#keep you medical history private

[aalmondblues]

Exactly how many times is he going to injure himself after the concert

[shibaraki]

OUT OF MY HEAD, HALF BURSTING ┊ MIDORIYA IZUKU

synopsis: japan’s sweetheart and saviour is in a quirk induced coma. you’re the only one that can bring him back.

tags: GN reader, post canon au, pro hero deku, quirk accidents, fluff + angst, hospitalisation, mutual pining, intimacy, technically doctor/patient but they know each other, friends to lovers, reader has quirk (‘dream walker’), memory/dream sharing, referenced depression, getting together, kissing, cheesy idc idc

wc: 5.2K

In your years wading through patients' memories, you’ve found that people have the most uncanny ability to resign themselves to their fate. You’ve wondered time and time again whether it’s instinctive to ruin things—if humans couldn’t help but stumble and make a mess of the things around them.

You recall that thought process now with a weary sigh, as your eyes skim over the patient's name for the tenth time in as many seconds. Midoriya Izuku.

“Well? Are you gonna do it or not?”

You’ve been staring at the medical file for long enough that an uncomfortable silence has dawned upon your office. Two weeks prior, a villain named Catatonic used her quirk to force Deku into a comatose state, that which he has yet to wake from. Even after the liberal use of quirk inhibitors, countless visits from Eraserhead and the administration of various stimulants, Deku would not stir. Realistically he should’ve roused from the coma naturally as soon as the quirk was cancelled. But he hadn’t, and his doctors can only assume it’s because he can’t, or refuses to.

Thus the case in your lap. A last resort.

“I’ll do it,” you intoned, thumb flicking at the corner of the manila folder. There’s already a deep crease there. The file itself is the heaviest you’ve ever had in your hands. Dense in a way that makes you ache. You and Deku are good friends—the kind of friendship that forms mainly because you frequent the same places. That place in particular being the hospital, except you were there to work, and he was often wandering the hallways listlessly to burn off the dregs of whatever sedatives he’d taken or visiting with patients.

Awkward small talk eventually blossomed into real, fulfilling conversations, and you started to like him, a lot more than you should. You kept the memory of his small, sincere smile close to your chest; nothing like that dazzling grin he wore on duty, it was softer, something private, and you relished being on the receiving end of it.

He was skilled at talking around his injuries. Sometimes if you felt especially bone-weary after a shift you’d be so relieved to see him that you forgot to ask. That sits with you. Deku is a hero. A good one, the best one. He’s brilliant at what he does—keeping people safe, protecting them from harm. In the entirety of his career, it appears he rarely, if ever, turned that care and consideration onto himself. You’re not a licensed therapist, and barely a doctor. Still you contemplate his medical history with a cold sense of regret.

“You realise there’s a large possibility I’ll end up seeing a lot of confidential stuff while I’m in there”.

“Don’t care. S’not like you can tell anyone”.

“I don’t think you understand how invasive this will be. I’ll see personal things. Private things, Bakugo. He won’t be happy”.

“Don’t care. If he doesn’t like it then maybe he should fuckin’ wake up”.

“This might not work, you know,” you finish tiredly.

Bakugo arches his brow at that. Despite the shadows under his eyes there’s no defeated slope to his shoulders, only a fierce scowl. “Either you can do it or you can’t,” he says, voice unsteady as if reeling between rationality and outright aggression. “You’re supposed to be the best at what you do”.

“I am the best at what I do, Bakugo. I can promise you I’ll find him”.

“Then what’s the damn problem?”

The file feels heavier. It feels like a foregone conclusion. You swallow, your throat dry. You don’t bother attempting a smile. You’ve lost the will to maintain your professional veneer.

“I can’t promise he’ll want to come back”.

Dream walker.

At twelve years old you thought it made your quirk sound whimsical, and gentle, and not at all the invasive thing that it actually is. After all, your reach didn’t end only at dreams. You were able to project your consciousness into another’s mind if it pleased you, parse through every memory, ambition, fantasy, trauma and fear, and manipulate them however you liked. Back when your control was non-existent you would drift into people’s heads whenever you slept like some wayward soul and saw far too much far too young.

The need to understand yourself and your quirk is what drove you to studying medicine. Neuropsychology, mainly. You carved meditative techniques into the very recesses of your own brain and learned to keep your consciousness tightly moored but had no real ambition beyond that. After the war and the complete upheaval and reform of hero society, it was difficult to find your place.

Until Okumura Yukiko.

At the small age of eight, Yukiko fell under the effects of a severe nightmare quirk, and despite the quirk being canceled she couldn’t wake up naturally. You had carefully walked through the delicate threads that made up her young mindscape—quirk-infested by formless shadows with knife-sharp teeth and worse, eerie figures that wore the appearance of her father—you found her trembling inside her mothers figmental wardrobe, took her hand, and guided her out.

When you came to she was curled up in the swaddle of your arms, trembling still, but awake. Her timid incantations ring true in your ears even now. Those tiny little thank you, thank you, thank you’s inspired the person you are today. Not quite a doctor, or a therapist. A specialist for special cases.

Something in your gut told you that traipsing into Midoriya Izuku’s mind wouldn’t be simple. That it would permanently change things. This isn’t some stranger, or a patient you’d never cross paths with again. He’s important to you in a way others aren’t.

Your hand hovers over his face, fingertips brushing his temple. You push your fingers into his thick green hair, rich in colour and soft, no knots to catch on your knuckles. His friends have been visiting in shifts, keeping him comfortable and presentable.

Bakugo had managed to keep the Hero Commission at bay for the time being, but if you came back without Midoriya tomorrow there would be far more than one scowling man looming in your office. Though the possibility left a bad taste in your mouth you can admit, in the privacy of your thoughts, that you’ve contemplated prolonging his recovery for the sake of allowing Midoriya rest. There must be something keeping him under, his genuine reluctance or worse; you’ve been reassured repeatedly of All for One’s death and the absence of the previous quirk holders but it’s best to exercise vigilance.

Midoriya does not react, not even a twitch of his nose, but there’s a flutter beneath his eyelids and a sleepy-sweet warmth to him that has you smiling, fond. Tucking your feet around the legs of your chair, you scoot it forward and bend closer, elbows resting on the edge of the hospital bed. “I’m not sure you can hear me in there. Maybe not. But I hope you won’t hate me for this,” you tell him.

Midoriya’s face remains serene as ever—more so than you can remember. It makes you wonder how much pain and discomfort he’s been hiding throughout your interactions. The tension has been sapped from his expression, lashes fanning over his cheeks. You’re close enough to count each individual freckle. Lightly, your thumb taps the space between his brows. “There are a lot of people out here that love you. They’re waiting for you to wake up, so I’ll have to have a look around your head a bit. Okay?”

Nothing. Heartbeat monitor pulsing a healthy rhythm, broad chest rising and falling, Midoriya continues to sleep. You sigh and cast a final glance around the private hospital room. The clock reads 18:22. Outside the window you see a single cloud, wispy as a dandelion, slowly disintegrate across the dusky sky. You make a cradle with your arm, head resting in the crook while you take Midoriya’s hand and try to relax. Anticipation turns in your gut. Years of experience aside, you’ve never really acclimated to the feeling of that first step into another’s subconscious.

Pressure gathers inside your skull as your quirk activates. You inhale a quick, wounded breath at the sensation. Your eyes roll back, vision swallowed by abrupt darkness, and you jerk against the distinct sensation of falling as your stomach roils. You’re overwhelmed by a cacophony of images and sounds—a determination that happiness would come, then moored to the burden of expectation, any optimism muffled under exhaustion and pain, replaced swiftly by a sense of discontent, grief and regret that swelled over time.

And then everything stops.

Your arms feel empty. Your chest feels hungry. You ache with it, the disquieting loneliness. Fog leaks into the memory, surroundings concealed beneath a thick mist. Behind you is a small pond. There’s a notebook soaking in the water. The koi are mouthing curiously at the weathered corners, faint black tendrils of ink curling off the charred pages. Scrawled boldly across the top is ‘Hero Analysis for The Future: No. 13’. Your strikingly young reflection ripples as you plunge your hand in and fish it out, holding it at arm's length as you shake the excess away.

Sufficiently less soaked, you draw the notebook to your front and carefully turn the cover to read the first page. You can feel the slight indentations on the back where a pen has been pressed hard enough to score the words through the page. Written inside, smudged but undeniable, is Midoriya Izuku’s name.

“Uh—excuse me…” a shaky, pitched voice comes from behind you, belonging to a very familiar pair of teary eyes. Midoriya is not just small, he’s scrawny. His hair is longer, unable to decide on which direction it wants to grow, and his middle school uniform is slightly ill-fitting, as though his mother bought it a size bigger for longevity. He ducks into the higher collar to hide his reddened face when you look at him.

The urge to bundle him up and hide him from the world is fierce. The situation is odd, but you offer a smile and his blush worsens. “Is this yours?” you ask, holding up the notebook. You try not to grimace at your own childlike voice. Midoriya nods frantically. His hands flex around the straps of his backpack. Smaller than the broad palms you’re familiar with, neither scarred nor crooked, trembling where they motion to clasp around the notebook. Your fingers brush and he attempts to swallow the yelp that bubbles in his throat.

“Thank you,” he stammers, pressing the notebook flat to his own chest. Midoriya swallows. His gaze never strays from you, growing brighter with each passing second as the idea in his head takes shape.

“Do you go to school here?”

“Oh,” you blink and the shadows have elongated. The pond is now hugging a school building. You recognise it despite never having seen it before. Aldera Junior High. “I don't,” you answer, sounding sorry. He predictably deflates. “I live close by, though!”

Midoriya perks up again. He shifts his weight between each foot. Red faced and unsteady, he quietly asks, “Do you think we could be friends?”

Your mouth slacks a bit, answers dying in your throat. You look down at your hands, palms upturned and unblemished. The dappled sunlight passes through your incorporeal form. Interaction with anything aside from the true patient during your work is incredibly rare though not entirely unfounded; people who daydream in vivid detail or ruminate chronically on old regrets usually had false memories in excess. Their minds seem to naturally meld around your intrusion, but they never went so far as to seamlessly incorporate you. Which can only mean one thing.

You fit because Midoriya has imagined this numerous times before—befriending you as a child.

Before you can respond you’re being dragged abruptly into a memory, the echo of a blinding flash of pain rippling through you. A reflexive gasp has your chest heaving and you curse at your lack of control. There’s barely a shard of light. Behind you is a hard, jagged surface but below is loose, uprooted. Attempts to move are futile, and agonising. You slump into the displaced rubble, silt and icy embrace, and listen. From above there is only a haunting silence but only a few feet ahead you hear muffled crying and Bakugo’s strangely tinny voice.

Your vision adjusts in increments, from pure darkness to a soft outlined blob to a comfortingly familiar silhouette. Midoriya is poised like an Atlantean statue, holding up the creaking structure and keeping it from crushing the young girl cowered in front of him.

Another wave of pain washes over you as the rubble groans. Midoriya bites back a whimper. His body is sinew and bone pulled taut, skin stretched over a drum. Everything seemed to swell dramatically around him.

“We’re almost there, kid. Two minutes,” Bakugo’s voice spills jarringly from the bulky earpiece hugging Midoriya’s ear. “Now look at Deku for me. You lookin’?” the young girl does as he commands. You see her trepidation falter at the easy smile Deku is wearing. “Bet he’s got a big dumb grin on his face right now, yeah?”

“Y—yeah,” she echoes, clutching the dirtied hem of her dress.

“You think he’d be smiling if there was anythin’ to be scared of?”

Her shoulders slant, the tension released, and she offers a tremulous smile of her own, “No”.

But you can feel, quite viscerally, how scared Deku was in that moment. The nauseating pain in his arms has dwindled into numbness and he daren’t spare himself more than the occasional shallow breath, as if the bloating of his lungs alone might disrupt his balance. Not once does his smile falter.

The surroundings warp again. You struggle against the whiplash, flung unwillingly into another memory. Breath forced from your lungs, the echo of Izuku’s pain dissipates in a blink and you land on unsteady feet, coughing and spluttering in the middle of an eclectic café covered in tinsel.

A sign written in cursive above the chalkboard menu reads ‘Mean Mug’. Melodious Christmas music plays quietly overhead, and the bell above the door is soft enough to get lost in the smooth notes. You’re cocooned by heat and met with bold patterned wallpaper. The unifying palette seems to be warm-toned colours; red, orange and brown come together amidst the mismatched decor to create a cosy atmosphere.

A half heartedly disguised Midoriya shuffles awkwardly by the counter, looking up at the door with trepidation every time the bell chimes to signal another customer. He grins once Uravity arrives in a casual disguise of her own, eyes still bright beneath the shadow of his cap.

They order and settle in a quaint alcove away from the windows and any prying eyes. Neither hero notices your presence as you seat yourself at their table and listen to their conversation. There are things you don’t understand. Code words to be used when discussing sensitive matters outside of their agencies. Inside jokes that you weren’t there for. But most curious of all is the knowing look on Uraraka’s face when Midoriya mentions that he saw you at the hospital that day.

“You’re hopeless, Deku-kun,” she says, as fond as she is amused. “What was your excuse this time?”

Midoriya clears his throat. He grips his cup, pressing until his knuckles turn white. It draws your attention to the thin cast splinting his ring and middle fingers together. “I broke my fingers sparring with Kirishima”.

You remember that, though too entrenched in his memory to attempt receding into yours for details.

“So you leapt halfway across the city to have them stuck together despite the fact that your agency has an on-site infirmary,” Uraraka’s hair falls in a gentle swoop beneath her jaw as she laughs. Midoriya shrinks into himself ever so slightly and her eyes soften. She pokes at his forearm. “C’mon Deku—why haven’t you asked yet? Do you really think you’ll get rejected?”

Glancing back and forth between them, your heart beats a tattoo across the inside of your ribs. You feel as if you’ve both missed something quite important and heard too much. You push your chair backwards and fall away from the table, and the memory, before Midoriya can respond.

With renewed determination—and heat rising to your cheeks—you reign in your quirk, steering cautiously through Midoriya’s subconscious mind as you should’ve in the first place. Images flicker in and around your periphery, each as desperate to draw you in as the last.

You see Midoriya crying, bleeding, lashing out in anger. You see him in a sterilised room, lulled by monotonous beeps, flesh stitched back together. You hear the doctor's voices coalesce into white noise. You watch as he’s handed crudely drawn thank you cards, coffee-stained police reports and thick manila envelopes marked as confidential in large red letters.

You turn away as Eraserhead approaches, a solemn expression, a quiet clink accompanying his footsteps, unnaturally heavy to one side, a young girl with silver hair following right behind him.

Your heart leaps to your throat when he screams in agony. You look down. There’s blood running down the street in rivulets, skin coming apart like wet paper.

You close your eyes. Next you risk a glance All Might is there, thinner than ever. He’s sitting in a wheelchair by a large window swaddled in a thick knitted blanket, watching over the city, smiling.

You turn away, feeling a pang of grief. Midoriya is expressionless, examining his battered body in the mirror, condensation still lingering on the glass, tendrils of heat curling upward as the shower drain gurgles.

