#i’ll defend this movie until the day i die

[the--last-great-american-dynasty]

“anastasia is the best princess movie,” i say in to the mic.

the crowd boos. i begin to walk off in shame when a voice speaks and commands silence from the room.

“she’s right,” they say. i look for the owner of the voice. and there in the stands is anyone who actually watched the damn movie.

[strawbrygashez]

I read a bunch of soapshipping fanfics today and I love how so many of them give Tyler actual flaws and treat him more human than he ‘actually is’ in the movie and…I wanna share some hcs i have that make Tyler ‘not perfect’ as well. I get the point that in the movie Tyler was supposed to have none bc the narrator needs to drool over him & see him as godlike but whatever. That man has issues. You can especially see this during when he was going Joker mode when he was getting beat up by Lou. Anyways this is going under a cut bc it’s long

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• I’ll start with the out with one that’s most common which is that Tyler is soooo bad at sharing how he’s feeling or being super heartfelt. The only person he even tells his true deep emotions to is the narrator after they’ve been together for a while. I feel like he would be that way due to how he was raised and or trauma. Getting him to admit to feeling uncomfortable is hard too. He wants to come off confident all the time so he will just smile at whatever is thrown at him even if it’s making him upset or anything like that. Also of course he has a hard time expressing how just deeply in love he is with the narrator and how much he cares about him. (Which causes problems for them both but they work thru it. Nothing could keep the narrator away from Tyler at the end of the day.)

He wouldn’t admit it but I think maybe he also resents himself for not being able to say certain things easier. He knows he hurts the narrator sometimes when he’s not saying ‘the right things’ and he genuinely doesn’t mean to hurt him in that way.

•He can get pretty jealous. Not like how the narrator feels like he’s about to kill himself bc someone even glanced at Tyler but like, if Tyler thinks someone is being a little too friendly to narrator or if he thinks the narrator might enjoy being around someone else ‘too much’ he gets all huffy, smiles threateningly, and either interrogates the narrator over ‘what that was’ later or just roughs him up some when they are in private again. He hates the idea so much that the narrator could look up to someone the same way he does Tyler. He has questions going through his mind along the lines of how are they better than him? What does he see in them? Do they make him feel more loved? And etc.

Hypothetically he should know that the narrator would rather die than touch anyone else & that the narrator sees him as a God but,, Tyler is just like that :/

•Ok now for a not widely accepted hc about Tyler. I don’t think he’s that good at writing or reading. He’s not terrible at it but I think he really didn’t give a shit about most things in school besides history. (He could probably give a big whole speech about how bad school systems are)

He doesn’t really care that he’s not that good at either of those things but does get a little embarrassed about it when the narrator points out he spelled something wrong. He will just grumble about “who cares?” or “whatever dipshit.” The narrator doesn’t mind that Tyler’s not the best at it and helps him out when he needs to without picking on him.

•Kinda canon but he’s a act before thinking type of guy in most situations. He prides himself on it for the most part but also there is times where it doesn’t end well for him. He will defend himself about whatever he did ‘wrong’ for a while until he finally is some how able to admit he’s sorry and shouldn’t have done something (only to the narrator. He doesn’t care that much if it’s anyone else that isn’t especially close to him)

•I think he had a self h*rm problem growing up. He doesn’t do it anymore now that he’s older bc he has fight club and whatnot. I think SH helped him come up with FC since he thought physical pain always helps solve mental pain.

He doesn’t hide the old scars since he can blame it on like a ton of different things and people don’t have a reason to doubt him. Like he can say he got them from years of fighting, while running away after getting caught doing stuff he shouldn’t, stuff like that. Sometimes he also just doesn’t lie about it and just says straight up what they are from. It just depends on who and how he feels that day. Like mostly the only ppl who know what they are really from are the narrator & tylers close family and maybe Marla.

Not to be cringe…I know the “he kissed my scars 😢😢” things can be cringe (believe me I would know) but I think Tyler thinks it’s sweet when the narrator does kiss his. The narrator hates that Tyler ever felt like he had to do that (but at the same time is okay with fight club??? Lol) The narrator has stayed up in bed while Tyler is sleeping and just looked at all of them and thought to himself about how Tyler must of felt, why he felt like he had to, and all that.

•My man has some kinda mental illnesses. I couldn’t say what but he just does. He’s a very impulsive man and can become very manic is all I can really say.

•He will get ideas and plans in his head and focus on them a little too hard and it’s hard to pull him out of it. The narrator is really not someone who should be fussing at people for not sleeping but he does anyways. He offers to work out whatever plans or ideas Tyler has while Tyler rests. Sometimes Tyler will let him & sometimes not. If not, the narrator will at least stay close to him so they can talk about whatever is on Tylers mind.

•He actually used to hate his laugh a little when he was a young teen. He got over it after a couple years and now doesn’t give a fuck what others think. He will laugh as loud as he wants in a quiet room if he wants to.

•Going back to that manic thing, I think the narrator can usually calm him down. It especially helps if he’s holding Tyler and pulls him away from whatever has him worked up. Narrator will run his hand up and down Tylers back or just talk to him soothingly. Tyler is usually thankful for it once he’s calmed down.

•Canon-ish again but Tyler can get a bit in over his head with some stuff. He believes he can do just about anything which leads him to getting into situations where he finds out he actually has little to no idea what he’s doing. He had this problem as a teen too like he’d say stuff like “Sure I could fix your fence!!” or just like little odd jobs around the neighborhood and he actually doesn’t have much of a idea what’s going on but It helped him learn how to do all kinds of different things in the long run. He just always finds a way to make things work more often than not in his own ‘Tyler’ way.

•Okay often he really doesn’t genuinely care if someone wants to listen to his speeches/knowledge or not. He likes sharing them since he knows they’ve helped others but he’s been doing that for as long as he can remember even at inappropriate times. Like I dunno, as a kid at a funeral I could see him just telling some random person there about how he knows how bodies decompose, how bodies slowly rot and what each stage looks like. (I think that’s why he loves the narrator. He loves how randomly weird he is as well.)

•He needs attention all on him. He loves it so much and feeds off of it. His favorite kind of attention is from the narrator and he will get snarky and whatever when he feels like he isn’t getting enough from him but also he just thrives off attention from anyone in general. It’s what makes him carry himself so confidently. He knows people are dying for a minute of his time and to be the idealized version of himself he puts off.

•He doesn’t allow himself to cry in front of others. More than likely it’s because of his father saying boys shouldn’t cry or be weak. He knows it’s bullshit deep down but he still holds that mindset for himself. (If another dude is crying like the narrator, he won’t give them much shit for it.)

•My final idea for right now….he hates the doctors and all things like that. He can say a ton of reasons why but the main ones are he just feels super uncomfortable at places like that because either 1. He doesn’t want them going on about how bad his or the narrators health is & being really worried for them and questioning them.. or 2. He just finds it hard to be as snarky or smart to ‘em. They all don’t usually fall for his bs unless they are a part of fight club or project mayhem.

[giasparadise]

Mikey x Reader “I’ll always protect you”

Fluff December day 3

fluff December masterlist

warnings: Fluff, violence, stalking, cursing

You where walking home from school at around 8:30 at night. I know. Not the most ideal situation for a 15 year old girl to be walking home alone, late at night, without any weapons throughout a bad neighborhood. Your parents usually take you home however your mom was at a meeting and your mama was undergoing surgery. Nothing big just a small breast biopsy.

Either way it left you walking home alone in your sweaty clothes from basketball practice. It was getting freezing outside and your once overheated body soon turned into one a kin to chilled jello. But that wasn’t the real issue. the real issue was that you felt as if somebody was watching you.at first it seemed like your mind was just playing tricks on you, as if the person you thought you had seen behind you was just a figment of your imagination. But after taking four right turns and ending up in the exact same spot with the guy still on your trail, you knew you where being followed.

At this point you where horrified and started hyperventilating, trying to think off possible weapons to defend yourself with. Don’t get me wrong you where by no means a weak or unhealthy person, however your mussel story is kinda more,” to much flab, not enough abb “ (the Lego Batman movie)

You made a mental list of things you could use if he tried to confront you. Your books? No you left them in your locker. Your scissors? No those are in the bottom of your bag, by the time you get them it will be too late. Your phone? That’s it! You can call someone. But who can you call? It’s night and your moms are busy…

A motorcycle roar snaps you back to reality. Of course that’s who I’ll call! You grabbed your phone from your pocket and dialed up the number.

“hey baby~“ the cheerful guy on the other line said.

“hey babes.” The girl said quietly into the flip phone, “how fast can you make it to *insert road name*”

“Hmm” the blonde thought for a second, “Around 5 minutes why? You miss me~” he continued making smooching noises at the phone.”

“I’m being followed and am starting to get scared. Please help.”

The line went silent before in a very serious voice he said,”I’m on my way.” Before hanging up.

That was four minutes ago. The poor girl was full on sprinting away from this guy and was getting terrified. Tears dripping down her beautiful s/c skin onto her shirt. And just when she thought, ‘this is it. I’m going to die or worse.” She heard it. The sound of Mikey’s Cb250T. And it was getting louder by the second.

She had gotten so caught up in her relief to notice that the guy had caught up to her. It wasn’t until the stalker pulled her back by her hair that she noticed. But by the it was too late. Mikey was right in-front of them. And he was pissed.

“What the hell do you think your doing asshole?” The stranger said in a slightly scared tone.

“Get your filthy hands off her now.” The blonde said staring at the guy like he was something he found in Peke J’s litter box.

“None of your busine-“ he didn’t get to finish before Mikey knocked him out cold with his signature kick.

You couldn’t contain it anymore you leaped onto him barring your face into his chest and tightly clutching his Toman jacket in your hands. He was taken aback by the action, but quickly wrapped his arms around you cradling your head. You continued to bawl saying things like “thank you” and “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“Shhhh, it’s ok Babe. I’m here now it’s ok. I swear I will never let anything happen to you. I’ll always protect you no matter what. Now come on, I’ll drive you home.”

[wuxiaphoenix]

Movie Review: The Great Battle (2018)

Ooooh boy this one is stunning. Five out of five stars; caveat that this is a war movie, never mind the PG-13 rating. This is a fictionalized version of the Battle of Ansi, Gorguryeo (ancient Korea) against the Tang Empire in 645, and there’s more than enough blood and death to leave you rattled. But it is a very good story.

We follow Sa-mul, a young cavalry cadet in shock after the army he’s in loses horribly to the Tang, and Yang Manchun, a general who’s defied orders to defend the fortress city of Ansi.

This is a story about love, revenge, what’s truly honorable, and who do you choose to follow when the chips are down. It will gut-punch you. (I broke it into about thirds and watched it a bit at a time over two days. It would have been overwhelming for me otherwise.)

It’s also a gold mine for anyone who wants to write pre-gunpowder battles and sieges. How do you correctly use terrain? Why would a mountain fortress keep cavalry? What factors does a general analyze to determine what’s a winnable fight that will kill some of his people, and what’s flat-out suicide? What does a battle of hundreds of thousands of cavalry and foot look like? How much chaos is there? What kind of stunts can you pull when you may not have much in the way of resources, or people, but you’ve heard exactly how the Tang took down other cities, and you’ve spent a lot of sleepless nights coming up with countermeasures?

(A whole bunch of things, but I’ll stick to two words: flaming wheels. They’re not just a nasty Japanese demon. They’re a real thing.)

Oh, and hey, those big poofy cloaks? They actually can serve a useful purpose in a running horseback fight, making your target less than clear to enemy archers....

More than just physical tactics, this movie shows a lot of the mindset of people in such an awful situation. Some break. Some become spies for the enemy, hoping to survive. Some don���t have hope at all, just a grim determination to die still fighting. And some just... keep going, because they have to, because there’s an army in front of them and everything they love behind them.

If Hollywood would make a movie like this about the crossing of the Delaware, I bet you, the theaters would be packed.

Note, this movie doesn’t claim to be historically accurate. A few historical notes can be found here, and notes on the movie specifically here.

Also note this is a war movie, and that means a lot of characters you admire will die. I wouldn’t show this to the younger kids. Older ones, yes. Because - and this is critical - no one dies a pointless death. People die trying to live; or in extremis, so someone else will live.

If you have any interest in the battles of the past, or want to write them into your stories, definitely see this. The impact of the trebuchets (in all senses of the word) has to be seen to be believed, and things escalate from there. You can feel what it’s like to have to survive a bombardment, a siege, pulling arrows from the dead because you have to have the ammunition. Or more of your people will die.

...And from the records we have, the defenders of Ansi really did hold the top of that earth mound for three days straight, until reinforcements came and the Tang Emperor gave it up as a bad job.

If the winter’s gotten to you, if the craziness is all around you, if you feel overwhelmed - check this movie out. Sometimes you can beat the most horrible odds.

Sometimes, the good guys win.

THE GREAT BATTLE | Official Trailer

Note, movie is age-restricted on YT.

The Great Battle - full movie with ads

[laurenceslife]

Chapter 22

            Next day, during a filming break, the wind’s power immediately began growing at a huge speed. It brought lots of sand from the wind’s direction, and it was even hard to walk in it.

Everybody got to be full of sand, they were breathing with difficulty by the huge powered wind, especially this way that the sand also pretty much got mixed up with the air. Everybody was loudly grumbling, annoyed or swearing; the filming’s continuation was postponed, and they fled into the bus they came by.

They already would have set off back for the hotel when Francis began to speak:

- Oh my God! – he cried out in horror, looking back.

The others looked back, too, and saw that the storm destroyed almost the whole film set.

            On the basis of Francis’ idea, the filming continued with the demolished film set until the film set would be made again, but since the day of the sandstorm, he was even more restless again, like when Marlon and Harvey were the reasons why there were problems with the filming.

- I’ve never seen him like this before – Larry said to Martin when they were having dinner together – He’s like he went mad and depressed at the same time. Like he’s got a panic attack and burst of anger at the same time – the boy’s face was sympathizing.

- In its beginning, he hadn’t even comprehended it – Martin said – While he’s starting to regain consciousness from the numbness that defends him against it, it’s just getting worse and worse. I’m twitchy, too; I’ve been pinning my hopes on this movie. It’s not healthy this way that he leads the filming in that state of mind. The result also would be better if he could concentrate more, and we could perform better, too, if he didn’t yell at us.

            Days were passing, and Francis was driving the actors so hard that everybody got up restlessly, and groggily had a breakfast, went to the set, shot the movie, went back to the hotel to take a shower, to clean their teeth and to sleep late at night, every day except on Sunday. What Larry was chiefly thinking about, wasn’t when he could meet with Jenny again and that he should forgive Emily, because Francis and Martin were on the edge of exhaustion psychosis if they hadn’t cracked up completely yet.

Later, Francis succeeded in accepting that he panicked and drove the actors very hard in vain, he only used to stifle the fact inside him that they would have been ready in vain filming those scenes which didn’t need the entire film set, because after a while, it was going to be necessary to wait until the film set would be ready, and since then, they didn’t shoot through so many hours every day, but Francis and Martin had still been very restless.

- John, I’ve told you a thousand times that this script’s lousily not OK! – Francis yelled at the scriptwriter on the last day of February.

- I don’t believe it! You don’t understand that with those cheap guns, every armed scene will be worthless! – the thirty-one-year old, bearded John Milius tried to persuade him, shouting, too.

- Your huge gun-mania’s what I’ll die of! You will rewrite the scenes, full period! Less gunfight, cheaper guns!

The actors were only watching them while the two men were quarreling over it in their presence. By this, Larry found a further subject for his conversations with Jenny.

Then the two bearded men agreed with each other on writing on the script later together and now rather going back to the hotel to have a rest.

            Next day, it was Sunday, so there wasn’t any filming. Larry happened to be watching TV when Emilio knocked on the door.

- I was just told that Dad caught a heart attack, and was taken to hospital – he said, trembling and almost scared to death – Are you coming with me to the hospital?

- Yeah – the other boy said, almost scared to death, too, and they already set off - But why aren't you going with your family? – Larry was surprised.

- My mom has gone there already but didn't want us to go there.

- And how can he have a heart attack?! – Larry asked on the way – He’s only thirty-five years old and isn’t even fat! Or does he have some heart disease?

- While he doesn’t have that either! – Emilio said, in astonishment, too.

- Cool it, he’ll surely survive, he’s still young – Larry said when they were on a bus already but his voice was still panicky, too.

- How’s he now? – Larry asked when they had arrived in the hospital, and Martin's doctor happened to be going into the ward.

- He’s still in critical condition. His heart has stopped once, and it can happen again several times.

- When can we go in? – Emilio asked in a trembling voice.

- We’ll speak to you guys when he regains consciousness but it can take even hours.

- We'll be waiting for a while – Larry said, and he and the other boy sat down on two chairs with trembling legs.

The doctor went in, and Larry was leaning his head on his hands and watching the white tiles with lowered head. He felt like he was in a surreal dream.

He was trying to make himself get used to the thought that his friend could die, and then he rather didn’t even dare to think of it.

- Do your brothers and sister know what happened? – he asked.

- Yeah but they’re too young yet to come here - Emilio said, looking down, too.

Then they heard that the man was being revitalized again in the ward. 

- I'll rather get off ’cause one goes crazy by it – Emilio stood up. He didn’t want to be there anymore. He hadn’t been ready to get to know that he died.

- Where are you going? – the other boy asked.

- Just to the first floor. 

- Me too - Larry stood up, too, at the end of his tether, and they set off.

They went downstairs to the diner, and were rather waiting there for the doctor's notification about Martin dying or waking up, not to be hearing the attempt to revitalize him.

- Are you guys waiting for anybody? – the seller girl asked who could be between twenty and twenty-five, and her black hair was in a ponytail on her back.

- Yeah – Larry answered gloomily, watching the greenish blue, little table.

- Won't you guys buy anything till then? Or are you guys gonna eat anything together? – the girl asked tensely.

The boy sighed.

- There’s no money with me, I came to my friend suddenly who’s being revitalized now, and we didn’t wanna hear it, and now we're waiting for the doctor to inform us if he died or regained consciousness! – he shouted furiously.

Emilio couldn't even begin to speak, and the girl and the two older women and an old man who were in the diner, looked at him, startled by his shouting and by what he said.

The girl went up to Larry and Emilio, and sat down at their table.

- I’m sorry… Of course, you guys don’t have to buy anything – she said – Your friend will surely recover, calm down.

- OK – the boy sighed.

Then Martin’s doctor appeared.

The boys quickly stood up from the chairs, and were waiting for the man with infinite terror to tell them if Martin died.

The girl went back behind the counter, and was looking at them, sympathizing.

- I thought you guys haven’t gone away yet – the doctor began it – So your friend regained consciousness; you guys can go in.

- OK, thanks – Larry said, and he and Emilio went back upstairs, then went in through the ward’s door.

Martin was connected to machines, and was lying in the bed; he was snowy and motionless. Larry got frightened of him. He seemed to be dead already, like he was only left on the machines.

- Hi… - the man said weakly, slowly turning his head towards the boys; till then, he was watching the ceiling.

- Hello – Larry said after going there slowly – How are you feeling? – he asked the stupid question like he couldn’t see how weak he was, and Emilio was speechless by the sight.

- It's so good... that I can see... you guys... one more time, too - the man was panting - I… will be… with Jesus… soon.

- The doctor didn’t say it so it’s surely not true – Emilio said but his voice was extremely scared.

- Maybe he… hasn’t… told or… he can’t… tell kids, the patient… neither. Call a priest!

The nurse told the boys to already let the patient rest.

In the corridor, he and Larry met the doctor, and asked him about what prospect Martin had.

- He is critically ill. His heart can stop at any moment, and after a while, probably we can’t revitalize him anymore. There’s very little hope of him staying alive – the man said in a low voice.

Emilio flopped down to one of the chairs, and Larry began feeling dizzy, too.

- The doctor said there’s very little hope but he didn't say there’s no hope – Larry said to calm both of them down – But now you’ve got to comply with what your dad said to do.

Then they saw that a priest was already going into the ward.

- Well, OK, I won't stay here anymore – the boy set off with Larry.

They went downstairs, and left the hospital. Larry had never pitied anybody more than Emilio and Martin.

They went back to the hotel.

Larry went in his own suite, and called Zac who always put him in a better mood.

He was reporting to him about everything that had happened since they had last talked, and Zac was also telling him everything that had happened to him since then, then they were talking about good movies and girls to divert Larry’s thoughts from what happened to Martin.

- Why don’t you call Jenny? – Zac asked – You have time to talk to her now.

- Maybe it’s not a good idea now that I’m so broken down…

- Why? You could be chatting with her like with me. It’s possible to also chatter about other things, not only about bad things.

- OK, you succeed in talking me into that. Thanks for the advice.

Larry was talking to Jenny on the phone, and then went with Emilio and with Kerry, one of the actors, to a place of entertainment to drink and play billiards.

They were guffawing a lot at one another’s stories and comments while drinking.

When they had gone back to the hotel, Larry succeeded in falling asleep by the alcohol instead of considering whether Martin would stay alive.

            Next morning, when he was having a headache and felt sick, received that he drank a lot.

He was even letting the breakfast out of the day, and when his stomach had been better, he began drinking lots of water for his headache, on the advice of Emilio.

On the set, he had still been constantly making up for the liquid what the alcohol sucked away when they weren’t shooting his scenes, but still hardly could concentrate on the filming by the headache, so Francis was yelling at him because the man was broken down, anyway, because of losing Martin and because of the other things that had happened to the filming.

Later, Emilio’s advice was effective, so Larry could concentrate on working already, so the director stopped yelling at him.

On the other hand, when he had arrived back in the hotel, he met his mother in the living room, and she asked him about what was yesterday and how the filming was going, and when Larry told him, Hattie told him off because he appeared on the set with a hangover. Hattie said, different directors, who didn’t treat him like he was their son, would have had a quarrel with him forever and would have discredited him, so nobody would have worked with him anymore, and his career would have been lost. She said, if he would have such a big move like this one more time, she would call his father there.

Larry was having a conscience without it too, about last night, he still felt good while Martin was dying in the hospital.

His mother’s hysteria put the lid on it to him – he thought when he went in his room, and began throwing everything at the wall he found in the room. He didn’t care that he would have to pay them, and anyway, he was mostly throwing his own clobbers at the wall, and they weren’t so luxury items that it would have been hard to make up for them.

Fortunately, his mother didn’t notice that it was happening in his room, she thought one of Martin’s sons was doing it.

            Larry and Martin’s family systematically went to see the man, and sometimes some other actors of the film went to see him, too. The morale was like he already died. Janet, his wife, the still very young children and Martin’s mother constantly cried, and the others fled into cherishing illusions of that little hope that he would stay alive.

One of his brothers Joe was playing his role so it wouldn’t be necessary to delete his scenes while a lot of things had delayed completing the movie already. Francis wouldn’t even have had enough nervous system to shoot all of Martin’s scenes again, and his brother traveled there to go to see him, anyway.

- You hardly call me already since Martin had a heart attack, while I and my family are gonna fly there for the spring holiday because of you – Jenny burst in saying it some weeks later.

- I didn’t want to stick this mournful mood on you – Larry said sullenly – I don't wanna you to constantly comfort me, and don't wanna scare you away - he continued a lot gentler.

- I thought you constantly go to see him ’cause he's more important to you - the girl said, startled - So what do you do when we're not talking?

- I talk to my cousins and friends - he sighed and sat down on the bed - I hear what happens to them, and we talk about that, not to think of Martin during it... I haven’t even gone to see him for a while, not to see what shape he’s in...

- Maybe he's already better, and you don't even know it yet because of it. Also, maybe he’s missing you. I already know I was selfish, and you are that now, too, ’cause you don't give poor one's due, his having a friend next to him before he dies. By the way have you even at least asked anybody about how he is? Maybe he's not even dying anymore! What if he started to recover from his heart attack?

The boy furiously stood up from the bed.

- I can see what state of mind his family is in, every time I notice them in the corridor of the hotel! - he said furiously, desperately and almost shouting it - I know that my friend's dying and I can't do anything against it by going to see him! It's the same to him already, anyway! Isn't it the same to him what happened to him before his death?! - he clonked back to the bed.

