#not really though because i don't like handing my agency over to anything

[court-jobi]

Tagalong

((banner by me! I don't own Horikoshi's work OR the mindblowing art of @toshiimura))

Pairing: Midoriya x reader (retired by injury pro-hero fem!reader)

Words: 2.6K

Rating: T (18+ touches later on, to be safe~)

Warnings: Interrupted first time, heavy petting, established relationship, sharing a bed, honestly just Izuku in love and fluffy times commence in a hotel room.

Summary:

Joining Midoriya Sensei on his work trip -and yes, even sharing a bed for the first time- is medicine for you. The exchange of your passions has -and continues to be- an endless source of healing as you navigate life post-hero work. Each night away, you've danced into a settled calm with him; learning the rhythm of his habits. His sounds, his silences. When Izuku meets your gaze in the mirror, you read his mind loud and clear in how he emotes: he fawns, he sighs, then nods in the dearest way.

A/N: give me my sweet, simpering Deku, or give me death. Also by the way, yall are the best readers out there, thank you so much for all the love for my lil stories!

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on AO3

Life post-hero work was an adjustment for you… but you were starting to really get into the perks.

The lack of daily physical hardship holds the top spot on your list. PT? You can handle that on a rolling basis– the worst is behind you, and due to what you put yourself through which resulted in your injury, you’re out of official hero work for the foreseeable future- and in a way, grateful for the break on your muscles. You still retain your quirk, but can enjoy its thrills on a more recreational basis– your sweet boyfriend has even helped your healing by way of gentle exercises to keep things moving properly and get life manageable for you. 

Next would be the diet. You could certainly dip back into your baking hobby guilt-free now. You couldn’t get away from the hero world entirely -nor did you want to… but being able to settle into an agency office with an hourly job was also an incredible blessing. Late nights here and there were inevitable, but on the whole, you were able to greet and end your days with a steadiness of routine and safety.

Meeting Izuku Midoriya was the icing on your early retirement cake. Where you were tenderly finding your footing off the hero charts, Izuku held your hand to keep you upright. He didn’t lead or pull back on you– just came alongside you, so you didn’t fall too hard on the knees of self-doubt. He’s always so good like that. He knows your path because he himself shares it, and what a thing of fate that is.

New to you now though, is the general scope of free time you have. Not a forced flexibility due to the demand asked of an on-call hero, but you have paid time off. You have flex hours. You can work from home, if you so choose– so when you get the call that Izuku has been asked to hold a spot at the Sports Festival as the lead commentator, you are over the moon that you can answer with a wholehearted ‘yes’ when he asks you to come with him.

As if he’d be anything short of ecstatic, you truly believe the job was made for him. He’s got books upon books of hero research written by hand, and is essentially a walking Brittanica for Japan’s up and coming heroes, because of course he watches every other school’s sports fests in his free time so that his class can be the most prepared. Taking the role Present Mic once held when he was a student is a full-circle moment, and it's pretty precious seeing him in it. 

From day one, he’s a master of his craft, and from the couch you share in the observation deck with his co-teacher, Aizawa, you’re beyond impressed. You honestly wouldn’t be able to tell what department he was aligned with; he’s observant and complimentary of every students’ moves. You asked the pro hero hero beside you if this was the case when Izuku was younger, and he merely offered a sleepy,

“Intolerably, yes.”

But you see the lift of his cheek against his eyepatch and know that he’s secretly proud. 

The Sports Festival spreads over the course of a week now, as the culture surrounding the events available for support students to engage in has increased- to Izuku’s pride and joy. The training and feats of the heroes wouldn’t be possible without the other side of the coin, so he’s just as enthusiastic to hype up the developments of those courses as well. 

Watching your sweet Izuku -catching his eye when he looks back over to you and silently ushers you over to come watch an anticipated match-up of his kids off and on- is medicine for you. This entire exchange of passions has, and continues to be, a source of joy for you and is a treasured part of doing life with him. On that note, the event being held away from your district also grants you extended time to spend together that you normally wouldn’t, given the difference in your professional lives. Here, you’re locked in to five days and four nights of perfectly synced time– something you’ve not been able to do up to this point in your relationship.

Falling asleep and waking up together? This is the best thing ever.

On the first night, it hits your adorably flustered boyfriend that you’d indeed be sharing a room- and bed. That arrangement was something you’d registered the moment he’d asked you and were assuming he’d mentally (and spiritually) prepared for; but evidently it faced him the moment he stepped up to the counter to check in that Nezu had arranged you both to be together by default in the hotel block. 

But rather than falling on the trope of taking the armchair or sleeping on the ground like a middle school nervous nelly, Izuku was shy about it at first… but eager for the chance. The secret part of him finally let out some boyish excitement to find a bed big enough for you to actually share. You’d learned here that you both can spoon like you do on the couch, but you have so much room now. On both your parts, you’re a bit giggly and stiff at first- but settle in sweetly for the most comfortable night of your life.

By the second night, you both scoot into your room and -after a day of dancing around each other at more and more events- you’d be heard from the hallway: jumping into his arms and tackling him to the bed, filled with giggles and lots of kissing until you tangle up more willingly to sleep.

Night three, you’d both stayed out longer than you intended; catching up with some of the other instructors, which turned into essentially a repeat of the night you met. You take to talking up a storm on one of the hotel patios in a nerdy exchange of info-dumping and story-swapping that continues for almost three hours. You basically collapsed into bed the instant you got back, not even brushing your teeth out of exhaustion. Then by your fourth, you both are still so tired from the late night before and you flop on the bed, still in the sun-warmed clothes you set out in that morning.

It's so nice to be held by him- and it's torture to then look back up at each other. There’s definitely a softness found in Izuku’s face -as always, when it comes to your perfectly freckled sweetheart- but also something deep and personal. You want to ask him to shower together so badly and get rid of the day together- anything to add to this closeness you’ve been tiptoe-ing through all week. Worry over pushing him when he’s essentially on the clock keeps you from asking. This time, you still go about your rituals separately, only when you get out, you stay in a towel and shorts instead of full dressing down for bed.

When you're at the in-suite mirror doing your expedited, travel-sized skincare routine and Izuku stops by after he's out of the bathroom, he hesitates mid-step from trying to duck around you– and comes close, holds you by the middle. He stands shirtless behind you for the first time, showing you the scarring he carries in its fullest- no more tanks or undershirts hiding the worst from you. 

You’re as they say in the movies- incandescently happy.

“You smell so good,” he whispers. 

“You feel so good,” you answer. “Wanna go lay down?”

When Izuku meets your gaze in the mirror, you read his mind loud and clear in how he emotes: he fawns, he sighs, then nods in the dearest way. No sense in holding this darn towel up anymore, you simply turn in his arms, drop it, and kiss his surprise away with your reach up to his neck for a kiss. Your first of many, on this last night you could be wrapped up in your incredible boyfriend's arms with nothing but tender intentions on your mind.