Then he’s in a dark room bringing a stranger's hand to his mouth, kissing the centre of their palm, drawing the finger into his kiss-bitten mouth and sucking with a hazy gleam in his eyes.

It’s overwhelming. You stumble and suddenly Shouto is eating across from Izuku. He brings his chopsticks to his lips, noodles hung limp between them. “It’s obvious you like each other. You should just confess,” he says before shovelling his food.

Too private. You turn on your heel and find a patient of yours on the bed, unresponsive. Izuku is beside you, muttering under his breath, thumb pressed to the shadow beneath his lip. He reaches back to brush your wrist and offers a tentative touch of reassurance. You watch yourself lean against him for a moment and then retreat, grateful for his consideration, unneeding of it, and desperately wanting it, all at once.

The scene ripples violently. A reporter is staring up at Izuku with sparkling eyes. Her hair cycles through an array of colours as she shakes with excitement. “It’s amazing, Deku-san,” she insists. “For your spirit to be so heroic that it physically steers your body… that’s special!”

Izuku conceded with a strained laugh, rubbing at the back of his neck. You feel how his stomach knots. “I used to think so too,” he says, sounding far away.

It’s the middle of the night somewhere when your search finally comes to a halt. You find you’ve landed on an empty street, in that dense, heavy darkness that makes you feel like the only person in the world who’s awake. There’s a tall residential building hugging the pavement. Intuitively, you know this is where Izuku lives.

Your footsteps are made heavy by Izuku’s lingering hurt and exhaustion. It’s disconcerting, the way he feels about his apartment. Coming home should be effortless. People come home in the same way they draw breath. But to Izuku, it's a weary, miserable journey that he must consciously think about and do. His perennial loneliness is overwhelming, a near physical force repelling you from opening the large glass door.

One foot in the lobby and the surroundings undulate. You’re dropped in the middle of his living room. It’s vacant. There’s a large box of case files tucked under the coffee table, an old takeout box left out on the counter, a blanket strewn haphazardly over the couch cushions. You pinch the soft fabric and rub it between your fingers, bringing it to your nose as you’re overcome by the urge to smell it. Izuku’s warm scent floods your senses.

Something thuds outside, followed by a tinkling of keys on a chain. Your blood runs quicker as the front door abruptly opens. Izuku looks harried as he ducks into the genkan, quite visibly frayed. The upper half of his hero suit is unzipped, pushed down to hang over his hips, littered with debris and dry mud. You hold your breath as he kicks off his shoes and lifts his head, meeting your wide-eyed gaze. The air around you is charged. Trepidation prickles at your nape.

Then the shadows over his stormy face recede. Izuku gentles, light returning to his previously empty eyes. “I’m home,” he breathes. “I missed you”. His voice shivers down your spine—you know in your gut that this is him, the real Izuku, but that fact is hard to believe while he’s looking at you like he wants you.

“Welcome home,” you smile back, slipping the blanket around your shoulders as you move toward him. “Hard day at—?”

Your intentions are to sit him down, keep him calm so as not to be ejected, and explain what’s happening, but before you have the chance his larger body crowds you against the wall—the dull impact reverberates through your ribs, knocking the breath from your lungs and he’s kissing you as if it’s something he always does.

Though it’s more of a collision than a kiss. The sensation is indescribable. Information spills into your mouth, your quirk reflexively absorbing his every fantasy, ache and want. Your knees almost buckle. The blanket puddles at your feet. Fingers snake into his thick hair, nails dig into his roots where skin becomes earth as you try to reciprocate his fervour.

Under your tongue you feel the cut on his lip, under your palms the dark swell across his cheek. You shake off the cloud of desire. Too many lines have already been crossed. “Izuku,” you whine. His name comes naturally now; you know him deeply enough. Blunt teeth graze at your jaw, your throat. You lean away for air only to catch a glimpse of another angry ivory-red bruise peeking from beneath his loose collar. “Izuku,” you tried again. Then louder. “Izuku, that’s enough”.

“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” Izuku rasps as he rears up from the crook of your neck with wide, glassy eyes.

“No—I’m,” your heart beats hard in your ears. Dread sinks low in your belly. “It’s me. I’m really here, Izuku. You’ve been away for too long. I had to use my quirk. We need to wake up”.

“Wake up? You’re… oh,” his eyes grow wider, then shutter closed on a shaky exhale. The cut on his bottom lip has started bleeding again. Rivulets seeped into the cracks between his teeth and stained his gums red. You yearn for the searing heat of his hands as he releases you and staggers backwards to scrub at his face. “Oh my god”.

“Wait. Please don’t throw me out,” you say quickly, reaching to clutch at his wrist in case he panicked. Izuku tenses at the contact only to relax a beat later, his fingers spreading over his eyes so he can get a peek at you. “It took me forever to find you here. There’s a lot of stuff in your head”.

“I won’t. I wouldn’t,” he mumbles. You could collapse in relief. He’s not angry, he’s embarrassed.

“Thank you. I promise I tried not to look at anything too private”. Your mind didn’t make it easy, you think. It was almost like he wanted me to see everything.

Izuku groans and lets his hands drop to his sides in defeat, revealing an entirely pink face. You keep your fingers curled around his wrist, his pulse light and fast. “Okay. I’m okay. We should probably sit down for this,” he eventually croaks, a tremulous smile working its way across his lips. “Drink?”

You pick up the blanket and make your way to the couch while he briefly disappears into the kitchen. Around you the apartment takes on a rosy sheen. A dull clink shudders through the silence as Izuku sets a cup on the coffee table in front of you. It’s your favourite work mug down to the smallest details.

“You remembered this old thing?”

Shaped like a cat, the handle curved in and away like a feline’s tail. It’s piping hot, steam already curling up from it like a crooked finger, like the invitation he meant it to be.

Izuku nodded awkwardly, perched so far forward that it stretched credulity to say he was on the couch at all. He tracks your movements with intensity when you lean to pick up the hot drink. The initial sting to your palms quickly dwindles into numbness as you bring it closer and realise what’s inside. Hot chocolate. The surface sprinkled with those small, cube shaped marshmallows that he likes.

You swallow and feel the warmth spread through your body. A smile pulls at the corner of your mouth as the thick, saccharine flavour floods your senses, washing back the bitterness and thawing your anxiety. You can hear the tension in Izuku’s shoulders snap as he slumps forward, arms hung over his knees and head low in relief. His reaction is oddly vindicating, if not contagious.

“How long have I been asleep?” he asks. “Time is weird here”.

“You’ve been comatose for over two weeks,” you reply. “They tried everything they could before Bakugo insisted on bringing me in. You have a lot of people waiting for you”.

Izuku inhales sharply. He makes an aborted motion to scoot closer before thinking better of it. Your attention strays to the nervous wringing of his battle worn hands. Endeared, you put your mug down and close the distance yourself. Pressed thigh to thigh, you envelop his tightly curled fists, bringing them into your lap. The shaky breath he takes is loud in the otherwise quiet room.

“Honestly I’m surprised you’re still working”.

He looks at you with an unsure, watery smile, sunlight caught in glassy eyes. His voice is thick as he asks, “What do you mean?”

You smile sadly and run your thumb over his knuckles. “You’ve been on patrol. I thought you might’ve locked yourself in your head because you needed a proper break—and who could blame you, really. But you’re working yourself thin even in your dreams”.

Izuku huffed a laugh, more breath than humour. “I love being a hero. It’s what I’ve always wanted,” he says, his voice tight. You sink into his side and feel his diaphragm stutter. “But it isn’t everything. It felt like I was suffocating and I needed something more. Something to come home to for a little while…”

His red-rimmed eyes quickly return to his lap when you meet them. “I still can’t believe you’re here. Your quirk really is incredible”.

You can feel the shame swatting at you like a summer-born heatwave, reminded of just how deeply you’ve invaded his privacy, and how easily you overstepped your bounds.

“I’m so sorry,” he continues, at the same time that you tell him, “I’m sorry, Izuku”.

“Please. Let me go first,” he murmurs like a question. You nod your assent. “I’m sorry I forced myself on you. I thought you were a part of my imagination, like the rest of this place. I should have realised you weren’t. I’m sorry,” he rambles on. “I wanted to be closer to you but I got carried away and I’m sorry”.

“You couldn’t have known. I should have told you it was me as soon as you walked in,” you firmly interject. Izuku doesn’t look any less stricken in your periphery, cheek sunken where he’s gnawing at the flesh. “And you didn’t force anything. I hardly pushed you away,” your brow wrinkles and you smile despite yourself. “I got a little lost in your head, too. Not my most professional moment I admit. But I wouldn’t want to leave either, if we were cuddled up in here all day”.

“Really?” Izuku blinks. Hope colours his cheeks. He clears his throat and shifts in place as he tries very hard to appear unaffected. “You don’t think it’s creepy—me picturing all this with you?”

You think of that young boy yoked with the burden of expectation and feel your heart crack. You can still taste his desires. They’re insipid, belying their age, as though they’d lingered long enough to stale. Izuku treasured his friends and fans', their love and loyalty; yet he felt guilty for allowing them to foster such a blind faith in his goodness. He was a man with faults like any other, capable of making mistakes, of inflicting harm. More than anything Izuku longed for someone to see the darker, uglier corners of his life, and make room for all of him. And you wanted to be the one to do it.

“I’ve imagined this with you. This and more,” bolstered by everything you’ve seen, the confession spills out with startling ease. Your eyes squint above the curve of your grin. “I like you too,” you coaxed his fist open as you spoke, mapping out the carved furrows, shallows and depths on his palm. “A lot”.

“Oh,” he exhales, slowly entangling your fingers.

You give an emphatic nod.

“How mad is Kacchan?”

“Pretty mad. But when is he not?” you laugh at his grimace. “I’ll be there as a buffer when you wake up. It’s my professional opinion that you need a few more days to recuperate and take me out for crêpes. So will you come home with me?”

There’s a gleam in his eyes—a combination of warmth and weight that tugs at your chest. His gaze flickers across your face, from your lips to your eyes in askance. You lean in and he kisses you again, sipping gently at your mouth, firm and slightly sticky with congealed blood. Strange. It feels so real. You suppose it is, in all the ways that matter.

“Okay,” he whispers after one last peck to your lips. You get to your feet as he stands and gestures nervously toward the genkan. “I, uh. I don’t really know how to get out of here so… lead the way?”

You laugh and take him by the hand. “Don’t worry. The way home is always a lot faster. It’s a little disorienting—watch your step,” you warn as he follows you through the front door. Rather than the lobby, or a stairwell, both bodies are swallowed up by darkness.

Spat out just as abruptly, your senses return to you piece by piece. Breathing through the vertigo you peel your eyes open to the rapid rise and fall of Izuku’s chest as he reorients himself. A crick in your neck, a knot in your spine. The clock reads 07:12. There are already nurses bustling around the hospital bed, likely alerted by the frantic heart monitor; that which does little to hide the way Izuku’s pulse stutters when you lift your head to get a look at him.

“I’m up,” he says, throat rough from disuse. There’s a shaky smile on his face. “I’m home”.

Your hands are still entwined, albeit a little sweaty. You smile, “Welcome home”.

[queenshelby]

Massage Therapy (Part One of Two)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Smut

It had been three years since you owned a day spa and, being one of the best in Dublin, you were almost always booked out.

You provided facials, therapeutic massages as well as relaxation techniques, including massages with hot oil ‒‒the last service being the most popular among professionals seeking to unwind. T

he elegant interior of your establishment, with its dim, warm lights, hushed tones, and earthy aromas, lulled the senses the moment clients stepped into the door. 

By word of mouth, you had acquired a loyal clientele, including many businessmen and important figures and, apparently, among them now was the famous actor, Cillian Murphy who had been referred to you by one of his friends.

He was a slim and handsome man, in his late forties, and you were quite excited to be massaging him when he walked in.

You first handed him a form to fill out with details such as his name, age, contact information, and medical history, as usual. While he completed the paperwork, you studied him from the corner of your eye. He moved with quiet grace, his hair glinting under the soft lights, his lips curling up in a ghost of a smile when he saw your spa.

When he finished filling out the form, he handed it over to you and followed you down a hallway lined with a series of private rooms. 

"Mr Murphy, this way please," you said, as you opened the door to the dimly lit massage room, in the middle of which stood a massage table, covered in fresh sheets. 

"Thank you," Cillian said, his voice low and measured, as he stepped inside, eyes trailing over the candles casting dancing shadows on the walls.

"You are welcome," you responded, as you walked over to the corner of the room to retrieve a bottle of warm oil for the session. "Now, when you are ready Mr Murphy, please get undressed. You can place your belongings into the locker over here while I leave the room to give you some privacy. Once you have undressed, please lay face down on the table, covering yourself with the sheet provided, alright?" I continued, nodding towards the locker, gesturing to ensure his comfort and to establish professionalism for the session.

"Sure," he replied, eyes meeting mine briefly, as you turned to exit the room.

As you waited outside the door, you took a few moments to compose yourself, to leave any personal thoughts behind and focus solely on the calming atmosphere of the room and your craft - it was crucial to provide Cillian with the best service possible, regardless of who he was. Although, truth be told, you were a little overexcited to be massaging  such a famous and handsome individual, but you quickly brushed those thoughts away.

Entering the room once more, you found Cillian lying face down on the massage table as instructed, dressed in just his briefs, with the thin sheet that was provided carefully draped over his lower body. 

"Are there any areas  you would like me to focus on, Mr Murphy?" you asked softly, while pouring the warm oil onto your cupped hands, rubbing them together briskly to infuse the oil with your warmth.

"No, just anything is fine," he replied  gruffly, as you began your work on him, starting up at his neck, and working your way down to his upper back. His tension had been obvious, but you could already feel it beginning to melt away from his body as you placed your hands on him. You worked the warm oil into his tired muscles, easing the knots and tension from his shoulders and neck.

As you were massaging his back, you couldn't help but notice the freckles on his pale skin. There were thousands of them  , tiny brown speckles scattered haphazardly across his shoulder blades and back. They were one of the many things about Cillian Murphy that made him an interesting subject to look at, but it was your duty to keep your mind on the job at hand, which was to make sure that he relaxed and felt zero tension. You were a professional, after all.

As you moved down from his shoulders and neck to his lower back, the atmosphere in the room shifted.

Your hand came to rest on his hips, and you could feel him tense slightly beneath your touch. You continued to apply pressure, massaging with long, deep strokes, focusing on the area where his tension remained.

Eventually, you adjusted the sheet slightly, revealing just enough of his thighs and hips to continue your work, while still maintaining his modesty. The tension in his body had lessened, but it was still present, especially in his hamstrings.

You started massaging his right leg first , focusing on the muscles that you knew would be the tightest, and working slowly to coax them to relax. As you worked your way down, you reminded yourself not to let your mind wander, and to focus on what you were doing. But it wasn't easy, for every touch, every stroke, sent a little thrill running through you. He was a handsome man, with a lean, toned body and a distinctive brooding charm that seemed almost palpable.

His legs were covered in some fine hairs. They were muscular, even despite his otherwise slim built and you and you  couldn't help but notice the veins that ran along the sides of his legs, pulsing with life as you rubbed them with your expert touch.

"Is the pressure okay?" you whispered, your fingers tracing the muscle contours of his lower legs with a gentle pressure, coaxing the tension out of them. 

