch clicked, Harry's stony demeanour melted away - replaced by a look of grudging amusement and what could only be begrudging respect. The familiar dimples you adored so much reappeared as his lips curved into a wry half-smile.

"I see," he replied at last, voice low and considering. "Well then. If those are your terms, I can hardly expect any less from such an admirably principled young chef, can I?"

Another beat passed between you, the tension slowly bleeding out to be replaced with the subtlest charge of intrigue. Harry's emerald gaze roamed over you in a way that felt far more evaluative than outright sensual before he spoke again.

"Very well then. A professional mentorship it shall be, with all the rigor and boundaries that implies. But make no mistake..." Here his lips stretched into a lopsided smirk that somehow felt both conspiratorial and vaguely provocative. "I expect you to rise to every challenge and be an exceptionally eager pupil, my dear."

You couldn't quite suppress the shiver that rippled through you at his lilting promise, despite your best efforts. If anything, the glint in Harry's eye only sharpened at your reaction, his grin taking on a hint of satisfaction.

Wanting to flee the weighted tension before it could reset that dangerous gravitational pull between you, you quickly gave a curt nod before turning on your heel to walk away. "Then we have an understanding. I won't let you down, Chef.”

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

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bogleech · 2 days

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Guess I have to make a main thread about this. Someone decided to fight with me in the notes on this post just yesterday about Gaza and made select responses of mine into a callout thread here, where they say my anger towards the IDF is all a cover for antisemitism. This didn't make any sense, because they said they were also against the IDF killing civilians, and I repeatedly said that Jewish people aren't to blame for the IDF or represented by the IDF in any way, putting us supposedly both on the exact same page. What gerry leaves out of their own screenshots, and I'd actually forgotten, is that at first they came at me from an angle that I was disrespecting the victims in Gaza.

So this implies they feel gaza is being subjected to a genocide, and a pretty big one, since they're upset my language made it sound "smaller and tamer." When it becomes obvious that I do in fact consider it a serious genocide, that's when they switch over to saying that my criticism of Netanyahu or the IDF is inherently an attack on Jewish people.

Notice I never actually said "zionists" in this screenshot, even, but that I defined "regular humans" as humans who don't want to kill innocent families. That would automatically include Jewish people since they overall do not wish to kill anyone, but have in fact spent quite a lot more time trying not to get killed. I believe there may be entire books about this fact! I think there's even whole museums about it, if I'm not mistaken?!

So then they pivot to saying I'm an antisemite because I said the IDF and its supporters can "burn in hell," and they say "invoking hell" is an antisemitic dogwhistle, which is definitely news to me?!

So I tried to clarify, again, that I'm only angry at the people who are themselves killing civilians and the "pro-genocide maniacs" who defend the killing of civilians, which they responded to as if I had "lumped them in" with those. You can just see right there that I didn't make any assumption that they were a part of that at all. Thanks to their earlier comments I still thought I was speaking to someone 100% against the IDF's actions, but every time I said that the killers and their advocates alone are bad, they've framed it in some new way as me just not liking anyone Jewish. So now that you have that context:

...In a response to an ask, they finally just say they hated me to begin with and set out with the intention to "bait and sealion" me (their own words!!) into saying something they hoped would be antisemitic, which they believe was successful despite me never saying anything about Jews other than "this isn't their fault." They saw what they admittedly wanted to, so strongly, that they show me saying "this isn't the fault of Jews" as evidence that I blame Jews. But speaking of people "going mask off"

In multiple more recent posts and asks, this person appears to say that they simply do not believe the IDF is really targeting children or ambulances or relief aid, that "none of those are true," and the deliberate targeting of any children is supposedly just a conspiracy theory??? So I guess they did successfully troll me and I feel like a real gullible dumbass, because the only reason I continued responding to this person in the first place was that they said they were in fact against the ongoing massacre. Instead, these comments sound like they think the IDF is being unfairly vilified by dishonest propagandists, and that's why they hated me enough to try and fish for callout fuel. That's the nastiest fucking thing anyone's yet pulled on me about this and it's not one that I'm just going to ignore. I should have smelled a troll early on and just blocked them, but it's SO hard for me to suspect ulterior motives. I always go in thinking people mean well, and that there's just a miscommunication we can work out. I almost feel like this individual noticed that and tried to exploit it?!? Unfortunately I'm sure this kind of thing will happen again simply because I don't intend to obediently shut up about what's being done to Gaza. It's not logistically possible for the death and destruction to all just be accidental collateral damage. Don't let anybody ever fool you into thinking the IDF is the face of the Jewish community or vice-versa, just as you can't let anyone fool you into thinking Hamas represents all Palestinians. Especially don't engage this person, stop doing so if you have been, and block them.

#free palestine #gaza #idf #genocide #psa

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swordsandholly · 3 days

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Mother’s Day Blues

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish x Reader

Word Count: ~900 unedited

Johnny loves Mother’s Day. You hate it.

MDNI | cw: vent fic, big mommy issues, mentioned childhood spanking, ED mention

Johnny loves Mother’s Day.

You hate it.

He watches you stand in the card aisle, shifting side to side, reading every single card. Snatching them up and shutting them hard just to shove them back into their little displays - huffing and growing ever more agitated as you go.

“It doesnnae matter what ye pick, bonnie.” He tries to be encouraging. “They’re all nice.”

“That’s the problem.” You mutter in a voice far too weak and bitter for his liking. “Why can’t they make one that just says, like, ‘You sure are my mom!’”

“Sweetheart…” Johnny knows you’re trying to cover it with humor, but the way your brow furrows breaks his heart. He sets a hand on your waist, pointing to a very generic, sparkly joke card. You nod and take it, grimacing still.

He hates it - hates watching you chew your lip and your hands shake while you pace back and forth before the 10 am alarm you set to call your mom goes off. Hates holding you while you sob in his lap after because of course she had to ask in a pathetic, whiny voice ‘is everything okay with us’ when she knows damn well it isn’t. When she won’t ever try to fix it or admit that she fucked up.

You carry the effects of the way she raised you everywhere you go. Johnny sees them all - knows them all by heart. Every time he notices you cutting portions and weighing yourself more than normal. When you use cruel words to describe your body. Every time you don’t tell him that you’re upset with him because you’re frightened of his reaction - body shaking so hard that you look like an earthquake personified. The lack of confidence in your interactions with others, how easily you fold and are ready to people please. Every time you get that glazed over, far away look in your eye after you remember something a little too clearly.

You only took him to meet her once. He’s never wanted to punch a woman like that before.

Johnny is, and always has been, of the opinion that you should cut contact. Cold turkey. Block her on everything and leave it be. You’ve argued about it more times than he can count, going back and forth about what would happen if you did. What the worst outcome could be.

“It’s not like she hit me…” You mutter.

“Spankin’ is hittin’, love.” Johnny takes your hands. “And it doesnnae matter if she did or not. She was rotten tae ye in every other way.”

You just get quiet. Tears well up in your eyes and what is he supposed to do when you get like that? Keep fighting? No, never. It’s your decision anyway. He just hates what she does to you and, by extension, how it effects your relationship with his mother.

Every time you visit is perfectly cordial. His mum loves you - sees you as her own. You’re Johnny’s after all. Her only son. You want to love her. You really, really do but when she says ‘I love you’ it feels like you’re going to die. Every time she hugs you he can see the way your shoulders tense up by your ears and your lips purse.

They’ve talked about it. Johnny and his mum. The horrified look she gave him when he told her only the little he knew at the time was more than enough. Bless her. She made it her goal to be the perfect mother-in-law. Never overbearing, never too needy. To love you quietly and meet you where you’re at.

He’s cried over it a few times - though he’d never admit it - watching her treat you with the gentle hands and words you deserve. It breaks his heart as you try to figure out what to do with it.

Johnny has known he wants to marry you for a long time. You’ve both talked about it, both made it known that you’re fully committed to one another forever. It’s just hard to plan a proposal when he isn’t sure how long he’ll be in town. He got the ring months ago and has just been holding onto it for the right time. So, in the end, he decides to be a bit spontaneous with it. His whole family is going on a beach day, and you look so pretty in your little cover up dresses.

His little nieces and nephews gladly help him set up a little path leading to a circle of flowers. His sister brings her big, fancy camera to take pictures while his other sister hints at you to wear something cute and invited you to get your nails done a week before.

Thank god you’re one of the most oblivious people on the planet.

Of course you say yes, tackling him down into the sand while you both cry. He knew you’d say yea but it still fills his heart to bursting. He buries his face in your neck to hide it, but he can’t stop it. You’re his, always and forever.

As the family congratulates and talks, his mother finally comes up and tenderly takes both your hands in hers.“Welcome to the family, love. It’s so nice to have another daughter.”

Johnny freezes, watching for your reaction.

Your eyes turn to saucers, a quiet hiccup shaking your chest before a full on sob follows. You bury your face in your hands and she wraps her arms around your shoulders. Johnny grabs onto you both.

She might not be your mum by blood, and you may never truly open up to her, but either way you deserve a good mother. He’s more than happy to share his own. Maybe someday you’ll heal. Little by little, by the same gentle hands that raised him.

A/N: Sorry for the angst but Mother’s Day has me fucked up.

#john soap mactavish #call of duty #cod #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #soap x you #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #johnny soap mctavish x reader #fem reader #ed trigger warning #cod x reader #reader insert #vent fic

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zombiigrll · 2 days

Text

LONELY ⋆｡°✩ carl grimes x reader .ᐟ WORD COUNT .ᐟ ⭑ 1061 ꩜ .ᐟ WARNINGS ⭑ angst to fluff, swearing, depressed/traumatized reader, reader is glenn and maggies adoptive child, intended lowercase, the walking dead 7x1 spoilers, death mentions, lack of eating, suicidal thoughts, use of y/n .ᐟ A/N .ᐟ ⭑ hi! this is my first time writing and posting anything on tumblr so im sorry if its not the best </3 ive never really done oneshots before either so i dont really know what im doing LMAO hope you still enjoy!

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it was supposed to be an easy run. get maggie to the hilltop and get her help, that's all it was supposed to be. but, of course, nothing could ever be that easy. not for you. the last thing you expected to see, however, was your father-figure getting his skull beaten in, and almost having to witness your boyfriend getting his arm chopped off. you were distressed. you couldn't function properly. you had already lost your family once before at the beginning of the outbreak, and all of those same feelings came back after losing glenn. he had been there for you since the start, saving you from dying with your family. and now he was gone and there was nothing you could do.

you had fallen into a deep depression, similar to the one you had before. you locked yourself in your room, not eating, not drinking, occasionally getting up to use the restroom, but other than that, you were bedridden. you hadn't even changed your clothes from that night. the clothes that were stained in glenns blood. hell, even his blood remained dried across your face. you felt as lonely as ever, but at the same time, you knew you weren't. because every single day you heard knocks at your door. it was carl.

"y/n, please. just open the door. i can help you." he desperately spoke from the other side of the door.

you felt like shit for making him continue to come to your door everyday just for you to stubbornly remain in your room, but it felt like nothing mattered anyways. eventually, he'd give up, right? that's what you thought. "go away." you mumbled just loud enough for him to hear. "just open the door. please." he begged again. he understood your struggles. he was aware of why you were acting this way, and he couldn't blame you. he knew how it felt to lose family members and people close to him. unfortunately enough for him, you stayed where you were, not opening the door for him yet again. but after almost a week had passed, he began getting more worried. he begged at your door for you to open it, he tried opening it himself but you had locked the door, blocking it as well so no one could enter. you didn't care. you were isolating yourself, barely sleeping. the only times you slept were when you cried so hard you fell asleep. you felt miserable. you were giving up on everything, hoping one day it'd all just end and you wouldn't have to worry anymore. you wouldn't have to worry about anyone else dying, because you'd be with them. no more funerals, no more fighting for your life... you laid awake on your bed, tears silently falling from your eyes as you stared blankly at your ceiling, those terrible thoughts swirling through your brain. but this night was different. you had opened your window, which carl took as the perfect opportunity. he was tired of not being able to help you due to your stubbornness, so he decided to crawl through your window. *thump!*

you quickly jolted up at the sound, staring at carl who was slowly sitting back up after not-so-gracefully falling into your room. he grabbed his hat and placed it back on top of his head before looking over at you. you stared at him with tears glazing over your eyes, your face scrunching up as you brought a hand to your mouth. "i..." you were speechless. your emotions got the better of you and you began sobbing. he quickly walked over to you, cupping your face with his hands as he looked down at you sympathetically. "don't cry..." he softly spoke, but his eyes quickly noticed the dried blood that was still on your face. "y/n..." "i-i'm s.. sorry." you sobbed, averting your eyes as you crossed your arms around your waist. he shook his head as he softly acknowledged your beat-up appearance, moving your arms from covering your waist as he pulled you in for a big hug. "don't be sorry."

you quickly returned the hug, squeezing him tightly as you sobbed into his chest. he broke from the hug, looking back down at you and your bloodstained clothes. "let's go get you cleaned up, yeah?"

you silently nodded. he helped you stand up and you almost fell over, but he quickly caught you. "...let's get you something to eat, too." ... the two of your were now in the bathroom. he helped you sit down on the seat of the toilet before grabbing a rag, getting it wet before walking back over to you. "this is gonna be really cold." he smiled warmly, slowly bringing the rag up to your face and wiping the blood off. you flinched slightly at the touch. as he's cleaning your face, his face turns a bit perplexed. "why... why didn't you open the door?"

you avert your eyes to the ground as you begin messing with your hands. "i just wanted to be alone, i don't know." carl looks at you with a bit of a somber gaze before continuing to clean you up. "i'm sorry for breaking in. i was worried about you. just... please, don't do that again. if you ever need help, i'm here. you know that, right?" "i know..." you looked up at him. "i didn't want you to see me like this. i..." you began tearing up again as you spoke. he quickly sets the rag down and puts both his hands on your cheeks, using his thumbs to wipe away your tears. "i know, i know. it's okay." shortly after, he pulled you in for a quick kiss, his hands remaining on your face as he pulled away. he uses one of his hands to wipe away the stray strands of hair over your face, tucking them behind your ear. "you're so pretty. you know that, right?" he smiled warmly. "i love you." you laughed with a smile, a tear rolling down your cheek. "i love you, too." "let's go get you some new clothes, okay? and some food. i'll make you whatever you want." carl asks, grabbing both your hands. you nod, standing up in sync with him as you followed him back to the room. god, you were so lucky to have him. ─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────────

#the walking dead #carl grimes #twd #carl grimes x reader #carl x reader #carl grimes one shot #twd x reader #twd imagine #the walking dead oneshot #the walking dead imagine #twd fluff #twd angst #fluff #angst #carl grimes x y/n #carl x y/n

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forest-hashira · 15 hours

Text

Butterflies

i have no chill so yes i'm back with a new fic a week after the last one. idk how or why i'm like this so don't ask. this is my second entry for @threadbaresweater's "summertime (and the livin' is easy)" collab event! my chosen prompt for this one was geto + botanical gardens. this got away from me literally in the first sentence AHAHA.

read on ao3 | wc: ~1.8k | cw: gender neutral reader, first date, minor miscommunication, both suguru and reader are bashful as hell and have been crushing for a while, several types of bugs are mentioned towards the end, but i think that's everything!

