#my shirt says 'i must apologize for my behavior' on the front of it

[theygender]

My favorite way of getting incorrectly gendered has gotta be when random (presumably) cis guys assume I'm a trans guy and get really enthusiastic about calling me man and dude and bro. Like he a little confused but he got the spirit

[missfrustration]

very professional nights (sanji x f!reader) 18+

rating: explicit 18+, minors do not interact!

tags: pwp, smut. oral sex, pussy eating, top sanji, vaginal fingering, praise kink, "good girl," boss/employee relationship, teasing, power imbalance, edgeplay, desk sex, office sex, no use of y/n

A/n: this story inspired me to become a fanfiction writer. also on my ao3. enjoy!

word count: 4.9k

Your crew was assigned to serve meals to a hundred marines at the end of last night. It wasn’t until well past midnight that you collapsed into bed after cleaning up the aftermath. You dismissed the others for the night so they could wake up on time for the morning shift, leaving you to stay longer.

Thus, you woke up late for your morning shift. You scrambled to get ready for the next twelve hours of prep work.

Just as you were about to pass out from exhaustion peeling carrots for the 4th time today during your shift, you jolted when you felt something jab into your back. 

“What do you-” You were cut off by the presence of the tall, suited figure behind you. 

Sanji, the co-head chef in the Baratie, was second to the head. Rebellious as he was towards Zeff, no one on the whole boat could deny his god-like skills in the kitchen. 

You have a bad feeling about this. 

“Miss, what’s your excuse for coming to work so late? I was notified of your tardiness.” He spoke sternly, cigarette in mouth.

You stood up straight and put your peeler down, “I’m sorry, it was a busy night for my crew and me yesterday with all the orders we made. Zeff decided to have my group handle those marines at the last minute, and I had to stay up late to close.”

Sanji looked at you while he took a long drag of his cigarette. Thank God he didn’t blow it at you, but you still smelled the earthy smoke from where you were standing. 

“While I understand the circumstances of last night, that isn’t a good excuse to come to work an hour late. Especially in those clothes.” He peered down.

Clothes? Oh, shit-

You looked down to see yourself in plain clothes from last night, not in your standard uniform. You didn’t even notice when you put on your apron for the day. You cursed yourself for not being attentive enough this morning, as well as those damned marines for being the cause of it all.

On top of that, you aren’t even wearing a bra! That’s the only piece of clothing you took off last night before you passed out. As if it couldn’t get worse, your apron doesn’t fully cover your chest area. The t-shirt wasn’t a v-cut, but someone looking straight at you could see your braless chest peeking out the sides of the apron if they glanced. 

You look back up to face Sanji. “I’m so sorry, Sanj-I mean, sir. I can go to my room and change if I need to.”

His face was stern, but you didn’t miss the glance he gave at your chest. It made your face flush red with embarrassment. You would give anything to dissolve out of the boat and sink to the bottom of the sea floor right now. 

“You’re already here. Although your behavior is unacceptable, it’d be a waste of time to leave on the job now…”

He did the glance again but kept the assertive glare. Something about his expression and what he just said made it off. Maybe he was holding back on firing you right on the spot to save you from the embarrassment of doing it in front of the others? 

“Of course, sir.” You say, looking down at his shoes and playing with the hem of your shirt. 

“Just change as soon as you finish today. Wash the dishes before you leave, too. For now, that will be your punishment. As much as I hate serving ricotta for the seventh time this hour, we must be awake to get the job done.” He took another drag of his cigarette.

“It won’t happen again, sir. I apologize for the trouble.”

His face softened slightly at your apology, but he still persevered. As you turned around to return to your station’s duties, he got your attention again.

“Also. Miss, please come to my office for remedial chores tonight. Fix today’s act, and make it eight tonight sharp. Do not be late this time.”

Before you could turn around and agree, he was already making his way out, a trail of smoke following him. You stood there for a moment. Remedial work? You know it can be dished out to rookies who mess up, but never by Sanji. It’s typically another co-head or even Zeff himself. 

Were you going to get kicked off the staff?

-

It was a half hour before you had to head to Sanji’s office, and you found your feet pacing circles in your room. You didn’t know what to think. Were you about to do just remedial work, or was Sanji ready to kick you off the Baratie? 

When you checked the clock, it was almost time to go. You hastily dressed in plain clothes, adjusted your hair, and hopped out the door in a few minutes. With only a few paces to the top floor of the Baratie, you reached the wing of the superiors’ dorms and stopped at the room with the plaque Sanji .

You reach for the handle. When you touch it, you see it swing back and look up. On the other side is Sanji, looking down at you with a dead cigarette in his mouth, leaning against the doorframe. You are startled by the sudden meeting of your eyes and quickly look away. You frantically think of something to say as you struggle to think of anything coherent. 

“Good evening, Miss. You’re on time.” He smiles. You see the cigarette flick up and down when he talks. 

“Hello, sir.”

You noticed his tie loosened and his shirt unbuttoned, showing his broad clavicle and upper chest peeking out.

He takes a step towards you. Without breaking eye contact, he takes your hand into both of his, lowers his head, and kisses it slowly. He gently raises his head again as he places your hand back at your side.

“Please, come in.” He opens the door the rest of the way, standing on the opposite side of the door frame as you walk in. 

You nervously step in as your eyes enter the spacious office before you. He leads you to the desk area in front of windows the size of saucers. Indeed, his suite was a damn luxury. Maybe it was the gentleman in him that preferred a classy room.

As he slowly walked you to his desk, he pulled up a nice, polished wooden chair and placed it opposite the desk. As you walked up, he pulled the chair out for you to sit and motioned you forward. His hand lightly brushed your back as you walked closer. 

“Sit down, please, darling.” He said warmly.

For some reason, the combination of the slight contact and gentle words of Sanji made you blush a little. You felt your ears turn hot as you sat.

He slowly pushed your chair up to the desk and walked out of the room through a door tucked in the corner. 

You anxiously shift in your chair, looking down at the glossy finish of the mahogany desk by the time he comes out.

He held out an unusually large stack of papers.

Oh, you’ve got to be joking with me.

“Here is your remedial work to complete tonight. I want them completed by the time you leave. You will complete them whether it takes one hour or three.”

You take a moment to take in the situation. He hands you the stack as he stands over you, peering down with the cigarette still in his mouth. You glance over the first paper at the top of the pile. It’s… an application? You see the picture of a lady a few years older than you with her personal information and work experiences handwritten on the page.

You look back at him, slightly confused, brushing your facial features. 

“Yes, sir. What do you want me to do exactly?”

“These are our second-quarter applicants for the year. You will review their credentials and determine whether they are fit to work at the Baratie. If they pass your standards, mark the top corner with an ‘O’, or mark them with an ‘X’ if not. As you know, we are cutthroat with our newcomers, so please decide on the best. I trust your judgment with the applications you reject and will review the accepted ones with the others tomorrow.”

The situation presented to you was almost comical. Almost. However, you didn’t want to complain to your superior for fear that he would fire you at any moment like you thought would happen.

So you start.

You examine the first applicant. You read over her credentials, experiences, and interests. She was a promising candidate. Alright, that deserves a pass. You grab the pen, writing an O across the paper. You put it to the side and dived into more applicants.

  X, O, X, X…. 

After a few minutes, you started to fall into a steady routine: X , X, X, O. The pen you used was a smooth ballpoint that beautifully executed your pen strokes. It was very satisfying, and the noise it made was lovely. 

As you listen to your pen making its marks, you hear Sanji’s pen, too. You look up to see him also doing paperwork, casting spells of cursive on the pages. His sleeves are rolled back, and a slight peak of his soft forearm muscles shows. As your eyes travel up his arm, you take in his expression. His soft golden hair falls over one eye as he looks at his papers with the other. His pale face is calm, with parted, soft lips. You admire him as he eyes the pages, and on top of it, his curled brow slightly furrows with every new page. He’s so…-

-Oh God. A blush quickly erupts as your eyes dart back to your papers. You barely glanced at this applicant before writing an X . Oops. Sorry about that, bro. You take a slight exhale and focus on your forms. 

X, X, O, X. 

You feel good about the speed you’ve been going with. You’re sure that it’ll take you under an hour to get through it, give or take a few applicants that might take a little more review. With every new applicant, you feel somewhat relieved that this will be all the punishment you’ll get. Being fired was about the worst-case scenario, and the possibility of it now diminished with the stroke of each mark. 

That’s when you hear Sanji’s pen stop. You pause slowly. Without raising your head, you see his hand still holding the pen. His veins peak out as he taps the pen on the table. His forefinger methodically lifts into the air and swiftly taps the pen up and down. You slowly raise your head by traveling up his arms, enthralled by the picture you’ve painted in your daydreams. 

Sanji’s staring straight at you when you look at him. 

“Caught you.”

You freeze, instantly getting flustered after meeting his eyes. You quickly focus on your assignments, pretending you’ve been doing your paperwork again. He breaks the silence after a few moments.

“What were you doing, darling?”

“I- What? I was uh…” You blink, desperately trying to rack up any excuse in your head, only drawing blanks. You look intently at your papers, blurring the words and meshing them together in your head. You hear Sanji drop his pen and look up.

Sanji closes his eyes and sighs. He slowly rises from his desk, walks over to your side, and bends forward to peer down right over you. You squirm under his gaze.

“Eyes on your paper, my dear.” He says, putting a hand on your head and tilting it back down.

“Yes, sir.”

You snatched your pen, shakily marking the first page and moving to the next with feigned composure.

You can barely concentrate with Sanji’s full attention on you. You gulp and keep going. You feel his stoic gaze increase with every ‘X’ and ‘O’ you write down. He leans in closer to you as he examines your applicant choices. Your pace is relatively slow at this point, as your heart races with each increasing minute of his actions.

Sanji has always made you less anxious than your other superiors due to the similarity in age, but this was different. You arch your back slightly at the thought of his increasingly intense gaze.

Before your heart can settle again, his hands land on your chair. The familiar creek of your chair rubs against the floorboards and creeps into the air. You feel the chair give way under you. You grow confused and turn to look at him.

“Keep still. Eyes on your paper, remember?” He softly orders. His face is kind, with raised brows brushing his features. It sends shivers down your spine, and you refrain from talking. You do as you’re told, barely grasping the pen between your fingers. 

The chair is slowly pulled out from under you. You gingerly raise your lower half once you can no longer sit comfortably. Your upper chest now lightly rests on the edge of the desk, and your arms firmly planted beside your paper. From this angle, you feel exposed as your ass slowly perks up. There is no way Sanji hasn’t noticed this. 

There is also no way he hasn’t noticed the amount of work you aren’t doing anymore. 

That’s much more implied as he gives a deep exhale that travels to the nape of your neck. The sensation makes you further perk up your ass as your mind blanks from the proximity. 

The silence is bone-chilling when Sanji pauses. You see from the corner of your eye as he leans back and brushes his hair back with his fingers. 

Your knees are locked, further sticking your ass up in the air. Your feet are widened more than shoulder-width apart, fully spreading you. You would fix it, but you’re too nervous to move out of fear that Sanji would disapprove. Why would he not approve? Rational thought wasn’t at the forefront of your mind. 

Sanji’s hand touches the bottom of your thigh, putting you in another tailspin. You try to stop yourself from saying anything, but it’s too late.

“Haahh, hey…” 

You both freeze.

You were just shy of moaning to him. His hand has stopped midway to the length of your thigh, and you shiver in fright. No doubt Sanji knows you’re considering more than just work now. 

“Are you uncomfortable with this?” He whispers, slowly raising his hand so his finger barely brushes against your thigh. 

You barely know how to respond. So much is running through your mind that concentration on the assignment was thrown out the window. What does he mean by this ? It would be easier to answer if you even know what this is. You slowly try to peer at him from the corner of your eye, hoping to find some answer behind his eyes, when your stomach drops.

He’s biting his lip. 

Oh. So that’s what we’re doing . 

Your heart skips a beat, and your core begins to tighten. Honestly, what a pretty sight for both of you. Still, you’re rightfully confused about this entire situation. You feel dizziness down to your core and can barely get a word out.

But you don’t want him to stop. 

“No, I don’t think so.” You raspily confess. Your humility was hard to hide, as a deep blush formed around your face. 

“Okay, let me know if you are, and I can stop.” He gently encourages you. His touch returns now, traveling from your outer thigh to the roundest part of your ass. You shiver at the touch. 

Sanji leans down to meet the tip of your ear. “Care to tell me why you dressed like that today? I’d like to know.” The sensation of his breath on the back of your ear caused your back to arch more, leaning your ass into his touch. 

Should you answer honestly? It was a decent reason, you thought.

“I spent the night making those orders. I hadn’t realized I showed up this morning dressed that way until you mentioned it, sir.” You say. It indeed was the truth.

“Such indecency. It would help to teach you a lesson, would it not?” He leans forward and whispers into your ear. ”Would that stick better than paperwork?”

Delicious want fills your core, encouraging you to comply with his demands. You try hard not to shift and rub your legs together, but the need to be touched is so severe.

“I think so, sir. I want to see where this goes.”

“Good girl.” He coos. Immediately, you feel a firm slap against your ass, releasing a sudden gasp from your lips. He lovingly rubs the affected area immediately after to soothe the sting. 

“Stay still. Please, don't move your hips.” Sanji says. He leans behind you, reaching both arms around to tug at your jeans button. He sighs in relief as you hear the button come undone.

You feel the jeans around your waist shift as the hands behind you pull them down. The skin around your lower half slowly chills as the cotton jeans depart your side. 

Only your panties remain when the jeans pool around the bottom of your legs. It wasn't that long before your underwear joined your jeans, where Sanji now gets a perfect view of your wet pussy.

You hear Sanji whisper your name, coming off his tongue like it’s a name of majesty.

“Your body is beautiful… like a goddess.” He lays silk compliments on your figure. Bringing his fingertips to touch your face with grace before trailing them down the dips and curves of your body. He brushes panties down the curvature of your ass. It drops down gracefully, and his immediate reaction pans to your slit. 

“Ah. Aphrodite herself fights to have features as blessed as yours.” Sanji sings, leisurely rubbing his fingers up and down your pussy.

From his touch, your pants are intertwined with moans as your voice regains its courage. You feel the outpouring of wetness from your pussy collect on his hands. 

Sanji must be encouraged by the chorus from your lips. He starts to prepare his meal.

“To make you sound like this, to feel like this, is an honor for me. I want to see how much I can please you. Tonight, allow me to indulge in a woman like you.”

Once you can agree, you shamelessly moan at the entry he makes when the pressure of his fingers breaks past your slit. Your back arches from Sanji’s touch. 

He’s pressed flush to your back, letting his fingers sink deep into you as his face appears above your shoulder. His body nears as his hand caresses your cheek. Your head gives in as it is slowly turned towards him. 

You look at him like it’s the first time you’ve laid eyes on him. You see an entirely new face looking at you; one flushed with pure ecstasy from the pleasures you have bestowed him. His face leans into you.

“Let me see those pretty lips, love.” 

The kiss is near divine as you croon your neck to meet his face. Your moans are absorbed into his mouth as you languidly caress his tongue with yours. One hand is firmly against your jaw to leverage it. The other begins to pump into you steadily. 

It's not until he touches an incredibly delicious spot that you freeze entirely. His fingers curled firmly against your g-spot that loves attention. You can’t kiss back anymore as Sanji relentlessly attacks that spot you’ve wanted him to. The sensations of pleasure hit you like a tsunami as your mouth freezes from dancing with Sanji’s.

He pumps his fingers into you slowly, coaxing a whine from you at the sensation. One that fills his open mouth connected so closely to yours.

Sanji’s face pulls from yours.

His hand follows suit as his fingers leave you. A whine of frustration comes out, but you aren’t unsatisfied for long. 

Sanji's lips glide from yours as he stares into your eyes, putting his hands up to his lips.

“If you don’t mind, I‘ll taste my craft now, darling.” He says, never breaking eye contact as he laps up your juices. He groans at the taste. You swear you saw his eyes roll back.

“How are you so sweet on my tongue?” Sanji grabs your chin to look into your eyes, searching in your hues to detect the answer. He thumbs your skin so delicately, pleading for some sort of explanation.

“You… you don’t mean that.” 

“No, my dear. Please know I’m going crazy for you.” Sanji whispered. “You think I would lie to you when you’re like this?”

“No… I don’t think so, but…” 

“Let me show you what I mean, then.”

Sanji leans into you, gently pecking the tips of your ears, then kissing down the length of your neck. He caresses and hugs your body as his lips slowly travel, each kiss gradually delving closer to the throbs you need satiated. 

Sanji handles you like a flower, so gently that you do not wilt but just enough to savor your essence.

“Your back is so beautiful.” He runs his fingers down the divot your spine makes. “Your shoulders are perfect,” Sanji brushes the skin atop your clavicle. ”Your face is heavenly, and…”

He faces your pussy, which he can describe as nothing but…

“Oh, how gorgeous you are, madam. More so than all the seas combined.”

His mouth dives into you.

Graciously, Sanji laps up the dripping wetness coming from your hole. His chilled tongue feels like ice against your magma core, hot to the touch–a seeping slick.

If that didn’t show his desperation enough, the fingernails that grasp onto your hips, rolling them back and forth, do. How he needily presses his tongue to your flower defines a prince finding his long-lost lover. The sloppy slaps of his tongue pillaging you as he rolls your clit between his lips are nothing shy of holy. Your praises come out of you like he were a deity.

Oh, he’s indulging himself, all right. The way he pressed his face to you had his nose scrunched up on your slit, firmly pressing into you as he slurped up his meal.

Your hips start to buck when his arms hug against your thighs, gripping onto them to help him leech onto you. 

Your mouth is cotton from all the panting. You feel irritation in your throat from the dryness that can’t be quenched.

“God, I- haah.” You wish to say more, but words lose you with every swell of pleasure.

He comes up from your plight at your words, panting hard to catch his breath.

“I wish I could savor your taste as long as…For a lifetime, madam…” A sweet exhale escapes from him.

He leans back into your delicate flower, smushing his finger pads against that swollen clit.

The rubs are slow and sensual. It seems that the more you groan and sigh in pleasure, the more he rewards you in pace and intensity. His acute eye for your tone since being touched tells him exactly what your body feels. He senses the rise and fall of your voice when he starts building up the pressure onto that small nub. 

It trains him to move into you the way you need right now. There’s no other way to please you than with his expert hands. His expertise can mold ingredients into masterful delicacies that latch onto your signals now. It’s cooking al dente , using every clue that ingredients give you to exact a recipe. To finish its course and bring it to completion. 

“Oh, beautiful. Like that.” 

His soothing words glide to your ears loud enough for you to hear. His volume is no more than the gentle rocks of the desk you lean on. You know it’s to mask his voice between the walls of his quarters, yet you cannot return the same favor. Your voice is loud and devilish and will no doubt be questioned by Sanji in the morning by the Baratie crew, but you know he won’t deflect why.

Sanji already knows how well you’re telling them the whole story, right now. He doesn’t need to elaborate on a plot that will be known by others once morning comes, yet he works on you knowing it won’t be a perfect story without proper buildup.

Your legs shake from his precise flicks and presses as he coaxes you further. From your mouth exits the voice of a siren but with the beauty of a mermaid swimming toward her pearly gates. To let you go without the grandest finale he could provide was a punishment no better than one a devil could give. Sanji was no devil to do such a thing, but he loved to make moments last. To savor and tenderize the course is what he does best.

His breath dissolves onto your pussy when he praises you. Quick hands switch to his mouth, and fingers divert to the spot above, protruding your pussy lips once again. This switch would’ve been undistinguishable to you if the solo work of his fingers hadn’t converged into a duo with the mouth. Nothing could’ve denied his incredible voice on your clit.

“What a princess, using a voice like that for me.”

You can't fight back the urge to voice another moan, unable to articulate any coherent words to say anything back. You needlessly jerk your hips into him, so desperate to feel more. It’s embarrassing how just his hands and mouth can undo so much of your dignity. 

“P-please, sir. Go faster.” Words slip out of you so quickly you almost miss it. The delirium from the stimulation makes your whole body act without a mind of its own. You stifle yourself, feeling flushed when he pauses.

“Darling, you don’t need to call me that anymore.” He says, “Just say my name.”

“Okay, okay…” 

“Well?”

“What?” 

“You have something you need to say.” 

You jerk your hips into him, trying to get more friction, but you know better than to disobey your superior. 

“Sanji… hah.” You whine, giving in to the cook's wishes.

“Good girl. One more time, please.” He sighs like your voice was the only relief he needed. 

Then Sanji curls his fingers. He curls them hard. You feel it massage your skin with force to poke through your stomach.

“Sanji! Sanji-fuck.”

“Yes, that’s it…”

You spit out his name vigorously when his pumps match your wishes. Your voice is an octave higher now, to Sanji’s delight. He conjures an angelical pitch from you that you can’t conceal. 

“So needy.” He coos. “A madam like you doesn’t need manners when you look as good as this.”

Sanji’s words caress your body and weaken your hold on rationality. 

You writhe in pleasure, instantly slinging your hand to grasp onto the grip he has on your hips.

“Since you’ve been so good to me, I’ll give you what you want. In return, please serenade me more.”

His two fingers relentlessly curled into his hooked fingers, now with his thumb resting on your clit. He thrusts his hand with force, using his fingers to stimulate both spots. They squelch together in a delicious harmony.

Your arms are now ironclad to the desk, threatening to tip it over with your weight collapsed onto it. Your feet threaten to hover off the floor, constantly quivering and jolting. Your chest heaves into the wood as you whimper. 

“Please, please.” You chant over and over again that begging has no more meaning. You couldn’t even put your finger on what exactly you were begging for. Sanji’s arm bursts through your rationality as a waterfall breaks into the lake below it.

Sanji’s mouth adorns your back, kissing and sucking down it like he knows exactly where each sensitive spot lies. It feels even more sensitive from each pump.

The rocking of your hips mesh into the thumb onto your clit perfectly. Even with Sanji’s speed, he can get his hand so steady. So expertly .

“Louder.” Sanji huffs.

You don’t need to think about it. The feelings come to you when he twists his thrusts to circle your clit and that mushy rivet in your pussy.

You can't keep going like this without folding.

And you don’t have to. The pressure tips over without your control. You don’t need to think when you involuntarily scream from your climax. One arm stays planted on the desk as the other latches onto Sanji’s hair. He sucks a hickey onto your nape when you restrict your hand around a golden patch of hair.

Sanji hums in delight as he rides out your high— groans like a ravaged animal enjoying its feast. Especially when he sees cream drip out of you.

“How exquisite.”

A look of pure famish decorates his face when you see him admire the gift in his hand. There’s no denying what those eyes crave the most. It was an insatiable hunger, one that only you could fulfill. 

He laps his tongue up and down his fingers to taste every drop of your cum. His groans are unabashed as he revels in the taste. 

All you can do is quiver and listen to his words.

And with a man like Sanji, you have no choice but to believe him.

“A meal could never satiate me the way you have.”

Hopefully, this was only the appetizer. 

[kingkatsuki]

(You can completely ignore this if it's bad this is my first time ever doing this 😭😭)

Neighbor!Bakugo who's shocked to see a uhaul truck parked outside a house that was previously vacant for months. He's curious to know who brought the house as he pulls into his driveway and tries to peek into the house through the windows. He's quick to notice what looks like kids toys in the front and groans knowing that his peace may be disrupted with a little brat around. He sits in his car waiting to see the couple who now occupies the house and watches as you come out, trekking to the uhaul before lugging another box inside. He furrows his eyebrows seeing your little critter of a son run after you when you come outside again, asking about who knows what before hurrying inside.

'Where's your husband?' He thinks to himself and realizes the more he watches the creepier he's being. So he opts to get out of the car when you're inside hoping to bypass you and your son and relax in his own home.

"Oh, hello!" Crap. He's been caught. Bakugo momentarily considers to keep walking but whisks the thought away as you speak again. "I was wondering when you were gonna come out and introduce yourself," you him and Bakugo's confusion must clearly show on his face as you smile. He thinks you're dumb and fixes his lips to voice that very thought until-

"I saw you when you pulled up." Oh right. He did sit there for a moment watching you unload the uhaul. "I'm y/n. And you are?"

You just keep talking. Haven't you caught the hint yet that Bakugo doesn't like people? That damn smile of yours wouldn't leave your face and had him giving up the tough guy facade. "Bakugo. Katsuki Bakugo," he grumbles.

"Mommy!" Your little kid runs outside again and he notices how much he takes after you. "I can't find my Superman toys! I think they got lost!" He whines, tugging on your shirt.

"Hold on I'm sure I can find it for you okay? Don't worry," you consoled your teary son and Bakugo shook his head watching. Kids were just a distraction in his mind. "Who's this?" Your kid looked up at Bakugo, sizing him up at his small height before stepping in front of you.

"My mommy is not allowed to talk to you," he glares and Bakugo scoffs. The kid's got some nerve to be speaking to him like that. He kneels down to his heught, waving of your apology for his behavior.

"Your dad taught you to say that huh?" He raised his eyebrow and the kid remained the same, glaring at the red eyed male.

"I don't have a dad." Oh. Oh. Now it all makes sense to Bakugo. He hums and ruffles the kids hair before standing up. "That's too bad. They're overrated anyways. All you need is your mom who you should listen to more often," Bakugo raises his eyebrow.

"I know that already!" Your son huffs and runs back inside again. "I'm sorry, he's a bit hard headed," you apologize and he smiles a bit. Reminds him of his younger self.

"It's all good. You've got quite the brat though."

And Bakugo found himself helping you move the rest of your stuff inside, helping with whatever task you needed to do that he deemed "too much" for you. He didn't know it then but that first encounter sparked a feeling in him he stood he'd never feel for both you and your son...

Ahhhh I’m obsessed with this!!! Just move our boxes into your house Bakugou lets spend the rest of our lives together😭

[soft-hard-peaches]

Reaction: You Changing Your Hair Style

Note: long time no see everyone! i've really miss making fic so i'm posting things i've had drafted forever ago lol. i'm a bit rusty but wrting again was fun.

+fluff+ +crack+

Kim Hongjoong

>”can’t”

>...

“whyyy” 

>”Busy thats why but i should be done by 7”

>”Busy? You have no life thooo”

You ignore his last message. You weren’t going to dignify that with a response. You put down your phone and look at yourself in the mirror. Hair fully saturated with drugstore box dye, forehead stained messily, and adorning an old no longer white tee shirt that you never gave back to your ex. Usually you ask your bestfriend Hongjoong for color recommendations but you have a sudden burst of energy and now youre here I guess lol. You laughed at your appearance thinking would a person with no life clear up their busy schedule to dye their own hair because paying a professional sounds ridiculous and expensive. Once the laughter dies down you start to have second thoughts on your logic and skill set but you are already twenty minutes into the process so you must see it through. 

*VRRRR* The vibration grains your attention downwards. You unlock your phone to see the full message for Hongjoong.

>”I’m bringing your favorite for dinner as an early apology because I might be late since my boss wants me to head back to the studio for a bit.”

“Thank god!’’, you exclaimed. This means you have more time to talk yourself into thinking this was a good idea again and hop in the shower to finish this possible disaster. As you stain your porcelain white tub with colorful dye you think of Joong’s possible reaction. In all the years of your friendship, you’ve really admired his sense of fashion and eye for art. You don’t put him on a pudistal but you look up to his opinion. Maybe you were too confident thinking you could both choose a color and dye your whole head by yourself but you hopped out and headed to the mirror to see the finished product.

You gasped at your reflection, covering your mouth as you muffled yourself. “It’s actually cute”, you say, uncovering your mouth. You needed some more convincing so you grabbed your hair products to style it into something presentable for the hour or so. After styling your hair, you change into something not discolored and cover up the clumsy stains on your forehead just in time to hear your doorbell. It’s time to show off your totally perfectly planned dye job to Joongie. 

