#and to not wake up to the entire kitchen trashed right after i fucking deep cleaned everything

[fxckinemo]

bruh i just wanna make enough money to have a recreational budget

[bensolosbluesaber]

Returning a Favor (Zemo x Reader fic)

TFATWS Ep. 4 Spoilers!!

Summary: When your old friend, Sam Wilson, needs your help in Riga you drop everything and go. You knew they broke Baron Helmut Zemo out of jail, but you didn't expect to bond with the villain. (AKA: I thought getting hit in the face by the Shield would at least leave a bruise. Here's how that would go down with a fourth person.)

CW: Blood, wounds, some creepy behavior (not from Zemo), a few Y/N inserts

No smut yet, just cute cuddles and taking care of each other. Maybe smut in the future though! Let me know if you want a Part 2 or added to a tag list for potential future fics! I think the reader can be any gender; I tried to write it that way and be inclusive, but please tell me if I messed up!

If you know me in real life, no you don't:) I write most of my fics on @aurora521 and write on AO3 and fanfiction.net under the same name. Please don't come for me about finding Zemo attractive.

Hope you enjoy!

---

Returning a Favor

Meet me in Riga. -S

That was the text you received from Sam Wilson, your old military friend, yesterday. And now here you are, outside the Riga airport walking toward Sam in traditional undercover superhero attire- a baseball hat and sunglasses.

“Thanks for coming,” he greeted. “We have a little problem.”

“Is his name Baron Helmut Zemo by chance?” You asked, following him to a jet black sports car.

You were very aware of just what type of trouble Sam was getting himself into since you, a SWORD agent, still had access to all kinds of classified information.

“See for yourself,” Sam muttered, gesturing to the back door of the car and climbing in the driver's seat himself.

You hesitated for a moment, then opened the door and slid into the back. And yes, Zemo was there, lounging back with legs spread. He’s wearing a long coat with fur lining, a deep purple shirt, black pants, and shiny leather shoes. He nods to you and smirks ever so slightly. Bucky Barnes, who you had only heard about but recognized immediately, turns from his spot in the front seat and smiles at you.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Y/N,” he says.

“And I you,” you respond.

Sam pulls out of the parking lot with a screech of tires. The ride is mostly silent, Sam and Bucky bickering occasionally. That made you smile, knowing that as much as Bucky annoyed Sam, this was the type of relationship he craved. Zemo watched you the entire drive, sizing you up.

The home they’re staying at is obviously the Baron's. He’s comfortable there, leaning against the counters, rifling through cabinets, lounging on the couch.

“So what am I doing here?” You finally asked.

The three men interact easily, and either Sam or Bucky is always watching Zemo. There’s no real need for a fourth person to get involved, at least not in your mind.

“Someone needs to babysit the Baron,” Sam explained with an annoyed sigh.

Zemo shrugged with a smirk so innocent it’s sinister. He’s still wearing that ridiculous coat.

“The two Avengers can’t handle him?”

“I believe your friends find it challenging to be around me,” Zemo answered for Sam.

“You shot a man in the head yesterday!” Sam snapped. “You antagonize Bucky at every turn. Forgive us for needing a break from whatever is happening in your fucked up head.”

Zemo tilts his head as if agreeing with everything Sam had just said.

“Anyway,” Bucky interrupted. “We have a lead on Karli. You can sleep off some jet lag while we’re gone, but starting tonight it’s your turn to keep track of him.”

You settled into a small bedroom. The moment your head hit the pillow, you fell asleep. At home it’s nearly ten at night; here it’s midday.

The trio is back all too soon, heralded by a slam of a door, and you force yourself to wake up to adjust to the time change as rapidly and effectively as possible. As you open the door to the living room, Bucky is stalking toward Zemo. He grabs the teacup from Zemo’s hand and hurls it against the wall.

“You wanna see what someone can do with leverage?” Bucky growled, staring at Zemo with an unnerving glint in his eyes.

“Take it easy. Don’t engage him,” Sam jumped up and grabbed Bucky’s arm. “He’s just gonna extort you and do that stupid head tilt thing.”

Bucky’s face softened slightly. Zemo stops tilting his head.

“Let me make a call,” Sam says and walks away.

“You want some cherry blossom tea?” Zemo offers Bucky with a mocking tone.

“No. You go ahead,” Bucky hissed, and after a moment of staring, he followed Sam out of the room.

You had watched Zemo for that entire exchange, noticed the slightest flinch and hint of fear when Bucky had grabbed that cup. The moment the other two men are gone and Zemo thinks he’s alone, he pours himself another cup. His hand is steady, but he draws a sharp, unsteady breath.

You move out of the room, and Zemo looks up at you from his spot on the couch. Without a word, you walk into the kitchen, taking a roll of paper towels and carefully picking up the shattered glass.

“I can do that,” Zemo says, speaking directly to you for the first time.

His voice is calm, accent thick.

“It’s alright,” you answer, then gasp sharply as a piece slices your pointer finger from tip to palm. “Fuck.”

You set the bloody piece with the pile of glass and hold a paper towel to your hand. You used the other hand to wipe tea off the wall and floor before picking up the glass piled on a paper towel and placing it in the trash, carefully tucked in other garbage.

“Let me.”

Zemo’s voice behind you makes you jump. You eye him for a moment wondering if there is some ulterior motive, some way he could hurt you or hold you hostage. Nothing comes to mind, not with Sam and Bucky so close, so you hold out your bleeding hand. He clicks his tongue at the wound.

When he takes your hand in his, his fingers are soft and warm. He moves your wound under a faucet and lets water run, rinsing the blood down the sink. He squeezes the wound a bit, and you wince as it begins to bleed more.

“We bleed to clean our wounds. It is the body’s way of protecting itself,” he says and presses a towel to your finger as he shuts off the water. “Ironic isn’t it. The very thing meant to protect us from future danger, often kills us first.”

“I’m not here to debate the ethics of superheroes with you.”

“Hold that,” he lets go of your hand and opens another cabinet. “I know how I feel about enhanced humans. There is nothing for me to debate.”

Zemo takes your hand back in his. You watch his face as he works. He uses his mouth to remove the wrapping from a butterfly bandage. The bleeding has slowed, and he uses the bandage to pull your torn skin back together. The cut isn’t terrible, certainly not the worst injury you’ve ever had, but it will scar. He adds two more strips, then places an absorbent pad over it and wraps it all in gauze.

“When we get back, I’ll change that for you.”

“I’ll hope you don’t get killed then,” you offer with a grateful smile.

He doesn’t respond but gestures to you to join on the couch. You do, keeping what you feel is a safe distance between the two of you. Zemo hands you a cup of warm tea, but as you grab it, he doesn’t let go. Your undamaged fingers brush his for a long moment and he chuckles.

“Promise not to take after your friend James? I quite like this tea set.”

Your eyebrows knit together as he smiles at his own joke and finally surrenders the cup to you. That’s the last words you two exchange, and when Bucky and Sam return ready for the next part of the mission, they find the two of you sitting in silence sharing a pot of tea.

___

When the three men returned, Sam and Bucky held an unconscious Zemo between them. You jumped off the couch, the book you had been reading discarded, and let them lay Zemo down.

“What happened?”

“John Walker,” the two men answered in the same disgusted tone.

You leaned over Zemo, finally seeing the blood and bruise on his right temple.

“This one disappeared for a few minutes, shot Karli-”

“Didn’t kill her,” Sam interrupted, sounding relieved.

Much like Sam, you sympathized with Karli’s motives if not her methods. And much like Sam, you were glad she hadn’t died.

“Then Walker knocked him out with the shield,” Bucky finished.

There was no jab at Sam this time for which you were grateful.

“Which is the only useful thing he did,” Sam added. “Zemo destroyed the rest of the serum, so right now he’s above Walker in my book.”

You looked down at Zemo, blood had dripped down his face and neck, though most of it was dried now. His eyelids twitched as he slept.

“Are you two okay?” You asked as you walked toward the bathroom.

“Fine. We ditched Walker, but we’ll need to get out of here as soon as we figure out what to do with Karli,” Sam answered, collapsing on the couch with a heavy sigh.

You dampened a washcloth in the bathroom and on your way back to the living room, grabbed the first aid kit Zemo had used on you earlier.

“What are you doing? He’ll be fine,” Bucky muttered.

He was sitting next to Sam now.

“Returning a favor,” you answered as you knelt at Zemo’s side.

You dabbed at the drying blood with the cloth, wiping it off his cheek, out of his hair. Somehow the coat came out unscathed. Sam and Bucky were talking about something behind you, but you were entirely focused on the unconscious man.

Zemo had a handsome, aristocratic face, and he walked like royalty, like he was untouchable. This was evidence he wasn’t.

You moved to the actual wound next. The cloth was soft, unreasonably so. A large hand wrapped around your wrist, squeezing tightly. You inhale sharply and shift your gaze to Zemo’s hand then his eyes. When your eyes met his, he seemed to relax, releasing you and letting his hand fall at his side.

“Apologies,” he grunted, mouth twitching with pain.

“It’s alright,” you answer calmly, very aware that the other men had stopped talking and were fixated on a potential threat. “Turn your head please.”

You put a hand on his cheek and turned him to face you to get a better look at the wound that was still seeping slowly.

“The new Captain America might force me to reconsider my stance on superheroes. I would enjoy seeing Sam and James have a go at him,” Zemo said as you prod the wound.

You wiped the cut with antiseptic, and Zemo hissed a bit at that but said nothing. Then, just like he had done to you, you placed three butterfly bandages on the cut. It wasn’t deep, just long and jagged.

“You’re my new favorite,” he joked with a little grin.

You laughed and walked to the kitchen for some ice. There were no packs, so you grabbed a bag of frozen peas, wrapped them in a towel and set it gently on Zemo’s temple.

“I can’t have you dying when I need this changed tonight,” you said, holding up a finger.

When you turned around, Sam and Bucky had both stretched out on the couch. They both wore annoyed expressions that Zemo got a whole couch and they got one to share. Bucky bumped Sam’s foot with his own, much to your amusement and Sam’s annoyance. He kicked his partner back, and you decided not to interrupt their little couples spat. Instead, you move to sit on the ground.

Zemo grabbed your wrist again, this time gently. He tucked his legs up, folding them into a V, and motioned you to share his couch. And you did, sitting in the same spot you had earlier, this time near his feet still clad in shiny black leather shoes.

“Hey, you two,” Sam called. “What’s this cozy little couch situation going on here?”

“You two could have a cozy little couch situation too if you’d just talk to each other,” Zemo shot back.

He didn’t even look at Sam, just held the frozen vegetables to his face, eyes closed.

“Y/N?” Zemo asked after a moment. “Can you get me an Advil? Or better yet, some sort of alcoholic beverage?”

“I’m not your servant, Zemo,” you sighed but stood and poured him a glass of some expensive alcohol from a bottle with Sokovian writing.

He sipped it, setting it on his chest between sips as he lounged on the couch with you. Bucky was watching you out the corner of his eye, and you were watching Zemo. Every few sips he would grimace, his lips pressing together and chest catching. Then he’d relax, exhale softly and shift the peas back into place. Eventually you picked up your book and began to read again.

Sam left the room to take a phone call a few hours later and came back shaking.

“Karli threatened Sarah, my nephews. I have to meet with her. Alone.”

“I’m coming with you,” Bucky jumped in, already on his feet. “Walker will be there, and you can’t handle the Super Soldiers and Captain Propaganda on your own.”

Zemo was either asleep or doing a good job pretending beside you. The pea bag had been returned to the freezer. He’d discarded his coat and was now wearing only his black pants and a deep purple shirt with shoulder holsters.

“You got him?” Sam pointed to the sleeping man.

“That’s what I’m here for,” you answered, setting the book aside and watching them prepare to leave.

Both men donned their costumes, Sam strapping his wings on, Bucky ripping the sleeve off of yet another jacket so his metal arm could move freely.

“Call me- us if you need backup,” you shouted after them, knowing full well they would do no such thing.

“If we aren’t back in two hours, take his ass back to jail,” Bucky called back.

Baron Zemo woke up the minute the door slammed shut, which made you doubt he’d been sleeping at all.

“And now it is only us,” he said in that thick Sokovian accent. “I will cook us something for dinner.”

He moved into the kitchen, boiling a pot of water while you watched. You perched yourself on the counter near him as he searched through cabinets. When he noticed you, he paused and chuckled before returning to the cooking. You watched in silence, keeping a close eye on him when he picked up a knife and began chopping tomatoes from a can.

He handed you a bowl of thin noodles with a thick red sauce. It smelled delicious.

“A traditional and simple Sokovian dish, a comfort food you might say,” he explained and joined you on the counter. “I made enough for Sam and James. Call me an optimist.”

Zemo didn’t talk much, you realized, as you enjoyed the food in silence. It was delicious, a bit like pasta. Suddenly, the back door clicked open. You glance around nervously, realizing just how wrong this felt.

“They shouldn’t be back yet,” you say quietly. “And they wouldn’t come in the back.”

“My old associates must have found me,” Zemo jumps off the table, and you notice the same nervousness as when Bucky threw the cup. He cannot know about James or Sam.”

You can hear a single person strolling toward the kitchen in heavy boots.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Zemo whispered, and before you could even process the words, he was standing between your legs and pressing his lips to yours.

His movements are slow and careful, trying not to be invasive as he moves his hands to your back, sliding one up to the back of your head. You wrap an arm around his waist and slide the other hand up the front of his purple shirt, splaying your fingers across his chest. His lips are soft and warm as they move against yours. His hand keeps you from pulling away, not that you’d want to.

“I heard you were back in Riga,” a new voice chuckled. “I had to see for myself.”

Zemo pulls back, feigning surprise, but kept an arm protectively around you.

“And as you have undoubtedly noticed, I am quite busy,” he replied. “Perhaps you could come back tomorrow? I’d prefer not to discuss our business in front of…”

Zemo nods to you. You were staring at the man who you recognized from work files. He was a former Shield agent. When Shield fell, he used the chaos for his own advantage, working for neither Shield nor Hydra and killing anyone who stood in his way. You suspected, but couldn’t be sure, that some of your best friends had been killed by him. Fortunately, you had enough self-control not to shoot him. His mere presence made you tense and uncomfortable.

“Of course, Baron,” he grinned and look at you in a way that made you shift closer to Zemo. “I’ll see you tomorrow, noon. The usual place.”

He gave the two of you one last look and left with a wink to Zemo. Even when the other man had gone, Zemo’s hands were still holding you against him.

“We will have to be gone before noon tomorrow,” he said looking down at you.

For some reason, you were both still wrapped around each other.

“You know who he is?” Zemo said, a statement masquerading as a question. “I am sorry.”

Your face was only inches from him, and you could smell his cologne. Zemo used the hand on your head to pull you against his shoulder. You set your head there, face turned into his neck, and inhaled deeply. And there he sat and you stood, hugging tightly for no real reason except that no one else was there.

Zemo pressed a soft kiss to your head, and rather than protest you let his lips linger. Finally, his head fell on your shoulder. After a moment, he slid you off the counter, took your hand, and led you back to the couch. Without asking, the two of you settled together on the couch, so close your sides pressed against each other. He pulled a gun out of his shoulder holster, and you froze until he set it down on the table, smirking a little.

“I don’t make a habit of shooting people I’ve just kissed,” he chuckled and raised an arm for you to lean against him.

You raised an eyebrow at him, surprised at the forwardness. You shouldn’t be, after all, he had just kissed you and held you on the counter of his kitchen. Helmut Zemo made no sense to you, but in the end, you curled against him. He shifted to lay on his back, head propped on the pillows he was laying on earlier while you tucked yourself beside him, head on his chest.

Zemo wrapped an arm around you. You put a hand on his chest, fingering the purple shirt. He was warm and soft, and you had to remind yourself that you could not fall asleep while you are supposed to be watching him.

“Why are we doing this?” You whisper. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why are you?” Zemo turns his head toward you.

“I haven’t had someone to do this with in a long time,” you answer slowly, cautiously, knowing full well this was a man who could turn on you on an instant or hold onto information until the moment it was advantageous to him.

“Neither have I,” He replied. “German prisons don’t allow much physical contact. Besides, I hope that with enough time perhaps I may kiss you again.”

You tilted your head up to see a grin tugging at the side of his lips, lips that had been on yours a few minutes ago.

“Maybe with enough time,” you answer and brush a lose strand of hair out of his eyes, letting your hand trail over the bruise on his face.

He caged your hand in his, bringing your joined hands back to his chest and holding them there. You felt the rise and fall of his breaths and it soothed you. When they grew deep and steady and the tension seemed to fall from his body, you realized he was truly asleep, not faking like earlier. Soon and against your better judgment, you were dozing off in his arms tossing a leg over his so your limbs tangled together.

Your last thought before you fell asleep was how warm and comfortable you felt with Helmut Zemo, and how completely ludicrous such a thought was.

It wasn’t long before the door opening woke you, still secure in Zemo’s arms. You tried to move, sit up so Sam and Bucky wouldn’t see this little arrangement. You failed. Bucky came in first, stopping in his tracks as he saw the scene on the couch.

“What are you doing? Keep walk- what?” Sam ran right into Bucky’s back then froze.

Their eyes were wide as they stared. Zemo shifted awake beneath you, and you could imagine the smirk on his face. Bucky’s metal fist clenched, and Sam, ever the peacemaker grabbed his arm and opted for a more amicable approach.

“One of you better start talking.”

[fuwushiguro]

It’s Because Of You I Can Exist, I Swear

part two | masterlist | part four

Yuuji Itadori x f!reader

Genre: Smut & Angst Notes: I love Yuuji I just want the best for him at all times <3 Warnings: 18+, dubcon (they both want to but he's a little hesitant), suicide ideation (pills/Zoloft), drug use (from previous chapter), vaginal sex, oral sex (m receiving), cock kissing, cock worship, a lil gaslighting??, virginity loss, inexperienced yuuji, hair pulling, edging, self consciousness, oral fixation, clit rubbing. Words: 3.3k

Synopsis: Emotions aren't an option, but self destructing is. Yuuji Itadori is keeping everything to himself, while you are painting on a smile and pretending you're fine. Nothing is fine. Which one of you will admit it first?

spotify playlist if u wanna :P

He can’t decide if it’s a good thing or a bad thing he ordered food before he left your place. The first pill of many rested comfortably between two fingers. His tongue poked out, ready to accept it and settle in the knowledge that everything was finally going to stop. And then, the food arrived. The delivery boy didn’t see the carefully placed pills strewn so prettily across his dirty coffee table, thankfully. No cause for concern. He brought the food inside and ate it like the disgusting slob he is. On the floor, in the dark, with the bright TV damaging the health of his eyes. He can’t keep his eyes open much longer after that.

Soon to be greeted with the knowledge he’s lived to see another day.

He wakes up, back in agony from crashing on the rock-hard floor. His mouth is crusty with drool and food stains. His apartment reeks even worse than it already did. Week old garbage rots the air with the addition of new greasy food to the equation.

Even he realises he can’t go on like this.

He throws out the food into the already piling trash in his room, promising himself that he will deal with it today. But first, the pills. He took them all from the packaging, so he needs to find something to keep them in for now. He can’t find clean socks on a daily basis but somehow he manages to remember exactly where he had a zip lock bag that somebody else left at his place a few weeks ago. It’ll do for now, he supposes. He grabs handful after handful of pills and dumps them in the baggie.

It takes hours, almost the whole day, in fact. But he does keep his word. His entire day off is spent cleaning his apartment. He vacuums, he mops, he takes out the trash. He even opens all of the windows to let fresh air in and uses air freshener in the entire apartment. He deep cleans the kitchen and organises the mess in the living room. He arranges his wardrobe so that he can better find articles of clothing (socks included) and wipes down the entire bathroom. And he feels… accomplished. Better still, you haven’t crossed his mind once today.

He hasn’t heard a peep out of you. Not a phone call, not a text. And thank God you haven’t dropped by for a visit. He was right, he thinks. He must have scared you last night. It’s for the best. He can start to heal and move on from you and the overwhelming love he feels for you. It isn’t healthy. It isn’t normal.

He doesn’t want to feel how he did last night ever again.

He doesn’t want to feel like that anymore.

There is one essential thing to do when you deep clean your entire house. Deep clean yourself. He runs the shower to a temperature he’s not even sure Satan himself would be able to stand. It’s a must, how else will he get himself truly clean? It’s like shedding a skin. A rebirth, almost. He wants to burn away the rotting, depressed skin cells of yesterday and emerge from his shower a new man.

No more self-pity.

No more longing.

He wants to make a conscious effort to be better.

Even now, there are fucking reminders of you everywhere. He washes his body from top to bottom before reaching for a bottle of shampoo. He sees a bottle of 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner and his mind races with thoughts of you. He thought you might beat him to death with it the first time you saw the bottle in his bathroom. You came rushing out with it in your hand and confronted him. ‘It’s disgusting’, and ‘you need to take better care of your hair!’ apparently. You left in a hurry after that. It was weird, to say the least. You didn’t say goodbye and he assumed you were actually angry at him, so he didn’t expect you to return. You were angry at him, but you did come back. You reappeared an hour later with a plastic carrier bag containing the most expensive shampoo and conditioner you could find. And you warned him. If he even thought about using that fucking 2-in-1 monstrosity you would beat the living hell out of him with it.

He hasn’t used it since. You’re right about it being better, his hair hasn’t been softer or shinier. But he kept the bottle anyway, he doesn’t know why. He’ll throw it out like the rest of the trash when he gets out of his shower.

It’s interrupted, early, by the sound of knuckles connecting with his front door once more. He quickly hurries out wrapping a towel around his waist and doing his best not to slip on his bathroom tiles as he makes his way towards the door.

Your face flushes hot when he opens the door, and you see him in nothing but a black towel. It rests comfortably around his hips. His prominent hip bones on full display and his sculpted abdominal muscles leaving little to the imagination force you to look anywhere but at your childhood best friend. He’s never seen you like this before. You’ve practically seen every inch of him at this point, so how come you’re acting so bashful?