"It's perfect," he murmur-replied, his voice gravelly with a hint of recognition in his tone. You shuttered at the sound of it, feeling a strange mix of pride and nervousness, knowing that he was enjoying it.

You continued your work on his legs, adjusting the sheet again before moving higher, to his upper thighs, just below his buttocks. 

Cillian's body tensed again, but the tension was not present in his muscles. This was different, there was something new, something that you hadn't felt before. 

"How's the pressure now?" you asked again, moving to his inner thigh now. 

He paused for a moment, considering your words.

"It's good," he finally said, his voice strained with a new type of tension that hadn't been there before as, unbeknownst to you, he slowly became aroused. 

Oblivious to this, you kept  on with your massage, your hands working their magic. As you glanced at your client's lower body, you saw the way his muscles were starting to flex slightly, but you did not think anything about it and moved towards the other leg, relishing in the smoothness of his skin under your touch.

You started with his lower thigh again and then moved to his upper thigh, slowly working your way inwards again.

You could feel the built-up tension in his muscles there, and you devoted your full attention to alleviating it. As you massaged the spot that was especially tight, Cillian let out a soft moan that registered on your radar, but you brought your focus back to the task at hand.

After some time, you felt that you had done sufficient work on the back and legs from this angle and you knew it was time for him to turn around.  "Alright Mr. Murphy, I am going to need you roll over onto your back so that I may continue to work on your chest and arms," you instructed him softly, while still maintaining your professional demeanor, even if your heart fluttered at a faster rate.

"Uhm, I," he began , hesitating before continuing. "I can't. I need to...," he stammered, causing you to offer him some assistance.

"Would you like me to help you to turn around?" you offered in a soft tone.

"No, I mean, I can do that myself, but I shouldn't because I'm a bit uncomfortable right now," Cillian admitted, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks.

A feeling of realization dawned on you, and your cheeks flushed in return. You took a deep breath, reminding yourself of your profession and that this kind of situation could arise every now and then. With that, you reassured him.

"Don't worry, that's perfectly normal and I will ensure that sheet provided will cover your modesty," you reassured Cillian with a soft and gentle voice, making sure not to make this moment any awkward or uncomfortable than it already was.

Cillian took a deep breath, and then slowly began to turn onto his back, revealing his lean but toned body. You took a moment to admire the sight while reminding yourself to stay focused on the task at hand.

"I am sorry. This hasn't happened to me before," Cillian murmured. You could see the embarrassment color his cheeks, but there was also an honesty in his voice and eyes that resonated with you.

"It happens, Mr Murphy," you replied with a gentle smile, trying to put him at ease. "It's actually not that uncommon," you reassured him as you covered his eyes with cloth, waiting for him to catch his breath, to compose himself. "Now just relax," you then continued before looking at the obvious. 

His erection was evident beneath the sheet, but you said nothing, choosing instead to continue working as you normally would.

Without saying anything else, you focused on his arms, kneading the muscles to ease the knots and tension before moving on to his chest.

Running your hands through his chest hair,  you could feel each rib, each muscle expanding and contracting under your touch as he breathed in and out and, even though you spent almost twenty more minutes on his upper body only, his erection did not abate.

Knowing that you had caused this made you feel slightly guilty, but also somewhat empowered and, with that, curiosity got the better of you and you decided to return to his legs again.

This time, you focused your attention on the front of his thighs, and you could feel the tension there as well. You did your best to ignore the growing bulge beneath the sheet, and concentrated instead on providing a soothing and relaxing massage experience for Cillian.

You worked your way up his legs with long, sweeping strokes, and felt the muscle gradually start to relax under your trained hands. You could sense that Cillian was feeling more at ease as well, and he let out a deep sigh as he seemed to drift away into a state of pure relaxation until your hand drifted to his upper inner thigh again.

His erection twitched  upon contact, but, determined to remain professional and to finish the massage, you continued with your relaxed, rhythmic massaging motion, allowing the gentle movement to work on his tightened muscles.

Your fingers continued to glide lovingly, assertively, and with focus on the inner thighs, assessing their tension while taking the occasional, surreptitious glance at the sheet covering his lower torso. Underneath it, Cillian's erection still throbbed steadily and, after having now seen this man mostly naked and aroused, you wondered what it would be like to touch him intimately.

You had never before entertained such a fascination with a client, and tried to push the thought aside, but as your fingers moved up his thighs once more, tracing the firm muscles and lingering on the most sensitive areas, you knew you couldn't deny it any longer.

He was straining, almost painfully  against the fabric beneath the sheet and you found it difficult to keep your focus on massaging his inner thighs. You glanced up at him, noticing his lips tightly closed as he focused on keeping himself together.

This moment hung heavy in the air, the tension building between you, almost palpable. It was obvious that he was holding back, and you wondered if you should continue the massage or stop.

But as you looked back at him, you saw his teeth clenching slightly, and he didn't seem to be making any moves to change position.

A sudden realization came over you - this was your chance to act on the desire that had been building inside of you since the moment he walked in, so you asked  him softly, "Mr. Murphy, would you like me to take care of that for you?" and glanced down to his lower body, pointing at the evidence of his arousal pushing against the sheet.

"I can relieve that tension for you too, if you  would like," you suggested, your voice barely above a whisper, though every word was clear and steady. He opened his mouth, about to protest.

"Uhm, I am married, I shouldn't be..." he murmured awkwardly, but then hesitated. You knew this could be your only chance with him, so you pounced.

"That's alright, I do not usually offer this kind of service," you told him. "But, it's just a massage and I can use my hands to alleviate your tension down there, without anyone else having to know about it."

"Uhm, okay," Cillian finally agreed, his voice barely above a whisper, as a shiver of anticipation ran down your spine.

"Perfect, so I will remove the sheet now and continue with your massage," you stated calmly, doing just that as you were met with the unobstructed view of his throbbing erection.

As expected, Cillian reflexively pulled at the sheet to cover himself, but you gently held it in place while explaining, "Mr. Murphy, please trust me when I say that this will help relieve even more tension in your body."

With a slight nod, he released the sheet and closed his eyes, leaving you free to continue.

Leaning forward, you placed your hands on the insides of his thighs and slowly spread them apart. The oil from the massage made them slick and easy to move, and you took full advantage as you began to knead and massage the muscles there.

As you worked, your fingers grazed the base of his shaft, causing him to inhale sharply. You glanced up at him, but continued your ministrations, moving your hands higher up his thighs and closer to his erection while taking in the sight. 

His manhood  was visible now, pulsating and rock hard, with a thick vein running down its length. Your mouth watered as you felt the steely heat radiating from his body, desires swirling and building within you.

"Ah, fuck!" Cillian groaned as you caressed the sensitive underside of his length.

"Shh, it's alright. Just relax," you whispered softly, running one of your oiled up hands over his pubic  area, gently working your way around his shaft. Your heart was pounding in your chest, but you managed to keep your cool. You couldn't believe that you were doing this. You were masturbating Cillian Murphy, a famous actor, during a massage session. It was something that you had never done before, and it was thrilling in a way that you couldn't quite put into words.

With a flick of your wrist and a bit more pressure, you began stroking his shaft with slow, steady movements, making sure that each stroke was deliberate yet soft, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through his form.

"Is the pressure okay for you?" you asked softly, continuing your hand movements up and down his shaft, giving him a surge of pleasure with each stroke.

"Uhhmm, yes..." Cillian muttered breathlessly, unable to form complete sentences from the sensations coursing through his body.

You smiled at his response, feeling encouraged as you continued your hand movements, using the oil to smooth the way, making certain to caress each sensitive inch of him.

You could feel the tension rising in your own body as well, desire pooling between your thighs as you admired Cillian's form beneath your touch. It had been a long time since you had felt such attraction towards someone, and the excitement was overwhelming.

The moan that escaped from Cillian's mouth at your every touch was guttural, and you knew then that he was enjoying the sensation. With one more deep breath, you let your hands glide fully over his straining cock, beginning to massage it slowly with a deliberate pace that caused an air of urgency to grow more prevalent within the room.

You glanced at Cillian and saw him biting his lip, as though trying to contain the moan that threatened to escape him.

"Just relax," you whispered softly, allowing your hand to slide down his penis to cup his balls gently while the other hand worked its way up from the base, tracing each vein that ran along its shaft. 

"Fuck," he groaned, as you continued your steady rhythm, applying the right amount of pressure to cause waves of pleasure to course through his body.

You felt him grow even more rigid in your hands and, with a quick glance, you saw that his eyes were still tightly shut. You knew he was on the brink and, instead of holding back, you decided to bring him over the edge.

"You're so close," you murmured, your breath hot against his ear as moisture pooled between your thighs. "Let it all out." 

You increased the pace of your hands and, with your thumb, massaged the sensitive spot right below the head of his cock. His back arched off the table and a strangled noise left his lips.

You moved your hand faster, dripping oil everywhere, as he gripped the table for dear life. His thighs clenched tightly, and you could physically feel every muscle in his body tensing as his orgasm raced through him. A low, guttural cry echoed through the room, and his seed erupted from his cock, covering your hand and the sheet below.

Watching his cum  spurt from his cock was oddly mesmerizing, and you couldn't help but stare as each spasm took hold of him.

Cillian came hard and fast, his muscles tense and body aching uncontrollably. The sheer amount of pleasure coursing through him was mind-numbing, intensified by your attentive ministrations.

His breathing was labored, his chest rising and falling rapidly as your hands slowed down to a gentler stroke.

You marveled at what had just transpired. This famous actor had climaxed all over your hands, and you couldn't help but feel a bit thrilled by the experience.

"Jesus Christ." Cillian mumbled under his breath, clearly in shock of what he had just experienced.

He opened his eyes, his vision a bit hazy as he took in your form - you, his massage therapist, whose hands had just brought him to an unparalleled climax.

Cillian laid there, half-stunned and entirely spent, taking a moment to regain his bearings as you slowly pulled your hands away from his softening shaft.

You could feel the blood pulsing in your own ears as you took in the sight of him - the glistening mess that remained on his chest, the redness from exertion staining his cheeks, and the way his eyes seemed to have lost all thoughtful intensity.

It was a vulnerable, intimate look that he gave you before speaking up softly. "I am sorry for the mess," he stammered , unable to meet your gaze directly, his cheeks reddening once more.

You couldn't help but let out a small chuckle, "There's no need to apologize, Mr. Murphy, it is completely natural and to be expected after what we just did," your voice still gentle and soothing. "If you could just lay there for a few more minutes, please, so that I can clean you up and give you a moment to compose yourself before we conclude the session," you offered, with sincerity dripping from your voice.

You took a damp washcloth and gently began to clean Cillian's stomach and chest, taking extra care around his still sensitive area. He groaned softly as your warm hand touched him, but didn't stop you. Once he was clean, you threw the cloth into a hamper.

"Now I will leave you to get dressed and you can meet me at the front desk," you said softly, looking at the gorgeous, satiated man lying before you.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice laced with gratitude as well as a hint of regret. "That was..." he faltered, searching for the right word. "Really nice ."

You smiled at his honesty. "I'm glad you enjoyed it, Mr. Murphy." You were satisfied to see him more relaxed and satisfied than he was when he arrived.

You exited the massage room, giving him privacy to get dressed. Your heartbeat was still racing as you replayed the events in your mind. It was an unusual occurrence, but something about Cillian Murphy drew you in, and you couldn't help but feel a connection with him.

At the reception desk, you took a deep breath to calm yourself down.

Your hands were still shaking from the adrenaline rush of what had just occurred. The thought of being so close to a famous actor, and satisfying him in this way, was a thrill unlike anything you had ever experienced before. You gathered your thoughts and prepared to greet Cillian as he walked out of the massage room, but the encounter was not what you expected.

As Cillian entered the reception area, his expression was unreadable. You greeted him with a small smile, but his gaze remained distant, as if he was replaying the events in his mind.

"Did you find the massage enjoyable, Mr. Murphy?" you asked, keeping your tone professional and even.

"It was...yes...it was quite unique," he finally said, meeting your gaze with a look that you couldn't quite decipher.

"I'm glad to have been of service, Mr. Murphy," you replied, aware that the tension between you was palpable.

Cillian remained silent for a moment, as if trying to gather his thoughts.

"I should pay for the massage now," he finally said, reaching for his wallet. "But I have to ask, what are the additional charges for the extra services you provided?" he inquired, his expression a mix of curiosity and uncertainty as he blushed heavily.

"No additional charges. Like I said, I do not usually provide this kind of service as this is a reputable business," you answered, with a carefully nonchalant smile, avoiding any appearance of awkwardness. "Your payment for the massage covers the entire session, regardless of how things progressed, although I was wondering whether I would see you again for another session,"  you added, measuring the mood, hopeful that there might be a possibility of future encounters.

Cillian looked at you, his eyes searching yours for a sign of genuine interest, before finally replying, "I, uhm, yeah. I guess I would like that."

"Great, because there is another type of massage that I would love to try on you. It will make you feel even more relaxed," you said, trying to gauge his interest.

"What kind of massage?" he asked with a curious expression.

The anticipation was playing its role, and you took a deep breath, "Well, it's called a prostate massage," you admitted softly, continuing to maintain eye contact as you gauged his reaction.  

"Okay. That's new, but how about next week? Same time?" Cillian said, as he raised his eyebrows at your proposition. He had heard of this kind of massage before but had never tried it.

You completed his checkout and handed him his receipt. Your hands brushed as the paper was transferred and, suddenly, that bit of contact felt incredibly intimate and intense.

"Excellent, I'll see you next week," you said, the excitement clear in your voice.

Tags:

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[triviallytrue]

I see the benefit in “was able to follow along each step and check for myself that the stated claim was true” but I’ve also seen people say the private vetting process can include things like “had a phone call with them where they fluently spoke the Palestinian dialect of Arabic” that can’t be checked by everyone, or “privately showed me their ID/birth certificate/bank info/official documents”, which probably shouldn’t be publicized. if these sorts of things (which seem fairly reliable if true) are indeed being involved in the process in at least some cases, how do you think people should vouch for that beyond a “trust me it’s vetted” without further clarification, or is it impossible to do so from your perspective since they could just lie?

so my suggested solution to these would be:

post a recording of the phone call, so that other Palestinian Arabic speakers can also attest that it's true

post redacted, watermarked versions of official documents

but you're getting at a very big problem: it takes a lot of information to vet people. the post i reblogged was only able to vet that one fundraiser because she's a PhD with a linkedin, instagram, tiktok, and pictures of her on a scientific organization's website. most people won't have that.

at a certain point, it also becomes a nightmare for the vetters (all or almost all of whom i suspect are just people trying their best in a horrific situation). if it takes an hour (or more) to fully vet one single gofundme, there are a single digit or low double digit number speakers of Palestinian Arabic on here with blog histories that stretch back before October 7th with the ability to vet people, and hundreds of gofundmes... well, you do the math.

this is the kind of work that is normally done by people who are paid to do it full-time, in a centralized fashion, not ad-hoc on the internet. amateurs are going to make mistakes - i've seen blogs successfully filtering out unsophisticated scammers, but this current discourse has already rooted out at least 3 scammers who made it onto the vetted lists. it's asymmetric - scammers can do this full time, hone their methods, figure out what exposed them last time and fix it, and overall iteratively improve the credibility of their scams, but vetters can't really keep raising the standards with the time and resources they have access to.

so unless we make the standards so high that they exclude many actual Palestinians (standards like the ones used in that ask), i think there will be some risk of even vetted fundraisers being scams. how big? 1%? 5%? 10%? i don't know, but it's definitely nonzero, and based on the uncovered scams so far, they are diverting thousands of dollars (possibly tens or hundreds of thousands) away from actual Palestinians.

which is why i think people should just donate to the UNRWA. there's a 100% chance your money will go to helping real Palestinians, and while it won't be as impactful for an individual as getting them across the Rafah crossing, that's only an option for a very small percentage of Palestinians anyway. as said before, there are 800,000 Palestinians in Rafah, something like 500 of which cross each day. those that can't cross and the Palestinians in other parts of Gaza deserve aid as well. people are at risk of starvation and have very limited access to medical care. donation to the UNRWA and organizations like it doesn't free anyone, but it does keep them alive, and the money doesn't end up in the pockets of corrupt Egyptian border officials who will wring every penny they can out of Palestinian refugees.

people are, of course, welcome to do whatever they want with their money, but those are my 2 cents.