- I know it's hard for you now.

- It's good that you're talking to me - he said in a low voice - Do you still wanna meet with me?

- Of course.

            Later, he went to be filming, and then he was having dinner together with some actors.

- Hey Larry, how’s Martin? – Harrison asked while stuffing the beef into his mouth.

- The same health of state – the boy said in an expressionless voice.

- At least his condition hasn’t changed for the worse.

- So there’s some hope yet – Scott said.

Larry suddenly stopped eating.

The possibility that there would be such a period before his death when there would be no more hope that he would stay alive, hadn’t even come into his head yet. He was already terrified that Martin would already surely die, and he wanted to reassure himself that his condition hadn’t changed for the worse. He could only achieve it by going to see him and talking to his doctor, so he decided to go to the hospital to visit him tomorrow.

            Because of the possibility that Martin would already surely die, he still hardly could be sleeping at night. It came into his head that he could be almost only better than his latest condition, at least how he knew it before, but because of the same thing, there was more possibility that he would die, so he was in the same health of state or in a worse health of state.

He sleepily got up, had breakfast with his mother and with Emily, then went to the set. Of course, buses go from the jungle to the hospital and they were taken back to the hotel by cars, so he set off to the hospital from the hotel. From there, he found his way to the bus stop, and knew where to get off and where to go because he systematically went to Martin before.

On the bus, when he was seeing through the windows that they were going towards the hospital, he felt the tension already by it, because he would see one of his best friends in that shape again.

When he had arrived in the hospital, and opened the door of the ward, the sight of his pale, motionless friend who was connected to machines, hit him again.

He wasn’t counting on his family to be there, but several members of his family were there.

First, Janet contemptuously looked at him because he came only after two weeks, but in the next moment, Charlie ran up to him joyously.

- Imagine what happened, the doctor just said that our dad’s condition got better, and already there was a lot more chance of his recovering! – he said. Larry only then noticed that he was connected to fewer machines and wasn’t so pale anymore.

First, Larry was happy about it, but then was lingering some yards from the door, embarrassed, because he wanted to talk to the man between the two of them to be able to tell him why he hadn’t gone to see him for two weeks. He couldn't send the others out of the ward after what happened.

- When we will be the two of us, I’ll tell you why I haven’t come to see you for two weeks – he said in a puzzled voice.

- We’re curious to know it, too – Janet began to speak furiously – He said he missed you but didn't want us to nag you if you didn’t wanna come.

- I didn’t wanna see him that way – Larry said in a low voice – That's why I haven’t come.

- I forgive you – Martin smiled.

- Thanks – his friend went up to him, and sat down at the edge of his bed – So many things happened that you missed! – he said enthusiastically – I'm gonna tell you when I won’t be bothering the others. And how are you? Do you also feel that you’re better?

- In these circumstances, when you guys are here, yes.

[jthebeauty]

Dishes of Punishment.

Pairing: Step-dad! Naoya x Step-daughter! Reader

Genre: Smut, Modern Day AU

Rating: 18+, Explicit - Minors & Ageless Bios DNI!

DISCLAIMER: I do not defend Naoya’s actions in the manga or anything of that nature. I am simply a writer — that’s all.

Summary: Naoya hates your boldness. When you deliberately ignore his orders regarding the dishes, he takes matters into his own hands to make sure you never disregard his orders ever again.

WARNINGS: DARK CONTENT — NONCON STEPCEST, Reader is an Adult in College, Biting, Choking, Coercion, Cursing, Dacryphilia, Degradation, Face Fucking, Fighting (Verbal & Physical), Gagging, Hair Pulling, Heavy Misogyny & Sexism, Humiliation, Implied Age Gap, Infidelity, Manhandling, Mentions of Breeding & Death, Restraints, Sadism, Size Difference, Slapping, Spanking, Spit, Unprotected Sex, Pull Out Method.

Word count: 6.5k

Credit: Naoya’s Jujutsu hub pfp is made by Shimeko_45133 on Twt — I got permission to use it!

A/n: This fic is my entry for the Jujutsu Hub collab, coordinated by the amazing @suna-reversed! If you haven’t done so, please go through the masterlist & support the other writers who participated in this fun event! Thank you Vee for not only creating this collab, but also allowing me to participate in it!​ Thank you all for reading & take care! ♡

“Yeah, no— no, I said I’ll be there in about like... twenty or thirty,” you reassure. “Imma grab my keys ‘n dip.”

Nobara clicks her tongue in annoyance. “We’re going to Balenciaga first, then.”

“Woah, woah, I thought we settled on g-”

“I’m getting the Ville XXS Top Handle Bag today,” she interjects. “Y’know, someone could have their hands on the second last one right now as we speak.”

“If you’re that concerned, then fine,” you sigh, sliding your legs into your denim jeans. “As long as we get my sweaters right after.”

“Well, as long as I get my bag, then we’re good— no problem! Call me when you’re like five away or so, ‘kay? I’m finishing up here.”

“Alright, I’ll get to driving as soon as I find my ke-” you freeze, eyes widening as you stare at the entire surface of your desk. “Holy shit, Naoya might have them, actually.”

“Yikes…” an awkward moment of silence passes between you two. “I don’t know how you’re gonna get them back, but... y’know? The purse and whatnot.”

Regardless of her current mini-tantrum over a purse, Nobara is a fantastic friend. She’s stylish, cute, and a ride-or-die. She has always admired your strength and independence ever since the day you met her. It’s thanks to your similar personality traits why you two are best friends in the first place. In addition to her unique character, she’s always willing to listen to your vents about Naoya— big or small.

Of course, she knew you invariably told the truth. Still, everything wasn’t 100% confirmed until she came over two months ago for movie night and met Naoya for herself. Although their interaction was very brief, it was sufficient for Nobara to avoid repeating the experience. To say the least, she definitely wasn’t a fan of the bastard. She couldn’t wrap her head around the fact that your sweet, kind mother settled for a controlling piece of shit like him.

“I’ll figure it out,” your eyes glance over at the empty spot on your desk. “Damn, he must’ve taken them this morning while I was in the shower,” you mutter more to yourself than to your best friend.

“Double yikes… best-of-luck!” She quickly utters. “Don’t forget today’s main goal, my purse!”

“I mean, how could I forget now?” you mumble, slightly breathless from tugging and hauling your belt loops upwards. “Knowing him, it’s probably something small, and he wants to be a dick head about it just because he can.”

“You want me to come over there and fuck his shit up with my hammer? I’ll get my hands dirty if that motherf-”

“I’ll handle it,” you fight back a laugh, the smile in your voice unmistakable. “Just sit tight, ‘kay? I’ll call you when I’m about five away.”

“I’ll-”

“Shit,” you accidentally hang up before Nobara finishes her sentence. It was probably about the bag anyways.

On your wooden desk, you retrieve your stained coffee mug from its coaster. Cup in hand, you do a full 180 to face your full-body mirror on the wall, taking one last glance at your outfit. With pursed lips, you lean closer to the reflective glass and sigh through your nose. A headache- no, a migraine, is bound to transpire by the time you finish speaking with Naoya.

“I fucking hate this guy,” you mumble, grabbing your bag off the hardwood floor.

Lightly jogging down the stairs, you set your bag on the last step of the staircase. You quickly scan the area before heading over to the sink in the kitchen— two of your senses vigilant for your mother’s husband. Slowly, you place your mug in an empty space beside the other grimy stacks of dishes, careful not to cause any clatter.

Upon turning around to leave, you’re greeted by the last person you’d want to see right now. But you have no choice this time— he has what’s rightfully yours.

Naoya leans against the doorframe, clad in nothing but grey sweatpants. He’s somewhat breathing heavily; his forehead down to his waist coated in a light sheen of perspiration. By the looks of it, he went for a run while you were in the shower.

“What the actual fuck,” you clutch at your chest, hand over your thumping heart. “You’re a real dick head, you know that?”

Of course the sly bastard is aware, tell him something he doesn’t know. This is always the case when he wants to speak with you (without your mother around). Unlike the ‘normal’ step-dads in TV shows, he never knocks on your room door before entering— let alone asks you how your day went.

Whenever your mom is around, Naoya often distances himself and runs errands, ensuring your mom doesn’t get suspicious of any bad blood— it’s pleasant.

But without your mother around, conversations are never worthwhile; a prime example being right now.

“Where are you off to dressed like that? The sink isn’t clean.”

“Out to places, it’s not really your business,” you dismiss, rolling your eyes. “You took my keys off my desk?”

“Ah, you mean...” Naoya reaches into his left pocket, slowly pulling your keys out before raising them at eye level. “These?” he teases with a smirk, swinging them by your lanyard like a pendulum.

You stare directly into Naoya’s eyes as the several pieces of brass sway left to right, chiming from colliding with each other.

“Yeah,” you stretch a palm out. “You can give them back now.”

“You know, I was waiting for you to ask me about them,” Naoya runs his tongue across his bottom lip. He then shakes his head in disappointment, placing your keys back into his pocket. “I told you to wash the dishes last night, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, exactly. That’s the problem. You didn’t ask me.”

“Ask?” he interrogates, unable to hold back a peart laugh. “You think I need to ask you to wash the fucking dishes?”

“I mean, do you really think I-”

“No, do you really think I need to ask you to do shit ‘round here?” Naoya halts your question with a question of his own. “Especially when both you and your mother live in my house? That’s more of the important question, sweetheart.”

You shudder at the last part of his sentence, vexation quickly starting to pool in from your head to the rest of your body. Yes, it is in fact, Naoya’s house. Yes, both you and your mother live there— but you’re only there to save money while attending college. If it wasn’t so expensive to comfortably live alone, you would’ve packed your bags months ago and never return. You’re an adult, your mom would be just fine without you… right?

Still, the bastard has no right to order you around like some dense maidservant. Who the fuck put a gun to his head and told him to marry your mom? No one!

“Keep thinking I’ll wash them then. In fact, you might as well tell my mom to wash them when she gets back from work,” you sneer. “She’s your wife, no?”

“I’m telling you to wash them and do it right. now.”

“And I’m telling you,” you point a finger for emphasis. “I’m not going to do shit for you until you learn some respect. I really hope you don’t talk to my mom like this since she lives with you too.”

“Y’know why all of this is happening right now?”

“Because you’re an entitled piece of shit who thinks you can tell me what to do all the time?”

“No, it’s because you haven’t made the connection yet,” he pokes at his temple. “You don’t have any fucking manners either.”

What fucking connection? And how dare he even begin to talk to you about manners? The sweaty bastard can’t even ask you to do something with a ‘please.’

“No, you fucking dumbass!” you throw your arms up. “It’s because last time I checked, I’m not your fucking child! Not because of some fucking ‘connection’!” you make air quotes with your fingers.

“Lower your voice when speaking to me.”

With a heavy sigh, you close your eyes and count to three, steadying your breaths. Upon reopening your lids, you cross your arms and shift your weight to the other hip.

“Give me my keys,” you utter, your voice calm and soft.

“Wash the dishes first.”

Bloody hell.

“I really don’t have time for this,” you kiss your teeth, glancing at your bag on the stairs behind his tall frame. “My last name ain’t Zen’in. I don’t have to take shit from you.”

“Oh?” he raises an eyebrow, smirking amusingly. Sass from any other woman probably would’ve had Naoya fuming by now, but there’s something about you that makes him want to give you a pass for now. Perhaps your sass is perceived as something more playful rather than disrespectful? Who knows? Only he knows.

His patience forever remains thin though.

“I have places to be,” you rub your palms on your jeans, smoothing out the small waves of wrinkles before straightening up. “I don’t care anymore, keep the fucking keys. I’ll just take the bus at this point.” You take two steps forward to the stairs, attempting to get around him.

Naoya’s large hand shoots out to grab your forearm, restraining you from fleeing the kitchen. Your head quickly snaps upwards to his face. The smirk that was once there a few seconds ago, is long gone now.

Not only did he try to talk to you about manners earlier, but now he’s putting his hands on you? The bastard has officially lost his god damn mind.

“Let g-”

“Did I say you could leave?” his sharp eyes meet yours, irises slowly darkening with rage and annoyance. “Didn’t you learn any manners from your mother? How to not only clean up after yourself— but after the entire household you live in? How to obediently listen to a man when he speaks to you? How to be a fucking woman?”

“How to be a woman? Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“If I were you, I’d be very careful of who I’m talking to right now.”

“Fuck that!” you jerk your arm. “Let go of— ouch!”

“I told you to lower your voice, didn’t I?”

Once more, you attempt to retrieve your arm from Naoya’s tight hold, pushing and drubbing at his clammy chest with your free hand as hard as you can. Naoya rolls his eyes and swiftly pulls you flush against his front. His free hand snakes around your waist and squeezes it, holding you in place.

“Stop moving,” Noaya says through clenched teeth.

“Let go of me!” you angrily cry out, nails scraping the skin of his lower back. “It fucking hurts!”

“It fucking hurts,” he mocks with pouty lips. “You know it doesn’t since you’re so tough right?”

Oh, but he knew it hurt. It even sparked something within him as he watched you hopelessly tussle and brawl against him.

“What about my feelings? Don’t you have a heart?” he sneers. “I really thought we’d get along well, gave you enough space ‘n everything.”

“Fuck you and your feelings!” this time, your nails dig into the muscle of Naoya’s lower back, but he doesn’t seem to be fazed by it. “Don’t give a shit.”

“Fuck me? So much profanity in your vocabulary. Not very lady-like,” he tsks. “But since you’re so demanding, how can I refuse?” Naoya’s lips slowly alter into another wicked smirk.

It’s obscure how someone like you could have the guts to stand up to someone like him. How did your mother manage to raise such a bold daughter, yet it appears that she as his wife listens to every word he says?

But does it even matter at this point when Naoya has plans to make sure that this never happens again? To make sure that you never even think to argue with him again? At this point, you’re too deep to even turn back. Hopefully, Nobara can forgive you if all fails with today’s plans.

In a matter of a few nanoseconds, his brain generates obscene thoughts. Shall it be the kitchen counter? Or better yet— should it happen at the spot where you should’ve been last night?

And since you two are practically pressed together, you’re forced to feel the result of his perverted thinking.

“You make me sick,” you glare at him. Your arm may be slowly growing numb to the feeling, but deep down, you’re slowly losing the will to continue this senseless fight with him. “Let go.”

“Go wash... the fucking dishes,” his grasp on your arm still tenacious. “Or we’ll do more than just dance here. I can promise you that, sweetheart.”

“Wash them your fucking self,” you scoff, looking away at the window. “Taking my keys over some fucking d-”

Naoya reacts quickly, removing the hand around your waist to shove two large fingers into your open mouth. You make a sound between a shriek and a gasp in response, staring up at him with wide eyes.

The hand that he used to hold onto your forearm quickly replaces his other hand, keeping you fixed against the anterior of his brawny, mesomorph body. Naoya squeezes your waist again, this time his four fingertips rhythmically tapping against your side one by one as he grows impatient.

“Don’t even think of finishing that sentence or biting me, yeah?” he lightly thrusts the thick digits against your tongue, pushing them deeper into your wet aperture. You squeal and frown at the salty, brackish taste of them, tempted to bite his fingers. “God, you talk so fucking much for a woman your age. I can’t stand it.”

You start to gag while rustling against Naoya’s front, attempting to push his large frame away and create some distance between you two— but it’s pointless. He doesn’t budge one bit.

“It’s hard for you to keep quiet, huh?” he gives you a pitiful laugh. “Maybe I do like talkative women in some cases.”

Although it feels like a decade, it’s only been about six months of living under the same roof as your mother’s husband.

From the first week, the two of you had clashed heads more frequently than before he married your mom. As pleasant as it was living only with your mother back in your small apartment, it was nice to finally have your own room with much more space to work with it. Not only that, but there’s more room in general throughout the whole house. There’s a pool in the backyard, a basement where you can do as you please; watch movies on your projector or workout. For goodness sake, you have your own king-sized bed, bathroom, and walk-in closet!

But is a bigger room within a big ass house really worth the bullshit and headaches you put with at least once a week?

“I think I’ve been more than patient with you now, don’t you think so too?” Naoya gazes down at your staggered face, oh-so-generously giving you a few seconds to give some sort of reply around his fingers. “I asked you a question, so I expect an answer— almost immediately.”

Naoya retrieves his glistening fingers from your agape mouth, creating a thin string of saliva that’s connected to both your bottom lip and his fingertips. He then firmly places his hand back on your waist, awaiting your answer with curious eyes.

You promptly clear your throat, panting at sudden removal. You grin at your step-dad’s stupid face, using the back of your dominant hand to wipe the dribble from the corners of your mouth and chin.

“I think you should go to hell,” you quickly accumulate saliva in your mouth, head tilting back to aim for his face. You swiftly hawk it in his direction, hoping it’d at least reach the fucker’s nose.

But instead, your spit lands on his tense neck— right at the adam’s apple. You smirk in satisfaction anyways, watching as the spittle speedily makes its way down between his pecs due to the force of gravity.

Fuck you, Naoya.

“Nasty, nasty bitch,” he huffs. “I’ve lost my patience with a brat like you.”

Naoya’s hands abruptly leave your body to wipe the spittle off his neck and chest. You take this chance to escape, rushing toward the steps.

But before both of your feet could leave the floor, you’re met with brute force— a force that wasn’t present from before. The motion happens quickly, leaving you flat on your butt and your shoulders with an odd lingering feeling of soreness.

The sudden impact to the cool, rigid floor tiles causes you to momentarily clutch at the front of your head. You open your eyes and redirect your focus above to see blurred clones of the brawny man approaching you. You unclamp your forehead, panic rapidly replacing the anger you’ve felt this whole time. You scurry backward on your hands, pushing off your heels and sliding your denim-covered butt across the floor until your back is met with the firm door of a cabinet.

Shit.

“Look I-”

“On your knees,” he grits through clenched teeth, a prominent vein on the right side of his tight neck. “Right fuckin’ now.”

“Th-”

“That’s not you bratting out again, is it?” Naoya reaches down and grips a handful of your locks, pulling you up off your butt. “I won’t say it again.”

“O-okay,” you oblige, using your sore palms to slowly maneuver yourself onto your knees.

For once, you’re actually following Naoya’s orders— but solely out of fright. Does it matter to him, though? Fuck no, obedience is obedience.

“Good,” he grins. “You’re making the connection now, aren’t you?”

“I don’t-”

You’re interrupted by Naoya’s palm colliding with your cheek. You squeal, immediate sting and heat pooling in from the impact.

“I’ve heard enough of your brave bitch speech,” he clicks his tongue. “If I ask you a question, only reply with ‘yes.’ Matter of fact, you could even nod if you really want me to be happy. Understood?” The less the bastard hears your pathetic voice, the better.

You nod with burning eyes, subconsciously bringing a hand up to rub the spot he smacked, but that only angers him more.

“Hands on my strings, not your face,” he rips your hand away from your cheek with his free hand. “Untie the knot, or I’ll give the same treatment to your other cheek.”

With fidgeting hands, you reach up to the stretchy band of his sweatpants. You swallow thickly, placing your fingers on the braided cotton string by their dark grey metal aglets.

Heart palpitating against your sternum, your palms start to grow clammy. You stall as you undo the two tight bows, softly tugging the aglets— hoping and praying Naoya wouldn’t notice your hindering too much.

“Hurry the fuck up,” he roughly jerks your head back, kissing his teeth out of annoyance. “You deaf?”

You whimper from the tug, quickly obeying his order. Immediately, you yank both aglets and watch in trepidation as the strings become undone.

Naoya then grabs one of your hands, placing it on his lower abdomen— right at the band of his sweatpants. With his large hand enveloping yours, he forces you to rub his semi-hard cock through the grey-colored cotton.

It feels... wrong? Perverted? Unethical? There’s no way to extensively describe such an infrequent feeling like this.

Naoya has severely crossed the line several times today. He confiscated your keys, neglected your personal space, put his hands on you, and constrained you to perform inappropriate acts on him. Something is seriously wrong with him.

But now, things are dangerously escalating. Escalating to a point where you’re petrified of his next move and the move after that. If you knew beforehand that things would get to this point, you would’ve left the house an hour ago and taken the transit. Nobara would understand, right?

“I was actually on my way to the basement,” his hand is still over yours, stroking his erect cock through his two layers of clothing. “I was gonna do some bench pressing and enjoy the afternoon I had all to myself.”

Naoya grunts, lightly throwing his head back before meeting your fearful eyes again. “But I’m glad I caught you just in— no, you couldn’t leave without your keys. You were going to ask me for them anyway.”

His motions over your hand grow tedious before they come to a complete stop. With one hand still entangled in your hair, he uses the other one to grab your free hand.

Naoya then brings your unoccupied hand up to his groin, positioning both of your hands on the stretchy, elastic waistband.

“Pull ‘em down,” he licks his lips, tilting his head to keenly watch you. “I don’t have to tell you twice this time, do I? I know you wouldn’t want that, sweetheart.”

“What I want is for someone to kick you so hard in the nuts, you fucking die.” is what you want to reply with so badly.

But what would your mother’s husband have to say or even do about that? Would he tug on your locks like it’s rope again? Would he smack the other side of your face like he promised he’d do? Would he even dare to go as far as—

You vigorously shake your head no, but it’s not in response to the question he queried just a few seconds ago. Blinking away the tears that scorch your eyes, you give yourself a quick pep talk before the man in front of you possibly grows impatient and loses his shit again.

Just do what he says and you’ll get your keys back.

Muscles opposing in your strained throat, you swallow thickly again and focus on the task at hand. Fingers tucking in past the two cotton-blend layers, your knuckles brush against the trail of coarse hair at Naoya’s navel.

“Look at you,” he hums in satisfaction, palm sliding from front to back on your head like a disciplined puppy. “So you can be obedient? You just choose not to, hm?”

You nod again in response, just the way Naoya likes it. With a quick, low exhale, you curl your fingers around the stretchy band of both layers— hooking them before swiftly tugging his sweats down.

Almost immediately, you’re faced with Naoya’s throbbing, rigid cock. You watch in both shock and repugnance as a fresh bead of precum forms at the swollen, red crown of his tip. Is Naoya really getting off to the fact that his defiant step-daughter is on her knees, obeying his every order? Of course, the sick bastard is.

“There’s absolutely nothing else in this world that I love more than a woman who knows her place,” he gloats, using his free hand to guide the tip of his cock to your agape mouth. “That’s the connection.”

To say he feels accomplished is most likely an understatement. To put it more accurately, Naoya would say that he feels like his own version of a successful construction man. His tactics are genius in his eyes; he forcibly destroys your strong-willed cement walls with only a few swings of his coercion-filled wrecking ball.

“Suck,” he orders with several taps of his tumescent tip on your lips, lightly smearing pre on your once-glossed lips.

You mentally curse at the command with a nauseous stomach, the uneasiness in your body too great for you to move a muscle. He can’t be serious— is he serious right now? Is he out of his-

“You don’t want me to repeat it again,” the fingers knotted in your locks tighten, pulling at your tender scalp. “Open your fucking mouth and suck it. Right now.”

“Ah- okay, okay,” you surrender, breathing quickening as you slowly open your mouth.

Naoya doesn’t even think twice to give you a warm-up for somewhat complying this far. With a quick slam of his hips, his cock mercilessly enters your mouth— seeking beyond the back of your tongue. Your gag reflexes immediately take effect as you bring both hands up, placing them on the quadriceps of his sturdy thighs for support. You start to choke, tears welling up in your eyes as the prominent vein on Naoya’s cock repeatedly brushes against your uvula.

“I know you’ve sucked cock before,” he groans at the delicious feeling of his cock head probing the warm depths of your throat. “Don’t play amateur sweetheart, suck it properly or I’ll have to get a lil’ rough with you.”

With several warm, salty tears rolling down your cheeks, you stretch your tongue out to caress the underside of Naoya’s cock. When his grip on your hair gets tighter (expressing disapproval), you hollow your cheeks. Buccal now tightly cushioning his pulsing cock, you attempt to bob your head on his length.