“Yeah?” he asks, hoping to bring your attention back to him. It works. You clear your throat, and smile.

“Can I… come in?” you wonder, hoping the answer will be yes.

This isn’t what he wanted. At. All. He thought he’d broken free of you, for a little while, anway. He was so sure that he had frightened you away and made you never want to see him ever again. What the fuck are you doing here? Alas, he finds himself making space for you to come in. He tells you to wait while he gets changed in his room. He doesn’t wait long enough to drop his towel; you just catch sight of his ass before he disappears behind a closed door.

He spends a little time changing, re-emerging in a pair of sweatpants and nothing else. Yuuji takes a seat on the couch opposite to you, unable to read your facial expression or determine your reason for coming here. Maybe you just wanted to check on him after last night. He thought you looked well enough; you must have slept like a baby. Or could you have realised that he stole your antidepressants?

“What do you want?” he breaks the silence, desperate to know why you deemed it necessary to drop by for an unwelcome visit. Your face drops, and he does feel bad. You don’t recognise him at all, right now.

“What’s gotten into you?” you wonder, “Last night should have been fun and it was just… intense. It was sad. I’m going through enough without having to worry about you.” you finish, awaiting his response.

“Nothing, I- no, nothing. Nothing has gotten into me,” he fibs, already knowing he isn’t doing a good enough job of throwing you off the scent. There is something he wants to say, something mean, but he supposes he should keep it to himself for now. “I’m just irritable from last night, I guess.”

You feel spit stick in your windpipe that you can’t swallow. A gulp you cannot satisfy before revealing the real reason why you’re here. Last night being intense was beyond an understatement. The energy and tension emanating from Yuuji was almost violent. Speech that you couldn’t comprehend and glares you’ve never seen from him before. And you know why. You think you finally understand why.

“I have memories of last night. Memories of you lying to me.” you start, looking at him to see his response as you put perfect emphasis and inflections on your statement. He looks at you with brown puppy dog eyes, and you notice his skin group together into goosebumps. “I know I heard you tell me you never slept with Nobara.”

“Not this again, don’t fucking start with—”

“And now that my mind is clear I know I heard you tell me that you love me, too. Is that right, do you love me Yuuji?”

His entire body is rigid, and he can’t think straight. You fucking cut him off when he said that last night, so he was very confident that you hadn’t heard. And now, you have the gall to bother him while he’s trying to make strides into being better and pull this shit on him? What the fuck is the matter with you?

“As a friend, obviously. I love you because you’re my best friend… Is that everything or do you wanna get out of here? ‘Cause I’m busy.”

“Please stop lying. You’re so important to me, I didn’t think I’d ever have to hear you lie to my face, Yuu—”

“Well, I’ve been lying to your face for twelve years because that’s how long I’ve been in love with you. Alright? Happy? Please, leave.”

He gets up before you do, opening the door to usher you out. It takes you a little while, but you find the confidence to stand to your feet and head towards the door. He can’t even look at you as you walk passed. Twelve years. You’ve been in two relationships that were incredibly serious, and he’s loved you through them both. He’s kept it all to himself for this long and you didn’t even know. You wish he’d let you talk to him about it, but he’s made it abundantly clear that he needs his space.

And yet, for some reason, when your hand holds the door handle you close the door with yourself still inside. He looks at you, confused. Didn’t you hear him? He wants you out.

“Don’t shut me out Yuuji,” you whimper, lower lip trembling as you discover the courage to face him. He hates to see you upset and he can’t stand to see you cry. You’re a fucking bitch, he thinks. You know exactly what you’re doing, trying to pull his god damn heart strings into feeling sorry for you and letting you do whatever the fuck you want. As usual. “I don’t want to go, please don’t make me.”

And of course.

Of course it works.

You’re too close for comfort, now, both of your palms resting flatly on his chest. They travel upwards slowly. One remaining on his neck, the other cupping his face. You’re looking up at him, big doe eyes and fluttering lashes batting as if butter wouldn’t melt. Like you’re so innocent and not at all using your newfound power to manipulate him. He still views an angel before him. You can do no wrong. Or rather, you can, but he chooses to ignore it.

“P-Please, don’t do this.” he begs, pathetically. “I know you don’t feel the same. I know you don’t want me… So, don’t do this to me.”

“I do, Yuuji, I promise.” you assure him, “I wan’ you so bad…”

You silence his worry as you tilt your head to kiss him. A moment he has been waiting twelve entire years for. Fuck. Strawberry on your lips. You’ve been eating the laces he bought you. He can’t stop himself as he begins to kiss back. It isn’t slow, either. It’s heated, it’s fast. You raise a leg to rest on his hip. He takes the initiative to pick you up and carry you back to the sofas.

You straddle him, grinding your needy heat against his crotch as he becomes drunk on your taste. You can feel how hard he is. His throbbing length stiffening in his sweats and driving itself into your cunt.

Lips are stolen from him as you pull yourself away, kissing down and down and down. You find yourself on your knees and he instinctively spreads his legs. With a look of ‘may I?’ etching onto your features, he grants you permission to free his length.

He moans softly when it slaps against his abdomen. You don’t want to rush, taking your time to examine it. He’s never been touched by anyone but himself before, the way you ogle his manhood is surely too good to be real. The way you touch it is even better. Slow pumps of your fist as you dribble all over him is a divine concoction and he can’t keep his volume to a reasonable level.

“S’pretty Yuuji,” you tell him, kissing the tip sensually before offering a soft kitten lick over the tip, “such a pretty cock, baby.”

“F-Fuck.” he groans.

You aren’t doing anything particularly special, you think, but it means everything to him. This is something he only ever dreamed would happen. Ah, dreams. He loves seeing you in real life but the dream you is the best. You’re together, then. Really together. The apple picking dream is on his mind, now. You’d spend hours frolicking and picking the fruit from the trees without a care in the world. Each of you would end the experience holding bushels of apples, comparing them, and joking about who’s would be the tastiest. And then somehow, with no explanation, you’d begin to beg him for his cock. And he’d give it to you with no hesitation. Every single time. He’d fuck you up against one of the very trees you’d just been picking apples from. And you looked beautiful. You were putty in his hands.

But now.

Right now.

It was quite the opposite.

He was desperate for you. And as needy as he always is. Maybe even more so now that he actually has you. This is real, isn’t it? He isn’t dreaming right now, he can’t be. The way you’re worshipping his cock does seem too perfect to be real. But it feels like you’re here with him, now. Should he ask? He doesn’t want to disturb you. Your eyes focus on his while you continue to pepper his perfect length in adoring kisses.

“I-Is this real?” he can’t stop himself. He has to know if this is a figment of his imagination or if you’re actually nestled between his legs like this, looking at him as if he created the universe and everything in it. “’m sorry, I- I- ‘m sorry.”

“Relax, Yuuji…” you begin, kissing his tip sweetly once more, “’m here. Promise. Don’t be sorry, just enjoy it.”

The pecking stops, and you finally begin to sink your mouth onto him. He hisses when all you do is take his swollen tip into your welcoming orifice. You push down on his abdomen, doing your best to subtly keep him in place. When he settles, you wrap your hand around what won’t fit inside of your mouth. You use your free hand to fondle his aching balls. He wants them emptied, now. He wants to paint your pretty face and mark you as his. His fingers lace through your hair, yanking roughly, but it’s nothing you can’t handle.

He can’t stop the way his cock is jumping. Eager isn’t a good enough descriptor to express the feeling in his length. You release him with an audible gasp, and he smirks. Your jaw hurts and he can tell by the look on your face that it’s bigger than you had anticipated.

He wonders if it’s bigger than the others.

“Easy, boy. Eaaasy.” you caution him, “Don’t cum too soon Yuuji, ‘m not finished with you yet.”

“Fuck me, then.”

You pout at that. Unsure if he’s ready, or if you are, for that matter. But with a cheeky smirk adorning his features, you find yourself giggling and agreeing to his statement. You’re both surprised, this is happening, this is really happening. You’re really about to have sex with your best friend.

He helps unbutton your denim shorts and pull them down as well as your panties, slowly. He’s mesmerised by the mound of your pussy alone. He knows the detailed intimacy of your folds is going to be the most beautiful sight he could possibly imagine. But even now, this is enough.

This is more than he thought he’d ever get from you.

“This is your first time,” you pause as you wait expectantly for him to make eye contact with you. He does. “it is, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is.” he confesses, finally, “Have you changed your mind about this? Or is this just a pity screw for you, or am I too much of a loser to be worthy of fucking you?” he rambles. It’s sad, really, to see how little confidence he’s had for so long. He’s clearly self-conscious over his virgin status, but it means nothing to you.

“I don’t care that you’re a virgin, at all.” you inform him, “I just want you to be comfortable right now.”

“Please, sit on it. I’ve been waiting for you to take it, that’s why I’m a virgin. P-Please, just sit—”

He’s cut off from his begging. His wish is granted as you line his cock up with your entrance and slowly descend onto him.

“Hah- Oh- Fuuuuuck, baby.” he almost blows his load in an instant as you fully sheath him in your sticky insides, letting him rest his cockhead snuggly against your cervix. “D-Don’t move, ‘m gonna cum if you move.” he explains.

You catch his lips with yours instead, giving him time to adjust and get used to how you feel. How sex feels. He thinks you were made for him, it’s obvious now. You were made to perfectly house his cock; he is a perfect fit and there isn’t a single doubt in his mind.

You begin to rise and fall, rise and fall, slowly. He moans into your mouth as you continue to kiss him through it. Each time you feel his cock spasm inside of you, you stop. And he whines. You aren’t edging him because you want to control him. You just need him to wait, you need him to wait so you can cum together. It’s romantic, you think, for his first time. Cumming together is romantic, and you want him to look back on this first of hopefully many dalliances with fondness.

You’re closer, you’re finally close to cumming and you know he is too. You’re no longer riding him with the pace of a snail. The steady pace has been replaced by heavy bounces. Your entire weight humping onto him as you use his cock to get yourself off. You suck his fingers, yet another sight that will be eternally burnt into his memories. You instruct him to rub your clit, and he does. It’s sloppy, wet, and messy. But that’s just how you like it.

“Doin’ so good f’me Yuuji, s’good. ‘m gonna- gonna- oh! Fuck, right there!” you moan, approaching the precipice of your orgasm.

The minute you feel him cum inside of you, you’re dragged over the cliff right along with him. The warmth of his seed filling you so perfectly is more than enough to bring you to your high. You kiss him more, through it. It’s so perfect, so perfect.

It was worth the wait, he thinks. And he couldn’t agree more. Perfection. All of it.

Your body slumps forwards into his. Your face rests sweetly in the crook of his neck. God damn that was so much better than you thought it was going to be. Why didn’t you see sooner that he was in love with you? You’ve wasted so much time. Each heavy breath pushes his chest in and out, you follow it. Bodies breathing inconsistently against each other. It’s lewd but lovely as you decompress and consider it all. Nothing but breathing, sweat and adoration.

“Can we… Can we do it, again?” he asks.

You giggle into his chest before pulling him in for yet another kiss.

�� 2021 fuwushiguro

tag list form ➪ here

[hime-hana]

hey can i req being fucked bent over a surface or smfn with dom! changmin 🙁☝🏽thank u sm in advance n only if u want to!!

ji changmin x fem!reader

trigger warning(s): smut, sexual depictions, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, slight breeding kink, swearing

author note(s): i am very sorry it took me so long, i am currently on vacation and the internet is very iffy; hope you enjoy it; finally edited

16.45 pm

Renting a cabin for a weekend getaway at the beach was supposed to be fun. You, the best boyfriend in the world, his members and some of their girlfriends. In your mind, everything felt perfect, but Changmin would beg to differ.

He was mad. He was oh, so mad sitting at the white plastic table, piercing eyes following your silhouette. You only took a peek at Changmin, but you could feel it from the way he trashed his bottom lip between his teeth.

It was not cute like all the times you’ve told him a bad joke and he forced himself not to laugh at how silly you sounded.

It was also not sweet like when he watched you with beaming as you snuggled up to him in your sleep and he tried to take a picture without waking you up.

This time, his eyes went dark watching you wave at him from two feet away while playing tag with Chanhee and Sunwoo. And he wouldn’t have even cared that much if it wasn’t for the way your smile got a little bigger when Chanhee held your hand while running, body pressed against yours in an attempt to protect you, right before Sunwoo caught up with you from behind; arms locking around your chest before they dropped lower and he lift you up yelling you’re his now.

You noticed Changmin rolling his eyes at the younger boy’s words.

“As if,” is the response muttered under his breath.

If looks could kill Sunwoo and Chanhee would be deep under the ground now; the only thing making Changmin keep his sanity was the way your voice sounded like dripping honey when you sat in his lap a moment later. Panting and grinning down at him with childish innocence, he could never stay mad at you.

Your hand brushes through his black hair and he rests a hand on your thigh, fingertips drawing over your skin just like he did this morning. Your heavy eyelids were barely open when you were met with Changmin’s lips discovering your body like he did the night before.

“It’s too early, baby,” you whisper against the pillow as he waltzes his way between your legs.

“I just can’t get enough of you.”

“Later, please. It’s too early.”

His bottom lip sticks out, but he follows your words and pulls you against his chest without another word.

Right now you knew at was he was hinting; you glanced over again, a lusty spark filled his brown eyes, and another feeling you were not quite used to find in him-jealousy.

Looking at Changmin was enough to put you in the mood sometimes... or at all times, to be quite honest.

He taps your arm, and you give him a cheeky smile as he opens the door for you. You want to say something, but the words cannot come out when he has you pressed against the kitchen wall right next to the sliding door.

“Baby,” you murmur, but notice his eye roll. “why are you mad?”

He clicks his tongue, giving you that look.

That look which you knew all too well; that look he had on his face when he was far beyond frustrated because of some company meeting; that look when he could not grasp the new choreography right and the same look he always had on his face each time you teased him a little too much and he was about to ruin you.

Hooded eyes filled with a mad desire to have you, mark you from head to toe, tongue poking his cheek and a familiar smirk on his lips.

He lifts your chin with two fingers, catching you by surprise.

“Baby,” he cooed back at you, mimicking your voice, “why am I mad?”

His lips on yours felt like heaven but the way his teeth bite your bottom lip earning a loud whimper makes you remember that Ji Changmin can also be a devil.

Hands tug at your shorts, hurrying to get rid of them. Fingers already searching for your bare skin as his mouth drops from your jaw to the base of your neck.

“Maybe I am mad because some of them don’t know their place and my baby doesn’t seem to mind it either.”

You trace the fine lines of his abdomen, throwing your head to the side. Nipping at your skin, teeth grazing over your neck, and lips kissing you all over-Changmin always knew how to drive you crazy.

Another moan and you forget that everybody else can hear you. But this is exactly what he wants when he places you on the white table and kisses his way down to your core. The bathing suit is useless at covering your body when Changmin pulls the two strings holding it up. What a view, he thinks, licking his lips.

“I am also mad because they touch where they shouldn’t.”

His palms cross over your waist and your hips and you part your legs. Words are stuck in your throat and you repeat his name like it’s the only thing you’ve ever known feeling his fiery breath against you. But you need him too much and hope he won’t tease you too much this time.

You lift your hand, bringing Changmin in for a heated kiss. Your forehead lies on his shoulder when he inserts one finger into your wet pussy. He pumps it lazily, gaze watching you squirm underneath his frame. You were craving to feel him inside you. He takes the digit coated in you and brings it to his lips, tongue swirling around it. He moans and you swallow hard.

“Wanna know why else I’m mad?” he asks, passing his thumb over your lips as your mouth instinctively wraps around it.

He smirks and takes your palm into his before getting you off from the table. Your fingertips barely touch his bulging erection before he spins you around.

“Because this is how you make me feel, baby,“ he says, pulling his trousers down right before he grinds against your backside.

He slides past your wet folds, coating his cock in your juices and admiring the way you’re dripping all over your thighs.

“My baby always looks so pretty when I’m about to fuck her,” he whispers in your ear with the most gentle voice, pressing a kiss on your temple while his fingers tangle in your hair. And he pulls, hard. Making your back arch, head falling back with a loud cry when he enters you at once.Your knuckles go white as you grip the table, but Changmin is no help as he only pushes himself deeper inside your pussy. He should expect it by now, but he can never have enough of you. Of the way your cunt takes him so well; walls gripping his cock when he hits that sweet spot which always makes you beg him to go faster. Just like you do now. Even when your knees feel weak and Changmin lifts your leg and places it on the table as your body falls weak against it. Changmin loves it too much, having you right there in the tiny kitchen where anyone could hear all the nasty things you tell him to do to you. He plays with your hair again, lips coming down to bite your shoulder. He knows you are close by the way your moans turn into whispered cries of his name.

“Yes, baby. You should let everyone know I’m the one who fucks you like this every night.”

Your eyelids fall shut when the pleasure hits. Your entire body shivering while Changmin finds your hand and intertwines your fingers while you ride out your high with his cock still inside you.

“Baby,” Changmin whispers as he removes a strand of hair from your flushed face, “I’m gonna cum right here,” he stresses the last word with one harsh thrust.

You moan as a reply.

“And you...” he moves his hips against yours as your walls grip his cock again almost not wanting to let him go “don’t be so greedy, love,” he groans at the feeling. It always drove him crazy.

“I will fill you up, but my baby needs to do something in return.”

You turn your head when he pulls your leg back on the ground and lifts your hips higher.

“I’m going to fill this pussy-my pussy,” he smirks when he notices you biting your lip “with my cum and you are going to keep it inside while going outside and playing tag with Sunwoo and Chanhee again.”

You nod at his words. Changmin’s thrusts becoming slowing down as he releases deep inside your pussy, coating your walls, leaving you a whimpering mess.

He puts your bathing suit back on and kisses your forehead.

“Don’t drip any of it, angel. I want to fuck you with my cum still inside you after dinner,” Changmin whispers in your ear with a sweet smile when you step outside a minute later.

[tsoomie]

Hi! Not sure if your taking headcanon/Imagine requests but if you are how would Bakugou, Izuku, Kirishima, Mirio and Hawks react to having an S/O who has magic powers like the Marvel Cinematic Universe’s Doctor Strange? Like they can make Portals/Teleport, Clones, Astral project, and Summon objects and all that jazz? Sorry if this sounds very specific 😅

✎ reacting to their s/o abilities

꒷꒦ omg i’m so sorry that i didn’t get to this sooner. school is taking so much out of me right now and i forgot i had requests 😭 but n e wayyy-

꒷꒦ characters: midoriya, bakugou, kirishima, mirio, hawks

꒷꒦ warnings: none

# 𝘪𝘻𝘶𝘬𝘶 ─

he’d definitely be amazed by you. the second he had found out about your abilities he was already whipping out a notebook and jotting down bullet points of what abilities you harnessed.

he had shyly asked you if you could show him more of what you could do. with the way he had been clutching his notebook to his chest with a very deep blush you couldn’t bring yourself to say no to him.

as you two continued spending more and more time together his adoration for you grew and so did his confidence.

it was one day you decided to mess with him and had several of your clones spread out.

when midoriya had walked in he stopped immediately and looked around.

“bet you can’t find me.” you said and stuck your tongue out as the clones did the same. with a smirk midoriya looked around and slowly started making his way to the right.

you forced down a smile as he walked past you. that was until you felt a grip around your wrist. before a second could even pass midoriya had spun you around. he softly pressed his lips against yours and brought his hand up to caress your cheek.

“found you puppy.” he whispered as he pulled away.

# 𝘣𝘢𝘬𝘶𝘨����𝘶 ─

okay so with bakugou he knew of only a few of your abilities but he was never aware of how far they actually went.

really the only things he knew about were the clones and your ability to summon objects.

the day he had found out about your other powers was one of the days he had gotten really sick.

he was laid up at home, several blankets over him, an air diffuser to his side, and the trash can overflowing with snotty tissues.

you had found out about his predicament when you were getting ready for school. he had sent you a small good morning text and an explanation as to why he wouldn’t be at school.

you had been ansty the entire day and when school finally ended you didn’t hesitate to teleport to your boyfriends house.

after you had arrived you were teleporting between the store, kitchen, etc. and katsuki’s bedroom.

he was passed out in his bed so he didn’t see anything. well, except for the few times he would drowsily open his eyes and see you for a quick second before passing out again.

when he had finally gathered enough energy to somewhat fully wake up he saw as you would make an appearance, set something down and disappear again.

he was sure the medicine he had taken was making him trip until it happened a few more times.

“what the fuck!” he yelled as you appeared once more.

you screamed and dropped the small snack bag you had. “holy shit kats!” you yelled and clutched your chest dramatically. “you trying to give me a heart attack or something?!”

“you?!” he tried to tell once again but his sore throat caused it to only come out raspy and low. “the fuck was that?” he spoke trying his best to hold in a cough.

you gave him a confused look and waited as he pointed out your powers.

“get better and i’ll tell you. it’s a long story.” you said and kissed him on his forehead.

# 𝘮𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘰 ─

when it comes to mirio he already knew you were powerful. he had seen you in action many many times and knew that you harnessed some very badass abilities.

but at the same time, you only stuck to using a few of your powers during combat because you never really saw the need to go all out.

so again, mirio was only aware of a few basics such as clones, teleportation, shield spells, eldritch whips, and a couple of others.

he had even heard a rumor that you could manipulate time, shhh-

one night as you two were texting he had suddenly become needy for your affection and said he would sneak into your dorm.

no need, honey. i’m on my way! you had text back. mirio sat on his bed waiting for the second you would knock on his door.

instead he heard what sounded almost like a sparking sound above him and looked up. there he saw a portal and suddenly you were falling through it.

“hey!” you said gleefully, not realizing you had accidentally made another portal underneath you.

so instead of landing on his bed just as you had intended you fell into a dark portal. “shit!” you cursed as mirio tried to lean over and grab you only for the portal to shut on him.

your boyfriend couldn’t help but to stare at the now empty spot in surprise when suddenly a knock came from his door.

he slowly got up and opened the door and was met with you covered in dirt and picking twigs out of your hair.