[delusionalfanficwriter]

truth comes out

The day had finally arrived. The day Y/N would face Leah on the field, the first time since their breakup. As the referee's whistle blew, signaling the start of the match between the USWNT and England, a complex mix of emotions swirled within Y/N.

The tension between them was palpable. Y/N could feel Leah's eyes on her, the intensity of her presence like an electric charge in the air. The pitch, once a place of shared joy and camaraderie, had become a battlefield where past love and shared memories had turned into heartache and distance.

Y/N was determined to focus on the game, but every glance, every challenge, seemed to carry an extra layer of meaning. It was as though their personal history was playing out on the field for everyone to see. The weight of unspoken words and unresolved feelings hung heavily in the atmosphere.

“Watch it, Y/N.” Leah seethed as she knocked Y/N on her ass when challenging for the ball. Y/N didn’t say anything understanding where Leah’s emotions were coming from. Y/N couldn't help but steal a glance at Leah. Their eyes locked for a brief moment, and Y/N saw the pain and frustration mirrored in her ex's gaze. The game had become a proxy for the emotions they hadn't been able to voice.

Y/N's teammates noticed the tension, even if they didn't know the full story. Tobin and Christen exchanged concerned glances as they sensed something was amiss. A few whispered words passed between them, but no one dared to breach the subject with Y/N. She had always been the one to keep her private life private, and they respected her boundaries.

But it was a passing remark from Sonnet that broke the unspoken rule. With a wry smile, the player said, "Guess there's some tension there, huh?" as Y/N and Leah clashed on the field once again.

However, it was Daly who had overheard and decided to set the record straight. "Oh, you didn't hear? Y/N broke up with Leah," she explained, not realizing the storm she was about to unleash.

The revelation sent ripples through the teams. USWNT players exchanged surprised glances, while Leah's teammates tried to hide their grimaces. The secret Y/N had guarded so fiercely was out in the open, and the discomfort was palpable.

The intense match was reaching a breaking point. As the play continued, Leah's aggression escalated. It was a move that took even her teammates by surprise, and their confused glances suggested that they were equally puzzled by her actions.

The referee's whistle cut through the air as Leah committed a blatant foul on Y/N. She went in for a dirty challenge, walking away as if nothing had happened. Y/N, however, didn't get up. She lay on the ground, wincing in pain.

Tobin sprinted over, shouting at the referee, "Ref! That's a yellow!" She made it clear that Leah's actions were not going unnoticed. Christen, Kristie, and Sonnett, who were nearby, immediately rushed to Y/N's side. They knew that if Y/N wasn't getting up quickly after a hit, things were not good. 

Leah's eyes widened as she saw the extent of the damage her reckless play had caused. Concern and guilt washed over her, and she instinctively moved toward Y/N, intending to check on her. But before she could approach, Tobin, who had been a few steps ahead, physically blocked her path, a stern expression on her face. Tobin pushed Leah away, keeping her from getting any closer to Y/N. She didn't mince her words, her voice low not wanting her words to reach Y/N and laced with frustration, "You need to stay away right now. You've done enough."

Leah could feel the weight of Tobin's words and the intensity behind them. It was clear that her actions had crossed a line, and Tobin was not going to tolerate any further interference. Leah bit her lip, holding back the apologies and explanations that were on the tip of her tongue and instead turned to walk away knowing how protective they were of her. 

Medics and trainers took Y/N off the field on a stretcher before taking her to the locker room for a more detailed exam. 

“It’s fine. My back spasmed when I hit the ground awkwardly. I promise I am fine.” Y/N tells the trainers who ultimately do their physical exam and don’t see anything concerning. With that, they let Y/N go to the locker room that held her concerned teammates and she reassured them that she was okay. 

Tobin spoke gently, her eyes filled with understanding. "Y/N, are you sure you are okay?"

Y/N took a deep breath and nodded, mustering a small, brave smile. "I'm fine, Tobin. Just a tough match."

But it wasn't just the match that had been tough, and Y/N's teammates knew it. They exchanged knowing looks, silently vowing to be there for her, even when she wasn't ready to talk.

After the game though , as Y/N and her teammates made their way to the bus, she couldn't help but notice the shift in their demeanor. They exchanged furtive glances, whispered in hushed tones, and wore expressions that ranged from concern to sympathy. Y/N felt like she was missing something, something important.

During the bus ride back to their hotel, she couldn't ignore the quiet, lingering stares directed her way. The atmosphere was heavy, and her teammates' unusual behavior was impossible to ignore. Their silence, usually filled with banter and laughter, felt oppressive.

Dinner that evening was another revelation. Y/N joined her teammates in the hotel's restaurant, and the moment she sat down at their table, the conversation fell silent. It was as if her presence had disrupted the natural flow of camaraderie and conversation that usually accompanied their post-game meals.

Sensing something was amiss, Y/N furrowed her brows and looked around at her teammates, her curiosity getting the better of her. "Hey, guys, is everything okay? You've been acting a bit strange since the game. Did something happen?"

Tobin, usually the one to lead conversations, cleared her throat and glanced at Christen, seeking support. Christen nodded and took a deep breath. "Y/N, we heard about your breakup with Leah during the game."

Y/N felt her heart drop as the truth hung in the air. She had kept her personal life separate from her soccer career for so long, and now the team knew. Her emotions were a whirlwind, torn between relief at not having to keep the secret and vulnerability at having her heartache exposed.

She managed a small nod, not trusting her voice to speak. Her teammates exchanged glances again, and it was Alex who finally spoke up. "Y/N, we're sorry we didn't know sooner, and we're here for you. You don't have to go through this alone."

Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes, touched by her teammates' support. She had expected them to be curious or invasive, but their response was nothing short of genuine concern and understanding. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice catching in her throat.

[rilakeila]

exchange of roses, teaser (jujutsu academy)

host club! jjk x fem!reader x ohshc

gojo satoru is the head of jujutsu academy's elite high school host club with his friends: geto suguru, nanami kento, itadori sukuna, shoko ieiri, haibara yu, and of course, their princess manager. what happens when they go up against another elite host club on an exchange event with different schools? let's find out!

a/n: haven't planned out if it's a series or collection of one shots, might do both; an au within an au would be fun. let me know if you have any ideas

international jujutsu technology and science academy is one of the world's largest elite private schools, having many campuses around the world. their founding campus is in tokyo, japan. their primary educational directions focuses on the development of technology and sciences. they cater from pre-k to high school (+ college prep). one of the most popular clubs is the high school's host club, where they get to entertain students with too much time on their hands

gojo satoru.

the founder of the said club is gojo satoru, head of the gojo clan who oversees gojo co, one of the oldest construction companies in the world. they focus on architecture specifically traditional japanese architecture. due to the modernizing of the world, they focused on implementing modern taste to the architecture to also maintain competitive in the industry. one of their main projects is upkeeping of the tokyo campus.

geto suguru.

the spokesman/vice president, geto suguru. he is part of the brains of the host club along with kento. the heir of the geto corporations that started their organization due to biochemistry long ago. earlier generations of his family had a massive breakthrough with their research which allowed them to catapult to the top. suguru is currently leading and overseeing the company's subgroup, uzumaki, which is helping the advancement of merging bioengineering within the company.

nanami kento.

the actual brains of the host club, nanami kento. he runs the numbers and makes sure that everything is running well with their princess manager. kento's family mainly function in the banking industry within the financial services but dabble in the investment industry. he still questions as to why he spends his free time (and exerting a lot of effort) with the host club.

itadori sukuna.

just a member/bodyguard of the host club (because he's a giant so he's intimidating), itadori sukuna. the last entering member (satoru was really just curious about sukuna and invited him with the group, ended up being wowed by his host skills). his family is a line of top chefs, selling cookware and cookbooks, and also runs the culinary department of jujutsu academy. (pretty popular probably because his little brother, yuuji, shows up every so often).

shoko ieiri.

here for the shits and giggles, shoko ieiri. her family consists of doctors and engineers which would lead into medical technology. she decided to go down the doctor route but will eventually need to replace her mother's position soon as she (her mother) would be retiring. ieiri joined the host club, just to accompany satoru and suguru, but has not minded the club activities since joining.

haibara yu.

here for the shits and giggles pt. 2, haibara yu (actually, kento asked him to take part of the host club with him). his family is one of the oldest toy manufacturers in japan, as well as branching out to confectioneryand theme parks (which have been successful endeavors). he also supplies all of the treats and tea imports for the host clubs, cutting down the expenses severely due to a large discount (but they do get new recipes sampled for free, just have to pay if they choose to keep it in their lineup)

(y/n) (l/n).

the dear princess manager of the host club. she works behind the scenes with the help of mostly kento but as well as suguru. her family is just old money rich, starting as medics way back during history. due to housing multiple patients and lost people, the business went from medical to hospitality. they moved around, dropping seeds down as they go. it eventually bloomed heavily, leaving a fortune. there's no rightful heir as her and her siblings must work together to figure it out (however, she seems to be the commander of it all)

[whetstonefires]

See I don't necessarily disagree with what seems to be the primary reading that Yue Qingyuan's shifu fucked him over, caring nothing for his needs or preferences and only for whether he was useful. That makes sense, it ties into plenty of the generational and societal themes of the story. It fits.

But iirc we don't actually get enough information to know that's what happened.

And the thing is it would be so in-character and also thematically appropriate if Yue Qingyuan absolutely did not explain his goals or why he was working so hard, because it was private and shameful and he didn't expect any sympathy, and there was a high risk of losing everything if he blabbed.

And also if he engaged with the existing ruleset with which he was presented, i.e. 'can't go off on your own on personal business until you've mastered your sword,' in the most negative and controlling manner possible, as absolute commandments.

He's a different kind of guy but he comes from the same background as Shen Jiu! It fucked him up also!

He is very very very not a guy who trusts the system to make allowances for him--even once he has all the power he 'does what he wants' and 'makes selfish choices' as a conscious transgression; not something he has a right to do, just something he can get away with so he's gonna. (And ofc he spends almost all the latitude he grants himself on sqq.)

And even less is he a guy who opens up easily.

He isn't too proud to ask for help or pity, so much as he just doesn't expect to get any.

So in this interpretation, he understood that rule as a non-negotiable barrier in his path, the target to overcome, and focused all his considerable will and talent on overcoming it through the sphere of action he felt he had control over.

And fucked himself up bad.

Whereupon his teacher, possessing absolutely no context for this dumb shit their star pupil pulled, did the only thing they thought might work to save his life, paying in the process no attention to the raving of someone deep in a psychotic break.

Like, I feel like there should have been a better, kinder medical option, but I don't know for sure that there was, so I can't say with certainty this was the kind of cruelty that derives from not caring enough.

And it really would be kind of elegant and so typical of Yue Qingyuan's fundamental tragedy if the real mistake was 'not confiding in anybody' the whole time.

And he was just so deeply sunk into the understanding that explaining and asking were useless that, even looking back, it never really occurred to him that maybe his mistake wasn't 'fucking it up when trying too hard to solve everything on his own' but 'assuming there was no help to be had, and that he had to do it all on his own.'

Like. What if this really could all have been avoided if he'd just trusted and communicated with the adult in charge of him? But of course, of course his history of trauma (neglect, child abuse, exploitation, being the One Responsible for the younger kids whom he could not keep safe) meant he was absolutely not going to do that.

It was basically impossible. For the person he was, the person the world had made of him. And that's always been the core tragedy the whole novel circles back upon.

People can only ever be themselves, and so very often the elements of self that let them survive until now are that which dooms them, that means they need someone else to intervene if they're ever going to be saved. Because your personal doom is always the thing from which you can't save yourself.

[yanderepalace]

Could I request some Korekiyo Shinguji (from DRV3) headcanons, if you're free? ty! <33

Yandere!Korekiyo General headcanons

warnings: stalking, manipulation

a/n: this is extremely late but hope you enjoy!

Korekiyo, first appeared unassuming. Charming, polite, articulate, what could you have possibly expected?

You were a fascinating specimen in his eyes, someone he could just watch for hours.

Soon as his fixation on you increased, he began to insert himself in your life more and more. He’d appear out of nowhere during private conversations to offer his opinion.

As well, he began to give you very extravagant gifts, expensive ancient artifacts, priceless delicate jewelry he insisted you wear immediately.

Wherever you went, Korekiyo was there to offer his “guidance”, Influencing any decision you make. He’d always seem to know exactly where you are at any given time.

Korekiyo has a private notebook dedicated to you, your interests, history, medical records, every interaction you’ve ever had with him, documented verbatim, including detailed drawings of you.

Korekiyo had build a shrine of your “artifacts”. He’s very meticulous with the things he collects, such as a strand of your hair stored in a locket, handwritten notes, even your favorite book that went missing. He took great pleasure in keeping your shrine clean as can be and arranged the items in his correct order every morning.

The more you hung around Korekiyo, the more his mask slipped, he’d occasionally let slip unsolicited facts about you slip out that he had no way of possibly knowing.

While he kept his calm and collected persona around others, while alone with you he grew possessive. He would try to convince you with his articulate words giving you an unwanted lecture to stay away from the others, giving you reasons they were no good.

Behind his composed demeanor you soon began to realize the intensity that lay beneath. The weight of his gaze as it followed you, studying you, anticipating your every move always one step ahead of any possible attempt to get away from him.

The more you resisted, Korekiyo’s behavior became subtly more erratic. You could feel his palpable animosity filling the room whenever you would ignore him for someone else.

When he finally got you attention, he would press you for details about your interactions with anyone else.

He always had a way for talking your ear off about various interesting cultural topics and ancient traditions, but over time you noticed them taking a darker, more sinister nuance. He’d explain in great detail about beliefs of ancient human sacrifice and rituals of eternal union with such an undertone in his voice that made unsettled you.

To outsiders, Korekiyo maintained his charming facade, skillfully hiding the depth of his depravity. It was only in private where you would experience the true depth of his limerance and suffocating possession.