“That’s fucking good,” he throws his head back, jaw falling slack. “Just like that.”

Placing both hands on the back of your head, Naoya takes matters into his own hands again. Roughly rocking his hips, his heavy balls harshly slapping against your chin.

“Please-” you make an effort to communicate your discomfort through tears, but it resembles muffles and gags coming straight from your throat. “No more.”

“Shut your- ugh fuck,” Naoya shudders from his sensitive tip being persistently engulfed by your warm throat. “Shut your mouth. You’ll know when I’m- hah, done.”

Your vision grows even more blurry with every tear created in your lacrimal glands. Breathing at this point only gets more challenging— it’s basically nonexistent as Naoya gets his way, exploiting your throat for his pleasure and satisfaction.

Saliva continues to seep from the corners of your mouth, lubricating the fucker’s cock while also wetting the tiled floor below you. Your arms grow tired from clutching tightly onto his thighs, and your sore jaw only gradually continues to ache.

You’re moments away from letting go of your only source of physical support when Naoya abruptly pulls out of your mouth. Worn out and exhausted, you lean your head back into his hold with your palms planted on the floor, gasping and coughing for the air you once took for granted.

“Upsy-daisy,” he smoothes his fingers from front to back over your head. “Fun’s just-”

“No, no, no, please-” you choke out mid-cough, the uneasiness in your stomach reaching its peak as he looks down at you with a grin. Your eyes start to tear up again, both angry and fearful of the unhinged fucker standing in front of you.

“No?” Naoya’s soothing touch once more becomes aggressive, jerking your head by your hair. “Who are you telling ‘no’ to?”

“You!” your hands reach above your head to grip Naoya’s wrists. You attempt to pry off his hands, but his hold on your hair remains firm. “You’re going to regret this when my mom-”

“She won’t find out,” Naoya grabs more locks of your hair and pulls upwards, forcing you to stand up. “Because you’re not gonna tell her, and I’ll make sure of that— now get the fuck up.”

You don’t budge, choosing to ignore his command and claw at his rugged hands. You recognize this only angers Naoya more, but if you were going down— you wouldn’t go down without a fight.

Mid brawl with your step-dad’s hands in your hair, you manage to land a downward slap on his infuriated face— making sure your nails scrape his skin in the process. Naoya’s forbearance is nonexistent as he increases the force he exerts on you, no longer giving you second chances to correct your actions.

“I’ve had enough of these games,” is all you hear him say before everything moves fast, your brain unable to keep up with his movements. “If you’re going to fight me, here’s a piece of advice— don’t.”

He was quick with it, manhandling you through your screams and punches until your hips are pinned against the sink countertop. His front presses against the posterior of your figure, trapping you between him and the counter. Naoya then grabs hold of your wrists and restrains them behind your back to prevent you from further scratching him.

“This is wrong!” you shout, wiggling your hips and attempting to jerk your hands from his grasp. “And you fucking know it too! The fuck is wrong with you?!”

Transferring both wrists into a hand, he uses his free hand to reach over you and turn the sink on. Your brows furrow at the random act. Why is he just letting the water run?

“It’s not my fault we’re doing this,” Naoya grits through his teeth. “It’s your goddamn fault.”

“My fault!? You’re just an entitled piece of-”

Your sentence is cut short when you notice Naoya undoing the clasp on your jeans. Ignoring your wails and kicks, he swiftly pops the button open before hauling down your zipper. Heart hammering in your chest, you struggle to regulate your breathing— tears quickly returning to your eyes again.

“Naoya, stop this-” you clear the lump in your throat. “You’ve gone too-”

“Too far? Me? Too far?” he snickers. “You deserve this.”

“I hope you die a painful death,” you sniffle. “Worst way possible too.”

“Aw, you’re too kind,” his smile diabolical. “It’s nice to know that you want the best for me— even if it’s the worst at the same time.”

You don’t respond, staring at the water that flows from the tap with warm tears running down your face. Naoya, however, makes the next move and reaches over you again, cupping his hand at the stream.

“See this?” he splashes the clear liquid in your face, causing you to yelp and pull away. You exhale through your mouth before clearing your throat to recover. Naoya suddenly repeats the action again, his hand smothering the aqua all over your eyes, nose, cheeks, and mouth. “It’s water that should’ve been used for what?”

You know it’s bad enough to keep quiet, but why should you keep answering someone like him? Someone whose only goal is to disrespect and demean you for being an independent, bold woman. Screw this guy and his entitled mentality-

“Answer me!” Naoya growls, using his wet hand to land a sharp blow on your denim-covered ass cheek.

“Dishes!” you yell, swinging your heel backward to kick him in the shin. “For the fucking dishes, you asshole!”

“Watch yourself,” he warns. “Actually— you know what? Enough talking now.”

Naoya forcefully hooks four fingers into your back pocket, his thumb gripping the outside. He yanks at the denim material with a grunt, bringing your pants and underwear down to your thighs.

“Stop!” you slam a foot on top of his. “I said st-”

“What a shame,” he chuckles. “One minute you’re all high and mighty, next minute you’re screaming ‘stop!’ Pick a fucking side. Are you a brave bitch or a weak whore?”

“I’m-”

“Oh god,” Naoya rolls his eyes, clamping his calloused hand over your open mouth. “I don’t care for your answer.”

Through the loud ringing in your ears and the vibrations of your muffles, you hear what sounds like Naoya spitting. Your eyes widen, shock freezing every muscle as your reality finally registers.

“No more words from here on out,” he unclamps his hand. “But if you start to enjoy it, then different story.”

Naoya rubs the makeshift lube in, grinding the underside of his cock head up and down your slit. He curses under his breath, bringing the tip of his cock to tease you, circling your sensitive nub. You jerk your hips from the electrifying feeling, a strained moan leaving your throat in the process.

“Yeah,” he lines his cock at your entrance with a smirk. “Only noises like that should come out of your pathetic mouth.”

Naoya starts to push inside of you with a guttural groan, his free hand switching to grip at your bare ass cheeks as he sinks in deeper into your tight, warm cunt.

“Fuck,” he throws his head back, hips moving to create a pace. “Don’t even think the spit was needed. You fucking wanted this, didn’t you?”

“You’re-”

“Why is it so hard for you to stay in your place and follow orders, huh?” Naoya lowly grunts, teeth grazing your earlobe before he abruptly bites down on it. You wince and crane your neck, your back instinctively arching from the sting. His hand leaves your ass and travels up your body to your throat, fingers squeezing at the throbbing pulse as his hot breath makes you writhe beneath him. “Is this what you wanted all along? You like being fucked into submission or somethin’?”

“No-” you gasp, nails digging into your palms. “No, no, no-”

“You’re-” Naoya grunts into your ear, feeling your walls pulsate and flutter around his length. “A horrible liar.”

“Please-”

“That’s more like it,” he grins, fingers snaking up to grab your chin and redirect your focus to his perspiring face. “When you want something from a man, you beg for it. Now open, I think I should repay you for what you gave me earlier.”

Oh god. You know what’s coming, but you don’t want it— you’ll never want it. There’s no way to avoid it either.

You weakly open your mouth and close your eyes, further separating your parched lips as Naoya slows his pace. With two fingers, he briskly presses on your bottom row of teeth and tongue before hawking a sizeable amount of spit into your mouth. His spit is distasteful and vile as it sits in your mouth, mixing with your own saliva— but what’s to come next is another nightmare.

“Drink up,” he growls, squeezing your cheeks together. “Or I just might have to do it again and again until you learn.”

Naoya stops thrusting just to watch you ingest the warm liquid, staring intensely at your face and throat as you do so.

“Say ahh,” he smirks as he inspects your mouth. “Good.”

Pushing your head forward, Naoya’s hand grips onto your shoulder as he picks up from where he left off. He starts to thrust inside of you again— this time at a swift, overwhelming speed that has you throwing your head back with fresh tears prickling your eyes.

His ego is solely fed by your inability to do anything but moan and shriek as his cock sinks deeper and deeper, making your cunt uncontrollably squelch and squeeze around him.

The roughness of his strokes causes him to tug harder on your shoulder and bound wrists until they ultimately burn with soreness. Several warm tears continue to stream down your face as your hips repeatedly bump into the granite countertop— a bruise sure to make its appearance by the morning. Through your cries, you attempt to still yourself and clench your cunt, hoping it’d force Naoya to slow his swift pace.

He has to give you credit. Even in a precipitous situation like this, you can still think of ways to interfere with his tactics. It’s clever— but it’s a wasted effort when the bastard is both stronger and taller than you.

“Stop that shit,” he scolds, spanking a bare cheek with his large palm. “Arch your fucking back or I’ll finish inside.”

“No, no,” you mutter, teary eyes blinking away the dreadful thought. “Not inside.”

It doesn’t occur to you at the moment, but there’s absolutely no way Naoya would cum inside of you— especially not while he’s married to your mom. As extreme as this punishment is already, he would never get so wrapped up in the feeling that he finishes inside.

But nonetheless, his severe tone alone leaves you with no other option but to obey.

“That’s more like it,” Naoya watches as you arch your back into the counter, hoping it meets his expectations. “This is how it should always be.”

You discern the slight decrease in his Naoya’s pace as he lets go of your bound wrists, allowing you to grip the edge of the stainless steel sink for support. One of his large hands blindly extends down your body to your swollen clit, rubbing the nub in tight, rhythmic circles. Your hips jerk in response with each rub at the bundle of nerves, fortuitously meeting Naoya’s brisk strokes.

“And they just keep coming, huh?” he sneers, bringing his other hand up to your debauched face, harshly wiping the tears from your wet cheeks before shoving them into your agape mouth. He’s once again thrusting the thick digits against your tongue— this time ensuring you’ve tasted the salt and defeat of your disgraceful weeping. “Tastes like... the tears of a weak, needy bitch, doesn’t it?”

His words sound faint as he retrieves his fingers; they don’t even register in your head as you struggle to keep yourself on two feet.

Skin slapping against each other, your moans, Naoya’s grunts and scornful laughter— they all primarily fill the kitchen. His hands routinely add to the noise, striking your ass each time your arched form becomes dull.

With a hand secured on your hip and fingers still relentlessly rubbing at your puffy clit, your cunt starts to cream and gush around his cock. Your teary eyes are squeezed shut as a high-pitched moan leaves your throat and your whole body becomes undone.

Naoya fucks you through your orgasm, ignoring your cries of overstimulation as he chases his own release. He snaps his hips up into you, your cunt squelching and sucking him back in with every thrust. The sounds of his erect cock thrusting into your wet cunt are beyond embarrassing— it’s incredibly humiliating. You’re only continuing to milk him at this point and you can’t stop it.

With a low grunt, he abruptly pulls out— spurts of warm, thick semen painting the contour of your ass as you collapse over the sink. Jerking the last few drops of his release onto your skin, the bastard smirks, taking pride in the canvas he just painted white.

Naoya wipes the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, taking a step back as he tucks his half-limp cock back into his pants. Still smirking, he briefly watches your fucked out hole spasm— clenching and unclenching around nothing.

He stands back up to full height before reaching into his pocket, hands searching for what you sought earlier.

“Go see your lil’ friend,” he tosses your keys on the counter with a flick of his wrist. “Ah right, you might want to wipe that off... or take another shower. If you’re smart, maybe this time you’ll take your keys with you.”

Naoya steps out of the kitchen but turns his head towards you once more, deciding to say one last thing before heading to the basement.

“You should always do as you’re told,” he advises, recalling how this predicament started. “Or keep disrespecting me— your choice. I’ve noticed that bratty girls like you love to underestimate men like me.”

jthebeauty © 2021 — all rights reserved. Do not repost or recommend on other platforms, modify, translate or copy.

[atlabeth]

nightmares - mike munroe x reader

summary: It was a deal made by two almost-friends in the early hours of the morning after the worst night of their lives, when they realized that all they really had left was each other.

a/n: so this is once again. not my normal content but ive been on an until dawn kick lately and fell in love w the characters all over again. i dont know if anyone still reads or writes for this fandom but. here u go. enjoy

warning(s): lots of cursing, canon typical violence, mentions of graphic violence/death (but nothing too descriptive), mentioned depression, insomnia, and alcoholism, some heavy themes but its hurt/comfort so it ends in fluff

wc: 4.8k

You were running.

You were running, and it was freezing — fuck, it was freezing.

You knew your surroundings; how could you ever forget? Every fucking moment on the goddamn mountain was engraved into your mind for what you assumed would be the rest of your life, an assumption that had since been proven correct.

And now, against your will, you were back. Of course you were back.

A shudder ran through your whole body as that all-too-familiar screech rang out behind you, each second of it like nails on a chalkboard in the worst way. Your lungs burned like all hell but you couldn’t stop — if you stopped, you were as good as dead.

Some part of this fucked up thing was almost funny. Humans were always boasting about how they were the top of the food chain, how they were the height of evolution. There was nothing to keep an ego in check like being hunted by a supernatural creature.

Any thoughts of bullshit philosophy were dashed from your mind as you took a hard right, nearly falling over from the sharp curve of the mountain but just able to catch yourself. Your heart was thundering in your chest, the beats nearly lining up with your sprinting. You felt an intense urge to turn around, try and gauge your chances, but the thought of slowing down for even a second terrified you. It’s not like you needed to anyways — you knew exactly what was after you.

You were nearing the end of your road, both literally and figuratively. You stumbled over a tree root, your hands splayed out in front of yourself at just the right angle to keep your momentum going and, in some feat of luck, stay upright and running.

But your luck had just run out.

Your senses were proven correct as the harrowing cliff edge came into view, and a thousand things screamed in your mind at once as your demise stared you right in the eye. You barely managed to catch yourself, very much aware that the snow falling into the void could’ve just as well been you.

That fucking screech again, even closer than before, and you whipped around as you took an instinctive step back. Your hands patted around everywhere, searching for something to defend yourself, but you had nothing. No gun, knife, even the ground around you was devoid of rocks.

You had nothing. You had nothing to defend yourself from this goddamn nightmare creature, and you were going to die.

Your eyes darted around wildly in an attempt to find something, anything, to save yourself, but there was nothing. You took another step back and felt your foot slip, your breath catching as you barely managed to save yourself with a twist and a lunge away from the edge. The shock of the ground and the cold against your skin was just enough to remind yourself that you were actually alive. Another pile of snow mimicked the fate that seemed imminent as it trickled over the side of the cliff, and you screwed your eyes shut as you tried to shut your mind up.

Think, goddammit, if you wanted to get off of this fucking mountain you had to think—

The screech that pierced through the night sky was far too close for comfort, and as your head snapped back towards the woods you swore that your heart stopped beating.

It had caught up. You were out of time you were going to die but you didn’t have anything and you were going to fucking die—

A flash of white pushed off a tree and lunged towards you, teeth bared as it emitted that horrible screech. You didn’t even have time to scream, completely frozen in place as one clawed hand reached your neck, and you braced for the moment of release.

You shot up in your bed, breathing rapid and unsteady with a barely contained cry on the edge of your lips as your hand instinctively flew to your neck. You heaved an almost strangled sigh of relief to know that your head was still attached to your body (it might’ve seemed obvious, but… your head wasn’t exactly on straight at the moment, all jokes aside) and collapsed against the headboard.

You ran your hands across your face as you tried in vain to calm yourself down, ultimately having to turn on your lamp to ease your troubled mind that there was nothing going thump in the night.

It had been this same routine almost every night — horrible nightmare, wake up crying or screaming or both, and start the day at 3 am because you couldn’t fall back asleep.

It was exhausting. You were exhausted.

You knew you couldn’t go on like this, but what choice did you have? Therapy had been mandated by the police for a certain amount of time after the incident, but… it’s not like it had helped. How could it, when no one truly knew what you had gone through?

Well… that wasn’t completely accurate.

One person knew what you were going through, and you hadn’t said as much as one word to him since that night. You didn’t really… know what to say.

Hey. I know we’re not all that close, but I’m sorry your girlfriend and all your friends were killed by a Wendigo and that I made it instead. Hope you’re not going insane with grief. I’ll send you a card at Christmas!

...yeah. You had no idea what to say to him after months of no contact.

The relationship you had with Mike Munroe was a strange one, to say the least.

None of you were the same after that night on the mountain. The horrors of the mines would be forever entrenched in your head, flashes of the Wendigos appearing every time you closed your eyes. You and Mike were the only ones who made it off, and the guilt you carried everywhere was a burden you knew you couldn’t shoulder. And even after the physical scars had faded, you knew the mental ones never would.

Sometimes you wondered how you had even managed to get involved with the group in the first place — bonds that had been made in your freshman and sophomore years had somehow managed to stay strong enough throughout the rest of high school, strong enough to cement your spot in the friend group and the yearly lodge visits. You liked them all well enough, enough to go up to an isolated mountain with them for a weekend or so, but… yeah. Sometimes you did wonder what the hell you were doing with them.

But now?

Now, you would give almost anything to hear Sam’s laugh or one of her compliments, or tease Ashley and Chris about their very obvious feelings; hell, you found yourself missing Matt’s useless football facts. And even though Emily and Jessica weren’t always the nicest, you still had managed to worm your way into their hearts. Knowing that you would never get Emily’s brutal but helpful advice or get dragged to a football game by Jessica again?

If someone had told you the difference between life-long trauma and a completely normal existence was that blonde girl with the braids in your biology class, you might’ve thought a little harder before accepting that party invite.

The days after you were rescued from the mountain passed in a daze, questions and interrogations from police never sticking for too long. And it didn’t even feel like it mattered, the way none of them seemed to believe you.

They kept you separated from Mike throughout the whole process, and you were only able to catch glances of him when you were being transferred to different rooms throughout the long process. It really was like something out of a horror movie — a group of teens go up to a lodge in the woods, and only two return with a story of unspeakable horrors — and rather than try and work out what had happened, they seemed intent on pinning the deaths on you and Mike.

As if you weren’t dealing with enough after watching your friends get murdered by the monster of another friend, the people that were supposed to be helping you were instead trying to charge you with them. If it wasn’t so fucking infuriating, it would’ve been laughable.

The worst part? You could hardly blame them.

When you took a second to listen to yourself, to what you were spouting to the police, you sounded insane. If you hadn’t witnessed it all first hand, you wouldn’t have believed yourself.

You told them to go down to the mines. That the thing that killed your friends would be down there, and they could see it for themselves.

You didn’t know if that was the right choice. Hell, you might’ve been sending those cops to their deaths. But it was the only way you could think of to get them to believe you.

(You doubted they would go down there anyways. What was the word of two crazy college kids over actual logic? Not much, you imagined.)

You were in that damn interrogation room for what felt like forever until you were finally taken to a hospital to get your wounds treated. But even in the hospital bed, police were by your side asking about what happened every day of your stay. After your discharge, you were forced into custody until they got information that they deemed satisfactory.

By some miracle, you and Mike weren’t charged with anything. The news might’ve gotten hold of your story, but you didn’t know. You didn’t want to know. You didn’t ever look at the news after the tragedy, too afraid that you would see the smiling faces of your friends staring back at you, or pictures of you and Mike with news anchors trying to talk about how involved the two of you were.

If there was one thing worse than going through hell, it was other people trying to make a profit off of your spiral.

Your friends’ families offered their condolences, but not much else. You didn’t hold it against them. Your survivor’s guilt was strong enough to know exactly why they didn’t reach out further.

(You blame yourself for their deaths, after all. Why wouldn’t they?)

It was the same situation with Mike.

Maybe you had purposefully drifted apart from him, trying to build up walls of your own so that he wouldn’t be able to spring it on you first. You assumed he hated you after what had happened, and he had every right to. You might’ve helped each other through the night, but you had no other option. Now, everyone else but you was dead — people he cared about more than you — and you just couldn’t face that.

But as you stared at yourself in your bathroom mirror, you realized that you might have to.

You looked awful.

Weeks of sleepless nights were catching up to you, appearing in the form of

hollow eyes and dark circles, along with a slight discoloration of your skin. The scars from the mountain had mostly healed, but there was a particularly nasty gash on your cheek that was still showing — it wasn’t doing you any favors in the ‘looking completely normal and sane and not severely sleep deprived’ department.

You splashed some water in your face to try and wake up a bit, but the slight drowsiness that followed you everywhere seemed to be a permanent part of you now.

(It was almost funny, in a way. You were so paranoid and alert all the time, unable to fall asleep, and yet it was all you could think about in moments like these. You wondered when irony had become such a staple in your life.)

You had tried talking to therapists, your friends, your family, even searching the internet for advice on what to do after a life changing traumatic event. Nothing had worked.

The simplest solution had come to mind more than once, but you had pushed it aside with the determination to work through this on your own. But now, staring at yourself and seeing how much you had deteriorated…

You had to go talk to the only person who would understand.

~

You had considered turning around more than once on the drive over.

Because, really, what the hell were you doing? Showing up at his doorstep in the middle of o dark thirty because— because what?

Because you had a nightmare?

He had gone through the same thing you had, probably even worse. Losing Jessica right in front of him, having to cut off his fingers to get free, spending countless hours alone, dealing with the nightmare that was the sanatorium, and then…

Well, you had been in the mines with him and Josh when it happened. There was no doubt in your mind that the scene replayed in his head endlessly, just like it did for you.

Showing up… it was going to be a mistake. You knew it was.

For all you knew, Mike had moved on already. He was stronger than you, he always had been. Maybe your presence would send him spiraling once more, or maybe it would just earn you a verbal beating like no other. Mike had always been nice enough, but the trauma you had endured was enough to turn a saint into his own worst enemy.

You didn’t know what would happen. You didn’t know anything, and as you turned down his street you regretted more than ever not keeping in touch with him. Maybe then you wouldn’t be in this situation, scrambling after your last hope for salvation after slowly killing yourself over the past few months.

But there was no chance to turn back now, because before you knew it your knuckles were rapping against his front door.

The pause between your arrival and a response was so long that you considered leaving and pretending like this never happened, but just as you began to step back the door swung open.

You didn’t really know what you were expecting, but… he was there. The only other testament to the horrors of Blackwood Pines, and maybe the only person that could help you through this.

“...hi,” you murmured, swallowing the sudden lump in your throat as you looked the personification of your shame in the eye.

Mike blinked a few times, whether to try and wake up a little or out of surprise from his visitor you didn’t know, but it was a few seconds before he responded in kind. “...hey. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you around.”

You chuckled dryly as you nodded. “Yeah. Sorry for the sudden arrival. I’m, uh… I’m kind of surprised you even opened the door.”

He huffed out a short breath in a facsimile of a laugh. “Not getting much sleep these days.”

“That’s something we’ve got in common.” You crossed your arms across your chest and let out a loose sigh, eyes wandering around in an attempt to think of what to say next. It should’ve been so easy, but… but for some reason, it just wasn’t.

“Guess so.” That awkward silence stretched out once more, neither of you knowing how to fill it. Thankfully, Mike continued to take the plunge, but it wasn’t without a slight barb. “What are you doing here?”

“I—” you stopped just as you had begun, because you really didn’t know. You had come here for help, but could Mike really do that for you? He was the same as you — a fucked up teenager trying to deal with something so far beyond him.

“I don’t know,” you admitted as you made eye contact once more. “I… I really don’t know. I’m out of options, and… I can’t keep going like this. So I came here to talk, or— or to try and get some help. I don’t know.”

That same silence filled the air once more, the night ambiance the only thing in between the two of you. You missed when that silence used to be comfortable, but… you could only blame yourself for it.

“So— so, what?” he asked, the beginnings of a frown starting to crease his brows. “You just— we go through all that together up there, and then when we get back down you don’t say a word for months. And now— now, out of nowhere, in the middle of the night, you just show up and ask for help?”

“God,” you muttered. When he put it that way, it was true. It was ridiculous, to expect his help after the way you had just left him to deal with it all on his own for a reason borne of your own insecurity. “You’re right. This was— this was stupid. I’m sorry.”

You had already turned to go when you felt a calloused hand on your shoulder, causing you to stop in your tracks.