“remind me to never use a power i haven’t completely perfected because i wanna look cool.”

at that mirio couldn’t help but to laugh as he pulled you into his room to help clean you up.

# 𝘬𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘢 ─

you were the new kid in school. ahem, not to mention kiri’s new crush too.

mans is a softie and you’re a cutie. you can’t blame him for catching feelings so fast 😩🥺

n e wayyy, class 1-a or rather the entirety of the school isn’t all too familiar with your powers. they’ve seen a bit of what you can do through training, but that’s about it.

when the bakusquad had finally got a better glimpse into what you could do it was during one of the days you had all been hanging out at the mall.

everything was going perfectly fine. you and kirishima were practically inseparable as you all wandered the shops.

bakugou was being bakugou ofc, mina and denki were doing their best to tease kiri and get you two together, and sero was busy trying to keep the two idiots out of trouble.

in the midst of it all several villains had decided to attack and were doing whatever they could to wreak havoc.

in an attempt to stop them and save people you were pulling out the full stops.

going between using portals to get people out, binding spells, shield spells, eldritch whips, and your sword spells.

needless to say the entire squad was impressed but did their best to help while also trying to keep an eye on you.

kiri on the other hand could barely focus. his full attention was on you and at one point he had almost gotten taken down only to have you swoop in and save him.

mans fell completely in love with you right then and there-

days after the fight he still hadn’t fully gained his senses. he wouldn’t speak to you, to caught up in replaying every scene of you fighting in his head.

when you had confronted him about his distance his self control fell apart and he grabbed your face to pull you in for a sweet kiss.

“you’re so amazing.” he whispered as you smiled at him.

# 𝘩𝘢𝘸𝘬𝘴 ─

okay there’s no doubt in my mind that hawks is absolutely mesmerized by you.

you’re both pro heroes who happen to be dating so basically he’s seen just about everything you can do.

of course though, one of the few things he’s not familiar with is astral projection.

and it’s not that you’re trying to hide it from him or anything. you’ve just never come across a situation where it happened.

the day it does happen, as you can guess, he nearly pees himself right on the spot.

you were both play fighting in the nest of blankets that hawks had laying out in the living room.

when he accidentally elbowed you too hard in between your eyes causing you to fall back and smack your head on the floor and pass out.

ouch

yeah, baby started freaking out bc he thought he had killed you.

he was already planning out ways to hide your body 🌝

due to the sheer force of everything you had accidentally separated yourself from you physical form.

you watched as keigo began wrapping your body in blankets while crying and apologizing for killing you. idiot.

you scoffed in disbelief and popped out of the astral dimension.

“what the fuck keigo!?”

he screamed and dropped your still unconscious body on the floor.

you just stared at him while motioning to your body.

“holy sh- you’re a ghost.” he came to the realization and smacked his hand over his mouth. “baby i didn’t mean to kill you i promise. please, don’t haunt me-“

“keigo, i’m not dead.” you laughed and disappeared. when you came back keigo was still apologizing and wrapping your body in blankets.

“this hurt way less when in my astral form.” you groaned and rubbed your forehead.

of course hawks screamed again, dropping you in the process, and making a run for it.

you laughed, not even worried about the pain as the events taking place occupied your mind.

[shinazugawaswife]

If You Love Him - Harry Styles

This is based on the song If You Love Her by Forest Blakk

This song breaks my heart every time I listen to it, and I just thought of this idea. It honestly made me so sad to write and I really got in my feels, so I’m sorry beforehand if it’s too sad, but I’m actually really proud of it so I hope you enjoy<3 (Olivia Wilde appears in this, and it’s in no way meant negatively towards her) 

Summary: you have a hard time living without Harry, and when you find out he’s seeing someone else it breaks your heart and you write a song to his new lover

Warnings: none, it’s just sad:’(

Not my gif, so creds to the owner

You sat in front of the piano, fingers brushing the keys, just barely touching them. You've been crying all day it felt like, and now you just felt numb. You were absolutely drained of all your energy and you felt like you could fall asleep on the spot, but every time you tried closing your eyes, old memories flooded your brain a thousand miles per hour and prevented sleep from taking you with it.

You missed him, fuck you missed him so much. It was so hard just breathing without him and it felt like climbing a mountain just getting through one day without Harry beside you. You barely slept, just the thought of waking up and not seeing him in bed next to you, was enough to start a waterfall of tears streaming down your face. Every day you were in physical pain too, your stomach was in knots, your head was pounding from all the crying and your body had gotten so used to just laying in bed that your muscles had started hurting too from lack of use.

Every day was a hell to go through, but today had been the worst without a doubt. Nothing could ever compare to the feeling you'd felt when you’d checked Twitter that morning and saw rumors that Harry had found someone new. It had been all over the internet after a picture had been caught of him and someone else from the night before. Even though your brain had begged you to stop looking at the pictures and just turn off your phone, you'd spent the entire morning reading articles and fan theories. Eventually, it had hurt more than you could bear and you'd put down your phone and spent the rest of the day soaking your pillow from your unstoppable fountain of tears.

Now it was some time in the middle of the night, maybe around 3 a.m? You honestly didn't know. You hadn't touched your phone since you'd tossed it away earlier and you hadn't moved from your bed until an hour ago when you'd made your way to the piano in your living room.

One time what felt like an eternity ago, Harry had found you absolutely devasted after you thought a heavy argument with one of your close friends had led to the end of your friendship, and he'd told you: "some times emotions are easier to feel if you express them through music" and he'd made you sit down on the same piano bench you were sitting on now, listening while you wrote a song about every emotion that you'd felt. You remembered how he'd been right, that the feelings had actually been more bearable after you'd sang the words. Maybe it would work that way this time too? Honestly, at this point, you were willing to try anything to minimize the painful aching in your chest.

You'd just been staring at the piano in front of you for the last hour though, no words coming to mind that could express exactly what you were feeling. You kept thinking of Harry with this new person: was he with her right now, lying next to her in bed? Were they cuddling? Did he pull her tight to his chest while his head rested atop of hers as he'd always done with you? Were they having deep pillow talks till far into the night, like the two of you used to? Did he touch her the way he'd touched you? Did her entire body ignite whenever he kissed her, as yours had always done?

You knew who she was, Olivia Wilde, the director of the movie Harry had worked so hard on the last couple of months. You remembered the day he'd come home, so excited that he'd gotten the role in the movie, and you'd been equally as excited for him and so fucking proud. Not once had you imagined that you'd be sitting here now, while Harry was starting a new relationship with her. Was she treating him right? You fucking hoped so. Even though you wanted to hate her with your entire being, you couldn't seem to be mad at her. Maybe she was giving him what you couldn't, maybe he was happier with her. God, he deserved to be so happy.

Suddenly a thought formed in your head and the fingers that had only been lightly touching the piano keys now pressed down to make the instrument play out a soft melody.

Take it If he gives you his heart Don't you break it

Your voice was weak as it escaped from your lips. You hadn't spoken to a lot of people the past couple of weeks, having barely used your voice and you couldn't even remember the last time you'd been singing. Losing Harry had made you shy away from your passion for music and writing, too many memories.

Let your arms be a place He feels safe in He's the best thing that you'll ever have

You kept going as the words formed in your head, directing the song to Harry's new lover. Even though it brought you so much pain to see Harry with someone else, you were willing to let him go if she was for him what he needed. All you wanted was for him to be happy and complete, you wanted him to have the world and you'd never been able to give him that.

Memories started appearing in your head like flashbacks behind your closed eyelids. Memories that you and Harry had shared, memories that made you smile slightly even though it shattered your heart to know that you would never share moments like them with him again. While being with Harry, you were the happiest you'd ever been and maybe you were never gonna feel that again, but it was okay as long as he was happy.

He always has trouble Falling asleep And he likes to cuddle While under the sheets

You'd spent many long nights next to Harry in bed, running your fingers through his hair and speaking softly to help him find sleep when it had been so hard for him. He'd always told you how there was no feeling that could compare to being curled up to you in bed, holding you so close to him that you could hear his heartbeat. The most peaceful moments you'd ever experienced with him were these intimate moments where you never wanted to move out of his embrace, praying that you could just stay in his arms forever.

Reality hit you now, that those moments were long gone, but you just wished with all your heart that she would hug him just the way he loved it and that she would be there for him during those sleepless nights he had when adrenaline wouldn't stop running through his body after working too much, or whenever a storm of thoughts in his head was keeping him awake.

He loves Pop songs And dancing, and bad trash TV

Harry's taste in music had always been something else. It was so wide, almost every genre of music was presented on his playlist, but you remembered you'd been surprised when you found all the cliche pop songs on there. You knew, of course, that Harry had spent five years in a boyband, singing pop songs, but to you, he just hadn't seemed like the type to listen to Ariana Grande and Katy Perry, but you'd been so wrong.

You couldn't count how many romcoms and shitty reality shows you'd watched with Harry during your time together. He'd always found them very enjoyable, and you would be lying if you didn't enjoy the times you'd been cuddled up to him on the couch while watching Love Island and discussing all the people you voted for and all the people you absolutely couldn't stand with each other.

He loves love notes and babies And likes giving gifts

A single tear escaped your eye and ran down your cheeks at the thought of all the love notes Harry had given you in the past. After you'd started dating, you'd worn his clothes so much, just because it smelled like him. His hoddies, shirts, sweatpants, jackets, you'd stolen it all from him, you're excuse being that it was more comfortable than your own clothes. Harry had never minded though, in fact, he'd always loved to see you walk into the kitchen in his shirt in the mornings or walk out of the house in a pair of his sweatpants paired with something like a white tank top.

At some point, he started putting little notes in the pockets of his hoddies or pants, knowing you'd put the items on the next day and find the sweet notes he hid. It was just small things like I love you or have a great day, love or excited to see you tonight, but they had always melted your heart, making you love him just that more.

Has a hard time accepting A good compliment

Harry had always showered you with compliments, every chance he got, always making you smile. You'd always made sure to tell Harry what an amazing person he was and how talented he was, how beautiful his music was and how absolutely gorgeous he looked, and every single time a sweet comment like that had left your mouth, Harry had blushed slightly while looking down at his feet. He would start making excuses, saying that it was nothing special every time you were amazed by a new song he'd written, and telling you he didn't know what you were talking about every time you'd told him how good he looked.

Knowing that he'd never been good at receiving compliments, you'd made sure to attack him with them all the time, and even though he never admitted it, you knew he thought about your words with a lot of consideration, eventually, you hoped, he started believing them.

You just wanted her to keep telling him those sweet things every day because he needed to hear them.

He loves his whole family And all of his friends

You thought of Harry's family and how he'd been so proud when he'd introduced you to them for the first time. He always put his family above everyone and though he didn't see them as much as he wanted to, he made sure that they never questioned how much they meant to him.

You'd admired the relationship he had with his family, especially his mother and sister, you could just tell how much he adored them. You'd never really had a home with that kind of love. You were an only child, so no siblings, and your mother had passed away while you were still young, leading your father into years of alcoholism and depression.

You'd never felt safe and loved until you met Harry, he was your family. That was probably the hardest part for you to let go of, the feeling of safety you'd had whenever you were wrapped in his arms or from simply being in the same room as him.

He was such a giving person, never asking for much. He had a lot of friends and they all adored him, how could they not? He had this ability to make you feel so special and he was such a good listener too, giving you all his attention whenever you told him something, not letting anything distract him.

So if you're the one he lets in Take it If he gives you his heart Don't you break it Let your arms be a place He feels safe in He's the best thing that you'll ever have He'll love you If you love him

You sang, and god, the words hurt. It felt like your chest was being pried open and your heart ripped out and shredded into pieces. You had to mov eon though, for your own good. You never wanted to forget Harry, he would always have a piece of you, but this grieve that you were feeling had to decrease, you could barely live a life when it hurt so bad.

If Olivia was the one for Harry, then so be it, if she made him happy you couldn't argue. Obviously you hadn't made him as happy as he'd made you, but you hadn't realized that until he'd walked out the door and it was too late. He had let go of you and now it was time for you to do the same, you just wanted, no needed her to treat him right.

On days when It feels like the whole World might cave in Stand side by side And you'll make it He's the best thing that you'll ever have He'll love you If you love him like that

You always thought that Harry and you could get through anything, and your relationship had been put to a lot of tests throughout your time together but never had you thought that one of these obstacles would actually get the better of you.

You remembered that day so clearly. The day your whole world fell apart slowly with every step Harry took towards your front door, and it all crashed down on you when he sat down in his car and drove away without even one last glance in your direction. You hadn't talked to him after that, but still, he remained the single thing on your mind 24/7. It hurt you how quickly he had moved on, but you couldn't be mad because you felt at blame for your relationship ending in the first place.

Harry had always said that as long as you stood together, then absolutely nothing could come in the way of you two, and the only time you hadn't been side by side, that's when you fell apart. You'd always appreciated him so much, sometimes you'd thought it was impossible to care so much for another human as you cared about Harry.

Your hands started shaking a bit and you could feel the tears slowly appearing in the corner of your eyes. You would never stop caring about Harry, he had such an impact on your life, what were you supposed to do without him? God, would this pain ever stop? As you started the second verse, the tears escaped your eyes and silently ran down your cheeks.

Kiss him with passion As much as you can

You missed kissing Harry. Just his touch had been such an essential part of your day and now that you didn't get to feel that, you needed it more than anything. When you thought of it, it was as if you could still feel his lips on yours, kissing you softly.

You'd kissed a number of guys before you met Harry and you'd thought all of them had been fairly good, but that was until you kissed Harry. You'd shared your first kiss one day while you'd been chilling at Harry's and he just couldn't stop himself as you'd stood in his kitchen and looked so beautiful. You knew Harry had experience, but you remember being completely taken aback by how comfortable the kiss was. It wasn't too wet, but not entirely without his tongue roaming your mouth either. He'd grabbed your waist while your arms snaked their way around his neck, and he'd tasted good after the smoothies he'd made for the two of you earlier that day. You hadn't been able to get enough and he had seemed to have the same problem because you'd barely taken your hands off each other for the rest of the night.

Harry was a very affectionate person and he’d loved holding you, kissing you, just touching you in general. It had made you feel so loved and now where that feeling had belonged in your chest, was just emptiness. You were certain no one could ever make you feel the way Harry had, he could make your entire body feel like it was on fire just by holding your hand.

Run your hands through his hair Whenever he's sad

It wasn't often Harry had been sad in front of you, let alone cried, but it had happened a couple of times, and many times he'd come home and you'd been able to see that something was wrong, but he would deny it. It wasn't because he’d been embarrassed to be sad in front of you, but he’d often pushed it away because he didn't want to burden you. You knew him well though and you could tell the second he would walk in the door, that something was wrong. If he didn't want to talk about it, mostly you'd just put a romcom on the television and pulled him into your arms while you'd cuddled on the sofa, gently running your fingers through his soft curls. You would do anything to brush your fingers through his hair right now...

And when he doesn't notice How amazing he is Tell him over and over

So he never forgets

On the outside, Harry had always made a great effort to appear confident and independent, but when you'd managed to get to know him behind that exterior, you'd discovered that he had a bunch of his own insecurities. He always questioned if his music was good enough, if his performances were good enough, if he was a good idol, if he deserved everything he had, if he was good enough.

Once you'd found out he felt this way a lot of the time, you'd always made sure to tell him how absolutely extraordinary you thought he was. You hoped that she would tell him too, help him build a better image of himself in his head.

You managed to get through the chorus again before your feelings became too overwhelming and you had to stop. Your fingers halted on the piano while your tears had become slightly more uncontrollable.

You couldn't help but think that you were pathetic for sitting here when Harry had clearly moved on with someone else. You'd realized how much your joy had depended on him, but you had to be able to live a life without him. How could you move on when Harry had completed you though?

It was cliche, but you felt like you were missing a part of you and without Harry, you would never be able to get it back. It was like he'd been too good for you, so he had been taken away from you. You had always known you didn't deserve him, but you'd tried your very hardest to be worthy of his love, but you weren't and now someone was making you pay for those years where you'd been granted his affection without actually deserving it.

What were you supposed to do? How the fuck were you supposed to live a life when your source of happiness had been taken away from you?

With tears still in your eyes and your body shaking, you removed yourself from the piano and went back to bed, hoping that maybe tomorrow would be the day he would come knocking at your door, because moving on from him clearly wasn’t an option...

——————————————————————————

A/n: I've got a bunch of requests that's been sitting in my inbox for so long and I'm sorry I haven't gotten around to them. A bunch of them are with JJ and I just haven't been in the mood to write for him lately, I've just kinda been diving deeper and deeper into my Harry obsession (when am I not), but I'll get around to them at some point. Again I'm really sorry, school is just really stressing me out too, so I haven't been writing much at all, please don't stop requesting though<3

[restapesta]

They were sitting in their car in the middle of an empty McDonald's parking lot. It was three in the morning, star-lit darkness, the world around them only lit up by the white light of the always-opened drive-through.

It had been a craving that brought them here. Ian waking up for a midnight snack, realizing that Mickey was quite awake too, unable to truly rest until he knew his husband was near, with him. He had been standing in front of the fridge inside their scarcely illuminated kitchen, with Mickey sitting on the kitchen counter, legs criss-crossed watching him. Ian had been contemplating what would be best suited to satiate his hunger, besides the man licking strawberry yogurt clean off the spoon.

A light bulb had lit up above his head.

"Get ready."

"What?"

He threw his hoodie Mickey's way. It was big on Ian most of the time, but it was good enough to keep a person warm. "Trust me, Mick."

Mickey placed the gray sweatshirt over his head, pulling it over his torso until he was engulfed in it. Ian rummaged slowly around for their phones, wallets, and keys, searching for them in the dark. His eyes had accommodated to it, and the moonlight filtering in through the windows helped.

"Where are we going?"

"You look great in my clothes, you know. And, you'll see."

He grasped Mickey by the hand, their fingers locked together in a soft embrace, feeling the warmth of each other's skin. Mickey didn't resist for a moment, trusting Ian with his entire life, following after him like a moth to a flame. The only sound echoing throughout the silent apartment had been the turning of the key inside their lock, and later on the slight thudding of quiet steps outside in the hall before their door.

First they got inside their car, both Mickey and Ian staying silent as the redhead drove through the Westside streets—empty and calm. They were enjoying the peace, the clock on their dashboard showing 02:47, and their bodies were still touching, Ian's palm resting flat against Mickey's pajama-bottom-covered thigh, the ones he felt no need to change out of. Ian was in his too, checkered and amusing, reminding Mickey of a grandpa. It was ten minutes before the logo came into view, large and inviting.

Mickey's stomach rumbled unwittingly as he glanced at his husband, noting the twinkle in his eye. He himself was draped in a thick black sweatshirt, the hood obnoxiously pulled over his head, wisps of hair poking out, flaming red.

"Really?" Mickey asked, a slight flutter in his stomach at the image of it all.

"Open 24/7."

"That's your response?"

"Come on, baby, you're just hangry. Let's get some food in ya'."

Mickey couldn't argue.

Now they were in the car, stuffing their faces with hamburgers and fries, downing them with Coke like madmen—something about late nights made them starved—talking amongst one another with mouths filled with food. With anybody else, it probably would've been disgusting and unattractive.

But not with them. Never with them.

They were playing a game.

Twenty questions that were turning into thirty, all asked with no clear goal in mind, simply the first thing to pop into either one of their heads, out of their mouths only for them to hear.

"Have you ever thought about playing the ?"

"You know I play guitar."

"Do you want a guitar for your birthday?"

"It's my turn to ask the question."

"'kay. Ask."

"How old are those tiny as fuck briefs you have hidden in our dresser and why the fuck do you never wear them?"

"Those are two questions."

"You're blushing."

"'m not."

"Answer it, bitch."

"Just so you know, those briefs are brand new and they fucking fit amazing."

"Why was I then denied the pleasure?"

"Mick—"

"As soon as we get home, you're putting them on."

"Fine."

"You're gonna try them then too."

"Why?"

"Your ass. Have you seen your fucking ass?"

Mickey grinned.

They lapsed into silence as they slurped on the last few sips of their Cokes, plastic squeaking in their hands.

Ian finished his drink with a loud sigh, discarding the cup with the rest of the trash that was sitting between them. Mickey followed suit. They were stuffed now and slightly sleepy, drowsiness appearing in their eyes.

Mickey watched as Ian leaned back in his seat. They had reclined them all the way, so Ian was practically laying in it, long legs sprawled out underneath the console. He placed his hands across his stomach, palms across one another.

"What was the best day of your life?" He asked like the sap he was.

Mickey smiled at the question, teasing, "It's my turn."

"Mickey."

"Okay, fine," He chuckled, not wanting to play that specific game of pull and tug, content with the peacefulness of it all. "Let me think about it."

First kiss. Engagement. Wedding. Anniversary. Too many moments to pick from, each stained with a problem they had faced and overcame, beautiful in their own fucked up ways.

He nibbled on his lower lip as he recalled a memory of compete and utter happiness. No problems, no worries, no sadness. It dawned on him, the sensation like drinking water after days of dehydration.

"Remember that trip to Oklahoma?"

A smile graced Ian's features, his eyes briefly closing as he seemed to recall the day. "Don't think I could forget."

"We spent a whole day at that fair. Rented out a room at some shitty motel. From morning till night we went on every single ride possible. Literally saw every attraction there." He was getting lost in the memory, chest swelling with happiness. "Kissed on top of the Ferris wheel at midnight when it was just about to close, like fucking dorks."

He turned around to glance at Ian. He was looking straight at him, the small upturn of his lips reading clear in his eyes, gazing at Mickey like he was everything to him in this entire world.

Whispering, Mickey said, "That was the best day of my life."

Ian grabbed a hold of his hand slowly, delicately, placing it in his lap, the action making warmth heat Mickey's cheeks. Mickey leaned against his own seat, mirroring his husband, eyes on him all the way.

"The best day of my life was the 21st of June, 2021," Ian said longingly as if he was reading the beginning of some old fairytale-type story.