When Suguru had invited you to visit the local botanical gardens with him, you’d accepted without much thought, assuming that all your other friends would be there, too. You’d all spent nearly every waking moment together since the weather had gotten warm enough and the days had gotten long enough to spend more time outside, so it seemed like a foregone conclusion that this was going to be another one of those days.

You were quite mistaken.

Suguru was standing alone outside the front gates waiting for you, and while he was usually the first person to arrive whenever you all got together, Shoko, Utahime, or Kento usually weren’t far behind and consistently arrived before you did, so you were a bit surprised.

“Is everyone else on their way?” you asked as you approached, one hand above your brows to block the sun from your eyes as you looked up at him; you’d forgotten your sunglasses, again, something Satoru teased you about constantly. Even with the small amount of shade your hand afforded you, you squinted a bit up at your friend. His hair was pulled fully up into a bun, a hairstyle he didn’t wear as frequently as he did when you were all in high school, but with a heatwave rolling through the area, you weren’t exactly surprised he wanted all that hair off his skin.

After a moment you realized the sun was creating a sort of halo around him. Like an angel, you thought to yourself. He’s certainly pretty enough to be one. The thought caught you off guard, and you hoped it wasn’t obvious that you’d grown flustered by your own thoughts; you didn’t need him finding out about the crush you’d been harboring on him since you were teenagers, especially when no one else was there to save you from yourself.

His brows pinched in confusion, and he cocked his head ever so slightly to the right. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“Satoru and Shoko and everyone,” you said, now feeling a bit confused yourself. “Are they just running late? Usually at least Kento is waiting with you by the time I show up.”

A look of understanding crossed his face then, and his face visibly reddened. “Ah,” he sighed, looking away from you and rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s uh. It’s just us, actually. Sorry, I thought you knew that when you accepted the invitation.”

“...Oh,” you uttered intelligently, feeling your own face beginning to heat as well, and not just from the sun beating down on you. It never occurred to you that Suguru would want to spend any alone time with you, away from the group; not that you didn’t get along without everyone else – you definitely did, you were just usually around the rest of your friend group – but the occasion for one on one time hadn’t arisen since you’d been partnered for assignments in school.

“We don’t have to go in,” Suguru offered gently, meeting your gaze again. “We can pretend this never happened. Or we can see if anyone else wants to join, I know Satoru’s not doing anything today.” When all you did was blink dumbly up at him, he looked away again, staring down at his feet. “I’m really sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

That brought you back to yourself, and you shook your head vehemently. “No!” you burst out, then cringed at your own raised volume and squeaky voice. “I-I mean, no, you didn’t make me uncomfortable. We can still go in. I looked this place up when you invited me, and I really want to see their pollinator sanctuary.”

Suguru’s shoulders dropped in relief at your words, and his small smile returned almost instantly. “I’d like that.”

As he turned and headed towards the gates, you followed barely a half step behind. You started to pull out your wallet as you drew closer to the ticket booth, but Suguru stopped you.

“Don’t worry about it,” he told you. “I bought our tickets already.”

His words had your face burning yet again, and you looked away sheepishly. “Thanks.” You followed him up to the gates, pausing long enough for the gate attendant to scan the tickets Suguru had bought – he’d printed them out, so the employee didn’t have to try and scan his phone screen, which struck as so distinctly Suguru that it made your heart flutter, though you’d never admit that to another human being.

Tickets now scanned, the pair of you were free to explore the grounds at your own pace. Ever the planner, your friend led you over to the large standing map. “Do you want to start with the pollinators?” he asked. “Or would you rather save that for the grand finale?”

Taking a few moments to consider, you looked over the map; the grounds were bigger than you thought, and you knew with the sun beating down on you, it wouldn’t be long before you were tired of the heat and ready to go somewhere with cold drinks and air conditioning. “Let’s do that first,” you said after a bit. “I don’t wanna run the risk of missing them because they’re hiding from the heat.”

Suguru nodded easily in agreement with your words. “I think that sounds like a good idea,” he confirmed. When he reached up and started tracing a path on the map from the “YOU ARE HERE” sticker to the pollinator sanctuary, you couldn’t help but watch, his hand making the sections of the map look smaller than they actually were.

“It looks like we need to go this way,” he said quietly, and though you couldn’t quite tell if he was speaking to you or just thinking aloud, his words were enough to bring you back to yourself. “The pollinators are near the back, but this section with the trees should be pretty shaded for the walk back. What do you think?”

He turned to face you then, head tilted ever so slightly as he waited to hear your answer, oblivious to the way you’d been ogling his hand. You blinked dumbly for a moment, processing his words as you did your best not to make a fool of yourself.

“That sounds good, yeah,” you agreed sheepishly. “This way, right?”

When he nodded, you turned and made your way down the path, Suguru at your side. He was right, the path he’d chosen was pretty well shaded from the sun, offering you a bit of relief as you walked. The pace you maintained was steady; you weren’t rushing by any means, but you were eager to see the pollinator sanctuary, so you were walking a little faster than you normally might have.

Birds chirped overhead, singing to each other as they hopped from branch to branch, and the sound made you smile; summer wasn’t necessarily your favorite of the seasons, but right now the pros were definitely outweighing the cons.

“Thank you,” the raven haired man said after a few minutes of comfortable silence, and you looked up at him in slight confusion.

“For what?”

“For agreeing to come here with me,” he said simply. Then, looking a little bashful again, he added, “And for not freaking out on me when I told you it was just us after you got here.”

“Oh,” you said quietly. “I was happy to accept your invitation. And I’d never freak out on you for something like that, y’know. You’re easy to be around, and if nobody else is here it means I actually get to appreciate your presence.”

“You make a good point. Satoru does tend to demand to be the center of attention when we’re all together, doesn’t he?” A soft smile painted his lips as he spoke, and his words made you giggle a bit.

“Yeah,” you agreed. “He does.”

Conversation was easy after that, talking about everything and nothing all at the same time, but it felt so good to talk with him; to spend time with him without anyone else around, something you rarely got to do, and never felt like you could suggest yourself until now. Now, though, you were sure you’d be spending a lot more one on one time with your companion.

“Oh, what was it that Satoru was trying to explain the other day? He kept comparing it to digi…mon…” you trailed off mid sentence as you stepped out from under the trees, completely forgetting what you’d been saying as you saw the pollinator sanctuary unfolding before you. Your steps slowed, and you looked around with wide eyes, taking in the sight of all the insects flitting between the brightly colored flowers: the honey bees climbing out of blooms covered in pollen; hummingbird moths hovering as they sipped before zipping to the next flower; bumblebees droning through the air; butterflies flitting from plant to plant.

Suguru slowed to keep pace beside you, and unbeknownst to you, he was looking at you far more intently than anything else in the garden. He paused for a moment, letting you walk a bit ahead of him as he admired you. As he watched, a few butterflies flew closer, dancing around your head as they came to investigate the scent of your shampoo. You stilled, though your eyes were wide as you tried to watch what was happening above you. One by one, about half a dozen butterflies landed in your hair, almost forming a crown around your head, making you look like some sort of nature spirit.

“You’re beautiful,” Suguru blurted out, and the sudden compliment startled you a bit. You turned back to face him quickly enough that all the butterflies went fluttering off again, now that they knew you were not, in fact, a flower.

“Huh?”

“You’re beautiful,” he repeated, though a bit more bashfully this time. “I’ve always thought that, y’know? I just didn’t want to make things weird between us by telling you that.” He closed the distance between you as he spoke, and he offered you a sheepish little smile. “I hope it’s okay that I’m telling you now, though.”

“Yeah,” you murmured back, smiling just as bashfully in return. “That’s more than okay. You’re beautiful, too, actually. I’ve always thought that.”

A small laugh bubbled out of Suguru at your words, and his expression grew impossibly more fond. “I’m glad we’re on the same page about that, then,” he mused. He was quiet for a moment then, his dark eyes contemplative, before he leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek.

The touch surprised you, but it wasn’t unwelcome. You felt your face burn a bit more as he pulled away, but your smile only brightened as you looked up at him.

He smiled back just as brightly, and as he spoke again, he took your hand and laced your fingers together gently. “Do you want to keep going?” “Yes, I’d like that very much.”

taglist: @mitsuristoleme @kentohours @peachdues @ghost-1-y @witchbybirth

@marinnnnnnnnn @dr-runs-with-scissors @enchantedforest-network

divider by saradika-graphics

#fallon's fics #geto jjk #jjk geto #suguru geto #geto suguru #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #jjk fluff #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #jjk

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craisinsensation1029 · 3 days

Text

Picture Perfect

Choso Kamo

AO3 :)

just a soft moment with Chosito (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) ° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .

SFW but minors shoo shoo

“This one.” Choso points to a photo near the edge of the table. The white space at the bottom of the Polaroid reads the photo is from October, last fall. He picks up the photo to examine it further, feeling his cheeks warm as the idyllic memory swarms into his mind. A lucent smile stretches across your face, eyes nearly appearing to be closed and crinkling at the corners. One of Choso’s arms is wrapped around your shoulder while his lips are pressed against your cheek.

The lush foliage of the trees in the background almost makes it look like the two of you are situated perfectly in front of a backdrop. It was the first time either of you had been apple picking, bringing your camera along to ensure the memory was solidified was an absolute necessity.

“Oh, for sure.” Gently taking the photo from his hand, you delicately slide it into the photo album right below one of the two of you sharing a snow cone at a fair over the summer. “What about that one?”

Choso’s gaze follows the direction of your finger pointing to a photo on the opposite edge of the table from the previous one he just picked up. It’s one of the two of you on New Years with purple and gold tinfoil hats on your heads and wearing 2024 shaped glasses. “That’s definitely a good one.” He reaches for the photo, admiring it for a moment before he hands it to you. Flipping to a clean page, you repeat the task of sliding it into the album.

“It’s coming along pretty nicely, don’t you think?” you ask with a smile, turning to face him. There’s only four pages left to fill and with the abundance of photos you have, it looks like you’re going to have to buy another photo album sometime soon.

It’s been a little over three years since you met Choso, and closing in on two since you started dating.

Being immune to customers trying to charm you at the bar you worked at was more or less one of the cardinal rules. It was pretty exhausting trying to attend to all the customers while someone was trying to use pick up lines they memorized from Reddit on you. They were always on the ends of two extremes, either being so excruciatingly cringe that you swore every patron was replaced with crickets and made it known absolutely no one was entertained, or they were unusually charming but still not worthy of being dignified with your time.

For the longest time, you remained completely unaffected by anyone’s attempt to capture your attention and gain your affections. It didn’t matter how many drinks people offered to buy you or claims of taking you away from this place (as if you were some kind of stray cat wandering the streets looking for a home…) they would make. The only concern you had was being polite enough to earn the tips you rightfully deserved.

That changed the day a very peculiar man stepped through the doors of the bar.

The first time you saw Choso, the air seemed to be charged with electricity. It seemed like a spotlight was on him, following his every move as he made his way through the crowd to take a seat at one of the elevated stools. From the scar running across his nose to his hair styled in two pigtails sitting atop his head, it was pretty impossible not to notice him.

Not that the bar was some staple for locals, or even located at the edge of town. It was in the heart of downtown on a block with more bars and even more prominent nightlife, but there were a lot of regulars. It was easy to consider that maybe he came more often during the day since you mainly worked nights, but the way some of your other coworkers and patrons alike were staring at him, it was obvious that wasn’t the case.

“Hey.” It was almost startling how someone uttering a simple word could make them so starkly different from everyone else around them. There was no stupid ‘term of endearment’ tacked on to the greeting, no trace of a hungry gaze threatening to eat you alive.

“Hi there.” The roles were reversed, you being the one drinking in his appearance until your thirst was quenched. He almost looked out of place with the purple rings encasing his eyes, his sleepy and stoic appearance contrasting the liveliness of the bar around him. “What can I get for you?”

When his gaze met yours, it seemed like you were looking at a completely different person. His impassive expression morphed into something more distinguishable, though it was a bit hard to tell exactly what it was. Sorrow? Anguish, maybe?

He just let out a sigh as a hand brushed back some of the stray hairs resting on his forehead. “Just something strong, I guess.”

Silently you nodded, turning around and looking over all the liquors and contemplating what you would make. In any other instance you would never willingly make this for a customer, usually internally groaning whenever one ordered it, but it actually did seem like he needed this. Quickly getting all of the necessary components, you made him a Long Island Iced Tea garnished with two pieces of lemon and a straw.

“You only get one of these though.” Pushing the drink toward him, you watched his hand curl around the glass, his exposed forearms slightly bulging. “On the house.”

“Thank you.” Another tired sigh escaped from him before he took a small sip of the all too alcoholic concoction. It must have been his first time having one judging from the grimace that lined his lips and the intense furrow of his brow after a single taste. He took another small sip, shaking his head with a sputter and pushing it back towards you.

“Too much?” you laughed, deciding to take a sip of the drink yourself. His reaction wasn’t an exaggeration at all. With the two sips he took there was a very strong possibility he was already tipsy.

He nodded in response to your question. “Sorry for wasting your time.” He blew out a third sigh as he folded his arms and let them rest on the counter. “I can pay for it.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Drinking on the job was very generally looked down upon, but you were sure one of your coworkers would be happy to drink it. Hell, if you yelled out who wanted a free drink another customer would probably swoop in and drink it without even questioning what it was. “Let me make you something else.” Most people wouldn’t turn down a free drink, but you turned quickly before he could potentially reject the offer.

Oh so familiar with the set up, you swiftly prepared him another drink, a much milder one this time.

Turning to face him once more, you slid the drink garnished with a cherry to him. There were still some traces of distress lingering in his eyes, but this cocktail seemed to soothe him much more than the previous one that could have all but killed him.

“What kind of alcohol is in this?” He took another sip. “This is really good.”

“A really mild vodka.”

“Really?”

“No,” you laughed. His eyes widened as heat started to rise to his cheeks, a prominent blush staining his pale skin. “It’s just a shirley temple, no liquor.”