“No.” His voice was surprisingly soft as he sighed, stepping back with a shake of his head to make room in the doorway. “No, I—” Mike paused for a moment, as if he couldn’t find the right words to say. “I’m sorry. You can come in. Obviously, you can come in.”

Your eyes widened slightly as you tried to hide your shock at the gesture, but you weren’t about to turn it down. You nodded, and he stepped aside to make space for you to walk in. When you did, you were met with a mess not unlike the one back at your apartment, save for the beer bottles. Clothes were strewn about haphazardly on every surface, so you took a seat on a clean spot on the floor, leaning back against a chair and pulling your knees up to your chest. You actually preferred it this way — it was grounding, in a literal sense. Mike pushed aside a laundry basket and did the same, but pulled one leg up and let the other lay extended.

“Why?” he asked suddenly, breaking the silence that had been accumulating once more. “Why did you just…” he gestured around with his hands to try and get his point across but ultimately settled with a sigh. “You didn’t say anything. You didn’t try to text, or call, or write, or— or anything. Hell, I would’ve probably jumped to get a messenger pigeon from you. But it was just… radio silence.”

You picked at the dry skin on your thumbs as you tried to come up with an answer. “I… I don’t know,” you repeated. “It was stupid, and it was horrible of me to leave you alone. I mean… I don’t know why I did it. I know what I’ve been going through, and I know you’ve been going through the same. So I don’t know why I didn’t try to reach out and see how you were doing.”

He chuckled mirthlessly as his eyes swept over the empty bottles that had accumulated on the coffee table. “I’m not the best with alone.”

“I know,” you said quietly. “I thought…” you shook your head as you looked at the ceiling. “I thought that you hated me. I know that you cared about them all more, you were closer to all of them, and… and I thought you wouldn’t want anything to do with me. That I would just always be a reminder of what you lost. And… and, I don’t know. Maybe it was my way of trying to move on. Was a stupid fucking idea, though.”

That got a genuine laugh out of him as he ran a hand through his hair. “I guess I get that. I dunno why I didn’t try to talk to you either. Maybe since you didn’t say anything, I didn’t want to either. This whole thing fucked me up.” His gaze moved to you. “Fucked us both up.”

“You can say that again,” you muttered as you tapped your fingers on your knees. “I can’t look anywhere without seeing them. I mean, I see that fucking…” you grimaced. “I see Josh, and I see what that thing did to him, and I just— I’m right back to step one.”

He swallowed hard and nodded. “...yeah. That was seven layers of fucked up.”

“You can’t just keep saying everything was fucked up,” you said dryly. “It was shitty, too.”

Mike snorted, some kind of slightly masochistic humor going on between the two of you. “Nothing really gets the point across like fucked up.”

“Guess you’re right,” you finally conceded with a small smile. “This is… this is nice. I’d almost forgotten what it was like to… I don’t know, to talk to someone like this.”

“It is,” he murmured.

Another pregnant pause hung in the air, but the silence wasn’t as uncomfortable now. Trickles of what it used to be like, of your old life, were beginning to poke through.

“I never hated you,” he said suddenly. Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and it was like his brown eyes were piercing through you as he continued. “I never did. After it happened… yeah, I was mad. I was fucking pissed, but it was never at you. You were my friend too, y’know? Even though we weren’t that close, we were still… we were still something. And I’m glad you made it. I just wish you hadn’t convinced yourself that you had to go through this alone. Maybe things would’ve turned out different, these past few months. For both of us.”

You nodded, choosing to avert eye contact first because you almost couldn’t handle the sincerity. Your heart sank a bit at the sight of all the beer bottles, and you knew that he was right. Maybe things would’ve been different if the two of you had weathered it together from the start. And so you said that.

“I still can’t help but feel like I’m to blame for—” you gestured around at the mess with a sigh, “for this.”

“Look.” His voice was raspy as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair, and as he met your eyes once more you were able to see how truly exhausted he was. With dark circles that matched your own, scars that were still healing, and a certain hollowness behind his eyes… It was like looking in a mirror. And it made you realize how fucked up the two of you had really become.

Mike had always been good at holding himself together, putting up his signature egotistical-douchebag-jock act in the face of anything that threatened to tear him down, and more often than not he came out victorious. But not even class presidents were immune to the horrors that they had faced, and it was taking more of a toll on him than you had realized.

“It’s not your fault. You— you did everything you could; I know I’m still alive because of you. Besides, we were idiot teenagers — we still are — and none of them deserved to die because of it. Not Hannah, not Beth, not any of them.” Mike shook his head and sighed. “Not even Josh. Man was fucked up even before all of this, but he didn’t deserve what happened to him. He needed help, but instead he got his fucking… god. I can’t even say it. But he didn’t deserve it.”

You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding, the subconscious process having stopped because of the weight of his words. It was cliche, but you didn’t know how much you needed to hear those four words: it’s not your fault.

“Maybe you should be my therapist,” you joked weakly. But as you let your eyes trail back to Mike you bit your lip. He hadn’t included himself in that statement, and it wasn’t too hard to figure out why.

“Mike… it wasn’t your fault either. You’re not just saying bullshit to try and make yourself feel better, it really wasn’t your fault. What do they say? ‘Getting through your guilt is the first step to recovery’ or some shit? You deserve to be here just as much as I do.”

“But it was,” he insisted. “It’s easy for you to say that. You tried to stop it, I… I just went along with it. Fuck, I started it all. Hannah and Beth went missing because of me, Josh went out of his fuckin’ mind, and if he hadn’t brought us all back up there for his revenge plot then they wouldn’t have died. How is it not my fault? Why do I get to live when all of them died because of me?”

“Mike,” you sighed. “I… I don’t know. I don’t know why we made it back when none of them did, but it’s not your fucking fault, okay? You— yeah, that prank was fucking stupid, but— but how could you know what was going to happen?” You huffed a laugh that was only slightly unhinged. “People pull pranks all the time. Native American legend cannibal spirit things don’t try to kill people all the time. You can’t keep blaming yourself. It’s not going to help them, and it’s not going to help you.”

That silence stretched out once more as he took in your words. You didn’t know if he believed them or not, but you did. That had to be worth something, right?

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” he muttered, breaking the silence once more. “And I… I don’t know. I don’t know why it took almost fucking dying from those goddamn things, a— and seeing what happened to all of them...”

“I don’t know,” he repeated, leaning back against the foot of the sofa. “All the shit that happened, all of them dying — I don’t know how long it’ll take until we’re okay again. Hell, I don’t even know if we ever will be okay again. What happened up there was fucked up in the worst way, and the fact that no one believes us makes it a hell of a lot worse.”

You chuckled darkly as you cupped one hand in the other. “You can say that again.”

His lips twitched for a moment as if he wanted to smile but ultimately thought better of it. “I know we aren’t that close anymore, but the truth is we’re the only ones on this fuckin’ planet that know what really happened up there. We’re the only ones that will ever really understand what happened to us, and… and I think we’re the only ones that can really help each other through this shit.”

He met your eyes once more, something resolute in them. “So the next time this happens, because it will, if you don’t want to be alone… you can come here. Any time, any day, no questions asked. Just knock on that door, and I will be there. No more isolation, no more trying to get through this on our own. We gotta be there for each other, because we’re all we have.”

You nodded gratefully, a feeling of warmth slowly creeping through your body with his reassurance. “Thank you, Mike. You… you have no idea what this means to me.”

“I think I have some clue,” he murmured.

As you exchanged weary smiles, you saw a faint twinkle in Mike’s eyes. He was always the kind of person to help others, even if it was for the wrong reasons, and that was one thing that stuck with him after the disaster. And in that moment, a long lost feeling washed over you — safety.

You hadn’t felt safe in… well, it seemed like forever. Adrenaline and pure instinct were responsible for getting you through those twelve hours, along with an overwhelming wave of numbness and denial. But once all of that wore off, the nightmares had begun. Your friends, the Wendigos, the mountain itself — anything and everything that your mind could use against you, it did.

It was a living hell. You could hardly ever sleep anymore, horrific images always jolting you awake after an hour or two and keeping you awake for the rest of the day. It was no wonder Mike had ended up with a drinking problem — it was probably the only way he could sleep, the only way he could bring some form of peace to his mind. By some miracle, you had avoided that fate, but… you would be lying if you said you hadn’t come close.

But somehow, for some reason, you could tell that things were going to be different. Now that you and Mike weren’t avoiding each other anymore in the name of painful memories… you felt like things were going to be okay. Or as close to okay as you could get these days.

You weren’t alone, and neither was he.

He had saved your life on the mountain more than once. Now, he was saving you again. Just in a different way.

-

perm tags: @dv0412 @siriuslyslyslytherin @maruchan77

ud tags: @kwyloz

[belphies-wife]

What Naps Are Like With Them (Everyone)

In celebration of my first post kinda blowing up, I wrote a little something for all the characters, including Luke! (platonically for him, of course)

Again, thank you guys for all the love on my Satan Reacting to Montero fic <3 I’ll be working on requests after this.

Also, no beta we die like Lilith.

»»————-　♔　————-««

Lucifer

➼ Never sleeps, e v e r

➼ His brothers would destroy the House of Lamentation in his sleep

➼Took a while to convince him to take a nap with you because of this

➼ His brothers listen to you more than they listen to their older brother, so you begged them to behave for a few hours so that their older brother can rest for once

➼ You will use your pact if you have to, just please let this man sleep

➼ You made sure to pick a day where you know Lucifer hadn’t slept the night before due to his workload

➼ Seriously, you had to talk to Diavolo about that

➼ You both got into your comfiest pajamas and played some soft classical music for ultimate relaxation

➼ You thought about taking a picture of hm while he slept

➼ He saw it coming and had you sleep facing away from him with his arms wrapped around you so you couldn’t turn around

➼ Smart bastard

➼  If you complain about it he’ll laugh at you

➼ Hey, at least you get cuddles

➼ Luci here looks so calm and peaceful while he sleeps, it’s adorable

➼ No wonder everyone tries to take a picture of him sleeping

➼ He’s a heavy sleeper, so you end up having to wake him up after a few hours

➼ He thanks you

➼ He’s well-rested and in a good mood for the rest of the day

➼ His brothers obviously take advantage of that

»»————-　♔　————-««

Mammon

➼ Unlike most of his brothers, he actually has a decent sleep schedule (most of the time)

➼ However, if you wanted to take a nap with him, he wouldn’t say no

➼ Well, he’d say no, but then say yes immediately after

➼ “Whaddya mean you wanna take a nap with me? Do I look like Belphie!?”

➼ Blushing like crazy while complaining, as usual

➼ “Fine, I’ll go nap with him, then.”

➼ “Oi! Come back here! I changed my mind, I wanna take a nap!”

➼ Tsundere baby

➼ Obviously, you tease him about it

➼ “Jealous, huh? I thought that was Levi’s thing.”

“Shut up! Are we gonna cuddle or not?”

“I said nap, not cuddle.”

➼ Cue the pout

➼ The definition of the 🥺 face

➼ Please love this child

➼ “I’m kidding, of course we’re gonna cuddle.”

➼ Usually a little spoon

➼ Unless he’s in a jealous mood

➼ If he is, he will hold on to you like his life depends on it.

➼ More teasing, obviously

➼ If you think about it, Greed and Envy are very similar

➼ Poor baby wants love

➼ New drinking game: take a shot every time I call Mammon a baby

➼ I shot of water, I know you’re dehydrated

➼ Anyways, naps with Mammon = cuddles

➼ Either you’re holding him to you or he’s holding you to him

➼ f o r e h e a d  k i s s e s

➼ Mammon gets nightmares about what happened with Belphie sometimes, so lots of comfort cuddles

»»————-　♔　————-««

Leviathan

➼ “Levi, did you sleep at all last night?”

➼ Obviously not

➼ He was up all night binge watching the latest season of “The Magical Ruri Hanai: Demo Girl”’s  spin-off series

➼ Why would you even ask?

➼ “Levi, did you stay up all night?”

➼ He looked away, a little embarrassed. “Uh, yeah.”

➼ “Levi, honey. You need to sleep. It’s not good for your health to be staying up so late.”

➼ Leviathan.exe has stopped working

➼ You’re worrying about him?????

➼ And you’re calling him honey?????

➼ Are you trying to kill him?????

➼ “You must be exhausted. Wanna take a nap?”

“Oh, uh. Yeah. I guess I could use a nap.”

“Alright. We should go to my room, since there’s more room on my bed than in your tub.”

➼ Wait you meant a nap together????

➼ You’re really trying to kill him.

➼ Usually, he’d make fun of you and call you a normie.

➼ But he was currently too busy dying.

➼ If somehow you managed to resurrect him and get him to your room to nap, then you’d know this shy boi is a little spoon.

➼ Does this really come as a surprise to anyone? It shouldn’t.

➼ He’s blushing like crazy the whole time.

➼ “Levi, if you can't sleep with me here, I can leave.”

“No!”

➼ He does sleep eventually.

➼ Sweet baby cuddles you in his sleep.

➼ Wholesome af

»»————-　♔　————-««

Satan

➼ As the most responsible one in the family, he has a pretty good sleep schedule, so he doesn’t normally take naps.

➼ However, if you ask him to, he’ll agree. 

➼ If it makes you happy he’ll do it <3

➼ He’s not really touchy-feely and won’t initiate any cuddling.

➼ Dude that you asked to nap because you were tired and wanted to sleep.

➼ Nah bro, you just want cuddles.

➼ While he won’t initiate any cuddles, if you make it more obvious that you want some, he’ll give them to you.

➼ Big spoon

➼ If you want him to be the small spoon, he will, but he’ll be flustered af.

»»————-　♔　————-««

Asmodeus

➼ “Asmo, wanna sleep together?”

➼ Could you have made a poorer word choice?

➼ No, you could not.

➼ This boy literally made the lenny face.

➼ “Asmo, I meant a nap.”

“Well, I suppose that’ll satisfy me for now.”

➼ You then proceeded to smack him with a pillow.

“Hey! Don’t mess up my hair!”

➼ You had to wait for him to take off his makeup and change his clothes and stuff.

➼ It’s a process.

➼ Cuddle’s tf out of you.

➼ He’ll be the big spoon or the little spoon. It doesn’t matter to him, so you can decide.

»»————-　♔　————-««

Beelzebub

➼ Takes naps with Belphie a lot and thought it was cute that you also wanted to nap.

➼ Pre-nap snack first, though.

➼ Then he’s ready.

➼ Sweet boi will enjoy the nap whether he’s a big spoon or little spoon.

➼ If you’re happy, he’s happy <3

➼ You kiss his face a lot.

➼ He thinks you’re the cutest little human ever when you do that.

➼ I’d say soft Beel, but when is he ever not soft?

➼ Not counting the custard incident

➼ He Likes to kiss the top of your head while you sleep.

➼ He definitely snores.

➼ It takes some getting used to, but you’re not gonna let keep you from cuddling your big boi.

➼ It honestly feels really safe and comforting to just be wrapped up in his arms.

➼ Equally comforting to have his head resting against you.

➼ Overall just really soft.

»»————-　♔　————-««

Belphegor

➼ You don’t even need to ask. He’s the king of naps.

➼ Being around Belphie for an extended period of time makes you sleepy.

➼ You’re not sure if it’s because he’s sleep or if it’s because he has some sort of sleep-power.

➼ Any time you cuddle you end up taking a nap.

➼ Do I even have to say it?

➼ S m a l l  s p o o n

➼ The smallest spoon.

➼ As the youngest, he’s the most spoiled, so he’s really really clingy and just expects you to drop whatever you’re doing at any given time to nap with him.

➼ I mean, you’d probably do it even if he didn’t expect you to.

➼ He does this adorable thing when he’s sleepy and he sees you nearby where he’ll go up to you and wrap his arms around you and rest his head against your shoulder and just say “Sleep, please.”

➼ You will stop whatever you’re doing no matter what and go up to the attic to nap with him.

➼ Not an exaggeration. It’s happened while Lucifer was talking to you before he he was p i s s e d.

➼ It was obviously intentional

➼ But how can you say no to his cute face?

➼ He seems to be able to keep you from having nightmares and you sleep 100x better with him than on your own

➼ Softest boi

»»————-　♔　————-««

Simeon

➼ While he may dress like a stripper, this man is an angel and is pure™

➼ Anything you want, you’ll get. How can he ever deny you a thing?

➼ He can’t.

➼ You want naps? You get naps.

➼ You want cuddles? You get cuddles.

➼ You want sleepy kisses? You get sleepy kisses.

➼ Hotel? Trivago.

➼ But seriously, sleepy kisses are definitely a thing.

➼ Especially forehead kisses.

➼ Big spoon. He likes to hold you.

➼ Sweet boy loves you so much 🥺

»»————-　♔　————-««

Luke (Platonically)

➼ Purgatory Hall has weekly movie nights, and they invite you over a lot to join them.

➼ You and Solomon have a very long list of human world movies you want Simeon to watch, but the poor man can’t figure out how Devilflix works for the life of him, so group movie nights are the only way.

➼ Not that any of you mind, of course.

➼ Luke begged Simeon to let him join you guys (he has a pretty strict bedtime)

➼ Simeon lets him occasionally if the movie is appropriate.

➼ Luke insisted on sitting next to you and sharing any treats he made that day.

➼ Poor baby ended up falling asleep not even halfway through the movie.

➼ Solomon obviously made fun of him.

➼ “Looks like it’s naptime for the little chihuahua.”

“Don’t tease him!” You say, defending Luke.

➼ At some point, Luke shifts so that he’s leaning against you in his sleep.

➼ You coo at how cute the ‘lil cherub looks.

➼ Aaaand then you proceed to fall asleep as well.

➼ You woke up the next day still on the couch. You were pretty confused since Simeon usually carries anyone who falls asleep to their bed (or the guest room, in your case).

➼ Then you realize Luke still asleep and wrapped around you.

➼ HE IS THE MOST PRECIOUS BABY EVER

➼ You assumed Simeon didn’t want to attempt moving one of you and risk waking the other so he just left you too

➼ Whatever it was, you went back to sleep with the little cherub snuggling you

»»————-　♔　————-««

Solomon

➼ Purgatory Hall sleepover!

➼ Everyone had already fallen asleep, so you asked Solomon if he’d be alright with you two sleeping together.

➼ Not a good idea.

➼ You’re both settled in his bed and you’re about to drift off to sleep when this silly little sorcerer decided to tickle you.

➼ You  s h r e i k

➼ “Solomon!”

➼ “Keep your voice down, dear. You wouldn’t want Simeon hearing and getting the wrong idea, now. Would you?”

➼ The  s m a c c  you gave him though-

➼ “Can I sleep now, or are you gonna keep bothering me?”

“You know you love me.” He grinned.

“Well, duh. But I also love sleep.”

➼ He does let you sleep after that.

➼ You fall asleep first, and one look at your sleeping face and he falls in love with you all over again.

➼ You’re so  p r e c i o u s.

➼ He held you close to him as you slept, pressing soft, featherlight kisses against our forehead and nose, careful not to wake you.

➼ He’s a bitch until you fall asleep, pretty much.

»»————-　♔　————-««

Diavolo

➼ It wasn’t intentional for you to fall asleep, really.

➼ You’d had a long day, and you had been sitting with the demon prince at his palace as he told you about his day over a cup of tea.

➼ It wasn’t like what he was saying was boring.

➼ No, it’s just that you were so tired, and the sofa you were sitting on was so comfy, and Diavolo was talking so much.

➼ It didn’t help that the tea that Barbatos had prepared was especially soothing.

➼ You couldn’t help yourself. You dozed off.

➼ Diavolo continued talking, and probably would’ve gone on for a long while without even noticing if Barbatos hadn’t cleared his throat and gestured towards your sleeping form.

➼ If it had been anyone else, he would have deemed it disrespectful. 

➼ But it was you, and he had realized a long time ago that he was incapable of being upset with you.

➼ “It seems they’ve had a tiring day, my Lord. I suggest you let them rest.” Said Barbatos.

“Of course. I wouldn’t dream of disturbing them.” Carefully, he made his way over to you and pried the teacup from our hands so that you didn’t move and break it in your sleep.

➼ Then, he removed his suit jacket and draped it over you like a blanket.

➼ Not gonna lie, even Barbatos was a bit shooketh. 

➼ He didn’t say anything, though.

➼ Diavolo kissed your forehead lightly and had Barbatos bring him the last of his paperwork for the day, which he finished quickly while remaining by your side.

➼ After that he picked up our still sleeping form and brought you to his room where he tucked you in.

➼ He sent Lucifer a text saying that you would be staying the night at the palace then went to sleep after answering a few emails.

➼ He snores loudly, but you somehow managed to sleep through it.

»»————-　♔　————-««

Barbatos

➼ Diavolo set up another palace retreat (because I said so)

➼ You had been assigned a room with Luke and Beelzebub that time.

➼ It went good at first, and everyone was sent off to sleep at around 10 p.m.

➼ At some point in the middle of the night, you awoke from a particularly nasty nightmare.

➼ You were more scared than usual when you woke up, since the room you were in was not your room at the House of Lamentation.

➼ It took a while for you to realize where you were and calm down, but even then you were to afraid to sleep.

➼ Slowly, you exited the room, careful not to disturb Luke and Beel.

➼ You made your way to Barbatos’ room and knocked softly.

➼ Briefly, you wondered if he was asleep, but then he opened the door.

➼ You silently panicked when you realized your hair was a mess and your clothing was rumpled from sleep, but your disheveled appearance didn’t seem to faze him.

➼ “Hello. I was just about to prepare for bed. Is something the matter?”

➼ Suddenly, you felt very, very silly to come to such an ancient, powerful being for help with a little nightmare.

➼ “Sorry, it’s nothing. I apologize for bothering you. I’ll leave.” You said, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

“You never bother me, my dear. Would you like to come in?” He asked, opening the door wider and stepping aside.

“Yes. I would like that.”

“Is something bothering you?”

You blushed. “I had a nightmare. I couldn’t go back to sleep after that. I know, it’s silly.”

“Of course it isn’t.”

“Can I... Can I stay here with you tonight?”

“If it would make you feel better, you may.”

➼ Barbatos tucked you in then sat next to you, gently running his hands through your hair. He began singing an old song in some ancient, forgotten language. His voice was soft and soothing as he sang, and you found yourself unable to stay awake even if you tried.

➼ “Goodnight, my dear.” He whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

»»————-　♔　————-««

Thank you so much for reading!

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[newsies1992daydreams]

Santa Fe is about more than Santa Fe

I cannot begin to emphasis how much I love the song “Santa Fe,” specifically the Newsies 1992 version sang by teenage Christian Bale. When asked what my favorite song is, this is the answer. I listen to it when I feel sad and my mood immediately rises. I hum it while I’m alone. It was the first song I listened to with my newborn. This song touches my soul.

“Santa Fe” is raw, and heartfelt, and honest. I’ll defend the 1992 version until my dying breath. 

It’s a really easy song to overlook compared to the upbeat fun dance numbers throughout the movie. It’s not as joyous as “King of New York,” or catchy like “Seize the Day.” None of our favorite ensemble characters are in it. It’s not even sung by a professional singer.

And yet ... I love it. So I’m going to break down why “Santa Fe” is so meaningful.

“Santa Fe” starts after Jack meets the Jacobs family and eats dinner with them. While Jack and David talk outside on the fire escape, David’s mother can be heard inside humming the melody of “Santa Fe” to Les as he falls asleep. Jack hears the melody of her lullaby and uses it to express his own emotional turmoil.

The most important part about “Santa F”e is that it isn’t about the city Santa Fe at all. It’s about finding a place to belong, a place with friends and family who care about Jack.

Cool. But why doesn’t Jack just sing about wanting friends and family instead? It would be a lot more straightforward. Yes it would. He doesn’t do this because Jack himself doesn’t even understand his feelings yet. He’s too close and emotionally caught up to step back and analyze his thoughts. Or at least, he doesn’t have the words to verbalize his true desire, not at the start of the movie.

Jack begins the song trying to process his experience being part of a family, if only for one meal. He tries to convince himself he’s better off alone, because again, I don’t think he knows how to express what he really wants yet. He’s just trying to protect himself by convincing himself he’s not as lonely as he feels.