You practically swung the door open giving a little pose for a startled Hongjoong. "So this was why you were so busy today!” He laughed holding the hot food, shimmying into the apartment. You grabbed the bags to place on the table so he stopped to marvel at your work. “Y/N, you really should pick my next color.” 

His words were an ego boost.

Park Seonghwa

Every now and again you’d visit your boyfriend in the practice room to keep him company during his long practice hours. You would bring him something to eat or drink to keep his energy up and tell him about your day. He enjoyed this time together as much as you do. With both of your schedules usually clashing, this is one of the few moments of the week that you can enjoy one another.

He sat down in front of you admiring the vibrancy in your hair.

"…what?", you sheepishly ask.

He doesn't respond yet, still gazing at your beauty. Wide eyed and enamored.

"What??", you slap your hand on the dance floor between you two trying to gain his attention.

In attempts to play it off cool, he shoots you a smirk, "N-nothing. You just look really good in this color." You both cringe slightly at his corny behavior as he lets out a breathy laugh, looking away finally. You smile knowing his compliment was genuine.

Jeong Yunho

“Babe, looks like we’re twins!” You messaged him a picture of your new look fresh out of the salon. You wanted to try a new look so what better than having your hair colored like your boyfriend’s. Yunho loves when you two match whether it’s clothing, accessories or miscellaneous items. He’s 100% the type of boyfriend who would buy matching sets of things just to show off. You’re his first love so he wants the whole world to know your love for one another.

Today while you had a free day you wanted to surprise him with this eccentric display of partnership by getting your hair dyed to match his oreo styled white and black hair. You were pretty proud of the results and thought your puppy dog boyfriend would be obsessed but when he finally messaged back you were confused to say the least. 

> 🥲🥲🥲🥲

>”what do you not like it??

You were worried if maybe you took the matching too far. I mean matching hoodies and bracelets are one thing but you fully dyed your hair for him. While wondering what his message could have meant you get a face call from him and immediately picked it up. As his image pops up you immediately gasp at the sight of his black hair… not oreo but black. He tries to explain with a straight face that the company had planned to dye his hair black earlier that morning unbeknownst to both of you. As you hear laughter from his bandmates in the background you couldn’t do anything but giggle at the ridiculous situation with them. 

“The look suits you better anyways baby.” he finally compliments between chuckles.

Kang Yeosang

Though this isn’t your first acting gig, it is the first where you had to dye your actual hair. You’ve never even gotten highlights before but they want you to dye the whole head. You’re pacing his room thinking out loud as he watches, eating potato chips. Yeosang is more than used to having his hair changed every other comeback or so but he understands how you feel. He gets up to hand you the bag of chips and sits you down on his bed in his place. “So what color do they want for you?” he asked, now standing. You respond, now stuffing your face with chips,” Light brown. Like a milk tea color.” He claps in encouragement, “That’s not that bad Y/N. I’ll probably look really good in it.”

Yeosang tends to be optimistic most of the time but you take his words as honesty. “Really?”, you ask, wiping your mouth. He walks towards you planting a few kisses on your lips, “Of course, nothing can stop your beauty.

Choi San

You’ve always been hesitant to try out new things whether it’s a new restaurant or a new look, to the point that it took you this long to pierce your ears. You are a creature of comfort and disrupting your routine doesn’t sound pleasant to you but deep down you want to branch out even if in a small way. Your bestie San has always been the first person to hold your hand and encourage you so when you told him that you made an appointment with a salon to change your look. You reassured him, or more like yourself, that it’s not going to be a huge change but he’s excited either way that you're ready to get out of your comfort zone.

He drops you off at the salon for a few hours while he runs some errands. When you text him that you're done he gets back to you excitedly. Ready to see your new choice of look.

“San!!”, you waved at him cheerfully, “Do you like it?”. You seem so happy with the outcome that San didn’t want to pop your bubble. Honestly he’s happy youre happy and trying new things.

"... Wow...Y/n it’s great." Practically it’s the same color but you’re so cute when you’re giddy that he’s excited for you.

Song Mingi

Getting tired of the same old same old, you wanted to spice up your look somehow before your boyfriend came back from touring. Mingi would have loved you if you were a worm but you wanted to wow him nonetheless. You messaged him about your thoughts and he suggested you to maybe get your hair trimmed or try lightening the color. He’s so gentle with your feelings, he didn’t want to over suggest and seem like he wanted you to make a big change. He adored you and wanted you to be happy with yourself more than worrying about what he wants. So with those few options you took them and ran. A handful of days later and it was time to meet your boyfriend from his long travels.

He knew that you did something to your hair but not to what extent since you kept it a surprise. You eagerly headed to his dorms, excited to greet him and show him your new look. Once his manager opened the door, he greeted you with a compliment and a welcoming gesture into the house. Luckily the boys weren’t around to see you before he did. Once you called out his name he came jogging down singing yours offkey but the sight of you caught his eye and his heart. “Wow you’re like a new person babe! So beautiful.” He walked up to marvel at your newly colored short shaggy hair. Smiling ear to ear, you're happy with the new look and more than happy that your boyfriend loves it maybe more than you do.

"We should go out today so everyone can see how hot my girlfriend is." He says leaning down for a kiss.

Jung Wooyoung

"Bestie! Open the door bestie! My arms hurt!!" He proceeds to bang on the door impatiently, "Y/N?" he shouts almost completely without energy. You finally open the front door causing him to step back.

"Stop it, youre gonna wake up my neighb-"

"WHEN'D YOU BLEACH YOUR HAIR?!?!?"

You grabbed the food and tried to close him outside for yelling so much but he fought his way in. You both laugh from the bit of rough housing then Wooyoung closes and locks the door behind him, following you to the kitchen to help you set up the breakfast. The way the sunlight from the window shines on your now golden locks distracts him causing him to fumble with the cups.

You catch him staring with his lips parted a bit making you chuckle, "So how do you like it?" It takes him a moment to respond, "you know Y/n I've never really noticed how wavy your hair is. You blonde brings it out nicely."

That comment causes your face to flush suddenly. You hardly ever get complimented on your curl pattern. Honestly you're more used to backhanded compliments. Wooyoung senses your awkwardness and reassures you. "Your hair is really pretty."

Choi Jongho

You like company whenever you have to run errands around town but usually Jongho is busy working so you’d have to either go alone or ask other friends so when he had a day off you took that opportunity to drag him around from place to place. Usually he wouldn’t mind because quality time is his love language but when you told him you needed to get your hair touched up he tried to get out (unsuccessfully). He begged, pleaded, even started pouting since it always works on his hyungs, nothing worked.

Being a seasoned idol, he’s all too familiar with how long and grueling salon trips can be (even though he hardly gets his hair dyed lol). But you told him you need to get your hair done for work and once you gave him your puppy dog eyes he stopped protesting almost instantly.

He sat patiently, making small talk every now and then with the stylist and patrons there during the few hours of wait with his only time of freedom being when he left to get you a snack. To be completely honest, Jongho enjoys any bit of time with you just as much as you with him. He’s enjoyed your time so much that he’s started developing feelings for you, even if he hasn’t realized yet.

Once you’re finally done paying for your hair you walk up to him ushering to leave but the sight of you with lighter hair makes him lose his sense. Already at the door, you look back at him still sitting. “Come on, this is just one place i need to go today”, you say smiling down at him.

He gulps as he regain’s himself to get on his feet. Realizing the budding feelings.

[redactedasmrmcloven]

I love that I found the Redacted Asmr community on tumblr. It has truly been giving me light in these last few dark weeks. I thought I would try my hand at a few of my own headcanons for the Shaw pack boys and my vampire prince and cowboy

David & Angel

Someone on here had mentioned that Angel must have talked with David about how he communicated with them. Because in the beginning of the videos with David he had so much pent up anger and was just mean. I like the idea of Angel standing up for themselves to David and telling him off.

Love the idea of David seeking therapy at Angel’s request to deal with his grief and anger about Gabe dying. I think David is obviously upset that his father died and sad for his loss. But I also think he has a lot of anger for being left alone and taking up the responsibility of the pack at such a young age.

David going to therapy and learning to communicate his feelings and how to properly cope with his father’s passing

David apologizing to Angel for being mean/agressive and promising to be better in how he talks to them

Milo - Sweetheart

Maybe its because I am Muslim but love love love the idea of stealth culture being Islamic in some ways. Like Sweetheart covers their hair with a hijab or wears more modest clothing because part of stealth culture is only revealing your body/self to those you trust or have deep commitments to.

Milo taking his jacket off to cover Sweethearts hair after a young shifter accidentally tugs too hard at their hijab while they were playing at a pack gathering

Sweetheart wearing a niqab on days they don’t want to feel particularly seen

Milo matching his ties/shirts to Sweethearts scarves when they go out together

Milo supporting Sweetheart through Ramadan. He will make sure they get up early enough to eat, do morning prayers before they have to get ready for work and is respectful of Sweethearts fasting

Milo educates the rest of the pack on Ramadan making sure members aren’t doing anything extremely explicit in front of Sweetheart so their fast is not broken

Sweetheart’s family does not live nearby so they often celebrate Eid alone if they can’t get back home to be with them. Milo gets the entire pack to participate and has David and Marie work together to cook an Eid meal for Sweetheart

Asher / Babe

Asher is the wolf boy that took the longest to grow on me. I thought he was to immature but he has truly grown on me and I love him! In my headcanon for him similar to how Angel had to talk with David about his behavior I think Babe had a similar moment. Asher is naturally sweet and playful but I can imagine in the beginning of their relationship Babe had to tell Asher to grow up.

Babe getting into it with Asher because he doesn’t clean up after himself and spent the entire day playing video games. After a hard and long day at the office Babe wants nothing more than to come back to a clean apartment. But once they arrive they find Asher in the same position they left him in before they went to work. Trash has not been taken out, sink full of dishes that weren’t there before, and dirty laundry still on your shared bedroom floor. Babe calls him out for breaking the promise he made to clean.

Babe having to be more parent than partner to their mate

Babe trying to go to bed early for work and Asher up late being loud playing video games

Asher being irresponsible over shared task that inconvenience Babe. Which leads to Babe blowing up at Asher

Asher recognizes his wrongs and becomes a more attentive partner. I think of the boys Asher is the most emotionally intelligent but Babe helps him be more cognizant of his own actions

In quite a few videos we see Asher saying he needs to step up to support David more. Babe helps Asher mature in so many ways because Babe has always had to take care of themselves while Asher has always had people take care of him.

Babe has a strong work ethic similar to David. And just like David needs Asher to pull a more playful side out of him. Ash does the same for Babe

Asher being afraid he isn’t growing as fast as his friends. David is engaged, Milo buying a new home, Christian is not as evil, Amanda moving away for new opportunities.

Babe comforting him and telling him not to compare his growth to others

Babe will sometimes support the pack and the security business by doing their accounting for them. They are great at numbers and have worked for many different accounting firms.

Sam and Darlin (Tank)

I cannot tell you how much I love the growth of their relationship. Both of them opening up and being vulnerable with one another makes my heart swell. Content warn for mentions of abusive relationships

I like the idea of Vincent having rubbed off on Sam by Sam sneaking into Darlin’s apartment to leave food in their very empty fridge. So when Tank wakes up and is hungry and checks their fridge they have all these meals with a note from Sam saying eat your veggies

Tank booking night time horse riding sessions because Sam loves horses and grew up riding them

In my mind and I’ve seen it on here mentioned a few times but Tank was in an abusive relationship with Quinn. Tank still gets unsettled watching Sam drink blood and has to remind themselves to make eye contact with Sam. Quinn use to trance them and make fun of them

Sam understands Darlin’s hesitation around vampires and in the beginning also noticed Darlin had a hard time making eye contact with him.

Tank sometimes feels insecure for not offering Sam to feed off of them. They understand that its a very intimate and trusting thing to do between vampires and their partners. But they think of the times Quinn fed on them without consent and would take too much blood and it scares them

Sam thinks about asking to feeding on Darlin but he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to trigger them and he still has a lot of internalized hate for being a vampire

Sam still struggles to feed sometimes and will go to the very last minute without getting blood. He prefers to drink blood with human food

Tank also makes sure Sam is eating by having blood available in their fridge for when Sam is over. They both argue about the other not taking care of themselves

Tank and Sam both working together to heal from their previous abusive relationships

Sam no longer wants to hate Alexis but cannot move on until she apologizes to him

When Tank brings Sam to pack events the younger shifters will often ask to race Sam to truly see how fast vampires can run

Sam once asked Darlin if they could ride them in wolf form. Darlin thought it was extremely cute and said yes but Sam was so embarrassed by the request he ended up not riding Darlin

Vincent + Lovely

I definitely was crying bad when Vincent turned Lovely. I like seeing how Lovely has come to terms with turning and relearning their body again.

Once Lovely was able to go out on their own after the bloodlust they had a lot of shit to share with their therapist!

Lovely sometimes will shock Vincent as a joke and still does

Vincent loves when Lovely uses their powers on him

Vincent has nightmares still about Inversion and Lovely has been trying to convince him to also start seeing a therapist

Lovely’s favorite date nights with Vincent are when they go for long night drives and stop at their favorite 24/7 Ice cream shop

Lovely’s fav ice cream is Ben and Jerrys Tiramisu. Vincent keeps their home stocked up on it

Vincent was known as player in his time before Lovely but Lovely to Vincents surprise also broke many hearts

Lovely ran into one of Vincents human relatives at the store one time. They have never told Vincent as he simply does not talk about his human family

Even though Lovely’s electro powers aren’t the same as they were before they still have quite a bit of power

This was a lot longer than anticipated. But those are my headcanons

[nrdmssgs]

Many questions about Zhar incoming!

I love her being always in control of situation and seeming to have a plan. But are there any situations, that unsettle her, make her "I`m so confused, I dont know what to do about that"?

🍇anon

Ohhhhh, LOVE))) Believe me, she is so much NOT in control in Matters. She will eventually come up with a plan, but for now the girl is doomed.

But I don't want to talk about the sad stuff today. So there is another thing, she will never understand and never know what to do with it. And that is Kruegers chest tattoo. So she is not the biggest fan of official soviet or Russian symbols because of all the bad memories, she got from the motherland. She can bear with Nikolais telnyashka (as long as she is allowed to take it off him), but a Russian coat of arms on her favorite Chimera??? Oh, she will be devastated. I even cooked a little scene.

TW: swearing

AN: I don't approve of her behavior here and personally find it very unprofessional to make any commentaries on others ways of self-expression. Kruegers body is HIS BUSINESS! If anything, Zhar must apologize for being an absolute asshole. Also, there is a very short appearance of Phayvanh "Nak" Sotsvahn (she belongs to @vasyandii). I couldn't help myself, because in my hear KruegerxNak is a canon. Of course, I'll remove any mentions of Nak if Vasya doesn't find it amusing, what is happening here.

"Verdammter Scheiß!*" Krueger frantically shook his shirt over the sofa, not paying any attention to the cold wind touching his bare skin. His jacket laid on the armrest nearby. The only thing, that mattered to him, was to find that goddamn...

"If that's a part of your tactics to convince me for a rise - then my answer is 'no'." Familiar voice, but not the one, Krueger awaited to hear - Zhars voice. She turned on a lamp and proceeded to the desk, not paying that much attention to him.

His initial reaction was automatic. 'It's not, what you think.' thrown over his shoulder abruptly, as he continued searching his own clothes. But then Krueger froze. "Wait, commander, it is Nikolai's office, right?"

By that time Zhar already settled in front of the computer and waited for the tables she needed to appear on the screen. She looked too concentrated on her work to pay any attention to Krueger, but answered him nevertheless.

"It is my office. Niks is next door. Feel free to go charm him with your bare back, I'm sure, he'd find it quite amusing..."

"I'm not... Oh, fuck! Did you two absolutely had to get the same couches in your offices? I thought, only Nikolai had it!" Krueger cursed under his breath and added, "I promise, I'm out of here as soon as I find it!"

Olga finally shifted her concentration from the work and stood up.

"Ok, Krueger, do I need to know why the hell you've lost something on my couch, while I was attending meetings?"

"I didn't lose it on your couch, I lost it somewhere in my pockets! So I was trying to shake the goddamn thing out, but I didn't want it to fall on the floor and roll somewhere. That's when I remembered about Niks... well, yours sofa." By the time, he was done explaining, Zhar already stood beside him and searched the couch to help the poor man.

"At least enlighten me, what are we looking for," she muttered.

"A rock. Tiny lil shit! She always gives me the best ones, and for once in my life I finally found a rock to match her gifts, and it gets lost!" Krueger sounded genuinely annoyed.

Zhar paused for a moment. "So you say, we are looking for your gift for a girl... and it's a rock? Sebastian, please, at least tell me, it is attached to a piece of metal in a form of a ring... Otherwise, I'll start to worry about your relationship with whoev-"

"So keep your nose away from my relationship!" He was ready to verbally attack Olga, not carrying for her higher rank, when she pulled a little rock out of a fold between couch cushions. Kruegers face instantly softened. "Thanks, commander!"

He extended his hand to the stone, turning completely to Zhar and her gaze fell somewhere down. Olgas expression changed in a second, going from tired, but friendly to lost and angry.

"What the hell is that?!"

At first, he didn't understand her, thinking, there was some kind of smear on his bare belly or pants. Krueger checked himself, but he was completely clean. But when she poked her finger under his chest and growled, 'as far as I know, you are even not from there. Why the hell would you need this thing on you?'.

"Ah-h-h, you're about my ink? What's with it?" He looked confused down, then raised his gaze back on her.

"Krueger, how on earth did you think, it would be a good idea to leave this on your skin?!" Krueger seen Zhar angry, even pissed on the battlefield. But now she looked a hundred times more dangerous. So he quickly pulled on his shirt, not quite understanding, what did he do wrong. Somehow, his commander was absolutely ok about his criminal record, but his choice of tattoos drove her mad.

***

Nikolai was smoking with Yegor leaning against the wall, when Krueger practically flew out of a main building, dodging a heavy folder of papers thrown after him.

Olga's scream followed. "Hide this mark of shame and don't even think about showing it to anyone! Especially her!!"

"There is my treasure." Nik huffed with a wide grin, watching as Zhar left a building, following Krueger.

It seemed, only Nikolais open arms and soft smile saved Sebastian from being followed by the same folder, thrown yet again at him. Olga sighed, turned back and hid her face on his broad chest.

"Synishka sovsem otbilsya ot ruk?*" Yegor smirked, taking another drag.

"Ne nachinai...*" Zhar grumbled, still pressed firmly to Nikolai.

They stood like that for some time: men smoking in a comfortable silence, Nikolai playing with Olgas hair, looking somewhere deep in shadows between the hangars, Yegor smiling to his own thoughts. After a few minutes, they've heard Phayvanhs voice.

"For me? You really spent so much time, to find a rock, that looks like a head of a guy, I flatlined on the last mission? And saved it for me??? Man, you are the best, you know that?!"

She sounded so happy, that both Yegor and Nikolai couldn't help, but smiled with the utmost tenderness. Only Zhar froze for a moment only to hug Nik firmer and mutter "Ok, maybe I do need to raise Kruegers payroll after all..."

Verdammter Scheiß! - bloody hell

Synishka sovsem otbilsya ot ruk? - Has your son completely gotten out of hand?

Ne nachinai... - Don't even start...

[aajjks]

mommy issues!JK

you’re still in your dress from last night. your hair is messy, and you’ve yet to freshen up. you had a lot of fun with chaeyoung young last night and despite her pressuring advice, you’re still unsure of where you stand with jungkook. just thinking about it gives you a headache and speaking of the devil:

*knock*

*knock*

*knock*

you let out a groan, wondering if chaeyoung might be at your front door, instead, it’s jungkook with a bouquet of sunflowers and a box of chocolates. you rub your sleepy eyes; are you hallucinating? you knew jungkook was persistent but this is a whole new level of persistence and it’s all in favor of winning your heart.

while you’re looking hideous, jungkook’s looking handsome in his black and white striped shirt, ripped jeans, and platform shoes. you’re assuming he must have plans to take you out or maybe he’s meeting up with nara later on.

“Yn.., what happened last night..” jungkook pauses. his eyes lower to the pretty sunflowers before meeting yours again. “it wasn’t true. The articles are false because I’m not dating her and I did not know that you were going to be there. She did this on purpose and I don’t think that I should be the one taking the fall for this.”

before you say anything, jungkook opens his mouth and follows his earlier plea by saying “I think I deserve a chance to explain myself so please just wait for my explanation and give me a chance to explain.”

you’re hesitant to take the bouquet and chocolates from jungkook’s hands because what you’re going to say will break his heart.

“wow..uh…this is really nice, jungkook. thanks. listen, you don’t have to explain anything to me, okay? i accept your apology but i have to politely decline. you’re a sweet guy and all but i really just want to have a professional relationship with you. i just don’t see us working out. i apologize for jumping to conclusions about yours and nara’s relationship but from this day forth, i just want it to be professional between us…all three of us”

you…jungkook…and seol.

it’s a hard pill to swallow. basically a knife to the heart but it must be done.

~🫧

Your words don’t hurt him as much as he expected them to but your cold tone does make him flinch a little.

Professional… huh.

Jungkook shakes his head-feeling his anger bubbling up, but it’s not your fault. It’s Nara’s fault. “I’m glad that you let the things from your heart out but now I will talk and you will listen.”

He crosses his arms on his chest and with a cold smile on his face that doesn’t really reach his eyes like always, but you have decided to piss him off and now you are going to pay the price for it

“I don’t think that out of all people you should be the one who talks about professionalism.” He begins, his tone hard and he did, but he keeps his voice in control.

“don’t you think I know about your little affair with the bitch..what’s her name again? Ah yes chaeyoung.” He smirks- anger, bubbling up it’s driving him insane.

“oh please don’t look at me like that. It’s not my fault that how She keeps on boosting about your little flame and how you like girls more than boys.” He glares at you.

“She’s a teacher at the same school where you teach.”

“I mean it’s kind of ironic that you’re telling me to be professional with you when you’re literally fucking the teacher.” He is so angry at you right now because how dare you tell him to be professional with you when you blur the lines with everyone but except him.

“I didn’t expect you to love me, but I also didn’t expect this behavior from you. Haha you’re not I thought you were.

“You’re a coldhearted selfish hypocritical person. That’s all.” He scoffs. “how do you tell me to be professional with you? I like you so much and this is what I get in return? That you make assumptions and I have to pay the price? My feelings are a joke to you. My son is a joke to you.”

“You come from an abusive relationship as well- I thought you’d understand- the way she kept on digging her fuckin nails in my bicep that I got marks. Haha wow you’re so damn stupid!”

[forthedancingandthethriving]

A prince slowly paces back and forth, inside the castle. Outside, the coronation area was being set up.

He wore a black suit, with a purple dress shirt underneath. Black dress pants and shoes finished off his look, complimenting his dark blue fur. He wasn't exactly a Russian Blue cat like his predecessor, but it didn't matter. He just had to be careful about how he walked in the light, he didn't want any yellow or orange appearing.

He adjustes his outfit before turning his head, seeing his 'father's' former attendant approaching. She had been more than happy to come back now that the 'son' was here.

"Your Highness, everything is nearly complete," she says, her tail flicking gently. "We haven't gotten word back from the other royals, though."

He puts on a sad yet understanding smile. "I don't blame them. After all my father has done, they are no doubt going to be suspicious of me." He sighs softly. "We must simply let them come to their own conclusions."

She nods, a warm smile on her face. Their new king would be far better than the old one.

○●○

"I still find it hard to imagine he managed to find someone to have a child with.."

Prince Damien hums softly as he approaches the royals of Haromnia. His eyes flick over all of them and the others they brought. They all seem surprised, yet pleased.

"Well, would ya look at that." Queen Alina places a paw on her hip, her formal dress suspiciously close to that of a pirate's. "The lad is real!"

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Prince Damien." Queen Melody smiles. "Apologies for none of us being here sooner.."

"Ah, it's fine." Damien shakes his head, holding up a paw. "Considering all my father has done, it's not exactly hard to believe that you all wouldn't really trust the letter."

King Magnus chuckles. "Well, we see you now. Hopefully, you'll do big things, Damien."

The soon-to-be king smiles. "I hope so too."

As the group began to talk and discuss, Damien spun the story he'd spun so many times before. His father had him with a commoner, his mother. Yet she grew sick and pleaded with Umbra to take Damien, and the king reluctantly agreed. However, Umbra was ashamed of having a child out of wedlock and hid Damien, and the prince preferred to stay hidden because of his father's behavior and actions. Only the court knew of his existence, but even then he was limited in his interactions with them.

"I remember always listening to Tonio's music.." Damien smiles wistfully. "I hope that maybe he'll return and I can apologize for what my father had done.."

"What had he done?"

"It's.. not my place to say." He didn't want to admit that he didn't know. It was the one thing he couldn't figure out as he integrated himself into this world.

As they continue to talk, getting to know one another, a black cat walks past. He wears nothing blue, a black tunic, brown pants, and brown shoes, but all the monarchs and the Songbird present have their ears flick toward him. Damien has to force his ear to flick.

Unus. He thinks, watching the Muse head over to find a seat.

This would be interesting.

As he nods and parts ways, heading over to the stage to make sure the final preparations, when a ginger tabby clad in black steps in front of him.

"Pardon me, your highness."

Damien narrows his eyes before his ears perk upwards, and he puts on an elated face. "Tonio! I never expected you to come back!"

Tonio chuckles, though his tail is up, as if on alert. He supposes it makes sense. "Well, with Umbra finally out of commission, I believed a homecoming was due, no?"

The prince smiles somberly. "I feel a bit down knowing that only now you've felt safe to return." As he walks away, he turns his head a bit. "Hopefully I'll do well enough for you to feel safe to visit."

As the prince walks off, Tonio merely narrows his eyes a bit.

○●○

It went off without a hitch. Damien was crowned king of Devos, and he was pretty sure that he went deaf from all the cheering. All the monarchs and those they brought were more than happy to congratulate him, all clearly happy to have a competent ruler now.

Just how much did they hate Umbra? Damien thinks, flicking an ear as he shakes King Bolero's paw.

As he pulls away with a smile, he stiffens as something speaks in his mind.

I have high hopes for you, Prince Damien.

A black cat walks past, and Alina grins. "Ah, that's probably Unus. He loves to be all cryptic like that."

King Damien chuckles. "I figured."

His tail flicks. Unus seems to be important. He shouldn't forget that.

As more come to congratulate him, his eyes catch the light, and turn to a dark yellow rather than a crystal blue.

Everything was perfect. Now for the first step of his plan.. figuring out where the dead was kept here. Then maybe, finally, he could get rid of that accursed ClearAll his sister seemed to care about so much.

Life would be better off without death anyway.

[princess-of-purple-prose]

[ID: A Naruto comic. Tobirama sighs and mutters, “JC. Gd Uchiha. Why did my brother have to be gay.” Madara appears, glaring, and says, “Are you just going to stand there being homophobic or are we going to fight.” He is shirtless, and Hashirama’s face growth is visible on his chest, as are top surgery scars. Tobirama shouts, “Where the fuck did your shirt go. What were you two doing over there.”

A close-up shows the embossed Hashirama face blepping. Tobirama reels back in absolute disgust and horror, and he points at Madara’s face and shouts in huge caps, “What the fuck.” Madara frowns, “Wow calm down.” He gives Tobirama the middle finger as Tobirama seethes, “You fucking sick bastard I should have killed you the moment–” They both jolt and freeze as a loud, angry voice shouts, “Tobirama.” Tobirama whimpers, “A-Anija?”

Hashirama leaps from a distant height, and the other two stare up. Hashirama lands with a crash and stares forward with an imposing expression. Madara stares, drooling and blushing with his Sharingan activated. Tobirama looks very nervous.

Then Hashirama zips in front of Madara, who holds his hands up with a wide-eyed grin. Hashirama holds out his arms protectively and shouts, “Brother! I understand your frustration but that does not excuse such reprehensible behavior!” Tobirama sweats, “W–What??”