Mickey couldn't help the laugh that escaped him at Ian's sweet earnestness. "You know the date?"

Ian shot him a look, no bite in it whatsoever. "Allow me to tell the story, please?"

Mickey bit his lip to stop smiling. "Okay, okay, you're allowed."

Ian smacked lightly at Mickey's chest, not moving an inch, still slumped in his seat lazily.

"That night I had a dream," He began. "It wasn't even like a dream. More like a fucking vision—and I know how weird that sounds, trust me. But it was literally like a vision, clear and vivid and everything.

"Anyways, the dream—or vision, whatever—was of you and me, sitting in two lawn chairs, staring out into the world. But the thing is, we were older. Like, ninety-year-old old. We were just staring ahead. Then at each other. The way we looked at each other is how we look at each other now—filled with a bunch of love and fondness. It was just the two of us, together, old and gray."

Ian stopped and took a deep breath, leaning forward in his seat, locking eyes with Mickey who was listening carefully. Mickey straightened himself as well, and they were just sitting in their car, gazing softly at one another as Ian told the story, the remnants of their endeavor resting between them.

"So," He continued. "On the 21st of June, 2021, I woke up and all I could think about was that dream. It was like—like on a fucking loop inside my head, and each time I even glanced at you, I just saw the two of us, old and together.

"And I realized, as fucking weird as it sounds, that it was us. I swear Mick, it was you and me, years from now, just sitting in fucking lawn chairs, staring out into the world. Into each other's eyes." His eyes shone. "And all throughout that day, I knew that one day, we'd get there. That you and I would spend the rest of our lives together until we were wrinkly and gray and doing nothing but being together. Each time I even saw you from the cone of my eye, grumpy and frowning at whatever, I was so happy because I would get to spend the rest of my life with you.

"That, until the day I died, I would have you as my partner. My husband. My best friend. The love of my fucking life; by my side until there is nothing left in the world to do but sit by each other and just watch as time goes by.

"Just you and me, Mick. Until the end."

Mickey watched him inhale deeply.

"Best day of my fucking life, and I get to live it forever."

A tear slipped out of Mickey's eye. He felt it on his cheek, rolling down, hot against the already warm skin, yet all he could see was Ian. Ian with the shimmering orbs and that look in his eye like he was staring at everything he needed in life.

Mickey pulled his hand out of Ian's from where it was resting in his lap, then raised them to palm Ian's cheeks, pulling him in for a deep kiss. Lips moving together in the dark, serendipitous in all ways, the vulnerability for once a blessing instead of a curse.

"You never told me that story," He whispered against Ian's lips.

"It just felt right for me to know. Maybe we were just both waiting for this moment, unknowingly."

Another tear, filled with so much.

"We both live the best day of our life like that, Ian. Every single day."

Ian nodded, smiling against Mickey's lips. "I know, my love. I know."

They were sitting in their car in the middle of an empty McDonald's parking lot. It was four in the morning, star-lit darkness, the world around lit up by only them, the love palpable like a glow, allowing them to see clearly; see all the things that were important to them.

A person needed the match to their gasoline so they could light the fire that would burn and simmer. A person, too, needed the cord to their plug that would alight the darkness of the inside of their chest.

Because one would be lost without the glow in the dark. Or at least not be able to truly see.

[ldh-headcannon]

I Need You (CobraxReader One Shot)

Hey so I've made this small oneshot for Cobra. It's a little angsty, and pretty short. But i do hope people enjoy. It's been a little while since I've actually wrote anything like this. So I do hope you enjoy it enough.

I bolt upright in my bed as a loud knocking reaches my ears. I look around frantically, coming to my senses. The banging on the door continues incessantly as I crawl out of bed. I shuffle my way towards the door as quickly as I can. I throw open the door, too worried about the noise complaints that might come from my neighbors. As I open the door, I find a man that I know all too well.

He drops the fist he was slamming into the dark green wood. He lets out a sigh of relief as he pushes his honey blonde bangs out of his face. That’s when I finally take notice to the actual state he is in. Various cuts and bruises cover his entire body, and his clothes are shredded in places and blood splattered in others.

“Sorry to wake you up angel, but I could really use a nurse right about now.” He mutters before letting out a pained groan.

“Holy shit. Cobra, what happened to you?” I ask, opening the door wider to let him into my apartment. He gives a quick nod, “Thanks Y/N.”

After I grab the first aid kit from the bathroom, I lead him to the kitchen. He takes a seat at the table. He slowly slips his shirt over his head, discarding it onto the floor. He hisses and flinches in the process.

“I understand that you’re kind of fucked up right now, but do you mind not just tossing your dirty laundry all over my apartment? I just cleaned.” I grumble as I drag the other chair to sit in front of him. He lets out a soft chuckle, “I have blood running into my eyes, and you’re worried about a stupid shirt?”

“Don’t even get me started on the blood you tracked through here.” I say, taking out some disinfectant and cotton swabs. I take a deep breath as I restate my question from earlier, “I know you prefer leaving me in the dark, but please, open up to me. What happened to you?”

I look into his eyes for a brief second before tending to the new cut on his forehead.

“It’s nothing big Y/N. Some of Kuryu’s goons were trashing up Naomi’s restaurant, and I was the only one around. I had to help.” He explains, hissing at the sting from the peroxide.

“And how many were there?” I ask hesitantly. He remains quiet as I bandage up the cut on his left cheek. He keeps his stare downcasted. I take his chin between my fingers, and lift his face gently to stare into his warm, brown eyes, “Cobra please. You say that it’s you and I, through and through. Yet, you keep all your burdens to yourself. I know I can’t help you with everything, but, please at least let me try. I only want to help you.”

I continue to study his face as he contemplates what information he should tell me. He gives a deep sigh, “There were five of them. Two of them sporting bats, and another one a knife.”

“Jesus Cobra. Why didn’t you call Yamato or Dan for help?” I ask as I continue cleaning the wounds covering his torso. He winces as my fingers brush over one of the fresh bruises. I mumble out a quick apology.

“It’s fine. And I didn’t call any of them since I thought I could handle it. Besides, Naomi was in trouble at that moment, I had to act right then and there. I couldn’t wait for them even if I did call.” I bite my lip as I shake my head, “So it just had to be your job to save her?”

“I mean, someone had to help. I wasn’t seeing anyone else moving to help her out.” He explains with a shrug. I look over Cobra’s entire body, taking in the freshly wrapped up cuts, along the old ones that have faded into scars. I slam the left over gauze wrap on the table as I feel water begin to pool in my eyes. I hear a surprised gasp leave his lips.

“Angel? What’s the matter?” He questions as I stand up and turn away from him, so he can’t see the tears ready to fall. The chair he was occupying scrapes across the tile floor as he scurries to his feet.

I cross my arms over my chest, “I’m sorry Cobra, but you can’t believe that I can keep doing this.”

“Doing what?” I quickly swipe at my face, “Watching you play hero, having to be the one to fix you up when you come crawling to me all broken. It’s becoming too much for me.”

“I know it’s hard for you. But you’ve seen it out there. How bad this town has become. With more and more of those Kuryu douchebags showing up and wreaking havoc on our hometown. No one else is doing anything to stop them. Naomi, Yamato, Dan, and everyone else needs me. Just like I need you.” He explains, wrapping his arms around my middle, “Really. I need you. I will open up to you. I will try to come to you less beat up if I can help it. Just, don’t give up on me.” My eyes widen at his plea. I’ve never heard Cobra sound so desperate. His usually calm, soft voice breaking and cracking up for the first time since I’ve met him four years ago.

I sigh as I turn around in his grasp. I try to be careful of his wounds as I wrap my arms around him to return the hug. I hear him suck a sharp breath of air as I graze the newly bandaged areas. I start pulling away, but he holds me tighter. I return his gesture, hiding my face into the crook of his neck. I inhale deeply, trying to get a whiff of his cologne that’s barely remaining due to being covered up with the scent of blood and sweat.

“Ok. I won’t give up on you. Not now, not ever.”

He lets out a breath of relief and he buries his face in my hair, “Thank you, Y/N. Thank you.”

[livexdolan]

40 & 70 with gray? :)

40. "Thought I told you to stay by my side, eh?"  & 70. “You know what? Never-mind, you’ll know I’m lying to you anyway.” 

Masterlist

Whenever people found out who your best friend was- you knew they were trying to keep from laughing in your face. If he weren’t standing right next to you when you told people, sometimes they would think you were lying.

You’ve been friends with Grayson Dolan for more than a decade, knowing each other since elementary school. By high school, you drifted apart socially but you still hung out at each other’s houses, played video games, helped him with projects, even decided to go to the same college.

You handled Grayson’s popularity in high school well and he handled your lack of popularity well. All you prayed was college would be different.

It wasn’t.

Grayson decided to join Theta Xi, known to be the biggest pothead frat but also the best partiers. You told Grayson that maybe your friendship wasn’t going to work out, this was the sign. Grayson argued with you and spent weeks proving the frat would never change him.

Three years and a presidency later, he had changed. Yet for some reason, she stayed.

Well, she knew the reason, she’s been in love with him since the first time they kissed. It was on a rock in the forest behind his house, they were 16 and 17 and he had just learned no one had ever kissed her before.

After that, she knew she had to stay in his life even though she wasn’t his type at all and he had never given her any reason to believe he was interested in her as more than a friend.

Now, she’s cursing at the way she always get blindsided when it comes to Grayson. He talks her into the stupidest shit because he asks her in ways that she doesn’t realize what she’s getting into but by the time she finally realizes, it’s too late to back out.

Like right now, leaning against the counter in one of the kitchens. The frat house was split into four quads downstairs and two quads upstairs. Each quad has two bedrooms, a kitchen, and a small living space, which all lead out into the main, large room of the house where the main part of the party is happening.

She could still hear the music thumping beneath her feet, she was upstairs in the ‘off-limits’ quad. It was Grayson, Ethan, Ryan, and Mando’s rooms up here.

Grayson’s the president, E’s vp, Ryan’s in charge of everything grayson doesn’t want to deal with but his official title is treasurer, and Mando’s in charge of all things social media for the frat.

I’m in Ethan and Grayson’s kitchen, the cleanliness not surprising seeing as Ethans girlfriend pretty much lives with them at this point. I always try to clean up Grayson’s room and bathroom when I’m over, the OCD type A freak in me hates seeing his books everywhere, trash cans full of bottles, laundry piled in the corner.

It’s not like that most of the time though, that only happens on his bad weeks. Those are the weeks when he falls into this funk and only talks to me and Ethan. We all give him space because we know why it’s happening, they started right after their dad died.

Mr. Dolan dying was so hard on everyone. My family included. My dad wasn’t a very stand-up guy, and Mr. Dolan always made me feel welcome and was the kind of dad I always imagined my dad to be.

“Thought I told you to stay by my side, eh?" I jump at the deep voice, turning to see Grayson standing in the doorway, looking like an angel committing a sin by looking so hot.

He has on a pair of slacks and a loose, silk shirt, the pattern almost matching Ethans. The theme for the night was Coachella. Even if we were many states away and most of the people here couldn’t afford to even look at Coachella tickets.

I let him talk me into coming, wearing a knit triangle bralette top and off-white shorts Grayson picked out, I just realized my shorts match his pants perfectly.

I quirk my eyebrow at him and cross my arms, “I’m sorry, did I leave you to play beer pong?”

He smiles at me and I want to slap it off his face- or kiss it off- either is fine with me, “I’m sorry, angel. Just come back down and enjoy the rest of the party with me, I won’t ditch you again, I promise.”

Grayson’s always done his hardest to keep ever promise he’s told me, so I push off the counter, my entire hard-ass demeanor falling away and my normal, shy and reserved self takes it’s place. He grabs my hand and I try to ignore the pleasure I get from feeling his warmth on mine.

He pulls me towards the stairs and then we walk down together, me slightly behind him. He abruptly stops and I bump into him, cursing at him but he squeezes my hand, silently telling me to shut up.

I look over in time to see Dylan here, with McKenna. Dylan was my first boyfriend, though we’re only kissed and cuddled, I thought we were serious. Until I found out he had been sleeping with my dorm mate the entire time. That was freshman year, I should be over it. I am over it, but the look Grayson gives me tells me I don’t look as though I’m over it.

“C’mon.” Grayson pushes us through the crowd, keeping us out of the line of sight of my ex.

We duck into one of the quads and I realize too late- it’s the pot quad. The rooms filled with a thick haze, the slight soundproofing making the vibes much more calm and relaxing. There’s only a dozen or so people but I feel much better in here than out there. Even if I don’t smoke.

Someone passes Grayson a blunt and he takes a quick hit, “I feel like I should stay sober to make sure that asshole doesn’t even look at you,” I smile at Grayson’s protectiveness.

“I’m fine. It was a while ago, Gray. I’m over it,” I shrug. Maybe it would’ve hurt more if my heart didn’t belong to someone else.

I make a quick decision and go to take the blunt. Grayson pulls back, the weed out in the air where I can’t reach it, “What do you think you’re doing?”

He raises his brow and I scoff, rolling my eyes, “Give it to me, Grayson. I just want one hit.” He pulls back again when I try to reach out.

He just shakes his head and it feels like his patronizing a child, “this shits strong, angel. You can’t handle it.”

Something about the way he said it sends me back to a memory I forgot ever happened. After Dylan took me out for our five month, we went back to his place and we started making out. I tried to reach for his belt but he pulled away, telling me I wasn’t ready. Couldn’t handle it. That I was too immature and if I wanted it to be great, I should lose a little weight, because skinny girls have the best sex.

I snatch the blunt from Grayson, taking a hit before he can stop me. Fuck men. Fuck all men who think they know what I can and can’t handle. I think I inhaled to much because when I exhale I feel a heavy burn and a dry cough comes up my throat.

Grayson pats my back, “Angel-“

“Don’t.” I push his hand off me. Taking a deep breath, I see Grayson watching me closely. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look it. What is wrong with you tonight?” He asks me and I roll my eyes.

“You know what?” He looks at me expectantly and I sigh, “Never-mind, you’ll know I’m lying to you anyway.”

He grabs my hand and takes me out of the small room, moving us through the crowd to the back porch- a large, glassed in room. There’s only a few people out here.

He grabs my arms, “what’s wrong, y/n? Is it Dylan? I’ll kick him out if you want. ”

I look up into his eyes, the sincerity there surprising me. Grayson’s always been so honest with me. It’s time I’m honest with him. I don’t know if weed works this fast or if it’s the beer I downed earlier but I decide to be honest with him, “No, it’s not Dylan. I wasn’t even that hurt when we broke up. That’s because- I uh- I like you, Gray. I’ve had a crush on you since eleventh grade. I want to be with you. I mean- with you with you. I want to wake up next to you and hold hands and kiss and hug and- I want you to love me as much as I love you.” I rant.

His hands fall off my arms and my eyes well up, knowing the thing I’ve always feared is about to happen. He’s rejecting me. “Y/n I- I care about you. So much. But I- this isn’t a good idea.”

His words break my heart and I keep my gaze on the ground, “Um- okay. Well, I’m gonna- I have to go.” I say, looking up at him and biting my lip to hold back tears.

I turn on my heel and practically run back into the main room, trying to get out of this house as quickly as possible, “Y/n! Come back! Wait!” I hear Grayson’s voice and the tears start to fall, I push through the crowd faster, when someone grabs my arm, stopping me.

“Y/n?” I look up at Dylan, standing with McKenna. His eyebrows furrow when he sees me crying.

“Let me go,” I state, trying to get my arm out of his tight grip.

“What’s wrong? Who-“ he stops when he sees someone behind me, “Of course it was you. You’re such an asshole. What did you do to her?” He demands and I finally get my arm away from him.

Turning to see Grayson with rage in his eyes. He never got over Dylan cheating on me, “I didn’t do anything to her. You’re the piece of shit who cheated on y/n. How dare you come into my house and accuse me of hurting my best friend?” Grayson spits and I grab his arm out of instinct as he lurches forward.

“Gray, stop.” I say, he looks away from Dylan’s smirk to make eye contact with me for only a second before shrugging my hand off him.

“Yeah, Gray. Listen to your girlfriend. Don’t wanna embarrass you in your house, right?” Dylan mocks and I roll my eyes, knowing he’s just trying to rile Grayson up.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” the words are out of his mouth so quick, I don’t even realize what he said at first. I scoff and roll my eyes.

Because this is the time to correct him. You know what, “Fuck you.” I spit at Grayson and push my way out of the small circle forming around us. I make it to the front door when I hear a loud crack, looking back to see Dylan on the ground holding his nose and Grayson looking for me in the crowd.

We make eye contact and I shake my head, knowing this is the end of us. I open the door and slip out, running down the road, passing all the other fraternity houses. I can feel my heart pounding in my ears but I keep pushing myself until I get to my apartment, knowing it’s only a mile or so.

Once I get inside I slide down the door, leaning against it as I realize that happy ever afters are fake. The person you love isn’t always going to love you back. Fuck fairytales.

It’s not like I can hate Grayson- he didn’t know. I can hate him for not chasing me. He probably realized I’m not worth it. Best friends don’t run after each other, right? If he loved me, he wouldn’t have let Dylan get to him. He would’ve grabbed me and made me stay.

Tears fall down my face unrestrained as my heart clenches at the thought of never being friends with Grayson again. We’ve gone through death, high school, years of people trying to pull us apart, and I was able to ruin our friendship with three words.

If it was meant to be, he would’ve fought for me. Figuratively, not physically, seeing as he already punched someone tonight. I drag myself to my room and fell into the blankets, closing my eyes. I pray I will forget this night ever happened.

Next Part...

A/n: For all my people who didn’t get their fairy tale ending ❤️

[all-my-love-for-harry]

A priority.

summary: Y/N defends herself from the hate and Harry gets mad.

word count: 1.9k

warnings: angst!

a/n: a little something to hold onto until i finish some requests for my shy little boy, hope you like this! (i’m on a roll, sorry for posting so much mjsiw)

you can find the rest of my masterlist here

❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ 

Ugly. Worthless. Bitch. And her personal favorite, slut. Those words along with some others were all over Y/N’s social media accounts every single day.

Ever since some bloody paparazzi took a picture of Harry and Y/N holding hands while shopping, Y/N couldn’t go online without having thousands of strangers on the internet throwing names at her.

She should’ve seen it coming, honestly. It was stupid to think they could hide their relationship forever, she just wished fans wouldn’t be so aggressive towards her.

Y/N wanted to understand, she really did. For a solid week she convinced herself they were just being protective over Harry, but after the insults and derogatory comments about her imagine didn’t stop, she started to grow annoyed. She started believing fans just didn’t want to see him happy.

Y/N had to bit her tongue numerous times, knowing that if she stood up for herself, it would only be worse. So she tried to ignore it.

She didn’t stop using social media, why the hell would she stop having a life because of fans that couldn’t contain their need to harass every person Harry became close with?

A month after the pictures of them were out for the entire world to see, Harry had to travel to the States for work. He was supposed to be away for only two weeks, and Y/N was going to stay at his house a couple of days before his arrival so they can spend time together right away.

Laying on the couch, Y/N scrolled mindlessly through her Instagram feed, seeing what her friends and family were up to. She rolled her eyes when her notifications started to go off, not really wanting to enter and see her entire comment section below her posts full of hate towards her.

But curiosity killed the cat.

Promising herself she would only have a look, she clicked her notifications. She had posted a picture yesterday when she went out with a couple of her girlfriend, so all the comments were directed towards that post.

She’s dressed like a slut here

Can’t believe Harry is dating her…

He can do so much better, what a shame

It can be so easy to slip into a mindset where she let these type of things affect her and her confidence, but she simply chose not to. These people didn’t know her, and probably never will.

I can’t wait for harry to realize the kind of whore you are and dumps your fucking ass.

Oh well, that’s hilarious. Now she was mad. Probably picking a fight wasn’t the smartest decision she’s ever made, but she couldn’t help it. She let the anger speak for itself as she pressed the reply bottom and started writing directly to that specific comment.

‘So he can date you instead or what?”

Send.

Y/N dropped her phone on her lap, deciding it was enough internet for the day. She decided to move to the kitchen and start on the cupcakes she had previously planned to bake her boyfriend. Harry wasn’t one to allow himself to eat a lot of unhealthy stuff, as he has always tried to be as healthy as possible. But, man, cupcakes were something Harry absolutely loved.

She didn’t really touched her phone for the rest of the afternoon, staying busy in other things. She had a facetime call with Harry at night, and she was looking forward to see his face, even if it was only through the phone. Her phone didn’t have enough battery, so she turned on her computer to wait for Harry’s call.

The screen lightened, showing Harry’s upcoming call. Y/N furrowed, thinking he was way earlier but she wouldn’t complain about it. She answered the call, expecting to see her beautiful boyfriend’s dimpled smile on the screen, but she was surprised when she saw a serious look instead.

“Why would you do that, Y/N?” he asked sternly.

“Do what?” Was this some kind of joke?

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, Y/N. Don’t play dumb”

“Excuse me?” she raised her eyebrows. “Maybe if you explained what you mean we could talk about it”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Do you have any idea how disrespectful it was from you to answer like that to a fan? It was unnecessary and, to be honest, childish from you”

Y/N was surprised. “Yeah, maybe I was rude but I don’t think I was being childish, Harry”

“Yes, you were. Are you aware of how this makes me look? You can’t just say things like those and don’t think it wouldn’t affect my image too”

Well, what the fuck. “Ah, yes. Treat people with kindness and whatnot. I guess that doesn’t include your fucking girlfriend, because the only reason why I said what I said was because your bloody fans wouldn’t stop harassing me!” Now her face had a deep frown.

“You sure you’re not being a little dramatic? I mean, how bad could the hate get?”

“How bad?! Harry, do you even go online? To them I’m nothing but a fucking whore, do you have any idea of how fucking frustrating is to be treated like you’re the worst human being by your fans just because we’re dating?”

“There’s always gonna be people like that, Y/N” he sighed. “You need to learn how to ignore it”

“Do you think I haven’t tried? I’m sorry but it is not my fault the fans can’t contain themselves from sending death threats to every person that breaths close to you!” she paused. “Do you seriously just called me to scold me?”