“So that's what they call a family Mother, daughter, father, son Guess that everythin' you heard about is true So you ain't got any family Well who said you needed one? Ain't you glad nobody's waiting up for you?”

“When I dream, on my own I'm alone but I ain't lonely For a dreamer, night's the only time of day When the city's finally sleepin' And my thoughts begin to stray And I'm on the train that's bound for Santa Fe”

We know from previous dialog with David and the other newsies that Jack wants to leave New York to become a cowboy in Santa Fe. Ask any of his fellow newsies  and they’ll say his dream is to become a cowboy. He reads dime novels about cowboys living grand adventures, and his personal hero, his idol Teddy Roosevelt, is a famous outdoors man.

So it should make sense that the next verses discuss Jack’s dream of living in Santa Fe, right? What he wants to do there, what the city is like, the details of the dream he fantasizes about as he falls asleep imagining. Except they aren’t.

“And I'm free, like the wind Like I'm gonna live forever It's a feelin' time can never take away! All I need's a few more dollars And I'm outta here to stay Dreams comes true, yes they do In Santa Fe

“Where does it say that you gotta live and die here? Where does it say a guy can't catch a break? Why should you only take what you're given? Why should you spend your whole life livin' Trapped where they ain't no future, even at seventeen Breakin' your back for someone else's sake? If the life don't seem to suit ya, how 'bout a change of scene? Far from the lousy headlines and the deadlines in between”

Not once does he describe anything about the city of Santa Fe or what he wants to do if he lives there. The verses only talk about how Jack would feel if he went there. The specific location where he wants to go doesn’t actually matter. He could switch out the name of the city and he’d still feel relief at the idea of going there because he’s more interested in leaving New York than being in a new city.

He only wants freedom and escape from his current lousy circumstances. He’s more focused on leaving all of the frustrating parts of his life behind. In fact, never once in the film does he describe what he wants to do in Santa Fe.

Compare this to the lyrics of the Santa e Prologue from the Broadway show.

“Close your eyes Come with me Where it's clean and green and pretty And they went and made a city outta clay “Why, the minute that ya get there Folks'll walk right up and say "Welcome home, son Welcome home to Santa Fe!" “Plantin' crops Splittin' rails Swappin' tales around the fire 'Cept for Sunday when you lie around all day”

Broadway!Jack does nothing but describe the city and what he wants to do while he’s there. The other characters in the stage show get annoyed because Jack won’t shut up about how lovely and perfect Santa Fe is to him.

Jack in the film only likes the idea of running away to Santa Fe, of leaving all his his problems behind. Being poor, aging out of being a newsie, being lonely, being an orphan. He doesn’t actually want to go to Santa Fe. He just wants to escape New York and all of the problems he has there.

That’s a pretty tall order. I don’t blame Jack for not being able to express those thoughts and feelings clearly.

Santa Fe turns into an umbrella term that holds all of his emotions and thoughts about escaping, freedom from hardship, and the longing for people that care about him.

By the end, Jack and the audience realize what he actually wants most is a place to belong, a place filled with friends and found family. Not a train ticket to Santa Fe. So when he doesn’t go to Santa Fe when given the chance, he’s not abandoning his dream. He’s figured out that everything he thought he could find in Santa Fe, freedom and companionship, was already in New York so there was no reason to leave.

Wanting something so badly, but not being able to describe exactly what that thing was spoke to me so deeply when I first discovered Newsies as a teenager. It’s so human. I understood Jack’s dream because too wanted to escape (an emotionally and verbally abusive household) but at the time I wouldn’t have been able to tell anyone specifically what I wanted or why I wanted it because the desire was too complicated and emotionally turbulent to construct into neat, tidy little sentences.

Beyond the meaning behind Santa Fe, I adore Christian Bale’s version because he’s not a trained singer showing off his pipes. Neither am I. The song was written to be easy to sing while still carrying a lot of emotional weight. And I really appreciate how soft and quiet the song is too. It’s intimate and personal, like having the privilege to know someone’s innermost thoughts after being trusted with their diary.

The song is complicated, imperfect, and deeply human. And this is why I adore “Santa Fe.”

[vintagedaydreams]

Hey guys- not a TLNRS update, I know. But not something I’ve been writing instead either! I actually found this on my phone.

It’s not complete- more of a scene. And it won’t ever be completed. But if you want to run with it- go for it.

Sorry it’s so long without a page break.

Warnings: some strong language, talk of suicide. Not as dark as it sounds.

You work at MI6 in the Admin/Research dept. working on cover stories and recon work for locations/marks/etc.

You work with a handful of other people in the dept and you have a good pal in your desk mate: Katelyn.

All of the agents-Double Ohs included - go into the Research Dept frequently to get folders on their missions and their marks. Everybody knows you-everybody likes you. You’re competent and your peers usually have you look over their work as well when dealing with difficult marks or missions.

You jumped on the couch as the door slammed open, bouncing off the wall. Scrambling to your feet, you looked over to see James Bond filling the doorway, blue eyes spitting sparks. You took a moment to admire him, his aura of danger and confidence dark and practically pulsing around him, before you realized with a start that he was glaring at you.

“…Bond?” you asked hesitantly and, apparently taking that as permission, he stalked into your small apartment in the heart of London. The door was shut in much the same way as it was opened and you gave a wince for your poor neighbors.

“Did I interrupt something?” he asked, voice pitched low and dangerous. You shivered at the tone, though it wasn’t in fear. Oh dear. You were in trouble.

“Um,” you looked around in confusion at the half eaten tub of ice cream and the movie playing quietly in the background, “no?” It was stated more than asked. Especially since he seemed to have an answer to his question already.

“Then you won’t mind if I join you,” he almost snarled, making his way over to you. Your eyes, about the size of dinner plates by now, widened even more.

“What?” you squeaked out. Bond, the James Bond was all but foaming at the mouth and he was going to stay?

“Going to interrupt any plans of yours?” he bit out and you blinked.

“Plans? Um, no…” A low rumbling sounded through the apartment .

“Are you….are you growling at me?” you gaped in disbelief. Suddenly, you found yourself gripped by strong hands, Bond an inch away from you.

“Don’t lie to me, Y/N,” he ground out and the anger that had been slowly building at all his growls and snarls finally sprung forth.

“What are you talking about, Bond?” you growled right back. He blinked for a moment before his face darkened even further than before.

The man stepped closer, if that was possible until you were flush against each other. You felt your stomach flip and you gulped, looking up into his eyes.

Blue eyes stared down at you and the hands gripping your shoulders loosened ever so slightly before he gave you a small shake.

“Katelyn told me about your conversation,” he intoned darkly, an eyebrow rising in a challenge to deny it. Your brow furrowed.

“Conversation? What conversation?” Katelyn and you had had many conversations, the most recent of them centering around the man in your apartment, but you had no idea what topic could have Bond so…well, upset was a bit tame for his current mood….

“Did you really think that I wouldn’t find out?” he growled out, effectively bringing your thoughts back to him. Find out….? Find out!

Your eyes widened. Katelyn wouldn’t…she wouldn’t have told him about your conversation yesterday when you’d said that you were pretty sure you were attracted to 007! No, she wouldn’t have thought that was a big enough deal to tell the Double-Oh in question. Everyone thought that man was attractive.

Then what…?

“You should know by now, that when I claim people as mine, I take an interest in their lives,” Bond continued, eyes glaring down at you. Apparently your silence had already condemned you.

You fought the major blush that threatened to make itself known at his wording. Claimed you as his? Oh, if only!

“Bond,” you started, voice mellow and as soothing as you could make it.

“Don’t,” he interrupted, low and dangerous. You sighed.

“What are you so worked up about? I’m sure everyone’s thought it at least once!” you defended yourself. Really, the only possible answer to his mood was that Katelyn had told him, for whatever reason, that you found him attractive. And apparently, he didn’t like that.

Ouch. There went your pride and self esteem.

“That’s your excuse?” he demanded, voice sounding almost incredulous. “So because everyone else has thought it, you can too?”

“Not quite what I meant,” you muttered as his grip tightened once again. “I just meant that it shouldn’t be a big deal to you! I’m not the first!”

The room went deadly silent and you hesitantly gazed into the glacier eyes above you. You didn’t understand what was so terrible about you finding him attractive, (were you that repulsive?), but he really was making too big a deal out of it. You were shy! It’s not like you would’ve ever said or done anything to him!

“Never say it shouldn’t be a big deal to me,” Bond suddenly hissed and you felt a bit uneasy at the look on his face. You weren’t afraid of him, but you knew what he could do and you also knew that he had a reputation for being unpredictable and out of control. You were in hot water and just starting to realize it.

“Really, Bond,” you murmured, trying to salvage the situation before somebody, most likely you, got hurt, “it’s really not that big of a deal. Can we just…forget I ever said it and you ever heard it?”

His hands tightened on your arms even further and you knew there’d be bruises there tomorrow.

“No,” he answered, voice deadly soft, “I will not forget it.” Suddenly he ripped himself away from you and started pacing the floor furiously.

“Damn it, Y/N! Why can’t you take this seriously?! Do you have any idea, any idea at all, what was going through my head when Katelyn told me? No, of course you don’t. Well, let me tell you something, Y/L/N,” he snarled, “if you want to commit suicide and ‘end it all’ then I suggest you find yourself another job. Because if you stay at MI6, you’re mine and I am not going to let anybody, least of all you, take you away from me!”

Once again, silence rang out in your apartment and you stood there, gaping at Bond.

“Commit…..what?” you asked, mentally going over all your conversations with Katelyn. You telling her that you were going to ‘end it all’ was never part of any of them. YOu were actually quite happy with life where you were, thank you very much. Granted, it’d be better if you had a certain someone to share it with, but suicide? Yeah, never touched on that topic.

“I know your vocabulary is better than that,” Bond spat, finally stopping his pacing. You flinched at the acid in his tone.

“Bond, I never—“

“Expected her to squeal? No kidding. I figured that you didn’t want her to, if our little conversation a minute ago was any indication.”

“No, Bond, I was under the impression—“

“That I didn’t care? Yeah, got that one too. Well here’s a news flash for you, I do. And I will. So I suggest that you take up some counseling because you’re not going to die on my watch.”

“Bond,” you sighed, “honestly, can I get a word in? I’m not going to commit suicide.”

“Damn right you’re not,” the agent in front of you growled. He was suddenly right in your space again. “I’m going to stay here tonight with you and tomorrow, you’re going to a therapist.”

You backed up a step, feeling a bit…flustered, not to mention frustrated, with his close proximity.

“Will you just listen to me?!” you yelled, throwing your hands up in the air in ill repressed ire. “I am not going to commit suicide because I don’t want to! I never planned to and I never talked about it with Katelyn!”

The silence that descended on you was thick and you crossed your arms against your chest, glaring at the agent in front of you. He looked torn between not believing you and wanting to.

“You never mentioned suicide to Katelyn?” he asked finally, voice lower and not quite so angry this time around.

“No,” you said quietly, relief coloring your voice that he finally seemed to be listening to you.

Blue eyes bored into your own, but you stared back at him, refusing to show anything that could be taken as guilt or uneasiness. You’d finally gotten the man to listen to you. You didn’t want to give him any reason to doubt you word.

You were not going to a freakin’ therapist.

“And you’ve never thought about committing suicide?” he pressed, once again stepping forward until he was in your space.

“No,” you repeated, with only a hint of impatience. Really. Why did he believe Katelyn so readily but not you?

“Then you won’t mind if I stay here tonight,” he suddenly said, eyes once again daring you to challenge him. Which, normally, you wouldn’t. But tonight, he’d broken in, interrupted your coveted “alone with a movie and ice cream” time, yelled at and accused you of shit you didn’t actually do and now demanded you house him for the night.

Yeah…not in this lifetime.

“I do mind, actually,” you shot back, eyes narrowing at the agent. “I don’t need a babysitter and now that I’ve told you that I’m not suicidal, there’s no reason for you to stay.”

You turned to the couch and went to sit back down. “Especially with that attitude of yours,” you muttered under your breath. Really, there were days it was like dealing with a five year old. Pretty sure he was supposed to be acting older than you.

“Y/N,” came the warning growl from behind you and you rolled your eyes.

“Seriously, Bond, you can relax, okay? I’m not suicidal, I don’t want to ‘end it all’ and I’ll see you tomorrow at work.” You finally turned to look at him over your shoulder. “Unless you’re going on another mission…?”

The Double-Oh stared at you for a moment before shaking his head. “No mission yet.”

You nodded once, “Good. Then I’ll see you at work tomorrow.” You turned your attention back to the movie that had made quite a bit of progress since you’d been so rudely interrupted and pretended to not hear the soft cursing behind you or feel the glare being shot to the back of your head.

There was blissful silence in the apartment for a few minutes, (aside from the movie), before Bond finally piped up, “Really, Y/N? Harry Potter?”

You shot your own glare at him over your shoulder. “For your information, I happen to like Harry Potter. And you’re not even supposed to still be here, so no dissing the movie that’s playing.”

To your surprise, annoyance, disbelief and, you admit, slight pleasure, Bond moved around the couch arm and sat down not two inches from you, grabbing your tub of ice cream off the coffee table and spooning some into his mouth.

“At least you have good taste in this,” he muttered, blue eyes locking onto yours. It took you a second, but you realized he was teasing you. You weren’t aware the man had a playful bone in his body!

Once you got over your shock you managed to answer back, “It’s been known to happen.” You plucked the spoon out of his hand and took your own bite of the chocolate ice cream. “But this is mine. Go grab your own.”

“Now, now, Y/N. I think you should share.”

“Ha!” You barked a laugh, “Whatever for? You broke in here, remember? I didn’t bust into your house!”

“I would advise you never trying that,” he said, suddenly serious. “Good way to get shot.”

“Bond,” you said back just as serious, “I don’t know where you live and I don’t want to know.”

He tilted his head. “Yeah? And why’s that?”

“Because I’d probably be tempted to come over and try to shank you in your sleep,” you said with an angelic smile.

Bond met your smile with a dastardly smirk of his own.

“Are you sure it’d be to shank me?”

You gave him a shove with your shoulder as you spooned more ice cream out of the tub still in his hands.

“Yup. Perv.”

His chuckle made a shiver run up your spine and you realized he needed to leave. Like, now.

Putting the spoon in the tub, you leaned back onto the couch and turned back to the movie. “When you leave, would you put that in the freezer and lock the door on your way out?”

He leaned back as well, putting one arm on the back of the couch behind you before he answered. “I’ll put it in the freezer and lock the door, Y/N, but I’m not leaving.”

You turned your head, unintentionally pressing your cheek against his forearm. You had to physically stop yourself from jerking away as if burned. With Bond, showing any kind of weakness wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

And he was definitely a weakness of yours.

“Whaddya mean you’re not leaving? I thought we decided that I didn’t need a babysitter.”

“You mean you decided you didn’t need a babysitter.”

“Bond,” you growled and he shrugged. Shrugged! As if you were discussing the weather!

“Don’t call me a babysitter then. Call me something else.”

“Oh, believe me, Bond, there are several things I’d like to call you,” you muttered hotly, “and none of them are particularly flattering.”

The grin he gave made you almost give in and do pretty much whatever he wanted you to. Someday, this thing you had over Bond was going to get you into so much trouble.

“How about we just say that we’re two friends hanging out, alright? You don’t have to call me anything.”

Since moving to England, you didn’t have a whole lot of friends you hung out with, but you were still pretty sure that it only qualified as ‘friends hanging out’ if both parties were willing. But, you’d already missed about a third of the movie and could feel a headache coming on so you just nodded.

“Fine. Whatever you say, friend.”

Bond gave a small grunt of triumph and relaxed further into the couch after depositing the ice cream on the table once again. Your head was still in contact with his arm, but he was warm and solid next to you, so you decided to just enjoy the rare closeness you had with the man and focused on the rest of Harry Potter.

It wasn’t until the movie was over and Bond was putting the ice cream away that the shit hit the fan. Again.

You were in the middle of stretching when Bond came back into the living room, barefoot and no tie.

“Hey, Y/N, you want—“ he cut off abruptly and you stopped stretching to look at him expectantly.

“Do I want what, Bond?” you asked after a few moments of silence, but the man wasn’t paying attention to you but rather looking at your arms.

Looking down, you saw why.

“Wow,” you murmured to yourself, “I thought I had until at least tomorrow before those showed up.”

“What happened?” Bond demanded, narrowed blue eyes never leaving the dark bruises around your upper arms.

You’d never been good with taking things very seriously, especially if you didn’t find them to be a big deal, but even you had to admit that saying, “Considering the work you’re in, I’m surprised you don’t recognize your own handy work,” was a bit too…crass.

But, it’d already been said so you just gave a small rueful smile and apologized.

Figures, the apology would be what set him off.

“You’re apologizing to me for hurting you?” he demanded, voice loud once again. And here you’d thought you had met your quota for yelling today.

You groaned. “Oh for the love of…. Really, Bond? My neighbors are going to think I’m in some kind of domestic situation if you keep yelling. So, shush and help me get the house ready for sleeping.”

The super secret spy agent looked at you for a long moment while you patiently, (or as patient as you could be), waited for him to come to his senses already so you could get some shut eye.

“I should go,” Bond said after a moment. You crossed your arms.

“James,” you said softly, taking a step towards him, “I really would appreciate it if you stayed.”

The man in front of you scoffed, though blue eyes didn’t leave your own.

“A few minutes ago, you couldn’t wait to get rid of me.”

You scoffed yourself. “That’s because you were going to babysit me and thought I was suicidal of all things. Which I’m not. But I would like you to stay if you’re willing.”

Bond regarded you for a moment before stepping forward until he was directly in front of you. Warm fingers gently trailed over the darkening bruises on your arms.

“You’re sure you’d like me to stay?” he asked quietly, eyes boring into yours.

You gave a gentle smile. “I really would like nothing better.”

[thesedangeroustemptations]

Baki boy’s handling a S/O who randomly flinches at being unexpectedly touched due to their past

Hi guys! I haven’t written in a while and I haven’t gotten any requests, so I thought I’d write about something that I struggle with and that other people might as well! So, Trigger Warning is in effect for down below, if you think it might bother you, feel free to keep scrolling and I’ll see you around for the next one, have a great day <3 

TW: Prior abusive relationships, dementia, anxiety, PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) and family issues 

Baki Hanma: 

The first time Baki notices it, the two of them are at school and he snuck up behind them to surprise them as they didn’t have classes together until after lunch, his hands resting on their hips and the moment he did this, they about jumped out of their skin.

 He instinctively believes that something is wrong, and despite his brain telling him to bring it up in conversation, he didn’t want to possibly upset them. Simply rationalizing it as he snuck up on them, of course they’d be spooked. Anyone would be... right? 

Wrong. This behavior continued at the most random of times; they’d be having a good time and then he’d move his arm too fast, the next moment they were flinching away from him with a frightened expression that they were consciously trying to control. 

This was no longer something that Baki could ignore, and chose to approach the conversation as gently and casually as he could to not upset them too much, but it seemed by the tears welling in their eyes that this was a sensitive topic.

They explain about their relationship with their parents, how when they were living with them, they were physically abusive when it came to getting their way or discipline. Anything could be used as an excuse to hit them, not taking out the trash on time? Slap. Not doing the dishes and laundry before their parents got home? Smack. Seemed to be having an attitude when answering a question? Slap. Anything ranging to them ‘breathing with attitude’. So, when they were old enough and had enough money, they moved out and cut off contact.

Upon hearing this, Baki could hardly think straight, and it took everything in him to keep himself from finding them himself to give them a piece of what they put his beloved through, but he couldn’t do that. 

He knew that the place he was most needed was right there, so he’d wrap his arms around their shakily breaking frame and hold them close to his chest, one hand rubbing their back while the other smoothed back their hair, gentle kisses peppering their forehead as he rocked the two of them. 

He would never allow anything to harm them again, and if he ever got the chance to meet their parents... it’s game on. “I know it’s something that you can’t help, but try to remember as best you can that I’d die before I laid a hand on you in anger or allowed anyone else to ever again.”

Jack Hanma: 

This man is nowhere near as patient as his brother, so the first moment he notices something is off with his partner and quick, unexpected movements, he confronts them and he wants his answers then, not the second time he asks, something he makes very clear. Jack doesn’t like repeating himself or vague answers.

However, what he wasn’t expecting was for them to tell him to mind his own business and stalk away as if he had done something wrong. This doesn’t sit well with the blonde giant, they’re normally very open and honest about nearly anything and everything with him, so this personality flip only deepened his concern. 

Letting the pot simmer for a few hours while he worked to collect his thoughts on the matter, he would later find them in their shared room, an apologetic look etched into his expression which was a rarity held only for the likes of his S/O. 

“I’m sorry... can you please just tell me what it is that’s upsetting you already?” He would murmur from the door, waiting like a puppy to be called over to the bed and as soon as he is, he clears the room in two strides, taking a seat beside them and wrapping his protective arms around them.

Jack doesn’t have much tact when it comes to this, but his heart is in the right place and his S/O can see that he means well, so despite his blunt approach, so the moment his arms wrapped around them, they relent and finally open up to him about their past relationships with their older siblings and how they would frequently be used as the punching bag, figuratively and literally. 

Just as his anger was beginning to boil over, and he was ready to sit them down with a movie while he went out to have a ‘conversation’ with them all, they hit him with something that he hadn’t been expecting, 

“You know, if it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t have wanted to start training, and then maybe I wouldn’t have met you. So, I guess I owe them a thank you for giving me you.” They spoke with such sincerity, how could he argue back at that? Their hands gently cupping his cheeks as they smiled slightly at him, hoping to get one back.

It was with that, he felt every ounce of anger leave his body and all he could feel was love for the person he was holding. They had a point, there was no guarantee that they would have met outside of their shared love for the gym, so maybe he did have them to thank. Not out loud of course, because fuck them, all he cared about was what was in his arms.

Katsumi Orochi: 

Katsumi would be one of the first to notice something was wrong with his S/O, he had known them for a bit of time before deciding to ask them to be his, so he had time to observe the way they interacted with others and the little tics that they had. 

The first time he had seen it happen as when someone in his class had walked up beside them without their noticing and then spoke, earning them a clock to the face and a thousand apologies after that. Of course, he like Baki, would try to rationalize it as them being spooked until the issue persisted into their relationship, and they were doing it with him.

The first time it happened in private, he would catch their fist as it swung in his direction and pulled them close, speaking in as soft and soothing voice as he could while addressing the issue at hand. “I don’t want to upset you, in fact that’s my last wish, but I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”

No longer able to run from it, they finally broke down and the two curled up in their shared bed while they went over their past relationship and how they were frequently met with physical violence at any time, ranging from a slap across the face, to a punch, to things further that they weren’t comfortable telling him. 

This was what he wanted, he wanted them to tell him what was wrong, why they acted the way they did, so why was he so upset over knowing the truth? Seeing the tears welling in his S/O’s eyes and trickling down their rosy cheeks told him the reason; who could hurt someone so kind and gentle? It infuriated him, but he couldn’t show it, he needed to be strong for the person he loved when they needed him the most.

Wrapping his muscular arms around their frame, he pulled them closer to him and rested his chin on top of their head, eyes focused on the wall ahead of them as he listened to their breathing, reminding himself that they were safe with him, and there wasn’t a chance in hell of them ever harming them again; if they tried, that’s free anger management. 

When the two of them laid down that night, he made them a promise that he would never let anything happen to them again, and that he would help them get their sense of safety back, that they wouldn’t have to react in such a defensive and reactionary way when the people around them would never hurt them. They didn’t understand fully just how seriously he would take that promise. 

From that day forward, he would frequently remind them that they were safe, they would train harder and longer so they would feel as though they could handle themselves in any situation, and anytime they would start to feel anxious or out of control, he would hold them in his arms and remind them of the promise he made, and that he would never leave them alone to deal with this. 