Neither of you see a strong need for too many clothes under the sheets for this little foray into skin-to-skin contact, and enjoy a restorative makeout session. He's marked you up a bit, too, by all the harsh kissing he tends to do towards you (you low-key love this, since ‘that’s what makeup’s for’), and you especially appreciate how he plays with you perched in this arrangement.

You’re the first girl he's ever had topless in his reach– which is obvious from how he holds you in his lap nuzzling at your chest,

"Wow, y'r the moss'beautiful woman i'vever seen~"

From your previous talks of dalliances, you proudly keen over him, "I think I'm the only naked woman you've ever seen."

"-I've seen naked women."

You glance back to him, humored but flat, "Who."

Those green doe eyes flicker back up at you, oddly innocent as he quickly names his former classmate, who you’ve commonly heard referred to as Yaomomo, 

��Creati?” he tries to jog your memory, “i-it's part of her quirk, I didn't ev’r mean to look..."

Playfully suspicious, you test him, "Never had a feel?"

"I mean,” Izuku sharpens up a little to answer clearly, “She fell on me once, over in one of the training centers- and I wasn't gonna let her hit or head on something.."

"So a 'strategic catch'. Is that what we're calling it?" You sway your chest in front of him, feeling up his own, “I’m a horribly jealous creature, as you well know.”

He sinks and nuzzles gently at your pushed up chest- by his desire for lift. You’re playing with his painfully polite nature, of course- nothing but secure of your place with him.

"Not even once. Promise." 

Izuku lays a little kiss on your freshly cleaned skin where your heart lies under the surface, and ends up moaning at how soft it is- and so, keeps peppering kisses to your delight, "Oh wow... Oh wow, you're soft."

His name leaves you in an unsteady sigh as you’ve been scratching through his hair until it starts feeling so sharp and heady that you grip onto his neck in need of more support.

He's working on some passes with his tongue around your nipple when he whisper-sighs up to you, 

"mmmm don't stop doing tha'..."

So you play with his hair at his request, and he adores every bit of you that’s in reach: chin to cheek to neck while being the most gently vocal you've ever heard him.

The minute you rolled your barely clothed hips up on his lap just once, he split his attention from holding your waist to him to smoothing over your thigh to encourage the movement.

He started a slinking lean as he did so, losing his absolute mind watching you in a daze, before something dull hit your window - followed by a kid’s call of 'Sorry!!' . You siphon all your attention at the noise in a wide-eyed look that matches his.

Sweetly enough, you noted how fast Izuku held you at the sound, like he was going into strict ‘protect’ mode at the clash of a frisbee.

But, out of danger and out of breath, Izuku simply fell back and palmed his face.

"ughhbyou feel'so good... Mdizzy."

The heat you’d felt simmering in you has died at the interruption, but your fondness sure hasn’t.

You giggled, lowering into his chest and gripping the covers over your shoulders to warm you up, "Good dizzy?"

Even with an arm over his eye, your boy chuckled brilliantly, 

"Very good dizzy, hon’. Whew. We uh– we better stop before they start bangin’ on the door next."

You carded through his hair more, self-assured he was still just as taken by you despite the hard stop. How he kept you to him while shuffling the covers over you both was proof he didn’t want you going anywhere. Once settled, he felt he could focus again and brushed your hair back for attention,

"Hi there, handsome~"

"h-hi~" Izuku echoed.

You kissed again, a good deal calmer at first, but growing like a steady fire. Lips roaming, claiming, and keeping you ever closer. Comfort and reclaimed eagerness tipped you over by his strong guiding hand, all in favor to continue to mouth along your clavicle again.

Then, at the first sound of your addictive moans, he detached- forehead to your sternum, watching the rise and fall of your sweet belly beneath him.

"Ahh..” Izuku’s little war with himself was adorable, “w-we should stop. For real. I can’t- that’d be mean."

“You said that,” you answer with mirth, “but I don’t think ‘Little Deku’ agrees~”

Izuku wheezes out your first, middle, last and retired hero title to the point of coughing before you take it easy on him. Poor, desperate thing, brought low by little tease.

You chuffed against his stroke of nerves kindly. 

"Yes we should, if you say so," You snaked a hand through his hair, "Thank the Maker we don't have to second guess the chemistry department, huh?"

Izuku laughed brightly, slotting himself atop you, between the legs so you didn't have to feel how semi-hard he was. Snuggling back down, your heartbeats held their own conversation, content to cool to a reasonable temperature and slow things down, together.

"I'm so glad you came here with me." Izuku spoke softly to your neck, "This time with you really does me so much good."

And you really have enjoyed it. Getting to see firsthand the place where much of his proving of himself started, this event forged a lot of bonds with the close friends he still has to this day. 

"I'm glad I did too," You kissed the hairline within reach and simply laid comforting scratches along his back. "It's gonna be hell to go back."

"You don't wanna go back to work?"

You threw pity into your voice, "I don't wanna give up this glorified sleepover, no."

You don’t mean just getting carried away with thin walls and thinner restraint. You mean the intimacy that getting out of town sometimes offers in a way nothing else would. The week has made you softer, more in tune to the rhythm of Izuku’s habits. His sounds, his silences. 

The dampened shyness you hold thinking about it floats across him, so he laid back onto your arm to look up at you, 

"We don't have to. We can still have them~"

"Yeah?" You wonder how, earnestly, and he smiles in kind.

"Yeah!” his answer radiates nothing but pure sunshine, “Whenever you want! I'll come over, and we'll cook, and have podcast nights and snuggle, and... and.."

He’s got a look now- one that teeters along the line of flirty and unsure.

"Snuggle?" you finish for him mercifully.

"Y-yeah."

"Vocal snuggles?"

"Stop it," Izuku hid in your shoulder, "don't make fun of me."

"I'm not making fun of you~" you turned and kissed his blushing cheeks, rubbing his shoulder slowly. "No more than I'm making fun of myself for sounding like a wonton Victorian who just caught sight of an ankle for the first time."

His laughter betrays how offended he is at the idea, "Stoooop…"

"Mmmm, I don't think I will!"

Time to take things slow.. that might top your list now. If it means more nights with your hero draped in your arms, then the promise of time spent under his attention beats out any other remedy you’ve found so far. 

[silverynight]

Welcome home

Chapter 1 (of 5)

It's been a year since Izuku reconnected with his childhood friend, now pro hero, Bakugo Katsuki.

He has changed a lot... in a good way. When he found out Izuku got a job at the same agency he works for, he went straight to the analytics department to see him and talk to him.

Izuku had to ask for a break and meet Katsuki outside; he was nervous then, but he realized quickly he didn't have to. All the pro hero wanted was to apologize for his past behavior.

They started over after that and now they're really good friends and Izuku is very happy because of it.