[heyiwrotesomethings]

Metamorphosis

Shinobu Kochou x Trans She/Her Reader

A/N: Sorry for the insane wait! I’m gonna take a nap now! Hopefully the typos aren’t horrible. Warning: Misgendering both intentional and not, gender dysphoria, coming out, brief discussion of potential surgery and use of medication. If there is more I should mention, please let me know. Thank you for reading! Word Count: 5,518

Shinobu was a very busy woman, countless slayers passed through her doors, many of which she wouldn’t even see during their visit, taken care of by one of the other residents while she was on missions or furthering her research.

However, there were times when her intervention was crucial, or she simply took an interest in those who happened to cross her path and give a little more of her time and consideration where she could. Case and point, Tanjiro and company, but without the rambunctious quartet chasing each other around the mansion at this early morning hour, her attention was caught by another.

The slayer waiting for assistance in her infirmary today appeared perfectly healthy, though maybe a bit nervous and sleep deprived if the bags under each eye were anything to go by. Being nervous was common enough amongst patients, even if they were only there for a run-of-the-mill check-up. However, those check-ups usually weren’t at five in the morning. Shinobu could have left it to one of the other girls or a Kakushi to handle, but something told her to take on this patient herself.

“My, you’re here early, good morning!” She spoke pleasantly as she began her approach, startling the patient out of their thoughts. Shinobu noted that he seemed to become more agitated and on edge.

“Good morning, Kochou-sama.” The slayer spoke softly, then gave Shinobu an abrupt bow, his long ponytail nearly cracking like a whip from the force.

Shinobu hummed in amusement and took a seat beside the cot her patient had chosen as a tentative perch while waiting for assistance.

“Well, I will say you look perfectly healthy from where I’m sitting. If you’re here for a physical or something minor, we usually ask that you make an appointment, but as you can see it’s one of those rare, quiet mornings so I’ll let it slide just this once, okay?” She informed, throwing in a playful wink for good measure.

The patient seemed conflicted, and to Shinobu it seemed that he had something he really wanted to say, but he managed to swallow it down for better or for worse, looking down at his tightly clasped hands.

“I’m sorry, I should have thought about that.”

“No harm done.” Shinobu assured, gesturing with her hand towards her office, thinking a more private space would be appreciated, “Come along and we’ll see how everything is going, alright?”

The patient seemed to hesitate again, but eventually replied with a hoarse, “Alright.”

Shinobu led the slayer to her office and motioned for them to sit as she closed the door behind them. She then began to carry out the standard exam. She pulled out the slayer’s medical history file, saying the name aloud to make sure she had the right one. The patient seemed to tense, but nodded stiffly in confirmation. Shinobu had chalked it up to more nerves and continued on with the exam.

Well, as much as she could since he was stubbornly insistent on keeping his shirt on, but Shinobu worked around it. It was actually a bit refreshing considering most men that walked through her doors couldn’t wait to show off. Once she checked over all she could, Shinobu sat back in her seat.

“Well, Ln-san, everything here checks out. Nothing to worry about, you’re a perfectly healthy young man, congratulations.” Shinobu lightly joked and smiled reassuringly and put in a few finishing notes on the record. “You’re free to go.”

“O-kay.”

Shinobu’s pen froze mid-stroke upon hearing how the slayer’s voice cracked, she glanced up with a slightly startled look upon her face. Her patient seemed to be breathing heavier, his eyes shined with a wet film of held back tears, causing Shinobu to sit up straighter in her chair, more alert.

“Oh dear, is something the matter?” She asked innocently, unaware of just how heavy the answer to that question would be.

The slayer’s bottom lip trembled as he tried to put on a brave face. Shinobu noted how his shoulders shook, the inhales of air when he tried to speak were noisy and abrupt. Shinobu kept calm and attempted to coax him.

“I don’t know what to do, Kochou-sama…”

“About what?” She asked gently.

A sort of watery, abrupt guffaw left the slayer’s mouth, a shake of the head and a frustrated toss of the hands.

“See, I couldn’t sleep for months because it was all I could think about… I thought about what I would do and how to explain… but now that I’m here… I- it’s all slipped my mind! It’s been slowly eating away at me for years, and now that I’m finally trying to say it out loud to someone, I can’t do it!”

“For simply slipping your mind, you sure seem to be intimately aware of your troubles. You’re just dancing around the issue for whatever reason that may be, but not quite saying it.” Shinobu leaned forward in her chair. “As insurmountable as it may seem to you, I cannot help if I don’t know what is keeping you up at night. You need to take that step yourself. The words don’t have to be perfectly articulate from the get go. You can always refine it once you get something out.”

The slayer continued to be conflicted, earning a sigh and a firm stare from Shinobu. She could clearly see this was a sensitive issue, but she truly could not sit here all day even if she wanted to. She could send the slayer Aoi’s way and maybe check on the situation later, but for now…

“I apologize for rushing you, but I do have other engagements—“

“I’m a woman!” They blurted hastily, hands tightly pressed together.

“…O-Oh!” Shinobu blinked in surprise, then reached for the slayer’s file again. “I’m sorry… whoever drafted your papers must have made an error.”

“Yes! Well, no, but yes. Um, it was ‘right’, given how I was born, but as I got a little older and thought about it more, the more it felt like it didn’t fit.” The slayer swallowed thickly, “I’ve been raised male, but that never felt quite right and… I know what I want now, what feels right and, and makes me feel like I can breathe and makes everything feel a little less suffocating. I just… there are some things about my body and how people perceive me that make me uncomfortable on the good days and like I could just about die on the bad days and I don’t really know how to do anything about it and I need help, please.”

Now that the slayer had divulged her plight to Shinobu, the slayer felt a strange weightlessness, but also like she might throw up from the stress and uncertainty of how Shinobu would process this information. They were practically strangers, she was taking a huge risk confiding in her.

Shinobu wasn’t going to let that look of dread quickly growing in the slayer’s eyes continue, she laid the file flat on her desk and dipped a pen in ink. After pushing her sleeve up, she smudged out the gender and swiftly replaced it. The slayer focused on the motion, lips parting in surprise. Shinobu smiled reassuringly, tapping the paper.

“Anything else that needs to be edited?” Shinobu inquired warmly, “It looks a little messy now, but once the proper corrections are made, a new one can be drafted.”

The tears that had weld up in the slayer’s eyes for a myriad of reasons in the past twenty-four hours finally bubbled past the dam and streamed down her face. She hurriedly tried to wipe them away.

“Sorry.”

“It’s alright, take your time.” Shinobu offered a handkerchief that was graciously accepted. After a minute, she pulled herself together, still a little weepy, but able to better communicate her wishes.

“M-my name. Could you change that too?” She asked, hopefully.

“Easily.” Shinobu affirmed. “Do you already have something in mind already? If not, I’m sure I could come up with something good.” Shinobu’s mind was already turning through a list of possibilities, even recycling some of the unjustly rejected names she had chosen when they had taken Kanao in.

Unfortunately for Shinobu, but fortunately for the slayer, she had already thought about this extensively and had a name at the ready.

“Yn.” She had answered, Yn had said the name to herself before, whispered it under her breath some late nights when she could not sleep, along with others that stood out to her, finding this particular name to be her favorite. Saying it aloud to someone else, someone she hoped would continue to be as accepting as she seemed to be right now, it felt even better.

Shinobu hummed and nodded, striking out the discarded name and putting the proper one in its place.

“And so it shall be.”

***

Yn was nervous, so so so nervous, but also excited. After having her latest late night crisis that had brought her to the steps of the Butterfly Mansion a week ago, she was coming back with a proper appointment. Shinobu had told her she would need to do some research on the science-y end of things, which had surprised Yn a bit.

She didn’t really know what to expect when getting Shinobu involved, but knowing she was packing extra specialized research into her already busy schedule just for Yn really blew her away. She couldn’t have been more grateful, which was why she was bringing a basket of treats as a thank you.

She wasn’t really sure what Shinobu liked… so she made a little bit of everything. Worst came to worst, at least the other residents might enjoy it. Though she really hoped Shinobu would like at least one thing she baked to make sure the extra hours she spent late last night were not used in vein. Not that she would have been able to sleep anyway.

She weaved her way through the garden and left her shoes at the entrance, making her way through the winding halls until she made it back to Shinobu’s office. After a couple of deep breaths, she knocked on the door before she could lose her nerve.

“Come in.”

“Pardon the intrusion.” Yn slid the door open and took pause upon seeing the amount of books spread around the office. There had been plenty of books before, but they were all neatly tucked away in their proper shelves. Now the quantity had appeared to noticeably increase and was liberally spread across almost every surface.

Shinobu was in between two precarious stacks at her desk, hair a bit mussed and a somewhat irradiated look in her eyes as she skimmed the page she was hunched over. She didn’t look extremely disheveled at all, but from what Yn knew of Shinobu’s reputation, appearing even a little out of sorts seemed unusual.

Something about it was highly attractive though.

Yn shook her head of the thought and gently knocked on the doorframe to remind Shinobu of her presence because even though she had invited Yn in, she had yet to look up.

“Aoi, I expressed…“ Shinobu’s gaze flickered upward and she seemed to freeze momentarily before she tried to side-eye the clock she kept on her desk. Tried to, because it was somewhere behind a wall of books.

“Oh!” She cleared her throat and stood from her desk. “My, is it that time already? I was just getting ready for you. Pardon the mess.”

It was pretty clear to Yn, that Shinobu had not at all been ready to receive her, but it was unnecessarily cute by how much Shinobu was trying to downplay just how caught off guard she was.

“It’s no problem. I uh, I like to read too.” Yn twirled the basket in her hands as Shinobu started slinging books back into their proper place in the shelves. “…Can I help?”

“Don’t trouble yourself, have a seat and I’ll be with you shortly…” Shinobu inhaled, smelling a sugary scent that reminded her she had neglected to eat breakfast, and lunch for that matter. She shoved a couple more books into place, the sound overtaking the sudden grumble of her stomach. She glanced curiously at the basket on Yn’s lap. “What do you have there?”

“I made some things as a thank you.” Yn looked down at her basket, her cheeks feeling a bit warm. “I don’t know what you like, but I wanted to bring something.”

Shinobu strode back, glancing over Yn’s shoulder into the basket. She blinked in surprise.

“You made all of this? For me?”

“Yes, please take it.” She offered Shinobu the basket. “If you aren’t a fan, please share them with the girls. I’d ask if you could please tell me your preferences so I can try to thank you again properly.”

Shinobu was so hungry at this point, she would eat a slice of stale bread if it was available, but this basket of treats was nothing less than immaculate. She graciously accepted.

“No, this is a lovely gift, thank you.” Shinobu said, graciously. “I can’t say I feel like I deserve such an opulent assortment just yet, but I will give you my best.” Her stomach reminded her of its existence yet again. “Would you find it terribly rude of me to indulge as we speak?”

“Absolutely not, go ahead.”

“Thank you.” Shinobu eased herself into her chair and retrieved a sweet bread roll that was calling her name. “Please help yourself as well if you’d like.”

“That’s alright, I’ve had my fair share.” Yn laughed, sheepishly.

Shinobu bit into the roll and felt better the instant she swallowed the first bite. She really needed that. On the second bite, she actually took the time to taste and she mourned the quick departure of the first.

“This is very good, Ln-san.” She praised. “You are really quite skilled.”

Yn felt a weight lift off of her shoulders, so much so she might float away from the praise. “Thank you so much! I’m so glad you like it!”

Shinobu finished the roll in a couple more bites and resisted the urge to pick through the basket for something else to sample. There were important matters to attend to after all and she had already been more frazzled than she would have ever liked to be in polite company.

She still had a couple books of her desk, certain pages book marked and ready to be referenced. Aggravatingly brief and scarce pages, to be precise. Better than absolutely nothing, she supposed.

“Let’s get the ball rolling then, shall we?”

Yn felt the nerves and excitement bubble within her once more. She couldn’t believe she was actually here, talking to someone. Not just someone, but a person who had the means and know-how to… to do what exactly, Yn wasn’t sure, but she was ready to hear her options.

“Alright,” Shinobu exhales, “what you’ve disclosed to me, it’s not unheard of. Unfortunately, my collection is lacking on in depth information. I do apologize for that, but I am getting my hands on a few works dedicated to the topic, it’ll just take some time for them to arrive.”

“It’s already beyond my expectations that I’m talking to anyone about this at all. I really can’t thank you enough for going through all this trouble for me.” Yn tried to put as much gratitude into her voice as she could.

“You’ve done more than enough thanking for one day and probably for the duration of however long it takes you to get to a more comfortable place in your presentation.” Shinobu assured with a kind smile, sliding a book over to Yn. “Let’s see what we know so far…”

***

So far so good… Yn couldn’t complain, she just wished she could feel a difference with the little pills she had each morning. Shinobu said they could possibly up the dosages later, but she wanted to start small and monitor for any negative side effects.

Her other option, though a quicker result, would be a highly experimental surgical procedure. Just listening to Shinobu explain how she might accomplish such a thing made Yn feel more than a little faint. Shinobu assured she would study the logistics of such a procedure before attempting it herself, but Yn wasn’t in a hurry to go under the knife so she could live with her little cocktail of estrogen pills and testosterone blockers that Shinobu and Aoi cobbled together.

Okay, that was unfair choice of words, Shinobu had worked tirelessly researching hormones and how to stimulate and stagnate them. It only took her about two months before she had something she was confident enough in to prescribe to Yn and she couldn’t have been more grateful, truly, again, she just really wished she could notice even the slightest change.

She sighed and put the pill bottle down, noticing a very light clinking sound as she did so. Curiously, she picks up another one of the bottles and gives it a little shake. She would have to get those refilled…

A warmth buzzed in her chest, an excuse to go back to the Butterfly Estate! Shinobu had said she could stop by anytime… but it never felt right to invite herself over, especially when Shinobu was always so busy. There wasn’t a guarantee that she would even be there at all.

However, her medication running low was the perfect excuse to test her luck and find out if Shinobu was around. If nothing else, it was always nice to see the others and seeing the younger ones smile when she came bearing treats was always a delight. So, she packed up some dango she had made yesterday and set off.

She was greeted as soon as she made it to the gates, Sumi, Kiyo and Naho running over from the garden. They tried not to look too hopeful about the contents of Yn’s bag, but Yn could plainly see how eager they were for a treat and she was happy to oblige.

“You’re going to spoil them, you know.” Aoi said, coming out of the mansion with a basket of laundry. She set the basket down and brushed her hands down her front. “We were wondering when you might make an appearance. Shinobu-sama was getting antsy, you shouldn’t wait until you’re down to the wire on your medication before coming in for a refill. You never know what might come up.”

“Sorry,” Yn rubbed the back of her neck, “I didn’t think about that.”

Aoi sighed and shook her head. “No harm done. Come with me and I’ll refill your prescription. After that, Shinobu-sama will want to check you over. It’s a little unfortunate that she’s in the middle of entertaining right now.”

“Entertaining?”

Before Aoi could elaborate, Shinobu happened to turn the corner, chatting with the Love Hashira beside her. Shinobu looked up and smiled warmly, making Yn’s heart flutter.

“Hello there, Ln-san, I was starting to worry about you.” Shinobu scolded jokingly.