“Oh.” A sheepish smile formed on his face as he brought the straw to his lips for another sip. He looked so charmingly boyish, you just wanted to put him in your pocket and bring him home with you. “It is really good though, you must be the best bartender here.”

There was no omitting you were more seasoned than some of your other coworkers, but there was no reason to brag. Instead you just shrugged. “I just don’t think the drink was as self soothing as you thought it would be.”

Over time you seemed to develop a knack for these sorts of things with all the people from all different walks of life that found their way in here. Some people really were better off drowning in liquor and their sorrows, but that didn’t seem to be the case here.

He blinked at you silently, as if you had just read him like a book. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He didn’t say anything more as he finished his drink.

Taking the empty glass, you prepared another one for him, which again he didn't object. There were other patrons that you could have started tending to, but there was something so alluring about this man that you couldn’t quite put your fingers on. Normally you’d be completely uninterested in whatever problems your customers had, instantly tuning them out the moment they decided that this was some sort of free therapy session and you were lending them an ear, but you found yourself actually wanting to know.

When he finished the second drink you made him a third—a virgin mojito. He didn’t ask any questions when you slid it to him, just nodding and taking a grateful sip.

“Any reason you were trying to give yourself alcohol poisoning?” you asked playfully with a raised brow.

He finished taking another sip before a soft laugh left his lips. Even with all the noise of the bar you could hear it clearly, such a delightful sound from a demure looking person. “Just kind of upset with myself.”

He didn’t elaborate, and you didn’t want to come off as too overbearing, but his words were just the tip of the iceberg, the true weight of them miles below the surface.

“I hope you’re giving yourself some grace, at least.”

“It’s kind of hard.” His eyes found yours, silently asking for permission to continue. It wasn’t a look of pleading and desperation, but a gentle one of someone just looking to be heard, to be seen. You nodded, the head movement conveying that you were there with open arms. “I’m a terrible brother.”

His gaze left yours, downcast to the liquid in the glass. “There was this convention one of my younger brothers wanted to go to in a few months. He’s been talking about it for weeks and saving some of the money from his part time job to get the tickets. I told him not to worry about it.” He gulped before he continued. “But something else came up. One of my other brothers had a pretty bad reaction at this potluck hosted by his job, they didn’t know he’s allergic to sesame.”

You listened intently, watching as one of his fists clenched as he went on. “They should have, I’m pretty sure they asked everyone if they were sensitive to anything, but whatever.” The veins in fist throbbed beneath his skin, somber eyes seemingly igniting with anger as he recalled the situation. “I’m not sure exactly what it was that he ate, but he had a pretty serious reaction.” He shook his head. “Of course his job was so sorry for being the reason he experienced anaphylaxis.”

“Oh my god, is he… is he… ”

This time, a rueful laugh left his lips. “He’s fine now. He had his epipen, but he still went to the hospital after.” His shoulders slumped as he sighed. “I had to use pretty much all of the money I was putting aside for those convention tickets and then some to cover the hospital bill.” Another mirthless laugh. “And that was after what the insurance covered.”

It was hard connecting his story back to the first point he made. “How does that make you a bad brother?”

He furrowed his brow like the answer was obvious. “My younger brother… ” He shook his head. “I let him down. The tickets for that convention are all sold out. I told him to look out for ones being resold and I can see what I can do, but he said he doesn’t want to run the risk of getting scammed.”

“Do you hear yourself?” He looked almost offended, but you spoke again before he could interject. “I’m pretty sure your younger brother isn’t complaining about what you had to use the money for.”

“But—”

Rarely were you ever dismissive of what people had to say, but you needed him to hear these words. “You saved your brother from medical debt. I’m positive both your brothers are pretty grateful about that.”

“That’s the thing.” He forwent the straw and brought the glass to his lips to finish the drink. “My younger brother isn’t upset at all. He’s even telling me it’s no big deal. It’s just… I don’t know… It feels shitty that I couldn’t do both.”

“You can’t do everything, no matter how hard you try.” He opened his mouth to speak but you raised your palm to stop him. “Neither of your brothers are upset, forgive yourself.”

He looked at you like you said something in a language that he couldn’t understand before the fight finally left his body, blowing out a breath. “Yeah, I guess you’re right… ”

Tentatively, you reached out to touch his hand that wasn’t clenched in a fist. He peered down where your hands met his skin, his other fist starting to relax. Admittedly, he had a bit of a vampiric appearance (albeit, an extremely sexy one that you would let bite you), but he was warm to the touch. “I’m never wrong, just trust me.”

Finally, a laugh that was laced with amusement left his lips as he nodded. “Something is telling me to believe you.”

For a moment both of your eyes met, the moment more charged than you expected it to be. “Well if you ever want to not drink yourself to death again, I’ll be here.”

“Choso,” he introduced with a now radiant smile. In turn you introduced yourself, and as many say, from there the rest was history.

“It looks really good,” he agrees with a nod of his head as his eyes scan the photos for which one to add next. He wishes he weren’t as indecisive, but he can’t help it. Every single photo holds a dear memory of moments—big and small—of your relationship. His fingers hover over a particular one, gripping it gently before presenting it to you. “Can we include this one?”

His voice is just a little bit smaller than before, the tiniest thread of doubt in his tone. Taking the photo from him, you press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose, instantly making his cheeks ignite.

“Come on, Cho.” The shyness of the question is borderline ridiculous. “Of course we can.”

Sliding the photo into the album, the smile already on your face grows even larger, making your cheeks start to ache as the fond memory captured comes to the forefront of your mind.

See, before you even knew Choso’s name it was obvious how much he valued family. Not that you didn’t hold yours close to your heart, but his love and devotion ran so much deeper. Whether it was through a phone call, text, or a video call, he talked to each of his brothers every day.

Every interaction highlighted the distinct parts of his personality; soft yet stern, docile yet confrontational, honest enough to deliver the truth but gentle enough to consider the feelings of others before it spewed from his mouth. Somehow he’s able to morph himself into the person his siblings would need at any given moment without losing any part of himself. He’s like a disco ball, every part of him glimmering no matter which way you spin him.

Naturally, the prospect of meeting his brothers intimidated you. If they disliked you, would that be the end of your relationship? Would they tell Choso that he could do better? The thought of the people who meant the world to the person that gradually became the light of your life holding any sort of disdain towards you was distressing.

Sweat slicked your palms and the lump in your throat wouldn’t go down the night you were set to meet them over dinner. You’d insisted on preparing everything yourself even though your hands trembled with every slice of the knife. Choso—always so perceptive—wrapped his arms around your waist as you stood in front of the stove and pressed a soft kiss behind your ear. “Stop worrying.”

“What?” A nervous laugh bubbled out of you. “Who says I’m worried?”

“Hey.” He made quick work of spinning you around, pressing his body against yours as one of his hands cupped your face, thumb grazing against your cheek. “You have nothing to worry about. I already love you, they will too.” He followed his reassuring statement by letting his lips brush against yours, the familiarity helping to ease the nerves in your body. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

Everything turned out to be more than fine, all of his brothers greeting you warmly and making conversation as if they’ve known you for years. Sitting at the head of the table, all Choso could do was simply cherish the moment, relishing in the fact that all the people he loved were sitting in the same room, learning to love each other.

“We have to take a picture!” you beamed as the night winded down.

All his brothers nodded in agreement, choosing to either smile or throw up a peace sign while Choso pressed his cheek against yours with one arm outstretched the snap the moment.

“I just… ” He shrugs, cheeks still burning. “Didn’t know if you wanted to include them, thought you might have wanted it to be just us.”

As if Choso is really himself without his brothers. “Well they’re my family too now, aren’t they?” You start to feel heat rising to your own cheeks as you reach for his hand and entwine your fingers. “They have just as much place in this album as the pictures of just you and I.”

Choso has never felt this accepted, so complete with someone that is comfortable proclaiming his family as their own. It takes a lot to keep tears as bay as he feels his heart tripling in size in his chest, overcome with the sweetness of your words and the affections that they hold. He squeezes your hand as he nods. “Yeah, they are.”

You fill the remaining pages with more pictures that you’ve taken with his brothers since that fateful day, and you never wish ill upon anybody, but with the tenderness and comfort of this new found family, you’re grateful he was never able to get those convention tickets.

#jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #choso x reader #choso x you #choso x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fluff #domestic fluff #ebs writes #choso fluff #choso kamo

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therealtruthalways · 1 day

Text

A young cashier told an older woman that she should bring her grocery bags because plastic bags weren't good for the environment. The woman apologized, "We didn't have this green thing back in my day."

The young clerk said, "Your generation did not care enough to save our environment for future generations." She gave him a firm stare and a hard grin and said “Back then, we returned milk bottles, soda bottles, and beer bottles. The store sent them back to the plant to be washed sterilized and refilled, so it could use the same bottles over. They were recycled.

Grocery stores bagged our groceries in brown paper bags, which we reused for numerous things. We walked upstairs because we didn't have an escalator in every store and office building. We walked to the grocery and didn't climb into a 300-horsepower machine every time we had to go two blocks.

Back then, we washed the baby's diapers because we didn't have the throwaway kind. We dried clothes on a line, not in an energy-gobbling machine burning up 220 volts -- wind and solar power did dry our clothes back in our day. Kids got hand-me-down clothes from their brothers or sisters, not always brand-new clothing.

Back then, we had one TV, or radio, in the house -- not a TV in every room. The TV had a small screen the size of a handkerchief, not a screen the size of the state of Montana. In the kitchen, we blended and stirred by hand because we didn't have electric machines to do everything for us. When we packaged a fragile item to send in the mail, we used wadded-up old newspapers to cushion it, not Styrofoam or plastic bubble wrap.

Back then, we didn't fire up an engine and burn gasoline just to cut the lawn. We used a push mower that ran on human power. We exercised by working so we didn't need to go to a health club to run on treadmills that operate on electricity.

We drank from a fountain when we were thirsty instead of using a cup or a plastic bottle every time we had a drink of water. We refilled writing pens with ink instead of buying a new pen, and we replaced the razor blades with a razor instead of throwing away the whole razor just because the blade got dull.

Back then, people took a bus and kids rode their bikes instead of turning their moms into a 24-hour taxi service. We had one electrical outlet in a room, not an entire bank of sockets to power a dozen appliances. And we didn't need a computerized gadget to receive a signal beamed from satellites 23,000 miles in space to find the nearest burger joint. But the current generation laments how wasteful we old folks were just because we didn't have the green thing.”

The cashier stood there still and quiet as the old lady found her wallet to pay. Then lady turned to leave but stepped back and turned toward the cashier. She said “You have a world of knowledge in that little device in your hand. Pity you just use it to gossip, take pictures, and waste time. It would do you good to search a bit of history before you embarrass yourself like this again.

Forward this to another selfish old person who needs a lesson in conservation from a smart-ass young person.

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beatrixstonehill2 · 3 days

Text

"I'm so glad we're finally meeting in person...." Rachel told her online boyfriend, Jason.

"You look even more perfect than I hoped. Sounds like your voice is dropping nicely, darling."

Rachel smiled. "Three months on testosterone will do a fakegirl good." She stuck out her estrogen-fattened moobs. "I'm horny 24/7. I used to never even get erections. I was such a good girl...."

"But deep down you're just a dirty sissy playing dress up. She me what you've done to yourself for me, angel."

With a deep breath, blushing, Rachel untucked her erect cock, pulling it out of her lacy panties. She let it stick straight out, eight inches, as Jason smiled. "Is it..... to your liking?"

He reached out, jerking it as Rachel trembled. Her cock was never more than a nub. She showed it online if men asked really nicely in her DMs or questioned if she was actually trans. Most people didn't believe her. Perfectly feminine voice, gorgeous face, full natural breasts, wide hips. People thought she was claiming to be trans for views, especially since you couldn't see any bulge in her bikini pics. She told her skeptics she went on puberty blockers by ten, and hormones at twelve. Not a drop of testosterone ever coursed through her system, that was, until Jason messaged her.

He told her he believed she was a fakegirl, a boy pretending to be a girl, and he wanted to help. Curious, Rachel played along with his transphobic little tangent. He kept misgendering her, telling her how beautiful she'd be as a detrans femboy. Still wearing girl clothes, makeup, looking like a girl but finally with a guy's voice, her real voice, as he put it. To get her silly fakegirl tits removed. Grow a cute five o'clock shadow that tells everyone who she really is. Instead of blocking him, she allowed herself to be led by his fantasies of detransitioning her. She slowly became corrupted by his messages, taking them to heart more by the day.

Soon in public when people called her a girl she started correcting them, saying she was born a boy and wearing girl stuff was like a kink for her. She used the men's room, and relished all the attention she got in there, even offering her mouth as a urinal. She started trying to get her cock going, rubbing it, pleasuring herself, but she couldn't get it erect. She complained to Jason and he told her she knew what the solution was. Scared by thinking more with her cock than anything, she publicly announced she was detransitioning on social media and started testosterone, and a healthy dose of dick-growth supplements.

Now she understood what Jason wanted from her. She was horny 24/7. Her cock was impossible to hide. She was starting to get correctly gendered as a boy because of her bulge and cracking, male puberty voice. By the third month she figured her cock was big enough to impress Jason, and invited him over.

"It's beautiful, sweetheart," Jason said, jerking Rachel off. "How many times a day do you get off now?"

"Ten..... at least. I masturbate in public. On the train in my pretty clothes. I masturbate in the men's room. Sometimes I do it in the women's room just to get thrown out. I can't control my erections at all. I'm hard constantly. But I only want my cock bigger and even more out of control."

"You're just like every other pretty fakegirl I've done this to, you know?"

"What? I'm not the only one....."

"Of course not, princess. But don't worry, you'll love all my the other pretty detrans boys I have back at my estate. Once we get those embarrassing boy-tits of yours taken care of."

"Oh! Oh..... fuck! Thank you!" Rachel came as Jason aimed her cock up at her breasts and face. She made a mess all over herself and had no instinct to clean it. She panted in place, eager to please her boyfriend even more.

"You're welcome. Now, I think it's time I set you up with my friend Alex, who's a surgeon. He can have that chest of yours nice and flat in no time. Once you're ready, I'll introduce you to the others."

"Then what?"

"You'll be another of my slutty femboy whores, who I pimp out to rich politicians and businessmen who just love boys like you when they're away from their boring wives on business..... What do you say?"

"Sounds perfect...... I can't wait to fully detrans and whore my new body for you."

"Good boy."

#detrans kink #mtf detrans kink #mtftm kink #femboy kink #submisive sissy

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reigningqueenofwords · 3 days

Text

Writer's Block

Pairing: Bucky x Reader Word count: 2,218

Read on AO3

Sitting back in your computer chair, you groaned. On the screen in front of you, a blank page taunted you. That little black cursor just blinked over and over. Was it trying to drive you insane? “This is bullshit.” You muttered to yourself. Running your hand through your hair, you couldn’t decide if you wanted to cry, punch something, or just shut down your computer and walk away. None of those options sounded good enough.