“Well, I’m not happy about what you did, to be honest. They’re my fans, Y/N. They deserve to be respected”

“And I don’t?” she raised an eyebrow. “You know what? I’m done. Enjoy your day alone tomorrow because I’m fucking leaving”

“Leaving? What do you mean?” Harry’s pulse started to rise, watching his girlfriend stand up from the bed, the computer moved and he saw she was in his house. “Y/N, don’t leave. We’ll talk about this tomorrow”

“No, I’ve heard enough. I don’t want to talk to you right now” She closed her computer, hanging up. She put on her jacket and took her phone from the nightstand.

Before she exited the house, she went to the kitchen and threw the cupcakes she made in the trash.

Harry, you fucking asshole.

They’ve only dated for seven months and have never really got into a fight before. Y/N was a very impulsive person, more so when she was mad. Fuck, she knew his fans were important to him, she understood that. But it was becoming too much for Y/N to handle.

She loved Harry, she was truly in love with him. But was it really worth it to go through all of this if he wasn’t even willing to stand up for her?

❁ ❁ ❁ ❁

Harry changed his flights. After Y/N hung up on him, he realized he behaved like a proper asshole. He could’ve said so many things differently, without offending her the way he did.

He didn’t like she thought she wasn’t important to him. He was scared all the baggage he carried with him was a deal breaker for her, it has been on the past for almost every other relationship he has ever had.

It wasn’t fair of him to straight up scold her without hearing her first. He was upset and didn’t think enough before speaking, and now he regretted it.

He knew he needed to fix things. Fast.

Even though the night before Y/N made very clear she wasn’t staying, a part of him still hoped to see her curled up on the couch watching Netflix and waiting for him to arrive, but he was welcomed by an empty house.

He sighed, passing his hand through his curls, thinking how he could make it up to her. He went to the kitchen, where he kept his car keys. Harry stopped his tracks when he saw the trash can.

His heart dropped to his stomach when he noticed the homemade untouched cupcakes tossed into the trash.

He better make this right.

❁ ❁ ❁ ❁

Y/N was bored. She had cleared her schedule because Harry was coming home and now she had nothing to do other than drown on her sorrows.

Being bored and upset at her boyfriend, made her take the decision to take an afternoon nap on her couch. She had been asleep for a little while when someone started banging at the door.

You see, Harry had a key to her place, but he feel undeserving of using it after the way he treated her. But she wasn’t answering, and it wasn’t because she wasn’t home, he had seen her car in the parking lot of her apartment building.

Keying into her place, he looked around for his girlfriend, finding her sleeping figure on the couch, a blanked wrapped around her. He didn’t want to wake her up but they really needed to talk, so he kneeled down to be at the same eye level.

“Y/N… Y/N, wake up” he shook her a little. Her eyelashes fluttered a little before her eyes opened, a frown immediately appearing on her face.

“What are you doing here?” She sat down, taking the blanked off of her and crossing her arms.

“I’m so sorry, baby”

“Now I’m baby? Not the childish Y/N you were scolding yesterday?”

He sighed, moving to sit in the coffee table to be in front of her. “I’m sorry for the way I behaved yesterday, it wasn’t fair for you”

“It wasn’t”

“I was upset, Jeff had sent me a screenshot of the comment and I didn’t even check social media. It was impulsive and wrong from me and I apologize”

“I don’t like the way you talked to me yesterday, Harry”

“I know. If I could take it back, I would in a heartbeat. Please don’t leave me over this, my love” he grabbed her hands, feeling tears threaten to spill out of his eyes. “I know it isn’t fair for you, I know you’ll have to put up to so much shit, but please, please don’t give up on us. I swear I’ll make it right, Y/N, I don’t want these kind of situations get in the way of us”

“I’m not going to leave you” she mumbled. “I’m upset, yes. I know I was wrong too, but it all got too much and i… snapped. I know these kind of things affect your image and reputation too, so I’m sorry”

“I don’t care about my image. I should’ve said something sooner, before it all went out of control. I suppose I ignored it, hoping you’d do the same. I’m sorry for not checking up with you about this”

Y/N gave him a little smile, pulling from his hands to make him sit beside her. She wrapped her arms around his torso, pushing herself into his chest. “I know your fans are important to you, and you love them. I swear I want to have a good relationship with them, because they’re a huge part of your life, and I’m gonna work on that, I promise”

“And I promise I’ll stand up for you. I love my fans, so much. But you’re my girlfriend, my priority” he kissed her forehead. “I love you, Y/N, my baby”

“I love you more, love” she planted little kisses on his chin and jaw.

“Enough to make me more cupcakes?” Y/N let out a belly laugh, nodding. “Good. You owe me after you threw those to the trash”

“That’s what you get for being a meanie”

[sirthisisa-wendys]

The Enforcers: Part 6 (Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader)

wc: 1.5k

tw: none

masterlist

The steady burst of snow is burning your hands.

You're frozen to the bones. And all you can hear is the chattering of your teeth as you drag the limp body of your Leviathan down the shambles of a road that once led you to freedom, to success.

Your eyes snap open as you pull yourself out of the nightmare, clutching at your shaking form underneath the sheets. You stretch your arm out behind you to feel for the man you gave yourself to the night before but find nothing but empty space.

Had you imagined the whole thing?

The grey sheets are tucked so neatly around you, and the nightstand is devoid of any of your trinkets that you know you're not in your own room. Something clatters in the kitchen, and you hear Suguru curse, making you get up and toss off the sheets. Before your hand reaches for the doorknob, you notice your lack of clothing and grab the bathrobe hanging from a hook by the door. You tie the massive cotton item around yourself and fling the door open, not bothering to fix your hair before walking into the living room.

Before you can peek into the kitchen, a pair of blue eyes catch your visage and looks twice before a smile spreads across Gojo's face.

"Aw, shit. Yuki said you were wasted, but I didn't think-- I knew you had it in you, Su, but damn..."

Suguru appears a second later, wiping his hands on a dishtowel and catching you in his bathrobe, standing in shock in the living room. "Oh, y/n," he murmurs, and pushes his bangs out of his face. "Did I wake you? I'm sorry about the noise; I was trying to cook breakfast."

"No, it's okay," you whisper, and he gives you a lopsided smile, eyes roving over your figure clad in his bathrobe.

"Looks good on you."

"Yo, can you quit flirting and hurry up? I have to brief you two on your next mission before Toji tries to beat me to the pool hall."

"Right," you sit across from Gojo on the couch, and Suguru turns off the stove to sit next to you. You notice he isn't timid in front of Satoru, placing his arm around the couch behind you. Gojo notices this and says nothing, instead choosing to thump the file in his hands onto the table. You reach for it, then open the black folder, noting the heavy redaction on many of the pages.

"This might be your biggest one yet," Gojo states, leaning forward. "You're going to be recovering some evidence needed in our search for Kenjaku."

Kenjaku. The most elusive man in the entire CSB. Known for blowing covers of CSB Kitsune, organizing massive Leviathan casualties on staged recon missions, and relentlessly terrorizing the Grand Council with threats of bringing the CSB to its knees.

Your palms begin to sweat, and Suguru takes the file from your hands, letting you lace your fingers together to stop them from shaking.

"How do we know this isn't a setup?" Suguru wonders and then looks up from the folder. "And why is y/n coming with us? This is normally Leviathan work."

"Y/n is going in as a scout. But you'll be with her, along with four other high-level ops teams. It'll be presented as a routine inspection of the systems, but you two will orchestrate the recovery. The other four teams will assist with entry and extraction."

"And what kind of evidence is this?"

"Files." Your mind flashes to the files sitting in the trash on your desktop, and you inhale deeply. "Files from a computer linked to a DDOS attack from his base. You'll be going in and retrieving them with a thumb drive." The thumb drive is slapped onto the table, the silver color shining in the light of the living room.

"When do we leave?" you wonder, and Gojo smiles, showing all of his teeth.

"In twelve hours, right as everyone is getting off. The building will need to be empty when you two go in to prevent any suspicions or reports back to Kenjaku."

"Got it."

_____________________________________________________________

Geto drives you to the rendezvous, wearing an all-black outfit and glasses that he keeps fiddling with nervously. His tattoos are covered up, but that doesn't make him look any less intimidating.

Again, he's a "security officer". Well, one without a gun, which is probably why he's fiddling with his fake glasses so much.

You consider your cover - Information Technology Officer - and look down at your outfit again. Your dress pants and frilly white blouse look the part, but you don't feel the part.

"This is too easy," you mention, and Suguru glances over at you.

"I was just thinking the same thing."

"So I just go into this room, find the computer, and plug in the thumb drive?"

"You have to locate the one--"

"Row Eleven, computer eighteen."

"You're too good at this," Suguru laughs, and you chuckle, looking out of the window. The massive building looms ahead, and you feel your gut twist painfully. As you pull into the parking garage, you watch for the first set of teams to assist with entry. They'd be disguised as guards that will lead you into the building and up to the room, and then two sets of guards would come to get you and lead you out, taking the thumb drive with them as they depart.

But why so many people? Weren't you and Suguru enough to get in and get out with the evidence?

You step out of the car after Suguru parks, and when you get to the front of the building, you see the first set of guards. They open the doors to the main floor, where people are still milling about and wrapping up for the day. Next, you're walked to the elevators, where one of the guards swipes a keycard, his eyes looking everywhere but at you and Suguru as he presses the up button. His partner stands closely behind you two, but you consider the ultra level of security a comfort.

Suguru, however, is not so thrilled.

"Can you back the fuck up?" he turns and asks the woman behind you, who steps back at the forcefulness of his tone. You look up at him and notice a deep frown line set into his brows as you walk onto the elevator, unaccompanied. Suguru punches the "7" button with his knuckle and stands stiffly as the doors close on the two security guards below.

"Everything's going to be fine," you reassure him, taking his hand and squeezing it. "You'll see." He grunts in response as the elevator grinds to a halt, and the automated voice announces, "Floor Seven". The second set of guards meets you right outside of the elevators, one taking the lead while the other walks behind you as you walk past a row of frosted glass doors. A key card is swiped again, and you go past a wooden door that has no windows before walking down a less inviting hallway.

Row eleven, computer eighteen.

The guard in front opens a door leading to the computer room, and you're met with a fierce blue glow from the dormant screens.

"Ten minutes," Suguru advises you, and you walk past him, nodding.

"Give me seven."

You count the rows from the back of the room and find the eleventh row easily, then down the long path to computer eighteen. When you sit down at the screen, your fingers quickly type in the password: TOUR-DOZE-KURD.

You take the thumb drive out of your pocket and wait for the program files to load, searching through each and every one with lightning speed.

"If I was a suspicious file... where would I be..." You open the TEMP files and instantly find a massive .zip file just out in the open. You open the ZIP extractor and wait for the files to pop up, sticking the thumb drive into the computer and inhaling before the "finished" notification pops up.

However, when the files open, your eye catches on one, in particular, making your heart stop.

Release to Y/n on (unknown date and time).

Two and a half minutes left on the clock.

You drag the extracted files to the thumb drive icon, but you click on the folder addressed to you while they're downloading.

And you discover the same videos, the same audio files, the same documents that were dropped onto your computer. Yet, all you can hear is the rushing sound of blood in your ears as you click out and look at the other files, hundreds of names and release times labeled on files.

Two other names catch your eye, and you balk, fearing the worst if you open them:

Geto Suguru. (released).

Yu Haibara. (do not release).

Once the files finish transferring with only a minute to spare, you snatch the stick out of the computer and leap up, shutting the device down before rushing out of the room.

"Suguru, there's something very wro--" You stop in your tracks as you see two men dressed in grey Kitsune uniforms standing across from Suguru, their guns pointed at the two of you. Suguru's hands are raised, and you shakily inhale, feeling the thumb drive growing hot in your pocket.

"I know, baby," he whispers, eyes focused on the men blocking your exit down the hallway. "Looks like we've been set up."

_____________________________________________________________

TAGLIST: @missbonekitty @wack0-genius @thankuary @jsqeeut @r-i-m-f-009 @sunfloweroranges @leanne-tamashi @girlruby23@rein-icu @brownskinnedgirll @chanelmalandro @savantsoulfinder @jibe-gajima @chilledlucifer @amnxsia @kontentious @fuyuko26 @everybodylovescayrayray @flare-on

[drabbles-mc]

Protective Detail (4/?)

Nestor Oceteva x Reader

Warnings: language, violence, blood, guns, mild injuries, Nestor being a goddamn thirst trap

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: This chapter is a liiiiittle longer than the others have been but hopefully that’s not a problem. Did I do a deep-dive on Gino Vento’s google photos to be able to know what his body art situation is?? You betcha. Enjoy! xoxo

Chapter Index

Protective Detail Taglist: @masterlistforimagines​ @sillygoose6969​ @mydaiilyescape​ @lovebennycolon​ @the-radical-venus​ @gemini0410​ @garbinge​ @slutformayansmc​ @paintballkid711​ (as always, if you want to be on my taglists feel free to let me know!)

Despite the fact that the only thing on your agenda for the day was going to the grocery store, you still came into the kitchen in the morning to see Nestor sipping coffee in yet another button-down shirt and pair of slacks. You wondered for a moment if the man even owned just a pair of casual blue jeans.

“I don’t know where the Galindos shop,” you said with a laugh as you poured a cup of coffee, “But the grocery store I go to doesn’t have a dress code. I thought you knew that.”

He shook his head but you could see the smirk pulling at his lips, “This is just how I dress, Y/N.”

He didn’t use your name often, but each time he did you felt your entire body turn into jello for a few moments before you regained composure again. You took your time getting ready, loving that you didn’t feel rushed or like you were on a schedule. You told Nestor that he could drive, pretending that you just wanted the extra space in his car for shopping purposes. But you were also testing a theory that if you let Nestor have his way more often, he would let you know a little more about who he was as a person. Plus, you had to admit, you didn’t really mind his driving too much. Even if he did drive without the radio on.

Having Nestor with you while you grocery shopped was nice because you got to leave him in charge of pushing the cart while you perused the aisles and picked things out to eat for the next few days. You’d shove produce in his face and ask him if he thought it was fresh, and he would begrudgingly help you out, rolling his eyes at how terrible you were at telling if cantaloups were ripe.

The two of you were walking down the cereal aisle and he was shaking his head at you while fighting back a smile, “You’re like a child with access to a credit card.”

“Listen, Nestor,” you stood on your tip-toes to try and reach towards the back of the top shelf, “Coco Puffs have no age limit.”

He reached over you with ease and grabbed the last box from the back of the shelf and placed it in the cart, not saying a word as he continued pushing onward. You smiled to yourself for a few moments before snapping back to reality and speed-walking a few steps to catch up with him.

He was helping you bag items at the self-checkout and if you were honest with yourself, every now and then you would forget that he was with you to keep you from getting shot or kidnapped. Sometimes you even felt like friends, as much as someone like Nestor would let a person be friends with him.

Once you were out on the road and heading home, you looked over at Nestor with puppy-dog eyes, “Can we stop at Starbucks?”

He looked at you, shaking his head the second he saw the way you were looking at him, “The lines are always ridiculous. The ice cream will melt.”

You sighed, knowing that puppy-dog eyes most likely weren’t going to work on him but it was worth a shot anyway. You leaned back in your seat and scrolled on your phone, wanting desperately to play music to break up the silence.

Nestor passed the street that you normally turned off to get home. You looked over at him and saw how tense his body was. You sat upright, putting your phone back in your purse, “What?”

He nodded towards the rearview mirror, “Car’s been following us since we left the store.”

Your stomach knotted and you tried to take a deep breath but it didn’t help to calm you down at all. You instinctively reached for the glove compartment like it was your own car, and you were expecting Nestor to stop you, but instead he reached and opened it for you, not having to take his eyes off the road to dig around and get the gun out for you.

“You shouldn’t need to use it,” he placed the weapon in your hand and his lingered for a moment, “But just in case.”

He did his best to stay on busier roads, hoping it would be a deterrent, and also hopefully make it easier to lose whoever it was that was tailing them. You felt your heart pounding inside your chest—you had been hoping that your father had dealt with everything and that Nestor really was just an unnecessary precaution, but that wasn’t the case.

Somewhere along the way, the road went dead. Nestor was white-knuckled on the steering wheel and you were trying not to let your hands shake. He had been steadily increasing your speed, but even so the car had kept up and pulled up alongside you. You tried to get a good look at the people who were inside, but before you could, Nestor slammed on the gas and tried to speed ahead of them in one last burst to lose them.

Before he could successfully get in front of them, they swerved and hit the back driver’s side corner of the car. With the speed that Nestor had picked up they hit you hard enough to send the car spinning. By some miracle the vehicle didn’t roll, but you swerved off the road and slammed into an embankment, trashing the front of the car and pinning Nestor’s side. Even if he wanted to open his door and get out, he couldn’t. It all happened so fast, you don’t think you would’ve been able to explain exactly how the two of you ended up in that position even if someone tried to pay you to.

The other car pulled up, opening their passenger door. You had already undone your seatbelt and you instinctively shot the gun in your hand, busting the glass window. You fired off a second bullet and got the man who was coming towards you in the leg, causing him to drop. You were getting ready to fire off a third shot when a third man jumped out of the car and dragged him back throwing him in the back seat, the only sound in the air was a slew of curses of the man who was bleeding. You froze up, unable to take an easy shot that would take someone’s life.

“Just fucking go!” the man yelled as he barely got his accomplice into the back seat.

The car started peeling away before the back door was even completely shut. Clearly, they hadn’t been planning on you being armed at all, let alone ready to shoot. You took a shaky breath as you put the safety back on the gun. You turned to Nestor, who had a harsh burn along his neck from his seatbelt, as well as a cut and a welt on the side of his forehead from where his head slammed against the window while you were spinning out. You unclicked his seatbelt and gently tried to wake him without shaking him, not knowing how hard he had slammed his head.

“Nestor?”

He groaned in response, “Fuck.”

“Oh thank god,” you let out a sigh of relief.

“How many?”

“At least three,” you gently and slowly turned his head, trying to get a better idea of his injuries. You had a feeling that it was nothing serious—he was just going to be bruised and sore for a few days. His side of the car got slammed pretty bad when you went off the road. You pressed your lips together for a moment, “Still got feeling in all your limbs?”

He laughed, although it was weighted with sarcasm, leaning back against the headrest, “Yea.”

“Good,” you sighed, letting your body sink back into your seat as well, “All things considered, this could’ve gone a lot worse.”

He looked over at you, “Looks like we’ll be using your car for a few days.”

You slowly shook your head, “The ice cream is definitely gonna melt.”

His next laugh was genuine, despite the pain he was in, “You have the worst priorities in the world.”

“Hey, I checked to see if you were alive, didn’t I?”

After a few phone calls made to your father and some of his connections, you had a tow-truck and a temporary replacement car there in no time. It was convenient, the only thing you weren’t thrilled about was the fact that your father was the one who delivered it.

“What happened?” he ran to you and wrapped you in a hug

“They followed us out of the grocery store,” you said, taking a slight step back when he finally released you from his embrace, “Nestor noticed right away. They never saw my house.”

He nodded, “That’s good at least,” he held you gently by your upper arms, “How are you? Are you hurt?”

You shook your head, “Neck is sore from getting spun out, but I’m alright. I should probably get Nestor home so I can get his cuts cleaned up.”

“You have things to take care of him?”

You nodded, “Yea of course.”

“Is there anything else I can get you?”

You shook your head, “No, I think we’ll be okay. I just wanna get home.”

He nodded understandingly, “Okay. I love you, mija, you know that right?”

You smiled, “I know. I love you too,” you hugged him, “I’ll talk to you later and give you a full download of the situation, alright?”

“Alright. Please, drive safe.”

“I will,” you kissed his cheek, “Te quiero.”

“Te quiero,” he walked over and shook Nestor’s hand, “Thank you for keeping her safe.”

He nodded, feeling like there wasn’t much to thank him for in this situation, “Your daughter is a very capable woman.”

“She is,” with a final nod and one last look over at you, your father went back to his own car and took off.

You and Nestor waited for the tow truck to finish loading the SUV before finally piling into the car your father had brought for you. It was pretty reminiscent of Nestor’s SUV and you knew that was probably by design. In the back of your mind you knew your father probably wanted it to be your car so he could finally give you what he considered to be a real car. Truthfully you hated driving bigger vehicles, but you weren’t about to hand the keys over to Nestor.

“I’m sorry,” he said one you were both in the car.

“What’re you sorry for?” you asked as you buckled in.

“It never should’ve come to that, to you having to use my gun.”

You shook your head, “Don’t do that. You were unconscious. Not even you are cool enough to be able to pull that off while knocked out. Thanks to you, I get to sleep in my own bed tonight. So don’t beat yourself up,” you waited for him to meet your eyes, “Self-pity is the only thing that doesn’t look good on you, so knock it off,” you offered a small smile as you started the car.

He smiled as he settled into his seat but he didn’t say anything. The drive passed in silence, and for once you weren’t itching to turn the radio on. Part of you wanted to reach over and cover Nestor’s hand with your own, but you fought the urge. He somehow managed to keep his eyes open the whole ride home.

Once you started getting what was left of the groceries out of the car, Nestor asked for the house keys so he could do a check. You told him not to bother, that there would be no way a second threat would be lurking in your house after what just happened, but he insisted. It wasn’t a battle you were going to pick, so you handed over the keys.

The house was quiet, and you didn’t make any comment on it as you started unpacking the groceries. Nestor was sat on the couch, staring up at the ceiling, and the look on his face made your heart feel heavy. You texted your father, asking for one small, very ridiculous favor, hoping that he would grant it to you.

Once all of the groceries were put away, you went and grabbed your first aid kit from the bathroom and sat down next to Nestor on the couch. This time, he didn’t look annoyed about the closeness you shared.