Hashirama lectures, “Being comfortable without a shirt is an important milestone in the lives of trans men.” Behind him, Madara grins with disbelieving delight and says, “U can’t be serious.” Hashirama, disappointed, continues, “We must be supportive. Just because Madara is trying to end reality as we know it, does not mean you can react like that to his top surgery scars. Apologize.” Madara is doubling over, crying laughing.

Tobirama stares in silence, his speech bubble ellipsis taking up half the panel. Hashirama still looks angry, and Madara is wheezing and shaking with laughter. Then Tobirama screams, “I am talking about your face on his tit you fucking idio–” Hashirama’s expression turns into a nervous smile, and Madara almost disappears from view, still bent over laughing. End ID]

what are your thoughts on madara trans gener (as in trans man) and would u perhaps doodle smth for the idea :? maybe w hashi… only if you wanted tho ofc !!! your art is so lovely n cute

[cloudteawrites]

chapter: seven ( 12.3k ) rating: mature (death, past abuse, eventual smut) genre: mystery | romance | hurt/comfort tags: bts x reader | ot7 x reader | hybrid | poly summary: when an estranged uncle leaves you his massive fortune you wonder if the universe is playing a joke on you. when that fortune comes with seven hybrids, you know for sure that it is. << first < previous | next > last >>

The sound of your phone ringing rips you from sleep. You sit bolt upright, confusion and panic dousing you like twin buckets of ice water. You’d been having a nightmare about something, but you can’t remember what. The tattered ends of it are already slipping away, just out of reach. You don’t chase after them.

You fumble for your phone in the dark, fingers groping uselessly at your blankets until they close around it. The bright white light from your screen blinds you as you flip it over and you blink blearily, rubbing at your eyes with one hand and trying to answer with the other.

“Hello?” you rasp, mashing the speaker button. “Who is this?”

“Apologies for disturbing your sleep, ma’am.” A woman’s voice crackles over the other end of the line. You can hear exhaustion dripping off every word. “This is Officer Kwon from the Namhyeon-dong precinct of the Seoul Metropolitan Police Force.”

You squint into the dark expanse of your bedroom, a little frown on your face as you struggle to process what she’s saying. “....okay?”

“I’m calling because we’ve got two of your hybrids in custody.”

You blink slowly. “Hmmmm, I don’t think so...” you mumble through a yawn. “They’re all in bed.”

“We ran their numbers through the registry and you were pinged as the owner of both.” You hear papers shuffling and her voice get distant as she transfers the receiver to her shoulder to free up a hand. “We’ve got a rabbit calling himself Jeongguk and a Seokjin who the rabbit says is a deer-” She sighs. “Listen, I’m at the end of my rope here. They won’t tell me where they came from and the phone number of the business they were registered to before you is out of service. They’re hurt pretty bad, worse than what we can take care of here at the station. We can’t get them any sort of medical care without their guardian’s permission, so-”

Your eyes glaze over as you groggily connect the dots.

A deer and a rabbit.

Not canine, not feline.

Other.

Other.

You shove the covers down your legs and kick them over the side of the bed. “I’m on the way,” you tell her, already adding up the distance between your building and Namhyeon-dong. It’d take an hour to get all the bus transfers you needed- your eyes narrow as you squint at the time on your phone. 3:27 AM. You’d have to get a cab. Your stomach twists at the thought of the fare, but you shove the feeling down. This was no time to be thrifty. “Do whatever you need to.”

The officer exhales in relief. You can practically hear the tension leave her shoulders. “There’s a little hybrid clinic in the neighborhood. I’ll see if I can get the vet up and convince them to go.”

“Thank you,” you breathe. She gives you the address and you type it into your notes app, reading it back to her twice to make sure you got it right. She hangs up with a promise to see you soon and your phone locks, leaving you alone in the blue-black gloom of an early morning.

This wasn’t great. This wasn’t great any way you sliced it. You’d thought you’d have an extra two weeks to get the canines settled and all five hybrids to at least not want to kill each other. That’d been the plan, at least, when you’d sequestered yourself in your bedroom without telling Jimin and Taehyung goodnight or doing any introductions. Now the others were coming and you were on borrowed time. You drag your hands down over your face. “What are we gonna do?” Nothing but silence answers you.

When you were a kid and you’d had anything big before you- a massive school project you’d waited til the last moment to start, having to walk yourself to the market because your mom was too sick to go, a hard conversation with a friend- your mom had always told you to break it down into smaller pieces. Make the big thing small; do what you can for now. So, that’s what you do.

You shove your phone into the pocket of your sweatpants, tug your backpack out from under your bed and grab a pair of socks. You slide them on as quickly as you can and head for the door. You tug it open and try to rush through, already on the way to your next small thing- but you stumble over a shoulder and go down.

You let out a yelp of surprise that quickly morphs into one of pain as your forehead knocks against the other person’s. Your hands slam down on either side of their head and their own fly up to your waist to steady you. You blink down at them, willing your eyes to adjust to the dark.

Hoseok is beneath you. He’s squinting up at you, his hair in disarray and his cheeks puffy with sleep. “Ow,” he croaks.

You wince. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, rubbing the spot on his forehead your own knocked against on autopilot. He seems to wake up a little at that, eyebrows inching up his forehead. You snatch your hand back. “Ah, sorry. I was worried I hurt you-”

“I’m okay,” he rasps, his voice still thick with sleep. “You didn’t hurt me.”

“Okay.” You disentangle yourself from him and rise back to your feet. He struggles to get up too, mirroring you. The blankets pooled around his hips fall to his feet. You frown at the picture he makes, his shoulders slumped from exhaustion and indents on his cheek from the hardwood. “Did you...did you sleep out here?”

His ears fall and he lowers his head a bit between his shoulders. “Yeah,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “I did…”

You wrote off a lot of the behavior the boys exhibited that you didn’t understand as just a part of them being hybrids. When Taehyung affectionately headbutted you, or Jimin always hopped up on counters or Yoongi lapped from glasses instead of sipping, you just accepted it and stashed it away to google later- but this was a little more concerning. Did he not feel safe in his room? You’d tried to put him and Namjoon as far away from the felines as you could, but you also knew the cats weren’t thrilled about sharing their space. You hoped they hadn’t made him feel too unwelcome after you’d collapsed into bed.

“Is everything okay?” His ears twitch as the smell of your worry fills his nose. He leans forward and for a moment you think he’s gonna close the distance between you- but he pulls back.

“No,” he answers. You feel your heart sink. “I just...your room is closest to the front door.” You blink at him slowly, not following. You don’t know how his sight is in the dark, but he must see the confusion furrowing your brow,because he continues. “Your room is the only one on the first floor and it’s close to the living room and front door. We all sleep upstairs. If someone broke in, they’d get you first.” He tosses a finger down at the blankets. “I was sleeping here so that wouldn’t happen.”

“Nobody’s gonna get me, Hoseok,” You soothe, trying to assuage his fears. “I’m nobody-”

“You don’t know that,” he argues back. “And you’re not ‘nobody’ to me. I waited my whole life for you. I’ve gotta keep you safe.”

You don’t know what to make of that. You’d known Hoseok had been trained specifically to protect the person he’d eventually be sent to, but you hadn’t expected him to be so adamant about it. After all Namjoon grew up in the same place- No. Your expression sours as the thought stops you. No he didn’t. The wolfdog hybrid had been locked away for most of his life and interaction with others had come only in the form of meal delivery. He wouldn’t have had the director’s lessons drilled into his head everyday in the same way Hope had.

Still, no one has expressed this level of care for you since your mom died. You’re not entirely sure you deserve it.

“I was gonna wake up before you did and go back to my room,” he mumbles, kicking gently at the blanket and not meeting your eyes. “I promise, I was. I didn’t expect you to be up this early.” He fiddles with the hem of his shirt, his ears drooping more and more the longer you look at him. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable…”

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable, Hoseok,” You tell him and his ears perk up a little. It was true, he hadn’t. His actions were sweet, if a bit misguided but you were more worried about him than anything. “I don’t know what the director told you or what you’ve heard, but I promise there’s no one after me.” He frowns at that, lips twisting into a little pout. He goes to interject, but you speak again before he can. “If you’re worried about anything, just tell me okay? If there’s anything you need to do to make yourself feel more at ease here, just tell me.” You implore him softly.

Hoseok nods slowly and you see his tail give one small wag. You nod back, and turn to go, but his voice stops you. “I think it would help a lot if I could sleep down here.” Your brow furrows at that.

“This is the only bedroom on this floor, though?”

He whines and looks like he’s about to explain- but a soft voice purring in your ear cuts him off. “He could sleep on the couch,” Jimin supplies, his arms entwining around your middle as he rests his chin on your shoulder. “It’s quite comfortable...Y/N-ah, do you mind dogs on the furniture?” His tone is light, free of the haze of sleep and a little teasing. From the way Hoseok’s ears droop and the way his shoulders curve in, you could tell Jimin hadn’t crept down here for a bit of good-natured ribbing. Your scent sours as your expression does, irritation with the leopard hybrid pricking at you. He lets out a little disgruntled murr in protest as he noses at your neck, trying to get you to soften for him. You tilt your head away from him and disentangle yourself from his arms. It’s three in the morning, you have to cross the city to deal with the fallout from God only knows what, and your neck still aches from the bruise Yoongi had left on it. You have too much on your plate to deal with Jimin needling his new housemate.

“Leave him alone, Jimin,” You exhale, side-stepping the leopard hybrid and heading down the corridor for the door. “Hoseok, you can sleep where you want. I’ve gotta go.”

The doberman takes a step forward. “I’ll come with you-” the icy look Jimin shoots him has him slowing but it’s not until the leopard hybrid bares his teeth at him that he stalls entirely. The sound of his whimper has you whirling around, but when you do, you find Jimin looking at you, blasé and Hoseok eyeing him with uncertainty

“I’ll be back as soon as I can, I promise,” you toss back over your shoulder as you slide your feet into a pair of shoes. “Please, just...if you can’t be friendly, just do your own thing ‘til I get back.” You lace up your sneakers as quickly as you can and duck out the door. “Text me if you need anything; I’ll call on the way back.” And you’re gone, leaving the leopard and the doberman in the dark.

You are not at all confident in their ability to maintain a truce while you’re gone. You’re almost certain that if you hadn’t shoved your way between Namjoon and Yoongi last night, they’d have come to blows right there in the lobby last night. You punch the button for the ground floor and slump back against the railing of the elevator, exhaustion settling heavy on you now that you were alone again. You’d known Yoongi, Jimin and Taehyung weren’t thrilled about sharing their space, but you hadn’t expected this kind of fallout from bringing new hybrids home. You don’t know if there’s anything you can do to make things a little easier, but you want to. Sighing, you resign yourself to more research. You pull out your phone and start typing.

why are my hybrids freaking the fuck out

You backspace. Venting at google wasn’t going to help you figure out what the sharp looks Jimin kept throwing Hoseok while he thought your back was turned meant or why Yoongi had been so furious the other hybrids’ scent was on you.

why don’t my hybrids like each other

Just like all your other searches, this one turns up millions of results. You thumb over the links but none of them are helpful. They’re dealing with puppy hybrids bickering and cat hybrids hissing at each other. None of them cover cross-species beef. None of them deal with exotics. You sigh, lock your phone and tilt your head back to stare at the soft yellow lights in the elevator’s ceiling. You were out of your depth. You’d known that from the moment Mr. Seo turned you into an heiress with a wave of his fountain pen. You get the urge to run, that old niggling feeling that settled like a stone in your mind and made your palms itch.

It’s been years since you last felt the need to pull a disappearing act. You don’t think you’ve done it since the one year anniversary of your mom’s death. The foster home you’d been sent to was a shit show. You found out the woman in charge had been pocketing the money you gave her every month for your mother’s columbarium fees and her urn was in danger of being thrown out. You’d shoved everything you owned into your school bag and walked across the city to get her. When the police found you, you were striding down the side of the highway, her urn clutched to your chest, determined to go anywhere but there.

You hadn’t known where you were going then; you still didn’t now. All you’d had was the urge to flee and fire under your feet. All you’d had was a singular focus on the road ahead.

The elevator reaches the ground floor with a soft ding, the automated voice letting you know you’ve reached the lobby. You step out and shuffle across it with your head down, careful to avoid eye contact with the receptionist watching you warily from behind her desk.

It’s a cold night. A blast of frigid air hits your face the second you’re out the door. You curse under your and fold your arms around yourself in a futile effort to keep warm. You should go back upstairs and get the coat Yoongi made you buy. You shift from one foot to the other, weighing your options- and decide against it. If the conversation you’d had with Hoseok was enough to wake Jimin and send him slinking toward you, you running in and out of the penthouse would almost certainly wake Yoongi up. Memories flash in your mind: his hands gripping your hips tight, his rough tongue laving over your neck, that self-satisfied smirk he’d let spread over his mouth. You pinch yourself, trying to stem the heat you can feel crawling out the neck of your sweatshirt. It had upset you, there was no denying that. The warm feeling that’d bubbled up in your stomach at being touched didn’t wash away the fact that him marking you had nothing to do with your friendship and everything to do with warding off the canine hybrids.

Yeah, you decide, quickening your pace down the ice-slicked sidewalk. You’d much rather face the cold than him.

You make quick work of the walk from Haneul Tower to the streets of the club district. It’s only two blocks up and one over, but by the time you get there, you feel like a giant icicle. You’re out of place in a sweatshirt and scuffed up sneakers among the glitz and glamor of the club-goers, but you don’t have time to deal with your imposter syndrome. You duck into the first taxi you find, pass the old man the address Officer Kwon had given you and settle back.

He complains nearly the entire time about how far out of the way you’re making him go. You apologize as much as you’re able and promise him return fair back to Gangnam if he waits for you. He huffs and puffs, but he still takes you. Forty minutes later, you’re standing on the sidewalk outside of Happy Tails Hybrid Clinic, rapping urgently at the glass. After two minutes that feel like twenty, someone finally answers you.

You think she’s in her late twenties but the dark circles under her eyes she keeps rubbing at make her look older. She’s dressed in the typical winter police uniform, minus her jacket. The pale blue sleeves of her dress shirt are rolled up above her elbows and are blotchy with pale red marks she’d tried to scrub out. Blood. You swallow, your throat suddenly dry.

She unlocks the door and pokes her headout. “Y/N L/N?” She asks, eyes narrowed against the glare of the street lamps.

“Yeah,” you answer, giving one short nod. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“Officer Kwon; we spoke on the phone.” She opens the door for you fully, stepping back and ushering you in urgently. “I’ll be honest,” she says once you’re safely inside and the door is locked back tight again. “I wasn’t sure you were gonna show.”

You frown at that. “Why wouldn’t I have shown?”

“Most of the time when hybrids run, it’s an abuse case.” She drops into one of the plastic chairs lining the waiting room. Her head falls back with a thunk against the yellow plaster. If it hurts, she shows no signs of it, just stares up at the fluorescent lights. You settle on the lip of the chair next to her, feeling awkward and anxious. “The rabbit broke into an Olive Young to steal antiseptic and bandages,” she supplies without you having to ask. “He said he did it for the deer. When he showed me he was…” Officer Kwon exhales sharply and tips forward to rest her head in her hands. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that much blood.”

“I wouldn’t hurt them,” you insist softly. “It wasn’t me.”

“I know,” she answers, voice muffled against her palms. “I pulled your name and ID picture from the national database and the rabbit didn’t recognize you. Even if you didn’t do it, I didn’t think you’d wanna deal with it.”

Your anxiety spikes at her words. What had happened to the hybrids before she found them? Who’d want to hurt them that badly? Your mouth feels dry, but you force it to move. “Do you know who they were running from?”

Officer Kwon shakes her head and drags her hands down her face. She lets her arms fall to her knees as she hunches over in her chair, back bowed with exhaustion. “Whatever the rabbit knows, he’s not sharing,” she exhales. “-And the deer’s in no position to speak up. He’s been unconscious since I found him.” As if sensing you tense, she adds, “He’s on the table now. I think Dr. Cheon put him under sedation.”

You don’t know what to say. You’re not sure if there’s anything you even can. You have a million questions buzzing around in your mind, but so heavy is the weight of them on your tongue that you can’t find the strength to ask a single one. You’re saved by the doctor coming out from the back.

The door right next to the counter that reads STAFF + PATIENTS ONLY swings open and a middle aged woman in cat print scrubs comes out, shoulders hunched in like she’s got the weight of the world on her back. You can’t blame her; she looks every bit as tired as you feel. She stops just short of you and Officer Kwon, peels off a pair of blue medical gloves, dyed sticky red, and tosses them into the garbage can behind the reception desk. “Well,” she huffs, dragging her fingers through the greying wisps of hair that’d escaped from her braid. “It’s done.”

“How is he?” The police officer asks before you can. Dr. Cheon grimaces and leans against the counter.

“If you hadn’t found him in time, it could’ve been much worse.” You think she’s trying to put you at ease, but you don’t want compromising optimism. You want the truth. “An hour or two later and we’d be dealing with a very different situation, medically.”

You swallow and force yourself to speak. “Do you have any idea how this could’ve happened?”

Dr. Cheon turns her attention to you and blinks slowly, like she’d just noticed you were there. “...this is the guardian?” The police officer nods. The doctor takes you in, eyes roving from the mess of your hair twisted into a bun atop your head, to the scuffed rubber toes of your sneakers. She’s judging you, you know, trying to find something that’d mark you as the reason for the pain and suffering of the hybrids she’d helped. She finds none. “It didn’t happen to them,” she sighs. “Someone did this to them on purpose, likely over the course of several hours.” She tugs the office chair out from behind the desk and sinks into it, her limbs going to jelly the second she’s seated.

“Jeongguk won’t tell me what happened, but I know the signs. Puncture wounds around the entirety of Seokjin’s ankle, remnants of both sedatives and epinephrine in both of their blood, what looks like a bullet graze wound on Jeongguk’s side and he’s got a broken arm,” she rattles off symptom after symptom, each of them making the knot in your belly wind tighter and tighter. “The worst of it is Seokjin’s head. Hairline fractures all along the top of his skull and lacerations on his pedicles. They took his antlers from him.”

You feel sick to your stomach. You knew there were people who hurt hybrids, just like there were people that hurt animals and other people. You just hadn’t expected to ever have to deal with the fallout of one such incident. “Will he be okay?”

“He’ll survive, if that’s what you’re asking,” Dr. Cheon allows. “But he’ll need to be monitored closely during these next few weeks. They were hunted. If they decide to come with you instead of going to the shelter with Officer Kwon, you’ll need to be cognisant of the fact that the trauma from that could manifest in unexpected ways.”

Hunted. They’d been hunted.

You knew hunting was illegal in South Korea, you had that little tidbit tucked away in the recesses of your grade school memory along with the list of provinces and their capitals and the names of all the sailor scouts. It’d been outlawed in the fifties with the rash of hybrid centered legislation after a hunter up in Chungcheongbuk-do had shot a black bear hybrid he’d mistaken for a real bear. It was determined that since humans couldn’t distinguish between regular animals and hybrids shifted down into animal form, hunting had to be outlawed to prevent any accidental killings.

“Were they shifted down?” You ask. “Did someone not realize-”

“No.” Dr. Cheon’s answer is swift and final. “They knew. This was a choice.” The disgust in her voice is palpable.

“There are places that...Some centers cater to people that want to hunt.” Officer Kwon cuts in. “They have hybrids as employees and they let people rent airsoft or paintball guns to come hunt them. It’s supposed to be more ethical than actual hunting. No matter how distasteful I might personally find it, if they have a permit, there’s not really much the police can do unless a law has been broken. ”

“And without any information on where they came from, we can’t prove that one has,” Dr. Cheon finishes. “The most I can do as a vet is submit a report to the police about a possible abuse case and hope it makes its way to the hybrid crimes unit.” You hear the words she doesn’t speak, the meaning behind them. There’s nothing more we can do. They’ll get away with it. This is the end of the line.

Dr. Cheon drops her palms against her knees and forces herself to stand “Jeongguk’s injuries should heal just fine outside of the clinic,” She sighs. “But Seokjin-” she clicks her tongue against her teeth and gives a single shake of her head. “Cervine hybrids don’t shed their antlers like real deer do. There’s no telling if his will grow back or what they’ll look like when they do. All we can do is keep the wounds clean and pray.”

You nod numbly. She gestures for you to follow her and you do, making your way around the reception desk and through the staff door with her.

It’s dim in the back. The overhead lights are off and your path ahead is illuminated only by what light spills over from the reception room and an exam room up ahead. There’s only four of them, but the door to this one is slightly ajar. “Wait here for a second,” Dr. Cheon instructs, slipping through the door and leaving you alone in the corridor. You can hear her speaking softly to someone inside and them answering in even quieter tones. You have to strain to pick up the edge of their voice and even then, you can’t understand what they’re saying. “Would you like her to come in here, or would you like her to stay outside?” You hear her ask. The response is too soft for you to catch but a second later the door swings open.

Dr. Cheon steps out and gestures for the shadowy figure behind her to follow. “It’s alright,” she assures them. “No one here is going to hurt you.” Slowly, they shuffle out from the back.

It’s Jeongguk. There’s no denying what he is, not with the black velvet ears you see poking up out of his mop of wavy, dark hair. They’re alert; they prick toward you when your breath hitches. His eyes are dark and wide and the tip of his nose twitches when he looks at you. You muster up a smile you hope is reassuring and this right foot taps once against the linoleum. Yes, he’s a rabbit- but he’s also fucking huge.

What little research you’d managed to do in between apologizing to your taxi driver and keeping an eye on the fare had been straightforward: rabbit hybrids were naturally timid, needed a lot of attention and were small. Most sources you’d checked seemed to concur that they very rarely cleared 5’5. Jeongguk is pushing 6 feet and he’s built like a professional athlete. You suppose that’s what happens when you’ve spent your whole life running for it.

He’s wearing a teeshirt that’s too tight on his chest, the logo of the Seoul police force stretched thin, and a pair of grey sweatpants that are too short for him, both obviously on loan from Officer Kwon. His feet are bare, but there are bandages wrapped around both of them. True to what Dr. Cheon told you, his arms in a cast and wrapped in a sling. There’s scrapes on his knuckles and bruises blooming on the right side of his face. He looks like he’s been through the wringer. Still, he doesn’t slouch or shrink before you.

“Jeongguk, this is the woman we talked about,” Dr. Cheon tells him. He nods, but doesn’t move his gaze from your face once. “You’ll be going home with her-”

“Only if he wants,” You interject and she nods in agreement, quickly adding that caveat in.

“-only if you want.” He nods again and swallows, his bare foot giving another little tap against the floor.

“What about Seokjin?” He asks you.

“If he wants to come too, he’s welcome to, but neither of you have to if you don’t want to.” There’s a little frown on his face as you answer and he finally looks away. You can’t help but think that’s a bad sign, that he thinks he and his friend would be safer in a shelter that they ever could be with you- but then he asks another question.

“Do you have a husband or a boyfriend?” You frown at that. Why was it that every hybrid in the city was suddenly so concerned with your marital status? Hoseok had asked you in the car last night and now Jeongguk seemed worried about it as well. Sensing your confusion, he clarifies. “Do you live with any men?”

You wince. “Oh! Yeah, I live with five.” You see his expression darken as his ears sag. “They’re mostly predator-”

“If they’re hybrids, it’s fine.” He interjects, a little tension leaving his shoulders. “I can live with them.”

You relax too. From what you’d seen, most shelters weren’t nice places. They were overcrowded and underfunded. If the news was any indication, some of the worse ones got treated like grab bags by fighting rings, who’d shell out a couple thousand won for a canine hybrid and turn him into a prize fighter. You didn’t want that for them, not if you could provide an alternative.

But was it one though? He said he could live with them, but could they live with him? You think back to Yoongi and Namjoon snarling at each other last night, about Jimin’s little jabs at Hoseok. Yeah, you’d need to have another house meeting when you got home if this was ever going to work. Jeongguk had just been through hell and back; the last thing he needed was a territorial bobcat trying him.

“You can change your mind any time,” You tell him softly. “If you get there and feel like it’s not a good fit for you and Seokjin, you can go, okay?”

He dips his head. “Okay.”

“I think Seokjin can decide for himself.”

Your eyes rocket just over Jeongguk’s shoulder. There’s a man leaning heavily against the doorframe of the room the rabbit hybrid had come out of. He’s in a blue exam gown, his feet bare except for a plain white cast on his left leg. Every part of his head from his eyebrows up is bandaged, but you see soft tufts of red-brown hair poking out from between the layers. He looks human. You’d almost think he was if it weren’t for the oblong pupils in his hazel eyes and supple ears you see twitching as he observes you.

“What are you doing up?!” The alarm in Dr. Cheon’s voice is palpable. “Those sedatives should’ve kept you out ‘til morning.” She takes a step like she’s going to rush to his side- but stops short when he tenses and tilts his chin to his chest. Just for a second, it looked like he was preparing himself to square off against her- like he was brandishing something that wasn’t really there. His antlers, you think. He was trying to protect himself with his antlers.

Seokjin forces himself upright, his knees wobbling as he tries to stand on his own. He looks off-balance, and it’s not just because of the cast. He looks like he’s trying to figure out how to stand now that a piece of him is missing. His legs are trembling. “What can I say?” He huffs, sounding like he just ran a marathon. “I like to surprise people.” And then his legs buckle underneath him.

He hits the floor with a heavy thud. Jeongguk and Dr. Cheon rush to his side but he waves them off, eyes closed and brow knit in frustration. “I’m fine,” he insists, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to struggle back to his feet. “I’m fine, I just…I just need a moment-”

“You need bed rest.” Dr. Cheon goes to latch on to his arm to help him stand but Jeongguk catches her wrist, gives a single shake of his head and she drops it back to her side.

Seokjin manages to get himself back standing, but he sways precariously. “If this were a hunt, I’d already be dead.” He swallows and inhales shakily through his nose, doing his best not to gulp down air. “You should have left me, Jeongguk. You know the rules. One falls, but the herd rises-”

“The herd is gone, Seokjin.” The bitterness in the younger hybrid’s voice takes you aback. It’s a black wave, threatening to drown all four of you right there in the corridor. Seokjin stares at him, his jaw slack and pretty brown eyes wide.

“What do you-”

“They’re gone.” The rabbit hybrid’s bruised fingers clench into a fist and he fixes his glare on the tile. “All of them.”

Silence rings in the corridor. Dr. Cheon’s mouth is pressed into a thin line, but she doesn’t press for details and neither do you. She’d been right. They’d been hunted. The thought of it turns your stomach. Seokjin closes his eyes, long lashes fanning out over his cheeks as a muscle tenses in his jaw. He’s thinking. When he opens his eyes again, his gaze is settled on you. Your heart jumps as your nerves get the better of you, and one of his ears flicks back.

“You’re taking us?” He asks. You swallow.

“Only if you want me to.” An unreadable look passes between him and Jeongguk, the younger’s nose twitching.

“Speaking strictly as your doctor,” Dr. Cheon speaks up, interrupting the hybrids’ telepathy. “You need time to rest and recuperate-”

“Is there any special reason I have to rest and recuperate here?” He asks. You can’t help but notice the slight challenge in his voice. The corner of the doctor’s mouth twitches.

“No, I suppose not,” she acquiesces. She doesn’t look particularly pleased about the prospect of letting her patient go when he was still in the danger zone, but if the look of determination in Seokjin’s eyes is any indication, she doesn’t have much choice.

“Then, we’ll go.” The tone of his voice is final, letting everyone present know that he’s done talking about it.

That's the last that’s said to you or anyone else about it. Jeongguk falls in line with his orders easily and so doesDr. Cheon after she manages to get him to accept a pair of crutches she’d foisted upon him and passes off a prescription for pain meds and both of their check up schedules to you.