There's a lot of things in his life that have improved since he got that job, actually.

He gets to meet a lot of pro heroes, yes, most of them are kind enough to go to his department and see him in person rather than only communicate with him via text or earpiece.

Aizawa promoted him after a couple of months and now Izuku handles most to the mission and investigations; he chooses quickly which pro hero (based on their quirk, availability and experience) is the best to deal with the situation at hand.

He really likes his job because even though he doesn't do the hero work directly, he gets to help the pro heroes in a way.

He also hangs out with Katsuki a lot; he met his friends the first week after the apology and went to his apartment for the first time fifteen days after that.

Ashido says that it's weird for "Blasty" (as she calls Katsuki) to spend so much time with him right after meeting him again, although she has this smirk on her face whenever she says it that makes Izuku flustered for some reason.

However, Izuku thinks it's perfectly normal; whenever they're together, it feels right, like they never stopped seeing each other and have been good friends for years, ever since they were kids.

"It's still weird," Kaminari says when Katsuki goes to the cafeteria counter to get Izuku a coffee and a bagel. "It took us a year to get invited to his apartment."

The way his friends (because Izuku considers them his friends now) look at him make him feel flustered, but he doesn't do anything to hide the blush on his cheeks like he used to do in high-school whenever he was embarrassed.

Now he just hopes it goes away quickly.

"Well, that was years ago," Izuku says, trying to dismiss it. Katsuki told him he bought his fancy apartment two years after he started working as a professional hero. "Kacchan has changed."

Izuku got really shocked when he found out he owned that apartment, but he knows the pro heroes get very well paid, especially when they get brand deals. It also helps that Katsuki is the number one hero currently, although pro hero Shoto is right behind him.

"He doesn't trust most people," Kirishima points out, like he's trying to tell him something. Then his expression turns into an amused one as he sees Katsuki approaching them again. "And he's certainly not the type to bring anyone food."

"Kacchan's just being nice!" Izuku says as the three pro heroes look back at him like he's crazy. Yes, Katsuki is not that nice on a regular basis, but that doesn't mean he hasn't improved. "I told him my ankle hurts a bit because I rescued a cat and fell right after I managed to get him down from a tree."

Fortunately, the mention of the cat makes them focus on that instead, and suddenly Izuku finds himself showing them pictures of it.

Katsuki sits right next to him, and Izuku sighs in delight after taking the first bite of his bagel.

"How much?" He asks after a while.

"I don't know," Katsuki makes a dismissive gesture with his hand. "I paid for your stuff and mine together."

"But surely they gave you a receipt–"

"No. Just drink your damn coffee, nerd!"

"Thank you, Kacchan," Izuku says, trying not to roll his eyes; sometimes Katsuki does stuff like that, he seems determined to pay for every little thing Izuku wants when they go out together.

"Also, I'm going to drive you to your apartment..."

"There's no need–"

"You're hurt," Katsuki argues and the green haired man knows that expression really well; there's nothing that can change his mind now, no matter what Izuku says, the pro hero will take him home no matter what.

Izuku realizes right then that it's the first time Katsuki sees the place where he lives; they always go to Dynamight's apartment or to a coffee shop, a restaurant or somewhere else when they hang out.

"Please, tell me you're joking," Katsuki hisses as he parks his expensive car right outside Izuku's building, the one that looks like it's been sitting there for hundreds of years and is about to collapse under its own weight.

Or maybe that's not why the pro hero is frowning that much; his red eyes are scanning the area like the worst kind of villain is about to pop up from the dark alley next to Izuku's building.

"It's not that bad," he assures his friend. They have tried to rob him only once, maybe twice... but he survived!

Well, maybe he shouldn't say that out loud.

"Shit!" Katsuki hisses. "I thought they paid you well! What the hell?"

"They do!" Izuku assures him. "But, uhh... you see... I'm kinda tired of paying rent so I've been saving some money to buy my own place somewhere else. However, if I want it to happen soon, I need to stay here for a while."

"I'll buy you a new apartment."

Izuku chuckles, but his smile falls when he realizes Katsuki is not joking at all.

"I appreciate the offer, but there's no need, Kacchan," he smiles.

Katsuki is still grabbing the steering wheel like he's very tempted to drive away from there. His knuckles are slightly white, perhaps because the grip of the wheel has tightened considerably.

"Izuku, this is not a safe place." He's deadly serious, and by the tone in his voice, it seems like he's about to snap, but he's trying to control himself.

"I can take care of myself," he hears himself saying, slightly irritated. Katsuki is not the only stubborn person in that car.

"Alright..." Katsuki doesn't deny it, but Izuku can tell that he doesn't like the situation at all. "If you want to save for your new apartment, perhaps you can live with me in the meantime. You'll save even more money because you won't have to pay rent anymore."

Izuku's face turns slightly pink at the thought of living with Katsuki. A memory returns to him in that moment; when they were kids, they had promised each other they would live together and work in the same agency as a hero duo.

But that was before Izuku found out he was quirkless.

A long time ago.

"Kacchan, I really appreciate what you're trying to do, but I can't accept–"

"Please."

He's sure the pro hero has seen a lot of awful things during all those years working as Dynamight; Izuku has access to a lot of cases, and even though the information is sometimes haunting, he knows there's nothing compared to seeing it happening or arriving at the crime scene.

However, this time Katsuki is overreacting. Sure, the place is not the safest one, but it's not like there's a murder every single day.

Besides, his neighbors are very good people.

"I'll think about it," he finally says, mostly to reassure him.

However, it doesn't work. Katsuki keeps looking around, growing tense.

"You should stay with me tonight. I'll make katsudon if you do."

The offer is really tempting, but Izuku knows it's because Katsuki is imagining horrible things happening to him in that place. Things that are not real.

"I'll be fine."

"Then I'll stay with you."

The fact that he's almost begging makes Izuku's heart beat in a funny way inside his chest. Surely, they are friends now, but it seems Izuku really had no idea how much Katsuki cared about him.

Until now.

"My apartment is tiny and I don't have an extra futon–"

"I can sleep on the floor."

"Kacchan..." Izuku leans closer, placing a hand on his broad shoulder. "Listen, take a deep breath. Nothing is going to happen to me, I promise. I have lived here for over two years now. I know this place, and I know how to take care of myself."

Katsuki nods as he relaxes... a bit.

"Alright, but I won't go until you enter that building... no, I won't leave until you text me you're inside your apartment."

Fine. He can agree to that.

"Okay, Kacchan."

***

Two days. It's been two days since Katsuki found out where Izuku lived and whenever he's not with him, he calls him. A couple of times a day.

It's okay, at least he hasn't "kidnapped" Izuku and taken him to his apartment, even though he clearly wants to.

"Hi, Kacchan. Yes, I'm in the office and nothing has happened to me," he mumbles joyfully as he keeps filling a couple of reports for Endeavor's agency.