Kaioh Retsu: 

This man would be the best out of all of them when it comes to noticing and reaction, not gonna lie. He didn’t need to see them flinch away from people, he could see the way that they would scan the room before making any movements, how they would take note of everyone else in the room with them and where they were, the consistently worried and alert look in their eye. It had him coming to conclusions of his own, and he was afraid that they would be right. 

Would approach the topic after a night at home, the two in the shower and them flinching at his touch once he finally joined them in the water. He would bring it up gently, his arms wrapping around their body so that they would feel safe with him, pressing his toned form against theirs in an attempt to show that they are one. 

“I love you, and I can feel when you’re upset by something, so please, trust me enough to confide in me. I simply wish to help you.” He would plead with them, his dark eyes showing nothing but sincerity and honesty to where his S/O can’t deny him. 

Retsu would let them stray from the topic a few times before finally pressing the topic a bit more firmly, showing that he would not be relenting on this and that it would save them both some time if they just went ahead and told him what he wanted to know. 

Gently stroking their cheek with the back of his fingers, his other hand still placed on their lower back and holding them still as he listened to their words, processing how they had been bullied when they were younger and dealt with physical attacks at school that no one did anything about, so they had to always be on guard and be able to run at a seconds notice, hence the flinching away at unexpected touching.

It made sense to him, it did, but what he couldn’t grasp just yet was why they hadn’t chosen to defend themselves, until they explained it was nearly everyone, so one against a huge group when they were just a child wouldn’t have ended well and he had to admit they were right. 

Makes it his mission to make them feel as safe as possible, keeping them away from any type of danger or stressful situation where people would be moving at fast paces so not to trigger their fight or flight reaction and cause them anxiety. Retsu is very mindful of his S/O and makes sure that they’re comfortable wherever they go, and asks if there’s anything they need from him. 

Also goes the route of teaching them self defense if they don’t already know any, and if they do, simply helps them sharpen them and shows them new techniques that might be more effective to use, but never once does he make them feel like they aren’t strong enough. He wants to build their confidence, and he knows the right way to go about it. 

Kaoru Hanayama:

Kaoru’s S/O is incredibly private about their past, not wanting to let the poor guy in on anything about their prior experiences and why they act the way that they do or why they flinch away from people at the most random times. It’s frustrating to say the least, and whenever it happens, they give him a look that simply says ‘don’t say anything if you don’t want an argument.’

However, Hanayama isn’t the type to shy away from confrontation, and if he feels it’s something that’s detrimental to his S/O, you’d best believe he’s going to bring it up when he feels the time is right and won’t let up on it until he gets a satisfactory answer. Standing in front of the door and blocking it with his large frame to make his point clear as he stares them down with his shadowy hues. 

“I’m not doing this to upset you or trap you here, I’m doing this so you’ll finally tell me what goes on in your head and how I can fix it. If you really want to leave I’ll let you go but just... please. Let me try and do something to help for once instead of shutting me out.” This is not the type of man to beg for anything, he’s head of the Hanayama gang after all, but when it came to the person he loved, he’s willing to do anything, even look like a lovesick fool.

Somehow, that finally got through to them, and they’d sit down on the nearest piece of furniture, be it a couch or bed, and begin to explain slowly, as if they would run out of air every few sentences, about their relationship with their abusive, alcoholic mother, and how she would ‘discipline’ her children in the cruelest ways possible, how it could be at the drop of a hat, over the most obscure and miniscule things, anything that she felt like. 

Being the eldest child, his S/O was forced to endure the brunt of it to keep their siblings safe, things only ever happening to their siblings when they weren’t around, and how they aren’t understood by them now because of how they were raised effected them differently due to this dynamic. 

His mind goes blank for a moment as rage seeps in and takes over, causing his large frame to tense from his position in front of the door; the only thought he had was on repeat: Kill that bitch. Kill that bitch. Kill that bitch. He had the men to do it, he had the strength to do it himself, he had the police under his thumb, he could really get away with this. 

All of these thoughts flooded his mind and clouded his vision until he felt warm hands on his scarred face, earning his attention immediately as his vision cleared and all that he could see was the loving eyes of his S/O as they stood in front of him, a worried expression adorning their face. “Promise me that you won’t do anything to her, she isn’t worth your time or mine. What is, is going forward and leaving the past behind, okay?”

Fuck, they had him there. He was the one who wanted to help them after all, how could he do that by sinking down and doing exactly what was done to them to her? As much as he wanted to tell them that they were wrong, that they would feel better with her off this earth, he couldn’t. Instead, he wrapped his large arms around them and engulfed them into his frame, whispering quietly into their ear as he held them close, “I’ll never let anything hurt you again. Ever. I promise you.”

Kiyosumi Katou: 

This man understands being twitchy, not liking being touched too much unless initiated and would respect that the moment he noticed that was the way that they were, and would have no complaints. 

Until they started acting that way around him in private. They should know that he would never lay a hand on them, and gets slightly insulted that they didn’t register that. 

That is, until they explain that it’s something that they’ve always struggled with due to their high levels of anxiety and that they’d spent years living in an unpredictable environment where they didn’t know if someone was going to start throwing punches or not, unable to defend themselves or fight back.

This took a moment to sink in for Katou, not sure how to react or if they were telling him the truth but then he remembers that they’ve never lied to him in the past and this was something incredibly serious, so why would they do that, right? (Tell me you have trust issues without telling me you have trust issues)

However, the moment that it did fully get through that thick skull of his, he is engulfing his S/O in tight hugs and not saying a word, allowing his actions to speak louder than his words for once in his life, knowing that nothing he could say in that moment would make the pain that they’d gone through go away, and it was insulting to try.

Holding them for the remainder of the night, he wouldn’t want them out of his sight for longer than a few moments to go to the bathroom or get food while they sat on the couch and watched whatever it was that they wanted, because they trusted him enough to be vulnerable and express a part of themselves that they didn’t trust many with, so anything they wanted right now, they were going to get.

From that day forward would take it upon himself to ask how his S/O was doing during the day, if he could do anything to help them feel less anxious or stressed whenever he could tell that they were having a bad day. Most would assume that because of his cunning and brutal nature that Katou wouldn’t be very smart, and IQ wise they’d probably be right, however, when it comes to emotional intelligence, he’s pretty spot on.

Keeps his S/O close wherever they go, his arm is permanently wrapped around their shoulder while they walk down the side walk or standing in line, his expression that of ‘I wil break your neck if you come near them with any bad intentions and I’m not afraid of jail.’

Hector Doyle:

Doyle isn’t one to show much emotion, on his expression or in his words, but he is incredibly observant, and takes in far more information than the average person would in a simple situation, so the moment he saw his S/O flinch their shoulder away from a friend appearing suddenly beside them, he took note of it and began to analyze. 

Had that friend done something to upset them in the past that made them uncomfortable? Had they smelled bad and his S/O didn’t want to be rude by telling them? Several different things went through his mind based on that small interaction, and by the next time it happened with a different person, that it wasn’t anything to do with anyone else, it was you.

Now, the question is, what was causing his S/O to act the way that they had been? Obviously it was something that had been doing for a reason, and it seemed to stem from people either touching them or showing up without their knowledge, or swift movements by those around them. Could they have dealt with prior abuse? The mere thought made Doyle’s blood boil, but he didn’t want to jump to any conclusions without solid evidence or confirmation from them.

He’d bring up the topic while they’re laying in bed late at night one of the rare one’s he’s in heading to sleep the same time as them, given he’s a night owl and prefers the silence of night time and how few people were out, but he’s willing to sacrifice one night to get the answers that have been nagging at the back of his mind to get confirmation for.

“You seem to freak out at the smallest things, like someone moving their hand too fast near you, or touching you when you didn’t see it coming, even when it’s a friend or myself, what’s the deal?” Boy, he could not word that much worse if he had tried, and the reaction he got to such a topic being brought up in that way was to be expected; hostility.

“So, you’ve been sitting here observing me like I’m a lab rat in some experiment?” “What’s wrong with that?” A lot of things, and they made sure he knew it before deciding to give him the answers he’d been wanting to know so badly. It took them a while to find the right words, starting and stopping themselves several times but Doyle sat in silence, watching quietly as he waited patiently for them. He wouldn’t rush them, he’d already been an asshole with his approach.

After a long while of silence on both ends, they explained to him about how their grandmother had dementia while they were growing up and how she lived with them since her parents didn’t want to send her to a home, and while she was mentally deteriorating, she would get violent and throw things or blows, hitting his S/O several times in the head or body when they weren’t paying attention or fast enough, and so it’s become a reflexive habit. 

It wasn’t as bad as he had thought, but still, the mental scars it seemed to take on his S/O were just as bad as real ones in his opinion, so he would start to make it a habit of keeping an eye on their surroundings and stopping anyone from startling his S/O before they had a chance, doing little things like moving slower or announcing his presence; would 100% deny it if his S/O brought it up. He might be a jerk who loves a good fight, but not with his S/O.

[yourmcu]

Body Pillow

 Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x reader

Summary:

Natasha finds you cuddling a body pillow. In your dream, it’s actually her you’re cuddling. It’s Christmas Eve too.

Word count: 1,600

A/n: I’m takin a long time to post but I’ll get em out soon! I hope! thanks for 200 followers btw :))

Warnings: fluff, sleep talking

It’s not a surprise to anyone in the compound when they find you sprawled on your favorite sofa in the lounge. Of course you had a room, but you just love it so much that you’d rather sleep there most of the time. Especially after or before your favorite holidays.

Bidding Sam and Bucky good night as they're the last ones to turn in, you ask Friday to dim the lights and to turn on a Netflix show. If you’re ever wondering why no one stays with you for a movie night or something it’s because you’ve had too many already, and most of the time you don’t mind being alone anyway.

After two or three shows, you finally fall asleep.

Few hours later, Natasha walks across the lounge to get to the kitchen, not all that fazed when she sees a lump shaped like you on the sofa. Though she stops in her tracks when she hears a faint voice coming from your direction.

“Nat,”

She decides that she’s just hearing things, or you probably saw her come in then drifted back to sleep.

When she’s about to return to her room, you speak again.

“Nat,”

She decides to reply this time. “Yeah?”

You don’t respond back immediately. So just in case, she walks up to the sofa to see if something's wrong.

Your hands are wrapped around the side of the body pillow and it's slightly bigger than you. The whole blanket is wrapped around you as well, so Natasha could only imagine how comfortable you are in your sleep.

“You give the best hugs, Nat,” you murmur, still fully asleep, oblivious of the same redhead witnessing it in real life too.

Everyone knows you’ve developed a lil something for Natasha. Does she know? Yes... and no. She refuses to believe you like her that way. If you do, she wants to hear it from you, not from the testosterone of the team.

But seeing you so adorably vulnerable and cute, in a way, it makes her heart flutter.

“I do, huh?” Natasha chuckles from above you and leans down to kiss your hair. “Too bad you’re gonna have to get up soon.”

“Aww, no,” you whine, snuggling closer to the crook of her neck.

Natasha just stands there and tries to process it - you, her teammate and close friend, is dreaming about her. It’s normal, right? Even she has dreamt of the others, including a weird one where Tony and Bruce were riding unicorns-

She flinches when you make a movement, but you just make yourself more comfortable on the pillow, sighing contentedly.

Obviously she’s giving you a good time in your head. Natasha believes she could do better though. If you ever ask her to cuddle, she’d make sure. Am I really jealous of myself right now?

The opening and closing of bedroom doors shake her from her thoughts. She clears her throat and walks back to the kitchen to wait for Wanda so they could make breakfast together. It the day before Christmas, after all, everything has to be special today and the next day.

Wanda enters the kitchen moments later, still a bit groggy from her slumber but she’s in a mood to make a good breakfast. As the pair gets started, they hear a yelp that sounded like yours from the lounge.

“Ow! Tony!”

“Wakey wakey,” Tony teases, defending himself from your playful punches. “For gosh sake, you need to stop having sleepovers by yourself here - you sure you don’t want that sofa in your room?”

You grumble and walk out of the room to get dressed, taking your blanket and body pillow with you.

The lounge and kitchen starts to get occupied by the inhabitants of the compound. One of them being you, out of your pajamas and in a casual Christmas sweater. You greet them with the usual good mornings including Natasha.

“Good morning,” she drawls out. “Sleep well?”

She's curious on how you’d react. But of course you don’t think much of it, you don’t know that she knows what you dreamt about.

“Yeah, it was... nice,” you try to play it cool, avoiding her eyes to pour yourself a glass of eggnog. I mean, look who’s asking. And the fact that she was just about to kiss you in the dream before Tony so rudely interrupted-

“Bet it was,” Natasha smirks after Steve grabs your attention to point out your favorite comic strip on the newspaper, thinking you didn’t hear her.

You chuckle at the Christmas-themed edition of the comic but your gaze returns to Natasha not long after because you did hear her. Maybe she was just being Nat but yeah, the dream was nice. Too nice to be real. You sigh and sip on your drink, getting lost in your own world as Tony loudly rambles about a party to the group.

It was just you and her, so many blankets, watching movies. You don’t know or remember what film specifically, everything was a blur except the way she held you.

As a kid you never got that much affection physically, so every hug from your friends means a lot to you. Well, especially the ones from Natasha.

You couldn’t bring yourself to admit how you feel for her. The men constantly tell you to do it, that it wouldn’t hurt to try, but you’d rather have a close and friendly relationship with Natasha rather than an awkward one just because she didn’t feel the same about you.

The thing is, you don’t know if she shares those kinds of feelings. That’s what Bruce was nagging to you about. ‘You won’t know until you try, until you tell her-

“Y/N, you with us?”

Your hand involuntary twitches as you snap back to the room. “Sorry, yeah. What’s up?”

“Well, instead of a usual party, we’re gonna have a movie night,” Tony says, stealing a piece of food from your plate. “Thoughts?”

You sent him a look but chuckle, “haven’t we already had enough of those?”

“But it’s Christmas!” Tony insists. “And we’re watching Die Hard.”

Steve frowns. “That doesn’t sound like a Christmas movie.”

-----

“Alright Cap, it may not sound like a Christmas movie to you but it’s one of the best.” Sam jokes and plays the movie once all of you have settled.

The theater room is dim and composed of two large sofas, one in front and one just behind it, and a table filled with food. You're one of those who occupied the second sofa behind along with Clint, Wanda, Vision and Natasha. The rest fought for a place up front, which took a while to be honest.

“Hey Nat,” you mutter, eyes not leaving the screen but you do see her from the corner of your eye claim the spot beside you, the one at the edge of the sofa. She gives you a warm smile and makes herself comfortable.

An hour into the movie only the men seated at the front are fascinated by the fighting scenes. Well except for Clint who's seated at the other end, pointing and asking Sam questions about the plot. Wanda and Vision are half asleep leaning on each other, you and Natasha are the only ones calmly watching, probably because you’ve both seen it many times.

You make a sound when Hans Gruber appears on screen again. “Did you know that’s the same guy who played Professor Snape?”

“What?” Natasha chuckles.

“From Harry Potter,” you reply, smiling to yourself. Then you turn to her, “have you watched any of those movies?”

“I’ve heard of it but, no.”

You tilt your head at her, slightly surprised. “You should watch them with me sometime. I prefer the original source material but the films are good on their own.”

You wish you could photograph the way Natasha smiles at you. She’s all smiles today. I wonder why. “I’d love that.”

A loud explosion echoes throughout the room along with yells that sounds like Tony’s and Clint’s, making you yelp and scoot closer to Natasha. She wraps an arm around you instinctively.

“Guys, turn the volume down,” she calls out. Silent chatter fills the room once it turns into a more calmer scene, and Tony told Friday to lower the volume. “You okay?” 

Her arm is still wrapped around you and you want nothing more than to hide yourself in the pillow you’re hugging out of embarrassment. “Yeah... m’good,” you manage to say while holding a yawn. Natasha tugs the blanket more snugly over both of you.

“You can sleep if you want,” she speaks softly. “I think they’re planning on watching all the Die Hard movies until dawn.”

“That’s crazy,” you breathe out. Your eyes are starting to droop and your yawns became frequent. 

You know that cozy feeling when the room’s cold and you have a warm blanket over you? That’s one of your favorite things (the other one being Natasha).

There are only four of you left on the back sofa since Clint moved to the front. At this point your head rests on Natasha’s chest while she plays with your hair, and one of your arms loosely wraps around her waist. You exhale, falling asleep entirely.

Natasha admires how adorable you slept on her. “I hope this is better than your dream,” she murmurs, gently planting a kiss on your forehead and getting drowsy herself.

You snuggle closer to her, as if it was to say, it is.

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Seventeen

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: 70% of this fic is written on my phone lying on my side in bed while using swipe typing bc im too lazy to type out words and it shows

TW: discussion of SA

***

Nesta has an easier time adjusting to a third person in the cabin than she thought she would. Maybe it’s because Azriel indeed minds his business, and half the time Nesta isn’t aware he’s there at all.

Cassian seems to be more irritated by it than anyone else—not his brother, of course, but the fact that he and Nesta no longer exist in their own little bubble. Which is how he ends up at Nesta’s apartment with an overnight bag, sprawled out stomach-down on her mattress while she gets ready for bed.

“TV show or movie?” he asks, clicking through her laptop. Shows are Nesta’s thing and movies are Cassian’s; she feels generous enough tonight to say, “Movie.”

“Thank god,” he mutters, typing something on the laptop. “There’s a Turkish horror flick that I was saving for you.”

“Where do you even find these films?” Grabbing her hairbrush, she flops onto the bed beside him and starts brushing out her brassy locks. Before he can answer, Nesta’s phone buzzes from the stool she uses as a bedside table. Feyre’s name flashes on the screen.

Nesta frowns, but picks up without a second thought. “What is it?”

“Nothing serious,” her sister replies. “Just checking in.”

Before Cassian, Nesta didn’t very much understand the purpose of “checking in” without reason. Now she empathizes with Feyre a little. “I’m fine,” she says.

Deciding she can do better than that, she adds, “Cassian and I are about to start a movie.”

“Is it his choice? I’m so sorry for you.”

Nesta peeks over to where Cassian is still intently searching for his obscure movie and smiles a little. “I like Turkish horror,” she replies.

Cassian overhears and grins approvingly.

“Well, I’m looking at wedding dresses with Rhys so he can prepare for when he inevitably proposes,” Feyre says. “In case you wanted to know.”

Nesta did not particularly want to know, but she doesn’t say this. “Sounds fun. Is that it?”

“For what?”

“This conversation.”

Feyre sighs over the line. “Yes, I’ll let you go now. Thanks for picking up.”

The bar is in hell, Nesta thinks. Mostly because she put it there, but she still feels embarrassed to be congratulated over such small things. “Thanks for keeping it short.”

She’s about to hang up when she hears a male voice speak up in the background, and Feyre interrupts, “Wait—before you go, can you tell Cassian to call Rhys back? He wants Cass’s help picking a new team leader for the Italy project.”

Nesta has no idea what that is, but she says, “Sure, fine.” They say their goodbyes and hang up.

“What’d she want?” Cassian says without looking over at her.

“She said Rhys wants you to call him about the Italy project.”

Cassian turns toward her, half sitting up. “Really? What for?”

“Something about picking a team leader.” She returns to brushing her hair. “Why? What’s the Italy project?”

“Something I thought we put aside for good,” he grumbles. “It’s a year-long overseas project in Milan. Rhys thinks it’s gonna bring in a shit ton of money.”

“Sounds big. What do you have to do with it, though?” She’s never heard of Cassian being involved in Night Court’s international operations, even though he takes on more work than the usual employee.

Cassian shrugs, going back to movie searching. “He wanted me to be the one leading the team, and I guess he still feels petty about me turning him down. Honestly, choosing team leaders outside of my department isn’t even part of my jurisdiction.”

Nesta hesitates. “He offered you the job? When?” She didn’t know this.

“On New Year’s.”

“And you turned it down?”

“Yeah.” Cassian clicks on a link that looks like it’ll plant fifteen different viruses in Nesta’s laptop. “Found the movie,” he says.

“Why would you do that?” Nesta demands.

“The movie?”

“The job offer! Why would you turn down such a big opportunity without even telling me?”

Cassian laughs in confusion. “Are you angry right now?”

She’s astonished at his nonchalance. “Cassian,” she says. “It’s Italy.”

Italy with the art and history and seaside beauty—it’s on their top five places to see before they die.

“It’s Milan,” he says like there’s a difference, “and it’s an entire year away from you.” He shakes his head, sitting up to face her. “Are you out of your mind?”

She goes still. “Don’t tell me you said no because of me.”

“Of course I said no because of you.”

“It’s your dream job!” she bursts. “Traveling, exploring, being on your own—”

“Those are our dreams. I made those plans with you. The hell am I supposed to do all the way in Italy without you?”

“You sound codependent,” she retorts.

He narrows his brows. “Like you wouldn’t do the same thing in my position?”

He’s right, of course. Nesta would do the exact same thing for him. But Nesta and Cassian are not the same, and they both know it. “You can’t make that comparison,” she sighs.

“Why not?” he demands.

“Because—” She struggles to put it into words. “I would give up a long distance job for you because it would be worth it. You’re worth it. It doesn’t work the other way around.”

“Again: why the fuck not?”

So he’s really going to make her spell it out. “Because you’re a good boyfriend. You’re affectionate and caring, you always go the extra mile for those you love, and you come with all these free perks. It’s a great deal. And I’m not anything terrible, but I’m the bare minimum compared to you. Why would you give up Italy for the bare minimum?”

Cassian looks at her in disbelief. “I don’t even know how you can say so many wrong things in a row.”

“He’s blinded by love,” Nesta mutters to herself.

“First of all,” he holds up a finger, “I don’t know where you learned to compare yourself to me, but I don’t like it. You make it sound like I need to be paid back for every half-decent thing I do, and that is not the case at all.”

“Of course you think that,” she says. “You wouldn’t be a good person if you didn’t.”

“Then let me be a blunt person.” He puts a hand on her knee and looks her in the eye. “You will never be like me. Very few people are; you can’t take it personally.”

“Oh my god.” Her eyes might roll out of her head.

“But you’re not the bare minimum. Not even close.” He states it like an undeniable fact.

“How so?” she challenges.

“Like how Elain told me about this boy who broke her heart in her high school, and how the next day he walked into class in a leg cast. And how she just knew you had something to do with it, and you two had a huge fight about it that lasted a week.”

Nesta does not enjoy that memory being brought up. Elain called her a psychopath for the incident, and to save her feelings, Nesta (rather unconvincingly) said it had been an accident.

“I didn’t push anybody into a creek,” she maintains the lie. “Sometimes people just fall down there.”

“To be fair, you’re a lot more stable now than you were then. Now when people hurt those you care about, you find sneakier ways to hurt them back. Don’t you?”

“I do not,” Nesta defends.

“Really? Because Eris texted me earlier saying you’ve been ignoring him since New Year’s, and he’s starting to get worried that you have something heinous planned for him. I asked him why he would ever think such a thing of you.” Cassian leans forward and rests his chin on her shoulder. “Why would he think such a thing of you, Nesta?”

Cassian looks pretty well off from here, doesn’t he? She remembers Eris’s smug face. Did you know Rhysand’s parents found him sleeping in the streets?

“Because he said a bad thing,” Nesta says, looking down at her fingernails. “And I have an unfortunate reputation at school for getting back at people who say bad things.” Like the time Brian O’Connell made jokes about a rape trial the class was studying, and then couldn’t find an internship at a single firm the following summer.

“And what did he say? Because I can’t imagine he would directly insult you. He actually likes you, ass that he is.” His face is warm so close to her neck.

She looks away. “I won’t repeat it.”

That seems to be all Cassian needs to get an idea of what Eris said. “And how long are you planning on holding it against him?”

“Forever.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Nesta meets the eyes that haven’t left her face this entire time and snorts. “What’s your point?” Seriously, she’s starting to redden at how close he is.

He buries his face in her neck, his stubble rasping against the sensitive skin there. “The point is that you also do a lot for the people you love. Just in a different way.” He pulls away to look her in the eye. “Don’t do anything to Eris, though,” he says. “Not that I care for him or his shit opinions, but whatever you have planned isn’t worth it.”