“C’mere,” you motioned for him to lean closer to you so you could start wiping and cleaning out the cut on his forehead. Neither of you said anything while you tended to him. He cringed slightly when you used the alcohol, but he remained silent. You told him that after he showered you would put a bandage on it just as a precaution, but the gash wasn’t really that deep. It was more to make you feel better about it. You wiped down the burn across his neck with an anti-bacterial rub, but there wasn’t a whole lot else that you could do for it.

“How’s your side?” you nodded to his side that got slammed into the door of the car when you hit the embankment.

“It’s fine,” he wasn’t looking at you.

“Can I see it?”

He stood up, ready to go shower and wash the day away, “I said it’s fine.”

“Well if it’s fine then there’s no reason not to let me see,” you weren’t yelling but it was a firm tone that you hadn’t used with him before.

He sighed, not having the energy to put up a fight. He untucked and un-buttoned his shirt, pulling the one side out so that you could see his chest and ribcage. There were a few bruises starting to come in, but it didn’t look terrible. You tried to stay focused on the real reason you wanted to look at him, but you had to admit that you let your eyes linger a little longer than medically necessary. You hadn’t been expecting to see so much ink on his skin.

“Can I go shower now?”

You nodded, “Yea. Thank you.”

You didn’t have the energy to go and get changed, so instead you melted into the couch, pushing the first aid kit to the floor. You heard the shower turn on and then, for the first time, he put music on. Your eyes went wide, thinking for a moment that you must’ve hit your head at some point too and were hearing things. After a minute went by, you finally let yourself relax, not even wanting to turn the television on and risk drowning out the melodies drifting out of the bathroom. You didn’t know what kind of music you were expecting Nestor to listen to, but what he was playing was much more mellow than you thought it would be.

You were resting with your eyes closed when there was a light knock on the door. You got up, smiling because you knew what it was. You opened the front door, smiling at your father’s newest assistant who looked like he was only a couple weeks out of college. He stood there with a smile as he held out a brown paper bag to you.

“Your dad said you needed these?”

You smiled and nodded, “Yes, thank you so much,” he nodded and went to walk away when you caught his attention again, “Hey, I never caught your name.”

“Ricardo. You can call me Ricky.”

“Thank you, Ricky.”

“You’re welcome, Y/N. Have a good night.”

You shut and locked the door and put the bag in the freezer, grinning over the fact that your father was still willing to indulge you in silly things like this even after all this time. You snapped back to reality when the sound of the shower and the music both shut off. The door creaked open and you fought the urge to peak into the hallway.

After a few minutes went by and Nestor didn’t reappear in the living room, you took it upon yourself to go to him. You grabbed the bag out of the freezer and two spoons before making your way down the hall.

You knocked lightly on the door, not used to it being shut. His voice was quiet on the other side, “Yea?”

You opened the door and fought to not let your jaw hit the floor. Nestor was lying on his bed, eyes closed, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. All you could think about, though, was the fact that he was lying there with no shirt on, just a pair of sweatpants. You truly couldn’t believe the number of tattoos that the man had. His chest, stomach, and arms were completely decked out in ink of all kinds. You hadn’t given much thought to him having tattoos—you saw the one on his neck and his hands but other than that it never really crossed your mind. Your quick glance earlier didn’t do his extensive body art justice.

And his hair wasn’t braided—his long, thick curls were thrown up into a messy bun on top of his head. You were certain that there would never be a better look for him than that. You wished it didn’t take such a rough day to get it out of him. You cleared your throat slightly, chastising yourself over how your mind instantly flew to some very unprofessional places.

“I come bearing gifts,” you said as you walked over and sat on the edge of his bed, “Well, gift. It’s just one.”

He opened one eye, smiling as you set the pint of ice cream and spoon on his nightstand, “Which of your father’s assistants had to drive that over?”

You laughed, “The new one, Ricky.”

He forced himself to sit upright, “Poor kid.”

He reached for the ice cream and your eyes were glued to his forearms, figuring it was the safest place for you to study as you digested all of the new ink that you were seeing. You were trying not to gawk but he was making it really difficult for you. You bit down lightly on your bottom lip, unable to force yourself to look away.

He noticed you staring and immediately became very aware of how he looked, “Fuck, sorry. Let me grab a shirt.”

You shook your head, “Stop. This is your home too for now. I don’t give a shit,” you laughed, “After today you can wear whatever you want,” you took a scoop of ice cream out of your pint, “Your hair looks good like that, by the way.”

He smiled, slowly pulling his legs up so he was sitting cross-legged by his pillow, “Thanks. You tell anyone and I’ll kill you.”

You laughed, “Hey, man-buns are in right now.”

He chuckled as he methodically scooped away a layer at a time. You pulled your feet up and sat the same way he was, the two of you facing each other. Neither of you said anything as you ate, and you soaked up the moment.

“Can I put a bandage on your cut?” you asked as you put the top back on your ice cream container.

“It’s really not that bad.”

“I know but it’ll make me feel better.”

He shrugged, nodding, “Sure.”

You gathered up your spoons and what was left of your ice cream and walked out of the room. You tossed the containers back into the freezer before going to grab the first aid kit off of your floor. After thinking about it for a moment, you made a pit-stop in your room and changed out of your clothes, opting for a pair of sweats and a baggy t-shirt.

By the time you walked back into his room, Nestor had put on a t-shirt moved to the edge of the bed, swinging his legs off so his feet hit the floor. You sat down next to him and looked at his forehead. You sifted through the different-sized bandages you had before you found one that was satisfactory. You leaned in, gently applying it to his forehead.

You rested your palm on the side of his face, lightly tracing your thumb over the bandage to make sure it was completely on. Nestor’s eyes were closed, and without thinking better of it, he leaned slightly into your touch and you froze, not wanting to give up the contact. You tried to relax your body, but you couldn’t.

A few seconds later he opened his eyes again, and realized what he was doing. He sat upright and cleared his throat, not sure what to say or do. You forced yourself to break the silence, “Need anything else?”

He shook his head, “No. Thank you. I know I’m here to keep you safe but you definitely saved my ass today.”

You chuckled, “And you can save my ass tomorrow,” your expression grew a little more serious, “But really, you good?”

He nodded, “I’m good.”

“Okay,” you rested your hand on his knee for a moment, “Goodnight, Nestor.”

You went to take your hand away as you stood when you felt his come to rest over it, completely enveloping it, “Goodnight,” he gave your hand a soft squeeze.

You walked out of his room, shutting the door behind you. you turned off all the lights in the house before going to your room and collapsing onto your bed. You stared up at the ceiling, trying to process everything that had happened that day. You traced over the top of your hand where Nestor’s had been and, despite the day the two of you had had, you found yourself smiling.

[trillian-anders]

the assistant

pairing: ransom drysdale x reader

warnings: violence, angst, fluff, smut && SPOILERS

word count: 6.8k

description: part 1 of 5. CONTAINS MAJOR SPOILERS, PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE NOT WATCHED THE FILM. you’ve been working for the thrombeys for four years now, the last three years of your service being a glorified babysitter to the most annoying, self-absorbed, dickhead hugh ransom drysdale.

You wanted to smack that dumb smirk off his stupid dumb face. 

Hugh Ransom Drysdale. The bane of your fucking existence. Standing there with that stupid fucking smirk on his face, he fucking loved this. Watching as you cleaned up his mess. A crying girl on his doorstep and you, his assistant (aka babysitter), trying to calm her down enough to get her to leave his house. This dumb contemporary floor to ceiling windowed, minimalist, empty souled house. The girl had been picked up at a bar last night. Charmed by his handsome face, the money he was careless to spend, the way he spoke to you like you were the most beautiful thing in the world. 

It was a fucking joke. A trick. You’ve seen it a million times and you’d be willing you bet that you’d see it a million more. 

The door blocked her view of him, your clear view of him from the side, sipping on a mug of coffee in his hands and fucking smirking. 

“He won't even see me?” You hated when they cried. Like each of them had this idea that they’d go home with Ransom Drysdale and fuck him so good that he’d tie them to his bed and never let them leave or something. 

You sighed heavily before replying, “Mr. Drysdale has business to attend to, he’s unavailable at the moment, but I can leave him a message if you’d like?” You did this maybe five or six times a week. In the early morning hours, after his sexual escapade and some rest, Ransom would wake early and leave for the gym. In that time you were supposed to ‘take out the trash’ as he described it. This morning, the girl left dazed and confused in the fog taking an uber back to her home, but returning an hour later trying to plead her case. It was giving you a migraine. 

The girl stepped back from the porch, shoes crunching against the gravel as she searched the windows for his face. “FUCK YOU RANSOM.” She shouted, flipping the bird into the air. The man hiding to your right, choked on his coffee in laughter as you watched the girl get back into her car and disappear from sight. 

“What's on the agenda today Ransom,” You shut the door quietly, turning to face him, “Because if I have to do that again tomorrow I’ll quit.” He scoffed in indignation. 

“You’re not gonna quit,” He drained the rest of his mug, “You can’t even leave the house long as you got that.” He gestured towards your leg. Sitting firmly on your right ankle was a house arrest bracelet. One meant for him, but carefully bribed into being put on your own leg. The stupid son of a bitch got away with murder, after the death of his late Grandfather’s housekeeper by his own hand and the attempted murder of the girl that got the entire Thrombey fortune, he stayed the lucky son of a bitch he had been his entire life. 

Evidence was mishandled, not enough proof. That whole, ‘beyond reasonable doubt’ thing. The rich asshole got fucking house arrest and court mandated therapy. Even after there were three fucking witnesses to him attempting to murder Marta Cabrera. 

Money oiled the gears of the justice system, letting the trust fund baby slip through without consequence. That’s where you come in. 

You worked for the Thrombey’s before. As a tutor to Meg when she began to fail her english class. For whatever reason, Lynda and Richard Drysdale liked you, assigned you a new task. Their sweet baby boy Hugh, called Ransom by everyone but the Help. You’ve worked for Ransom for three years now. The first year before the death of his Grandfather and Thrombey patriarch, and now two years after his death and wouldn’t you know it. Hugh Ransom Drysdale wrote a fucking bestseller. 

Everyone wanted an insight into this family. Harlan Thrombey always said there was so much of him in Ransom. He wasn’t lying. 

Ransom wrote the first of what you knew would be many new Thrombey family murder mystery novels. And he was reaping in the cash. He was two months away from his next big release. Something you’re sure would fly off the shelves just as quickly as the first. 

“Don’t worry,” He said, “I’ve got a deadline to meet.” His coffee mug abandoned by the front door for you to clean up, he left you to officially start your day. He retreated into the study he created for himself to crank out the last four chapters he needed for his book, maybe. 

Due to circumstances beyond your control, you were the one placed on house arrest. As long as no one was notified that Ransom left the perimeter of the house you were being paid well, and you being paid well meant your younger sister gets taken care of. You were able to send her money every month to help with the fact that she was staying with an estranged aunt. It hadn’t been easy once your mother died, but the Thrombey’s lighten the load so to say. 

That’s why you were washing Ransom’s sheets that reeked of sex, picking up and disposing of torn panties and tossing used condoms the fucking dick couldn’t be bothered enough to toss two more feet into the trash can in his on-suite. You’d invested in rubber gloves. 

On days that Ransom had to meet with his probation officer he would wear a dummy bracelet. It got him by and soon the fucker would be over and done with house arrest all together. You’d be able to move back home then. Hopefully. 

“Ransom, you ever gonna eat today?” You knocked on the open door of his study, bringing his attention from his computer to you, who held a bowl of pasta in your one hand. He sighed, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his eyes. There were multicolored post-its surrounding his computer. Your mind made the connection with how similar it was to his Grandfather’s own workspace. You gently placed the bowl on his desk, turning to pour him a tumbler of whiskey from the small bar in the corner of the room. 

“I don’t know how the old bastard ever cranked out two books a year,” His neck cracked. “How is that even possible?” He took a large bite of the pasta, squinting at the screen. His eyes quickly shifted to yours, watching you set down the glass of whiskey in front of him. He grabbed your wrist. “Stay.” It was an order. “Sit.” You took your place in a chair across from him. 

“Harlan wrote every day,” You told him, “You write whenever you’re not off sticking your dick into anything that breathes.” He laughed at that. 

“Not everything that breathes,” He typed a few more words into the word document, “I haven’t fucked you yet.” Your core pulsed, he said yet. 

Audibly you scoffed, “I would never willingly fuck you Ransom.” You pulled your legs up onto the chair to make yourself comfortable. He smirked at that, eyes not leaving the computer screen. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” That stupid smirk. You hated that fucking smirk. So condescending. 

When you first met Ransom you were probably very much like the girls that you now pry out of his bed at 8 am. You had been tutoring Meg at the family home, sitting at the kitchen table going over Othello when he sauntered in, digging through the cabinets for snacks. You could feel Meg tense up next to you and that’s when he turned. He was so fucking pretty. Blue eyes, well kept hair, cashmere sweater, those broad fucking shoulders, and on his face, stretching that full bottom lip you wanted to tug between your teeth, was a smirk. 

That pulsing throb between your thighs soon was quickly forgotten as he opened his mouth and began to speak, “How’s it going Meg, trouble reading? Or do they not teach you how to read when you’re a liberal? Lord knows you guys never fucking understand anything anyway.” Meg snapped back at him, but you were stunned. You could tell he said that on purpose, knowing it would make her go off on the tangent he was now, finding a sick pleasure in it. That was the first time you’d seen the smirk. You’d lost count of how many times you’ve seen it since then. 

“I really hate you Ransom.” You sighed, sinking further into your chair. He had almost finished off the bowl of pasta by now, whiskey long since emptied. He thinks it’s funny, you hating him because he responds looking you in your eyes, maintaining his smirk, 

“I know you do baby.” He liked to do that. Call you pet names. Once he had even pretended you were his wife when you accidentally walked in on him and a girl he had been balls deep in, bent over the back of the couch. He fucking LOVED that one. The girl had cried, embarrassed, apologizing as she picked her bra up from the floor and slunk out the front door behind you. That was a while ago. Pre-Murder. You should have seen it then. How insane he actually was. 

Ransom was incredibly smart and was a quick thinker. It was part of the reason that he had gotten away with murder in the first place. You knew that. It showed in his novel. He would have you read chapters, give him your opinion, before writing and rewriting. Showing you again. He’d ask you if you could figure out who was the murderer, a sinister glint in his eyes, arms crossed, standing above you waiting. He could only be satisfied if you didn’t have a clue. 

It was a gift, you supposed, the ease in which he wrote to make every character a possible suspect in completely new and incredible scenarios. He had three books in various states of completion that he was chipping away at, the one he was currently working on seemingly better than the previous published. 

His Mother, the one who gave him the silver spoon and cursed him for having it his whole life, was suddenly proud of him. His Father, now divorced from his Mother, would come by weekly asking for money. Ransom loved that too. His Dad got nothing due to the prenup, leaving him penniless. The cushy job he had at Lynda’s real estate empire was gone, and now Dad was working at local agency scraping by on low commission. Last week his Father came to the door while Ransom was writing and muscled his way not too kindly past you into the house. 

“Ransom!” He called, finding his way into his son’s study. You quietly shut the door, returning to folding laundry. The door shut tightly behind him and sounds had been muffled. It’s only when their voices went from calm to a screaming match did the door wretch open and Ransom followed his Dad out, both red faced. 

“We’ve given you everything in your fucking life and you can’t even give one iota back.” Ransom opened the front door, gesturing to the porch. 

“Get the fuck out, and don’t come back.” His voice stern and commanding.

“Fuck you Ransom.” With that he was gone. The silence that had settled over the house was thick, Ransom’s hand still resting against the closed door before he took a breath and, without taking a glance in your direction, returned to his study. Closing the door. 

The echo of that argument sat in the house for the rest of the day, Ransom leaving soon after to find a body to lose himself in. If the murder trial did anything, it made Ransom into a bad boy and girls fucking loved it. He wasn’t, technically, guilty after all. 

You attempted to clear the bowl in front of him, but was stopped by his hand. His eyes never left the screen as he brought your hand to his lips, placing a kiss in your palm, before dragging your arm to his other shoulder, hugging himself with it awkwardly until you gave in and wrapped your other arm around him, holding him tightly for a moment. 

He was soft sometimes. His Mom never held him when he was a kid. He was left alone a lot while she was building her empire. Babysitters never stayed long, nannies came and went. Sometimes you truly felt bad for him, other times you remember that he was a dick and that he loved to play tricks and torment anyone and everyone that was supposed to take care of him, including you. The only difference was you weren’t able to leave. 

He let you go soon after that, letting you clean up the mess from dinner and stoke the fire place warming the house that always seemed too cold. As you stood by the fire, arms wrapped around yourself you could feel him behind you, coming to wrap his arms around your waist, leaning his head on your shoulder as you stared into the flames. There was a moment or two of silence as you both stood there. 

If this were any other situation, if Ransom loved you, if this was someone who loved you, if this someone cared enough to care about the things you care about, this would be kind of romantic. But it’s Ransom, and he didn’t care about anyone but himself, he definitely didn’t care about you, and he one hundred percent didn’t care about anything you care about. “I’m going out.” 

His arms left your waist and his chest left your back leaving you cold. “For fucks sake Ransom, I don’t feel like throwing out a girl tomorrow morning.” You turned to watch him throwing his coat on. He smirked. He fucking smirked. 

“I’ll give you a break and throw her out myself then.” And he was gone. 

Hours later you’re woken by the sound of Ransom coming home, sure enough he wasn’t alone. Soft giggles and a bang, he’s shoved her against the wall beside your room. There were muffled groans as you assumed she found her knees right there in the hallway. He got off on this shit, you knew. Often stopping somewhere outside your door to start his sexual escapades. Knowing you were mere feet away, like some half-assed exhibitionism. It wasn’t long after that the girl squealed and there was more muffled talking before they moved to his bedroom. To which you shared a wall. 

Your bedroom, before you were a live-in, housed a bunch of items you believed graced a teen boy’s bedroom walls at one point. And still, shoved in the corner, were playboy model cardboard cutouts, “They’re vintage, mint condition, and worth a lot.” Sure, Ransom, sure they are. Arcade games, framed patriots jerseys, a lacrosse set from his high school days. You were shoved in the middle of it all, a single bed shoved against the wall surrounded by what once was a room full of teenage boy memorabilia. A shrine to his youth. 

The headboard soon came knocking and hope for sleep was lost. The girl’s moans escalating to shrieks. Either he was as good as he says, or these girls really care about his ego. Either could be true when there’s more than one comma in your bank account. 

The kitchen was much quieter. A steady rocking still came from upstairs, but thankfully it was muffled by the floor. As you made a cup of tea you figured you would see if he had printed off a new chapter ready for you to read. You hope he wouldn’t have gone out without finishing it anyway. 

You were not sure why you cared to be honest. You had this love/hate for Ransom. He was an annoying prick who did something really fucking horrible, but he also made it very clear to everyone involved that you had nothing to do with it. There was a scary moment there, after his arrest, when you were brought to the station for interrogation. You hadn’t known he had even gotten up to any of these crimes. He kept you completely in the dark and he was sure to let his arresting officers know that. You hadn’t even seen him since the night Harlan died when he left the party stranding you at the estate. 

Money does crazy things to people. The threat of his steady income leaving was enough to push him to do something crazy. He was lucky enough that the recorded confession magically was erased. He was lucky for dirty cops. He was lucky that even though his mother despised his lifestyle she didn’t want him to go to prison. He was so lucky. Now with his first novel sitting highly on the bestseller list, he seemed even more lucky than he did before. 

His study was on the opposite side of the house from his bedroom, muffling the sounds enough for you to flip through the packet left on top of his keyboard. Three chapters away from completion you were following the detective through paces where things felt more confusing than ever, the clues were unclear and there was not much to go on, but the tension between the eldest son of the victim and his ex-wife were mounting and it was hard to believe that maybe this guy had nothing to do with it despite what was described as an ‘air-tight’ alibi. You read through the chapter twice, scribbling your thoughts in red pen along the margins. 

“What do you think?” You jumped in your chair, looking up to see Ransom in the doorway. 

“You scared the shit out of me,” Your hand still clutching your chest. He had a glass of water in his hand, chest bare, solid navy pajama pants slung low on his hips. His chest hair always got you, just a little bit. He tugged his bottom lip between his teeth and pushed off the door jam to walk into the room, taking a seat in the chair you occupied hours ago. “It’s good,” you cleared your throat, “I’m not sure how much longer I can wait for you to finish to be honest.” He chuckled softly. 

“Let me see.” You handed him the packet and his eyes scanned the margins, reading your comments. They were mostly reactions, that’s what he liked. He wanted to know how you reacted to everything he put in front of you, did you like the romance, the tension, the lust he was trying to write between the ex-husband and wife? Or was it too distracting from the plot? Is the detective too unbelievable? He’s a character for sure. Can you figure out whodunnit yet?

“What are you doing out of bed?” You asked, spinning the chair side to side, waiting for him to put the packet down. 

“I told you I was going to kick her out.” He took another sip from his water. You scoffed, 

“And you couldn’t start doing this sooner?” A smile stretched his lips,

“I like how much it bothers you.” 

“It’s annoying,” you said, “Worst way to start my day.” He laughed. 

“That’s the only reason?” He asked, throwing the packet back on the desk, leaning back in his chair. Smirking. 

“You’re such an asshole, you know that?” You pushed back from the desk, moving to exit the room. He quickly grabbed your wrist, tugging you over to his side where he looked up at you, 

“If you wanna take their place, just let me know.” Your other hand came up to smack him on his shoulder, causing him to laugh as he released you, letting you take your exit. 

“Dick.” 

You found him the next morning at his desk, looking as though he had very little sleep. “Babe could you get me some coffee?” You yawned in the doorway, 

“Sure.” It didn’t take long before you were setting the cup in front of him. “Your therapist is coming by at one.” He nodded, not looking up from his computer. “I’ll come get you when it’s time for you to get ready.” 

He was focused. You weren’t sure where this focus came from. It was every once in a while that he would find this stroke of inspiration and write for a whole day straight. Hopefully he will be finished his book before schedule and be able to get ahead for the next one. 