"I call because I somehow got used to your nerdy voice, and now I miss it constantly," Katsuki grumbles. There's a weird noise coming from his side that makes Izuku frown for a moment.

"Sure, Kacchan," he rolls his eyes because he knows the pro hero can't see him. Maybe he just imagined it. "I suppose you're on patrol so before you–what was that?"

"Shit!"

There's an explosion on his side. This time Izuku is sure of it.

At first, he gets worried as he immediately goes to the database, and then the status section until he finds Dynamight's profile.

"Are you okay?"

"I got everything under control," Katsuki assures him and even though he's clearly using his quirk, Izuku can tell he's being honest.

Then, he gets irritated. Especially when he reads the status and remembers the important mission Izuku assigned to him started today.

"Did you call me during a mission?"

"Izuku, I'm clearly busy here..."

"Alright, I'll end the call."

"No, wait! Is Hatsume there yet?"

Just as Katsuki says it, the head of the support department rushes into Izuku's cubicle.

"Hello, pretty!"

"Hi, Hatsume!" Izuku perks up, smiling at her; she's always a mess, but it suits her somehow.

"Great," Katsuki sounds relived.

"Wait, how did you know–"

"I'm sorry, Izuku, I have to go. I'll pick you up in a couple of hours, alright? Don't get out of the office!"

Katsuki ends the call before Izuku has the opportunity to say anything at all.

He's so distracted arranging everything for the pro hero from Endeavor's agency who'll be coming to work on a case with them and, at the same time, thinking about what he's going to say to Katsuki when he sees him again that he doesn't realize Hatsume is in his personal space until he hears a click.

Suddenly, there's a very beautiful golden chain around his neck, it's not exactly tight, but not as loose as other necklaces he's seen.

It's honestly beautiful, especially with that black X in the middle covered in orange and green gemstones.

Izuku is sure Hatsume made a mistake; if he had to guess, he'd say it looks like a fancy necklace that's probably part of Dynamight's new merch collection or something.

"Uhh... Hatsume?"

She has a tablet in her hands and is typing something so fast it makes Izuku feel a little envious; his job would be slightly easier if he could type that fast.

"I sent an email," she says, without looking up.

A little bit confused, but intrigued nonetheless, Izuku takes out his phone again and opens his mailbox.

It has the agency logo, so Izuku supposes that's something official and relaxes a bit.

He starts reading and then...

"A tracker?"

She chuckles.

"Don't worry, it doesn't activate unless you're in danger. This is for your safety. The standard ones send an alarm to the agency so one of our pro heroes can go and rescue you or help you in case you need it."

Izuku has read about these in a couple of files, although he doesn't know much about them. The ones he looked at seemed completely different from his.

Besides, they were just for very important people... politicians, idols, all kinds of celebrities and scientists if their lives were considered to be in imminent danger.

Also, for obvious reasons, pro heroes' families.

But Izuku was neither of those. He decides to ask Hatsume, but something else makes him worry.

"This looks really expensive."

"You bet!"

"But–"

"It's already paid for, obviously," she says, typing something before the necklace makes a noise and a green light appears in the middle of the X, although it vanishes quickly.

So it's from the agency? Maybe. Although Izuku knows he's not that important to be given something like that. Sure, he handles a lot of information, but it stays in the computer he uses to work on in the office. Besides, neither he nor his coworkers wear uniforms... they aren't given anything that can be linked to the agency for the same reason.

They're not usually the villains' targets. Izuku has never seen a report that mentions an office worker being in danger.

But he admits he's not an expert in that area, perhaps they give something like this to everyone who works there.

"Why Dynamight's logo?"

Hatsume looks at him before chuckling.

"You're funny, Midoriya."

Getting slightly frustrated, Izuku tries again with another question.

"How can I take it off?"

Even though she's the one with crooked goggles on her head and stains of grease all over her face, she looks at him like he's crazy.

"You're not supposed to take it off, ever. It'd defeat its purpose."

"I mean... to take a shower?"

"Oh! Don't worry, it's waterproof!"

At least he finally got a little bit more information about the necklace.

"Uhh..."

"Sorry, I'd love to stay and chat with you, but I have a lot of work to do and I'm sure you do too!" Hatsume says, already waving him goodbye, and looking down at her tablet at the same time.

Izuku sighs and looks down at the device around his neck. He likes the Dynamight symbol, even though he has no idea why she picked that one specifically.

He knows these have to be a secret; the general public can't know about them, so perhaps making it look like expensive merch was her goal?

Yeah, that's probably it.

And she chose Katsuki because it's not a secret Izuku is good friends with him so him wearing his merch makes sense.

He nods to himself, mostly because he doesn't have time to look for more information on that.

He still has to tell Aizawa that Endeavor's office hasn't sent the name of the pro hero who's coming in a few days.

They have to work with them in that particular case because even though they started the investigation, the villain has moved to the zone assigned to the pro heroes who work at Endeavor's.

It'll probably be fine.

***

Next--->

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[actingwithportals]

I wish more people understood that not every blind person is the exact same and we do not all need the same things and also the circumstances under how you were raised and when your blindness occurred and how involved you were in a blind community all play parts into what accessibility needs you will have.

Like. I was born legally blind. My vision has been for the most part stable my whole life, and it is likely to not change (unless normal worsening with age). I was raised in a family full of sighted people and all of my friends and members of my community were sighted people. I did not start meeting other blind people and joining blind communities until my early teenage years. This shaped me in such a way that I never learned Braille until I started teaching myself when I got older, did not learn to use a cane until I started attending blind camps as a teen, did not know I had an option of asking for accessibility with videos or images or menus or shopping or cooking or ANYTHING until I met other blind people who made it clear to me that there was a way I could exist with independence as a blind person and didn't have to just. miss out on life that I couldn't see.

So a vast majority of the way I taught myself to get by is very different from someone who spent a lot more of their early years around other blind people. But I also picked up a great deal of "normal" blind accessibility tricks from my teen years of involving myself with more blind communities that other blind folks who never involve themselves in blind communities are aware of or find useful.

My vision teacher as a kid showed me JAWS and explained what it was, but never really bothered to teach me to use it because ZoomText she decided was better for me. So I grew up to use screen magnifiers and not screenreaders. She didn't teach me Braille because she could get ahold of large print books, and when she couldn't she would find me a vast array of magnifiers to use. Ones with lights, ones in different shapes, some that were actual screen devices while others were simply glass. She didn't teach me how to use a cane and instead got me monoculars and bioptics, even though those actually...were not very easily usable to me. I had to teach myself how to use a cane after my first year of camp where I was gifted one, and later expanded upon learning when I finally took Orientation and Mobility training my year before moving out to college. I wouldn't start learning Braille until around the same time when I was given a Brailler by the specific state agency that provided assistive devices to blind students during high school and college.