“I’m sorry, Kochou-sama, I didn’t realize I was being missed.” Yn smiled sheepishly.

“Shinobu-chan!” Mitsuri, the Love Hashira, tugged on Shinobu’s haori, “Introduce me, will you? Who is this? A friend?”

“Yes,” Shinobu held out a hand in Yn’s direction, “This is Ln Yn, she’s also a patient of mine.”

Shinobu was sure Mitsuri would be endlessly supportive and kind as always if she had explained the situation, but it wasn’t her place to do so, it was Yn’s, if she saw fit.

“Oh!” Mitsuri pressed forward, hands clasped in front of her chest. So close that Yn instinctively took a step back from the sudden proximity. “You aren’t terribly sick, are you? That would be just awful! You know what always makes me feel better when I’m sick? Soup! Soup and dumplings and roasted vegetables and fish and—“

“Kanroji-san,” Shinobu put a hand on her back, “Ln-san will be just fine. It’s mostly just consultation.”

“Ah—“ Mitsuri blushed, a couple beads of sweat gathering oil on her brow, “That’s… that’s good! Very good!” She clapped her hands on Yn’s shoulders, making the other slayers almost wince at the overuse of force. “Stay healthy, Ln-san!”

“I- I will do my best, Kanroji-sama.” Yn promised, rubbing one of her poor shoulders.

“Mm! Mm!” Mitsuri nodded, her arms crossed. She opened her mouth to speak again, but instead a low rumble was heard from her stomach, renewing the intensity of her blush. “Ah! So embarrassing!”

“We were about to make lunch.” Shinobu shared, “You should join us.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose…”

“The more the merrier!” Mitsuri insisted. “Aoi-chan, you too!”

“I already ate.” Aoi refused, but then gave Yn the side-eye, “I wouldn’t mind a bit of dessert before it’s gone, however.”

“Oh! Yes, here you go, Aoi-san. Here is Kanao-san’s share too.” Yn presented Aoi with a few wrapped dango.

“Thank you, I’ll make sure she gets it.”

Yn felt an intense stare as Aoi walked away and slowly turned her head to see Mitsuri staring at her with big, hopeful eyes. Not very unlike how Kiyo, Sumi and Naho looked at her upon her arrival, actually.

“Is that… dango? It smells so good.” Mitsuri sighed wistfully.

“You can have some too if you want, I made a lot.” Yn offered, the sweetheart that she was.

“You made it yourself? Homemade is always the best!” Mitsuri danced foot to foot, “I can have some? Really?”

“Of course—“

Yn found herself in a crushing embrace, a few of her lumbar vertebrae made a dull cracking sound.

“That’s so nice! Thank you!”

“Kanroji-san, Ln-san isn’t used to your hugs be careful with her.” Shinobu gently reminded.

Mitsuri drew back, concerned and sheepish, “Sorry…”

“I’m okay.” Yn wheezed, handing a couple wrapped dango over to Mitsuri. “Here you go.”

Mitsuri exclaimed in excitement, accepting the offering. “Thank you!” She eagerly dug in, humming happily,

“You saved enough for me too, right, Ln-san?” Shinobu creeped up beside her, a sly smile on her face, “I would feel so left out if everyone got to enjoy a treat besides myself…”

“I have more!” Yn assured, a bit too panicked, making Shinobu chuckle.

“It’s alright, please breathe easy.”

“You’re so mean, Shinobu-chan.” Mitsuri whined, her mouth full of dango.

“Sorry, sorry~” Shinobu waved her hand, not looking very sorry at all. “Lunch will make up for it, I promise. Kanroji-san has a new recipe from the west we’re going to try.”

“Yes!” Mitsuri clapped, dango already devoured.

“Then I can give you a quick check-up and make sure everything is good to go.” Shinobu promised, already guiding Yn towards the kitchen.

***

It hadn’t taken long for Mitsuri to worm her way into Yn’s heart and earn her trust. Having Mitsuri to confide in was huge. A friend, a confidant and a sister, giving her all sorts of tips and tricks about makeup, clothes and even how to carry herself. There were even things she would ask Mitsuri about that she felt too embarrassed to ask Shinobu about, something that the Insect Hashira noticed and felt a bit jelous about… not that she would ever admit it.

She did, however, interrogate when she felt it necessary, which is how she found herself heading to one of her least favorite places on the planet.

“O-oh, Kochou-sama,” Maeda wrung his hands nervously, sweating in the Hashira’s presence, “what a… pleasant surprise. Do you have a uniform that requires mending?”

“I’m not here for me.” She spoke curtly, making Maeda flinch.

“I- I see… then Tsuyuri-sama, or Kanzaki-san…?”

“No. Shinobu drew closer like a lion circling prey, “I’m here for Ln Yn, she asked for a uniform alteration and I was informed that you turned her away. Is that correct?”

“Ln-san…” Maeda swallowed thickly, “his request was ridiculous, a- a joke I’m sure…”

Shinobu’s eyes flashed, giving Maeda a quick taste of the fury nestled just below her skin, “Masao-san,” she spoke, in an overly sweet tone, “you amaze me, truly.”

“I, I do?” The poor fool almost looked hopeful, but Shinobu quickly shut that down.

“Just when I think you can’t go any lower, you find yourself a shovel.”

Maeda cowered, had he been born a turtle, he would have retreated into his shell as Shinobu proceeded to rip him a new one.

“You know how I loathe your designs… a uniform that’s supposed to protect one from the slashes of the lowest levels of demons, yet you purposefully leave some of the most vital spots bare. Do you know how many women in the corps have been injured, killed, because they were too polite to reject your perversions?” She asked heatedly, not giving him time to answer,

“I loathe it… however, I respect those who feel empowered showing a little skin, if that is truly what they desire. Imagine my surprise when you had not leapt at the chance to give Ln-san a skirt.”

“Kochou-sama, please understand it’s because h—“

“She.” Shinobu cut him off. “You will make her a skirt, about knee length, as she desires or we can guess how long it will take for me to set your base of operations ablaze. It was a little tricky burning that trash you tried to pawn off on me those few short years ago, but I’m confident I still remember how I did it…”

“K-Kochou-sama, please! I don’t even have the measurements!”

Shinobu presented a piece of parchment from her breast pocket, nearly shoving it in his face.

“I took the liberty of getting them myself. I know you already have uniforms on standby, it shouldn’t take long to fix one up to the proper perimeters I’ve set for you. Finish within the hour please, it’s quite chilly today and who is to say what I might do to ensure I stay warm.” She warned, a chilling smile upon her lips.

Safe to say she had a lovely skirt in her hands half an hour later. The unrestrained hug of gratitude Yn had provided upon her return made dealing with the unpleasant tailor all the more worth it. Not to mention… the skirt did look quite good on her and that was only the beginning of Yn’s new wardrobe.

***

Entering the boutique with Shinobu and Mitsuri, Yn felt almost giddy. A girls outing, Mitsuri had suggested excitedly when they had all found themselves together with some rare free time. Well, Shinobu never truly had free time, but she’d be damned if she missed out on seeing Yn try on some cute clothes.

They did run into a little trouble early on, a small group of gossiping women following them around the store, causing Yn grief with their scrutiny. Shinobu wouldn’t let that last for long. To this day Yn still didn’t know what Shinobu had said to those women when she approached them, but she’d never forget how they paled and quickly left the shop in a flurry, getting tangled up in the entryway as one tried to make her hasty exit before the other.

“What did you say to them, Shinobu-chan?” Mitsuri had been the one to ask, while rubbing Yn’s back comfortingly.

Shinobu only smiled, raising a finger to her lips, making Mitsuri and Yn chuckle nervously. She then held out her hand to Yn for her to take and pulled her towards the fabrics for more formal occasions.

“Let’s continue to enjoy our outing, shall we? Kanroji-san, help her pick something nice, my treat.”

Mitsuri wasted no time pushing Yn through the rows of kimono. Shinobu smiled fondly, waiting for their return. She wanted to be surprised, and surprised she was upon their return.

“What do you think?” Yn asked shyly, doing a little spin when Mitsuri enthusiastically prompted her to.

Shinobu’s eyes greedily took in every detail and she sighed inwardly. Of course Mitsuri just had to put her in purple. She had to wonder if Mitsuri could read her mind and was trying to force Shinobu’s hand to finally make a move… Shinobu shook off that idea rather quickly, she had done well to hide her attraction and Mitsuri wasn’t that perceptive. It was a very good unintentional attempt, however. Her instincts managed a direct hit on Shinobu’s heart and now she had to attempt to be casual in her approval instead of foaming at the mouth.

“You look lovely. It really suits you.” Shinobu allowed her eyes to wander under the guise of appraising the outfit and nothing more, soon finding an excuse to get a bit more hands-on because she just couldn’t seem to help herself.

“Just have to straighten out the obi a little.”

“Thank you.” Yn murmured, feeling a little tingly from the gentle tugs and smoothing of fabric. “Are you sure it isn’t… too much?”

“Not at all, I can easily afford this.” Shinobu assured.

“No, I mean, does it really suit me?”

“Ln-san,” Shinobu gripped her bicep, squeezing it in warning, “do you think Kanroji-san or I, would lie to you?”

“No!” Yn squawked.

“Do you think Kanroji-san and I don’t know what looks good?” She pressed.

“No!” Yn rapidly shook her head. “I- I don’t think that at all!”

“Excellent. Pay no mind to what a couple of uninspired, uneducated women who can’t tell you if water is wet without asking their husbands have to say about what you can or can’t wear. Understand me? You’re beautiful.”

Yn felt herself tear up a bit. Shinobu was just too kind. How could someone so amazing exist at the same time as her, let alone be in such close proximity, comforting her? As lovely as the kimono was, she was starting to feel a little too warm with Shinobu staring at her so intently, her fingers still curled around the edge of her obi.

Then Mitsuri scooped her up in an all encompassing hug that made it nearly impossible to breathe.

“Shinobu-chan is right you know! So forget them and let’s have a good time. I know a thing or two about people like that, and it’s really for the best to not acknowledge them at all.”

“Or you could put something unpleasant in their tea.” Shinobu smiled ominously.

“Shinobu-chan!” Mitsuri gasped, hiding a giggle behind her hands.

Yn looked between the two giggling women and couldn’t help but join along, she couldn’t believe what a difference six months could make.

Mitsuri had been called off to a mission just as they were wrapping up dinner in the city, leaving Yn and Shinobu on their own.

“You should stay in the Butterfly Mansion tonight, it’s getting late.” Shinobu spoke up when they came upon the crossroads where they would have to part ways normally.

“That’s alright, Kochou-sama, I—“

“It’s not imposing if I’m actively inviting you over, Ln-san.” She interrupted. “Besides, you look so pretty in your new kimono that I couldn’t possibly leave you on your own to fend off any unwanted advances.”

Yn felt her face heat up, only getting warmer when Shinobu took her hand and pulled her in the direction of the mansion.

“And I have something I’ve been meaning to give you anyway.” She added softly.

***

Upon arriving at the mansion’s gates, Shinobu prompted Yn to wait at the garden’s edge, the sunset provided the kind of ambiance she was hoping for.

Yn rocked from her heels to her toes, waiting anxiously for Shinobu’s return. To be honest, she had something she wanted to tell her. She wasn’t expecting much, she just hoped at the very least, it wouldn’t change their relationship in a negative way.

“Boo.”

Yn jumped as high as the sunflower stalks when Shinobu snuck up behind her, poking her between the shoulder blades.

“Kochou-san! Don’t do that!” She whined, making the Hashira giggle.

“I’m sorry, you just make it too easy sometimes. Anyway,” she presented a thin box to Yn, “for you, it actually matches your new kimono.” She smiled, waiting for Yn to open the box.

“Thank you.” Yn murmured, gasping softly when a butterfly hair ornament, not too dissimilar from Shinobu’s own was revealed to her as soon as she opened the box. “Kochou-sama, this is really for me?”

“Who else would it be for, silly?” She grinned. “Let me help you put it on.”

Yn let Shinobu guide her to a nearby bench and fix the clip into her hair.

“Beautiful.”

“Like a chivalrous knight…” Yn spoke aloud softly, gently bringing her hand up to touch the butterfly’s wings.

“What was that?” Shinobu chuckled, a bit of pink gathering in her cheeks.

Yn yelped, bringing her hands to her mouth.

“D-did I say that out loud? I- I just meant, well, you are kind of like a knight. Helping me, protecting me… I really appreciate everything you do.” She babbled, freezing up when Shinobu hugged her from behind.

“If I’m the knight, then you’re the princess.” She spoke near Yn’s ear, making her shiver. Shinobu chuckled and squeezed her a little tighter.

Safe to say, what Yn wanted to tell her would be very well received.

[pastel-medic]

So, wait, if Axel is the Spy that Red Medic removed the head of, how are they in a relationship? Wouldn't that spawn some kind of resentment?

I'm going to trigger warn this post for topics of s//cide, depression, and poor health because I can't exactly explain their dynamic without getting into Axel's mental health. I tried to make this as brief as I could but it ended up becoming an oc ramble anyway 😭 sorry in advance for the long post!!!

Also please note my personal lore and hcs for them isn't strictly based on canon lore, so RED Medic having Axel's head in fridge is due to different reasons than just being a crazy doctor :V

You have been warned!!!

This will be delving a bit more into Axel's character, and a lot of this I will try not to spoil too much as it is a plot point in an ongoing fic I'm writing.

Axel is, to put it simply, someone who struggles immensely with self identity and has a very nihilistic point of view. Working as a Spy for years since he was young has created a sense of worthlessness in his mind, as he viewed himself as a nobody who wears the faces of other people (especially after an incident that I won't detail since it's spoilers). He hasn't been able to hold relationships because he constantly "changes his identity", adopting a new fake name and fake history with every new assignment he's given while leaving the people he once formed bonds with behind once his work is done.

On top of that the people who had taught him to be a Spy often compared him constantly to his brother Pierre (RED Spy), so he never felt like he was good enough. He developed depression when he was a young adult and hasn't been able to cope in healthy ways, which led to him having very poor health and malnutrition. Every time he was offered help and support he rejected it out of fear and ran away (metaphorically and literally), the folly of pride and the guilt of being a burden to someone else. He's had many s//cidal tendencies (a lot of Axel is split from my personal trauma so bear with me), and believed that if he were to just disappear one day nobody would notice. He's waiting, HOPING, that one day he can just disappear forever...

So when he's taken by the RED Medic as a mere head in a fridge imagine his confusion when the enemy doctor refuses to kill him immediately no matter what he says. "Kill me" he keeps saying. "Later" is the only response he gets. Yet the doctor doesn't ever seem to want to. At first Axel thinks it's because of scientific curiosity, and he'd be right at first, but that's not the real reason Medic keeps him around. As it turns out Ludwig has a slightly twisted and odd excuse for keeping him around.

Seeing the Spy in a state of self destruction and withering health hurts Ludwig as a medical professional. A doctor's duty to heal others is something that even with his crazy mind still remains true. He can't help but feel the need to heal this person, his own enemy, who has become nearly broken beyond repair. He wants to help the Spy, but his solution is pretty bizarre and unconventional. If he keeps the Spy around he can try to heal the brokenness in his mind. As a head in a fridge he can't run away from the help offered to him. He realizes he doesn't want to just heal the Spy, he wants to help him; He wants to give Axel that feeling of value in his life that he struggles to have. He wants to be the person who can save Axel no matter how insane his methods are, a Don Quixote.