“Babe, I’m home!” Came the voice of Bucky, your boyfriend of four years.

“In here!” You called out, feeling stuck in place. Letting your head lean back against the little pillow on your chair, you closed your eyes. Maybe he’d have a suggestion.

Finally, you heard the tell tale sound of him making his way towards your little office. Okay, it was a walk-in closet that you’d turned into a “writing nook” when you moved in together three years prior. “There’s my girl.” He sounded so proud, even now. It made you smile slightly. “Are you trying to write via mind control? Because as cool as that sounds, it doesn’t look like it’s working.” He teased.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “If it did, you’d see a lot of foul language on that screen.” You looked over at him as he moved to stand next to you.

“Rough day?” He rubbed his hand over your shoulders.

“Rough last few months.” You said sadly.

Bucky frowned. You hadn’t mentioned anything to him about it, always hoping it would pass. “How about I get you out of the house for a couple hours, and you can tell me about it?” He offered you his hand.

You chewed on your lip for a moment, and caved when he fake pouted. “Only because you’re cute.” You took his hand and got up. “And it’ll still be more productive than me just sitting here…” You mused. “Let me go get some shoes on.” You kissed his cheek, giggling at the scruff.

“I love that sound.” He grinned, pulling you close. “How’s Mexican sound? We can try that place that just opened up downtown.”

You scrunched your nose. “Every time we pass it it’s really busy.” You countered. “Can we just go to Bertolli’s and get some pizza?” You batted your eyelashes at him.

“If my girl wants pizza, pizza she gets.” He pecked the tip of your nose before turning you towards the door and giving your backside a pat. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

You were so thankful for Bucky. He could always cheer you up, and always supported you. It meant the world to you. He never made you feel silly for writing for your favorite shows and movies. Sure, he hadn’t really gotten it when you first told him about it, but he came around. Now he would even proofread for you sometimes, or help when you were stuck. He was perfect.

Bucky watched you go for a minute before typing “ I love you. ” on your computer for whenever you went to write again. With a smile, he shut the light off and left the little nook.

“So, talk to me.” Bucky looked at you, sipping his soda. “What’s been going on the past few months?”

Licking some sauce off your lips, you shrugged. “I really haven’t been able to write.” You told him honestly.

“Writer's block? I mean, I can provide some inspiration.” He flirted, wiggling his eyebrows.

You shook your head, chuckling lightly. “Not exactly. I get ideas, plenty of them. I get so excited, but then I sit down…and nothing. When I do write, I don’t finish the story. I’m lucky to finish a chapter.” You explained. “I used to be able to just write, and write, and write. I loved it, and I miss it so fucking much!” It was obvious how frustrated you were, and he remained quiet, letting you get this out. “And I loved the community, too. Ya know? But at some point, I feel that people just stopped reading. I’ll be lucky if just a couple people read, and that hurts. I put so much into my work, but why make that effort if no one cares? I know, I know ‘write for yourself’ or some shit, but all it does is remind me that no one wants to read my work anymore.” You shrugged a shoulder. “It hurts.” You said softly.

He reached over and took your hand. “What you’re feeling is completely valid.” He assured you. “It sucks that they don’t read like they did. It’s also their loss. I love your work.” He smiled. “What do you think I read when I can’t sleep? Or I know you’re napping while I’m on my lunch break?” When your eyes went wide, he chuckled. “Surprised?”

“I am!” You nodded. “I had no idea.” He’d never even hinted! “Do the guys at work know?!” Your cheeks felt hot at the thought of his coworkers- and friends ( your friends!)- knowing.

“You’re fucking adorable.” Bucky beamed. “I don’t think so. I don’t hide it, though.” He shrugged. “But I doubt they’re reading over my shoulder.”

You relaxed slightly at that. “Okay.” You took another bite of your pizza.

“Have you thought about writing a book?” He wondered, making you raise an eyebrow at him. “You’re a really good writer, babe. I think you’d kill it. Or, ya know, your characters.” It was a running joke that you enjoyed murdering your characters a little too much. When he would proofread he would ask which was getting offed.

“Oh, wow. No.” Shaking your head quickly, you hoped that was the end of it. “Writing for characters that already exist is easy. I just come up with scenarios.”

“And you make whoever is reading feel so many emotions. Maybe take your work that you’ve already done, edit it, change some names, a few places, and bam! A book of short stories by a future best selling author.” He grinned, saying it like it was the best idea ever. “Think about it. You have hundreds, if not thousands, of stories to choose from. Hell, some of those stories have a lot of chapters to them. You could flesh those out a bit and have a book.”

Swallowing, you gave him a small smile. “I never wanted my hobby to be my job.” You pointed out. “What you’re saying makes sense, and it could work, but..”

“But? How about you think about it? Don’t try to write for a week or two. Work on other things you like, and we can take a little vacation next weekend. Either you’ll still not like the idea, you’ll love it, or maybe you’ll just miss writing so much that something will come to you.” He encouraged. “Deal?”

After a moment, you nodded. “Deal.” You agreed. “Maybe I’m stuck because I’m trying to force it?” You mused.

Bucky nodded. “That could be it, too.” He gave your hand a squeeze before letting go. “I hope this helps you relax, either way. Let’s enjoy the rest of this pizza, get home, and enjoy a bubble bath.”

You snorted. “I love how you’re all tough but will always be down for a bubble bath!” You grinned.

“Can you blame me?” He chuckled. “I get to relax with my girl.”

“This is the fourth shelter we’ve been to, Buck.” Steve sighed. “We have seen a lot of really cute animals I’m sure she would love.” He went on, hands on his hips, as he faced his best friend.

Bucky shot him a look before it softened. “I just want our first pet to be perfect.” He pointed out.

“Then why am I here, instead of her?” He teased.

“Because our five year anniversary is coming up. I want to propose…and give her a pet.” He finally admitted. “I was gonna tie a ribbon with the ring around the furball’s neck. Or is that stupid? That’s stupid, right?”

Steve’s eyebrows shot up at that. “Is that why you asked Nat and Wanda to take her on a girl’s day today to get ‘pampered’?” He asked. “And no. Not stupid. Kinda surprised you came up with that, honestly.”

“Ha. Ha.” He shook his head. “And technically, I didn’t. Y/N has been writing again, and sure…she still has the violence, and angst that can even make me feel like a 13 year old girl watching the Notebook for the first time…but it’s got so much love in parts now. She wrote out this really romantic scene. Thought I’d recreate it for her. Flowers, a pet, proposing.” He ran a hand through his hair.

“I’m happy for you.” He grinned. “I still don’t get why you won’t tell me where I can read her work, though. You always talk about how good it is.”

He shrugged. “I think she’s worried about you guys reacting badly to it.” He slowly walked through the cages, knowing your heart would break if you were there. You’d want them all. Hell, if he was richer, he would say sure. But he wasn’t rich, sadly. “I’ll talk to her.” He promised, crouching in front of a cage with a white cat on it’s back. “Comfy?” He chuckled, putting his finger through the bars of the cage. As the white cat got up, he smiled, watching it come over to scratch itself on his finger. “I think my girl would love you.” He just felt that cat was the perfect one for them. “Let me go ask about adopting you…” He scanned the tag. “Alpine.” Standing up, he crossed his fingers that it worked out.

“I’m home!” You called out as you walked in the front door. “Something smells amazing in here.” You noted. Hanging up your purse, you toed off your shoes before making your way towards the kitchen.

Bucky stepped out right before you reached it, making you stop. “Meet me in the dining room? It’s almost done, and I want to serve it to you.”

“I think I can do that. If I can get a kiss first.” You said playfully.

“Like I could turn that down. Hopefully more than just kissing later?” He grinned, making you laugh.

Slapping his arm gently, you pecked his lips. “I think that can be arranged…” You flirted.

As you headed towards the dining room, he watched, biting his lip. He was nervous, but excited. Hopefully, he’d be holding you close that night as his fiance. He rushed back into the kitchen to go to the back porch to get Alpine. It had been fun trying to get that ribbon tied, because she kept trying to play with it. Crouching, he scooped her up. “Show time, Alpine.” He scratched her, enjoying how she rubbed against his jaw, purring.

You glanced over when you saw the door to the kitchen open. However, when you didn’t see Bucky, but a fluffy white cat, you gasped. “Hello, there.” You slid off the chair to pet her. “Aren’t you beautiful?” You pet her, missing the ring. Her fur hid it well.

“Her name is Alpine.” Bucky told you, carrying in a glass of wine for you, and a beer for him. “She has something for you.”

Your eyes went to the cat. “Do you?” You giggled. “What would that be?” You tilted your head, trying to figure out what it could be. That’s when it hit you, and you untied the ribbon around her neck. Finally, the ring came into view, falling into your hand. “Bucky?” You looked to your boyfriend.

“Marry me?” He asked, hopeful.

“Yes!” You giggled, getting up to rush over to him. “A million times yes!”

Taking the ring from you, he slipped it on your finger. “I need to thank Stevie. He helped so much with picking the ring, and driving around to find Alpine today.” He admitted, a bit bashfully.

You grinned, admiring your ring. “It’s gorgeous. And really, planning this off my fic?” You giggled.

“I was hoping it would make it that much more special for you.” He wrapped his arm around your waist.

“It really did.” You leaned into him. “I can’t wait to tell everyone I’m marrying the best guy ever!” You had no idea that he had been planning on proposing. “But, for tonight, I want to celebrate with my fiance !”

“Oh my God, I’m so glad you’re home!” You rushed to your fiance.

“Where’s the fire?” He steadied himself as you all but tackled him.

You shook your head. “A story I posted just yesterday has over ten-thousand hits, and everyone loves it!” You were all but bouncing up and down.

“Holy shit, that’s amazing!” He hugged you. “I didn’t get a chance to read it today, clearly. Is it one that I proofread for you?”

“Nope. This was a special surprise I wrote for you.” It was your turn to be a bit nervous. “It’s a short one, so how about you read that while I go finish prepping for dinner?” You suggested. When he nodded, pulling out his phone, you kissed his cheek and rushed off.

It wasn’t even five minutes later when you heard him. “You’re pregnant?!” He exclaimed, clearly excited. You couldn’t wait for so much new inspiration as you created your lives together.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader oneshot #bucky barnes x reader oneshot

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lumenniveus · 2 days

Note

You and Surely-Sims are two of my favorite creators. My game has become so much more stylistically diverse because, even when I think a set of either of yours isn't for me, the quality is so good that I have to at least see it in game... and then I'm ALWAYS inspired. That being said! I was wondering if the art deco set was still a WIP or if it was scrapped. I'll happily wait an actual century for it, no rush (really!), just thought I might have missed something.

Hi you, my ego would like to thank you for the feeding. It's not like that thing isn't big enough already. Let's send most of that love to @surely-sims shall we? She's the mastermind behind the whole project.

Jokes on my expanse aside, it is amazing to get asks like this one. Imposter syndrome and all that, but that's not why you are here.

The art deco / Bioshock set. It is a thing and it still exists. Wanna see my part?

As you all can see I haven't touched these files in a while. Why? It's like art-block. I'm a fully functional (workaholic) adult but every now and then I get stuck with these sets and then the only thing to get past that is to wait. I am honestly so sorry this is taking so long.

But I would rather deliver quality content over quantity. It's bad enough that EA won't let the Maxis devs deliver. I won't fall to that level, and while I can't speak for other creators I believe there are many of us out there who think the same.

The lounge will come. She just takes her time being fashionably late.

#ask #answered

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drabbles-mc · 2 days

Text

Never Been Us

Angel Reyes x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+, language, angst, mentions of character death

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: the way i've been so blocked up and unable to finish fics and somehow i finished 2 in the last 2 days. no idea where it came from but I'm not questioning it. i started and finished this tonight. throwing it out there before i can second-guess myself lmao

When Angel rolled into your driveway and saw your front door open, the first thing that went through him was panic. You’d never been the type that was stupid or reckless enough to leave your front door open. And with the way that things had been going in Santo Padre, what with the club and the cartels and Border Patrol moving in, you were less likely than ever to leave yourself so vulnerable. Hell, lately whenever Angel showed up your door had not only been closed, but also locked.

Putting the stand down on his bike, he left his helmet hanging off the handlebar and started making his way towards your front door. He’d pulled his gun from his kutte before he even had one foot on your front step. He kept his breath trapped in the back of his throat as he clutched his gun tight. He kept it pointed down towards the ground for now, but he was ready for that to change.

He stepped through the threshold, one boot hitting the paper-thin throw rug just inside your door. It hardly muffled the sound. Before he could bring the other half of his body into your house, though, you popped up, quickly coming around the corner.

The sudden nature of both your appearances had you both cursing in surprise. You hugged the box in your hands tighter to your chest as your half-yell turned into a sigh of relief mixed with exhaustion. All of the emotions that just shot through you were evident as ever as you said, “What the fuck, Angel?”

His eyebrows were still practically in his hairline as he tucked his gun back away again. “The fuck you got your door open for? Had me thinkin’ someone fuckin’ broke—” He cut his own sentence off as he really took in the sight of you, the box in your hands that was hastily labeled BEDROOM. “What…?”

The confusion on his face made you unable to keep meeting his eyes. Your gaze dropped to the box you were holding, the seams of cardboard and tape suddenly more interesting than you would’ve ever imagined they’d be. Even though you weren’t looking directly at him, you heard the way he was shifting in the doorway, looking back at your pickup truck. You knew he’d see the other boxes you’d already stacked in the bed of it. You weren’t quite done loading up yet, but you were getting there.

He waited for you to look at him again before asking, “What’s going on?”

There was only one answer to his question, and it was an obvious one. But you knew that if the shoe was on the other foot you’d be doing the same thing—you’d need to hear him say it. Clearing your throat, you gave a shrug that accomplished nothing in terms of softening the blow of, “I’m leaving.”

His frown deepened, confusion transforming into hurt that almost had you rethinking your decision to get the hell out of Santo Padre. “L-leaving? You can’t…you can’t just leave.”

“Angel—”

“Nah,” he shook his head, “nah you don’t get to do that. You can’t just leave. You didn’t even—were you even gonna tell me?”

The lump in the back of your throat felt like it was on the brink of choking you. “Yeah.”

“Before you crossed fuckin’ county lines?”

Tears stung your eyes. “Angel, please.”

He backpedaled out your doorway and back onto your front step. “Don’t do that. Don’t say my name like that, like I fuckin’ matter to you.”