“It’s important that they don’t miss these dates,” she tells you at the reception counter, tapping the sheath of papers with one clean, blunted nail. “A single one of them. And make sure they don’t shift ‘til I’ve given them the all clear. Hybrid injuries are tricky, but they’re aggravated by the shift.” You nod, hanging onto every word she says, forcing your tired brain to take mental notes. “And-” she cuts her eyes at Jeongguk and Jin, both of whom are lingering in various extremes in the room, the deer hybrid sitting ramrod straight in a chair in the far right corner and the rabbit pretending to browse informational pamphlets. Once Dr. Cheon’s deemed it safe, she leans closer to you across the counter and gestures for you to come closer as well. You blink in confusion but acquiesce. “It’s important that your current hybrids be made to feel secure with the new additions coming.” She tells you, voice gravely serious. “Do you know about scenting order?”

After a beat, you nod. “Yeah. I mean, I read about it online but-”

Dr. Cheon tuts her tongue against the back of her teeth. “Online sources are shaky at best, wildly inaccurate at worst- particularly forums.” Your stomach flips. Had all your research been for nothing? “What did they tell you?”

“Um…” your brain boots up slowly as you try to recall the hours of research you’d done. “Uh, dominant hybrid first, then in age order?”

The corner of Dr. Cheon’s mouth quirks in an odd way. “That’s certainly a simplified way of looking at it.”

You wince.

“Hybrid group dynamics can be…” She searches for the right word. “Messy to start out with, especially with hybrids who don’t know each other who find themselves with an inexperienced handler. They’re all going to be trying to figure out where they fit in the pecking order as well as how their relationship with you works. There’s likely to be a lot of posturing, not just in order to impress you, but to solidify their place as well.” Dr. Cheon drags a hand down over her face. “Seven male hybrids under one roof...It’d be a miracle if no one’s missing fingers by the time the week’s out.”

“Is there any way I can stop them from being mean to each other?”

“I’m not a behaviorist,” The doctor sighs. “But I’d suggest you start with a conversation.”

You slide into the back of the taxi a little after 5:30 AM and pull out your phone. You’d promised to call on the way back and you don’t want a repeat of what’d happened the last time you’d forgotten. You scroll down your contacts, thumb hovering over Yoongi’s name and you hesitate. You remember warm lips, a rough tongue. You remember hands gripping your hips tight and a possessive growl in your ear. You press Taehyung’s name instead.

The tiger hybrid picks up on the third ring. “Hello?” His voice is slow and scratchy, still thick with sleep.

“Hey, it’s Y/N-” Almost immediately a happy rumbling starts from his end of the line. You can hear the sleepy joy in it and it makes your face warm.”A-and I just wanted to let you guys know I’m on the way home.”

Taehyung hums in acknowledgement, a low, musical sound. “Where’d you go?”

You bite your lip as nerves spark up in you. Well, all things considered, it was probably better for him to find out now rather than later. “The last two hybrids my uncle got…they were hurt and I had to come get them.”

The line is quiet for a moment and you gnaw at the bottom of your lip. Finally, Taehyung speaks. “Ah.” That’s all he says. Somehow, that’s worse than whatever Yoongi growling at the new hybrids or Jimin icing them out.

“I’ll be home in about another forty-five minutes, okay? Could you have everyone get together in the living room for me? We need to have a conversation.”

“Yeah, I can.”

You wince. There’s an almost imperceptible change in his voice. You swallow. “Taehyung, are you upset?”

He hums again like he’s considering it. “No,” he answers after a moment. “I don’t think i am. At least, not with you.”

That does little to allay your fears, but you force yourself to sound upbeat when you tell him, “I’ll see you when I get home, okay?”

“Okay. I’ll see you when you get home.”

The line clicks off and you drop your head against the headrest. A conversation. It should be a simple thing, but you spend the entirety of your taxi ride back to Gangnam with your stomach in knots. If the thought of introducing your two (very injured, very vulnerable) new hybrids to a house full of predators wasn’t enough, you have to try to allay Jeongguk’s inexplicable fear of the taxi driver. The middle aged man isn’t thrilled about ferrying hybrids across the city anyway, but between Seokjin swooning and Jeongguk thumping his foot so hard the whole car rattles whenever the man so much as looks in his rearview mirror, he’s almost ready to put all three of you out on the side of the highway. You have to promise him a 50,000 won tip just to get him to relent. He rolls up the partition, but even that doesn’t put Jeongguk at ease.

The rabbit hybrid is curled up in the corner of the backseat, his back against the door, his injured arm cradled close and his knees pulled up to his chin. His ears are on high alert, twitching at every passing car or stray siren. His whole body is tensed up like there’s a current running through it, like if he lets himself relax for a second, he’ll disperse into nothing. He’s glaring daggers at the partition, but you know he can’t see the driver. The car rolls over a speed bump a bit too fast and he flinches, hand shooting out for the door handle.

You watch him, concern coloring your scent. It’s not your place to ask, you know, and you feel almost stupid doing it, but the words slip out of their own accord. “Are you okay?” It’s a ridiculous question. You can still see the bruises blooming on his cheekbone, see the angry red of his split lip in the stray light of street lamps. His dark eyes flick toward you, round nose twitching.

“How do you know he’s taking us somewhere safe?” His gaze shifts from you, to the partition, to Seokjin, dozing fitfully on your otherside. The deer hybrid had finally surrendered to his pain meds not a second after you’d helped buckle him in. He’d been out cold before the driver had pulled away from the curb.

“Because that’s what I paid him to do,” you tell him, truthfully. You’d never given much thought to how much trust you placed in taxi and bus drivers to not kidnap you before. You certainly had to now, especially when Jeongguk seemed hyperaware of the fact that you’d entrusted all of your lives to a stranger. The rabbit hybrid swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing in the long column of his throat. He gives a little shake of his head.

“He could take your money and still take us somewhere bad. He could take us up into the mountains and Seokjin and I wouldn’t be able to do anything because we’re hurt and-”

“That’s not going to happen, Jeongguk,” you say in as soothing a voice as you can manage to muster up. “It’s really unlikely that that’ll happen, but even if it did, I’d do my best to protect you.”

He snorts, ears tilting back. They brush the roof of the car as they do and he shrinks himself, shoulders hunching forward. “What can you do?” His tone is derisive. “You’re only human. You’re not as fast as us or as strong-”

“I’d try,” you insist, some strong, unnameable emotion tightening your chest at the thought of them in danger. “If if came down to it, I’d still try to protect the pair of you-”

“You don’t even know me.” Jeongguk’s voice is edging somewhere between disgust and disbelief. You look away from him then and at your hands, gripping your knees.

“I don’t,” you agree easily. “But I’d like to. Even if I don’t- even if I didn’t, people should still help each other when they can. We owe each other that much.” The taxi is quiet for a moment, only the sound of tires rushing over the slick pavement and other cars zooming by filling the empty air between the two of you. Finally, the rabbit hybrid exhales shakily.

“I’m not a person.” He sounds resigned to that fact, like he’s accepted a burden far too heavy for him. “I’m not even an animal. I’m a-”

“Just because you aren’t human…” you start off hesitantly, very much aware that you might be crossing several invisible lines. “...doesn’t mean you’re not a person. You have your own thoughts and feelings and emotions. You deserve to have them heard. I know I’m not as fast as you or as strong, but the least I can do is listen to you, right?” The car is silent again. You’re too nervous to look at Jeongguk, worried that you’d gone too far- but then there’s a warm weight against your side. It starts slow at first, just your shoulders brushing against each other, but before you know it, Jeongguk’s leaning his whole body against yours. He’s slumped over with his head tucked beneath your chin like he doesn’t have the strength to hold himself up anymore. You swallow, your throat suddenly dry. “Jeongguk-”

“I’m afraid.” He admits in a whisper, like it’s the worst thing in the world. “Everything in me tells me to run all the time, but I can’t anymore.” His ears droop and his pretty dark eyes slip shut. This close, you can hear his heart beating at breakneck speed in his chest, feel how he shudders with every shaky inhale. “I’m so tired of running.” He’s terrified. You wouldn’t have guessed from his posture. Maybe the reason he held himself so tight was to stop himself from shaking apart.

You watch in surprise as the rabbit hybrid links his fingers with yours and drops your hand on top of his head, right between his velvety ears. “Help me like this.” You’re frozen, unsure what to do with a six foot tall man practically crawling into your sweatshirt with you. Was this really okay? He’d just been through something traumatic, the details of which you know nothing about. You hadn’t thought he’d want anyone to touch him, much less you, a virtual stranger. You don’t know what to do. The car jerks to a quick stop and the taxi driver leans on his horn, curses jaywalkers. Jeongguk’s grip on you tightens and he flinches so hard you’re surprised he didn’t knock his head into your teeth. He exhales shakily, tilts his head up and brushes his nose along the underside of your jaw. “Please,” he asks in a voice so small you know it’s killing him. “Just ‘til we get there, please just let me be weak.”

That breaks something inside you. Despite how awkward you might feel, he’s sure to be feeling worse. You wrap your arms fully around him, hesitant until you feel him go lax in your arms. You slowly stroke the back of his head and he buries his face in your clavicle, his eyes squeezed shut. “We’re almost there,” you assure him gently as he fists his good hand in the fabric of your sweatshirt. “You’re almost home.”

By the time the three of you arrive back at Haneul tower, the sky is lightening in the east and the first wave of office workers are making their way from your building into the streets of Gangnam. It’s not even 6 AM yet, but the city is stirring.

It takes you a good ten minutes to rouse both the boys and get them out of the taxi. After you’d let Jeongguk cling to you, the rabbit hybrid had fallen asleep quickly, the exhaustion from his turbulent day finally catching up to him. Even in sleep he was latched on to you, a small crease between his brows and his nose wrinkled up. Seokjin hadn’t fared much better. The cocktail of meds Dr. Cheon had given him had rendered him dead to the world for the entirety of the drive back. Even now you were having trouble rousing him.

“Seokjin…” You shake the sleeping stag’s shoulders but the only response you get is a slight hitch in his snoring. “Seokjin, please wake up, we have to go…” You can practically feel the glare the taxi driver is giving you in his rearview mirror. Yeah, the meter is still running, but you’ve taken up enough of his time as it is. “Seokjin, come on…” Jeongguk is standing behind you, staring bleary-eyed up at the apartment building, his free hand fisted in the fabric of your sweatshirt. If he’s cold in his thin tee-shirt and bare feet, he makes no mention of it.

Without warning, the taxi driver leans on the horn. Seokjin’s eyes fly open and he sits bolt upright, fear making his body tight. Jeongguk jerks so violently you think he’s going to rip a hole in your sweatshirt. You stumble back a few paces, trying to steady the rabbit and stop the pair of you from tumbling into the street. When you manage to right yourself, you slam a palm against the roof of the car and glare in the window at the driver. “Yo, what the fuck?”

The man glares back at you and waves you off. “I don’t have all day!” He shouts. “Get your animal and get out!”

You want to argue with him, you want to make him apologize- but the sight of Seokjin disoriented and afraid stops you. He’s looking at you with hazy eyes, his whole body stiff and his chest heaving. It’s for his sake alone that you hold your tongue. You reach a hand out to him. “Come on, buddy.” You say. “I got you.” He looks from your face to your hand and finally, slowly, places his own in it. His fingers are long and elegant and his hand dwarfs your’s. You tug him from the backseat and he leans heavily on you, hopping awkwardly to avoid walking on his broken foot. You pass him his crutches and he takes them, wobbling awkwardly as he tries to set himself to rights. “Can you stand?” You ask him. He nods and starts limping for the glass doors of Haneul Tower. He’s doing his best to look strong. His back is straight and his head is high, but you don’t miss the tremble in his fingers or the way he winces whenever the wind blows over the top of his head. You shove some bills at the taxi driver with a final, disapproving look, usher Jeongguk up onto the sidewalk and head inside after Seokjin.

The moment the three of you breach the double doors, Jeongguk drops his hand from your sweatshirt. His eyes rove over the glass and granite, round nose twitching at all the scents and his ears standing at attention on top of his head. He pauses, a little furrow between his brows. You’re halfway to the elevators, hovering a foot behind Seokjin in case he falls, before you notice the rabbit hybrid isn’t following you.

You cast a look back over his shoulder and find him gawking up at the hanging lights, mouth slightly ajar and starry-eyed. The corner of your mouth twitches. He’s cute, you decide. The thought leaves you almost instantly when you see Mr. Park powerwalking over to him, a sunny smile on his face. Jeongguk takes notice of him only a split second after you do and his eyes wide. You see him tense up, watch the fingers on his uninjured hand curl into a ball.

“You need to get him,” Seokjin says, sounding like he’s out of breath. You turn your attention back to the deer hybrid. He’s leaning heavily on his crutches and his face is pale. “You need to get him,” he repeats, nodding at Jeongguk. “That man gets any closer and Jeongguk will kick him.”

You whip back around. Mr. Park is closing the distance between them, seemingly unconcerned by the look of distress on the rabbit hybrids face or how his foot seems to be tapping a mile a minute.

“Excuse me!” The older man says, reaching out to put a hand on the rabbit hybrid’s shoulder. “Where’s your-”

“Mr. Park!” You practically sprint over as fast as you can, sliding between the receptionist and the hybrid just as he’d started winding his leg back. Mr. Park blinks, surprised to find you so suddenly in front of him. You offer him a tight smile. “He’s with me.”

“Oh! Ms. L/N, I apologize. He didn’t have a collar, so I assumed he was a stray.” The statement pricks at you, but you know he means nothing by it, so you try to stamp down your irritation. “It’s rare but we do occasionally have them come in in the hope someone will take them in.” He clucks his tongue against his teeth. “Such a shame really.”

You feel Jeongguk’s hand fist in the fabric of your sweatshirt. He wants to go. You nod emphatically at what Mr. Park says, already heading back to the elevators. “Yeah, totally,” you agree, shuffling the rabbit hybrid in front of you and putting some distance between him and the elderly man. “Well, have a good morning! I’ll see you later!”

“Ms. L/N, I actually need to speak with you-”

You wave him off and duck into the elevator Seokjin had called in your brief absence. “We’ll talk later!” You tell him, pressing the close door buttons as quickly as you can and willing them to shut before he can catch up.

“But it’s about your-!”

The doors click shut and you’re blessed with silence. You exhale in a short puff, press the button for the penthouse and slump against the cool metal wall, finally letting yourself relax for a moment. The elevator starts rolling and Jeongguk flinches beside you. He duck his head like he’s going to crouch down- but he stops himself, grips the railing instead.

“It’s okay,” You soothe. “It’s just-”

“I’m fine,” he insists, forcing himself to stand up straight and release the death grip he has on your sweatshirt. “I’m fine; my time’s up.”

It’s just like he’d said in the car. Just ‘til we get there, let me be weak.

The rest of the elevator ride passes in silence outside of the automated bell dinging as you pass each new floor and Seokjin panting quietly. He’s in a bad way. He’ll need another dose of pain meds soon. You arrive on the top floor, punching in the key code and pull the door open. “Let me get Seokjin settled, Jeongguk and I-” You run directly into someone.

Their arms wrap around you, covered in a brown cable knit sweater. It’s soft and they smell of vanilla. They press their cheek against the top of your head and exhale, a little rumble kicking up in their chest. “You’re back.” Taehyung.

“Hey, buddy.” You pat him on the back gently and peer around him. Yoongi and Jimin are both sprawled on the couch, legs kicked out so there isn’t room for anyone else to join them. Namjoon is sitting on the stairs shooting daggers at the back of Yoongi’s head and his arms crossed over his chest.Hoseok is lingering in the no man’s land between the living room and kitchen looking like he’d much rather be anywhere else. The atmosphere is tense to say the least.

Taehyung dips his head down. “I got them, like you said,” he whispers, lips brushing against the tip of your ear and his breath warm. You have fight off a little shiver, but if he notices it, he doesn’t react. “I don’t think Hyung and Jiminie like the others very much.”

You give a little nod of acknowledgement. “That’s okay,” you tell him. “We all just need to get to know each other a little better.”

Seokjin hobbles through the door, past the tiger hybrid and drops himself onto a stool on the kitchen with a heavy exhale. “Well, I’ve got maybe fifteen minutes at most before these meds catch a second wind, so let’s get this over with.” He’s doing his best to sound cavalier but he’s pallid. You don’t miss the thin sheen of cold sweat on his face and neck. “Seokjin. Twenty-eight. Red stag.”

All the other hybrids are staring at him in a mix of confusion, irritation and, in some cases, open dislike. It seems like they don’t know what to make of him. It’s Yoongi who speaks first. “If you’re a stag,” he drawls and you already feel dread welling up in you at what you know is going to follow. “Where are your antlers?”

Seokjin fixes him with a tight-lipped smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I only put them on for special occasions.”

“Okay!” You clap your hands together trying to diffuse the tension you can feel building. “New house rule: let’s not ask each other about injuries past or present unless we’re asking how to help.” Yoongi looks miffed, but he settles. It’s weird. Normally, you’d have expected him to say something snarky back to you. He’s trying not to push his luck after last night, you think. “Yoongi, why don’t you go next?”

His ears flick in annoyance, but he does as you ask. “I’m Yoongi, I’m twenty-seven and I’m a bobcat-”

“I’m Jimin,” his junior pipes up before he’s hardly had time to finish. “I’m an amur leopard and I came here with Yoongi-hyung and Tae. We’ve been with Y/N the longest.” He says it like it’s an important piece of information for everyone to know.

Beside you, Taehyung lifts one hand, palm up. “Hi,” he says calmly. “I’m Taehyung. I like the color purple.” Everyone watches him to see what else he’s going to say, but the tiger hybrid is finished. You give him a little nudge with your shoulder.

“Tell them how old you are and what your hybrid is,” you suggest.

“Oh,” he lifts his eyebrows like the thought genuinely hadn’t occurred to him. “I’m twenty-four and I’m a tiger.” Suddenly remembering something, he tilts his head forward in a little bow. “It’s nice to meet you all.” A sour look takes over Yoongi’s face and Jimin rolls his eyes, gestures for the youngest of their group to come sit beside him.

Hoseok is the next one to pipe up. “I’m Hoseok!” He seems to perk up a little when you turn your eyes to him, his docked tail giving as much of a wag as it’s able. “I’m a Doberman, I’m twenty-six and Joonie and I came from the same pla-”

“My name is Namjoon.” The wolfdog cuts off the other canine with a growl. All the wind goes out of Hoseok’s sails and you don’t miss the way Seokjin freezes up at the dark sound, suddenly alert. You weren’t sure if prey hybrids still avoided predator hybrids like their animal counterparts did, but you’d need to learn and fast. Namjoon leans back on the stairs, his jaw clenched. “I’m the same age as him-” he jerks his head at the Doberman hybrid. “-so I guess I’m twenty-six too.” He makes no mention of his hybrid and you don’t press. You don’t know how sensitive a subject it is for him yet, but you don’t want to find out the hard way.

Hoseok looks back at you and cocks his head to the side, his gaze fixed on a spot just over your shoulder. “Who’s he?”

Five pairs of eyes follow his. You turn around. Outside the apartment, still in the corridor, is Jeongguk, his back pressed against the wall and his eyes wide as he surveys the mixed bag of hybrids spread out in front of you. Your eyebrows furrow in concern.

“Do you wanna come in?”

His gaze flicks from you, to the cats, then to Hoseok and finally to Namjoon. It’s only when he sees the wolfdog hybrid that he moves from the wall. He takes halting, jittery steps one after the other until he’s planted by your side, his eyes on his bare feet. Every move he makes makes it look like he’s fighting against his own body, forcing himself to tamp down his instinct and move.

“Can you introduce yourself?” You ask him softly. “Or do you want me to?”

His good hand clenches into a fist and forces himself to look up. He meets each of the other hybrid’s eyes evenly. “My name is Jeongguk.” When he speaks, there’s no shake in his voice. “I’m twenty-three years old. I came from the same place as Seokjin but we don’t know each other that well. I’m a Flemish Giant Rabbit.” So that was why he was so big. You’d never seen a Flemish Giant in real life, but you’d happened across the odd youtube video of them once or twice in your suggestions. They were huge.

With introductions out of the way, you feel a little tension melt out of your shoulders. That was the biggest hurdle. Maybe now that they all at least knew each other, they’d be a little more open to being around each other. You let out a little exhale. “And I’m Y/N. I’m also twenty-three and this is my uncle’s apartment. He’s the only that bought all of you but I only found out you were coming a little over a week ago, so please forgive me for being unprepared.” You rub your palms against your eyes, trying to combat the exhaustion you can feel crawling over you. “I don’t know that much about hybrids, but I’m trying to learn. A lot of things you’re gonna have to help me with. I’m not expecting you guys to be pets or best friends or anything, but if we could all try to get along I’d appreciate it.” You offer all seven them a weary smile. “Thanks for getting up early to do this, guys, I appreciate it. If there’s anything you need, literally anything, please don’t be scared to ask-”

“Um, Y/N?” Hoseok is looking at you like he’s been dying to say something for the past five minutes. You turn your attention to him and squint as you try to focus on what he’s saying. “I did a sweep of the apartment earlier-” That was concerning. You make a mental note to tell him he doesn’t have to do security sweeps anymore. “-and there’s only four bedrooms.”

You blink at him in confusion.

“There’s eight of us.”

Oh. Oh. You drag your hands down over your face. You hadn’t accounted for lack of space being an issue. When you first moved in, Oliver’s penthouse seemed like it went on forever. “Okay,” you start, crunching some quick numbers. “Some of us are gonna have to double up.” There’s a disgruntled mrow from the couch and without looking, you know it’s Jimin. “Yoongi, Jimin and Taehyung are already sharing so they’re exempt, but Seokjin needs his own room- at least until he recovers.”

“That’s fine by me,” the stag chimes in. “But that leaves Jeongguk without a-”

“Hyung, can I stay with you?” The room goes quiet.

“Seokjin really needs his own room-” You pull your face out of your hands to address the rabbit hybrid, but he isn’t looking at the stag. His eyes are fixed on Namjoon who’s looking at him in a mix of confusion and alarm. The wolfdog looks from the rabbit to you.

“I saw a camp bed out in the greenhouse while you were showing us around last night.” He says, standing to go. “I’ll sleep out there.”

“Namjoon, you don’t have to sleep outside-”

“I like it out there.” He calls back over his shoulder as he climbs the stairs. “I can see the sky.” Then he’s gone and the six of you are left.

“Well,” Jimin purrs, rising and crossing the living room to you. “Best of luck.” He rubs his cheek against yours, folding you into a loose hug. You think he’s about to pull away, but he whispers in your ear, “If you want to share with us, you know where we sleep.” And then he’s gone, sauntering up the stairs with Taehyung and Yoongi in tow. The bobcat tosses a look at you, but you look away quickly, missing the way his ears sage when you do.

Now, the only ones left are you, Jeongguk, Hoseok and Seokjin who’s rapidly fading. “I’ll take the couch,” you volunteer. It wouldn’t be the most comfortable thing in the world, but right now, the stark white cushions look like heaven to your sleep-deprived mind. “Seokjin can have my room-”

“He can have mine,” Hoseok interjects. “And, if it’s okay, could I stay with you?” There’s a light whine on the end of his words and you don’t miss the way his ears prick up in anticipation of your answer. “It’s what I wanted to ask you earlier.”

Oh. When Jimin interrupted him, that’s what he’d been trying to say: he wanted to sleep in your room to be closer to you. To protect you.

“Yeah,” you agree easily. “Yeah, that’s fine.” Sharing beds wasn’t a big deal for you. You’d grown up in a flat with your mom and had shared a bed with her til she’d been taken from you. Then in foster homes with too many kids and not enough resources, you’d had to double- and sometimes even triple- up. It was a matter of convenience and space.

Hoseok’s tail gives a little wag and he nods, happy with your decision.

“Great!” Seokjin cheers weakly. “Now can someone please help me lie down.”

It’s Hoseok that helps the stag hybrid up the stairs and into bed. He’s stronger than you and taller, so it only makes sense. You show Jeongguk to his new room and stay with him for a few minutes while he feels it out, making sure it’s safe. It’s only once he’s sequestered himself under the covers and dismissed you that you leave, closing the door quietly behind you as the rabbit hybrid settles down for some much needed sleep. You turn to head back for the stairs- but you find Yoongi at the other end of the corridor, staring you down. You stare back. He swallows.

“Can we talk?” He asks, his voice quieter than you ever remember hearing it.

You give a little nod. “Yeah,” you assent. “We need to.”

He meets you halfway, his hands shoved into the pockets of his joggers and his gaze anywhere but on your face. The seconds stretch out and you exhale, closing your eyes. “Yoongi, about last night-”

“I’m sorry,” he interjects. “About what happened in the elevator. It was disrespectful and immature. I won’t do it again.”

You balk at him. You’d honestly expected him to tell you you were being childish for reacting so strongly to it when you’d told him he could mark you whenever he was ready. But he hadn’t. He shuffles back a few steps, his head still low.

“Well, that was all I wanted to say to you, so-”

“Do you understand?” You ask him. He stops short. “Do you understand why I was upset?”

His tongue darts out to wet his lips and you see a little furrow between his gray eyebrows. “Because I marked you.”

“No,” you insist, emphatically. “I was upset because it didn’t feel like you were doing it for me.” He does look up at you then, yellow eyes unreadable. “It didn’t feel like you were marking me because we’re friends or you wanted me to be a part of your group. It felt like you were doing it to show off in front of Namjoon and Hoseok.” You swallow. “And that hurt my feelings.” It feels good to say. It feels good to talk about.

He lets out a little chirp of distress. “I don’t wanna hurt you,” he rasps. “I just-” He rakes a hand back through his hair and shakes his head. “Fuck, I just felt like if I didn’t do something right then you’d get bored of me and send me away. I thought you’d replace me with them.”

Your heart twists. You know the feeling more intimately than you’d like to admit. You reach out, hesitantly and squeeze Yoongi’s arm. “Yoongi, I’m not gonna send you away. Ever. It’s important to me that you know that. Unless you wanna go, you can stay. There’s room enough for all of you.”

“No there’s not, that’s why we’re sharing rooms,” he drawls.

You roll your eyes and let out a little chuckle. “Okay, smart-ass.”

The corner of his mouth curls up at the playful insult. After a moment, he speaks. “I don’t, for the record,” he says. “Wanna go, I mean.” He stares down into your face, yellow eyes intense. The seconds drag on and something between the two of you grows tight. He leans down, face nuzzling the soft spot between your ear and your jaw. He huffs. “Bunny scented you,” he mutters, tail flicking in annoyance, but there’s no heat behind it. You’re relieved.

“He was afraid in the car,” you answer softly. “I think it helped.” Your hands slip from his arms around his back and he purrs. It’s the first time you’ve heard him make that sound. It sends warm vibrations through your whole body and you giggle. Yoongi smiles against your skin and your heart leaps. He’s never smiled around you before. You can’t see it, but you can feel it. You know it’s there. “Do you want to try again?”

Yoongi exhales, his breath warm on your neck. “Can I?”

“Yeah,” you say, tilting your head to the side for him. “You can.”

This time is different, you can feel that from the onset. His fingers wrap gently around your hips and he nuzzles into your skin. He nips lightly at the skin below your ear, the corner of your jaw, all down the column of your neck until he reaches the spot where it joins your shoulder. He hums, wraps his arms around you fully and pulls you flush against the hard line of his body. Your breath hatches and you can practically hear your heart thudding traitorously in your chest.

It’s not a big deal, you tell yourself as he laves his rough tongue against your feverish skin. It’s not a big deal; marking isn’t sexual. This isn’t a big deal, there’s no need to be nervous or get- the points of his teeth scrape over the mark before he laps at again and you have to bite back a whimper. Your knees feel a little weak- that is, until Yoongi slots his thigh between them, keeping you up while he finishes his work. Your hands ball up into fists in the fabric of his t shirt and you grit your teeth together with the effort of keeping quiet. He pulls off your neck with a wet pop and you swear you’re imagining it when he presses a final kiss to his mark. He noses your ear, still purring and you think he’s gonna mark you more- but then his warmth is gone and his standing before you, eyes a little hazier but no worse for wear.