He wants to help Spy live.

"You are not the masks you wear, nor are you a nobody without them. You are you. And you are important no matter what."

As foolish as this logic is it's effective, as it doesn't give Spy that door to escape to. Now he HAS to see the damage to himself. Though the longer Spy stays with the enemy Medic the more he can see that he isn't the only one who needs healing. Out of all the people Ludwig can heal, he doesn't seem to be able to want to heal himself. All of his struggles are private, and he keeps the pain hidden away behind closed doors. It seems Spy is not alone when it comes to blocking others out. Medic knows he has sins crawling up his back, yet he actively pretends the Devil on his shoulder isn't there. Yet the more he ignores his mental strain the more volatile and unstable it becomes. He cannot see the damage he is inflicting on himself, and Spy knows he will continue to turn a blind eye unless he sees the harm it is causing. Regardless of how crazy it is, he realizes he wants to help the doctor too.

Spy wants to be someone who can help Medic see his self worth, a mirror to show him that he is more than simply a healer for others.

"How can you help those around you if you refuse to help yourself? You are deserving of healing too."

TL;DR to reiterate one of my previous posts about my MedicSpy ship their dynamic has always been about healing and finding security and comfort in someone who cares about you. Yes they have their flaws and are not perfect by any means, but they uplift and support each other because they care.

[chiefdirector]

Discovering | Tim Bradford | The Rookie

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Tim could feel the blood pounding through his veins, the sound reverberated through him. Each pump seemed to get louder and louder. Each thud was felt in his chest. He looked down only to find his hands were shaking beyond his control. If he hadn't drawn his attention away from his heartbeat, he wouldn't have noticed the tremors, or the people rushing around him as he stayed frozen to his spot.

Harper and West were getting equipment. Nolan and Chen were to one side, discussing something that Tim couldn't hear. Grey and the Captain whose name Bradford hadn't bothered to learn were to the other side of the room, silently watching the rest of the station prepare to go into the unknown.

The files that had been given out in the briefing yesterday had instructed each team on what their assignment was. Harper would be going with Nolan to check out the safehouse that was assigned to (Y/N)’s operation to see if there was anything that could hint to her current location. Lopez was to head back to interrogation to attempt to get Williamson to give up any more information. Chen was staying behind with him to review everything from the beginning. 

“Hey,” Chen said, bringing Tim’s mind back to him, “Grey is waiting for us in the conference room. Are you ready?”

“Yeah, lead the way.”

-----

“So, from the beginning, Detective Bradford started her undercover operation two years ago on the 5th of May. She last checked in with us on the 17th of May, and was declared legally M.I.A on the 23rd of May.” Sargent Grey said, sticking a post-it note to the left side of the board at the top of the room. He continued sticking post-its as he spoke. “The initial investigation turned up little but her gun was found in the assigned safehouse alongside a bottle of her medication.”

“According to Williamson, he saw her for the last time shortly after that. He turned on her a few days after they went M.I.A. But she didn't know, or she wanted to play it cool because she kept in contact via burner phone semi-regularly.” Chen said, looking down at the notes in front of her.

Tim’s head snapped to face his rookie “Was that when you spoke to him privately, or was this in interrogation?”

“When we were alone.”

“Text Lopez, get him to confess to it on record. If not, it's not solid enough to go from.”

“Tim’s right, Chen, but it's helpful nonetheless.” Grey sighed, “From then on it's pretty rocky. We have a few civilian sightings but nothing concrete. She stayed away from CCTV and any heavily policed areas. She knew to stay hidden. Which doesn’t help us, but we now know that it was intentional. WIlliamson said he spoke to her less than two weeks ago, she was near the Mexican border in Arizona.”

“Does the border patrol know to look out for her?”

“The Captain is alerting them now, as well as local police departments. The FBI has also been told of this development due to the crossing of state lines. They have agreed to give manpower as needed but let’s hope we can keep this in house.”

“So what now? We have barely anything to go from?” Chen tentatively said, trying not to provoke any reaction from her T.O with her words.

“We wait for Lopez to finish her interview with Williamson and then we will make a plan.”

-----

“He seemed to realise he was in a lot of trouble and asked for a lawyer pretty quickly.” Lopez said as she walked into the room, “I did, however, manage to get him to reveal the names of his employers in a trade for a letter from the Watch Commander stating his cooperation to whatever judge he gets assigned.”

Grey nodded his head before prompting Angela to continue.

“I had another Detective look up the names he gave. As expected they are tied to all sorts of crimes; drug distribution, embezzlement, fraud, unlawful use of a lethal weapon. And those are the ones I can remember off the top of my head. However, there is also good news, none of them seem to have a history with kidnapping or anything more extreme, or at least anything that has been reported.”

“And we want to keep it that way, so we will have to be extremely careful with what we do next.” Grey said, moving towards the door to go brief the Captain about their discovery and to start to make a plan of action 

“Yeah, but there is one more thing he said before lawyering up.”

“What is it?”

“That we shouldn't waste the manpower on finding (Y/N). He said that she wasn’t the one they wanted to hurt but she was used to punish other people. Her vanishing was only a means to an end.”

Tim could hear his heart begin to pound in his ears once again. He breathed in, then out, then in again. If she wasn't their target, then who was? And if she was only a pawn in their game to hurt somebody else, then what else would they do to ensure their target would suffer. How many more lives had been ruined by these monsters, and how many more would suffer a similar fate to the ones that had gone before them?

“Who were they trying to hurt?” Tim ran his hands through his hair as the question unintentionally tumbled out from him. “Did he give a name?”

“Yeah, that's the thing…” Angela let the words trail off as she tried to compose herself. Tim watched as she took a deep breath. “Williamson claimed that the cartel they were hunting threatened (Y/N) into silence with photos of her loved ones to make you vulnerable.”

“I dont… I dont understand.”

“You were the one they wanted to punish, Tim. This is about you, it always has been.”

Part Three | Part Five

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Tags: @xceafh @kmc1989

Tags are open :)

[sarahsmi13s]

Telling Them

pairing: jake ‘hangman’ seresin x wife!reader

characters: jake seresin, y/n seresin, grayson seresin, kennedy seresin, dagger squad, penny benjamin, dr andrews

warnings: third person pov, she/her pronouns used, language, car crash mentioned, hospitals, mentions of surgey, mentions of family medical history (addiction to pain meds), talks of recovery methods, description of injuries, i believe that is it

word count: ~2.3k

a/n: 2/3 (this is a three part story -- however i might expand on it if you guys want)

loose summary: after nearly losing grayson, things are really put in perspective for jake and he realizes that the daggers are family too.

pt 1  pt 3

*******

“I think I wanna tell the squad.”

“What?” Y/N asked, except she heard him perfectly well.

Jake had just always wanted to keep his family private, it was how he protected them. Despite her wanting to get to know his coworkers, she respected her husband and understood where he was coming from. So his sudden confession confused her.

Jake sighed and held his wife’s hands. “I know, I know. I’ve always wanted to keep you and the kids private. But we could’ve lost Grayson today… We were having an emergency and you couldn’t get a hold of me or Javy. Then you apologized for coming to base to get me, you shouldn’t have to do that. Javy kinda knocked some sense into me earlier, said that the squad was worried when I left. A hoard of text on my phone confirmed that.” He took a deep breath.

“I want you and the kids to be able to lean on anyone on that team. I’ve trusted this team more than any other squadron I’ve been on.” “That’s saying something.” Jake chuckled, “Damn straight it is.”

He sighed, “I realized that if we had lost-” Emotion lumped in his throat. “If this had turned out any other way, they would have no idea that anything was wrong or why I wasn’t at work or why I was a bigger asshole than normal. I couldn’t mourn properly, because they would have no idea. And if I were to burn in…” He trailed off, but she knew what he was saying.

“So, I want you to meet them. I want them to get to know the kids. I want them to come to Grayson and Kennedy’s games. I want to expand the family, bring in a few strays.”

Y/N laughed, “Don’t let the princess hear you say that, she’ll think we’re getting a puppy.” Jake chuckled and kissed her knuckles, leaning his forehead on hers. “What do you say, my Queen?”

She nodded against him, “Let’s do it. But can it wait until we have Grayson at home? I’d hate for their first meeting to be in the hospital.” Jake nodded and kissed her forehead, “Of course, baby. Gives me time to drop subtle hints.”

Y/N pulled back, raising a brow, “You? Jacob Thomas Seresin, subtle? When are you ever subtle?” He rolled his eyes, “Hush.” Jake pecked her lips, “I’ll go get the doctor.” “Okay, I’ll give Javy and Mav a call, let them know he’s awake.”

Jake walked down the hall and Y/N took out her phone, calling Javy, not realizing what time it was.

“Hello?” “Javy- oh shit, did I wake you up?” “Yeah, but it’s fine. How’s Grayson?” She nodded, smiling, “He’s awake. He’s aware and is probably ready to get out of here.” “How’s Kennedy?” “She’s just glad to see that her brother’s awake,” she peaked in the window, seeing her daughter tucked under her son’s arm as she told him a story.

“How are you?” She sighed, “I’m better. Way better than before now that I know he’s okay. I’m just worried what this will mean for him. He’s already tried out and made the football team here, he probably won’t get to play this season, but it’s only his junior year so hopefully he’ll get to play his senior year.” “Hopefully he recovers like his mom,” Javy joked. She scoff laughed, “Yeah, fingers crossed.”

Javy sighed, “How’s Jake?” She bit her lip and looked down the hall in the direction her husband went. “Same as me, better now that he knows Grayson’s okay. But,” she took in a breath. “He wants to introduce the squad.”

Javy smiled on the other end, “When? Where? What time?” Y/N chuckled at her friend's enthusiasm. “Probably not until Grayson’s out of the hospital and is settled back at home with a routine. I’d hate for the first meeting to be in a hospital. Him being hurt isn’t ideal… but it helped put things into perspective for Jake. He’s so protective of his private life, has been since high school. We both know that.” Javy nodded.

“Hey, did Mav come by?” Coyote changed the subject. “Yeah, gave Jake the next few days off. He said he was gonna give subtle hints, but we know him.” Javy laughed, “Yes, yes we do.”

Y/N heard footsteps and looked to see Jake walking with the doctor. “I’ll let you go back to sleep, J.” “I’ll come by tomorrow after training,” he said, leaving no room for argument. “Okay, goodnight Javy.” “Goodnight, Y/N.” She hung up and sent Maverick a text.

Once the doctor and Jake got to her, they went into the room.

“Good to see you awake, Grayson. I’m Doctor Andrews. How are you feeling? Any pain?” Jake and Y/N went to the left side of the bed, Y/N’s hand lightly gripping her son’s.

“My ribs hurt a little, legs are definitely hurting,” Grayson told him, shifting a little.

Y/N moved over to the right side of the bed, “Kenni, come here sister.” She held her hands out as her daughter leaned into her brother. “Wanna stay with Gray…” Y/N sighed, “I know you do, Princess. But the doctor needs to make sure bubba’s okay. He can’t work around you, honey.”

Kennedy narrowed her (e/c) eyes at the doctor before looking back at her mom, “Is he nice?” Y/N smiled and nodded, “Yes, Kennedy, he’s nice.” The five year old sighed, “Okay.” She kissed her brother's cheek before holding her arms out for her mother. Y/N gathered her up and went back to Jake’s side, the little girl instantly wanting to go to her father.

They spent the rest of that time going over the treatment options and timelines.

“Okay, so we’re probably going to have to keep you here for about five days. Just to make sure everything’s okay. Do we have a preference for pain medication? Currently we’ve got you hooked up to morphine.” Grayson glanced at Y/N, not sure what to say. “We try to stay away from opioids as best we can. If it’s unavoidable then we understand.”

Doctor Andrews nodded, “Has anyone in the family had trouble with addictions in the past?” “No, not that we are aware of,” Jake answered. He nodded again, “Okay, so we’ll definitely look into our options and run them by you. Do you have any questions while I’m here?”

Y/N looked at her son, who shifted a little in the bed.

“Um… Sports? Will I ever get to play again? Or am I done?” Andrews sighed, “Well, everything will depend on the recovery. I’m afraid this football season, possibly basketball season, will have to miss you. But hopefully we can have you back by baseball season.”

“How long is the recovery?” “Four to six months for the femur, sometimes the ACL can take as long as nine, but everyone is different.” Grayson nodded. “Thank you, Doc.” He gave the Seresins a smile, “Of course, get some rest. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

Grayson rubbed his face, groaning a little. “What is it?” Y/N asked. “It’s just – four to six months? Gosh, that sounds like forever.” “It’ll be over before you know it, kid. You just gotta work during the recovery,” Jake said, nodding down to Grayson’s legs that were in braces.

Moving curls out of his face, Y/N spoke, “Gray, we will be with you every step of the way. It’ll be hard, but you can do it.”

She gestured to her own leg, “I tore my ACL my sophomore year of high school, I get it. You’ll want to jump right back in once you’re healed, but you can’t. You have to be careful until you’re properly healed, because if you aren’t you might cause more damage. If your body tells you to rest, listen to it.” Grayson nodded, yawning a little, “Yes ma’am.” Smiling at her son, she kissed his forehead, “Get some rest. We’ll be here when you wake up.”

Jake smiled and ruffled his hair, adjusting Kennedy so she could kiss her brother’s cheek. “Night bubba.” “Night sister.”

********

Two days later, Jake was back on base and, since Grayson was only 16, Y/N stayed at the hospital with him. Kennedy stayed at Penny’s getting pampered by Amelia.

As expected, everyone asked Jake if everything was okay. He just nodded and went on as usual. Of course he was still worried, but he was a dad; it’s expected. But people took Jake at his word.

And Jake, in his best attempts to be subtle, had moved his wedding band from his truck to his dog tags and wore his watch lower on his left wrist, to show the initials tattooed there. He also didn’t try to hide his phone as much, knowing his friends were a little nosy.

“Hangman, is that your niece? She’s adorable, what’s her name?” Fanboy asked as he sat beside Jake at lunch. Jake just smiled, “Her name is Kennedy. We call her Ken or Kenni.”

“Wait, let us see!” Phoenix said, gesturing for him to turn the phone around. He proudly did so, showing everyone at the table his daughter. “How old is she?” Rooster asked as he washed down his food. “She’s five, she was about 3 in that photo though. Just popped up in my memories on Facebook.”

They were too busy fawning over how cute Kennedy was that they didn’t catch the dodged ‘niece’ question.

Now, the Dagger squad was not stupid and they were trained to notice things. But does that mean they caught everything? Absolutely not.

But, Bob, being ever the wallflower, noticed the tattoo the next day when Jake took off his watch to shower.

“Who’s ‘(f/i) S’?” Jake smiled and rubbed the pad of his thumb over the two letters. “Sorry, that-” “No, Bob, it’s okay. If I didn’t want you to see it, you wouldn’t have seen it.” The WSO relaxed, “I take it they mean a lot to you?” Jake decided to keep it vague, just for suspense, “They mean the world to me.” Bob smiled and clapped Jake on the shoulder before leaving the room.