So now, as an adult, what I find useful is reading text on a screen so that I can adjust my own contrast and magnification, I use a cane when walking around on my own outside of my home or other familiar areas, I use Braille on my keyboard and around on my household appliances so that I don't have to bend over or squint to attempt to read any settings or buttons or keys. A different blind person who grew up with different circumstances will have a very different list of assistive technology that is useful to them. Some will hate magnifiers and prefer audiobooks. Some would rather read Braille. Some will use puff paint or color-coding for household appliances or items like on clothing tags or toothbrushes. Some will use bioptics or monoculars when going to the theater instead of sitting close to the screen, or they might do both, or neither and will just listen. Some will use canes, some will use service dogs, some will use neither, or might prefer a sighted guide.

There are...so many ways a blind person might choose to make their life accessible. And we do not always agree with each other on what is best, because we do not all have the same eyes. Nor do we have the same ears, or hands, or feet. We are varied and complex and we disagree sometimes and come together other times and we discuss amongst ourselves on how to make things better for our community and we confer with other communities on how we help ourselves and help each other. We are not all the same. We are not all the same. We are not all the same.

If you want an answer for what is the One Agreeable accessibility feature for blind people: there isn't one. So just talk to us, instead. Get to know how we vary, how we relate, how you can best help one of us and how you might best help another. I'm sure we'd be happy to tell you what works best for us individually if you ask. And if we wouldn't, then that's ok. Sometimes we gotta figure things out on our own first before we can explain it to others. Either way, never stop asking. Because accessibility is always evolving, and someone is always going to have a different answer to the same question.

You can't get accessibility wrong if you're just willing to try. So keep trying.

[kkvqwrites]

You Flinched | 141 Headcannons

Don't mind me, just some 141 boys reacting to finding out reader has a history of abuse or DV. We all know that our boys would never harm a loved one, but I began thinking about them responding to their loved one being triggered. Because trauma isn't rational.

CW: DV mentioned/alluded to (not on-screen), trauma

Characters: Simon "Ghost" Riley, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, John Price, gn!reader

Word Count: 2,833

A/N: Yes this is self-indulgent because I have my own history and use my comfort characters to help. So I hope it can help someone else in the same way it helps me. Also forgive me, I threw it together on a whim and didn't really edit it.

Simon "GHOST" Riley

Simon is usually very careful with how he presents. He knows he's big, he knows he's intimidating, and most of all he knows what it's like to be vulnerable and scared of someone bigger than you. He knows when to use his voice/stature to his advantage (like on the battlefield) vs when to tone it down (like in private). He never wants to be scary to those he loves, ever. In fact, he wants his loved ones to have the opposite experience from what he had growing up.

That said, we all have our moments. It was, you both could admit, a silly argument over what ended up amounting to a non-issue. He was fresh back from the field and sleep-deprived and you had had a long shitty day and so a small disagreement became an argument. Somewhere in the bickering Simon decided he was over it. He stood, crumpling the paper he was holding into a fist and raising his voice, which he almost never did.

The combination of the fist and the yelling was what did it. He stood up so tall, so fast, and suddenly you were eight again, hiding in the cupboards and terrified to make a sound. Not knowing what would happen if you were found, but knowing for certain it wouldn't be good. When your parents went into their rages, there was nothing to do but hide and wait it out. As if reciting a dance you knew by heart, you shrank back, hands coming up defensively.

Simon noticed instantly, despite your best attempts to play it off. He knew all too well the look of a terrorized inner child and recognized it immediately in your pale face and shrinking posture. It broke his heart; he immediately regretted lashing out as it was, but this was even worse.

He'd step back, giving you space. He'd ask permission before approaching you and before hugging you, and once you gave it you'd be wrapped in an embrace that was both tender and hard as steel. He'd hold you for a long time, not saying anything. If you cracked and it all came spilling out, he'd listen intently. If you didn't want to talk about it, he'd respect it and not breathe a word about it until you were ready. You could feel in his heartbeat his need to make you feel safe warring with his desire to find whoever made you afraid and teach them a lesson about fear.

Simon is a man of actions, not words, and he's never been a fan of "sorry" and instead prefers follow-through. Now, though, the word poured from his lips. Wrapping your arms around him in return, you forgave him wordlessly.

The next free time you both had, he'd surprise you by taking you to a shooting range. Another weekend, he'd teach you basic knife skills and how to throw a decent punch. If questioned, he'd say it was something he'd been meaning to do for a while with a dismissive shrug. But you had a hunch, even if he couldn't or wouldn't verbalize it, that he was sharing with you the ways he'd learned to overcome feeling powerless when he was younger. By learning to defend and fight back, you could take your agency back and walk into the world unafraid. It didn't matter that he'd grind anyone who bothered you into dust, because it was about you and making you feel empowered. Simon wasn't one to give you bouquets of flowers and poems, but he could give you this. And, slowly but surely, it started to work.

John "SOAP" Mactavish

You and Johnny were out with some mutual friends at the pub one night, drinking and having fun. Your boisterous Scotsman was ever the social butterfly, and he never failed to bring the party wherever he went.

You and a friend were laughing at something on your phone, and when you handed it Johnny to show him, you froze as your eyes saw an unmistakable silhouette over his shoulder. You recovered quickly, sure that it was a mistake, but not quickly enough. Johnny's face went serious as he studied your expression, which was suddenly tense.

You'd play it off, not wanting to ruin the good vibe. You'd even double check to reassure yourself that it wasn't him, but your stomach would sink once you looked back. In a corner of the bar, nursing a glass of dark liquor, was your ex. He noticed you at the same time, and the eye contact made you feel sick.

At this, Johnny would take a look for himself, and would pick out the man eyeing you from across the bar right away. After giving the man a once-over, he'd turn back to you.

"Is that who I think it is?" You'd nod. You had told him bits and pieces of how your ex treated you, but left out the worst of it lest Johnny go on a rampage to defend your honor. He's loyal to a fault and would not take kindly to anyone mistreating people he cared about.

The unfortunate thing was, being special forces came with an ability to read people and situations, and your reaction to seeing your ex filled in the gaps well enough for Johnny to understand what wasn't being said. You were scared, and the man seemed to know it by the smug expression he wore as he stared at you.

Rather than cause a scene, as you had feared, Johnny scooted so he completely blocked your view of the other man (and the man's view of you via his broad shoulders). Seamlessly, he'd continue the conversation with the folks around you as if nothing was amiss, despite his hand never leaving your thigh in a move that was at once possessive and reassuring. You leaned into the touch, comforted by Johnny's presence and relieved that the situation had seemingly blown over.

A bit later, Johnny announced he was going to the bar to get another round for the table. On instinct, your gaze shot to where your ex had been sitting, but his seat was now empty. Breathing a sigh of relief, your eyes turned to follow Johnny through the room. You could never get tired of looking at him. It wasn't until he reached the bar and clapped a fellow patron on the shoulder that you realized the individual he was talking to wasn't the bartender, but your ex who had moved seats. Keeping his hand on the man's shoulder, Johnny struck up a conversation like a true natural.