He reaches up and flicks you in the forehead. You grumble at him, covering the spot up with your hands before he can do it again. A lazy smirk spreads out on his face. “Welcome to the family,” he drawls. Then he’s turning on his heel and heading back to his shared bedroom. “Don’t wipe this one off this time, okay?”

You nod mutely after him as he disappears, your hand cupping your mark. “What was that?” You wonder. You descend the stairs in a daze, your mind whirling. None of your research had told you creating a mark would be like that. You’d thought it was a quick thing and Yoongi had just been showboating for the canines. Even in the videos you watched, the hybrid had leaned in close to the human, given then a few quick swipes with their tongue and moved on. Then again, those hybrids had all been domesticated dog or cat breeds. “Are exotics different?” You muse, turning the handle to your bedroom- and promptly tripping over someone.

This time, you don’t go all the way down. You make it halfway before Hoseok catches you. “Ah, I’m sorry, Y/N!” The dog hybrid whines, fussing over you as he sets you back to rights. “I’ll do better about staying out of your way, I promise-”

“It’s okay,” you soothe, trying to stop him from fretting. “It’s okay, I’m okay.” You survey the floor of your bedroom. It seemed like in his security sweep earlier, Hoseok had found the linen cabinet and made use of the spare blankets. His pillow and a comforter are set up in a little pallet on the floor in front of your door. It seems he’d been putting the final touches on it when you’d stumbled over him. “Hoseok…” you start slowly. The Doberman looks at you, ears pricked up. “Hoseok, I wasn’t expecting you to sleep on the floor.”

He cocks his head to the side, doglike even in his confusion. “Then where…?”

“The bed is big enough,” you say, gesturing to the queen sized bed dominating the center of the room. “I don’t mind sharing if you’re comfortable with it.”

His adam’s apple bob’s in his throat as he swallows, suddenly serious. “Yeah,” he says with a nod. “Yeah, I’m comfortable with it.”

You nod and pat him on the shoulder, passing him as you head to bed. “Come on, then.” You collapse onto your bed face-first and slip back under the covers with a groan. “I’m just gonna take a quick nap before I’ve gotta get up and deal with stuff…”

The room is quiet, but somewhere in it, you can hear Hoseok shuffling around. “Maybe I should check to make sure everything is safe one more time?”

You exhale, your eyes slipping shut. “Hoseok…”

“Did you lock the front door after you came in? I think the rabbit...Jeongguk was the last one in? I don’t remember him locking-”

“Hope, bed. Now.” He doesn’t say anything else, but a few seconds later, you feel the far side of the bed dip with his weight. You sigh as he shifts to get under the blankets and you snuggle down further into your pillow. “Sleep well, Hobi.”

He mumbles something under his breath about security being a serious issue, but you don’t catch it. You’re already halfway to dreamland.

[jiaoji]

The entire cultivation world time travel, except WangXian:

Wei WuXian didn't dare look at his cell phone clock, but from the minutes he spent walking he already knew he was late to meet Lan WangJi. The girl, who he discovered was surnamed Jiang after asking a few seemingly innocent questions, but didn't say much as they walked.

Jiang YanLi, "A'Cheng was acting crazy, he said horrible things, but I know you two can work it out."

As Wei WuXian wondered if maybe she was mentally handicapped with a family neglectful enough to let her go out unsupervised and maybe that's why she was lost, he try connected some dots in his head. The surname Jiang was familiar, but now he had noticed the nickname YanLi gave her brother.

For a moment, he just wanted to be silent instead of asking.

Wei WuXian, "Jiang Cheng?!" said loud, too shocked and fearful to avoid. It only made her glow grow.

Jiang YanLi, "Oh, A'Xian, do you remember?", she clapped her hands excitedly, not noticing that Wei WuXian was not at all happy.

Jiang Cheng was in the same class as Wei WuXian and Lan WangJi in his freshman year, but he was expelled for bad behavior. Wei WuXian never liked Jiang Cheng, despite not caring when he offended Wei WuXian, Jiang Cheng seemed to have an irrational anger at Lan WangJi and an uncomfortable disgust that he made a point of making it very clear when they were together.

Wei WuXian didn't want to see him again, even though he had passed years and didn't even know he had a sister. And to think they lived relatively close by...

Unfortunately, Jiang YanLi stopped him in front of a very ordinary house, "We're here! Don't worry, A'Xian, just smile and it'll be okay.", but he fought against her gentle tug, "A'Xian?" She blinked a few times for a smile that was clearly an apology.

Wei WuXian, "Sorry, my boyfriend must be waiting for me, I need to go now.", the movement to walk away from her was smooth, "You're home now and your family must be worried about you."

Jiang YanLi, "H...how? Boyfriend? Who...? A'Xian, you can't go!", she grabbed his sleeve, the weak grip was easy to dodge, but Wei WuXian didn't want to be impolite, " I... saved your life... and you...", Jiang YanLi starts crying.

Wei WuXian doesn't have time to say something and try to comfort her, when the door opens and Jiang Cheng appears. Wei WuXian simply and desperately wants to leave. His face disfigured into pure anger, not that Wei WuXian had never seen anger in Jiang Cheng before, but his face was grotesque.

He quickly walked out towards Wei WuXian. The quick steps were interrupted by Jiang YanLi, stepping between them.

Jiang Cheng was purple with rage, "Jie?! What are you doing?! After all he's done?! Because of him, you..."

Jiang YanLi took advantage of his silence for a moment, "I chose to save him, A'Cheng!"

Wei WuXian, "?"

Jiang Cheng, "And I chose to kill this traitor!! This must all be his fault!", the two, Wei WuXian and Jiang Cheng, exchanged glances, "What is this place? What have you done now?!"

Wei WuXian, "??"

Jiang YanLi, "A'Cheng...you guys have to make up.", Wei WuXian didn't see her pleading eyes, "Please..."

Wei WuXian, "???"

The confusion in Wei WuXian's mind was a mess. He whimpered wanting to find Lan WangJi and felt that Wen Ning and Wen Qing would enjoy the gossip. At the same time he wanted to turn around and run away.

He should have done that when an adult couple walked out of the house.

The man wore a purple dress shirt, his appearance was peaceful despite the surprise in his eyes, "A'Xian?", the name makes Wei WuXian feel a strange feeling towards this man and also a familiar feeling.

Wei WuXian, "Uncle Jiang?", the face he saw at age 7, seriously talking to his father and laughing about something. A kind man who carried him on his lap and offered him sweets with a smile. He doesn't remember why they stopped talking.

The woman in purple, Wei WuXian assumed to be his wife, looked like a kettle about to explode. Her screams were loud and annoying, “Wei WuXian!!! You damn filthy brat!!”, her footsteps were efficient against Jiang YanLi, who flinched and walked out of the way. Wei WuXian wouldn't just stand there to see what she would do, so he turned his back and tried to run.

Something caught on his clothes.

Jiang Cheng, "Where do you think you're going?!", Wei WuXian struggled, this surprised the woman, who stopped in place. Jiang YanLi grabbed Jiang Cheng as if she didn't want to piss him off but wanted him to stop and listen to her silent request.

Jiang YanLi, "A'Cheng, stop! Let him go!", but Jiang Cheng wouldn't listen.

Jiang Cheng's father approached, "A'Cheng. Let him go.", the normally calm voice was authoritative, this apparently made his wife angry.

"You always defend him, don't you?! A'Cheng is your son, not this servant's son, FengMian!! Because of him we are dead!!!", so much going on, and suddenly Wei WuXian's cell phone fell out of his pocket. The lock screen photo is Lan WangJi, during one of their date.

Jiang Cheng saw the photo. Wei WuXian froze.

Jiang YanLi, "A'Xian... is this...?", when she looked at him, Wei WuXian just wanted to scream inside. A bad day to run into your homophobic ex-classmate.

Jiang Cheng, "What kind of shit did you do? Huh?", Jiang Cheng grabbed Wei WuXian's collar, the two glared at each other, "I knew there was something wrong with how you spoke to Lan WangJi-"

Wei WuXian knew where those words would go. He raised his clenched fist and slammed it hard into Jiang Cheng's chin. Wei WuXian continued to stand while Jiang Cheng sat down. From above, Wei WuXian looked at him angrily.

Wei WuXian, "Jiang Cheng, who do you think you are?! The next time you say something about my boyfriend, I'll kick your ass!!", the foul language and the blow startled the Jiangs, "And you.. .", he exchanged a defiant look with FengMian's wife, "Please respect my father!" Without looking back, Wei WuXian grabbed his cell phone, put on his hood and ran.

Uncle Jiang's wife screamed his name in a frightening way, but he didn't come back.

[scuttling]

Happy Accidents

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 6,300 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Art, Neighbor Hotch, Shy and Oblivious Hotch, Flirting, It's soo sappy I'm sorry, Oral sex, Unprotected sex Summary: Aaron's new neighbor is out of his league for so many reasons: she's young, beautiful, artistic, unique, free-spirited, the kind of person who turns heads when she walks down the street. It's no wonder he ends up falling in love with her. *Requested by anon Link to A03 or read below! Against all of his better judgement, Aaron is kind of creeping on his new next door neighbor.

He is absolutely the type of man, any other time, to approach a woman he’s interested in and introduce himself, look for a way to connect, some common ground, but this is no ordinary woman.

She is out of his league in so many ways: young, beautiful, unique, free-spirited, the type of person who turns heads when she walks down the street. There’s not a chance in hell she would look twice at an old, stuffy, monotone suit with a seven year old son and perpetual bags under his eyes. That’s not him feeling bad about himself, it’s just the way the world works.

The first time he saw her, she was getting on the elevator while he was getting off of it, and they’d bumped into each other; she was wearing a short, flowy dress, and she’d smiled at him, apologized, eyes sparkling, smelling like she’d spent all day in the sunshine. It was the only time since Haley he’d ever entertained the idea of love at first sight.

She keeps to herself most of the time, gives off the air of being really cool and mysterious; their paths have crossed a few times since then—at the bank of mailboxes downstairs, in the hallway they share, once during a false alarm fire alarm—but he enjoys watching her paint more than anything.

They have balconies next to each other, and one night when he was tending to his herb garden—Jack enjoys watching the plants grow, and picking the herbs, Aaron likes to eat them—he spotted her standing on hers, facing away from him, in cut off jean shorts and a baggy t-shirt, barefoot. She’d been painting the city, the sky, with the sunset glowing behind her like she was the work of art, and he actually felt an ache in his chest, the feeling of missing someone he’s never really met.

Since that night, he’s started taking his work outside in the evenings after Jack goes to bed, and sitting in near silence while she paints, hums—sometimes songs he knows, sometimes songs he doesn’t. The first time he goes out before she does, she says hello when she drags her easel out, so he starts to say hello to her when she beats him there, too, but that’s pretty much the extent of their interaction. One evening when Aaron and Jack are getting home from dinner, she is lugging a canvas bigger than she is through the hallway and Jack almost runs headfirst into it; when he looks up, he exclaims about how big it is, and pretty—it’s covered with colors, something abstract and cheerful, and even if he’d seen it on the side of the road, he would have just known that she painted it. (That may be a good indicator that he’s getting in a little too deep.)

“Wow, that’s the biggest painting I’ve ever seen! And so many colors,” Jack says, awed. Aaron puts his hands on his shoulders to keep him out of her way; they’re already bothering her enough, when she’s clearly trying to get that giant thing home.

“It’s pretty cool, isn’t it? I carry bigger pieces around at my studio, believe it or not,” she says to him, poking her head around the side to look at him.

“You have a studio?” His eyes are wide with interest; his favorite subject has always been art, as evidenced by their refrigerator, which is covered in drawings. She offers him an even brighter smile.

“I do! It’s not far from here; it’s called Live in Color. There’s a big rainbow painted on the side.”

“That’s so cool; it must be awesome to have your own studio.” Aaron loves that Jack seems to be so passionate about this, but the way they are obviously holding her up has him feeling awkward; he tugs gently on Jack’s backpack.

“That is really cool, bud, but we should let her go. I’m sure that’s heavy.” She smiles, shrugs.

“It’s no trouble. Hey, actually, we have some children’s art classes at the studio, and you look like you’d fit right in with the Green group—ages 7-9?” She looks up at Aaron, who nods. “Maybe we can talk dad into bringing you down sometime. We do painting, drawing, and crafts, it’s really fun.” She’s still looking right at Aaron, gives him a little wink, and he swears to god he gets butterflies in his stomach.

He’s a grown man. A federal agent. With butterflies. It’s insane.

“Oh man, dad, please? Can I take classes at her studio pleeease?” Jack tugs on the sleeve of his suit, and he nods, smiles down at him.

“Yeah, absolutely, Jack. We’ll go down and get more information tomorrow?” he offers, to both placate him and finally free the poor girl from the conversation; he nods excitedly, and she smiles, looks sweet, genuinely happy Jack is so excited to take the class.

“Cool, I look forward to seeing you guys there. Actually, if you give me one sec, I can grab my card for you.” She passes them, carrying the canvas and looking effortless while she does it; she props it up against the wall to get her keys out, unlocks her door and heads in, pops back out with a business card in a vivid watercolor yellow. “It has the address and phone number for the studio on the front, and I put my cell on the back; I figured it couldn’t hurt, considering we live next door to each other. Now you know who to call if you ever have an art emergency.”

He takes the card from her fingers, flips it over just to see the handwritten name and number; he knew her script would be lovely, and it is, easy and flowing and natural. It suits her. He tries not to grin, or flush, or otherwise be awkward about the fact that she just gave him her phone number, however innocently.

“Thank you. We’ll see you tomorrow.” They turn to head for their apartment, and she clears her throat; he smiles a little, turns back, and she’s leaning casually up against the canvas with her arms crossed.

“You know my name now. What’s yours?” She’s just being polite, but he gets the goddamn butterflies again.

“Aaron.” She smiles, something beautiful and a little wild.

“Okay, Aaron. See you outside.” From then on, most of their free time, be it evenings or weekends, is spent at the studio. Aaron isn’t the only parent who sticks around—it’s an art class, not a daycare, he doesn’t feel right just dropping Jack off and leaving him there—and he’s also not the only parent, it seems, who is aware of his beautiful young neighbor.

“She’s incredible, right?” another dad says to him one evening, over by the coffee. Aaron looks him over briefly—it’s a job hazard, he sizes up everyone, but he already has a weird feeling about this guy. “I’ve been bringing my kid here for a month just to look at that little ass running around. My wife just thinks our daughter is just really into art.” He says it with a laugh, like that’s a ridiculous concept. Aaron feels himself start to boil.

“You shouldn’t be disrespectful. She’s doing a great thing here, for the children; she’s not doing it for you to ogle her.” He feels a little hypocritical, because he is also looking, but not like this guy. He knows guys like this. He puts away guys like this.

He glances over at Aaron, looking a little taken aback that someone actually commented on his behavior, then rolls his eyes.

“She doesn’t need you to defend her honor, buddy. She wouldn’t run around here in those overalls if she didn’t want us looking. It’s job security.” She’s wearing the overalls tonight, denim shorts with one of the straps unhooked, a t-shirt underneath, but it’s not as if she’s performing a striptease. She just looks like an artist, covered in drips of paint, smiling as she looks at the kids’ pictures over their shoulders. Aaron really, really hates this guy.

“In my experience, women usually dress for themselves; they probably have pockets, easier to keep things at hand that she may need, and it’s warm in here, so she’s likely dressing for comfort. She’s certainly not dressing for you.”

As if she can sense the tension, she looks over at them, flicks her eyes over Aaron, then the other guy, and walks over with a soft smile on her face.

“Hey, Aaron, Jack really wanted you to see what he’s working on.” She reaches out a hand, wraps it around his wrist and guides him over to Jack’s table. “I figured I’d save you,” she says when they’re out of earshot. “That guy sucks. He’s always saying creepy things to me and Alaina.”

“You should ask him to leave if he makes you uncomfortable,” he says, looking down at her with worry. “I can do it.” She shrugs.

“I would, but his daughter really does enjoy the class, and it’s not fair to her that her dad’s disgusting. It’s nothing we can’t handle.” She squeezes his wrist lightly. “Thanks, though. Hey Jack, show dad your project.” He peers over his shoulder, and it’s a pink and orange skyline, much like the one he saw her painting that first time on the balcony. “I asked the kids to paint my favorite thing today, and that’s sunset.”

“I saw you painting this one night,” he says, and then he feels abruptly like an idiot. She just smiles at him though, nods.

“Yeah, I’m a sucker for a beautiful sunset. It makes you feel like, just because the day ends, it doesn’t have to mean things are over; it’s just one of life’s beautiful natural transitions. And the colors are to die for: peach, coral, jasmine, rose, tiger’s eye.” He finds himself unexpectedly touched by her description, smiles softly to shake himself of the emotions.

“The way you see the world is extraordinary. To me it’s just kind of… orange.” She returns his expression, but softer, and squeezes his wrist again; he didn’t even realize she was still holding it.

“Sounds like you need some art in your heart. I give lessons for adults, too; you could even come over and paint with me on my balcony, some time. Special neighbor privileges.”

The thought of being with her on her balcony while she paints is almost overwhelming, which he finds funny, considering he currently sits no more than twenty feet away. There is an intimacy about it, while they both do their work in the cool, quiet breeze, but standing like this, close enough to touch, with the late day sun on her face while she talks about colors… he’s not sure he could handle it without falling in love.

She pats him on the back, moves on to another child, and he tells Jack what a great job he’s doing; his face is lit up, so happy, and regardless of the neighbor, he’s glad they stumbled upon this hobby.

When they pack up to leave, the jerk from earlier comes up to him, leans in to speak in a hushed voice. “You should have just told me you were fucking her. I would have backed off.” He blinks, but the guy and his daughter are walking out the door before he finds himself able to do more than that. About a week later, he goes over for that lesson almost by accident. Jack is at Jessica’s for the night at his request, and Aaron was planning to order takeout and have a paperwork cramming session, but when goes out onto the balcony, phone in hand to place an order, his neighbor is standing on hers like she’s waiting for him.

“Hey. I saw you don’t have Jack; I made some pasta with vodka sauce, if you’re hungry. I always prepare too much.” He sets his phone on the table, walks over to the railing to get a little closer.

“Uh. Sure. I have fresh basil growing here; trade?” She smiles, nods.

“Yeah, sounds delicious. I’ll be right back.” She ducks inside, returns a few moments later with two dishes of steaming, saucy pasta, sets one down on her table and gets right up against her railing, hands the other over to him across his. “That one’s for you,” she says, handing him an orange plate, and he sets it down, picks a few good looking leaves from his basil plant and tears them up, drops them on top. “And this one’s for me.” She reaches, holds a green plate over the gap between their porches, and he adds some basil to it before she pulls it back, takes a deep sniff. “God, it smells so good and fresh. Thank you, Aaron.”

“Thank you, it looks great.” He goes to sit at his table with it, but she scoots her chair closer to the railing, closer to his balcony, so he does the same. They make easy small talk while they eat, mostly about Jack, a little about her studio and his work.

“FBI, huh? I can definitely see that, with your suits, and your… neutrals.” She cringes when she says it, and it makes him laugh.

“I’m sorry I can’t wear paint covered overalls to the office,” he teases, and she shoots him a playfully affronted look, grins.

“You love my paint covered overalls—and for the record, you’d look great in them. You should find a pair. Preferably not black.” He flushes a little at that, but she doesn’t notice, just finishes up her pasta with a sigh of contentment. “That was so good, thanks again for the basil.”

“You’re welcome; thanks for feeding me something other than the takeout I planned to have.” He stands up, gestures to his apartment. “I’ll wash the plate and then hand it back over.”

“Why don’t you just bring it over and come paint with me for a little while? If you want,” she tacks on, and for the first time she seems a little nervous. “I’m not trying to be pushy, I just think it would be fun.”

It’s not that he doesn’t want to; it would be amazing to watch her paint up close and personal. He’s just also afraid he’ll pass the point of no return if he does it, and he can’t handle any more heartache. He only very recently got to a place where just waking up in the morning no longer causes him agony.

It’s the look on her face, though, soft and sweet and open, that makes his decision for him.

“Yeah, okay. I’d like that.” She grins.

“I’ll unlock the door.”

She’s dragging out her easel when he walks through the door; her apartment is stark white walls with vibrant furniture, artwork, canvases propped up against every bare spot along the wall, paints and brushes and charcoal and pencils on every surface. It’s exactly what he would have expected, warm and lived-in and comforting, very unlike the mostly black and gray interior of his own apartment. She smiles when she sees him.

“Hey! Can you grab that tray of paint on your way out?” she asks, and he picks up what looks kind of like an ice cube tray filled with many different colors, carries it out to the balcony with him. She has a canvas propped up, a little larger than a computer monitor, and she’s gotten started, but he can’t tell what it’s going to be just yet. When he hands her the paint she looks down at it, peers around the edge of the canvas like she’s comparing something. He’s so intrigued, curious about the way her mind works, what she’s thinking.

“What are you painting?” he asks when she picks up a brush, sets it down, picks up another. She smiles at him.

“Well, we’re painting that.” She points to the street, where there’s a rusty, pale blue antique car parked—he says that loosely, because it looks broken down—in the alley. Aaron chuckles softly.

“We’re going to paint that? It’s a little… grim.”

“Yes. It’s part of a series I just decided to create: ‘Beauty in the Ordinary.’” She sighs, and he’s surprised to see that her eyes are a little wet. She wipes the back of her hand over her eyes. “You know Bob Ross, right? Everyone knows Bob Ross.” He nods.

“Yes; the guy who paints the happy trees on PBS.”

“Right. I used to watch him growing up, and I vividly remember something he said once, about needing both darkness and light in life and in painting. ‘You have to have a little sadness once in a while to know when the good times come. I’m waiting on the good times now.’” She sniffles, exhales softly. “I’m waiting on the good times too. Sometimes looking at things like this car, and forcing myself to find something beautiful in it, is the easiest way to get through the day. Does that make sense?” He swallows hard when she looks up at him, because aside from Jack, she has been the lightest part of his life since the first time they passed each other on the elevator.

“Yeah, it really does.” She shoots him a soft, slightly sadder smile, and then explains about the paints a little, shows him the difference in the brushes, lets him feel the weight of them, the textures of the bristles.

She starts painting the car—the background is mostly finished—and he’s more than happy to watch, to hear her talk about her process. She asks if she can use his forearm to mix paints, and he turns it over, wrist up, tries not to smile too hard when she puts some dark blue on him, then white, mixing them and then comparing them to the car on the street. He looks down at her, the concentration on her face, the softness in her eyes, and is met with the sudden desire to brush a line of paint over her nose and make her laugh and kiss her breathless.

“Okay, your turn,” she says when she’s about halfway done with the car. She puts her hands on the backs of his arms, pulls him in front of the canvas so she’s between him and the railing. “You’ve been watching me, so you know what to do.” He has been watching her, but not necessarily for her technique, so he’s a little nervous; he dips the brush in the blue paint but hesitates to make a stroke. “I have faith in you, Aaron. Here.”

She wraps her fingers around his hand, guides him toward the canvas, and together they make a wide, curved line, rounding out the bumper. It doesn’t look half bad.

“It gets easier once you understand the relationship between specific paint, specific brushes, and your hands,” she says softly, and she helps him paint another line. “Are you having fun? You look stressed,” she teases, and he makes it a point to relax his face.

“I’m having a lot of fun,” he says, looking down at her; they make eye contact for a long moment, and she leans a little closer, and he leans a little closer, and then he accidentally dabs a blob of blue onto the canvas. He pulls back, grimaces, deflates. “I made a mistake. You can’t erase paint, right?” She laughs softly, takes the brush from his hand.

“No, you can’t erase paint, but as Mr. Ross would say, ‘There are no mistakes, only happy accidents.’” She gets her fingers close to the tip of the brush, makes a few quick movements, then grabs another brush, dips it in green. When she pulls back, there is a little blue flower growing out of a patch of grass where his blob used to be. He exhales, a little amazed.

“If only the mistakes we make in life were that easy to fix,” he says, and she nods.

“Yeah, that would be nice, but a lot of the time we find a way to turn them into beautiful things eventually. Are you willing to give it another shot?” He says yes, and she guides his hand for a while, then just hovers near it, then just instructs him on what to do. It’s dark before their painting is finished, and she carries it inside to dry, then takes him to the kitchen sink to scrub the paint off of his arm.

“Thanks for having me over; I had a really good time,” he murmurs as she dries his clean skin. She looks up, smiles softly, nods her head.

“I had a really good time too. I’m glad you came over; you’re welcome to join me any time.”

He says goodbye, heads home, looks at his stack of work with a groan, and brews a pot of coffee. He’s in for a long night, but he wouldn’t change his evening for anything. Life is much the same for the next few weeks: school and work, Jack’s art class at the studio a couple times a week, painting on the balcony on the weekend, with and without Jack. When Jack joins them for the first time, she pulls out a big box of markers and thick sheets of paper and he draws elaborate scenes while they talk and paint together. When Aaron makes mistakes, she’s never upset, just turns them into perfect little details that end up being his favorite parts of the paintings.

“What ever happened with your ‘Beauty in the Ordinary’ series?” he asks one evening while they’re painting some ocean waves. “Did I cause you enough trouble with the car to give up?” She looks down at the ground, looks a little shy, then shakes her head and smiles.

“No, you didn’t make me want to give up. I’ve been working on it at the studio. You’ll see it when it’s all done, I plan to hang them there.”

“Looking forward to it,” he tells her, and then Jack tugs on her shorts, shows them the picture he drew of the ocean, too.

Later that week, the team takes a case, and on the day he’s set to come home, Jessica drops Jack off at the studio with the plan that Aaron will pick him up when his flight lands. Due to some weather between where the team is and home, they get a little delayed; he doesn’t want to make Jessica head back out that way almost immediately after dropping him off, but he’s not sure who else he could ask to pick Jack up. It’s almost a stupid length of time before it dawns on him to call the studio.

“Life in Color, this is Alaina.”

“Alaina, hi, this is Jack’s dad—” He has his whole spiel prepared, but she cuts him off.

“Oh, sure, hang on a sec, she’s right here. It’s Jack’s dad,” she says, but it sounds further away, like she’s trying to cover the receiver. After a moment, his neighbor picks up.

“Aaron, hi. Jack said you were working.”

“Yeah, I was, and I’m supposed to pick him up after class, but our flight was delayed.” He doesn’t know how to ask for help with Jack; even with all the time they’ve been spending together, she still makes him a little nervous. Luckily, he doesn’t have to figure that part out on his own.

“Hey, that’s no problem. If it’s okay with you, I’ll just take him home with me. I’ll order pizza, we’ll draw, and you can just stop by when you’re home and pick him up.” He breathes a sigh of relief, runs a hand over the back of his head.

“That would be perfect. Thank you—I’ll owe you one.”

“You don’t owe me anything. Hanging out with your mini me is reward enough; he’s painting something special for you today, won’t let me see it.” That makes him smile, and he feels so warm at the prospect of picking him up from her bright apartment, seeing his artwork, her smile. After a long, draining day like this one, it’s exactly what he needs.

“I’ll have to remain in suspense until tonight, I guess. Can you let him know I said hi? And thank you, I’ll see you later tonight.”

“Of course. We’ll see you then.”

It’s late, after nine, by the time he makes it home. He doesn’t even take his bags inside, just drops them outside his door and knocks softly on hers. She answers with a smile, ushers him in, asks him if he’d like a drink and gets them each a beer.

Jack is in her room, asleep, so they have a little time to chat; she asks about his flight, his case, and he asks about the studio, and she gets a little shy when it comes to that topic, clears her throat.

“Um. I have Jack’s secret project, if you want to see it. He said I could show you.” He’s not sure why that would make her nervous—at least, until he sees it.

The background is all watercolors, a gradient of rainbow colors starting with pink at the top and ending with a soft purple at the bottom. Over that, in black marker, he’s drawn the three of them, with a big heart around them.