“You do—”

“You’re leaving me. You can’t stand there with your shit all boxed up,” he gestured to you and the bed of your truck, “and try to tell me I fuckin’ matter to you.”

There was no getting out of this argument now. It was an argument you’d been planning to have over the phone, an argument you were hoping would happen when there were more than a few area codes between you. You didn’t want it to be like this—not because he didn’t matter, but because he mattered too much. And you knew that if you had to look into those sad, puppy-dog eyes and tell him that you were leaving, and if you had to tell him why, you just might hang it all up and not leave at all. You couldn’t afford that.

There was no avoiding the argument but you didn’t want to do it while standing there holding a box that had books and trinkets from your bookshelf packed inside it. You slipped past him without a word and walked down to your truck. Angel didn’t follow, hanging back and watching as you set the box on the tailgate and gave it a strong push to send it sliding and landing right alongside the others.

When you walked back past him and into your house, that was when he decided to follow you. He shut the door behind the two of you, following you through your now essentially empty home. It was strange for him to walk through your living room and not see all of your picture frames and plants, the art prints that had covered your walls. You stopped in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter and facing him. You watched him look around, take in the fridge that was no longer covered in magnets and photographs and takeout menus. No more dishes in the sink or drainboard, no more succulents on the windowsill. Seeing it all empty made him remember that you were just renting this place anyway, that you could pack up and leave whenever you wanted. And now you were. Then the hurt and anger swelled up in his chest again.

“Why?” he asked.

You let out a hollow laugh, raking your fingernails along your scalp before letting your arms fall back to your sides again. “You’re really asking me that? This…this town is fucked, Angel. You know that. I know you’ve been waist-deep in your shit with the club but…but that’s the exact type of shit I’m talking about.”

“This town’s always been fucked, querida,” he tried to argue, tried to pepper in a pet name like it would change anything. “What’s so different now?”

The answer to that question made bile creep up your throat. You didn’t think that you could say it to him. Not the real answer, the raw unedited cut of it. “Everything,” you answered, a shake to your voice that was never there when you talked to him.

“C’mon,” he said, tone softer than it had been this entire time as he stepped in towards you. “Don’t leave me like this. Don’t do this to me.”

“This isn’t just about you.”

“No, it’s not,” he agreed. He put his hands on your hips, pulling himself closer to you. His voice dropped to something just above a whisper. “After all the shit we—”

“We?” you cut him off, not yelling but your tone cutting nonetheless. “We? You’re choosing now to start throwing that word around?”

His brows came together, offended and confused. “What’re you talkin’ about? It’s always been us.”

You laughed, a cruel sound as tears prickled along your waterline again. “Oh, has it? It’s always been us?”

“Yeah, what’re you—”

“It’s never been us, Angel. Never. It’s been you, chasing around every girl who stumbles into that clubhouse and then running back to me when you get bored of them. It’s been you going out being reckless with the club and then coming to me when you need someone to patch you up, someone to tell you that you’re right and they’re all wrong. It’s been you coming to me whenever it’s fucking convenient for you.” You pushed him away, a half-hearted shove. “And it’s been me fucking letting you.”

“I—”

“And I would’ve been fine still doing that. You know that? Fucking sad, but I would’ve done it. Would’ve just kept right on pretending that it was enough, or that it was going to change. But then—” you stopped short, still not able to spit the words out. “I just can’t do it anymore, Angel.”

Despite Angel’s lack of ability to really commit, to really let himself be with you in the way that you really wanted, he’d always done his best with what little he had for you. Over the years he’d been your shoulder to cry on, his flannels becoming tissues for you. He’d set you loose in the scrapyard when your anger bubbled up so much that you needed to break something because it was the only alternative you had to hurting yourself or someone else—even gave you the gloves and safety glasses to do it the right way. He’d kept the other side of your bed warm when you were both feeling lonely, making the lines defining what you two were really start to blur.

He’d been there with you through all of that and yet he hadn’t ever seen the emotion saturating your expression now. He’d never seen you so afraid. Your arms were crossed tightly over your chest, fists clenched as tightly as you could manage. Your leg bounced no matter how much you tried to will it to stop. He’d never seen you like this. How had it gotten so bad?

He stepped in close to you again. Placing his hands on the outsides of your arms, he gave you a light, reassuring squeeze. “What’s got you so scared?”

You shook your head, staring down at the floor because you couldn’t make yourself look at him. “I can’t.”

“What?”

“I can’t stay here. I can’t be comfortable here. I’m not…I’m not safe here.”

He brought one hand up to cup the side of your face. His thumb traced gently along your cheek in a way that made your bottom lip tremble. “I’ll always keep you safe, querida. You know that.”

He sounded so earnest but you knew too much now to be able to believe it. You’d tried. God, you had tried so hard to buy into that the last few weeks but you just couldn’t fool yourself. “I don’t.”

“What the fuck happened?”

Tears finally made their way to your cheeks, racing along the lines of Angel’s hand as it remained holding your face. You didn’t want to say it. You didn’t even want to think about it, but it’s all that was playing through your mind. Truthfully, it was the thing that had been playing through your mind every day since it had happened.

You could still hear it so vividly, the sound of him pounding on the door to your house. It hadn’t been his bike engine that woke you up, it was his aggressively frantic knocking on your front door. Looking back you were surprised that he hadn’t slammed it clean off its hinges. You were also surprised that you hadn’t tripped and fallen half a dozen times on your way to the front door from your bedroom because your eyes weren’t fully open and you weren’t anywhere close to fully awake.

“Alright, alright!” you half-shouted from your side of the door. You dumbly fiddled with the locks until they came undone.

Angel practically threw himself through the door. He was haphazardly grabbing for you, leaving for you to try and untangle yourself from his long limbs just to be able to close and lock the door again. You’d hardly heard the click of the lock and he was pulling you tight to him. He had his arms wrapped around you in such a way that you couldn’t even effectively hug him back. You just pressed your cheek against his hoodie, helpless to do anything else.

“Talk to me,” you said, managing to free one of your arms so that you could do your best to return his embrace.

He mumbled something into your shoulder, words that you couldn’t make out. He finally pulled back away from you, far enough so that you could see his face, the smears of blood that disappeared into the coarse hairs of his beard.

“It’s all my fault,” the words fell from his lips, raspy and choked as he repeated the sentence over and over again. “It’s all my fault. I, it’s all my fuckin’ fault.”

“What’s your fault, Angel?”

The sound of you saying his name got him to look at you, tears in his eyes and worry creasing his brow deeper than you thought was possible. His stare was so sad, so intense it had you pinned to the spot. Even when he pulled away from you, you felt like you couldn’t step in close to him again, feet glued to the floor. That was when you saw it, though, all the blood standing his palms and fingers.

You swallowed hard, what little exhaustion had still been clinging to you completely froze away. “Angel, talk to me. What happened?”

He looked down at his hands and then back at you. he knew what you were seeing, could only imagine what you were thinking. “I didn’t—it wasn’t supposed to go down like that. I tried to save her but I couldn’t…”

You finally forced yourself to move. You collapsed the distance he’d put between you. “Who?”

“Gaby,” he forced out, shaking his head in disbelief as he did.

Fear shot down your spine. “What?”

“It’s all my fault,” he said again. “I shouldn’t have—I tried to—fuck,” his voice cracked and he gave up on trying to say anything else.

You had wanted more answers in the moment, but back then you hadn’t been able to ask for them. Instead you cleaned him up. You threw his clothes in the wash. You let him slip underneath the covers next to you and keep you wrapped up so tightly for what little was left of the night that you couldn’t even fall back to sleep. The next morning he was still there, eyes hollow as he made a pot of coffee in your kitchen. That morning he was standing almost exactly where he was standing right in front of you now.

Forcing yourself to stay in the present, you finally said, “You know what happened.”

He shook his head. “I don’t.”

“Everyone’s fuckin’ dying, Angel. I, I don’t wanna be next.”

“Hey, come on now. You know I’d never let that shit happen to you.”

You scoffed, more tears spilling down your cheeks. “I’m sure that’s what EZ told Gaby, too.”

Angel flinched at that, immediately deflating. You had never brought it up again after that night. Neither did he. Weeks went by and the two of you seemingly went back to normal, like that entire night had never happened. But it did happen. Gaby was dead—that part you knew. What you didn’t know, what Angel hadn’t told you, was that EZ was the one who had killed her. Angel blamed himself, especially after EZ had told him what his final conversation with Gaby had been, why he had decided it was the only thing to do. Angel was carrying around all that guilt but he hadn’t been the one who pulled the trigger. That was all EZ. That was all the guy who had promised to keep Gaby safe.

His voice was a whisper as he spoke, like he didn’t even fully believe himself. “This ain’t like that, though.”

“But it is,” you said, voice shaking. “Or it will be. That’s what this town, this world,” you rested your hand on the flash stitched into his kutte as you said it, “does. I can’t keep feeling like I’m on borrowed time.”

He sniffled, trying to stuff his emotions back down where he used to keep them so comfortably. “So you’re just gonna leave, then? Run away?”

You knew he wanted an argument. Being angry was so fucking easy. You didn’t want to give into it. “If it keeps me alive, then yes. I lo—” you stopped and switched course, “I care about you, Angel. But I’m not looking to die for anyone. I’m not…I’m not made for this.”

He was holding your face with both hands now, palms that just a few weeks before had been coated with blood. “Don’t leave me like this. Please.”

“Come with me.” It was your final offer, one you hadn’t planned on extending until the words were tumbling out.

He shook his head. “Don’t.”

“Come with me.” You rested your hands on top of his. “Get out and away from all this shit. We’ll start over.”

“It ain’t that simple.”

You threaded your fingers with his. “It is. Pack up your shit and throw it in my truck. And we’ll leave. That simple.”

He pulled his hands away from yours, stepping back from you again. Shaking his head, he brushed his hand quickly across his eyes—erasing any hint of tears and emotion that had been there until then. “I’m not running just ‘cause you are.”

“Maybe you should. Or maybe,” you shrugged helplessly, “maybe it was never about me—not for you, anyway.”

That gave him pause. He tried to get his expression to harden, give that tough, neutral gaze, but he couldn’t get it quite right. “I shouldn’t’a come here.” He shook his head. “Should’a let you run off with no goodbye the way you wanted.”

“Angel—”

He took another step back, getting himself closer and closer to your front door one stride at a time. “Go ahead, then. Get the fuck out—away from this town, away from me. Fuckin’…fuckin’ go.”

He turned on his heel and kept walking. It took a few seconds to will your feet to move, to go after him. Even with his long strides you were able to catch up before he reached the door.

“Angel.” You stepped in front of him. “Stop.”

You saw the mist in his eyes. Still, he tried to keep his voice sharp. “You’re leaving. No point in me staying here to watch you pack up the rest of your shit.”

You opened your mouth to try and say something else, try to conjure up something that would get him to change his mind. He didn’t let you. Pushing past you, he ripped open your door and stormed out of the house. Maybe it was just as well—it wasn’t as though you were going to come up with a magical string of words to get him to leave with you. Still, the impact of his shoulder slamming against yours hurt far more on an emotional level than it did on a physical one.

Turning, you went out onto the step. Your lip began to quiver as you watched him throw his leg over his bike and get ready to peel off. The sound of the engine seemed deafening, and you wonder how it hadn’t woken you on that night weeks ago. Then it got quieter the farther he rode. Then it was silent again. And all you could do was walk back inside to get the next box, leaving the door open behind you.

Angel Reyes Taglist (If you want to be added to any of my taglits, please let me know!): @withmyteeth @garbinge @darqchilddaydreamz @narcolini @justreblogginfics

@winchestershiresauce @rosieposie0624 @kelpies-shed @beardburnsupersoldiers @proceduralpassion

@artemiseamoon @fanfic-n-tabulous @justazzi @danzer8705 @camelia35

@cositapreciosa @choochoo284 @crowfootwrites

#mayans mc #mayans #mayansmc #mayans fx #angel reyes #angel reyes fanfiction #mayans mc fanfiction #angel reyes x reader #angel reyes x you #x reader #x reader fic #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

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hheaven-sentt · 1 day

Text

meet me in the woods

summary: dreams of the woods and being someone else | leon kennedy x reader

word count: 2.3k

warnings: the softest angst ever, fighting & sparring, mentions of injuries, language, wanderlust, love confessions, unfortunate situations, slightly forbidden romance, krauser mention (i hate that guy)

notes: 'm where have you been?' 'm when are you coming back?' i'm back. i'm alive. i am free from the shackles of college for three months lawd have MERCY | ao3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The kick to the stomach should’ve been something you expected. You’d been calculating his moves the whole time, able to evade them without even thinking because you saw them from a mile away. But he wouldn’t stop talking. That’s always how he got you; opening his mouth and letting pretty words fall out of it. So when he said that the sunlight made your eyes a different shade, a prettier shade, you lost your touch. It was replaced by a boot to the stomach.

You let out a sound you didn’t even know you could make, a rush of air blowing past your lips. You hit the ground hard, half expecting a plume of dirt to come up around your shoulders. Leon is over you in an instant, locking your arms across your chest. He’s grinning. The sun outlines him like a halo.

“Yield,” he says, lips wrapping around his teeth in an obnoxious grin.

“Never,” you say, pushing back against him. You know it won’t matter so much, he’s always been stronger than you.

“You just don’t know when to quit, do you?” he asks, teasing. You notice your legs are still free, remaining unpinned by his. You finally return his grin.

“Never have,” you answer, managing to force your leg between his chest and yours. You plant your foot against him as best you can and give a hard kick. It’s enough to loosen his grip on you, and you’re back on your feet in minutes. You shake the dirt off of your shoulders.

You feel more at ease now, more in control. So long as Leon stays quiet, you might actually win this one. You put the voice in your head to bed, the one that says you’re still going to lose.

Leon tilts his head a bit, grin still hanging on his lips. He squares again, feet shoulder width apart. You could mirror his stance without even thinking. You know his strategies, you know his moves, you know the way his body works. He bounces on the balls of his feet before he swings, it gives him more momentum. He blocks too often with his right forearm, it’s covered in bruises that make it a weak spot. Yes, you know him. That doesn’t always make it easier.

You’re circling one another, waiting for the other to strike. Leon likes to bide his time; he knows you hate going on the offense so he tries to make you, tries to goad you into it. You often fall for it, but you’re trying not to. But he’s still grinning at you, which is mildly infuriating, like an itch you can’t quite reach.

“You’re thinking too much,” he says. You raise a brow. “Are we just going to stare at each other, or are we going to finish this? I’d like to get something to eat, and half the mess hall will be closed by the time we’re done,”

“Then hit me,” you return. “Finish it,”

He lets a breath escape him in what seems like a chuckle. You try to ignore it. “Why don’t you hit me, huh? Why do I have to do all the work?”