Soon he was washed, dressed, and ready for the one person he dreads the most. He hated therapy sessions. There were only ten more he needed to do before the court mandate was over. Ten more weeks until you were able to get this lovely ankle bracelet off when you would hopefully be able to go back to the routine you had with him before. Where you’d sleep in your own shitty apartment and show up to work a 9 to 9 five days a week. 

After sessions he was always moody, quiet, and tended to need his favorite single malt restocked the next day. Not exactly in line with how he should be tending to whatever revelation the therapist has been streamlining him to, but that wasn’t any of your business. You could say though that during the last 42 weeks of sessions this refractory period was shortening to less and less time, maybe tonight you won't be peeling him off the floor of the study and dragging him up to his room drunk off his ass. 

While in the session you were trying not to listen in on, you were sunk heavily on the living room couch, drinking coffee and reading the latest chapter he had slapped into your hands before entering back into his study. The book was so close to being finished, the last two chapters leading you to the big reveal and aftermath. The climax was steady taking hold and you were more sure than ever that the eldest son had something to do with it. You didn’t know what he did, but it was something. 

He looked mad enough to kill as the Doctor left. Slamming the door, barely missing the Doctor’s jacket sleeve as he made his hasty retreat. Ransom stood seething for a moment by the front door, a chill running down your spine. He had murdered someone before, something you try to forget seeing as you are forced to spend so much time with him. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. It felt like an hour before he moved. 

“I’m going out.” The words spoken sternly as he stomped his way up the stairs like a petulant child, returning moments later, cleaned up, eyes blank, before grabbing his coat and slamming the door loud enough to make you jump. 

Aside from Ransom’s Mother never being around and aside from his Father’s string of extramarital affairs and aside from his Grandfather’s need to push him in every direction but close, you wish you could say that Ransom had a good childhood. But he didn’t. When he was little the kids picked on him for being rich, and when he was bigger they only became friends with him because he was rich. He was such a bully. At least, that’s what his Mother told you once drunk off chardonnay at his birthday dinner last year. 

Disappointment. 

That was a clear sentiment for the small family get together, and by small family get together you meant the dinner you cooked and Ransom looking like he’d rather be in prison than listen to his parents bicker over his Father’s new (Not so new seeing as he’d been caught kissing her by a PI before Harlan’s death) girlfriend. She was smart enough not to come. 

This night was looking a lot like that one. Ransom, after his parents left and you began to tidy up, began to scream at you. 

“What gave you the fucking right you dumb bitch?” He was spitting, face red as you cleared the dishes. “You’re only here for the money. The fucking money. How much is she paying you huh?” The bottle of expensive whiskey he had been drinking throughout the night was in his hand, swinging it around and taking pulls straight from the bottle. “Not enough obviously because you would have let me fuck you a long time ago.” 

Your face flushed red as your own anger began to rise. He continued, “Never, ever, fucking again will you allow my parents in this house, do you understand me?” His unoccupied hand grabbed your arm tight enough to bruise, turning you to face him. His eyes wild and unfocused. “I said do you understand me?” You not so gently wretched your arm from his. 

“Don’t touch me.” He always fucking did this. Blamed you for things you had no control over. Lynda approached you about a dinner for Ransom’s birthday. It was her name in your paystubs. You can’t say no. 

“How dare you-” He began, but was cut short.

“No Ransom. No.” Like scolding a fucking dog who put his paws on the table. You threw the bowl you currently had in your hands into the sink, turning to fully face him. “I am only here for the money and I am only here because your Mother pays me a lot to be here.” His jaw clenched. “But I’m also here because I’m the only fucking person who even remotely cares about your ungrateful prissy spoiled ass and if it wasn’t for me you’d be sitting in this fucking glass house, alone, with only your own self-righteous attitude to keep you company. So don’t you ever touch me like that again. Do you understand?” 

He loudly clunked the bottle onto the kitchen island, stumbling in your direction as you backed yourself into the sink. His trial had just concluded two weeks ago, Fran’s murder fresh on your mind and you wondered if you just made a terrible mistake. Over the course of this rant, the alcohol was sinking into his bloodstream, it turned his anger into a crippling depression. One that resulted in his hands softly grasping your shoulders, and tugging you into his body. His face found your neck and slowly started to grow damp with what you realized were his tears. 

Your heart broke a bit, too much empathy, even for this asshole. Your arms came to wrap around his shoulders, letting him cry it out. 

That was the first and only time you saw Ransom cry over anything. If he hadn’t been as drunk as he was you knew that moment would never have happened. The sweet little moment that made your heart ache was quickly gone the next morning when Ransom made you coffee and thought it would be hilarious that after you thanked him for being so sweet he joked that he poisoned it. You could still recall the cackles of laughter as you spit your coffee into the sink. 

That was the day he began writing his first novel. 

He came home alone tonight which was strange. And far earlier than normal. You usually were in bed, or holed up in his study by the time he arrived him after a night out. Staying out of his way as he drug a bubbly hopeful girl up to his bed to satisfy his own needs for the night. He found you tonight, sitting outside, watching Netflix on your tablet by the firepit you had decided to light, a hot cup of tea sitting on the end table next to you. Cozy and wrapped in a blanket. 

You could feel his eyes on you from the doorway. You tapped the screen, pausing your show and turned to look at him. His hair was slightly mussed, face flushed, and socked toes curling from the chill. He was looking at you strangely. 

“You’re home early.” You placed the tablet down on the end table, turning to face him. He nodded, crossing his arms and leaning against the door jam. 

“I just needed a drive.” There was a soft smile on his face, well that’s new. 

“Is everything okay?” He never tells you anything, but the sentiment matters. He looked to his feet, nodding. 

“I’m probably going to try to stay up and finish the book tonight.” He shifted himself back into the house, your voice calling out to him, 

“Come sit out here for a bit. It’s calming, just take a break from thinking for a minute.” He sighed and looked at you again, debating something in his head. 

“I need to be alone.” You tried anyway. He disappeared from sight. And that was that. 

The next day Ransom began acting even more strangely. The book was finished, the last two chapters handed wordlessly to you as he left for the gym on what you’re assuming was no sleep. That wasn’t the strange part. The strange part was when he returned three hours later bearing a box of donuts from your favorite bakery and two lattes, on his face was a smile. 

“What did you do?” You accused, “Did you poison this?” You gestured towards the latte he placed in your hand. 

“No.” He laughed, sliding the box of donuts to you. You stared at him skeptically before taking a sip. Tastes normal. 

“Are you sick?” Your wrist coming to lay across his forehead, temperature feels fine. 

“No.” He laughed again, pulling your wrist from his forehead and kissing your palm before opening the box of donuts, pulling a cinnamon sugar donut to his lips. “You just told me the other day how you missed these and I figured since I passed the shop on the way back it wouldn’t hurt to go pick some up.” It was suspicious. You continued to look at him skeptically. He sighed, placing the donut on the counter, grabbing the latte from your hand he took a large sip of it. “I didn’t fucking poison you Y/N.” 

Okay.

Okay. You examined the box of donuts, pulling out the bear claw that was begging to be eaten. Still warm. You moaned in delight as soon as the warm pastry hit your taste buds. You really had missed these. Opening your eyes, you saw Ransom staring blankly at you before his eyes shifted to the packet by your side. 

“All finished?” You swallowed and nodded, sliding the packet marked with red over to him and as he began to study your notes you tried to think about what could have possibly gotten him in such a good mood. The Doctor’s visit was odd enough. Yes he was angry when the Doctor left, but then just a drive? Not a blackout drunk, bringing two girls home to pleasure himself with and accidentally falling into a line or two of coke night, but a drive? 

Maybe therapy had been working? Maybe he had a breakthrough? He finished the novel. The eldest son had something to do with it, his airtight alibi just that, a cover for the crime having been committed at a different time than the coroner’s estimated time frame due to him freezing the body and allowing it to thaw in the house. 

You had asked Harlan how he came up with such incredible stories once. He said they just popped into his head fully formed, his brain moving faster than his fingers. He kept a little notebook with good ideas and would simmer in them as long as it took for a stroke of inspiration. The rest was just typing. 

He smirked at some of your comments, ‘what a fucking joke’ you wrote next to the eldest son’s monologue about being passed over, his whining, annoying, self centered crying about how life wasn’t fair. 

“What’s the smirk for?” You asked, removing the lid of your latte and dipping part of the bear claw in it. 

“The lack of sympathy for Greg.” You scoffed and rolled your eyes. 

“He’s a fucking loser.” Ransom’s eyes met yours, “I bet you see a lot of yourself in him.” That made him laugh. 

“What? You don’t like spoiled rich men?” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms in front of his chest. You rolled your eyes, taking another sip from the milky sweet latte you didn’t know would feel like your life’s blood right now. 

“I think you know the answer to that.” 

“I think you find me endearing.” Ransom smirked. Your neck flushed. 

“I find you annoying,” You admitted. “I only put up with you because of my paycheck.” He licked his lips.

“Sure,” He closed the packet, pushing it aside to take another bite of the donut, cinnamon sugar dusting his lips. “You put up with me because you’re secretly in love with me, but you know that I would never get with The Help.” This made you laugh. 

“If you want me to be the Help I’ll gladly call you Hugh if it means you leave me alone.” He placed his paper cup on the counter, circling around to you. 

“I like when you call me Hugh.” His hands came to rest on your upper arms, grinning. 

“You’re disgusting.” He laughed at the clear displeasure on your face, spinning your stool around to him, and you leaned back, creating some distance as he came to stand between your legs. 

“You don’t mean that do you baby?” His fingers toying with the ends of your hair. You could feel your nipples harden in excitement, body betraying you. A wet growing between your legs. 

“Ransom what are you doing?” You said in exasperation. You weren’t blind. Ransom was gorgeous. You’d maybe, possibly, gotten off to the thought of him once or twice or maybe more than that in the four years you’ve known him. But he was also a scumbag who fucks and then throws girls out hours later. His moods were hot and cold. He had major Mommy issues and he’s not technically guilty of murder, but he’s a fucking murderer. But also… he’s been going to therapy and after that fight on his birthday last year he’s never laid a hand on you in anger again, there’s been some arguments sure, but he’s mostly nice to you. Caring even. 

“Why don’t you love me Y/N?” His voice almost came out as a whine. He was playing with you. 

“Ransom stop.” You pushed him away gently. He was fucking smirking. 

“Usually there’s a ‘don’t’ in front of that.” Cocky bastard. 

“You’re the worst person I know. And I hate that fucking smirk.” You picked at your now cold bear claw, trying to turn from him. 

“Why don’t you wipe it off my face then?” Your eyes met his and you glared. 

“What’s gotten into you today? Maybe you should go out early. Find some girl to satisfy whatever you’re going through right now.” His hands met your hips, spinning your stool back around to face him. 

“What if I want you to satisfy whatever I’m going through right now.” His groin fit right up against your core and you could feel his throbbing heat between your legs. Fuck. 

“Don’t make this mistake Ransom.” You placed one hand gently on his chest, attempting (but not really) to push him back. His forehead coming to rest against yours. “You don’t want this.”

“This is the only thing I’ve ever really wanted.” His breath mingled with yours, sweet, cinnamon and coffee. 

“You’re not thinking straight.” His lips brushed against yours, tongue coming out to wet his lips, his eyes locked with yours. Why weren’t you pushing him away? Your breath hitched as his tongue accidentally grazed your bottom lip. 

“The only clarity I’ve ever had in my life has been when I’m with you.”

His lips pressed heavily against yours, pushing you back against your bedroom door as his hand came to tangle in your hair. He was all consuming, body hot and heavy against yours. Your core was thrumming with want, moisture pooling in the crotch of your yoga pants. His hips were rolling into yours and you could feel the hard length of him against your belly. His lips quickly moved across your jaw to your neck and you could hear yourself moaning softly as he licked, sucked, and nibbled on the sensitive skin below your ear. Your hands clenching the soft material of the t-shirt by his hips, dipping your fingers slowly into the waistband of his shorts. 

His lips parted from your neck, hand tilting your head back so he could look into your eyes before taking your mouth once more. His mouth moved down this time to the tops of your breasts, hands leaving to shift the thick wool cardigan off your shoulders and onto the floor before dropping the straps of your camisole and exposing them to the air, nipples already pebbled in excitement. 

You hadn’t dated in a while, unable to because of your paid house arrest and before that the way Ransom had worked you to the bone picking up after him. And the touch from someone else always felt better than your own. His hands felt huge on you, protecting. 

Your head met the door as he enveloped your right nipple in his mouth, rolling the sensitive bud on his tongue until he felt the left neglected, and switched, beginning to toy with your right nipple between his finger tips. Moans and heavy breaths were the only sounds in the hallway as Ransom made his way down your body, slipping your yoga pants and panties off your hips as he found his knees before you. 

“Ransom-” 

“Shhhhh,” He pressed his lips against your naval, working his way to your trembling core. His hand lifted your right thigh, draping it over his shoulder as his eyes focused in on your, what you knew must be soaking, wet pussy. His eyes met yours from his knees, your legs trembling with anticipation, eyes locked as his pink tongue came to meet your pussy for the first time, a shuddering breath being released from you urged him on further. 

His thick fingers spread your lips open, exposing your clit to his gentle assault. A building pleasure in your core as his tongue began to skillfully work, pulling moans from your mouth. How was he so good at this? Experimenting with different strokes, different pressure, finding what you like. 

“Just like that, oh my god.” He rolled his tongue against your clit, eyes finding yours once more, keeping pace. You could see the corner of his mouth pull up in a smirk as he began to work you up to climax. “You’re such a fucking asshole, I hate that fucking smirk.” Head hitting back against the door as he used his fingers to tease your opening. “Oh my god.” Your hips bucked against his face, causing him to use the arm currently wrapped around your thigh to splay open on your abdomen, holding your hips still. The wet noises and soft grunts from the man between your thighs only caused you to grow closer to your release. 

“You taste so fucking good baby,” moaned between your thighs. 

“Don’t fucking stop.” You scolded. So close. So fucking close. He obeyed, continuing his assault on your dripping pussy, fingers entering your tight channel to stroke against your sensitive walls. He buried his face further into your pussy, nose coming to rest in the soft curls there as he watched you come undone. Your moans escalating in volume as you felt your body tighten with pleasure, hips begging to buck against his face as he rode you through it. He continued to lick and suck on your clit until your hands found his head, pushing him away, legs shaking as you dropped against the door, knees coming to rest around his body. 

That fucking smirk, “How was that?” He asked, face glistening with your cum. 

“Fuck you Ransom.” And he fucking laughed the bastard. What a fucking dick. He brought his face back to yours, gently claiming your lips. The tang of your pussy ever present as you felt him consume you. Your heart was still racing as he picked you up from the floor, bringing you into his bedroom and ever so gently laying you down on the sheets you had just changed two hours ago. 

His eyes were shifting between yours, a strange expression on his face. 

“You can’t kick me out tomorrow Ransom,” Your breathing was heavy as he began to work at your neck, his hands going to remove his gym shorts. “I can’t leave.” He pressed his lips back to yours as you felt him rub the tip of his dick against your clit, your body shaking with over-stimulation. It felt so intimate. Before, his eyes on yours as he brought you over with his tongue and now as he slowly enters you, stretching your walls with his thick cock, eyes not breaking contact he sighs,

“I think you’re the only person I’ve ever loved.” 

[caffeinatedbraincell]

Hi I tried to write some Joe x Nicky angst w/ a happy ending (predictably, it turned out to be mostly fluff). TW for a panic attack~

Read on AO3

In the end, Nicky thought, it was the most pedestrian thing. He wouldn’t even have looked twice, had he not already been on edge from when Joe had spilled hot coffee on himself at breakfast.

Joe was spending the afternoon with Nile at a convention, and Nicky had decided to make the most of his solitude by cleaning their entire house from floor to ceiling. He was sweeping their bathroom when he saw it - two small, oddly-shaped pieces of wax paper that hadn’t quite made it into the dustbin. He bent down to take a closer look.

Something about them was familiar. Something was wrong. Nicky set down the broom and dust pan. He picked the bits of paper up to examine them. Then, his gaze snagged on something in the dustbin, and the chilling reality of what he was holding clicked into place.

It was a Band-Aid wrapper. The wax paper had been peeled off the sticky edges so the Band-Aid could be used. Which was ridiculous. Ridiculous, because they didn’t need Band-Aids. They healed instantly.

Nicky took a measured breath and stood up slowly. He walked back into the bedroom and picked up his cell phone.

“Hello? Andromache? Yes, I just wanted to ask real fast - did you by any chance come by our place since we saw you last weekend?” He paused. “No, no, I know. Yes, I know we asked for time off, of course you would call ahead.” He listened as Andy asked if he and Joe were okay, concern creeping into her voice. “Yeah, boss, we’re fine. But, ah, something just came up. I’ll call you back.”

He knew Andy wouldn’t buy it; he’d hung up way too abruptly. But Nicky needed time to think, he just needed a moment, one moment of quiet, could the ringing in his ears just shut up for one damn second-

He sat down on the edge of their bed and took a deep, deliberate breath. Why would there be a used Band-Aid wrapper in his and Joe’s house? Nicky had just given himself a papercut while clearing the stack of junk mail in the living room, and his immortality was still working. So that left Joe. But Joe’s immortality had to be working too, because…

Because we have to go together, Nicky thought, devastated. That’s the rule. That’s how it fucking works.

No one knew for sure how their immortality worked. He tried taking another deep breath, but it didn’t feel like any oxygen was reaching his lungs. He rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes, and they came away wet.

Nicky startled as a ragged sob was ripped out of him. When had he started crying? Why couldn’t he catch his breath? He slid to the floor and kneeled next to their bed, curling in on himself as he gasped for air. His heart thudded like it wanted to beat out of his chest.

Yusuf, he thought as his vision splotched black around the edges. He blinked rapidly at the worn bedskirt. What was going on? He reached around for his phone to text Joe, but suddenly couldn’t find it. Yusuf, come back, come home, he begged, giving in to the darkness as his head dropped heavily to the floor.

Nicky woke an indeterminate amount of time later, disoriented and tucked into bed. The curtains had been drawn and the lights shut off, but a couple candles flickered softly on their dresser. There was a covered glass of water next to him.

Nicky groaned, sitting up against the headboard. Despite the tremor in his hand, he managed to down the entire glass without spilling a drop. As he set it back down, the bedroom door cracked open.

“Nicky?” Joe’s eyes widened when he saw Nicky awake. He silently closed the door behind him and practically ran to Nicky’s side.

Joe sat down in front of Nicky and reached for his hand, raising it helplessly to his trembling lips. Joe kissed his palm, his knuckles, his fingertips, as if grounding himself against some great weight. Nicky didn’t miss the way Joe’s fingers flitted around his wrist, as if Joe was resisting the urge to press his fingers to the pulse there.

“Amore mio,” Joe asked, voice cracking a bit. “What happened? You were- you wouldn’t wake up. Oh my love, why didn’t you call me?”

“I couldn’t find my phone,” Nicky replied. He furrowed his brow, trying to piece together the disjoint bits of memory floating around in his head.

“It was centimeters from your fingertips.”

“I don’t know, Joe, I-” Suddenly, Nicky’s eyes widened in realization. He gripped Joe’s shoulders and looked into his eyes, dead serious. “Joe. If I ask you a question, do you promise not to lie to me?”

“I- Nicolò! God forbid I ever lie to you, my heart. Why would you need to ask such a thing?”

“Are you still healing?”

Joe froze. “Wait. Wait, Nicky, are you-”

“Answer the question, Joe.”

Joe reached up to clutch Nicky’s wrists where his hands still rested on Joe’s shoulders. “Yes,” he whispered. “I- I broke a glass in the kitchen, on accident, when I went to get you water just now. A small shard got stuck in my hand. But it healed completely, I’m fine now.”

“Show me,” Nicky demanded, uncharacteristically firm. “Where? Which hand?”

“Here. This one,” Joe splayed his left hand out in Nicky’s palm, watching as he inspected it thoroughly. “Nicky?”

“What?”

“Please, amore-” Joe swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Please, if you can, tell me what happened? You were unconscious when I came back, and…”

He trailed off, looking down at the bedsheet to hide the unfairly persistent tears pooling in his eyes. Nicky made a soft noise of concern, reaching out to cup Joe’s face tenderly.

“Hayati, I didn’t mean to scare you. I think it might have just been a particularly bad panic attack.”

“You rarely get panic attacks without triggers.”

“Yeah. Nothing major happened, it was just- I found- Joe, there was a Band-Aid wrapper in our bathroom. Do you know how it got there?”

Joe snapped his gaze up to meet Nicky’s. “Hold on, that’s what this whole thing has been about?! Nicolò, ya amar, you could have just asked me. Remember when I went for a walk last night? There was a toddler who fell down in the park, and his mom had her hands full with an infant, so she asked if I could help her put a Band-Aid on his scrape. There were no trash cans nearby, so I waited until I got home to throw the wrapper away. My heart, you couldn’t seriously have thought I would lose my immortality and…not tell you?”

There was a suspended pause. Then, Nicky looked away. “Forgive me, Yusuf.”

“No,” Joe choked out. “If I have given you any reason at all to believe that I would hide such a thing from you, then it is I who should beg your forgiveness. I’m sorry, Nicky. I promise, I swear on all that is holy, on our very love, that you will be the first person I tell when that day comes. Please, my life, I-”

“I know, Joe. I know. I’m so sorry for thinking otherwise. Come here,” Nicky pulled his husband into his arms, leaning back against the headboard and tugging the duvet over them both. “Just stay with me for now, like this. I need to hold you. I need to feel that you’re okay.”

Joe drew a shaky breath, inhaling Nicky’s scent and pressing a languid kiss to his collarbone. He wrapped his arms around Nicky’s waist. “I’m okay. I’m always okay with you. Nothing can take me away from you. You know that, right?”

Nicky hummed, smiling into Joe’s hair. “Of course. Ti amo così tanto, tesoro. Just stay a moment more, and then we’ll see about dinner. You’re probably hungry after the convention.”