“Tonight’s theme was the thing that makes you the happiest, and he said he’s the happiest when the three of us are on the balcony together. It was… really, really sweet.” She looks up at him, brushes a hand over the crown of her head. “If I’m being honest, that’s when I’m the happiest, too.” He takes the picture from her hands, runs his fingers over it, and smiles, feeling a warm ache in his chest—not like before, not like losing someone he’s never really met, but like finding something he never really planned on.

“That’s when I’m the happiest, too,” he agrees, and when he looks up, she looks determined, like she does when trying to find just the right shade of paint. She takes Jack’s picture out of his hand, sets it on the counter, and then pulls him down by the lapels of his suit, kisses him long and slow. His hands move to her waist, keeping her close, and eventually she pauses for breath, looks at him again, and then wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him some more.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the first time I saw you—tall and dark and serious, striding out of the elevator. So intriguing, mysterious,” she breathes when they separate again. “I wanted to know everything about you.”

“Are you kidding?” he asks, huffing a laugh. “I’m boring, but you are so vibrant, so full of life; I felt like you were everything I wasn’t, and I wanted to know you so badly.”

“You know me now; would you like to keep getting to know me?” It’s one of the easiest questions he’s ever been asked; he nods, and she beams, and he lifts her into his arms and carries her to the couch, drapes himself over her while she leans back against the cushions, pulling him closer.

They make out like neither of them have a care in the world—god, how long has it been since he’s made out with someone?—her fingers scraping through his hair, his hands on her bare waist when her shirt rides up, and she’s in the process of pushing his jacket off his shoulders when they hear a sound from the other room that startles them apart. Jack.

“I’ll go check on him,” Aaron says, and when he goes into her room Jack is still snuggled up on her bed sound asleep. It looks like some canvases fell over, though, and he stoops to pick them up, then spots the car they painted together. He turns and she’s right behind him, skids to a stop. “I thought you said these were at the studio?”

“They were,” she says, and she looks nervous again. “But I changed my mind about hanging them there. They felt too personal.” He runs his hand over the car and sees where she’s coming from; this one feels personal to him, too.

“Can I see the rest?” he asks. “Only if you want to show me them.”

“You’re the only one I want to show them to,” she says with a soft smile, and she grabs a few more canvases, carries them into the light of the living room. “Beauty in the ordinary, remember.” He remembers, could never forget.

She turns one over, and it’s a kitchen sink, and in the kitchen sink is an orange plate with a fork resting on it—like the plate she’d given him with the pasta on it. She turns one over and it’s a man’s hand, holding a paintbrush, with pale blue paint on his forearm. The next one is a little herb garden on a balcony; the next one is a view from above, of a sandy haired boy with markers all around him. The last one is an open elevator—ripe with possibilities.

When he looks up at her, she’s got tears in her eyes, and one slips down her cheek.

“So, I think I’ve found my good times.” She smiles through her tears, and he takes her face in his hands and kisses the salt from her lips. “I love you,” she says when he pulls back to wipe her face with his sleeve, and he kisses her softly, again and again, and tells her he loves her, too. The next weekend, Jack is at Jessica’s for a sleepover, and Aaron has been enlisted to help with an art project. He walks next door, knocks lightly, and enters the living room; he is met with a very deep, passionate kiss and a smile, and instructions to help move the furniture out of the way.

“I’m really curious what kind of art requires this much floor space,” he says, shoving her couch back against the wall, and she sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, a move he has been unable to resist since she did it the first time they had sex. She knows it’s a weakness, exploits it, and he loves every minute of it.

“You’ll see, but I promise you’re going to like it.” When they clear the floor, she grabs a large, rolled-up fabric canvas and lays it out in the middle of the room, then drops three bottles of paint—one is yellow (jasmine), one is orange (peach), and one is kind of pink (coral? He’s still not sure.)—onto it. “You can obviously say no if you want, but I wanted something over my bed with the sunset colors, and I found this…” She steps closer to him, runs her hands down his chest, guides him down for a kiss so delicious he loses his train of thought. “It’s sex art; we put the paint on the canvas, and on ourselves, and… you know, go at it. What do you think?”

He thinks he really, really loves art now, even more than he thought possible.

“So we have paint-covered sex and then you just hang it on the wall? Like regular art?”

“Yep, I got the supplies I’ll need to hang it; letting it dry will probably take the longest. I figured we could shower while it’s drying, maybe go for round two, if you’re up for it.” She moves her hand to his waist, slips it inside his shorts, and he pulls her closer to his body. “Are you up for it, Aaron?”

That is an understatement.

Undressing happens extremely fast, because this is really sexy and they’re kind of in a phase where they can’t keep their hands off of each other anyway. She pulls her hair up onto the top of her head to try to minimize the amount of paint in it, and then she pours paint on the canvas, turns around and drizzles some on his back and tells him to lay down.

“I think we should probably change positions often so we get a lot of motion on the canvas; I apologize to your old knees in advance,” she teases, but she soothes the sting of her words by pouring paint on herself and then laying between his legs and licking at his dick. “Do some stuff with your hands; I want to see those big handprints on my wall,” she murmurs, and he groans, puts his palms down in the paint and drags them through it.

She leans up a little, sliding her knees through some yellow paint, sucks him fully, deeply into her mouth for couple of minutes, and then stretches forward and puts an orange hand right in the middle of his chest; the look in her eyes is playful, and he reaches out with one finger, hooks it under her chin, and guides her off and up so they can kiss.

“Your turn,” he says with a smirk, and then he gets her onto her back and ducks between her legs, hopes she doesn’t grab for his hair like she usually does. He rubs his pointed tongue over her clit, waits for the mmm it always elicits, and looks up at her, covers each of her breasts with a paint-covered palm and squeezes. “Leave handprints for me,” he leans up and reminds her, kissing her stomach, and she plants her hands, then presses up and grabs his shoulder, smearing pink down his back. “Oh, you wanted more of that?”

“Don’t tease me, the paint will dry,” she whines, and he spreads her thighs wider with his elbows and licks her pussy quickly, until she’s squirming against the canvas and panting for more. “Come here, come here.”

He’s not ready for that, though, paint or not, wants her to come from this; he takes his hands off of her, dips them in the paint again and presses down, then puts his hands under her ass and brings her closer so he can fuck her with his tongue, quick and deep and slick.

“Aaron, Aaron, god.” She slides her hands down his arms, over his neck, digs her nails in when she comes moaning like music.

While she catches her breath, so gorgeous, she sticks her arms out like she’s making a snow angel, and he catches her while she’s off guard and turns her onto her stomach, puts his hands on the smears of paint he’s already left on her ass, and slides inside.

“Oh my god; I was trying to impress you with this sexy art project, but you’re rocking my world.” She’s breathless, pressing back into his thrusts and painting with her entire body. God, he loves her mind.

“You know I always take your projects very seriously,” he says, leaning forward to whisper in her ear, and she groans, laughs.

“Yes you do. From the side? Let’s lay diagonally.” They shift, and he hooks his chin over her shoulder, kisses her neck and huffs hot against her hair. “Hmm, love it like this,” she sighs, and she reaches back to press her hand to his hip, holding him while he moves inside her. “I love you.”

“Love you. I want you to finish on top of me,” he instructs with a wet kiss to her throat, and she nods against his lips.

“Yeah, next; I’m getting close.” A few more strokes and she gets up onto her knees, lets him lay back, propped up on his arms, and climbs on top of him; she kisses him slow and dirty and then runs her hands over him, sits back on his dick and glides up and down. “You wanna come like this too? I owe you a little world rocking,” she says with a flick of her tongue over his bottom lip, and he nods, squeezes her thigh.

“It’s the least you can do after making me move all the heavy furniture.” She rolls her eyes but kisses his chin, down his throat, and bounces harder on him, all delicious eye contact and moans. “Mmm. Just like that, baby, come for me.”

“Fuck. I will, I will.” She wraps a hand around the back of his neck, kisses him kind of rough and with lots of tongue, and then tips her head back and climaxes, clenches, wrings his orgasm out of him so quickly it’s almost jarring. “Oh, yes Aaron. So good,” she mumbles, and then he lays back, out of breath, and she slides out of his lap and lays beside him, out of breath too.

After a moment, she looks over at him, smiles, and swipes a pink fingertip over his cheek.

“This is the hottest thing I’ve ever done with anyone. I’m glad I got to do it with you.” He rolls on top of her, presses a kiss to her nose, and nods.

“Me too. You know,” he adds after a moment, “my bedroom could use some artwork, too.” She grins, wraps her arms around him and squeezes tight.

“You’re right; I think we should do yours in blue: liberty, that’s dark blue; periwinkle, that’s light blue; maybe steel gray, too.”

“You’re the expert. I’m just your paintbrush.” Her hands smooth up his back, and contentment washes over him like a warm breeze.

“Hmm. I like the sound of that. Want to get cleaned up?”

Cleaning up is almost as fun as making the mess, because they’re well and truly covered, and when the canvas dries, the sunset colors are almost as beautiful as the ones she used the first time he ever saw her paint. Taglist ❤️: @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc

[itadorisgf]

creep.

how your boyfriends react when they see someone making you uncomfortable.

fushiguro megumi x gn!reader x itadori yuuji + gojo satoru x gn!reader x nanami kento.

hurt/comfort(?), non-consensual groping, cursing, poly relationships

— fushiguro megumi + itadori yuuji.

the train is crowded with not much wiggle room at all. it’s to be expected of taking the train at this time. fushiguro and itadori are both nearby, the three of you are pressed closely to one another among the throng of other passengers.

you have your hand wrapped around a metal pole to stabilize you from any sudden jolts the train may make. you idly listen to fushiguro and itadori chat, worn out from the day’s outing and content to zone out to the sound of your boys’ voices.

your eyes widen in surprise and your grip around the pole tightens when you feel a hand roughly squeeze your rear end. fushiguro and itadori’s attention snap to your form when they hear the startled gasp that escapes your lips.

itadori’s concerned gaze remains on you while fushiguro’s eyes land on the individual standing behind you on the crowded train car. it doesn’t take long for fushiguro to connect the dots of what’s occurred.

meanwhile, itadori’s still confused. he questions if you’re alright, but you’re still shocked by what just happened to answer him properly. although it’s difficult with so many people on the train, fushiguro gently grabs your wrist until you’ve switched spots and you’re now standing right beside itadori.

fushiguro’s eyes harden and his lips flatten into a tight line as he stares at the older man who dared to lay his hand on another person (his significant other) without their consent. normally, fushiguro would hate to make a scene in public, but he can make an exception for today.

“apologize.”

fushiguro’s grip on the older man’s shirt is firm as he harshly tugs on it. the man’s lecherous smile morphs into a surprised expression, caught off-guard by fushiguro’s actions. by this point, itadori has caught on to what the man has done. his arm is wrapped around your shoulders, holding you close to his side as he watches the situation unfold before him.

“why should—ngh”

the man is cut off when fushiguro tightens his grip, causing the man to stumble a bit. the other passengers look on, aware that a conflict is arising in front of them. the man flounders while fushiguro is the visage of calmness. his eyes reveal the sheer amount of anger he’s feeling at the moment.

“i said apologize.”

the man attempts to break away from fushiguro’s unrelenting hold. “fuckin’ let go of me—fuck! fine! i’m sorry. now fucking let go, man.”

the man trips when fushiguro suddenly lets go and scampers to exit the train as quickly as he can. the prying eyes of the crowd go back to what they were previously doing when the realize that the situation is now dealt with.

fushiguro turns back around to face you and itadori. your face is pressed into itadori’s chest as his arm is now protectively slung around your frame.

“i hate the city,” fushiguro flatly says. it elicits a soft snicker from itadori and a small smile from you. fushiguro slots himself by your side and slips his hand into yours.

luckily, the rest of the train ride passes by smoothly.

— gojo satoru + nanami kento.

as the head of the gojo clan and the strongest sorcerer, gojo’s required to go to stiff clan gatherings every so often. the three of you dislike going, but understand that gojo has certain obligations he must attend to. well, you and nanami understand, gojo doesn’t. (he’d much rather just shirk his duties like usual, but you and nanami have to stress how important it is that he goes, even if neither of you wish to attend either.)

when you arrive at the gathering, you three are swept off into different directions. gojo bounces from person to person, intent on making their lives as miserable as possible to make them regret making his attendance mandatory. nanami is stolen away to chat with some younger jujutsu sorcerers who seem very interested in making conversation with him. you sigh quietly to yourself and make your way over to the refreshment table.

if you’re going to be stuck at this place for the next few hours, you might as well make the most of it. while you’re perusing the table, attempting to decide on whether you wanted to snack on something or drink something, a voice startles you from your train of thought.

“now, why’s someone as lovely as you all alone, sweetheart?”

you restrain the urge to outwardly cringe at the blatant attempt at flirting. you don’t recognize the man speaking to you, but you can guess that he’s probably a member of one the higher up clans. he’s not unattractive (nowhere as attractive as gojo or nanami), but you already dislike him. the certain air of arrogance and superiority that surrounds him is suffocating.

“i’m just grabbing a refreshment before i meet up with my boyfriends.”

you make sure to emphasize the last word as you turn your attention back to face the table. you decide that a snack sounds good for now, reaching out to pluck one of the finger foods provided off of the tray.

“strange, but i don’t see either of them around.”

he roughly loops his hand around your wrist. you recoil when you feel his breath hit your skin.

“how about you and i get out of here?”

you’re this close to fucking breaking this bastard’s entire arm for putting his fucking hands on you when a familiar voice fills the air.

“how about you let go of my lovely partner?”

gojo’s voice is light and airy as it normally is, but there’s a distinct bite to his tone. a clear warning that it would be in this man’s best interest to release you. when his grip on you slackens, you’re quick to tear your wrist away from him.

“such unbecoming behavior coming from the zenin clan.”

you startle for a brief moment at the sound of new voice coming from behind you, but you relax when you realize who it is. nanami’s expression is impassive, but there’s a tight clench of his jaw that indicates his underlying anger.

the man rolls his eyes and has the audacity to scoff before retreating to a different corner of the room, far away from your group. you can make out faint muttering underneath his breath, something along the lines of “fuckin’ gojo and nanami of all people.”

“are you alright, love?”

gojo wraps his arms around your waist from behind, fitting his face into the curve of your neck as nanami stands in front of you with a concerned expression.

“i’m alright, kento,” you assure him, leaning back into gojo’s chest. “i was more annoyed than anything.”

the crease in between nanami’s brows smooths out upon hearing your response. gojo loudly huffs from behind you. you tilt your head to get a better look at his face.

“this is why i hate coming to these,” gojo childishly complains against your skin. you laugh and press a kiss to gojo’s jaw. mentally, you and nanami agree with gojo’s statement.

“how about we leave early then, satoru?”

his demeanor brightens and without another word, gojo’s dragging you and nanami out of the building by the hand. nanami chides gojo for his behavior, but he can’t hide the small upturn of his lips.

you three end up eating at some hole-in-the-wall for the night.

the next morning, gojo earns himself a lecture from the higher ups about how he can’t just walk out from “important clan gatherings”.

[bratdesire]

All Bark and No Bite

Pairing: Tsukishima Kei x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Noncon, lowkey incel Tsukki, yandere ( i think?), degrading language, knifeplay, misogyny, slut shaming, brat taming, slapping, belting, mentions of blood, choking, emotional manipulation, belly bulge, overstimulation, painful orgasm, unprotected sex, general meanness, time skip spoilers?

Genre: Smut (gross)

Author’s Note: This is mean, nasty Tsukki brain rot and I had no reason at all to write this. He’s a fucking beast in this and I apologize for nothing. Hopefully someone likes it tho. As always, thank you to my betas @sempiternal-amour​, @kidwine​, @india-katsuki​!!

Word count: 3.9k

Summary: Tsukishima teaches his roommate’s bratty girlfriend a lesson or two.

Please heed the warnings, it’s dark in here ;;;;

Tsukishima has hated you since he laid eyes on you. 

You personify everything that he despises, from your big bratty mouth, to your typical bitchy attitude, to your ridiculous wardrobe which must only consist of tiny crop tops and slutty skirts that barely cover your ass. 

Most of all, he hates that you never fail to give him a raging hard on anytime you’re around. But it’s really not his fault, not with the way you prance around his and Kuroo’s apartment in your tiny, indecent outfits and surely not with the sinful moans he hears you make through the thin wall between their bedrooms. He knows you know exactly what you’re doing.

You can’t not know.

He knows you’re trying to tempt him, test his resolve. He doesn’t miss the way you make sure he’s looking when you bend over in your too-short skirt, panties conveniently missing. You’re always mouthing off to him, trying to goad him into an argument, knowing Kuroo will always come to your defense.

You’re trying to push him until the thin, fraying thread that is his self-control snaps.

One day, it does.

You’re standing in the kitchen, boiling some pasta for dinner when Tsukishima unlocks the front door. Great, he thinks, he’s had a long day full of stressful negotiations for the museum and now you’re here to sour his mood even more. Usually Kuroo is there to smooth out any tension that develops between you, quickly defusing any arguments before you start full-on screaming at each other, so your conflicts have never risen above that threshold. 

But Kuroo’s not here, as Tsukishima learns from you in your annoyingly snarky tone, “Tetsu won’t be home until late tonight. He told me to tell you he said to fuck off if you bothered me.” You’re smirking, feeling superior in the belief that you’re safe from his wrath because you’re his roommate’s girlfriend and he wants so badly to wipe that smirk off your face, preferably by belting you until you bleed.

“I didn’t ask, brat,” Tsukishima sneers, narrowing his eyes at you as he passes on the way to his room. He’s trying to keep a calm, collected persona, but you just get under his skin in a way that no one else does. Usually he lets those types of comments go but he’s just so tired, so tense, and so fed up with your attitude that his bubbling anger threatens to break the surface and boil over. He breathes in, breathes out, breathes in, breathes out. He can tolerate your unruly behavior for at least a few hours until Kuroo gets home, he tells himself. He truthfully doesn’t care about his relationship with his roommate, Kuroo just offered him a cheap place to stay after high school graduation, but he knows that if he did hurt you he’d have to find a new place to live and that would just be a headache that he doesn’t want to deal with.

After changing out of his work clothes and putting on sweatpants and a t-shirt, he makes his way down the hall and back into the kitchen to make himself dinner because he sure as hell isn’t going to eat anything you make. Girls his age never know how to cook, only knowledgeable in spreading their legs for any alpha male that looks their way.

Much to Tsukishima’s irritation, you’re still in the kitchen piddling around like the clueless bitch you are, incapable of boiling a simple box of pasta without the water boiling over and making a mess of the stove. He lets out a groan of exasperation, walking over to where you’re standing in front of the stove to remove the pot from the burner.

“Can’t do anything without fucking it up can you, brat?” He growls at you, purposefully clipping your shoulder as he moves behind you to throw the ruined pasta away. He knows he’s baiting you into an argument and that you’ll take the bait, but the knowledge that Kuroo won’t be home for a while makes him want to see how far you’re willing to go without your boyfriend present.

“You’re such a fucking asshole, you know that? No wonder no one likes you,” you huff, leaning against the stove and crossing your arms. The action squishes your breasts together and he can see the faint outline of your areolas through the thin material of your shirt.

“As if I care about what a useless brat like you has to say about me.” Tsukishima scoffs and he can see your anger in the way your shoulders shake.

“You barely fucking know me, who are you to call me useless?” You push yourself off the stove and take a step closer to him.

“I know enough about you to know that you’re useless.” He can feel his resolve fraying more and more as each word leaves your bitchy mouth.

“Oh, I’m useless? Didn’t that little ginger boy you played volleyball with in high school get on the Japan National team while you work at a museum?” You’re smiling triumphantly as if you’ve won this battle of wits, but Tsukishima can rattle off insults in his sleep and this isn’t his first time putting someone in their place.

“You know Kuroo only keeps you around because you’re pretty and you’re a warm, wet hole waiting for him to fuck when he gets home.” He crosses his own arms this time, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. 

“So you think I’m pretty?” You’re snickering at the reddening of his face and the twisting of his delicate features and it fills him with so much rage that the thread... 

Just.

Snaps.

He’s on you so fast that you can’t even blink before he has you pinned to the countertop, one hand squeezing the back of your neck and the other twisting your arm painfully behind you. Tsukishima relishes in the little yelp of pain you make when he twists your arm back farther.

“Absolutely not. Your slutty cunt is the only good thing about you and even that has probably been stretched out by all the cocks you’ve taken.” His voice is calm, collected, as if he were discussing the weather and not verbally abusing you while he has you pressed into the countertop. Your fight-or-flight response triggers and you start kicking and screaming, thrashing against him in a blind attempt to wrench yourself from his grasp. 

“What the fuck are you doing? Fucking asshole get off of me and let me go!” The hand that’s holding your arm quickly grabs your other wrist while his other hand wrenches you upward by a painful grip in your hair. Your back is now pressed against Tsukishima’s chest, wrists restrained by his long fingers and head bent back so your eyes meet his. They’re cold, unfeeling and send a sickly chill down your spine that makes you still immediately.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll be quiet and calm down. It’ll be easier that way for the both of us.” The monotony of his voice is even more sinister in this moment where you’re completely at his mercy. Your eyes widen in horror as you feel his cock pressing against your ass and it causes you to start fighting him again, no coordination in the way your muscles move in your frantic movements. You’re screaming, just hoping somebody will hear you, somebody will come save you.

Your hopes are meaningless when you’re so small, so vulnerable. Tsukishima knows no one will come for you and he knows you’ll never be able to overpower him. You’re completely at his mercy, whether you choose to comply or not.

 “You know, even if nobody comes for me now, Tetsu will be home later and I’ll tell him everything you did to me.” You’re confident that the threat of your boyfriend will deter him from taking his abuse any further. You struggle in his grip to hold yourself a little higher so you’re more eye level with him. “He’ll kill you if he sees one hair out of place and I tell him it was you.” 

How cute, you still think you have control of this situation.

“I’ll just deny whatever you claim that I did or didn’t do. Who do you think Kuroo will believe? Me, his longtime friend from high school, or you, his whore girlfriend he met a year ago?” A smug smile tugs at his lips, knowing he’s planted a seed of doubt in your mind that Kuroo will believe you.

“Tetsu loves me! He’ll believe whatever I tell him.” He can’t tell if you’re trying to convince him or yourself.

“You really think Kuroo loves anything more than your tits,” he uses one hand to grope at your breasts, “or your ass,” the other hand sliding down to fondle at the supple flesh. The feeling of his long, thin fingers on your body causes you to start fighting again, but this time your arms are free so you start flailing them blindly, hoping to stun him long enough that’ll give you enough time to get away. You manage to twist around and smack him in the face and almost wriggle out of his grip but as luck would have it, you don’t get away. You won’t get away. 

Rage takes over his features, his muscles tensing and flexing. Tsukishima quickly raises his hand and brings it down across the left side of your face. It takes a moment for you to realize that he slapped you, confusion slowly morphing into an expression of sheer, unadulterated fear. The horror that dawns on you, overtaking your features, warms his heart.

“If you’re not going to behave and continue to be a brat, I’m going to treat you how a brat should be treated.” He drags you, kicking and screaming, down the hall to his bedroom. He wishes you’d shut the fuck up, but that’ll be taken care of soon enough.

Kuroo thinks you’re his sweet, innocent girlfriend but Tsukishima knows better, knows what you really are. You’re a mouthy, bratty whore who needs to learn her place and he’ll be the one to remind you what you are.

Once you’re in his bedroom he turns and uses one hand to lock the door. How pathetically weak you are that he only needs one hand to restrain you. He digs around with one arm underneath his bed, slowly getting frustrated before he finally grabs what he’s looking for.

Handcuffs.

He grabs your arm and fastens a cuff to your wrist, tightening them just enough so the cold, hard metal digs into your flesh. It only takes a few moments of your incessant struggling for redness to bloom across the skin of your wrists and Tsukishima can’t help but smile at the sight. 

“What kind of sick fuck just has a pair of handcuffs lying around?” You’re scared, he can hear it in the way your voice shakes, but you’re trying to act tough and he can’t help but roll his eyes.

Tsukishima hauls your body over to his bed, forcing you to follow him if you want to prevent fracturing your wrist. He forces you onto the mattress, body bouncing with the impact. With the other cuff in hand, he fastens it to his headboard.

“The kind that’s going to beat your bratty ass into submission before I fuck your stupid cunt.” He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your flimsy, tiny shorts and pulls them down your legs. You start thrashing harder, trying to slow the movements of his hands but your efforts are futile. 

“Stop! What the fuck do you think you’re doing a-asshole!?” You’re on the verge of tears, eyes welling up, bottom lip trembling. You shut your legs as tight as you can in an attempt to impede his quest to remove what’s left of your clothing, but you both know that won’t stop him.

Your entire body stills then seizes up when you see the glint of a box cutter blade in Tsukishima’s hand.

“W-What’re you planning on doing with that?” Your wide, terrified eyes are trained on the blade as he waves it around in the air.

“Stop your whining, I’m not going to cut you with it. It’s just to make removing your clothes easier.” He’s looking at you like a parent would look at a child that was throwing a fit, exasperated and tired of your nonsense. “Hold still and I’ll make this quick. I don’t want to get blood on my sheets just as much as you don’t want to get cut.”

You’re cowering from him, trying to scramble away from him despite the handcuffs anchoring you in place. You gasp when you feel the sharp edge of the blade against your hip, not daring to take another breath. Tsukishima slices through both sides of the little bits of string you call panties, revelling in the way your body trembles underneath him. Another long cut is made down the front of your shirt, the box cutter making quick work of the fabric, and his suspicions are confirmed that you’re not wearing a bra. Of course a whore like you wouldn’t be wearing one.

He admires the enticing curve of your breasts, the way your nipples are hardening in the cool air of his room. Your cheeks are wet with fresh, salty tears and you’re sniveling pathetically. He’s almost tempted to tell you that you’re beautiful like this, tied up and naked, crying, but you don’t deserve his praise. 

“Turn over, face down ass up. If I have to tell you a second time, I have no problems carving you up with this blade.” The threat has you scrambling onto your hands and knees, the action hindered by your restraints but you manage to turn over and present your ass to him.

Tsukishima unbuckles his belt, sliding it through the loops of his jeans. He takes it in his hand and folds it in half, inspecting its structural integrity to ensure he won’t destroy it as he whips you with it. The belt is real black leather, heavy in his palm and he knows it’ll make pretty welts on your skin.

“Now, it’s time to beat all of that sass and attitude out of you.” 

There’s no warning, no pretense before he starts viciously whipping you with his belt and you’re already screaming. If you hadn’t been so difficult, he might have warmed you up beforehand but he doesn’t mind. Your struggle was like foreplay, a little taste before the main course and it has his cock is straining against his pants. 

Every broken cry that leaves your throat sends arousal down his spine and he thinks he 

should’ve done this sooner. 

He would have if he had known how delicious your screams were.

The blonde is relentless, the impact of the belt never lessening, if anything, the smacks become even more ruthless. Your ass is an angry red and he can see some of the skin beginning to split, fresh, warm blood bubbling to the surface around your deeper wounds.

“P-Please stop, it hurts so much. I can’t take it anymore!” You’re fully sobbing now, tears and snot dripping down your face. “I’ll do a-anything,” you choke out between cries, your voice hoarse from overuse.

“Look at you, bawling hysterically from a few licks with my belt. You really are all bark and no bite. How pathetic,” he sneers.

“Tsukkiiiiii! Please, stop. I’ll do whatever you want as long as you stop hurting me.” The way you say his name is harsh and grating against his ears, but he overlooks it in favor of taking what you’ve been dangling in front of his face all this time.

The sound of Tsukishima’s pants hitting the ground makes you stiffen on the bed, slowly and apprehensively turning your head to look at him. Your eyes widen to the size of dinner plates when you see his cock: thick, hard, and leaking precum.