Nesta wants to scoff in disbelief at the sincerity on Cassian’s face. He’s always choosing kindness, even at the worst moments. “So that’s your argument?” she says. “You won’t go to Italy because your girlfriend has a bad temper and a taste for revenge?”

“That’s my final argument, Your Honor.” He takes her hand. “Forget Milan, will you? One day I’ll take you to Portofino.”

The longer Nesta knows Cassian, the more she finds it useless to hide from him. Which is why she lets him watch the thoughts flit across her face as she considers his words, deciding whether she believes him. Deciding whether he’s right to give her so much devotion.

“Fine,” she finally says. “You’re right.”

A slow smile spreads across his face as he realizes he won. Wrapping his arms around Nesta’s waist and legs, he hauls her into his lap and shifts around until they’re both comfortable. The movie is forgotten for now.

“Out of curiosity…” He noses at the nape of her neck. “What did Eris say about me to make you so angry?”

When Nesta doesn’t answer, he says, “I’ve already heard everything that could possibly be said. The shit that used to get me when I was eighteen doesn’t have the same hold on me a decade later.”

She lets herself relax into his hold. “It was about the time you spent as an orphan.” Technically, he’s still an orphan, but it was different back then. “I didn’t like the tone of his voice.”

Cassian’s answering hum is a low rumble against her shirt. “Did you know my biological father was from Italy?”

Nesta perks up at that. “No.” She assumed he was entirely Algerian, even though he and Azriel probably look ethnically ambiguous to most. “Isn’t that all the more reason to see Italy someday?”

“Not at all,” he says. “If I could pretend that half of me didn’t exist, I would.”

She can’t think of a response that doesn’t involve a question, so she doesn’t reply. She waits for Cassian to speak on his own terms.

“I went to Italy once,” he admits. “For less than a day while my brothers were partying in Monte Carlo. I was young and stupid, and thought I would never be complete if I didn’t know who my father was.”

“Who was he?” She doesn’t know why she’s whispering.

“No one worth remembering,” Cassian says, his arms unconsciously tightening around her. “I put some dots together and realized how he and my mother must have met, how he must’ve—forced himself on her, and I decided that I didn’t care about bloodlines at all. I never returned to Italy after that.”

Nesta’s hands want to reach out and touch him, soothe him. But her muscles are suddenly very cold, and she can only stiffen. “And what about now? Do you… not want to go back?”

“It’s just a place to me,” he says. “Nothing special, nothing terrible. But I like the way it sounds when you talk about it.” His eyes sparkle. “I’d like to pretend it’s my first time going with you.”

“Alright, then.” She nods. “One day, we’ll go together. It’ll be our first time.”

***

Cassian refuses to let Nesta leave bed the next morning, dragging his heavy mouth across her body whenever she tries to get up. She’s about to surrender to him altogether when her phone starts vibrating loudly, insistently.

Breaking away from Cassian’s attempt at cuddling, she answers without checking the caller ID. “Yes?” she croaks sleepily.

“Where the hell have you been?” Emerie demands.

Nesta shoves Cassian away despite his protests, untangling her legs from the sheets. “At home,” she says, getting out of bed and heading for the bathroom. “Am I supposed to be somewhere else?”

“We haven’t seen you in two weeks,” Emerie says. “Gwyn thought your boyfriend’s weird family killed you.”

“That’s not what happened,” Nesta assures, pulling her shorts down and sitting on the toilet. “I just needed some alone time.” People are all around her these days, it seems. Her body still can’t quite adjust to it.

“Well, have you had enough—are you peeing?”

“Yeah.” She wipes and flushes the toilet.

“Well, clear your day and kick your sorry boyfriend out of your place. I can’t remember the last time I went out.”

“Why does everybody always want to go out?” Nesta says as she washes her hands. “What’s wrong with staying in, being safe, never leaving the house?” She dries her hands on a towel and returns to the bedroom, where Cassian is now sitting up and checking his emails.

“You’re preaching to the choir, but this actually wasn’t my idea,” Emerie says.

Nesta and Cassian alert at the sound of a knock from the front door. Nesta never has uninvited guests.

“Hold on a second, Em,” she says, jogging up the short set of steps to the door. She opens it to the sight of an exasperated-looking Gwyn.

“Jeez, next time send a text that you’re alive, will you?” Gwyn says, shoving past Nesta to enter the apartment. “Do you know how worried I’ve been—” She halts midsentence, one foot hovering above a step as she realizes that Nesta isn’t alone. As she sees Cassian in her bed, bare-chested and highly amused.

“Hey.” He raises a hand in greeting.

Gwyn pales.

“Hello?” Emerie calls over the line.

“You girls both share the same brain,” Nesta sighs. “Let me call you back, Emerie.”

Gwyn whirls around just as Nesta hangs up. “That won’t be necessary,” she says quickly, looking embarrassed. “I’ll be outside. I’m sorry.”

She hurries out of the apartment even faster than she came in, ducking her head to hide her face.

Nesta tosses her arms up in the air. “Great,” she says to Cassian. “Your abs scared her away.”

“But I didn’t do anything—”

She shuts the door behind her as she follows Gwyn outside, barefoot and all. She barely notices the freezing cold air or the awful press of damp grass beneath her feet as she catches up to Gwyn and grabs her elbow. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Gwyn jerks suddenly, yanking out of Nesta’s hold. Her breathing seems a little shallow, and she looks even more embarrassed for it. “It’s nothing. I just didn’t know you had someone over.”

“Cassian? He’s cool, you don’t need to be weird about him,” she tries to reassure Gwyn. “Though I did use to tell him that not everybody wants to see him shirtless all the time.”

“It’s not that,” Gwyn says, waving her off.

Nesta gestures to the apartment. “Do you want to come back inside, then? I’m sure he has clothes on by now.”

Gwyn clears her throat uncomfortably and looks down. “I’d rather not. I’m—I don’t like being around men.”

Nesta pauses, not sure if she heard right. “Like, in a ‘check the backseat of your car before getting in’ way, or…?”

“No, like I can’t be alone in a room with a man without feeling sick. It activates my fight or flight, it’s weird.” She’s carefully stiff, like she’s ready to be met with humiliation.

Nesta remembers that Gwyn has never told her about her therapy sessions before, but she knows they’re more intensive than her own weekly conversations with Lana.

“Not that I think your boyfriend is a bad person,” Gwyn adds when Nesta doesn’t respond. “He looks really nice. He sounds nice, too.”

But Nesta doesn’t care about any of that. Unsure of what to do next, she reaches out and awkwardly pats Gwyn on the arm. “Good thing you’ve never been to the cabin, then. Cassian’s brother is staying…” She trails off when she realizes none of this is relevant. “Why are you here so early?” she asks instead.

Gwyn eases up a little at the change in subject. “I missed you. We’ve barely talked since Christmas.”

Nesta didn’t realize people would take such notice to her absence. “Yeah.” She flushes. “I do that sometimes. I’ll send a message next time I go into hibernation, though.”

“You’re freezing,” Gwyn suddenly scolds, noticing how Nesta’s goosebumped arms are wrapped tightly around herself. She unzips her red hoodie and shrugs it off. “Go back inside and get dressed.” She flings the hoodie around Nesta’s shoulders before Nesta can protest. “Meet me at my car. We’re hanging out.”

Nesta knows that a last minute change of events is not the end of the world, even if it sometimes feels like it. For Gwyn and Emerie, she can bear the discomfort of unexpected plans, same as she does for Cassian. But she at least has to know: “How long will we be out?”

“You can come home after lunch.” At Nesta’s face, Gwyn adds, “Lunch will be at two and shouldn’t take more than an hour.”

Looking her friend up and down, someone who has such an easy time understanding her, Nesta nods in satisfaction. She turns around to go back inside.

***

They end up at the library where Gwyn works, in the stacks of the long-abandoned encyclopedia section.

Emerie takes a loud sip from the huge McDonald’s soda she snuck in. “So all this show was because Gwyn didn’t want to work her shift alone?”

“I just have some last minute cleanup to do,” she hisses for the third time, shoving an old book back where it belongs. “Go to the porn section if you’re so bored here.”

“Oh, I definitely will,” Emerie says. “But I’m glad that we’re congregating now, even if it’s in the most depressing part of the library. I have a present for you girls.” She hands Nesta her drink so she can dig around in her purse.

Nesta personally has no complaints. The library is quiet, it smells of paper and old ink, and it holds all her favorite books. It’s almost better than staying in.

Emerie successfully pulls out a handful of folded and wrinkled papers from her bag, smoothing them out as best she can. “One for each of us,” she says, passing the papers around.

Nesta takes her paper and stares at the header. Gwyn is the first to speak. “Pole dancing classes?”

“Why?” Nesta says.

“Well, I originally offered them to Justinian and Isaac but they said no—”

“It’s really not for me,” Gwyn interrupts, trying to pass the registration form back to Emerie. “Sorry.”

Nesta doesn’t give her form back.

“Look,” Emerie says. “I get the hesitation. We’re a handful of boring bitches who hate having fun. But don’t you think that has to change at some point?”

“I’ve known you guys a month,” Gwyn retorts. “We’ve only been boring bitches for a month. This is too much.” She turns to Nesta for help.

Nesta is still staring at the paper. Dancing—on a pole, yes, but it’s still dancing. “I’ll do it,” she says.

Gwyn looks betrayed and Emerie looks elated. “Really?” She hops up and down. “That’s two against one, Gwyn. You have to do it, too.”

Gwyn’s cheeks are turning red in frustration. “You can’t just force this on me—”

“Gwyneth,” a sharp voice interrupts their conversation. Nesta spins around to find a young woman with dark skin and bleached white curls heading in their direction, a stack of books in her arms.

She halts before Nesta and glares. “No food or drink in the library.” She looks pointedly at the 32-ounce in her hand.

“It’s not mine.” Nesta shoves the drink back to Emerie.

But the librarian has turned to Gwyn, who hides the dance class form behind her back. “And what are you doing here?” she demands.

“Just putting up a few books, Merrill,” Gwyn answers quickly.

“While socializing?” the woman named Merrill sneers.

“We were just asking for help finding the romance section. Is that a problem?” Emerie crosses her arms and steps forward, letting a little of her beautiful deadliness slip into her stance. It’s the deadliness of someone at the top of her law class, someone who will graduate in a few months with all the power she could want in the palm of her hand. Nesta gets a rush from playing the lawyer game, too, but she’s never had the kind of ambition that Emerie has. Emerie is a shark sitting around in a small pond.

Merrill is not impressed. She snatches the styrofoam cup dangling from Emerie’s hand and tosses it in the nearby trash can. She turns back to Gwyn. “Hand your badge over and clock out.”

“But I’m not done yet—”

“Now.”

“Okay,” she squeaks. She pulls her ID badge off her neck and hands it to Merrill.

Nesta gapes in disbelief. Before she can speak up, Merrill says, “No loitering in the library. If you don’t have anything you need to check out, leave.” With one final judgmental look, she turns down an aisle of dusty books and disappears.

Gwyn makes a face at her back.

“That woman is not old enough to be acting that misanthropic,” Emerie says after Merrill is gone.

“Whatever,” Gwyn mutters. The registration form is still in her hand. She crumples it into a ball and throws it into the trash. “Let’s get out of here.”

Nesta stares at the trash as Gwyn turns to leave. “Coward,” she says.

Gwyn’s head snaps toward Nesta, her auburn hair swinging. “Excuse me?”

She shrugs. “You heard me.” Emerie’s eyes bounce back and forth between the girls.

“I did,” Gwyn says. “I was just making sure this wasn’t coming from the woman who would sooner bite someone’s head off than do something she doesn’t want to.”

“Girls,” Emerie snaps before Nesta can bite back. “It’s just a stupid dance class. I thought it would be fun to do together, but it doesn’t matter anymore.” Taking Gwyn by one arm and Nesta by the other, she starts steering them out of the stacks like a stern mother. “Now let’s go eat. I’m fucking hungry.”

Gwyn’s mood from the library doesn’t recover, even as they sit down for lunch at the local diner. Nesta thinks Gwyn might actually be sick when the male waiter winks at her while taking her order, and it’s not until long after he’s gone that color returns to her face. When their food arrives, Gwyn only picks at her plate.

“What’s wrong?” Nesta finally has to ask bluntly. “You look pukey.” Did the coward comment affect Gwyn more than she let on, or was it Merrill’s attitude that threw her off?

At Nesta’s words, Gwyn becomes even more pallid. “I just don’t feel great today,” she murmurs, looking around like she’s seeking a way out of the diner. “Sorry guys, I didn’t mean to be such a buzzkill. Maybe I should go home early.”

“Absolutely not,” Emerie says. “If you’re going home, we’re going home with you.”

Gwyn bites her lip, trying to decide if she wants that or not. But something about her antsy demeanor is too familiar to Nesta, because she says, “If you really want to be alone, do you mind driving me home first? Emerie’s car is a mess.”

“You just need to move around a few papers,” Emerie protests.

But Gwyn nods distractedly, already gathering her things. “Sure, no problem.” They pay the bill and go their separate ways.

During the ride home, the sky that’s been gray all day finally breaks open, unleashing a spattering of rain over the town. Nesta watches it sprinkle while Gwyn drives in silence.

“Why are you scared of Merrill?” she eventually asks. “She doesn’t look much older than you.”

Gwyn snorts, but there isn’t much heart to it. “Merrill is my superior, but I can handle her on most days.”

“Just not today?”

Gwyn eyes Nesta warily from the corner of her eye. “No, not today. Or this week.”

Nesta chooses not to push. The dull metal of the cars surrounding them glints under the rain, and they arrive at a red light.

After a minute, she takes a breath and blurts, “I’m not always like that around guys, you know.”

Nesta watches her closely, remembering how ghostly she seemed around Cassian, then the waiter. “Keep going.”

Gwyn stares straight at the traffic ahead, her fingers turning bone white on the steering wheel. “I’m just going through a hard period. Everything upsets me and I don’t know how to think straight. It’s like my brain accidentally traveled to the past and now it’s stuck there.” She sounds shaky, breathless, and it makes Nesta wonder what exactly her mind is experiencing.

Nesta knows what it’s like to be unable to move on. Her own brain has only recently started looking toward the future. “Where are you stuck, specifically?” she asks hesitantly. Maybe she can help Gwyn navigate her way out.

Gwyn’s chin quivers. “In a dark room.” Her lips form a tight line. “Being held down. I’m outnumbered.”

Nesta’s stomach turns. “How far back is it?”

“Two years,” Gwyn whispers. “Lately I can’t even look at anything without—remembering it. Thinking about it. Every time I feel like I’m moving past it, I end up being wrong.”

The light turns green, and Nesta puts a hand on Gwyn’s knee in an attempt to ground her. “Drive,” she commands softly.

Gwyn presses down on the accelerator, but Nesta can feel her leg trembling beneath her hand. She squeezes her knee hard. Even with the dark parts of her own past, Nesta has never felt what Gwyn is feeling right now. So she tries to stick to what she knows.

“It’s like you said,” she says carefully. “You’re going through a period where your brain isn’t being friendly to you. It’s horrible, but you can live with the knowledge that it’ll be over eventually.”

Gwyn shakes her head, holding back tears. “It doesn’t work like that. Once it goes away, it’ll just come back again. And it’ll be like that for the rest of my life.”

“You’re right.” Nesta doesn’t have a solution for that, and she hates it. “You’ll never forget. You can be at the peak of your life and still remember all of it. But,” she says slowly, “whether you reach a point where it barely fazes you, or if you keep crippling under the weight of it decades later, you’ll still be normal. You’ll be a perfectly normal human.”

Gwyn lets out a tearful laugh at that. “What does that even mean?”

Shit. “It means…” Nesta tries to explain herself better. “In case you’re worried that there’s something very wrong with you, I’m here telling you that there’s not. There will never be anything wrong with you.”

Gwyn eyes her skeptically as they turn onto a residential road. “Even if I never get past one nightmare I lived years ago? Even if that nightmare defines me until the day I die?”

“That won’t happen.” Nesta’s tone is simple, factual. “But yes, even then.”

“Really? You’re not gonna tell me to live for the better days or whatever?”

“Does that sound like something that would help you? Because I can say it if it does.”

Gwyn snorts. “No.” But her limbs are steady and her eyes are clear on the road. She clears her throat. “Thank you for listening. I think I might feel a little better now.”

“Was it because of what I said?” Nesta tries not to be too hopeful.

“I wouldn’t give you that much credit,” Gwyn says, crushing her hope. “But I’m glad I told you. It makes things…a lot easier for me.” She exhales deeply.

“You know my plate is mostly empty these days.” Nesta pats her knee. “That means I’ll always have room to help carry your shit.”

They pull up to Nesta’s apartment, and Gwyn parks at the curb. “Give me your dance class thing,” she says suddenly.

Frowning, Nesta pulls the wrinkled paper out of her purse and hands it to Gwyn.

Gwyn smooths it out on the steering wheel and grabs a pen from a cupholder, clicking it. “If you’re going to help carry my shit, I guess I have time for pole dancing now.”

“But that’s mine,” Nesta protests as Gwyn starts filling out the form.

“It can be both of ours,” she says, writing Nesta’s name under hers.

“Really?” Nesta grins with an excitement that she doesn’t easily feel. “You’re going to do it with us?”

“Why would I let you do it without me? So I can become the third wheel in our girl group?” She gives Nesta a look that says No way in hell.

Nesta rolls her eyes. “That would never happen to you.”

“Sure,” Gwyn drawls. She finishes the form and folds it in half before pocketing it. “I’ll give this to Emerie as a gift.” She leans over to peck Nesta on the cheek. “Now get home. Love you.”

Nesta turns red at the words and coughs. “Thanks for the ride,” she responds, getting out of the car.

“Say it back!” Gwyn calls after her. But Nesta shuts the door in her face and waves, pretending she can’t hear her. Gwyn mock-scowls at her through the window, but lets her off easy and drives away.

That’s enough feelings for today, Nesta decides. Even if her chest is swelling with emotion for her friend. It’s a sweet hurt that lingers long after she returns to her empty apartment.

***

a/n: i’m back in my no plot, just vibes era

taglist: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes

[jamilelucato]

About him [Fred Weasley]

Pairing: Fred Weasleyx reader (Slytherin but brief mention)

Summary: [y/n] and Fred have always been friends because of their similarities, but after focusing on their differences they ended up missing each other a lot.

A/N: really slow burn except for the fact that I speed it up lol (gif is very much the ice cream shop scene)

Warnings: brief mention of p*rn but it's just for a joke really; and sadness at the very end, much much sadness

harry potter masterlist!

[y/n] and Fred Weasley were classmates, and, even though they were from different houses (she was a Slytherin, he was a Gryffindor), they generally ended up in the same circles because they had a lot of friends and common and were purebloods.

They had lots of things in common, but they never really thought much of it or talked about it. Their pureblood families were seen with wicked eyes by the others because they were friendly towards muggles and muggles-borns, and curiously [y/n]'s mother worked in the same department as Fred's dad.

Fred silently understood [y/n], and she sympathized with him as well. But that was as far as their friendship went. They joked with each other and worked well together when assigned — except they were never alone or were clingy towards one another.

Therefore, it was no surprise (nor new) that Fred sat next to her, at the almost end of a party at Ravenclaw. Both had a drink in hand and were laughing at their friends' jokes. Suddenly, the big group divided itself into pairs that were talking together, and [y/n] saw herself in a position to make conversation with Fred.

"Where's George?" she politely asked him while sipping her cup.

He looked down at her — even sitting, it was clear he was taller.

"Honestly," his eyes were smiling, "I have no idea."

She half-smiled, half laughed, which was her usual reaction when speaking to Fred. He had a humorous way of expressing himself even when it was not funny.

"Aren't you worried?"

"With George? No," Fred chocked; with a raised brow. "He'll manage. Wherever he is."

"Probably with a girl," [y/n] said with a calm tone that surprised Fred.

He knew he and his twin had a reputation (perhaps even Dumbledore did), but he didn't expect little miss [y/n] to mention that with such naturality. He didn't know why it bothered him; was it because he hoped to preserve his image of a good boy or because it was her?

"Wait, what about you?" she asked, realizing he didn't say anything about George. "Where's your girlfriend?"

"Ex-girlfriend," corrected Fred in a huff. "We broke up last week."

[y/n] took a long while to stare at him, analyzing his features — the more she looked, the more concerned Fred got.

She didn't know about the news regarding Fred and Angelina, but she was nowhere near worried.

"Well, by the end of next week, you two will be together again," she shrugged, looking back at her drink.

"Not at all," Fred denied, moving his face.

"Come on, Fred," [y/n] lowered her hands, "you guys never last too much apart; at this point, it's almost annoying."

He stared at her, more shocked than before.

"You guys are always breaking up," she pointed out, this time with a sweeter tone, scared she was offending him.

"True," granted Fred, "but this time is for real."

"You said that last time," remembered [y/n], unable to hold her smile at the end of her sentence and making Fred smile too.

There was a pause before Fred decided to defend his point.

"I don't..." he swallowed. "Angie and I... we both know the relationship isn't going anywhere."

"Wow," [y/n] was surprised. They always talked about Fred's break-ups but never before had he said something like that. "You're serious."

Fred ignored her comment.

"George and I want to do something big, you know? And I need to be real about it, so might as well be serious about everything else."

[y/n] considered his comment. She knew it was his dream to open the joke shop. She also knew his parents were not very okay with that.

Another thing they had in common, she supposed. Her parents didn't support her dream of being an actress either. They were okay with her pursuing a career in the muggle world, but they did not want it to be acting.

"It's a good plan, you know, " she said, finally. "Just... don't lose your charm."

"Don't lose my charm, you say?" Fred smirked, getting closer to her, their legs touching each other in the small blue sofa of Ravenclaw.

"Not that charm," she said through her teeth, shoving him with her shoulder. But even when she hated him using his smirk with her, she ended up smiling. "I meant your drollery."

"Oh," he leaned back, the smirk fading. "I suppose that if Snape wasn't able to erase my joy, nothing can."

He was right, of course.

"And you, huh?" Fred asked, noticing that if he remained in silence, the conversation would die. "How's the porn acting career going?"

She pushed him again with her free hand this time, and he laughed it off. She was sure it hurt, though, because he remained to brush up and down his arm.

"I don't want to be a porn star, you creep," [y/n] hissed, but she wasn't that angry with his comment as she was leading him into thinking. "And I suppose it's going as slow as it can go when you are only sixteen and lives in your school."

"And have unsupporting parents," added Fred, tilting his head, feeling very clever with his suggestion. Until he looked at her and saw she was frozen. "Sorry, I didn't m...."

"You're right," she sighed, gulping her drink until she drank it all. Then, startling Fred, she started laughing, but it was nowhere near a desperate laugh as he expected. "Gosh, I just want to be over with school."

"Shocking enough, me too," agreed Fred, entering her cheerful mood with a smile of himself.

Two Years Later...

She avoided going to the Diagon Alley for various reasons, but the most important was to dodge encountering old classmates. But the Wizarding World was at the brink of war, and [y/n]'s mom insisted that her daughter should go out and buy everything they could need in case they had to go into hiding.

After hours of shopping, she left her parents at one of the stores and walked all by herself to the ice cream place, where she hoped to have a minute to sit down and breathe.

She was contemplating the busy streets, filled with workers and other wizards, all with the same desperate look her mom had on her face. She had noticed when Fred and George walked in the shop, but she hoped her well-placed table would be enough to hide her.

It wasn't.

"Oh, [y/n]!" shouted Fred, after taking the ice cream he chose with the attendant. He stepped in her direction, the expression in his face pure joy.

They had bumped into each other after school, but they always had other places to go and be, which left them with a chance only to say hi. But, seeing her, calmly, sitting with her ice cream, Fred thought it was the perfect chance to catch up with his long time friend.

"How are you?" he asked, smiling.

Noticing she had no escape, she pointed to the remaining empty chair at her table for him to sit and finally answered.

"Oh, you know," she shrugged. "Every day's crazier than the one before, and we never know how tomorrow is gonna be, so..." she dredged. "But I heard your shop is outstanding itself — congrats, Fred."