“Mmm,” Joe nuzzled closer. “It’s also fine if you want to just hold me like this forever, you know. I don’t mind.”

Nicky laughed softly, and Joe felt it like a gentle roll of thunder beneath where his head lay on Nicky’s sternum.

“Worry makes people insane, doesn’t it?” Nicky murmured after a beat.

Joe tilted his chin up to look at his husband, who promptly took advantage of the angle to lay a kiss on Joe’s parted lips. “You’re not insane, amore.”

“I shouldn’t have doubted you.”

Joe sighed, relaxing back down in Nicky’s arms. “Next time, just text me instead of literally passing out with panic, okay?”

Nicky’s eyes crinkled in a warm smile. “Okay. I promise.”

[pips-fics]

ask: Hiii can I ask fic where Jisung is a the dorms alone with a stomach bug and after some time he gets really sick and calls minho or Chan for help.. I would really appreciate if you write it.. Thank youu

when jisung had told the rest of his members that he just had a minor stomachache, he’d thought it was the truth.  he hadn’t minded that the rest of them went about their days as planned, leaving him alone in the dorm.  in fact, he’d encouraged it, convinced that the peace and quiet would be soothing to his headache.

a few hours later and he wasn’t so sure.  his headache had only worsened, and the stomachache had transformed from mere pain into overwhelming nausea as he woke up, bleary-eyed, from a nap.  sweat made him so sticky that it was hard to untangle his limbs from the covers.  still, he shivered as he finally managed to emerge.  he couldn’t quite stop a gurgling retch as he stumbled to the bathroom and a thin stream of yellow-tinged bile splattered against the hand cupping his mouth.  he shuddered and kept moving.  he dropped to his knees in front of the toilet, heaving, unproductively this time, but very loudly.  jisung swayed back and forth, gripping the toilet as tightly as he could, though his muscles didn’t seem to be working as well as they normally did.

for the next five minutes, jisung hovered there, shaking, hardly able to hold himself up, but entirely unwilling to risk moving away from the toilet.  his stomach was doing backflips so violently that it was making his head spin.  or maybe that was the fever.  he was pretty sure he had a fever.

jisung was torn between wanting his members to come back and comfort him and not wanting anyone to see him like this.  at some point tears had started streaming down his face, and now they wouldn’t stop, and he hadn’t even been sick yet.

feeling absolutely no better than he had when he’d entered the bathroom, jisung stood on shaky legs and left it.  he knew he was risking making a mess, but this tactic clearly wasn’t working, so he grabbed himself a cup of water from the kitchen and made his way back to the bathroom.  surprisingly, jisung felt notably better after drinking the water, so much so that he wondered if he was just dehydrated after all.  it had happened before.

with that, jisung decided it was okay to relax on the couch for a while.  he made sure to drink plenty of water, and even had some soup in case his stomach was upset because he was hungry.  for a while it seemed to help.  and then all of a sudden, it didn’t.

he was in the middle of getting a third - or fourth? - glass of water when the nausea returned full force.  jisung didn’t even have time to go back to the bathroom -  the nausea was so overwhelming, he couldn’t help but stand paralyzed, sweating from every pore, in front of the kitchen sink, until sick rushed up his throat.

jisung couldn’t breathe.  it was one heave after another and he couldn’t fucking breathe.  it was the sounds of vomit hitting the metal sink and the smell of sweat and illness and not knowing why he was feeling so awful but knowing he was making a mess.  it was not having any control over his body, it was trying to brace himself for a heave and having a wet belch bring sick up through his nose instead.  it was getting the hiccups in the middle of everything else, and making too much noise, and knowing it didn’t matter because he was completely alone anyway.  it was all of that making the nausea all the worse, and jisung didn’t think he’d ever stop.

and yet he did.  the nausea stayed but he thought maybe - just maybe - his stomach was empty.  the sink now held a decently-sized pool of vomit as proof.  jisung sunk to the ground, shaking violently.  he fumbled with his phone, dropped it, and decided it was better that way.  better not to bother anyone.  jisung blinked back his tears, focused on his breathing.  if he could get that under control, maybe he really could handle everything else on his own.  he was sure, now that he’d thrown up, he’d start feeling better soon.

and yet.  just as he felt like he was making progress, he stomach convulsed without warning and a loud retch tore through him, followed by a thin stream of sick.

jisung started sobbing.

in a near-panic, he grabbed his phone and scrambled to the bathroom.  he was more nauseous, suddenly, than he’d been all day.  it was so awful, he forced a few gags, but that didn’t help.  instead, he’d ended up coughing, and retching unproductively and uncontrollably for about 5 minutes.  he was drenched in sweat and feeling nearly out of his mind.

it was in a full-on haze that jisung called chan.  chan, because he was jisung’s go-to speed dial.  he picked up on the first ring.

“jisung!”   chan sounded happy.  jisung hated to ruin his day.  he almost hung up, but—

“jisung, are you crying?”

“chan-hyung… i’m really sick,” jisung managed, in between sobs and probably-too-deep-breaths.

“hang tight, i’ll be there in a few minutes,” chan said, followed by shuffling background noises.  and then, because jisung must have sounded more pitiful than he’d meant to, he added, “hey, sung, don’t worry, it’ll be alright.”

“hyung, hurry, please.”  and with that, jisung hung up.

——

chan would not ever admit it, but hearing jisung like that had shaken him up quite a bit.  he hadn’t heard him sound so vulnerable since he was a child, at least three or four years ago.

back then, jisung had been tiny and scared of the big bad future and letting his parents down and loads of other things that he was now more than strong enough to handle.  it was awful to think that, even now, something had managed to scare him so badly.

on the way back to the dorm, chan wondered if it was jisung’s stomach.  he’d known about his stomachache earlier in the day, but it hadn’t seemed very bad then.

as soon as he stepped into the dorm, though, chan knew his suspicions were right just by the stench.  he made a beeline for the bathroom.

“jisung?”

a shuddering moan.

sure enough, there was jisung, on the floor of the bathroom, in front of the toilet which was… empty.

“hey,” chan said gently, kneeling next to him.  the kid looked awful - washed out and shaking like a leaf, sweating from head to toe.  “you were sick?”

jisung nodded.  his eyes were all puffy an red, but he wasn’t crying at the moment.  “kitchen sink,” he rasped, flinching as he said it.  chan rubbed his back, hoped it would be reassuring, and spoke as calmly as he could.

“it’s alright,” he scratched jisung’s head, knowing from a long-ago memory the way he liked it best.  “you sure you’re gonna be sick again?”

now tears sprung to jisung’s eyes.  “i feel so sick, hyung.  and before, i couldn’t stop throwing up, and now, i can’t start, and i don’t know—“  jisung gasped, and chan squeezed his arm.  “i don’t know why,” he finished, voice choked.

“first,” chan instructed, “breathe.  it will be okay.  can i get you some water?”  jisung shook his head violently.  “okay, sung, i want you to just breathe for a bit.  can you do that?  i’m going to hold your hand.”

jisung nodded, and chan took his hand, eyes drifting to his wrist.  he applied gentle pressure there, a trick his mom had taught him a long time ago.  jisung started looking better after a few minutes.  definitely still sick, but more calm.  chan didn’t need to check his forehead to know he had a fever with the head radiating off his body as it was.

“how about some crackers?”  chan asked.  jisung looked as if he was going to go right back to panicking for a minute.  “hey, no worries.  just asking.  what about a ginger ale?”

at this, jisung hesitated, then nodded.  “just a little.”

“okay.  sung, can we get you to the couch, first?  i’ll bring you a bucket, and that way you can be comfortable, and i can keep an eye on you while i’m in the kitchen.”

“i might throw up on you,” jisung warned.  chan shrugged.

“what will happen will happen.”

the ginger ale seemed to help, with chan reminding jisung to drink it slowly.  he’d found the mess in the sink, and cleaned it once jisung fell asleep.  he’d finished cleaning just in time for jisung to wake up, and grab the trash can, only to heave unproductively.  chan rushed to his side and ran his hands through jisung’s sweaty hair as the sick boy retched and coughed, but failed to actually throw up.  chan gave him a few more sips of ginger ale and glad when jisung fell right back asleep.  he let himself relax into the couch while he watched over jisung.

sure enough, less than an hour later, jisung was up again.  this time, a rush of thick vomit poured out of him as soon as the trash can was in his hands.  it was over quickly, but jisung didn’t budge.  instead, he retched, three times, but nothing came up.

“sung, go back to sleep.  i think you got it all.”

jisung looked unconvinced, but started to hand the trash over to chan - only to snatch it back at the last second.  his whole body shook with the force of the heave, and at first chan thought it would be unproductive again, but after a few violent coughs, a stream of bile spilled into the trash can.  jisung flopped back with a sigh, tears in the corners of his eyes but not falling.  chan smiled.

“feel any better?”  jisung nodded.

“i think… i think i do.  thank you, channie-hyung.”

“mhm.  rest well, sung, i’ll be here.”

——

feel free to send more asks!

[you-cant-spell-subtext-without]

Sigh. It’s quiet today, so I guess it’s about time to talk about 12x06: Celebrating the Life of Asa Fox.  

This is an episode without Cas, so clearly it revolves entirely around Cas (I'm kidding, but only a little bit).  It’s also a bottle episode and a meta writer’s wet dream, so excuse me while I nerd out - this is a long one to unpack, and I have spent too much time doing it for you.  That’s ok because, as Sam says:

DIVE IN AFTER THE CUT BUDDIES!

The Asa montage is where we start.

Asa is a Dean mirror. The parallels are pretty clear - he’s a scruffy rough around the edges hunter, Mary is the reason he got into hunting, he wears a ton of flannel, etc.  If you remain unsure, the writers throw this in at the very beginning in the montage of Asa’s life as a hunter So That You Know:

Bucky: Hey, you know they make new cars, right? Asa: I don’t want a new car. This is my lucky car. 

***Canadian!Dean confirmed.

Shaine Jones may also be the Canadian Jensen Ackles.

I don’t make the rules ok?

Back in the US, the boys surprise Jody with a visit. 

In case you forgot the episode prior to this one:

Side note: domestic Jody gives me life. 

We’re clearly supposed to see how Jody is a mom figure for the boys, and it feels nice for them to have that, especially since Mary is Taking Some Space.  Their entire dynamic warms even my cold black soul.

[romantic scene of a couple silhouetted against a sunset while sweeping music plays on Jody’s TV. The couple kisses.] 

DEAN

[his mouth full of pizza] Jody, you watching some kind of chick flick here?

JODY

Well, Dean. I’m a chick. 

Kim Rhodes YOU ARE A DELIGHT.  A side note - I know this exchange is supposed to be funny, but I feel sad for Dean (who clearly is a rom com chick).  This is a perfect example of Dean struggling to present some fabricated image of heteronormative masculinity that’s not the heart of who he actually is.  His surprise that a “badass sheriff chick” can also enjoy rom coms makes me fucking upset.  

ALSO:

Anyway, Asa has passed on and the boys tag along with Jody to the wake in support.  

SAM

Yeah, no, Jody. We… we know you’ll be fine, but… you know, we never go to hunter gatherings, outside of bars. Dad always said they were trouble, so…

DEAN

Yes, you’d be doing us a favor if you let us tag along.

***more receipts that John Winchester was an isolating abuser.  They could have at least had a normal HUNTER life and friends who hunted.

SAM  

That is a big house. [Music continues playing, coming from inside the house now]

***We now establish one “theme” of the episode.

JODY

Family home. Asa was just a guy. 

AKA pretty brutal implication that Asa didn’t have a family of his own.

Speaking of implications:

[Jody removes her coat and the three of them begin mingling. Dean finds his way to the kitchen and a cooler full of beer] DEAN

No label. Well, that’s a red flag. 

****LOL WHAT THE FUCK IS THE REASON****

....

....

....

GIRL SEND HELP

Enter Bucky, who is actually (SPOILER!) the villain of the episode.

Do all hunters just walk around with this manly flannel/weird symbolic necklace combo?  Looking at you Bucky and Dean.  

Dean is surprised to find that people know who he is:

But doesn’t seem to have an issue with it until -

***Someone who just bragged the entire five hour car ride about killing Hitler shouldn’t be this concerned about what people are saying about him right? 

Or is he thinking it may involve something he isn’t comfortable sharing - since apparently there are things Dean doesn’t feel comfortable sharing as established by the prior couch conversation with Jody?  Hmmmmmm...

***Compare the expressions.  The “you’ve died four times” response is the same as the smug/proud “I killed Hitler” face.  The reaction to the “stories” is the “hey this is my personal business” reaction Dean had to Sam’s Japanese erotica art form comment. He is thinking specifically about something personal.

I wonder what it could be.

I don’t think any one had to teach Max Banes the art of seduction, but also thank you.

Also, manifesting Dean being raised by Max and Alicia’s Cool Witch Mom instead of John Trash Winchester.  Because that’s what we’re supposed to think here, correct?  Two sibling hunters usually present a brother mirror.

Worth noting Sam’s surprise that witches can also be hunters.  The John Winchester Bigotry Brain Rot runs deep.  (GOD the Sam-witch thing would have driven him crazy I LIVE FOR THAT).

Dean escapes to Asa’s office/room and proceeds to go through his things.

[Dean is in Asa’s office and finds an angel blade mounted on blue velvet inside an ornate glass-lidded box. He opens it, reaches in and pulls out the angel blade, comfortably spinning it in his hand when Sam walks in.]

SAM

Hey.

DEAN

Oh, hi. This is a real Angel Blade. I mean, this guy was legit. 

***that’s weird, why does Canadian!Dean have an angel blade?  We haven’t heard anything about angels yet, and it wasn’t in the opening montage.  Hmmmmmm, I say. Hmmmmmmm...

***Sam is also concerned about The Stories They Tell 

This one particularly:

Honestly I don’t know why he’s THAT surprised that people know he was possessed by Lucifer?  Didn’t he start like multiple apocalypses?  That’s something people tend to be in the know about. Anyhoo.

DEAN

Yeah. Apparently we’re a little bit legendary. 

SAM 

Yeah, but, I mean, so was Asa. Then a hunt went bad, and he ended up hanging from a tree, alone in the woods.

DEAN

He died on the job. No better way to go. 

SAM

You really believe that? 

DEAN

Yeah. What, you don’t? I mean, come on, Sam, it's not like we're in the “live till you're 90, die in your sleep” business. This? [Dean points at Asa’s hunting wall] This only ends one way. 

***Insert deep internal screaming about 15x20 here***

It’s Jody’s turn to be uncomfortable as we find out she and Asa were more than just friends and everyone knew it and Said Things About It and Told Stories About It.

HMMMMMMM...

Dean is surprised that Jody not only enjoys rom coms, but ruggedly hot men. Another thing they have in common.

As Dean comes to terms with the idea that Jody can be a mother figure and also a human person with a life and her own feelings and needs and thoughts, enter the person whom said lesson is actually about:

This is a Kim Rhodes Facial Expression stan account now.

So cute how Jody knows immediately that Dean is not okay.  Time to reach:

JODY

Huh. Is that why you spent the entire ride up here telling me in extreme, excruciating detail how you killed Hitler, but, uh, you neglected to mention the fact that your mom is back from the dead? 

***look, it’s another Dean doesn’t like others knowing personal information parallel!***

DEAN 

Yeah, no big deal. 

JODY

That’s a lie.

DEAN

JODY …

JODY

Look, maybe this isn't my place, and this is epic stuff, but

JODY

Yeah. Because what if I’ve changed. What if they changed? What if it just didn’t work out the way I wanted?  If you wanna talk about anything

***Killing Hitler used yet again to show Dean doesn’t care about oversharing hunting stories, but he doesn’t like for people to know personal ones.  Also, Jody mentions her son and her husband.  Her family and her romantic partner.  

Dean wasn’t just reunited with Mary this season. He was also reunited with Cas, after saying goodbye to him at the end of Season 11 when he headed to what he thought was going to be his death as the Amara-bomb.

So, this conversation isn't just about Mary (the “anything”).  It’s also about Cas (the”...absolutely anything”).

Mary chats with Mama Fox and more Points Are Made about hunters not getting to have a “normal life” or family:

MARY

I saved his life. 

LORRAINE

[scoffing] What am I supposed to say to that? After you, Asa got so… Hunting was his whole life. He never married. Never had a family, kids. And now… enjoy the wake. 

***sending Mary on a guilt spiral about Asa (mirroring her other guilt spiral about hunting as a life for her own sons)

Speaking of mirrors:

BUCKY

And Asa loved that Jeep. Fuses were shorted, fuel line was busted. Ah, he didn’t care. He’d just roll up his sleeves, he’d get right to work. 

Time to learn about today’s Big Bad.

BUCKY

Jael. He’s a crossroads demon. And he hangs people. It’s his thing. Snaps their neck, slits their throat. He’s a real piece of work. 

***Wait a second.  Jael is a demon?  Don’t...angel’s names usually end in “el” in SPNverse?

Samandriel.

Uriel.

Gabriel.

Raphael.

Gadreel.

Castiel.

HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM.

Anyways the demon [questionable] killed Asa and now everyone  is trapped and also In Grave Danger.  

BUCKY

Exactly. Right, so five years later, Jael– he came back, and he came for Asa. 

JODY

How so? 

BUCKY

Asa was seeing this woman, right? She had a kid. 

LORRAINE

Marlene. 

BUCKY

Yeah, Marlene. Jael got into her. It didn’t matter that he was killing people, he wanted Asa to know it was personal. He gets off on it. 

***that’s so weird, didn’t someone else in the show start seeing a woman with a kid - 

what a sexy little coincidence.

oh and didnt  a supernatural being come back right around that time too - 

HMMMMMMMM.  No killing though.  That’s the difference between angels and demons, I guess.

(meanwhile Dean has been drinking alone outside - as he does, and is realizing he can’t get back in)

HI QUEEN

Also, this immediately took me to 

this show isn’t fair.

****sob break****

Jael Posession 1:

So curious how there are two siblings and then one gets possessed by something Satanic and the other one is good at seducing men.

SO FUCKING CURIOUS.

Jael Possession 2:

Elvis. Random.  Though he was the guy who brought up the Stories Sam Was Surprised Were Circulating -

He was also oddly interested in it.  Methinks Elvis thoroughly enjoyed the Jael possession.

Bilie gets Dean back in the house.  The words “one-time deal” are said a lot of times.

BONUS: Jensen why are you so pretty:

The hunters get to work, and I live for Max Bane’s pentagram aesthetic.

MAX

I like a Fifth Pentacle of Mars. It’s got more character. 

***TBH, same.

Jael possession 3:

****Kim Rhodes is even better when she is playing evil.

JODY/JAEL:

I had so hoped you’d kill your mom. Wouldn’t that be a riot? 

[Mary draws the angel blade and charges at Jody. She cuts Jody’s arm before Sam wrestles her away.] 

SAM

No! Mom!

MARY

What are you doing?! She’s a demon. We kill demons. 

******WOOF MARY - I REPEAT TO YOU THAT THE JOHN TRASH WINCHESTER BRAIN ROT RUNS DEEP.

Also did you immediately flash back to this with me?

Gets me thinking that Dean’s feelings for Cas are made twice as complicated by the fact that he is also a supernatural creature.  Another Reason Why John Winchester Would Disapprove.

****Just as he would Disapprove of Sam Being Possessed By the Devil and all that (never forget he told Dean to kill him because of the whole made unclean by demon blood thing). 

Right on cue:

JODY/JAEL

Oh, I have heard so many stories about you Winchesters. And I desperately want the Lucifer thing to be true.  

***Stories again. Jael proceeds to go into Stories That Are Dark Personal Shameful Secrets:

JAEL

As for the rest of you, I have been inside your heads. I know all about you. For example, the twins. Too frightened to tell anyone that they actually came to say goodbye to their daddy. Or the grieving mother who hated the fact that her son was a hunter so much she’d hide his gear, she’d sabotage his Jeep, anything to keep him from hunting. Not that it worked. Could’ve tried harder, huh? 

[She gestures at her own face] And this meatsuit you all seem to care so much about. She actually fantasized about a life with Asa. Can you believe that? Like that worthless man– 

***HMMMMMMMMM

[Bucky gets off the floor and sneaks up behind Jody/Jael] 

BUCKY 

Shut your filthy mouth. 

[Jody/Jael grabs Bucky by the neck and forces him to his knees] 

JODY/JAEL

And you. Bucky. Brave, brave Bucky. I was there that night. Tell these nice, stupid people what you did. Tell them what you took from me. Asa was mine. 

***Excuse me? THIS IS GETTING VERY...subtextual.  A dark timeline supernatural being/hunter relationship [ending badly because demons only know how to take, consume and possess]? ...Asael?  CURIOUS. 

They chant the exorcism, a different hunter doing each iteration (beautifully done) 

and send Jael back to hell, but not before Bucky shares his Shameful Story - he’s the one who killed Asa.

Elaboration:

BUCKY

Asa, he was just all– he was just always so stubborn. Look, we were in the woods. [We see the scene play out as Bucky describes it] Jael, he… he was taunting him. Asa wanted to chase him, but he didn’t have the angel blade. I said, “Let’s go back.” He called me a coward, and he shoved me, so I shoved him back, and he fell. He hit his head. Asa? I didn’t mean to do it. But it was a mistake. Asa. Asa? An accident. I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do. Asa hated that damn demon so much that I just…

DEAN

Oh, you thought people would buy that Jael killed him? So you hung your best friend to cover your own ass. 

BUCKY

What are you gonna do to me? 

ALICIA:

Tell everyone, every hunter we meet. They’re gonna know your name, Bucky. Know what you did. 

MAX

You like stories. This is the story everyone’s gonna tell about you. Forever. 

***Shameful Stories that Define You, what a theme.  Also, definitely a supernatural being potentially having some subtextual feelings for Canadian!Dean.  Hmmm.

***Funeral pyre and side discussion about how Asa did have a family, and children, and a potential supernatural sidepiece.

In conclusion, Supernatural is a love story.  Thank you for watching this dark timeline/Canadian dub.  You’re dismissed for the day.  Go eat bacon.