Oh no.

You braced for a commotion, but Johnny's expression and body language stayed friendly and open. You couldn't hear what he was saying to the man, and if asked he'd tell you he was just introducing himself. But when he let go of your ex's shoulder and flagged down the bartender to order a drink, the other man threw some money onto the bar and all but ran out the door.

The place would become a frequent haunt for your friend group, but you'd never see your ex darken the doorstep again after Johnny's talk with him. Good riddance.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

You and Kyle had been going steady for a bit now, and you were excited to introduce him to your family. Well, most of your family. You didn't have a good relationship with your stepdad, and Kyle respected that it was a sore spot for you. He would never pry, but he could pick up on how your tone would change when your stepdad would come up in conversation, how your posture would change when your mom dragged him into the frame to say hello during your video chats.

A big family dinner was the perfect opportunity to introduce everyone to Kyle, and you were looking forward to it. Truly. You had a nice outfit picked out and Kyle bought some fancy wine to bring, hoping for a good first impression. He needn't have worried; your aunts and cousins all fawned over him, and your uncles were endlessly impressed by his stories from his job. Long story short, he was a hit.

He stayed by you all night, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb as he made conversation. At first, you chalked it up to being the new guy in the room, but the ease of his posture suggested he wasn't nervous. Rather, his frequent check-ins started to make it feel like his closeness was for your benefit. You were the one who was nervous, looking over your shoulder every few minutes praying you didn't see a certain face in the crowd. You loved your family, but get-togethers always came with a certain amount of anxiety. Every time your eyes strayed around the room, Kyle's followed, taking in the crowd. Even more frequently, you caught him sneaking glances at you, as if assessing if you were alright.

You were alright, until the front door opened and you heard a specific voice boom in greeting. Your mom and stepdad strode in, late as always, your mom carrying the casserole dish and your stepdad slapping a case of beer on the counter. Your demeanor changed immediately, shrinking yourself as if you could become invisible if you just hunched enough. It didn't work, of course, and they spotted you within seconds. Before you could react, Kyle was in front of you, placing himself between you and your parents with a smile and his hand out to shake.

"I'm Kyle, heard lots about you," he said neutrally, shaking hands with both of them. They turned to you, but Kyle spoke again. "How was the drive? Heard you had to come across that new expressway, have they finished that yet?"

It was like that the rest of the evening. Kyle remained an immovable barrier between you and your stepdad, keeping him engaged in conversation and unable to address you. You and your mom were able to slip away shortly to help set the table and catch up, and every time you snuck a glance at the men out of the corner of your eye, the view was the same: Kyle orienting himself as a physical wall, keeping you out of eyeshot. His body language was at-ease, his smile friendly enough, but his eyes were tight, not like they had been when talking with everyone else.

When everyone grabbed a seat, Kyle pulled a chair out for you before quickly stealing the spot next to you from your stepdad. You looked at him with gratitude and he squeezed your knee reassuringly under the table, all the while maintaining conversations with those around him as if nothing was amiss. If you hadn't already loved him, you certainly would have after that night.

Captain John Price

Ah, spring cleaning.

Well, it was November, but still. It's refreshing to get rid of old stuff and start anew, but it's also essential when you're combining two households. John had finally convinced you to move in with him, so the two of you were creating piles labeled "Keep" "Trash" and "Donate". Upon reaching the bottom of an old box labelled "Miscellaneous," you came upon something that had your stomach churning. Old records: Johnny Cash, the Sex Pistols, the Doors. You hadn't realized you had them, and you weren't particularly fond of who they belonged to.

You didn't realize you had frozen in place until John snapped you out of it, coming up behind you with a hand snaking around your waist and his chin resting on your shoulder.

"Whatcha got, love?" He whistled when you showed him.

"The condition those are in, you could get a pretty penny. I didn't know you collected vinyl, I'd have bought a player."

"They're not... mine." You explained, as briefly as possible, that they were your ex's and must have gotten mixed up in your stuff when you split several years ago. He hummed in understanding.

"Right, then. To the garbage with it?"

It was the logical solution. He hadn't asked after them, so he must not miss them that badly. You would rather lie down in traffic than have any contact with him. But John's comment about their value stopped you from throwing them onto the "Trash" pile. Damn your too-kind heart, always causing problems.

It was easy enough to find your ex's contact info; you had changed your number after the split, he hadn't. Soon enough, you had agreed on a time for him to swing by and grab the stuff when he was free. The rest of moving made the days go by in a blur of organizing and unpacking and bickering over where the toaster should go and which wall to mount the TV on. That is, until you looked at your calendar and realized that it was today. This afternoon was the interaction you'd spent the week trying not to think about. You'd stepped around the box of his things all week, mentally blocking out why it was sitting in the front hall. You'd managed to stay busy, and bury your anxiety in the endless tasks that come with setting up a new home.

But time had run out, and in mere hours you were going to be face to face with someone you had once sworn never to see again. The realization made the room feel too small, made the air feel too warm, made you feel like you were suffocating. Suddenly you just had to get out.

"We need... yogurt." You blurted, walking too quickly and too loudly into the foyer to grab your keys.

"Yogurt? Right now?" John called from the kitchen.

"Yes, right now! For... for a recipe," you mustered, hoping you sounded convincing. This had been a mistake, a huge mistake, and your brain was screaming RUN! RUN! RUN! as loudly as it could. Hand on the doorknob, however, you froze. If you left, John would be here when your ex arrived. He'd answer the door, introduce himself, and hand off the items. Shouldn't that be ideal? No contact between you and him, simple and easy. But rather than provide relief, the thought made you sick to your stomach. It felt like a defiling almost, to think of him entering your new sanctuary and meeting the love you thought you'd never have. It felt wrong on every level, and your feet rooted to the spot in agreement.

"Still here, love?" John came into view, the book he'd been reading in hand, finger acting as a bookmark. "I was thinking, I could go if you wanted. Just text me what we need. Don't you have someone coming by?"

Yes - that's it, you thought. Have John go, get him away from here before he could arrive. You'd handle it on your own; you'd done it before.

Nodding, you stepped aside, slipping your shoes off next to the door. John put his book down and approached, taking your place and grabbing his keys off the hook. He turned to kiss your forehead, but stopped short and stared at you. He noticed for the first time that you were fidgety, as if anxious for him to leave when usually it was the exact opposite. His ever-observant eyes spent several seconds taking you in, and you knew as he asked the question that he already knew the answer.

"Everything alright?"