*****

Four days into Grayson’s stay at the hospital and two days since Jake has been back at work, the squad went to the Hard Deck. But Jake wasn’t really there, his mind was on Y/N, Grayson, and Kennedy.

“Hey, Hangman, you okay?” Penny asked as she came over with his beer. “Yeah, yeah.” She arched a challenging brow and he caved. “Okay, maybe I’m still just a little shaken up. But Grayson’s okay, he’s coming home tomorrow. I just- Gah I don’t know…” Penny sympathetically smiled at him.

He changed the subject, “How’s Kennedy doing? She handlin’ it okay?” Penny nodded, “Yeah, Amelia is doing a good job at keeping her distracted. Tea parties, make-overs, the whole nine.” Jake smiled, “Yeah, Y/N’s shown me the photos.” “She keeps asking for Grayson though, she wants to visit him all the time. But if it’s past visiting hours they’ll face time.” He nodded, swallowing a little bit, “Yeah, that girl loves her brother. It’s-”

“Hangman! You ready to get your ass kicked?” Jake turned, “In your dreams, Fitch! Give me a minute!” He turned back to Penny, pulling his wallet out, “Close my tab, please. I’m heading out after this.”

Penny nodded and took the cash, gesturing to the squad “When are you gonna tell them?” He glanced back over his shoulder at the group before turning back, “Tonight, actually. Grayson comes home after an exam tomorrow afternoon. We plan on doing a cookout.” Penny smiled, “Good luck.” “Thanks,” he smiled and pushed off the bar, sauntering over to the squad.

He grabbed the pool cue offered and broke the triangle. “Hey, I’m heading out after this-” “What? You never leave first.” He just shrugged and lined up his shot, potting a solid. “As I was saying, I’m leaving after this. I was wondering if you guys were free this Saturday.” Cyclone, Warlock, and Mav knew Jake’s plan and gave everyone Saturday off.

The squad shared a look and nodded, saying they were free. “Yeah, why?” Jake smirked, eyes staying on the pool table, “My wife and I were planning to have a cookout, so I’m inviting you guys.” “Wife? You’re married?!” Rooster asked, choking on his drink. Jake nodded, “I believe I said wife. Didn’t I Coyote?” Coyote smirked as well, “Yeah, you did.”

Before anyone could ask ridiculous questions, Bob spoke up first, “How long have you been married?” “15 years in September,” Jake smiled, eyeing the gold band that was now on his finger. He’d put it on a few minutes ago while he waited for Penny to get his drink. “15? How have you kept it a secret for so long?” Fanboy asked. Jake shrugged, “When something’s mine I hate to share it.”

“Do you have kids?” Rooster asked. Jake nodded, “Yeah, two. A son, Grayson, and a daughter, Kennedy.” Their jaws dropped. “I thought she was your niece,” Payback asked. Jake shook his head, leaning down to take his shot, “Nope, never said that.”

Jake took a few more shots before sitting on a barstool while Payback took his. “So, are you guys in or what? I need to know how much food to get.” They all nodded. “I can’t believe you let me drown in testosterone when you had a little girl and a wife. I don’t think I could ever forgive you,” Phoenix said, crossing her arms while narrowing her eyes. “I’ll learn to live with that.”

Bob spoke up again, a little more hesitant this time. “What happened last Saturday?” Jake sighed and stood up, “Grayson was in a car accident.” 

When everyone jumped to ask questions,  he held his hands up. 

“He’s okay. But he’s been in the hospital the past few days for observation, but he’s coming home tomorrow. The cookout is really for you guys to come meet them and get to know them a little bit. Y/N didn’t want y’all to meet in the hospital.”

The group nodded, “We’re in.”

**********

hiiiii! i’m happy you’re here! 

the squad knows now! how do you think the cookout is going to go? what might happened when the squad learns grayson is a 16 year-old? 

i hope you enjoyed this part two! i have one more part to post and will hopefully get it out in a timely fashion

if you want to be notified of up coming parts comment and i can add you to the tag list! and if you want to be added to top gun tag list lmk! <33

thank you for reading!

top gun tags <33: @roosterscockpit @luckyladycreator2 @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @sebsxphia​ @milesdickpic​

thank you guys for being here!!!

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Tsumiki Mikan | Infectious AU

Requested by @theoneandonlyyuriaoo: Can you do any goodbye despair character x reader?

The world had turned on its head. An infectious parasite that devoured the brain and rotted the body. It drove the modern world to ruin; making populated cities become deserted wastelands filled by the infected. 

Of course like all crises in the world fortresses are made. Fortresses that everyone flocks to hoping to guarantee a life of structure safety and healthcare. Relying on the most talented and resourceful leaders to bring the structure the old world used to have. Including the promise of care by the world’s greatest nurse. 

“Nurse Tsumiki, we need to rewrap the bandages on patient #237!”

“C-c-coming! Oof–oh no the syringes!”

Tsumiki Mikan is the best nurse in the world or at least in the closest fortress you can get in. Said to be able to cure those in the final stages of the infectious parasite, she’s a clumsy but gifted nurse. When the fortresses do begin their ‘peaceful’ negotiations her residence is a heavy point of contention. Of course, anyone would want the woman who managed to make a cure working in their medical wing. 

She’s such a celebrity, that your fellow patients excitedly speak of her when she comes to check on them. Unfortunately, you’ve been sleeping every time she’s supposedly stopped by. Though you weren’t worried. A simple broken arm shouldn’t need the greatest medical mind’s attention, you had to be convinced by your party to even admit yourself into the medical ward. 

So it truly is a surprise when you wake to the nurse in the middle of the night holding an IV bag. It was easy to recognize her by the outline made by the small nightlight from the hall. What made you question if it was her, was the inhuman twitching and giggling she was doing. 

“O-Oh~! Y-y-you’re awake!”

You’ll protest the need for an IV bag—it’s just a broken arm. But she’ll determinedly protest it, the way she does when the emergency is dire. Abandoning her usual stutter she’ll go on to rant and rave about how this may be a doorway to something worse. 

“You have to listen to me, (Y/n)! You need to stay here in bed! With me!”

Despite you being an average survivor, you weren’t an idiot. Even with a minor background in anatomy and the way diseases are spread; you know most of what she’s saying isn’t true. Or at least not in your case. So you’ll explain and try to rationalize with her even as she settles herself on your bed.

“Look Mikan I appreciate your concern but it’s really not that bad!”

“Noo! Noo! You can’t!”

“Please stop crying. You’ll wake up the other patients.”

She’ll keep whining and protesting her mute point; all the while scooching up on your bed. As if trying to get as close as possible. It isn’t until you say the most off-limits thing in the history of your conversation with her. 

“You know what, I’m just going to check out and I’ll go back if I find anything–”

“NO!”

She immediately hops up on your lap, trapping your free hand and legs underneath hers. That was the least of your concerns as she held your face in her hands.  Rubbing a thumb obsessively on your cheeks, she practically rubs her nose against your own. 

“No no no no no you can’t leave (Y/n)! You need to stay with me forever forever forever forever!”

You couldn’t really stop her as she practically devoured your mouth in some wild form of a kiss. There was biting, sucking, and something viscous shoved down your throat. As your vision blurred and your cognitive control slipped from you; you could hear the door open and the silhouette of a more familiar nurse who refused to look at you. 

“Miss Tsumiki…your orders?”

The nurse’s giggling turned into a full-blown cackle clutching your head into her chest. The nurse said nothing as she proceeded to play with your cheeks while she continued to maniacally laugh.

“It’s just as I feared~! (Y/n)’s condition has worsened we need to quarantine them in my private ward!”

“Yes, Miss Tsumiki.”

Better her than the infection right?

[ash-n-dynamite]

To whom it may concern,

You do not owe anyone your personal information or history.

While finding people who share your daily or medical struggles is a blessing, listing off every single thing like they are girl scout badges is more likely to get you hurt.

Strangers online are not your friends. You may tell close friends important information about yourself, but you would not tell some random person who happens to cross your path. Carelessly listing personal information is never alright.

Younger plural folk, *stop* listing every single detail about trauma, triggers, medical diagnosis, and member details. You are welcome to discuss these things and explore as needed, but don't advertise yourself or pin these kind of sensitive topics in an easy to access location. Be sparse, only list what is necessary if you feel the need to share.

I'm pinning this to my blog because I honestly worry about so many of you and just in case some of you may need a reminder or validation that it's okay to be anonymous or tell people 'no' when they ask for private information.

You want to be seen? Bring back persona/fursonas. Online aliases and cringe names will *always* be an acceptable form of self representation online that helps keep you just a little safer. Mascots and aliases are cool, oversharing information people can use to manipulate or hurt you is not.

Signed, two very concerned adults.

[Came back and added triggers to the list. It is just not a good idea, guys. Don't give people an entire cartridge of ammunition to use against you.]

[agentmarvel]

🖤, 🔪, Mistreated Medic

yay! thank you for sending this!🖤

nikto x reader

cw: dark content, stalker!nikto, allusion to kidnapping

mdni - 18+; minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

Nikto peers through the eyeholes of his mask, gaze shifting anxiously as he follows a pacing Private. The man has been growing progressively more and more agitated, demanding medical attention for a pain he can’t quite pinpoint or explain.

“If you’re not bleeding or dying, I’m sorry, but it’s not a priority,” you had told him, offering your best expression of sympathy. He tried to argue, but you silenced him pretty quickly. “Listen, Private, I’ve got a triage helo on the fucking field right goddamn now. Two critical and at least two more to patch. If you’re only here for a minor exam and some pain pills, you will have to come back later. I do not have time for this right now, okay?”

But he didn’t leave. No, he continues to pace while you prepare for your patients to be brought in by the MedEvac team. He bites at the skin around his thumbnail, tearing it away in miniscule slivers that he spits out with an almost imperceptible sputter.

Withdrawal, Nikto muses. He’s likely been faking a variety of issues to score narcotics from the other corpsmen. They aren’t as smart as you; they wouldn’t see through his bullshit the way you do.

Perhaps that’s why Nikto finds himself so drawn to you. You’re brilliant, you don’t take shit from anyone (him included), you demonstrate so much restraint and commitment; you are perfect. He adores you. Every fiber of your being sings to his fragmented soul like a needle mending a sleeve tear. Something about you makes him feel whole. Maybe not entirely, but in part. A large part.

“Can’t you just send a new prescription for me? It’s not that hard; all the other fuckin’ nurses do it!”

“I’m not writing you a prescription without an exam first, and your exam is not a priority right now. You can come back tomorrow. I’m not going to repeat myself.”

Nikto can see the rage boiling under the Private’s skin. He’s clenching and unclenching his fists, veins protruding in his forearms. His stance is defensive at first, but your outright refusal causes him to shift. If you turn your back, that fucking coward will attack you.

No, not while Nikto is here. He won’t be able to make it even three steps closer without getting his fuck-ugly rat face caved in. You’re safe with him around. He’ll keep you safe.

His poor, mistreated medic. You deserve so much better than the bullshit you deal with day in and day out.

Really, he has half a mind to take you away from all of this. Stow you away in his secluded little cabin, take care of you for the rest of his life, give you anything and everything you could ever hope for and then some… He knows what you like; lord knows how much time he’s spent scrubbing through your interest history or following you on your rare off days to see where you spend your time.

He decides he’s definitely going to start considering that a bit more now, but that timeline accelerates in a split second. As you look towards the window for your incoming patients, the Private advances, and Nikto has no choice but to tip his hand.

You’ll never have to deal with this sort of vile behavior ever again. Decision made.

pick your prompt here! 💌

[cuntyqueerleondraisaitl]

They're in love

And Alex’s heart doesn’t spread itself out in his chest, and he doesn’t have to grip the edge of the settee to steady himself. Because that’s what he would do if he were here in this palace to fall in love with Henry, and not just continuing this thing where they fly across the world to touch each other and don’t talk about it. That’s not why he’s here. It’s not.

And he does understand, really. He loves Henry, and it’s nothing new. He’s been falling in love with Henry for years, probably since he first saw him in glossy print on the pages of J14, almost definitely since Henry pinned Alex to the floor of a medical supply closet and told him to shut the hell up. That long. That much.

“I fucking love you, okay?” Alex half yells, finally, irreversibly. Henry goes very still against the mantelpiece. Alex watches him swallow, watches the muscle that keeps twitching in his jaw, and feels like he might shake out of his skin. “Fuck, I swear. You don’t make it fucking easy. But I’m in love with you.”

He’s cut off mid-sentence because Alex has stopped in the middle of the corridor and yanked him backward into a kiss.

“Hello,” Henry says when they break apart. “What was that for?” “I just, like.” Alex shrugs. “Really love you."

“Seriously,” he says. Henry’s looking back at him, beautiful and vital and heartsick and still, always, the person Alex is willing to risk ruining his life for. “I hate this so much. I know. But we’re gonna do it together. And we’re gonna make it work. You and me and history, remember? We’re just gonna fucking fight. Because you’re it, okay? I’m never gonna love anybody in the world like I love you. So, I promise you, one day we’ll be able to just be, and fuck everyone else."

All at once, Alex is in love all over again. He wraps the tie once around the back of his hand and reels Henry in and kisses him like he never has to stop. Which—he remembers, and laughs into Henry’s mouth—he doesn’t.

“Hi, love,” he hears Henry say quietly, privately, right into the hair above his ear, and Alex’s breath forgets how to do anything but laugh helplessly.

“You really are a complete idiot if you believe that,” Henry hisses, the note balled in his fist. “When have I ever, since the first instant I touched you, pretended to be anything less than in love with you? Are you so fucking self-absorbed as to think this is about you and whether or not I love you, rather than the fact I’m an heir to the fucking throne? You at least have the option to not choose a public life eventually, but I will live and die in these palaces and in this family, so don’t you dare come to me and question if I love you when it’s the thing that could bloody well ruin everything.”

“When I was younger,” Henry says, “I had this very elaborate idea of taking somebody I loved here and standing inside the chapel, that he’d love it as much as I did, and we’d slow dance right in front of the Blessed Mother. Just a ... daft pubescent fantasy.”

It is, indeed, bullshit. It’s all I can do not to pack a bag and be gone forever. Perhaps I could live in your room like a recluse. You could have food sent up for me, and I’ll be lurking in disguise in a shadowy corner when you answer the door. It’ll all be very dreadfully Jane Eyre. The Mail will write mad speculations about where I’ve gone, if I’ve offed myself or vanished to St. Kilda, but only you and I will know that I’m just sprawled in your bed, reading books and feeding myself profiteroles and making love to you endlessly until we both expire in a haze of chocolate sauce. It’s how I’d want to go.

Henry’s jaw is tight, but it’s not anger, only fear. Alex can see on his face an expression he recognizes: Henry wondering if it’s safe to accept the love offered to him, and wanting desperately to take it regardless. He puts his arm around her, lets her kiss his cheek.

In the corridor of Buckingham Palace, as soon as the door has shut behind them, they fall sideways into a tapestry on a wall, breathless and delirious and laughing, cheeks wet. Henry pulls Alex close and kisses him, whispers, “I love you I love you I love you,” and it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter if anyone sees.