“Because when you swing, your balance is off. Makes you easier to topple,”

“You’re a quick learner,”

He rushes you then, throwing a right hook that would most certainly hurt if it were to connect with your jaw. You angle your head back at the right moment, using his forward momentum against him. You slip behind him, spinning on your heel. Before you can regret it, you send a hard kick into his back. The satisfaction rises in your throat when he stumbles. He turns to face you. The sunset is peeking at you over his head. You smile. He laughs as he swings again, and you duck beneath the fist hurtling at your nose. He grunts when he takes a punch to the kidney, but you doubt it even hurt that much. It’s a dance of fists and feet, attempting to land a single blow on the other. You can see the sheen of sweat on his brow, something you try to ignore. If you think about it too long, you’ll be face down in the dirt below. You throw a punch, one that lands hard against the smooth planes of his cheek. You worry it will bruise. You push it down. When you’d first started this, he didn’t care if you bruised. He said it would motivate you to do better.

Use everything to your advantage, even losses, he’d said.

Four hours. Within four hours you had managed to lose every fight against Leon you’d started. They didn’t even last that long, so there was no telling exactly how many you’d lost. A kick to the back of your knees sends you down this time, his forearm coming to rest around your throat. His labored breath is hot against the shell of your ear.

“Yield,” he says. The anger in you is too much.

“Fuck you,” you say, ramming your elbow into his ribs. He grunts, the wave of breath cascading over your shoulder. It gives you enough of an edge to wriggle out of his grasp.

You swing with abandon now, anger and frustration and exhaustion haunting your body and movements like a poltergeist. It’s only a matter of moments before your back is on the ground and his boot is pressing into your chest.

“Yield,” he says again. You grit your teeth, feeling tears resting in your eyes. You will not cry in front of him. With anger and resentment, you hammer your palm into his leg twice, signifying your yield. He relents, allowing you to stand.

“You let your anger get the best of you,” he says, turning you forcefully to dust the dirt from your back. “It makes you sloppy,”

“I’ll show you sloppy,” you say, stepping away from him. He laughs.

“I’m serious,” he says, schooling his features as you look at him. “You need to stamp it out or use it to your advantage,”

“I don’t know how to do that,” you say. Your voice is hoarse from the lump in your throat. Defeat weighs heavy on your bones.

“You will learn,” he promises. “Use everything to your advantage,”

The punch to the jaw is a shock to the system. It wakes you up in a way. You feel that anger coming back, that refusal to accept defeat. With a breath, you swing your leg up, landing a solid kick to his side that knocks the wind out of him. Taking hold of the moment, you land a right hook to his face, which causes him to stumble. You can hardly believe your eyes when he falls to the ground. You stand above him, triumphant.

“Yield,” you say. You’re not even pinning him, just sort of hovering near him, hands on your hips.

He’s grinning at you. It’s not teasing, it’s not to get a rise out of you. It’s the most genuine smile you’ve ever seen on him. Without a word, he taps out. Two hard beats against the ground are like the sweetest melody you’ve ever heard. Even in your exhaustion, you can’t help but thrust your fists in the air in celebration.

“Holy shit,” you gasp, extending your hand to him to help him up. “I actually won,”

When he’s standing in front of you, half drenched in sweat and smiling at you with so much pride, it’s hard to deny how beautiful he is. Constructed by the gods, you might say if he ever asked. You’re laughing, cackling actually, and he grips the sides of your head as he laughs with you. Your nose is bleeding, you can taste the rust on your lips. He brings your forehead to his, celebrating with you even though this was definitely a blow to his ego.

After a few moments of bliss, you realize how close you are and how unprofessional it looks, and you back away. You’re both still grinning as he unwraps his knuckles.

“Don’t let this go to your head,” he teases, dropping the wrappings into the trash. The sun has nearly fully set. “You’re not the heavyweight champion or anything,”

“But, damn, don’t I feel like it,” you muse, smiling so wide that your cheeks hurt. He shoves your shoulder.

“Let’s get something to eat,” he says, grabbing your hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Maybe it is.

The mess hall is practically empty when you arrive, save for a few stragglers and the staff. Your usual seats are open, which is a relief. You feel like you can’t breathe when you set your tray down on the table. Leon sits beside you, like he always does, knocking his shoulder into yours.

“You have not won the war,” he teases. You roll your eyes. “Tomorrow night, you’re going down,”

“Who knows?” you return, sinking your teeth into a hard roll. “Maybe this is the start of your losing streak,”

He grins, stealing a piece of broccoli from your tray. In response, you shove the tray his way, a silent gesture to allow him as many as he would like.

You hate it here. It’s hard and trying, and it often makes you want to run away and live in the woods. But Leon makes it passable. Sometimes, after a particularly hard day, all you want to do is hit him. The thought brings comfort to you, settles it over your bones like a warm blanket. It makes your relationship with him strange, sure, but it works somehow. You hit him, he hits you, you get dinner, and the world can turn again. You don’t remember the last time someone had this effect on you, especially in this way.

Sometimes you wonder, on the days where the woods look like your best option, if he would come with you. Leon doesn’t like it here either, but he’s good at it. He’s good at following orders, he’s good with sparring, he doesn’t lose. He’s the star pupil if you’ve ever seen one. But there’s a part of you that thinks he might follow you. Maybe it would be under the guise of protecting you against bears and other woodland fauna, but you think he might just like an escape. Maybe he would go with simply because it was you.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, knocking his shoulder into yours again. You look at him through your lashes.

“What comes after?” you wonder aloud. He quirks a brow, asking for elaboration. “When we leave? When I am no longer allowed to conquer you?”

He laughs at this. “I wouldn’t go that far,”

“I am David, you were my Goliath,” you say. He shakes his head.

“I don’t know what comes after,” he says. “I’m sure I’ll find a way to knock you on your ass every now and then,”

Something brightens in your chest. “A noble cause,”

“I’m serious,” he says. Your smile falters for a moment. “I think we’ll figure it out. One day, we won’t have to bruise each other anymore,”

“Maybe I’m only doing it to get your attention,” you tease.

“It’s working,”

The statement makes your cheeks flush. “Don’t get sentimental on me now. There’s no place for that kind of talk here,”

He laughs. “You sound like Krauser,”

“Take that back,” you grin. He shrugs, then laughs when you playfully hit his shoulder. He looks around for a moment, gauging your surroundings.

“I meant it,” he says after a while. You look at him. “That we could make it work. Guess I’m sentimental when it comes to you,”

You roll your eyes. “You say that like you’re about to confess your love for me, Kennedy,”

He laughs, a real laugh that rumbles in his chest and warms your flesh. You like when he laughs like this, and you like it even more when you’re the one who causes it.

“Would that be such a bad thing?” he asks. His head is bent toward you, closing you into his space. He smells like dirt and cedar, a scent that you would let choke you.

It wouldn’t be a bad thing if you were anywhere else, anyone else. But you’re not. You’re you and he’s him, and you’re stuck somewhere that bleeds the love out of you one punch at a time. If you were in a coffee shop on a dreary street with a warm mug in your hands to unfreeze them from the rain, it wouldn’t be a bad thing. It would be a wonderful thing.

“Here?” you say. “With me? Yes, that would be a bad thing,”

He grins at you. “Then I’m not confessing my love for you,” he says. “But if we were in the woods somewhere, lost and wandering, I would,”

Your heart hammers in your chest. “In this hypothetical situation, lost in the woods and confessing love, I would welcome your confession,”

The conversation dies with that. You know your days will continue, the secret dream of the woods stuck in your heart somewhere. You refuse to allow that to be beaten out of you. You would spend your life trying to reach whatever woodland he dreamt up.

He walks you back to your bunks, like he always does. There’s something lingering between you, but it’s not a fire worth stoking, not now. His smiles are easy, his jokes even easier, and you allow things to continue as normal. That seems easier.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asks, voice soft and sweet and low. You let it wash over you. You grin.

“Only if you’re prepared to lose again,” you tease. He laughs, a low whisper of air.

And he kisses you, soft and sweet like honey on a sugar roll. Plush against him, you feel like putty, ready to be molded to do whatever he could ever need. When he pulls away, he lingers in your orbit for a moment. Your eyes remain closed, just standing in the feel of him.

“I will not be losing tomorrow,” he says. “I won’t go easy on you,”

With that, he’s gone. He’s never gone easy on you, so it’s not much of a threat. But that doesn’t mean he’s never soft. He’s always soft for you.

#m writes #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil #resident evil fanfic #x reader #leon kennedy #fanfic #my fics

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zukosdualdao · 2 days

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stage kiss

zutara month, day 8: actors au, @zutaramonth

summary: katara just needs to earn enough to make passage to the northern water tribe, so she begins working as a seamstress for an acting troupe in ba sing se. fine enough work in theory, until the leading actress is out sick and katara is asked to step into the role.

other notes: au in which the avatar never returns, and the war is still going on. katara is 16 and just left home, zuko is 18 and let go of his search for the avatar two years ago.

Katara doesn’t believe this is happening.

Well, alright, she mostly does, but. Come on.

All she’d wanted when she came here was to find work that let her earn enough to book passage to the Northern Water Tribe. She had known it would be difficult—her own tribe hadn’t had contact with them in many years, for much longer than she’d been alive—but she hadn’t expected there would be no official transport there when she got to Ba Sing Se.

It had quickly become apparent that her options were to either book passage through a sketchy crowd of characters—sketchy mainly in that she didn’t like the way they looked her up and down, so she’d have to decide which ones she ‘trusted’ the most—or to… purchase a ship herself. And get a crew. And probably learn how to steer it.

She’s still figuring it out.

In any case, she had to earn one way or another, so she was relieved to find the acting troupe when she did, as the director seemed eager for a seamstress right away. Apparently, the last one had quit with barely a word.

Guiltily, Katara does not mention her plans to leave as soon as she has enough money to make passage.

It goes well for several weeks. A lot of the troupe is friendly, if a bit rowdy for her tastes—one earthbending boy has broken so many props she doesn’t know how he hasn’t been fired for it yet—but she’s met some really wonderful people too. Some of the girls her age have taken to talking to her about things like boys and far-off places they’d like to see and makeup and fights with their families, and it makes Katara feel a little choked up. She’d had Gran Gran, of course, and Sokka, and all the little kids she adored and the elders she respected, but she’d never really had someone who was a friend her own age.

The one person she hasn’t made much headway with is a boy a tall boy with dark hair and a scar that clearly came from a burn over his left eye. She’d come to understand quickly that most of the war refugees were blocked off in the lower ring, and they’re in a sort of in-between state, where artisans and food stallers live—it all makes her feel sick to her stomach if she thought about it too hard—but she can’t help but wonder if that’s how he got it.

Zuko, the girls tell Katara his name is. He’s quiet and snappish and glares a lot, only seeming to come alive, to become softer, in those moments on stage when he’s being someone else.

Katara finds herself a little fascinated, despite herself, but it’s nothing to pay any mind to. In the weeks ahead, she’s just got to focus on her work.

It goes well. Until it doesn’t.

“Xiu Bao has fallen ill,” the director says as he implores Katara to take the lead’s place. “We would be ever-indebted to you.”

“But I’m not an actress!” Katara exclaims, feeling her heartbeat grow ever faster.

All she’d wanted was to learn waterbending. Now, she’s being asked to join an acting troupe. Temporarily. But still.

“It’s no matter,” he says. “You’ve seen the play many times over by now—and you don’t have to say the lines exactly,” he adds, a bit urgently. It is, after all, only a few hours until the show is meant to begin. “Just… to the best of your memory.”

Katara purses her lips. She’s not an actress, but her storytelling was well-regarded in a way that always made her proud, if a little squirmy—just like your mother, the elders in her village used to say—so maybe that could translate.

“And I’ll be paid?” she asks.

“Of course,” he assures her. “Yes—thank you, Katara,” he adds, turning heel before she can point out that she hasn’t technically agreed yet.

Probably smart of him.

When she finds herself on stage that evening, made up and in Earth Kingdom robes, she tries to tell herself it’s just like telling a story. Mostly, it works. She remembers the lines surprisingly well.

Something else surprises her, too—the way it barely feels like acting as she stands across from Zuko. His role is still quiet, surly, a romantic lead of few words, but there’s a charm to him, an openness, and she doesn’t know where she possibly draws it from.

It’s near the end of the thing when she remembers with sudden clarity—they’re supposed to kiss here.

How did she find herself in this situation?

When he strides toward her, placing his hands on her waist, Katara’s breath stutters, and that… that isn't acting.

He looks at her searchingly for a moment—does the scene always take this long?—and when she gives a slight nod of her head, he leans forward. Their lips meet, and it feels like the world around them just… stops. His lips are soft and gentle against her own, and from this close, Katara can tell he smells of firewood and cinnamon.

When he pulls back, they rest their foreheads together. Katara breathes in shakily. Zuko is supposed to have a line, Katara’s pretty sure, but he's looking at her with a swell of emotion. The director clears his throat from the front row, and it's only then that Zuko remembers this fact as well.

Katara smiles to herself a little as the scene goes on. Maybe acting wouldn't be such a bad way to earn her keep and save for her travels while she stays here in Ba Sing Se.

#zutaramonth2024 #zutaramonth #zutara month #day 8: actors au #zutara #atla #stage kiss #trying to catch up rip #not super happy with this tbh but ! oh well!#don't ask me how she got to the earth kingdom. she figured it out. shhshsh #my fic

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asleep-in-the-keep-sideblog · 3 days

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Asleep In The Keep-Chapter 29

DPxMHA crossover Fic

Chapter 29: Pt 2: What They’re Planning

Summary: UA has a much needed meeting about Phantom

TW: smoking and addiction

Word Count: 6399

Equal parts dread and relief washed over Shouta at having been kicked off the case. Now he was no longer excepted to hunt the boy like an animal, but at the same time it meant he no longer had access to information that could hurt him. He had no idea what the Commission was capable of and Phantom would be the victim.

Shouta stood on the steps of the Commission, lost. He had failed him for the second time that day. Shouta licked his gums, his body craving nicotine. Instead he pulled out a slice of cinnamon gum and began grinding it in between his teeth rather than chewing it. He could really use some coffee right about now…

He couldn’t go back to the coffee shop. Not only was it closed but Phantom’s words rang in his ear. ‘I just need some time.’ Shouta felt strange for thinking this, but the boy looked so pathetic and small in that moment. He didn’t know anyone could look so much like a child while covered in somebody else’s blood.