When you feel the dip of the bed underneath his weight, you start shaking and hyperventilating at the realization that this is really going to happen. “You… You’re really going to do this.” You sound so small, so defeated and his chest swells with pride because he did that—he smothered that blazing fire inside you with little more than a few flicks of his wrist.

“Yeah, and there’s nothing you can do about it so just lie there and take it,” he says as he lines himself up against your slit. When he notices the copious amounts of slick drooling out of your quivering pussy, the man can’t help but laugh at your expense. “Are you actually fucking wet from this? Does being fucked against your will turn you on this much?”

Your cheeks burn with shame and disgust because you are wet from Tsukishima’s abuse. It’s wrong, you know that, but your traitorous body doesn’t even feel like your own as it reacts to his touch. No matter how hard you try, you can’t stop the thrusting of your hips to try to catch the head of his cock each time it slots against the tight ring of muscle around your entrance.

“I always knew you were a cock hungry slut. You don't care whose cock is inside this filthy pussy as long as you’re getting fucked, do you?”

You don’t respond, tears welling up in your eyes and leaving watery trails down your cheeks. He’s right. You asked for this—if you hadn’t tempted him, you wouldn’t be handcuffed to Tsukishima’s bed, waiting for him to defile you. 

“I asked you a question,” Tsukishima snarls, fisting your hair in your hand and delivering a sharp spank to your ass. “Tell me how much of a disgusting whore you are.”

“I-I’m a—hiccup—dirty slut that loves t-to get fucked,” you stutter, the words like acid, foul and caustic on your tongue. “All I w-want is a cock inside me.”

“At least you know your place. Now let’s see if this slutty hole of yours is worth anything.” Tsukishima finally thrusts inside you, meeting some resistance from how unprepared you are, but he just pushes harder.

Your walls spasm and clench to try to adjust to his length, but you feel like you’re going to split in half. He’s much bigger than any other man you’ve slept with, stretching and filling you so full your stomach bulges where the tip of his cock is pressed against your cervix.

You scream and writhe on the bed in an attempt to get away from the hard, throbbing length painfully probing your delicate insides, but it’s futile with the handcuffs keeping you firmly shackled to the bed.

“Urgh, shit, for a used hole, you’re so fucking tight. I’m d-definitely going to cum from this.” The blonde takes a sharp breath through clenched teeth, sweat beading on his forehead. He doesn’t want to cum so soon. He can’t cum so soon when he’s waited for this for months.

“P-Please, not inside… I-I’m not on birth control,” you plead softly, hoping he’ll at least spare you the humiliation of having to clean his cum out from inside you.

“Tch, you think I give a shit about that? I’m gonna cum deep inside this pussy, ruin you for Kuroo and any man that’s sorry enough to want to fuck you.” He speaks low, muttering to himself but just loud enough for you to hear.

Despite the aching of your heart each time he speaks, you can feel your pussy begin to give as he fucks into you with abandon, his hips smacking loudly against yours. The sharp burning in your core slowly fades to pleasure as Tsukishima’s cock presses against that little spongy spot inside you that makes you cry out. You bite your lip so hard it bleeds to try to muffle the noise, but it’s no use. He heard you and it just gives him more reason to taunt you.

“Ah, I found it, did I?” the man asks as he hits the spot again and again, making you clench around him as the fluttering of your cunt tells him that you’re close to orgasm. “What a dumb slut you are, about to cream on my cock as I ravage your pussy.”

How utterly fucking humiliating. You’re going to cum on his cock and you didn’t even want this, not with him.

A particularly rough thrust into your g-spot sends electricity down your spine, down your body, and sends you careening over the edge, mouth open in a silent scream. Your sensitive cunt clamps down onto Tsukishima’s cock like a vice, but his ruthless pace doesn’t stop or slow as you shake and convulse underneath him. 

It isn’t like any typical orgasm you’ve had, which are usually blissful and warm, flooding your body with pleasure that makes your limbs heavy and your head fuzzy. No, this is almost painful, as if your orgasm was ripped out of you by force. 

All of your muscles contract as hard as they can and several seconds pass before they relax, your body shaking all the while. As it hits it feels as if a bucket of ice water was poured over your head, shocking and jarring, and you want to claw your way out of your own skin it's all so intense.

Once the last of the aftershocks leave you, you slump forward on the bed, boneless, chest heaving with every breath. You’re too exhausted to hold yourself up as Tsukishima keeps fucking into your overstimulated cunt, taking no regard for you or your body as he chases his own climax. 

You’re whining, gasping, hands fisted into the sheets to try to keep yourself grounded as electricity shoots through you with each thrust. 

“Too muuuch, ‘s too much,” you slur, but it only falls on deaf ears.  

The blonde pulls almost all the way out before shoving himself back inside the tight, wet heat of your cunt, and pushing against your cervix so hard you think he’s trying to fuck that hole too. You’re so fuck drunk that your eyes cross and your tongue lolls out of your mouth, strings of drool staining the mattress.

“Hey,” he calls out, yanking your hair backwards so you’re arched back towards him. “Don’t pass out; I’m gonna cum soon, so tighten up.”

You’re barely conscious by the time his thrusts become sloppy and uncoordinated, his own peak just on the horizon. His grip on your flesh is bruising, no doubt leaving purple marks in the shape of his fingers. The pistoning of his hips gets even faster, lewd squelching noises filling the room.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum inside this slutty little pussy and you’re going to take it all,” Tsukishima groans, digging his long fingers into your hips as he fucks into you.

All you can do is whine and mewl as he buries himself to the hilt, cursing and groaning as he shoots thick, warm spurts of cum into your sore, quivering womb. He leans forward, resting his forehead on your sweaty back as he catches his breath.

Some time passes before he withdraws and you twitch and gasp, the barest stimulation too much for your abused cunt. You try to curl in on yourself to go to sleep, but Tsukishima grabs your ankle and drags your limp body toward the edge of the bed.

“You really think we’re done here? Not even close. I’m not stopping until I’ve soiled every single one of your filthy holes.”

[lovelyiida2]

SUMMARY: A night planned to be so right turns out so wrong.

WARNINGS: cheating, drugging, implied rape, attempted suicide, vulgar language

NOTE: I’m going to be making today’s ff for gender neutral readers! If you see me accidentally using she/her in any sentence please call me out for it so that I am able to fix it. (Sadly she/her is my default since I ever started writing)

SERIES

WORDS: 4.47k

-

Denki was nervous, very nervous.

As a firm disbeliever of love at first sight, he’s embarrassed to say that’s exactly how he met you.

On a normal day in class 1-A, he was doing his regular dumb ass shit. Usually causing a ruckus among his friend group. Or just being himself, which was him usually doing dumb shit.

His regular behavior landed him into the recovery girls office. Apparently he wanted to see how far his paper air place would fly around the room, which annoyed Bakugo making his blast said plane back towards his direction.

And straight to the cornea…

His right eye, pink swelled with tears as the sting from the first hit of contact creeps on him every blink. It was good enough to guess that he was in terrible pain.

As his feet swung to the make-believe beat of the ticking clock. He waited for recovery girls presence like a child at its first dance recital searching the crowd for their parents (news flash they didn’t show up).

Only difference is when the door opened, he didn’t see recovery girl.

He saw you.

White coat and clipper in hand, you were too hot to be recovery girl.

“Sorry, recovery girl isn’t in today” You said. Too busy marveling at your beauty, you stood in an awkward silence.

Snapping himself from his trance he speaks, “oh! Um—well my eye is hurting really bad and needs to be treated. I don’t want there to be an infection or anything!–“

“Don’t worry, me and a couple of other students are stepping in for her today” you smile. Too nervous to say anything else, he simply nods.

“If you don’t mind, I need to step forward to inspect your eye?” You point towards his injury, he quickly straightens his posture and hums.

“Okay I’m gonna get a little close.”

You step forward leaning in close to his face, your glove-fitted hand gently touches his cheek. Surprised by the sudden feeling, he gasps. His reaction gives you a shirt chuckle, quickly going back into analysis mode.

‘I’ve never seen her around before. She must be on one of the higher floors.’

Looking down at your chest he reads your name tag attached to your neck.

L/n Y/n, CLASS 1-B

Recovery Student in Training

‘Oh, she’s smart. Especially in the recovery field, I heard it’s super hard.’

‘I bet they could get me hard–‘

“And how did this happen to you?”

Jolting from his shameful dirty thought he answers you, “W-well you see, I was flying a paper airplane and Bakugo basically blasted it into my eye.”

Laughing loudly you slap your hand over your mouth. “I’m sorry! It’s just I can imagine what happened from a witness point of view.” You quickly apologized.

Denki laughs at your reaction and shakes his head, “no it’s alright, I promise! Bakugo usually hurts me–but not in the bad way! He apologizes to me discreetly at lunch so that his pride won’t get hurt. He would never do it in front of anyone–“

You cut him off with another loud laugh, clutching your stomach you bend your knees to catch yourself from not landing on the ground in hysterics.

‘Their laugh is so nice…’

With a deep breath you compose yourself. Trying to stay professional as possible.

“Well, that’s definitely a way to put it—wait, Bakugo?” You ask.

“That’s who I was referring to wasn’t it?”

Your eyes widen, “Bakugo as in—Bakugo Kastuki from class 1-A? The one who recently won the sports festival?” You ask again.

“Yeah?” Denki confirms, your eyes widen even larger.

Heat quickly began to rise to your ears and face as the realization hits you. “Oh my god, you’re Denki Kaminari!”

The wooden clipboard smacks to the ground, you quickly grab it from the floor and covered your face and bent down into a bow.

“Excuse me for my behavior, ugh god this is embarrassing!”

“You know who I am?”

‘She knows who I am.’

“Well duh! The whole school knows who class 1-A is. Especially as a training pro-hero that is” the time in your voice filled with a nervous jitter.

“Me and my friends were on standby with Ms. Recovery Girl, and so we were watching from one of the tents set up for small injuries. Even though you weren’t in the battle for that long your quirk was amazing and nothing like I’ve even seen!” You smile, as your complement makes Denki have a slight blush.

“You think so?” He asks.

“Oh I know so! You have 2 million volts of electricity flowing in your veins 24/7, I think that’s pretty damn cool.”

Denki leans back into the exam table, the uncomfortable white paper crunches with his movement.

“Well how about you be my first fan hm?” He smirks. Eyes hooded he looks up to your figure.

You smirk back and lean close to his body, “Yeah?” You spoke softly.

“M’yeah…” he mumbles as he looks at your eyes and lips repeatedly. Forming a wide smile, you giggle and lean back up.

“Well as your first fan, the least I can do is treat you.”

Denki frowns at the distance between the two of you widens. “After all, you just have a sore eye. Cant skip class for that!” You spoke.

Walking towards his right side, you gently placed your hand on his eye. Closing your eyes, Denki began to study your facial features.

To the way your hair fit your face just so perfectly, to the way an angel placed every imperfection perfectly. He can’t help but to think you’re the hottest mother fucker that touches the same soil as him.

“This shouldn’t hurt at all” you whispered.

A warm, tingly sensation rushes to his eye. He slightly jolts due to the new feeling but quickly composes himself.

After about 30-45 seconds, you were finished.

“Sorry, I know that took a long time just for your eye” you chuckled. “It wasn’t that long” Denki states.

“So you agree that I was taking a long time?” You asked with a hint of sarcasm.

“Ah, hush!”

His outburst makes you laugh out loud again.

‘I’d quit all this hero shit and become a comedian if it meant hearing this laugh over and over again for the rest of my life.’

“No but really! I want to be just like Recovery Girl when I graduate. You would’ve been out of here in like 5 minutes! But here you are, 20 minutes in here–“

“Did you say 20 minutes?” Denki asked.

“Yeah, why?”

“Gotta go! Don’t wanna make Aizawa Sensei seem like I’m skipping.” Frantically rushing round like a miniature poodle, he rushed for the door. You quickly stop him and throw an ice pack to his chest.

“I shortened the healing time from 48 hours to 26. Take that and some cucumber on your eyes should make it feel better by tomorrow afternoon!” You say.

“Thank you!” He left the room in a hurry slamming the door in your face you shout in surprise.

Letting out a deep sigh you look around in awe.

“Oh my god I just met a future pro hero—Oh!”

Hearing the door opening again, Denki pops into your frame of vision smiling you taunt him.

“Need a bandage so you won’t cry?” You tease.

“No, but I really need to know your name.”

Of course Denki already knew your name, but he wants to real in his cockiness before he doesn’t see your face again.

“Call me L/n” you smiled.

“Okay L/n, call me Kaminari.”

“Alright, we’ll see you around Kaminari.”

Chuckling, he softly closes the door. Hearing his hurried footsteps fade away, you sigh once more.

“Kaminari, what took you so long in recovery? Shouldn’t take you up to 30 minutes for a sore eye” Aizawa says.

“I’m sorry Sensei, Recovery Girl wasn’t in today so there were step in students operating the office. Plus I had to pee so…”

Grumbling to himself he goes back to his teaching session.

Huffing in relief he finds his seat and slams into it. Smiling to himself about his recent interactions with you.

A couple minutes into the lecture and he’s already missing you. And he just learned your name, is this the puppy love Mina was talking about the other day?

Feeling a pointy object tap his back he turns around. Kirishima hands him a paper, he takes it and unfolds in under his desk. Reading it he rolls his eyes.

“Why are you smiling like you just got away with murder?” He wrote.

“Met one of Recovery Girls helpers, I think I’m in love,” Denki wrote to Kirishima. Discreetly passing the paper back to him, he hears his friends quiet chuckle.

A minute or so later he taps his back again giving him to note.

“We’re they hot?”

“Thought about tackling them and showing where my pain is on the exam table, hot” Denki wrote.

Before he could pass the note back, it was snatched from his hands. Looking up in terror, he sees Aizawa.

“And what is this?” Aizawa says, without waiting for a response he unwraps the note and reads it. Frowning in disgust he throws it in the trash and walks back to his desk. Cut off my the loud ring of the lunch bell, the class jumps from their seat.

Call that divine intervention.

After gathering at their regular lunch spot, his friends started to notice that he was a bit more attentive today.

“You weren’t lying, they’re that hot?” Sero says.

“Ah guys, the way they looked at me—and the way I looked back—and the way they looked at me!” Denki groans out in frustration.

“Don’t worry man, you’ll find them soon, there’s only one cafeteria shockingly so it shouldn’t be hard.” Kirishima reassured Denki, setting his food aside and patting him on the shoulder.

“Aren’t there like three floors in the café?” Bakugo laughs. Which makes Denki groan even louder, which made some heads turn.

10 minutes later, no sign of you.

20 minutes later, still no sign of you.

Denki might cry.

Just 25 more minutes and lunch would be over…

He was too excited he didn’t even eat his meal yet, using his chopsticks to playing with his food to pass time looking for you.

Looking over he sees a group of girls looking over his way whispering. The girls seeing he’s watching became frantic, pushing the girl in the center towards the table.

“Um, you’re K-Kaminari right? Training pro-hero?” She asks.

“What do want?” Bakugo shouts.

The girl shudders at his loud voice, “w-well L/n wanted you t-to meet them at hallway C stairway. A-and bring your lunch!” She screams before retreating back her friend group and walking away.

‘Oh my god it’s them.’

Nearly tripping standing up he rushes to meet you.

“Hey, network cable box!” Bakugo yells. Turning to his gaze he slaps something in his hands.

“3,300 ¥? Dude is this my apology?” Denki smirks. “Shut the fuck up before I change my mind” Bakugo spits.

Smiling he makes his way from his table to the stairway.

After a couple of turns, he finally makes his way to the stairway and spots you.

Looking over you smile and wave for him to sit down next to you. Happily taking your offer you laugh at his urgency.

“We finally meet again Kaminari?” You chuckle.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way…” he says.

“And where’s your ice pack?” You asked. Gasping he slaps his forehead “I left it at my table when your friend told me to come see you, I’m so sorry” he says.

Laughing at his words shake your head, “must’ve been excited to see me again.” Denki flips you off in response, earning another laugh out of you.

10 minutes pass along filled with laughter and joy. And to say he wasn’t crushing on you hard was an understatement.

To the way you slowly slurp your noodles, to the way one accidentally slaps you on the nose. To the way you laugh at your little mishap, to the way you lean on him for support.

Your aura was something he’s never felt before with any girl, yeah he’s had some crushes. But you were different from any other fling he’s been with, you were something he’s never experienced.

And on top of that?

“God, you’re just so damn hot” Denki says aloud.

Taking you aback you choke on your water. It took a minute to realize why you took him by surprise until you recalled it for him.

“I’m just so damn hot huh?” You ask, one eyebrow raised. Face hot and red Denki shoves his fave in his hands.

“Oh god you heard that?” He exclaimed.

“Yes!” You scream back.

“You must think I’m weirdo now huh?” Denki’s face flushed and eyebrows frowned in embarrassment.

“No, I think you’re a cute weirdo” you say back.

Denki looks back at you in shock, he then smirks in relief letting out a chuckle.

“If you think I’m so hot your should definitely do something about it” you lean in close to him.

Leaning in as well, he reaches in his pocket and takes out the money Bakugo lent him.

‘That sly bastard.’

“Listen, you, me, this money, and the local arcade down the street?”

‘Please say yes!’

“Hm…alright” you say, Denki wasn’t able to hold in his excitement and instantly gave you a tight hug.

“Okay so after school, meet me at this same spot and we’ll walk there?”

‘If he had a tail, it would be rapidly wagging’, you thought to yourself.

“But what if I wanna look good, it is our first date after all…” you trail off. “L/n, trust me you look perfect.”

Opening your mouth to protest, you smile instead. You couldn’t help but think to yourself that what he said wasn’t just because he wanted to have more time, you felt he actually meant it.

“Okay then, it’s a date?”

“It’s a date!”

And before the both of you knew it, by your second year Denki was the first to say I love you. And by your third year, the both of you were on a first name basis.

And the day of your graduation? The both of you lost your virginity in the back of his dads van.

And now, four years later. In the shared condo you both live in, the plushie he won for you on your first date laid comfortably on the couch the both of you oh-so love.

Four years later, Denki is now a pro-ranked hero and is looking to make his own agency soon. And you? You’re the Co-CEO of one of the top hero recovery agency in Japan.

Four years later.

Denki was nervous, very nervous.

“Dude you gotta go through with this!” Kirishima says.

“I think you tying the knot on L/n is a big step, are you sure you’re ready? From experience time is key, marrying Mina feels like I’m on the way to a divorce every day,” Sero takes a sip of his whiskey.

Laughing at his comment Denki thinks I’m the back of his mind.

‘We won’t have a rocky relationship after we marry right Y/n?’

“You won’t turn out like Sero, even all the gods know Sero can’t keep his dick in his pants if he had to save is own life—fucking drunk,” Bakugo says.

“I’ve been thinking about this since our sixth anniversary, please be a little more serious!” On the verge of a mid-life crisis, Denki takes a sip of his scotch.

“Dude you don’t need our validation for what you want to do, especially from Sero,” Kirishima says. “I mean, the both of you are high school sweethearts, how much more meant to be can it get?”

“It’s just—I don’t know how!” In frustration, Denki takes another sip, one more addicting than the other.

“Dude, you don’t have to go all out. Take her out to dinner, bring her home, do something cute for her, do a little speech, get down on one knee, propose, and then fuck each other’s brains out” Bakugo says.

And that’s what he planned.

Sneaking your ring was the hardest part ever. He knew the house stayed very clean, so once something was out of place you knew you had to move it back. To do call “keep the peace in this household to a 10,” as you would say. So, the best thing that came to his mind was behind the toilet.

And now that he ring is secure, where would he take you to dinner. What could he do after that? Will you guys have sex? Does he need protection honestly? (Please always wear protection unless said so by the other partner)

“Denki Kaminari, what the fuck is on your mind?” You ask. Laying in the white sheets, after another mind blowing round. Naked body exposed in all your sexy glory, yet Denki is in deep thought.

“I know your face when you’re thinking hard so don’t even try to lie to me, you look like you’re trying to figure out where to hide a dead body”

Frowning he rolls over to face you, his fingers trailing along your back and to your thighs, tracing back to your lower back. He presses a soft kiss along your cheek, which you were happy to receive.

“Y/n, do you love me?”

“What type of dumb question is that Denki?” Frustrated, you forcefully grab his jaw and collide your lips with his.

Pulling away you look deeply in his eyes you spoke softly, “if I didn’t love you I wouldn’t be here, I wanted to lose my virginity on a bed but lost it on a towel in the back of a van” you chuckle.

“Mhm, but you loved every minute,” Denki purred into your ear making you giggle. Sighing he comes clean, “I just want you to have an amazing birthday that’s all, I want this one to be really personal and warm y’know? More as a celebration of life and not fancy outfits and embarrassing dialogue between opening gifts from people you’re not even that close to…”

“I want you to feel at home this year, no stress, no being uncomfortable, but money will be welcomed at the front door” you and Denki burst out into laughter at his comment.

“Denki what made you ever think I wasn’t at home? I’ll have you know that this is my home and you’re my family. Hell, we even have our own baby! Sitting on the couch cold, you never take care of her though,” you shrug

“First off, Rose is doing absolutely fine out there. And last time I checked, parenthood is a two-person job.”

Rolling your eyes, you land another kiss onto him, pulling away you caress his face. “Do whatever your heart desires hun, I’ll be happy either way. Just no loud mariachi band.” Denki smiles at your comment.

Just no loud mariachi band…

It took a couple weeks, but your birthday was coming up. And he couldn’t have thought of another great opportunity than the one right in front of him.

He ordered reservations for your favorite restaurant (outdoor seats too!), went to the store and got your favorite cookies, and the most important thing of all, the ring.

Tonight was the night, 8PM sharp was when he needed to be home for your 9PM reservation.

It was 6PM and he was seconds away from shiting all over the floor. So he thought to himself, a drink shouldn’t hurt to calm nerves.

Walking into the local bar he goes to often, he’s known by the manager as a regular. So a free drink on the house wasn’t a question.

As he sits by the bar, drinking his whiskey. A spots a woman in his peripheral vision. She was tall and slender, yet curvy at the same time. Her pink and black hair could be spotted from a mile away even if he wasn’t looking.

He paid her no mind until she looked his way, her eyes widening is shock she quickly walks over to his table.

“You’re the stun gun hero, Chargebolt right?” She says enthusiastically, her bright white teeth shined through the dim lights of the bar.

“Yes, it’s he,” she gasps and sits next to him. “I’m Raina, I’m sick a huge fan of you, I’ve been one since you first started working.”

She blushes for a moment at her little confession. Denki smiles in appreciation, “thank you so much, I would love to talk more but I have to do something very important–“

Denki stands in his seat before her hand reaches out to his forearm, “wait! Why leave so early? You just got here” she pouts.

“I’m—proposing to my future fiancé” he says, she begins to glow in excitement. “Oh my god, congratulations! Here, your next drink is on me” she hold her hand out for the bar tender to see, but Denki waves them away.

“I actually really need to get going–“

“Just one drink, and an autograph?” She says, Denki frowns and looks at the clock.

6:45, not late.

Sighing, Denki sits back down and nods. “That’s all your getting out of me Ms. Raina.”

A smile cascades onto her black lipstick covers lips, “anything for a fan, right?” She chuckles.

Moments after the drink came, the two were just talking about regular things within the hero community. Things that needed change, things that were fine just the way they were, or just about his improvement as a hero. Conversation didn’t seem too wrong until Raina spoke out.

“So, how long have you and your partner been together?” She asks, she seemed not very interested in the topic, but more as of spoke up the topic just to do so.

“We’ve been together since freshman year at UA, seventh year anniversary coming up!” He says proudly.

“Oh—so you’re really in love with them…” she trails off looking to the side a bit disappointed. Denki becomes confused, “what do you mean?”

“It’s just…” thinking of the right words to say she chuckles. “You look so stressed all the time, I know what it’s like to fake a smile trust me. I was just wondering—

Do they please you? Sexually of course.”

Denki grown uncomfortable at the question, “yes they do, why do you need to know that?” He snaps.

“Oh no reasoning—just sometimes I wonder when was the last time you were ever really touched. I was just offering a helping hand…” the woman’s hands trace against Denki’s legs, growing even more uncomfortable he shifts away.

“I need to leave–“

“Why so quick to leave? You’re gonna forget your hero’s license Karminari Denki” a sly smirk on her lips as she hold up said license.

“H-how did you get that? How do you know my name?” Panick struck through his veins as the woman laughs. “Silly, I reached for your wallet—and took the license out!” Wallet in her hand she shows the process.

‘How did she get my wallet?’

Growling in anger, Denki snatches his license and wallet from her finger tips, a light smirk on her face as he gasps in amusement.

“I’m leaving”

Denki shoots you from his seat in a hurry to meet with you, only to be stopped by the loud ringing in his ear and the dizziness of his head. His head began to thumb and his heart began to beat even faster, hyperventilating he stayed in place. Eyes wide with fear the woman shakes her head in disapproval.

“Oh Denki, what am I gonna do with you?”

“You must know not to strain yourself like that so suddenly, especially on drugs…”

Still frozen in place, Denki wasn’t able to say a word.

Taking his license and wallet back, she puts it i her pockets.

Denki could into think to himself, what the bell is going on? Where is he? Why is room spinning? Where are you?

Raina rolls her eyes seeing how Denki is “ignoring” her, and becomes a little irritated.

“Oi!” She then makes a loud clap in front of his face, making him flinch and crouch down in fear.

The clap feeling like torture, as his ears rang louder and a pang was felt through his whole body. His hearing was muffled, it sounded as if he was under water.

“You poor thing, I’m gonna take you out back and make sure you feel better m’kay?” She grabs onto his belt buckle and leads him away into an empty back room.

As his plans were being ruined, her plans were going just right.

It’s 9:45 PM, and Denki is late.

Sitting in your best attire, you say impatient and in worry. “Maybe he’s just running a little late from the agency,” you say out loud to yourself, sitting down on the couch you cuddle your stuffed animal Rose.

As time when on and on and on, you fell asleep waiting for him. Too angry to even stay up, you just slept it off.

On all days to be late, he chose your birthday?

Waking up from the “short nap” you took. You read the clock on the kitchen oven.

4:01 AM, it’s a whole new day. And Denki isn’t even here. Shuffling around you frantically look for your phone to call your boyfriend.

“Hey, it’s me Denki!–“

“Where the hell are you?–“

“If you could reach me another time I’ll definitely make sure to be there to take it, bye!”

You look at your phone in shock realizing he never even picked up and it was his voicemail. The worry that was in your stomach before grew ten fold.

Calling up your close friend Mina, you began to tear up.

“Y/N! Are you okay?” She says, she seems so up and alive at such an hour, especially since it’s her off day.

“Denki—have you seen him?”

“What do you mean have I seen him? Everyone has! Did you not see the article I sent you?” She says in disbelief.

You go to your messages only to be taken aback, 57 new messages? Weird.

Going to Mina’s contact she sends the article link and another text, “Y/N, I am so sorry this is happening to you.”

Turning your head to the side you click the link, as it was loading Mina speaks again. “Are you there?”

“W-what—what the fuck is this?” You whisper to yourself in disgust.

[PRO HERO: CHARGEBOLT SEEING HOOKING UP WITH RANDOM BROAD]

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POSTED: 9 hours ago

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Bro, I didn’t want to make this into multiple parts but tumblr somehow is saying there’s a damn “character limit.” So this will probably be a two part series that includes an epilogue. I hope everyone enjoys it!

[randomshyperson]

Wanda Maximoff x Reader - Sorry for your lost - Part I “I will grieve”.

Serie Masterlist here || Part II|| Read on AO3 

Summary: When your wife Natasha passes away in a car accident, a part of you dies with her. It takes a few months of mourning for your psychiatrist thinks the best alternative is for you to join a grief group. And there you meet Wanda Maximoff, and learn to live again.

Warnings: (+16) mentions of death, panic attacks and anxiety, grief, self sabotage, mentions of abusive family background, mutual attraction, explicit consent, therapeutic conversations about death, self-deprecation, healthy methods of coping with grief, possible triggers about anxiety, hurtful behaviors, domestic wanda.