Of course it was! How silly to think otherwise! You began playing it off, the same way you had gotten so good at doing back when you and he were still together and your friends would ask you the same thing. Just hyper, just busy, just this, just that, always an excuse to avoid saying "I'm afraid." Afraid of what mood he'd be in, afraid of what awaited you when you two would be alone later. Fear you hadn't felt in a long time, but could feel now just as bone-deep as it had been back then. As if your body had stored it as muscle memory just in case this day came.

"Are you nervous about something?" It was another question you could tell he already knew the answer to, and you wanted to feel irked about it, but looking into those eyes you suddenly just felt tired. Tired of carrying the fear and the uncertainty alone. So you exhaled for a long time, and slowly told him exactly what you were nervous about.

It felt good to get it off your chest. Until now, no one had ever known the extent of what had gone on. You expected John to explode into some fit of hyper-masculine protectiveness like guys on TV, but he didn't. He listened to you talk, and then he nodded and sat on the couch, reopening his book on his lap.

"What are you doing?" You eyed him suspiciously, unable to believe that that was the end of the conversation.

"Well, I'm waiting right here. And when this lad knocks, I'm going to answer the door and have a little chat with him."

[steve-faglan]

Cat // Mouse

Reader x Steve Raglan (William Afton)

TW: NON CON!! DUB CON!! DRUGGING!! HE'S MEAN!!!!!!!!!

SUMMARY: You get a job working for an old man you want to fuck. Are you misreading things? Where did that vibrator come from?

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Is this considered a slow burn? It felt slow to write. It's supposed to be like will they? Won't they? But it's... Well yeah. Look at this gif??????? My PUSSSY????????

WORD COUNT: so many.

Daddy issues. At least, that's what they call it. That's what your ex screamed at you about before he left you in a state thousands of miles from the one you were raised in. He said it was because you made him feel immature; less than. But maybe he was. All he ever wanted to do was drink and play video games, you craved more.

After he left, you realized you'd have to get a better paying job to cover the portion of rent your ex was paying. You take a day to really let it settle in. You cry and drink an entire bottle of wine while watching Dirty Dancing, and then you schedule a meeting with a local career counselor.

You sigh as you hang up the phone. It's embarrassing to need a temp agency's help finding employment, but you're new to this area. You don't know anyone and you're barely sure where to start.

Your alarm blares throughout your room, startling you awake. You barely remember falling asleep at all, and somehow, it feels like you couldn't have possibly slept enough. You're sluggish and groggy, but you still find the energy to get ready for your interview. You're hoping a little extra effort will get you further in a small town like this, so you spend a little more time on your makeup before heading out of the house.

The drive across town to the agency is quick and easy. You pull into the parking lot and emerge from your car, shielding your eyes from the sun to read the rickety sign that's hanging on for dear life outside the building. You huff, unsure if this was the best place to go looking for higher-paying work. When you step inside the door, a petite old lady greets you with a smile. She points to an office down the hall and tells you to knock.

*Knock, knock, knock.*

You push the unlatched door open slightly and a warm voice invites you in.

"Come in, have a seat." The man instructs. You scan over his office. It's dated, and decorated with styles reminiscent of corporate America in the 80's. You read the name tag on his desk, Steve Raglan. You take a seat in one of the muted yellow chairs opposite Steve and await his introduction.

"Steve," he extends an arm over the desk and you shake his hand, telling him your name.

"Thanks for having me, Mr. Raglan. I'm new to town, well, new to the entire coast, really."

"Wow, a little far from home, aren't we?" Steve chuckles kindly, smiling with a tightly closed mouth, spreading his mustache across his lip.

"You have no idea," you laugh exhaustedly and Steve tilts his head as if he's pondering something, but he doesn't mention it. "Anyways, here's my resume. It's not much, but uh..." You hand him a folder with your work history document professionally stored inside. Steve happily takes the folder and begins to read through your papers.

Your resume is impressive. You're well educated with a strong work streak. Your work ethic stands out to him. He's reading through your accomplishments aloud, commending each one. You're unsure why, but his praise fills you with a very specific need. You crave more and something in you tells you that you'd do almost anything to get it.

"A course in robotic engineering?" Steve's voice sounds surprised. He looks up at you with raised eyebrows. A grin spreads across his bearded face. "Huh."

"Yeah, I actually took a few courses. I never did anything with it though."

"Do you remember a lot from those classes?" He sets the closed folder to the side and casually places other papers on top of it, distracting you enough to keep you from asking for it back.

"Oh, sure. Mostly coding, I guess." You shrug.

"Coding." He repeats to himself, nodding knowingly. He can think of a million places in this town that could use a smart, pretty little thing like you. A strained silence grows for just a moment before he speaks again. "Well, Y/N. I think I have an offer for you, but it's not much of a pay raise like you'd hoped."

"What is it?" You ask, hoping for at least a dollar difference.

"Did you see Mrs. Penneman out there?" Steve points in the direction of the kind old woman who greeted you.

"Mrs. Penneman?"

"She's at the front desk. She's retiring in exactly one week. That position will be open." He goes on to talk about the ways you could incorporate what you learned in your engineering classes as they switch from mostly paper to computers after Y2K.

"What's the pay like?" You ask, already knowing you plan to agree the second he stops talking.

"Not great, but!" He pauses for a moment. "Plenty of opportunities for overtime." Steve's not an idiot. He saw how looked when he was praising you. The way the red in your cheeks was flaming hot at the mere mention of you doing a good job. He knows what he's doing to you, and he loves it.

"Overtime?"

"Of course. Switching the entire employee records from paper to digital isn't an easy feat. It's going to take a lot of time you may not have during the work day. Does this suit you or should I keep looking?"

"Oh, uh," you hesitate. Steve stifles a grin as he watches your inner battle decide between being around him or possibly making more money. "Yes, that's perfect. Thank you, sir."

"Excellent. You start Monday." Steve ends the conversation abruptly. A jarring switch from friendly and conversational to busy and indifferent. It triggered something in you. A desperate need to get that warmth back.

"Right, okay. I'll... See you Monday." You leave the office, yearning. And Steve is well aware. He sits alone in his office, staring forward as he makes plans for you. He folds his hands together and rests his chin on them as he imagines the way he'll pick you apart like a toy. You're already so desperate for his approval, you've done the hard part for him.

Monday rolls around and you, of course, wake up a little early to get ready. Of course, you don't want to come off as desperate, so you're very tactful in the way you dress and present today, your first day. You've all but forgotten your ex was ever here, let alone the fact that you moved all the way to Hurricane, Utah for him.

Nervous, but good at hiding it, you walk into the building with a beaming false confidence. You're trying to remind yourself that while Steve is attractive and older and something mysterious about him draws you in, you're still here to work and you really can't let rent slip because homelessness is not an option when you're this far from your home state.

You brace yourself for what you assume will be an extremely long day, and you hope it is. Not only for the money but the view as well. When you walk up to the desk, Mrs. Penneman is nowhere to be found. All her belongings are missing from the desk, leaving a generic canvas of an office. You glance down the hall to Steve's open office door.