Shouta had only seen some of the fight. He was wandering the area in case Phantom decided to go back. There was a weird air in the alley that could not so easily be forgotten. It felt a lot like Phantom. Endeavor beat him to it. Shouta was only a block away when he got the distress signal and was the first on the scene. At first, he could do nothing but stare at the creature on top of Endeavor before he realized it was Phantom. He had never seen him like this and didn’t even know it was possible. Phantom’s voice whispered in his ear, ‘You don’t know me.’

He was right. Shouta didn’t know him, and maybe he never will, but he wasn’t lying when he said he wanted to. It was an easy decision stepping in, even knowing he’ll probably be hurt. Even if Phantom doesn’t forgive him, the kid needs to know that someone was willing to try and not everyone will hurt him. It was worth the black eyes.

Shouta breathed deeply in, his ribs protesting slightly. He kept it in until he felt his lungs burn and his heart start racing. He exhaled slowly, drawing it out till there was nothing left in him. It felt nice.

He sent a quick text to principal Nezu explaining he was kicked. Nezu sent another one back immediately asking him to return to the school for a meeting, as if Shouta hadn’t been to enough of those recently.

Shouta felt a presence behind him and turned around to see Sir Nighteye. The man wasn’t looking at him, pretending to be lost in the night sky. Shouta looked up too, spotting a northern star that was as bright as when Phantom was the center of a storm. ‘How did he feel about the stars,’ he wondered.

“Evening, Sir Nighteye,” Shouta finally acknowledged.

“Evening,” he greeted in turn.

The man was long in all senses of the word. He towered over Shouta by 5in and his arms looked like a broken manakin’s being held together by the sleeve. Phantom had a similar frame, although not as tall. Perhaps he hasn’t stopped growing yet and would still gain those few inches.

He couldn’t stop thinking of Phantom. He hadn’t seemed that injured from the fight, but he could have internal injuries. Honestly, Shouta didn’t know how he was able to stand let alone actually win against Endeavor. He wasn’t known for going easy on whatever stood in his way, even if they were children. Shouta had hoped that by giving Phantom the folder he could see how big of a threat he was and only use the information for when he can’t run. Oh how wrong he was.

Shouta should’ve expected it. You tell kids not to fight someone and then they go hunt that person down. Shouta should do the opposite, maybe then his kids would listen to him.

Sir Nighteye pulled out a cigarette and lighter from his inner suit pocket. The lighter was yellow with All Might’s smiling face on it. Shouta didn’t know that the hero even allowed anything that promoted unsafe habits to use his face in Japan, but knowing Sir Nighteye, he probably got it from the states. Sir Nighteye lit the cigarette without fanfare and deeply inhaled, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. He exhaled and the smoke blew in Shouta’s face, his lungs feeling the slight burn.

Shouta’s thumb and index finger twitched. Sir Nighteye looked down at him and offered him a cigarette, which Shouta took. Habit took over and he placed it in between his teeth. Sir Nighteye held up the lighter and Shouta leaned into it until it lit up the stick. He inhaled deeply, the taste combining with the gum making it even more pungent. It was like burning a foul incense.

“I thought you quit smoking?” it was said as casually as the weather.

“I did,” Shouta took another drag. It had been a while and Shouta resisted the urge to cough. “Hizashi doesn’t like it. He said it’s like kissing a fireplace.”

Sir Nighteye laughed but it was empty and had a bitter tinge in it. He had no one who did the same for him. His sidekicks of course protested, but there was only so much they could do. He had no one to come home to or support him to stop.

“You should consider the same. Those things will kill you.”

“Not before a villain will,” He took another drag and looked up at the sky, his eyes lost in memory.

“Did you see it?” Shouta put the cigarette down and looked at Sir Nighteye.

He didn’t say anything but the answer was clear. A somber silence went between them. They both understood the danger of being a hero. That was why Shouta started teaching in the first place. He had to prepare the next generation for when that happened, because it will. Shouta knew at some point either his kids would be burying him or he would have to bury one of them. Not many heroes made it to retirement, and those who did were the type Stain was hunting. Smoking was a way to take the edge off, but it also saved you a spot in the grave.

“You’re going to UA after this, right?” Sir Nighteye asked.

Shouta side-eyed him. It was possible he had used his quirk on him without his notice.

“I am.” He answered flatly.

“I expected as much,” Sir Nighteye watched for his reaction, “I bet you have a lot of school work to do,” he exhaled smoke in his face.

Shouta nodded. He was speaking in code. It wasn’t safe to talk about Phantom in public, especially on the steps of the commission no less.

“Allow me to join you,” He walked ahead of Shouta and pulled a pair of keys out of his pocket. He hit the button and a yellow car beeped not too far away, “I was headed there already.”

Shouta rolled his eyes but didn’t protest. He smashed his cigarette into the concrete railing that led to the Commission and discarded the rest into a nearby garbage bin. Sir Nighteye did the same, then opened the passenger door for Shouta. They both got in and the silence continued.

Shouta had only had brief interactions with the fellow hero, but never alone. They had always been a part of some type of task force, not entirely dissimilar to the one with Phantom. They were civil and even worked well together, but only in a professional capacity. On the inside, Shouta had doubts about Sir Nighteyes motives. He had information that no one else was able to access. It was indispensable while working towards the same goal, but Shouta dreaded what would happen if they were on opposite sides.

Now they were alone together, probably thinking the same thing about the other.

Sir Nighteye turned on the radio and Shouta heard his husband's voice ringing out, announcing the next song. It was Saturday, so it was very likely that was his actual voice and not a recording. Being a hero and a teacher didn’t leave a lot of time for radio, so Hizashi would do pre-recordings a few times a week and leave the rest to his sidekicks. Shouta was honestly very proud of him. Shouta had struggled with juggling teaching, hero work and sleep. He didn’t know how Hizashi had time for all that plus his show. That’s what passion got you.

Hizashi made a stupid joke, and while Shouta smiled, he was surprised to see the other hero’s mouth twitch.

“Careful, he’s taken,” Shouta teased, but it sounded more like a threat.

“I’m well aware,” Sir Nighteye affirmed, “I just enjoy his comedy, is all. I think it’s important to laugh or find joy when you can.”

“If you like comedy so much, you should find company with Ms. Joke. You could distract her from flirting with me. She thinks it’s funny considering my status,” Shouta rolled his eyes.

The hero let out a small ‘hmm,’ sound, “I’ve only had the pleasure of meeting her a few times, but she was entertaining. Perhaps I’ll take you up on that. If anything she’d be a good ally.”

Shouta wasn’t sure if he was joking or not, but either way it wasn’t his business. The rest of the car ride was in silence, the only voice being Hizashi’s every so often. That just left Shouta’s mind to wander. He was skeptical of Sir Nighteye’s intentions at UA. While he was All Might’s sidekick, the two hadn’t spoken to the other in years. It seemed unlikely the hero was solely hoping to reconnect.

He was probably after information regarding Phantom. Shouta would do the same in his shoes. To Sir Nighteye, or anyone else for that matter, Phantom was only a threat. None of them saw him as the child he actually was. Shouta may not know the kid as deeply as he would like, but he knew a scared child when he saw one. Now he can only hope people will see the same.

They arrived to UA not long after. The school was quiet, which was to be expected since most of the kids were off at internships until Monday, and the teachers that lingered in the halls were busy preparing for the midterms. Shouta had neglected his own class’ midterms, being too busy chasing Phantom. That along with the recent League attacks, principal Nezu had taken over planning for the practical.

The feeling of being watched stabbed into Shouta every step of the way. Sir Nighteye had not stopped following him since entering the school. Shouta watched him out of the corner of his eye before he decided to confront him.

“What business do you have at UA?”

“The same as you, I imagine,” Sir Nighteye responded.

“I’m positive you don’t have homework to grade,” Shouta responded coyly.

“I have as much as you,” Sir Nighteye gave him a look. It was clear he knew why Shouta was really here.

Shouta decided to ignore him, letting what happens, happen. He trusted principal Nezu enough to decide what to do with the hero. They finally made it to principal Nezu’s office, Shouta eyeing the hero once more before opening the door.

Principal Nezu wasn’t the only one inside. Around the large table, sat other teachers. It was only a handful, consisting of Recovery girl, Snipe, Ectoplasm, All Might and Nemuri. The former two weren’t in their hero costumes and looked the most stressed out of all of them. Nemuri, who was usually picture perfect, had her hair in a messy bun and bags under her eyes, probably having been pulled from grading papers. All Might looked like a wet dog, so the same as normal. Shouta thinks it’s impossible for All Might not to look stressed.

The hero beside him inhaled deeply at spotting his former mentor in such a state and a similar reaction went through All Might. The older hero stood up and approached them. He looked awkward and stiff, like a child whose mother sent him to order their food for the first time. Sir Nighteye looked similar, but had broken into a cold sweat at the heroes approaching. When he finally caught up, the two just stared at each other, their mouths open with words they were too afraid to say. It was a little awkward so Shouta moved away, not wanting to invade their privacy.

“Principal Nezu, what is the meaning of this?” Shouta had the impression meetings discussing Phantom would be secret.

“Ah, Mr. Aizawa,” principal Nezu greeted, “and it seems you brought a guest?” Principal Nezu looked over at Sir Nighteye before his gaze drifted back to Shouta. Shouta didn’t get the chance to respond before principal Nezu cut him off, “No matter. The more the merrier!” He laughed.

Everyone at the table looked uncomfortable. It was bad enough to be discussing such a delicate topic, but to have an outsider's eyes on them made it more violating.

“Now we’re only waiting for one more person…”

Shouta looked around the room wondering who could be missing. The door opened behind him and he saw the flushed face of his husband. He had clearly run from the studio and he still had a pair of headphones on. Shouta smiled at seeing him before he realized how he had looked himself.

Hizashi’s eyes widened at seeing Shouta, more specifically the brace around his nose and black eyes. He had told him that he had a small altercation but not that he was hurt or by who. He was going to, but he was under observation by the Commission. Shouta tried to look away, to hide his face, but Hizashi rushed over to him and held him. He gently placed his hands on Shouta’s face, careful not to touch any of the bandages. Shouta looked up at him, an uneasy almost shameful feeling welling up inside him. He didn’t regret stepping in, but seeing his husband’s scared face made him want to go back.

“You can’t keep doing this Sho…” Hizashi whispered breathlessly, placing his forehead to his.

Shouta took his hands and led them further away from the heroes. The other heroes were purposely ignoring them except Nemuri, who watched with a smile that rivaled a cat’s.

“I’m fine, Hizashi.” Shouta tried to soothe. He had put his husband through so much the last few weeks with both the USJ attack and now this. Before, it was rare for Shouta to get hurt, his enemies not even being able to see him coming. “It’s nothing Recovery Girl can’t fix.”

“That’s not the point,” Hizashi looked down at their hands, “How long are you gonna keep doing this? This isn’t just about Phantom, but you. You can’t keep burning both ends. That’s how you make mistakes and a random villain can get the jump on you like this.” He sighed and raised Shouta’s hand to hold his face. He had such big puppy dog eyes, it was hard not to feel bad.

“You’ve been hunting this Phantom kid nonstop for the last two weeks. You haven’t been this obsessed over in a case in a while. I don’t want to see you like that again.”

“I haven’t been hunting him down,” Shouta defended, “I just need to help him before the Commission gets him.” There was a difference.

Hizashi looked sad again, and kissed Shouta’s hand. Shouta had put him through so much. It had been days since they’ve even talked to each other for more than a few minutes. He was just so focused on Phantom that he had neglected everything else in his life.

“We should talk about this later,” Shouta pulled away and Hizashi looked more hurt. “I’m taking a break from finding Phantom, so you don’t have to worry so much anymore.”

Hizashi gave him a small smile but it was clearly forced. Deep down he knew it wasn’t for him, but because something else must have happened. He leaned closer to Shouta and gently kissed him. When Hizashi loved something, he loved something passionately and deeply, people were no different. They became a part of him as much as he did them. Sometimes, Shouta didn’t think he deserved it.

Hizashi pulled away from Shouta slowly, his eyes still sad, “Have you been smoking, again?”

A look of disappointment graced his face but it was clear concern was the dominant emotion. Shouta looked away again as an admission of guilt. Hizashi breathed in deeply.

“It’s okay,” he moved Shouta’s face to his again, “we’ll talk later. I’ll have you for the rest of the weekend.” He winked flirtatiously, but it was a mask to hide what he truly felt. They still had a meeting to get through.

They walked back to the table with the rest of the heroes and sat next to each other, holding hands under the table. Sir Nighteye and All Might were also sitting close and seemed to be whispering something, or more of Sir Nighteye was whispering while All Might quietly listened. He was probably getting lectured about his health.

“And with that, we can proceed,” principal Nezu announced.

The heroes all sat up straighter and looked to Nezu. Despite having a chair that made him the same height as the others, he stood on the table like a centerpiece.

“As some of you may know, Mr. Aizawa has been tasked with investigating Phantom since the Stain incident.”

All the heroes looked at him. Hizashi and All Might were already aware, so their faces betrayed nothing. Sir Nighteye on the other hand looked enraged.

“This whole time!” He stood up. He looked surprised at his own outburst for a second before sitting back down. “Excuse me,” he fixed his glasses, “That should’ve been expected. It is a public secret of the rivalry between UA and the Commission.”

“Of course,” principal Nezu took over the meeting again, “We don’t believe that the Commission would be well suited for someone as special as Phantom. Besides that, we can’t let a child that clearly wants to be a hero go un-mentored, now can we?”

“You cannot be serious…” Sir Nighteye sighed, “and I thought the Commission was delusional.”

“Not at all. We believe he would be a valuable addition to UA. Mr. Aizawa,” He looked towards the hero again, “Would you mind sharing what you’ve found?”

Shouta stood up and swallowed a lump in his throat, “Yes. As principal Nezu said, I have been investigating Phantom since his first sighting. Thanks in large part to the students being at internships, I have been able to dedicate all my time to this task. As I’m sure principal Nezu made you all aware, Phantom is not a vigilante group but rather one person with multiple quirks. The reason behind this remains unconfirmed,” Shouta looked over at principal Nezu before continuing, “The process has been slow since Phantom has been able to move much more quickly, thanks to one of his quirks, to get any solid leads other than witness statements. However, I’ve noticed he has stayed around the same area since he came to Musutafu.”

“The Hero Commission was able to confirm as much,” Sir Nighteye interrupted.

“If you allow Mr. Aizawa to speak, I’m sure he would have gotten to that.” Principal Nezu chastised with a smile. Sir Nighteye frowned but didn’t say anything.

“Yes, I was getting to that. A few nights ago, Phantom had an… altercation with the heroes Mt. Lady, Kamui Woods, and Death Arms. The latter is in critical condition with both his arms broken and burned by Phantom.” Gasps were spread throughout the room. They all had heard rumors through the Hero network, but hearing it made it more real.