Fred only blushed because he didn't have time to comment on her praise since George appeared next to them, with his ice cream in his hands.

"Hi, [y/n]," he smiled, but his expression and tone were nowhere near the joy in Fred's.

"How are you, George?" she asked politely, noticing that she was braver to do small talk with George than Fred.

"Fine as one can be knowing Voldy's out there," answered the twin, his voice tone so standardized, it showed how many times had he answered that. "You do believe in his return, right?" he asked; suddenly, he remembered she used to be a Slytherin.

[y/n] pretended not to care when George suggested so easily otherwise, even though Fred, in front of her, seemed close to slapping his twin. She was used to other people's prejudice.

"Oh, I do," she said. "I'm with parents buying supplies, really but, right now, I just ran away from them."

"They're getting on your nerves?" asked Fred, quickly remembering their time in school when [y/n]'s mom used to send her letters almost every day.

[y/n] took in Fred's friendly and joking smile. She didn't realize she missed the twins. Missed Fred.

"My mom knows how to stress someone," [y/n] let out.

"Probably learned with ours," commented George, sighing playfully. Then he turned to his twin, "Fred, we gotta go; we can't leave Verity alone for too long."

Fred pressed his eyes shut with enormous force — he knew his twin was correct, but he didn't want to leave.

"Go ahead, George, I'll catch up," Fred said finally, avoiding [y/n]'s eyes, scared it would reveal that she did not want him there.

They were friends or at least used to be, and after school, they just lost touch. [y/n] pushed herself away from all her friends on purpose, and Fred didn't think he could be an exception. Besides, she spent most of her time in the muggle world, pursuing her career — which was no secret to the gossip of wizardly London that she was failing. She had yet to get any parts in any movies or plays, and the most prestigious families were saying all horrible things about her.

His own mother was one of the gossipers spreading rumours, but every time she said anything near Fred, he would jump at her, shutting her up.

"So..." she started saying and scratched her throat. "How's your family?" she asked finally. "I bet your mom doesn't complain about the joke shop anymore."

He smiled. It could be awkward between them sometimes, but it was pretty easy to fall into a comfortable flow.

"She doesn't, you're right," he laughed with his nose, pausing to take his ice cream. "And Ron is always asking us for money now."

"As he would," [y/n] smiled, remembering tenderly of the lovely Weasley family.

"And you? How's the career going?" he almost joked as he used to do, mentioning she was a porn star, but now that the rumours said she basically had no career, he was scared she had run to that option as her last resort. And who was he to judge?

"You mean acting?" she asked and puffed, playing with her ice cream. "I've given up on it not so long after I left Hogwarts."

"You're kidding."

"Nope," she sighed. "I tried, sure, 'cause I'm not that coward, but.. it was clear it wouldn't turn out to be anything. I'm always the weirdo at auditions, always saying something wrong... I thought watching tons of muggle movies would leave me as a great performer of the muggles' grimaces, but it sure didn't. Or simply just wasn't enough."

"I can't believe you quit," he said. "You craved it so much back at school."

"That's cause I didn't know what it really was like back at school," she sighed again. "They don't want me not even backstage."

"That can't be true!" Fred looked — and it probably was the first time [y/n] had seen him like that — a mix of angry and exasperation.

"Don't let it get over your head, Fred," she avoided his eyes. "I don't."

He stared at her, for a moment just the two of them and the silence.

"Besides, I'm working with my dad at his muggle bookshop," she shrugged. "You should stop by anytime. if there's someone that can make you read a book, and like it, it's my dad."

Fred still wanted to talk about [y/n]'s acting career but he understood the subject could still be sensitive to her.

"I doubt that," Fred let himself smile again.

They spent more minutes talking, picking up in all the subjects they could and then reliving old memories until Fred remembered he had to go back to work.

He got up, saying his goodbyes, while [y/n] stood there, her ice cream already eaten.

"See you, Fred," she said, her tone clear of her sadness.

Fred only took two steps before turning back at her. He pressed his hands in his pants pockets — a million feelings going to his head, most of them telling him to give up.

But he remembered how much he wanted to do that since Hogwarts, and with her, and only with her, he simply never gathered enough courage.

And that wasn't fair.

[y/n] deserved a chance with him as much as any girl. He deserved a chance with her as much as any guy.

"[y/n]," he swallowed, nervous as her eyes met his, "would you by any chance like to go out with me?"

"I'd love to!" she said, not even remembering she ever wanted to go out with him, but now feeling like that was all she ever craved.

Two Days Later...

The night had been exciting. Spending hours before a mirror, hoping for the best look had paid off, [y/n] noticed because Fred Weasley couldn't stop staring at her with big eyes.

They managed to talk a bit about everything, always having something new to add to their conversation. Even when they remained in silence, it wasn't bad. It was anxious but great.

And then he insisted on dropping her off, which only made her more nervous. She wanted to kiss him and she hoped so badly he enjoyed his night as much as she had so he would want to kiss her too.

At Hogwarts, she could not deny it, it had occurred to her kissing Fred. However, it was always when she was too drunk to manage a congruent thought or when her friends asked who of their friends she could kiss. But the fact is: they never did.

A corner of her mind wondered if she ever really did have a window with him back then, but school memories were all a blur in her mind. It seemed obvious now that she and Fred could match, but back then, not so much.

Fred was thinking the same. He liked her. He always did.

They knew each other before Hogwarts, and even if at first (she being a Slytherin and all) they were apart, their friendship rose so easily on their second year and managed to stay firm until the very end.

He remembered wanting to kiss her but it was never as bad as he wanted now, when he had her hand in his, and she was blushing simply because they were standing side to side.

And when he finally did, finally allowed his lips to touch hers — heavens — he could have died right then. It felt right. It felt good.

Fred had kissed many times before, but none felt as close to perfection as this time.

He pulled her in softly by her cheek, letting his lips simply brush against hers and she gasped, opening her mouth, desperate for more.

Then his hands were everywhere, and [y/n] was not reserved herself. She pulled forward, holding grasp of his hair, and it was unclear to determine who would let go first.

Perhaps never let go was a good solution. They both thought so.

One Year Later...

Fred Weasley lied before her, forever moveless.

She could not believe it.

She reached for his cold hands and squeezed, hoping her touch would be enough to reverse what was irreversible.

On both of her sides, there was a Weasley crying, desperate as much as her.

But the only one feeling as hollow as her, the only one that could compete as her sadness was George. No words were able to comfort.

Not right there, not at the burial ceremony, not at her empty apartment above the joke shop.

Everything reminded her of him.

They had been together for only a year, but he was her best friend before that. Somehow, when she played different scenarios in her head, she felt like she could have suffered more if they had stayed just as friends.

It was the latest memories the ones that hurt the most. She knew they were in danger when the war began, but both were not going anywhere, and Fred had hope.

Every night in hiding he would hold her against his bare chest and whisper that they were going to be okay. Sometimes he even joked she would get out of it with a movie deal about the Wizarding War.

[y/n] and George helped each other out of their worst moments, creating a friendship tighter than they had before. But, eventually, she knew that without Fred she did not belong in the joke shop building.

At Fleur's and Bill's wedding, Fred had made her promise she would try the film industry once again.

"You know," he said, whispering in her year while they slow danced, "your dad says you like to write. Perhaps you should write a script."

"Perhaps," she smiled. "But about what should the movie script be?"

"About me, of course," he joked.

How she wished he was there with her.

Walking in to deliver her first script.

About them.

About her.

About him.

[midethefangirl]

i was already having a bad day until i saw this in a group chat and all i can say here is “yikes”.

“based on what we saw…there was only an implication by zola” bitch, what? are we gonna pretend as if we didn’t watch the scene where zola tells steve and natasha that HYDRA had to get rid of certain people to make sure their plan on project insight was a success and we see a news headline about the death of howard and maria stark? this is not an implication, this is explicitly shown in the movie.

also, “bucky was innocent and tony was a loose cannon”. don’t get me started on how much this annoys me but i’ll indulge you. yes, i agree that bucky was innocent, after all, it was HYDRA who toyed with his mind and while tony was valid, it doesn’t make his actions right. that being said, the lack of empathy here really unsettles me because tony is not the only person who attempted to get revenge on someone who is seen killing his parents (actually, his mom in this case).

are we seriously gonna act like t’challa didn’t spend almost an entire movie chasing bucky through the streets of bucharest to kill the person he thought was responsible for the death of his father based on a photo? are we gonna act like a movie ago, wanda and pietro didn’t join a nazi organization (again, problematic on its own) and a murderous bot to kill tony stark? for t’challa, it takes three days and overhearing zemo before he lets go of his anger. at the place where t’challa goes to siberia, did you really think he was there to drink tea with steve and bucky? if zemo hadn’t revealed his his hands in the death of king t’chaka, you think t’challa wouldn’t have killed bucky the way tony was attempting to do? and the maximoff twins? they were ready to kill tony stark as well as the avengers (who didn’t even do anything to them) until it turns out Ultron was planning to kill all humans and omg, that included the two of them. they didn’t change their mind because “it was the right thing to do” unlike what some wanda stans would like to believe, they teamed up with the avengers because they didn’t want to die. you think they wouldn’t have continued following ultron if wanda didn’t take her time to read his mind?

back to where i was, steve was not right to keep that information away from tony at all and if we are going by what this person says, if he had no clue it was the winter soldier responsible for the elder starks’ death, then that makes steve even worse of a person than he was already in civil war. why? because he was aiding a n*zi organization and it doesn’t help matters that a movie ago, steve was complaining about how his “doesn’t like it when his teammates keep secrets from him” or how in the winter soldier, he was chewing fury out for not telling him that natasha was on a separate mission (hypocrisy much, steve?) it is suddenly okay because he is doing it to someone else?

“steve was protecting bucky”, well, if we are going to take that shitty apology letter at face value, steve admits that he realized he wasn’t doing it to protect anyone but himself, which makes no damn sense because how is he protecting himself from what HYDRA did but i digress.

what i’m saying here is steve was not justified at all, no matter how y’all want to spin it. whether or not he knew that it was the winter soldier who killed tony’s parents, he was still helping a nazi organization withhold information. and all that went down in siberia was and would always be steve’s fault because if he had told tony about this long before civil war, i doubt what happened in that bunker would have happened at all. the fact that this person felt the need to defend steve…i really hope i don’t meet you in real life because you terrify me.

[turtleedovee]

Life Has a Funny Way of Working Out

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Chapter 2

Word Count: 3,111

Warnings: Cursing, abuse, angst, small descriptions of blood and bruises, shouting, breaking things (that’s about it but if you guys have anything else i’ll gladly add it to the list)

A/N: this is my first bucky fic ahh! idk if i’ve ever posted any fanfics on this blog before which is crazy. i was thinking of making a side blog but whatever it works here. this is gonna be a series of sorts. maybe three chapters, 4? we’ll see. reader is a female and has powers oOoOoo. i’ll post this on AO3 as well so check out my account on there too! i’ll reblog this post with the ao3 link once i publish it on there if you wanna leave kudos or see my other work 👀but anyways i’m done talking, i hope you enjoy! (not my gif)

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

You sighed at your boyfriend’s anger and frustration, you didn’t blame him of course, you had just told him you wanted to break up.

“Please just calm down and let’s talk about this-” You tapped the table lightly, signaling him to just take a seat because he wouldn’t stop pacing back and forth.

“No, I’m not gonna sit down, what the hell? Why are you doing this to me?” He ran his hand down his face; you were really hoping this wouldn’t turn into some big thing but life has a funny way of working out.

“We talked about this. You are constantly complaining about me not being around enough because you just want to hang out with me, which is sweet of you, but after thinking about it, I am not what you need right now, I can’t be an attentive girlfriend right now and you know why.” You tried to reason with him but he was still standing up, all jittery. You really did think about this long and hard; he was always upset about you being away on missions constantly but you had warned him about that the first time you both went on a date.

“Yeah, yeah whatever you save the fucking world, then why did you decide to put me through this if you knew you weren’t gonna be around.” He accused you. 

“Wow.” You were starting to get upset, standing up you started defending yourself. “I told you what we were in for if we started dating, you told me you didn’t care and wanted to be with me either way. So you knew this was going to be difficult, now I’m giving you an out. You can go be with someone who will be there for you alright? I can’t be that for you and I’m sorry.” He scoffed and turned away from you, after a couple of seconds of silence he turned around and looked at you in shock.

“Oh my god.”

You shook your head confused. “What?”

“You’ve been cheating on me.”

“What!?” Now it was your turn to shout. You could not believe how and where he drew his conclusion.

“No yeah, yeah!” He shouted as if he was trying to convince himself of this. “You constantly hang around this boy’s clubs all the time and what? I’m supposed to believe you’re just going on missions?” He said stepping forward.

You scoffed, honestly amazed as to how he was trying to blame this on you. “Yes! I am away trying not to die constantly to save the world your ass is living in.” You shouted, you clenched your fist so angry as to how this was the same guy who brought you flowers after you came back from your first mission while you two were a couple.

“Oh so now this is my fault.” He waved his arms around, exasperated. “Honestly how am I supposed to believe you.”

“You’re supposed to believe me because I wouldn’t lie to you. Because we’re in a relationship, isn’t that what it’s all about? Trust? I can not believe we are having this conversation right now.” You stepped closer now, just tired of this whole evening. 

“Well if you didn’t want to have this conversation maybe you shouldn’t have decided to dump me.” He yelled and then did the most childish thing you could think of: he punched your wall and made a hole in the column right next to the kitchen.

Now you were angry, mainly because you were going to have to pay to have that fixed, or else your landlady would never let you hear the end of it, but also because he was acting like a child.  “I decided to end this relationship because I couldn’t be the girlfriend you wanted me to be. You are constantly bitching and moaning that I don’t give you enough attention while I’m out there busting my ass working tirelessly day and night trying to oh I don’t know, save the damn world you live in and you decide to just complain about how you don’t have anyone to watch a movie with you? Honestly dating you had been like having a second job, fuck you-” Suddenly he turned around and swung at you.

Not a slap, it was a punch. He hit you with his right hand and hit the left side of your face, you’ve always been told to expect punches and hits, hell, one of the first rules you learned was to always protect the face. But no training could ever prepare you for the person that you cared for most would decide to swing at you.

The impact was enough to turn you around and almost cause you to fall but the couch was on your right-hand side so as your body motioned to the right you instinctively reached out for the couch and balanced yourself. 

You reached out to touch the spot where he hit and realized he broke some skin. As you removed your hand from the side of your face you realized that there was a little bit of blood. You didn’t look at him, trying to compose yourself and not explode.

Just breathe. Just breathe.

You should’ve used your powers

You reacted too slowly

Your powers could’ve stopped him

You should’ve broken up with him in public 

He wouldn’t hit you in front of random strangers like he did now… right?

A million and one things ran through your head but finally, after an excruciating 5 seconds of silence, you spoke quietly. “Get out.”

He looked at you as if he was confused as to what you meant by that, but still, he did not move.

“I said get out. Now.” You turned to him, stared him dead in the eye, and pointed to the door. “We’re done. I want you to leave and never speak to me again.”

He shook his head and began to talk, “Babe, c’mon you know I didn’t mean it.” He started walking closer to you and reached out for your arm, but you were ready this time.

You lurched your arm forward and up, lifting the now terrified man in the air, he knew about your powers and what they could do, but you promised to never use them on him; now those promises meant nothing to you.

“I told you to leave. You refuse to listen so here is how this is going to go,” You tilted your head slightly to the right and lifted him up higher, he tried moving his arms but your powers kept them to the side of his body, “you are going to leave. I don’t ever want to see you again, don’t look for me, don’t talk to me, do not even breathe the same fucking air as me. And if I ever see you in my line of sight again, I will not hesitate to end you. Are we clear?” He just stayed there staring at you. “Oh, and I almost forgot.” Using your free hand you motioned it up and to the side, two keys coming out of his pocket and landing in your hand. It was the spare keys you gave him when you first moved to the apartment so that way he could wait for you until you got home. “I’ll be needing these back, thank you.” Putting them away safely in your pocket, now ensuring he won’t be able to get into your apartment complex again. “Now leave.” Once again using your free hand you waved and the door began to open inwards revealing the empty hall. You moved your hand that held him in place towards it and launched him forward, his back hitting the wall. The last thing you saw was him starting to get up but you didn’t give him much of a chance to do anything else until waved for the door to close. Finally letting out the breath that you didn’t realize you were holding in, you ran for the door and double-locked it; turning around and resting your back against the door breathing heavily, you stayed there trying to wrap your head around what just happened. 

This man was stubborn as hell and you hated him for that. He stayed at your door for god knows how long, occasionally weeping and saying he was sorry for what he did, begging you to let him back inside to talk it out, to bangs on the door and screams shouting things at you whether calling you a “slut” or saying that he straight-up hated you. You were starting to regret asking Fury to find you a complex that had no other tenants on the same floor because you knew by now someone would’ve heard and called to complain, but since the complex was four stories and you were in the building furthest from the staircase, no one could hear anything.

————————————————————————

He checked his phone for the third time in the last 5 minutes

Sent 1 hour ago

Shit… 

He turned off his phone and threw his head back sighing. His partner now getting annoyed.

“Look man, don’t worry about it maybe she got just forgot or something,” Sam spoke, looking at Bucky who’s stare stayed unwavering at the ceiling.

“I don’t like it, Sam, she said she would text us once she finished breaking up with that douche bag.” Checking his phone once more, all that stared back was the 4 texts he had sent back to back constantly checking in. You had told him not to call but part of him itched to just hit the dial button and make sure you were okay.

“She’ll call us when she’s ready to talk, so just give her some space.” Sam tried to ease his nerves, but Bucky knew something was off, he felt it in his gut. It wasn’t like you to just not leave a message in case nothing happened.

“I’m gonna go check on her.” Bucky began to get up from the couch.

“Buck-” Sam warned.

“She said she was gonna text us once she finished dumping that guy, that was 3 hours ago and we haven’t heard anything from her. If it’s nothing then I’ll come back.” Bucky grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. Sam only shook his head knowing he couldn’t stop him now.

“Fine, but be careful alright. If this guy is still there by the time you come I don’t think he’ll be very happy to see you.” Sam chuckled a little.

But Bucky rolled his eyes and headed out.

————————————————————————

He arrived at your apartment complex in a little under 15 minutes, trying really hard not to break any traffic laws. But it didn’t matter after what felt like forever he looked at the building now shrouded in darkness since the sun had set less than half an hour ago. He tried looking for your window to see any signs of people in there, not getting very far he decided to go up to your door and knock. 

This building was not the most secure in the world. The front gate that led to every tenant space was left open so getting in was a breeze. After climbing a few sets of stairs he finally reached your door. The first thing he noticed was the dent on the wall that wasn’t there the last time he came to visit. He tried looking under the door to see any movement but all he saw was something dark standing in front of the door. But didn’t hear anyone speaking; so he just decided to knock quietly hoping you would answer and explain how you were just fine and how everything had gone well.

————————————————————————

Today couldn’t have been any worse

You heard another knock.

Dear fucking god can he not quit

It had been nearly 5 minutes since you heard the last knock and wanted to look to see if he was finally gone but something in your body told you not to move. You have never been this paralyzed in fear. You had gone through worse things before in your life as an Avenger but those guys were bad, they meant to do harm and had no reason to give you any false sense of security, but he did.

Knock knock knock

You couldn’t take it anymore. He had been at the door for over an hour and you just wanted to be left alone, so you got up created a ball of pure energy in your hand made solely out of anger, just ready to blast the ever-living shit out of him. 

You began to open the door and started to wind your hand back ready to launch the ball of energy in his face, “I thought I told you to leave me the fu-”

“Woah Woah Woah-!” You heard a voice say, and when you actually looked at who it was you realized it wasn’t your now ex.

“Bucky?” You asked in disbelief, still ready to launch your hand forward at any second. He held his gloved hands above him to cover his face from being blasted right off. “What’re you doing here?”

“I came to check up on you. You weren’t answering your messages so I got worried.” He said, slowly lowering his hands. 

You followed his movement lowering your own raised hand and dispelled the energy ball, fading away just like your anger.

You sighed in relief. “Oh,” you started realizing that he could probably see the mark on your face so you slowly rested the left side of your face on the door, slightly flinching at the contact, not expecting it to hurt as much, you hoped Bucky didn’t notice. “Well, uh, everything is fine.” You told him, giving a small smile.

He tried looking inside, “You sure?”

“Yes I am very sure, it all went smoothly.” You knew lying was going to get you nowhere with him, he was pretty perceptive.

“Okay, so you wouldn’t mind letting me in?” He pressed on, he knew he was getting nowhere standing outside the door, while you were inside desperately trying to hide something.

Your eyes widened ever so slightly, trying not to alert him of anything going wrong, but you knew if you told him he couldn’t come in he would suspect something and the last thing you wanted was for this to turn into something worse than it already was. 

“Of course, come on in.” You opened the door gesturing to come in, already regretting your decision.

“So, who were you trying to blast?” Bucky asked as you let him in, he examined the living room, nothing seemed too out of the ordinary. Your beige couch was slightly slanted forward but other than that everything else seemed to be in place, he did notice however, you having your back towards him, not making eye contact.

“Hmm?” You asked slightly distracted. “Oh, uh my neighbor’s kids, you know they keep running up and down the stairs and hallway.” You said, hoping he believed you, though you wouldn’t even believe your own lie given how shaky your voice was getting,

You cleared your throat, “Want some tea? I’m gonna make some right now.” Hoping a distraction would get you through this.

“No thank you I’m good, so uh, what did he say when you decided to break it off with him?” Bucky asked.

You weren’t ready to discuss this now, but what choice did you have, you could tell he was getting suspicious about something, so you just had to convince him it was nothing.

“Oh you know, he was upset obviously, but what’re you going to do.” You tried sounding nonchalant about the whole thing, you talked all the while putting water in the kettle and put it on the stove to boil. “He was upset but understood why I did it, and then uh, left.” 

“Really? Just like that?”

“Mhmm.” You spoke, the kettle starting to scream a little, grabbing your mug.

“So, if he just up and left without any struggle… then who made this hole in the wall?” Bucky asked as he tapped the wall with his knuckle.

Your fingers slipped and you dropped your mug, first hitting the counter then smashing into pieces on the floor, the screams of the kettle now almost piercing.

“Shit.” You whispered, for dropping the mug and completely forgetting about the hole he made right before he hit you. 

“Woah, hey are you okay?” Bucky turned around and saw you on your knees trying to pick up the broken pieces of the mug you had just dropped.

You were at your tipping point. Everything felt like it was unraveling all at once, you tried picking up the broken pieces of the mug, hardly noticing your tears trickling down and hitting the floor.

Bucky turned off the stove to stop the screaming and went up to you, gently putting his hand on your back. “Hey don’t worry about it okay? It’s just a mug you didn’t mean to drop it.”

“No… no no no, I wasn’t careful enough, I should’ve been nicer and more careful, this is all my fault.” You muttered to yourself. 

Bucky was starting to think that you weren’t talking about your mug. “Hey, look at me.” He spoke softly and gently lifted your chin and that’s when he first noticed the little bit of dried up blood that was on your left cheek and saw a bruise forming. “Oh god-”

You hated how he stared at you: pity, it was written in his eyes, you really didn’t want anybody to find out, especially him. Most of all, you were embarrassed, embarrassed with everything that happened and how you handled it all.

“I’m sorry.” Was all you could say, trying really hard not to break down crying, but it got harder the longer you stayed there on the floor staring at the shattered mug.

“Hey it’s okay, come here.” He wrapped you in a tight hug and that was all it took to get you to release the fear, anger, and sadness that you’ve had bottled up for the last few hours.

And there you two were, sitting on the floor of your kitchen, silently crying into Bucky’s shoulder gently gripping his jacket to steady yourself. Bucky just stared at the shattered mug, a mixture of relief and sadness filling his head; glad he went to check up on you but angry and upset that you have been put through something that dick had caused, and he intended to make his sorry ass pay.