Chapter warnings: Heavy angst, death.

Author’s notes:  Hello readers! I'm finally back to posting something, but I disappeared for a good reason, I was writing three new series. And here is the first of them. I really enjoyed this work and it's something I've been trying to write since I watched WandaVision, and only now I've managed to put it into words. I am not finished yet, but there is only one chapter left, so your reading will not be affected. Pay attention to the warnings, and good reading!

Tag list (let me know if you wanna be tagged) 

@mionemymind​ / @abimess​ / @stephanieromanoff​ / @yourtaletotell​ / @tomy5girls​ / @justagaypanicking​ / @thegayw1tch​

//-//

Chapter One - I’ll grieve.

You wished you could go back to sleep as soon as you opened your eyes. The sound of your alarm buzzed loudly throughout the room, and after putting it on snooze mode at least four times, you finally got annoyed enough to grab it and throw it across the room. But the sound continued.

Letting out a grumble of dissatisfaction, you pushed the comforter off you, and sat up in your bed. Your room was a mess, but you just skipped through the clothes on the floor to reach the phone, turning off the alarm through the new crack you made in the screen.

"Honey, are you up?" you heard your mother's distant voice calling you through the door, probably from the living room or the kitchen. "Don't forget your therapy today."

You sighed impatiently, running your hands through your hair. The damn group therapy. 

Grumbling lightly, you forced yourself to take a shower, not wanting "poor hygiene" to end up on your progress report card. 

A while later, when you were finished, you went into the kitchen. Your mother was using her laptop on the counter, and just waved at you.

"Are you going to take me?" You asked her with your hands in your pockets. Your mother took her eyes off the screen to evaluate the sweatshirt you were wearing, and you rolled your eyes at her disapproving expression. 

"You know, you could try driv-"

"Mom" You cut her off in earnest, your heart racing momentarily. You don't drive. An she knows. Your mother sighs, putting her hands up in a sign of surrender.

"It was just a suggestion dear." She retorts as she stands up, reaching for her car key on the key rack exiting the kitchen. "But I'm busy with the store, you'll need to take the subway next time."

"Thanks for the support." You grumble as you step out in front and your mother lets out a wry chuckle.

You frown and let out a dissatisfied exclamation as you step outside feeling the sun's rays on your face.

"You're not a vampire, cut the drama." Mocks your mother by pushing you lightly to get you out of the way. 

You grumble  as you walk to the car. And when you are sitting on the seat, your mother is starting the vehicle and she asks:

"Are you sure you're not going to eat anything?"

Looking out the window, you just mumble that you're not hungry, and she shakes her head in disapproval before you back the car up. You don't speak any more on the way.

//-//

Your mother dropped you off in the parking lot of a gymnasium where the therapy group would be meeting. You sighed as you got out, and thanked her for the ride and the money she gave you to eat, even though you probably weren't going to use.

Resisting the urge to run away, you forced your feet to walk toward the place.

There were a few people at the door, but you didn't smile at any of them, entering the place with your head down and your hands in your pockets. 

And then a woman greeted you, and put a little sticker with your name on your shirt when you gave her your papers. 

Then she signaled the way you should go, and you ended up on the gymnasium court, where there was a wheel of chairs, and a table with food and drink, and several people scattered around, who you thought were part of your therapy group. 

Sighing impatiently you made your way to the bleachers of the venue, hoping to be alone until the session started and you could leave.

Fortunately it wasn't long before the leader signaled for everyone to sit in the circle, and you sighed as you stood up. You ended up with one of the chairs on the far left opposite the therapist, which could be bad since he would see you clearly.

"Thank you very much for coming." Said the therapist smiling gently as his gaze roved over everyone in the circle. You kept your gaze on your shoes. He made a noise with his throat. "Who would like to start today?"

The silence lasted for a few seconds, but then someone was speaking. You forced yourself to come back to reality and pay attention.

"[...] and this is my fourth week around here." Said a woman in a leather jacket. You noticed the army lanyard around her neck. She was talking about an accident when you got distracted again. Lightly poking your eye with your finger, you tried to focus again, letting out a low sigh. And then the therapist was talking again.

"We have new faces today." He said and you felt your heart speed up. You absolutely did not want to talk in front of strangers. "Why don't you share with us, miss?"

You raised your gaze to meet that of the therapist, smiling gently at you. The rest of the group looked at you as well. Taking a deep breath, you began to wiggle your fingers on your leg.

"I don't... I've never been in a group." You say clumsily. "What should I say?"

"Whatever you wish to say." He answers with a smile. You swallow the urge to tell him you didn't want to talk at all. Realizing your lack of response, he is quick to add. "Why don't you tell us why you are here?."

You let out a dry laugh. 

"I really didn't have much choice." You retort wryly. The therapist looks slightly surprised, but makes no mention of interrupting you. You let out a sigh before clarifying. "My psychiatrist, she...she didn't approve of my social ratings. She wanted me to talk to other people. People who... went through the same things I did." You count staring at the floor. When you look up again, the group still waits for you to continue, and you sigh, running your hands through your hair. "I haven't... I... I haven't talked to other people outside of my family in six months. Not since..."

You move your head, sniffling slightly as you straighten your posture. The therapist clears his throat.

"You just need to share whatever you are ready to tell us." He says gently, you nod slightly feeling extremely vulnerable. "But remember that this is a safe space. There is nothing to fear here."

And then he is talking about methods of easing the guilt, and dealing with the pain and you were distracted again. You would like to go back to bed. It must have taken a while, but the session is finally over.

The group dispersed around the room, and you went toward the therapist's desk to have him sign your schedule. He smiled as you approached.

"Miss Y/N/L, I was happy to hear that you would be joining us today." He said greeting you with a handshake. You nodded, taking the paper from your pocket. He chuckled, but accepted it. "You know, I'd like you to try to have a partner in the group, it's recommended for cases like yours."

"What do you mean cases like me?" You ask snidely, but he doesn't care.

"Doctor Harkness gave me your chart." He explained as he signed the paper you gave him while you frowned. "Extreme Social Anxiety in the first few months of treatment. Tendency to complete isolation, introverted..."

"Yeah I know my problems, buddy." You interrupt him with irritation. "You don't have to list them for me."

The therapist gives a lopsided chuckle, and holds out the signed paper to you. But he adds with a serious look:

"I'm here to help you, Y/N." He says. "Don't forget that."

You don't respond and take the paper, turning toward the exit. 

//-//

Your week passes slowly and tortuously. Which is surprising because you barely get out of bed. And then it is group therapy day again, and you are making a new crack at your cell phone screen.

Your mother greets you with a pat on the back as you enter the kitchen, and she is walking past you toward her own room.

You know you have to take the subway today, and you are trying not to think about it too much. As you are walking out the door, your eyes pass quickly over your car key, and you think you have a flash of memory, but you shake your head quickly, pushing the thought away. And then you walk forward.

And you are late for the session, because you can't take the bus to the station, since your feet simply didn't obey you. But that's okay, you don't really care.

You weren't the only one who was late. When you went to enter the door, a red-haired woman bumped into you, also running to get in. She smiled slightly as she apologized, and you just made room for her to enter first.

"Sorry Stephen." She said to the therapist as soon as you two entered the gymnasium, "I had an emergency with the kids."

The man just shook his head with a smile, and waved for you both to sit down.

"And why were you late today, miss Y/L/N?" He asked you. You shrugged your shoulders.

"I didn't wanna come." You retorted and the group giggled, and the sudden sound startled you slightly, but you just sat with your arms crossed. 

"Do you want to try again?" He retorted with light humor in his voice. And you bit the inside of your cheeks. And then you looked down at the floor.

"I couldn't get on the bus." You confessed next. Stephen looked at you tenderly, though, and you didn't like the feeling of your chest heaving slightly.

"And why do you think that happened?"

You shrugged, uncomfortable. 

"I don't know. I... There were too many people." You said embarrassed. And then you started twiddling your fingers, feeling all eyes on you. "I just... I knew I'd have to say hello to the driver, and the conductor. And then I would pass strangers in the hallway, and one of them would sit next to me. And I just... I couldn't."

Stephen nodded slightly in agreement.

"It's okay, Y/N. " He stated. "No one is judging you here."

You let out a dry laugh, and Stephen blinks in surprise, which spurs you to explode.

"Everyone is judging me, Doc." You say through gritted teeth, swinging your leg. "It's as if I can hear the gears in people's brains forming opinions about me." You state with a sigh. "Like my mother for example. She...she...acts like I'm past the time of mourning." You explain with tears in your eyes. "Like there's a limit, and I'm extending her goodwill. Because it's been six months, and she doesn't want me to be sad anymore. But guess what? I don't know how to move on!" You state angrily. "I can't! If I don't miss her, what's left for me? If I don't... God, I can't do this."

And you stand up, wiping your tears away, and walk out of the gymnasium, heading for the restrooms. You feel your heart racing, and it's hard to breathe. 

As you rest your hands on the sink, your brain starts to wander back to the day of the accident again. You choke, because it feels like you're sinking again. You see the water rising through the metal of the car. Your hands on the steering wheel, and then on the seat belt. You shake your head, pushing the images away, and rush to turn on the faucet in front of you and pour the water on your face.

You take a deep breath, trying to stop the tears. And then there is someone entering.

"Are you okay?" Stephen asks and you nod lightly, ignoring the trembling in your hands as you stare at him through the reflection of the mirror. "I gave a break to the group, wouldn't you like to walk with me?"

"I'm not good company right now." You grumble but he smiles, nodding slightly as if to repeat the invitation. You take a deep breath before turning around.

You walk silently and slowly to the outside of the gymnasium, and then he is speaking again.

"You were very brave today."  He comments, and you let out a dry laugh. "Why don't you believe me?"

"I panicked today." You say. " It doesn't sound very brave to me."

Stephen smiles guiding you through the gymnasium entrance toward the parking lot.

"You talked about a trauma to a group of people." He says. "That takes a lot of courage, even if you don't believe it."

"I don't believe in anything." You grumble, but Stephen doesn't mind your hostility. He stays with his friendly posture.

"I would like you to accept my request from before." He said after a moment. "About a group partner."

You let out a sigh.

"I don't even know what that means." You retort with slight impatience as you reach the edge of the parking lot. You notice the garden a few feet ahead of you.

"It's like a therapy buddy." He explains with a smile. "We encourage socializing here. That's why Agatha recommended this group to you."

"Oh, of course you do. Agatha is a bitch." You wryly wipe your hands across your face. Stephen laughs lightly. "How does that work anyway? Do I have to hold someone's hand? Exchange friendship bracelets?"

"No, it's much better." He says with a chuckle. "You talk to that person. You exchange experiences with them. You learn to trust somebody else again."

"My god, it looks like a fucking Disney movie." You retort with irritation and Stephen lets out a laugh. And then you let out a sigh, shrugging your shoulders. "Okay, I'll do it. I have nothing to lose, and it seems that neither you nor Agatha will leave me alone if I don't agree."

"We want you to feel better. Don't take this as a punishment." He says, guiding you back to the gym. You nod slightly, thinking that it really does feel like punishment anyway.

//-//

You see Agatha the same week. Your appointments have been switched to monthly meetings instead of weeks as they were at the beginning of treatment, and while you appreciate the familiarity of seeing her, you can't help but feel irritated with her.

"Someone's grumpy." She comments as soon as you sit down on the couch in the room, to which you roll your eyes.

"You are always so very tender, Agatha." You mock as you cross your legs, hoping the time will pass soon.

Agatha laughs lightly, finishing tidying up a few things on her desk. And then she gets up and sits down in the armchair a few feet in front of the sofa where you are, carrying a small notebook in her hands.

"So, why don't you tell me how your your first two sessions in group therapy went?"

You let out a dry laugh.

"Like Stephen didn't tell you everything." You sneer and Agatha just smiles, waiting for you to speak. You let out an impatient sigh, before stating wryly. "It was amazing, doc. It only took two sessions for me to have a panic attack, so thank you for that."

"Why do you think that happened?"

You squeezed your eyes.

"I have no idea." You retorted. "I'm not the doctor here." Agatha laughs lightly, and then opens her notebook and starts writing something. You sigh impatiently. “Really, you're going to start that again?”

"If you don't talk, I write." She states simply, and you roll your eyes, shifting on the couch uncomfortably.

"Agatha, I just... I couldn't get on a bus, okay?" you tell her, and she closes her notebook to look at you attentively. You take a deep breath. "There were a lot of people. I don't mind walking anyway. It helps me think."

"You don't mind walking eight blocks?" She asks with a slight irony. "That's pretty athletic of you."

"It's weird that you know my address off the top of your head." You play lightly, and she just laughs, straightening her posture. 

"Why don't you just tell me what you want to tell me?"

"Why don't you ask me what you want to ask?"

Agatha blinks slightly in surprise, and then she shakes her head slightly, opening her notebook again. You sigh.

"Okay, sorry." You say, and she looks at you for a moment before closing the object again. I... I thought I was drowning again.”

"Are your nightmares back?" She asks seriously, and you deny it with your head.

"I feel too anxious to sleep." You tell. "And then I black out from exhaustion in the night or in the morning. I don't dream anymore."

"Have you been taking your medication?"

You sigh.

"Of course I have."  You say. "I don't... I'm having trouble keeping my mind still. Like the first few months, you know. Everything seems so noisy now."

Agatha nods slightly, becoming thoughtful for a few moments. 

"I know it may sound strange to hear that, but that means you're getting better." She declares and you frown in surprise, then let out a dry laugh.

"How is my peak anxiety a good thing?"

She opens the book again, but before you can ask what you said wrong, she is reading.

"The first day you were here, you said you felt like you were empty." She narrated and you swallowed dryly. "During your first two months, you continued to describe that you felt like an empty shell. And that you no longer had any dreams, thoughts, or opinions. Without your wife, you said you were no longer here."

You felt your eyes fill with water at the mention of her. But you swallowed your emotions. Agatha turned a page, and read for a few seconds, and then looked at you.

"With your history of anxiety, your mind was remarkably quiet after the passing of your wife." She says. "But now that you're on medication, and therapeutic treatment, plus you're socializing even superficially with the world again, you're starting to feel things again. That's progress."

You look away from her, nodding slightly, trying to believe her words, and trying not to be so terrified at the thought of learning to live again. Without Nat.

You choke slightly, holding back a sob, and then Agatha hands you a box of tissues, but you refuse with a nod, wiping away the tears that have slightly escaped.

"What do you want to talk about now?" She asks after a moment. You take a deep breath, still trying to calm yourself.

"Last week I took a cold bath." You count. "It was snowing."

Agatha blinks in surprise at the information and then lets out a giggle.

"You want me to write it in the book don't you?"

You laugh, wiping away the last of the insistent tears. You just hope Agatha could help you.

//-//

You hate coffee. But you barely slept last night, and now you need to stay awake during the group meeting, so instead of walking to the chair in the corner like you used to, you detour your way to the food and beverage table as soon as you arrive at the gym.

There are a few members around, but you don't look at them, just sidestepping as you extend your arm to the coffee bottle. You pour some, and as you touch the cup, you notice. It's cold.

"Hey sorry about that." Said a girl you thought was named Val or something, as soon as she saw you touching the cup. "We mixed up the shifts yesterday and nobody made new coffee."

You rolled your eyes, picking up the cup and throwing it in the trash. Then you forced a wry smile on the girl and walked outside. 

It was cold, but you are boiling with rage. It was just a damn cup of coffee, you thought as you closed your eyes and tried to reduce your anger. Just coffee. 

You stumbled with fright when Stephen called out to you.

"We'll get started in a minute." He said looking at you curiously. You just nodded, following him after a few seconds.

You bit the inside of your cheek when you noticed the same coffee girl as before, now sitting where you usually sat. The universe was testing you today. 

You just sighed, twiddling your fingers inside your pocket, and walked over to one of the free chairs.

After Stephen gave the briefing, he asked if everyone was all right, and the group lied in unison. You were almost asleep when he called your name.

"I would like to choose your partner today." He says and you feel your heart racing as you straighten your posture. "But I want to know if you have any preferences."

You blink in confusion, and roll your eyes.

"I don't know anyone here, but I'm sure they will all hate me equally, doc." You tried to joke, but Stephen only looked at you with concern.

"No one does or will hate you." He says and you swallow dryly, looking away as you mumble that it was just a joke. Stephen pauses momentarily before continuing. "You know that everyone here has their own experiences of loss and they are unique in their own way, even if they have similarities." He begins and you just wish he would speak soon who your partner is at once. "Usually we don't put new members together, but with the release of one of our members, the number ended up getting odd." He explains. "Anyway, I'm sure you and Mrs. Maximoff will get along very well together."

You frowned slightly at the whole explanation. Then you looked around the group, and realized that this Maximoff woman was the late redhead from the previous session who looked at you curiously. You looked away from her to Stephen.

"Thank you, doc." You said with a slight irony and Stephen just nodded smiling.

"Partners are grieving companions ladies." He says. "We will assess your progress at each session, and then switch partners once the necessary improvement has been achieved."

You grumbled in understanding, and looked away to your lap. When Stephen began to ask about the stories, your mind wandered to the departure time.

And when the session was over you wished you could go to sleep. But Stephen made a slight movement of his head in Maximoff's direction, and you understood that you should talk to her.

Ignoring the urge to show Stephen the middle finger, you just sighed as you got up from your chair and lazily walked over to the woman at the exit. She was talking to a man, and you were even more anxious to address not one, but two strangers.

"Hi." You greeted awkwardly, and both of them turned to you with mild curiosity. 

"Hey, you're Y/N, right?" Said the man with a smile as he held out his hand to you. "I'm Bucky. James Barnes actually, but everyone calls me Bucky." He said and you shook his hand, smiling awkwardly. Then he quickly pointed at the woman.  "And this is Wanda Maximoff, your grief partner."

"Hi." Wanda said shyly as she offered her hand to greet you. You accepted as clumsily as she did.

"Sorry, I don't know how this works." You say. "Should we exchange numbers or something? Or is that just a therapy thing?"

Bucky gives a little chuckle.

"Oh believe me, they'll know if you're not making it work." He counters. "My first partner was Sam Wilson and we wanted to jump on each other's necks whenever we saw each other. And then Stephen asked us to move in together." He says and you blink in surprise. "We're married now, but that's not the point. I guess I'm getting off topic..."

"Bucky." Wanda interrupts with a smile, and he smiles half-heartedly as well. You frown, annoyed by Bucky's story. You didn't want to marry anyone. "I guess we'll make it work, I hope you don't mind having the company of two tiny restless creatures on our walks."

You look at her with confusion and then you understand, smiling shyly.

"No, it's okay." You say. "I like children."

"Really?" She asks in surprise.

You nod slightly. "Unlike adults, they tell the truth."

Wanda seemed to be thoughtful, but then Bucky lets out an exclamation.

"As group guide, I have to pass the to-do list to you ladies." He says pulling a small notebook from the back pocket of his pants. He pulls out a sheet of paper and hands it to Wanda. "Partners need to develop these habits of socializing and coping with grief together. And yes, there is a test."

You sigh impatiently, tucking a loose string behind your ear. 

"That sounds fun." You mock lightly making them smile. 

"Anyway, good luck to you two." He says tenderly. "And Wanda, call me if you need help with Tommy. I know a good therapist."

You frown slightly, not understanding what he is referring to, but you prefer to stay out of matters that are none of your business. And then Bucky kisses Wanda on the cheek in farewell and waves to you smiling before leaving. You switch foot weights when you are alone with Wanda. Talking to other people is not exactly your strong suit these past few months.

"So..." You start clumsily when she turns to you. 

"So." She repeats equally embarrassed. You then clear your throat and rush to pull your cell phone out of your pocket and hand it to her.

"Give me your number." You say. "That way we can arrange...whatever this is." 

Wanda smiles weakly as she accepts the device, and you ignore the curious look when she notices the cracks in the screen. A moment later she hands the cell phone back to you.

"I gotta go." She says. "I need to pick up my kids from school."

You nod slightly and force a smile to say goodbye, and Wanda copies your movement before leaving.

You stare at your cell phone next, noticing the slight anxiety in your stomach as you read the contact "Wanda Maximoff" on the screen.

//-//

By the weekend, you are miserable. Just like the first few months.

You spilled some tea under your bed, and when you went to clean it up, you ended up taking the objects that were lying there. And then you found a crumpled piece of paper.

It was your farewell speech. The words you wrote down to speak on the day of the funeral. The paper you pulled out of your pocket when you got home from the ceremony and probably fell under the bed when you collapsed on the floor from crying so hard.

Suddenly your chest tightened and you couldn't breathe. But you didn't want your mother to worry, so you concentrated on remembering the exercises your therapist had taught you.

And when the room started to get too small, you left.

But because it was cold and rainy, you had just taken a hot shower and had decided to brew tea before you finished putting on a sweater, you had bent down to pick up your socks, and the liquid fell on the floor. 

You went outside without your shoes, and your mother let out a worried exclamation when she saw you standing outside, staring at nothing.

"Honey?" She asked walking out the door after seeing you through the kitchen window. "Honey, what is it?"

You didn't answer. Your face was wet. Your mother's hands wrapped around your shoulders, and she gently pushed you inside, worried that you would end up getting hypothermia.

"I'm fine." You gasped as she led you inside, but she just shook her head. "I'm fine."

"No, honey." She retorted making you frown. "You're not."

"Mom."

"Sit down." 

And then there were blankets around you, and socks on your feet. And your mother was in the kitchen, on the phone, but everything seemed stuffy. You began to be absent again. Thousands of memories flashing through your eyes.

An image of yourself on that living room floor, laughing while your girlfriend had her arms wrapped around you. Your mother was pouring a glass of wine for each of you, and you were happy to tell her about your engagement.

Then an image of you running across the room, trying to dodge the tickles your father tickled you while you laughed.

Then a puppy in your hands on the floor. You looked at it fondly, laughing at how cute it looked. 

Looking down, you saw a hand on your thigh. It was your wife's, the ring on her finger. She smiled at you. You were happy because that was the day you told your mother about the house purchase.

You gasped slightly when you felt someone's hand on your shoulder suddenly.

"I need you to tell me three things you can see." It was Agatha. God, you should have been out of reaction long enough for her to get here. Wiping away your tears, you took a deep breath, trying to reason straight.

"I... I..." You started, but your brain didn't seem to obey you. You took another deep breath. You could see the carpet, so you told her so.

"Two more." Agatha asked tenderly, her hand caressing your back from top to bottom. 

"The... table." You replied crying. "I can see the table."

"That's right, honey." She said. "Just one more now. Tell me what else?"

"My feet." You add breathlessly. "I can see my feet."

"Now breathe with me, okay?" She asks. "Like I taught you."

The exercises help you to calm down again. You apologize for scaring your mother, and for making Agatha drive to your house, but neither of them is upset with you. You feel exhausted, but the doctor wants to talk to you after she accepts the cup of coffee your mother offers her.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" She asks as you sit on the covered porch, fluffy pillows around you.

You lower your gaze to the floor, sniffling lightly.

"I found my grief speech." You count. "Under my bed. The next minute I was outside."

Agatha sighs.

"You ready to talk about the accident."

You raise your eyes quickly, frowning, because it wasn't a question.

"W-what?"

She takes a deep breath, crossing her legs.

"It's suffocating you." She clarifies. "You need to talk or these attacks will happen again."

"I-I don't..."

"It won't be today." She interrupts with a tender smile. "Tonight you need to sleep. But we won't prolong this any longer. You need to talk about it, even if it’s only to scream."

Clenching your jaw, you hold back your tears as Agatha takes one last look at you before getting up. She murmurs that she will see you on Monday, but you don't look at her.

//-//

You don't sleep well on Sunday. And it's definitely because you can't stop thinking about your appointment.

And it goes well for the first twenty minutes. Agatha doesn't pressure you, and agrees to hear about your week, without mentioning the incident on Thursday.

There is a pause after you have told her about the dog barking noise in the early morning and then you know it is time to speak up.

"I was driving." You say softly suddenly, ignoring the feeling that your throat wants to close up. Agatha has her hands folded in her lap as she listens to you. "She...she was sleeping in the passenger seat." You swallow dryly, trying to count and not get caught up in the memory again, your heart racing. Talking is almost like going back there. "I looked at her for a moment and I got distracted... and then... we just..."

You only realize that you are crying because tears fall on your hand. You blink, sniffling. Taking a deep breath, you continue.

"We fell into the water, and Nat...she just...I couldn't get her belt off." You gasp breathlessly. "The water just...kept coming up around us. And she looked at me, and... she just shook her head like she knew what was going to happen." You tell between sobs. Agatha's eyes water, but she doesn't interrupt. "I just...she pushed me. She pushed my hands away and she told me she would follow me. And god... my dumb brain believed her!" You confess angrily. "She told me she was right behind me! And I swam out and when I came up she wasn't with me."

You shut up, not being able to tell anymore through the sobs. You can't even see the office clearly because of the tears.

It takes a moment for you to speak again, your head down.

"When I swam back, the car was completely covered with water everywhere" You recount. "I...I was going to dive again.... I wanted to get her out of there. But the people who saw the accident jumped in after us. And they pulled me out of the water. And I kept thinking that if I hadn't been distracted, she...she would be...."

"No." Agatha interrupts by offering you a tissue. "Natasha had a stomach injury, don't you remember?" She counters and you gasp, the words echoing in your brain. "That's why you couldn't remove the belt."

And then you were remembering clearly now.

Soft music echoed in the car as you hummed the tune and drove to your friends' house. Your wife mumbled softly beside you, making you smile as you watched the sleeping figure. The red hair in front of her face.

"Hey sleepyhead." You called softly, looking away from the track for a moment. "We're almost there."

Nat muttered in agreement. You bit your lip, thinking she looked beautiful. And then you heard a noise, and a white light in the window. You barely had time to frown when the impact threw your car off the road.

Your body tensed immediately as you sat up, looking around with desperation. The car was sinking fast and you turned to Nat.

A wound on her forehead was bleeding, and she was clearly disoriented as you touched her hands. You hurried to unbuckle her belt, but it was jammed tightly in her waist, and you gasped in shock at the wound.

"N-no." You grumbled, trying to move the metal, but Nat gasped in pain, pushing your hands away. You could barely breathe in desperation. Your feet were freezing, because the water was already at your ankles. "Babe, move please. We have to get out."

Nat advanced toward you, taking off your belt. You tried to touch her, but she pushed your hands away again, intending to guide you out.

" Sweetheart, go! Open the door! " she commanded and you shook your head, the water on your knees. Nat forced a smile, the tears in her eyes made your stomach turn. "Don't worry love. I'm right behind you."

As you opened the door, the water moved all the way into the car, and you held your breath Nat repeated the words "I'm right behind you" one more time. And then you swam out.

When you reached the surface, you were alone.

Sobbing, you couldn't say anything else to Agatha, and she proceeded to stroke your back, trying to soothe you with words of affirmation.

"I need you to remember some things honey." She says tenderly. "You couldn't have helped Natasha. She got stuck. You have to stop blaming yourself for what happened." Agatha whispers to you, and you sob. "Remember the investigation, okay? The police said that the driver of the truck was drunk and hit your car after he fell asleep. It wasn't your fault." Agatha says trying to remind you. You gasp, countless memories flooding your head at once. "Say that for me, will you?" She asks and you gasp. "Tell me it wasn't your fault."

You sob, burying your face in your hands. It takes a moment, but you repeat the words.

"It wasn't my fault." You whisper breathlessly. "It...it wasn't my fault."

When you leave therapy that day, you feel different.

You think that it is the healing process that is beginning to work. You still have a long way to go, but you have the feeling that a weight has been lifted off your back, because you have started to believe your own words. You could not have saved Natasha.

There is still a deep sadness in you, but you still buy your favorite drink on the way home, and try to stay in the living room for a few hours before going to your room when you are inside.