“I arrived on scene after Phantom had already left, but was able to collect a few samples and even got a report from an informant. It detailed his quirk and general appearance.”

“Did you get any results from the samples?” Sir Nighteye asked.

“I believe I can answer this one,” principal Nezu said in a sing-song tone. He pulled a remote out of his pocket and a holo-projection lit up in the middle of a table. “Rattus norvegicus, better known as a common brown rat.”

“A rat?” Hizashi spoke for the first time this meeting.

“Yes, a rat.” Principal Nezu confirmed. No one commented on the elephant in the room.

“So did he kill this rat?” Sir Nighteye asked.

“Why would Phantom kill a rat?” Nemuri asked next.

“It was already dead when Phantom melted it.” Principal Nezu clarified.

“Wait, he melted it?!” Nemuri shouted, surprised. Even Shouta was surprised by that.

“I think I need to establish a few things,” Shouta spoke up, “The sample I pulled was from a crater in the ground separate from the fight. In the report it said that he was looking at something on the ground before the heroes attacked him.”

“Ah, you figured that whatever it was had to be important to Phantom in some way.” Sir Nighteye connected.

“Indeed. Turns out it was just a rat.” Shouta shrugged.

“Not so fast,” principal Nezu interrupted again, “If it was indeed just a rat, why would Phantom melt it? There would be no reason to. I believe that the rat had some kind of emotional effect on Phantom, and that was why.”

“What kind of emotional effect could a dead rat have?” Shouta questioned.

“Maybe he saw himself in the rat?” Hizashi commented. No one said anything.

“Regardless,” principal Nezu continued, “we were also able to collect a sample from the rat that was similar to Ectoplasm’s plasm, as it were. I was hoping you would be able to give us some insight into this, along with some of Phantom’s other quirks.”

Principal Nezu switched slides again to one with a complete list of Phantom’s suspected quirks. Most of them were from the Stain and hero report along with Shouta’s own investigation. There were about 8 total and only had a few lines detailing their uses or perceived limits: ice/cold manipulation, flight, limited invisibility & intangibility, and limited electricity. There was an entire paragraph about Phantom’s body itself and how they believe it to be made of ectoplasm, similar to Ectoplasm’s clones or a villain All Might had fought last year. It hid the fact he was able to manipulate his appearance. The list wasn’t perfect and there was always the chance some was missing. The slides neglected any information about All For One, as some of the people in the room weren’t aware of his existence. The list still was definitely concerning. Most of the Nomu’s they’d encountered till now only had 4 before they started to break down and turn unstable.

Hizashi whistled and the other heroes had more visual reactions at reading the list. Nemuri had almost spit out her tea and other heroes' eyes looked like they would pop out of her head.

“Hmm,” Ectoplasm thought for a minute, “I can understand why you decided to show me this. While most on the list are feats my clones are not able to do, they do share qualities. Like ice and electricity for example. Ectoplasm naturally has a low temperature, and on a good day, I’ve measured mine to be around 0C°. It is also a fairly good conductor as well. These traits are nowhere near powerful enough to be labeled as separate quirks, but I can see how his body might have adapted to handle those two quirks.”

So All For One didn’t choose these quirks randomly, but rather because he knew about the properties of ectoplasm already. Shouta believed that Ectoplasm’s quirk was unique, or at least very rare. How could All For One know that much about it in the first place? There were also the warehouses and underground bunkers to consider. The Nomu’s were floating in a green liquid that now under new context seems to have been ectoplasm. Principal Nezu hadn’t given him the results of the tests and for some reason seemed to be hiding it. There were so many questions that buzzed in Shouta’s mind. First being how much did principal Nezu truly know about Phantom and All For One, and second, how did All For One get so much ectoplasm?

“Anything to comment, Mr. Aizawa?” Principal Nezu asked from across the table.

“No,” Shouta shot down, “Only thinking.”

“As for melting a rat,” Ectoplasm paused to think, “Ectoplasm is a very acidic material. When I first started out, I had to go through a multitude of costumes until I found one that didn’t break down after a few uses. The one I currently use is made up of my cells, the same as Mirio Togata’s costume. It’s not hard to imagine it being able to break down a rat or other organic material.”

“Ah! Thank you for the insight, Ectoplasm,” principal Nezu praised, “Now let's hear more from Mr. Aizawa.”

“Right,” Shouta thought for a moment to remember where he left off, “After the hero altercation, I was called into the Commission to join a task force against Phantom along with Sir Nighteye,” he nodded at the hero, “their representative informed us that we would be tracking Phantom using a device that they developed. Apparently, they were able to track down a type of radiation specific to him. The method isn’t perfect since the same radiation spikes around large clusters of mutant holders or in places where quirks are used a lot. They even listed UA as an example.”

“That just means we can hide him here better,” principal Nezu countered.

“That’s what I thought of when I heard it, too.” Shouta agreed. “My only worry is the effect of the radiation. It can cause increased appetite, emotional dysregulation and a short burst of quirk power.”

“So puberty, basically?” Hizashi joked.

“I’m sure it will be no issue since they said UA had similar readings as Phantom. If it does turn out to be a problem, we can look into containing it somehow.” Principal Nezu reasoned.

“My god,” Sir Nighteye whispered sharply, “You really are delusional! This isn’t a class pet that you put newspaper down for. This is an unpredictable, possibly unstable overpowered teenager that has a history of attacking heroes. Just look at what he did to Eraserhead!” He gestured at the hero across from him.

The room went silent once more. Hizashi squeezed his hand but looked at him in hurt betrayal.

“Sho,” he said softly, “what does he mean by that?”

Shouta breathed in deeply to prepare himself, “A few hours ago, Phantom attacked Endeavor.” He let the words sink into the air.

“PRINCIPAL NEZU, IS THIS TRUE?!” All Might briefly transformed then reverted back in an instant, blood coming out of his mouth. He looked like he would fall over. Sir Nighteye helped steady him and they both sat back down.

“I was vaguely aware of the situation but was not able to get a full report on it yet.” He confirmed.

A somber mood settled into the room. Something uneasy wafted in from those words at the implications. The other heroes realized what they were up against. Shouta wanted to stand up and defend Phantom. They had no idea what actually happened or what Phantom was like, but he was in a difficult position.

“I was able to break up the fight between him and Phantom, but in doing so got caught in the crossfire,” Shouta explained. He tried to sound as matter of fact as he could.

“I was there, too,” Snipe stood up. He took off his hat as if he were paying respects at a funeral. “I got there after he had already struck Eraserhead. The boy didn’t make any other moves, but I did have to fire a few warning shots.”

“You scared him off is what you did!” Shouta couldn’t help himself. He had failed that boy over and over again, he couldn’t fail him again.

“Sho,” Hizashi tried to soothe him but Shouta didn’t listen.

“None of you saw him. He was clearly disoriented and wasn’t acting like himself,”

“And you know him so well?” Sir Nighteye asked, suspicion laced his voice like poison.

Shouta bit his lip, thinking what to say, “Before I was recruited into the task force I had…

brief run-ins with him and had gotten to know his character.”

“You what?!” Sir Nighteye exploded. He slammed both his hands on the table shaking everyone’s drinks, “Why didn’t you tell the Commission? We could’ve avoided this whole ordeal in the first place and be done with him!”

“And let the Commission do god knows what to an innocent kid?” Shouta returned the same energy. Hizashi grabbed his arm to get him to sit back down but Shouta didn’t back down.

“He is not innocent!” Sir Nighteye rubbed the bridge of his nose, “Need I remind you how many heroes he attacked? You are a part of that number now, I cannot understand why you’re trying to protect him!”

“He was just scared!” Shouta bit back, “We have been hunting him since Hosu. He doesn’t know who we are or what our intentions are. He was defending himself!”

“And that gives him the right to just beat up whoever he wants? What if he does the same to another hero who can’t handle it! Or god forbid a civilian!”

“Phantom wouldn’t do that! In all his vigilante reports, he never used excessive force against the Villains! Just enough to knock them out.”

“Just like Endeavor?!”

“Endeavors was probably hitting just as hard. You wouldn’t be saying the same thing about him if Phantom was the one on the ground.”

“You’re right, I wouldn’t,” he had a frantic look on his face, “Because Endeavor is a hero and Phantom is a villain. Endeavor has the right to do whatever it takes to take him down. Simple as that.” Sir Nighteye said it with finality.

“He doesn’t,” Shouta seethed, “Phantom is just a scared confused kid with too much power. He needs someone to help him, someone to show him that not everyone will hurt him! Not some hero on a power trip with no restraint!” Shouta barked out.

“And that’s what we are trying to do at UA,” principal Nezu interrupted, seeing no end to the argument. Both heroes slowly sat back down, but were glaring daggers at each other.

“Principal Nezu,” Sir Nighteye spoke up again, “I cannot in good conscience help you with whatever you are planning, but if you do manage to succeed,” he sighed, “Give me a call. I will lend you use of my quirk and see the ramifications of such a decision.” He looked tired.

“Consider it done,” principal Nezu laughed. “Anyone have any questions?”

All Might raised his hand and stood up, “What if we are able to capture Phantom?”

“Then we will treat him like any other student,” Principal Nezu answered.

“Yes, but what about,” All Might’s voice went quiet, “The League?”

He was referring to All For One, but nobody could know that. How would the villain react if he found out that UA had his supposed son? What lengths would he go through to make sure he gets him back?

“I am planning on implementing a dorm system at the school to make sure our staff and students are safe from all outside threats. It will be designed specifically to keep them out and ensure the safety of our students.”

“Will that be enough?” Nemuri asked.

“It will have to.”

“I have just one more question,” All Might stood up, “Why are we doing this? Why go through all this trouble for a kid who might be the end of us?

“Because that is the best outcome for Phantom, and for us. Would you rather the Commission hold him? The League? We have no idea what their plans are for that boy, but it’s obvious neither should be trusted. Here, we can at least provide him support and guide him to a better tomorrow. It’s clear the boy needs help and some sort of counseling. He is just another victim in this like any of our other students. Principal Nezu smiled, “you said it yourself, All Might, ‘because saving someone is the always the right thing to do.’”

All Might sat back down, defeated by his own words.

“If that’s all?” Principal Nezu looked around the room but no other hero moved to ask anything. “Now that you know the stakes, we can discuss how to proceed. If Endeavor taught us anything it’s that we have to be more careful in how we approach Phantom. If you see him, act friendly but not overwhelmingly so. He cannot see you or UA as a threat, so no more ‘warning shots,’ hmm?” he looked to Snipe, “Phantom is not someone who you can force into doing something he doesn’t want to. Right now, Mr. Aizawa has the best chance at recruiting Phantom, so it’s best to keep your distance and support him if you can.”

With that, the meeting was over, but it didn’t feel like they accomplished anything. Sir Nighteye was the first to exit the room, not even looking back at All Might. Nemuri went along with the other teachers when it was clear nothing more was to be said. They all still had preparations to make.

Recovery Girl walked over to Shouta and Hizashi, who still clung to him like a lifeline. Shouta really didn’t deserve him. He owed him a long talk and explanations. Right now though, he would just take pleasure in his company.

“Are you okay, sweetie?” Recovery Girl asked. She had a look of concern on her that said it went beyond his physical injuries.

“I’m alright,” Shouta said, “just tired and sore.”

“Your injuries probably aren’t helping, huh?” she cocked her head, “Well I can help with the soreness but I’m afraid I’ll only make you more tired.”

“Thank you, Recovery Girl,” Shouta bowed and leaned down so she could kiss his forehead.

A rush of air filled his lungs and Shouta was able to breathe clearly again through his nose. Not only that, but some of the muscle and leg pain from the last few days went away. She was truly the gem of the school.

She smiled, happy to be able to help him if only a little, “You better get some rest now,” she warned.

“Trust me,” Hizashi stared him down, “He will. He has a few weeks to make up for.”

Recovery Girl laughed at the threat and waddled away. Shouta and Hizashi both stood up, ready to make the short journey back home and just rest together. Shouta needed to buy Hizashi CDs and whatever takeout he wanted for the next month for putting up with him.

His mind idly went back to Phantom. Shouta still worried about him but he would make due on his promise to give the boy time. Phantom had his number and address after all. He will come to him when he’s ready and not because he’s forced to. This would be alright.

~🥇~

Only principal Nezu and Toshinori were left in the room. So much has happened in the last hour that Toshinori was still trying to screw his head back on. Not only had he been reunited with his former sidekick (an event he’d thought he’d never live to see), but he had learned so much about Phantom than he had ever hoped before.

Guilt weld up inside him when he thought of the young boy. He was another one of All For One’s victims but at the same time it was hard to look past the family resemblance. Toshinori had to remember that the first user was All For One’s own brother and was just as much a victim as the boy. Still, it was hard to separate the two of them. Phantom attacking Endeavor just complicated matters.

Before, he could almost imagine the boy as a little kid in the corner of a cell, scared of every outside noise and face. But now? Now Toshinori knew that wasn’t the case. Everytime he thinks of Phantom he sees the cell’s bars pulled and blasted apart like a violent criminal escaping. Adding in his unstable nature, he was a bomb about to explode.

Toshinori was worried for Aizawa as well. While they weren’t overly friendly, they were still colleagues (he even tried to get closer to the hero but with little success). The hero had gotten too attached over someone who could so easily hurt him. Phantom had already hurt him, but he was still so intent on saving him. It went beyond what a normal teacher would do for a child, let alone a child who wasn’t even his student. Aizawa wasn’t a normal teacher though. When he saw a kid, he accepted that kid as his responsibility and would do anything it took to save them, even at the cost of his life. It was such an obvious cry for help and projection of his own failures.

Toshinori had heard Aizawa lost a friend when he was barely older than young Midoriya. That’s why Aizawa had to try so hard for his students, even at the cost of everything.

“What are you really planning with Phantom?” Toshinori asked principal Nezu. He was almost scared to say it.

He couldn’t help but question the principal’s motives. He kept too many secrets hidden, even with people who were concerned or who needed to know. Perhaps it came from the paranoia and fear that he’ll end up on the dissection table again.

Nezu had his back to him and was organizing papers on his desk. He turned around and still held onto that smile that had only ever dropped a few times, but his eyes were completely blank and had a manic edge to them. Toshinori had seen that look many times and it never failed to unnerve him.

“What am I planning?” Principal Nezu said in a sing-song voice, “I’m going to have him take down the Commission, of course!”

#danny phantom #dp #dp fic #danny fenton #dp x bnha #dp crossover #mha #dp cross #boku no hero academia #bnha #mha aizawa #aizawa #present mic #eraserhead #hizashi yamada #erasermic #yamada #asleep in the keep

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