"Mr. Raglan?" You knock lightly on the door, stepping inside slowly so as not to intrude. He's not there. The entire building seems eerily empty. Just as you turn to leave his office, you run flat into a broad, solid figure. Steve. You stumble before finally falling backward. You sit on the floor for a moment, red-faced, but keeping your composure to the best of your ability.

"Someone's punctual." Steve extends a hand to you, helping you up to your feet.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Raglan. I couldn't find-"

"Mrs. Penneman decided an early retirement was in store. I'll be training you, if that's alright." Steve smirks, knowing he relieved his previous secretary of her duties early specifically to have this time working so closely with you. He dressed it up as a gift to her.

"Oh, okay. Of course. Where should I start?" You smile, awaiting instruction. You cling to every word he says, the guidance, the leadership. The way his dimples deepen when he smiles in the slightest. You become dependent on making him smile simply for this reason.

Steve sets you up for data entry and asks that you let him come check your work every so often to make sure things "meet his standards." You've never been more determined to do something perfectly in your life. With unbreakable focus, you start the first few tasks. You're mindful, double-checking, efficient, and fast.

"Mr, Raglan?" You appear like an angel in his doorway. He looks up from his papers and waits for you to continue. "I finished the first portion. Could you come check it for me?"

Steve smiles warmly as he stands to follow you to your desk. The warmth of his gaze melts you from your head to your pussy.

"This looks great, Y/N. Good job." He adds the last bit just to see the way your eyes shift and sparkle when he compliments you. He leaves you to do the rest of your work in peace, but he lingers a little longer in the hallway, watching you for a moment, carefully hidden from your view.

You pick up on the data entry rather quickly and finish the very last employee record by the end of your first week. When Steve comes to finalize the task, he grabs a chair and slides it next to yours so you can both look at the screen together. You're poised and collected by now, the initial lust seeming to die down after a week of seeing him every day. Though his words of approval still cause a knot to form in your stomach.

Steve picks up on your dwindling excitement and decides this is war. As the two of you sit next to each other, he carelessly allows his legs to take up more and more space. Normally a man's obliviousness in a situation like this would boil your blood, but when his thigh grazes yours so softly, you freeze. His touch lingers and he looks at you with half-lidded eyes. His face is dangerously close to yours. He leans in even closer, boldly placing his lips mere inches from your ear.

"You're a very impressive young woman. You know that?" His warm breath brushes against your ear, inviting a million little goosebumps across your skin. It takes everything in him not to chuckle at your visceral reaction. You're frozen, staring straight ahead, basking in the closeness to this man you desire so badly. A few moments pass and a light chuckle leaves his lips. Still ever so close, he speaks again. "Aren't you going to say anything?"

"S-sorry! Thank you, Mr. Raglan. Sorry," you nervously laugh, wishing so badly you could go back in time and rip the sticker off your forehead that says "Fuck me, Mr. Raglan."

"Don't mention it." He suddenly withdraws from your personal space, leaving you clinging to the dwindling body heat he's left behind. His tall figure towers over you, especially so when you're sat. He's gone just as quickly as he arrived and you can't help but feel perplexed. Was he not just coming on to you? Did you project all of that onto a perfectly normal interaction? He warps your reality without even touching you.

"What the fuck?" You question aloud to yourself. Your heart is racing. Your mind is constantly replaying the moment. His voice, his words, all of it.

The next day, it starts as any other. You're replaying the day before over and over again, just as you did when you shamelessly touched yourself last night. The sound of his voice so close to your ear, the way his leg brushed against yours. Just thinking about it feels like butterflies in your stomach.

"Good morning, Y/N." Steve walks right past you. You try to return the greeting, but you're cut off by the sound of his office door closing. He's frustrated, but you're not sure why. Disappointed, but not really the probing type, you decide to just get to work. Today was supposed to be the day he trained you for a "side project" utilizing your coding skills, but you're hesitant to ask about it while he's so visibly upset.

The day continues as usual, though it does seem to drag on a little longer for you when you don't get to stare at Steve. You're straightening up the waiting area, bent at the waist to fan out the magazines. When you stand, there's suddenly a tall figure behind you. Steve is pressing the entire front of his body directly against you. You involuntarily release a small gasp when you feel what you're sure is his half-hard cock pressed against your ass. Steve takes only a second to inhale your scent and feel himself pressed against you before he whispers in your ear once again.

"You're my secretary, not my maid." He steps away and you frown, still facing away from him.

"I'm sorry, sir. I've run out of things to do." You shrug and you turn.

"Out of things to do? Already?" He raises his eyebrows.

"Yes, sir." Your formality is adorable to him. And something about you calling him "sir" makes him hard just hearing it.

"Well," Steve steps closer to you now that you're facing him. He's so tall, towering over you, craning his neck to keep his eyes locked on yours. "You're such a good girl," there it is. His words make you shudder. There's no way he's fucking with you right now, right? Wrong. He once again creates a gap between the two of you.

"Good kid with a good head on your shoulders. Try not to overthink it." He smirks at your beet-red face and swiftly disappears to his office. You're becoming frustrated. It's as if by the time he walks away, you're so enthralled that you can't remember whether or not your degenerate, horny brain over-dramatized the memory. Angry and even a little embarrassed, you make your way back to your desk.

Steve sits in his office carefully listening to the sounds of your frustration. He loves the way you'd fall to your knees for him right now if he asked, but he likes fucking with you more. He hears you sigh away the sexual tension and he grins. Having this much power over someone like you. You're so smart and beautiful, what are you doing melting in his hands like that? His strong hand finds the growing bulge in his slacks, hoping to relieve any of the pressure he's been building up for the both of you.

He closes his eyes and inhales deeply through his teeth still palming himself, picturing you bound and gagged in front of him. Maybe that's why he's so insistent on teasing you instead of fucking you on his desk like he knows you dream about. Maybe he wants the chase, the restraint. You're too easy, he wants you to be scared.

At the end of the day, you decide to say "fuck it" and see what he'll do if you match his energy. He's grabbing his things to leave when you slip into his office and close the door behind you. You're shaking-nervous, your heart is pumping at an inhuman rate. You have no idea what your plan is until it happens.

"Mr. Raglan, can I ask you a question?" You make your way across the room, passing the boundary of the front of his desk, standing with him behind it. Steve tilts his head in a bemused expression.

"Y/N, feeling a little comfortable, are we?" His sarcastic question leaves you a little more unsure of yourself, and you take a step back. "Ask away." Steve smiles innocently.

"Forgive me if I'm wrong, but..." You're shocked at how steady your voice is as you fall into this sultry character you've created for yourself. It's never failed you before. "I feel like there's something you're trying to tell me. It's not very subtle." You lean against the desk casually. "Am I wrong?"

"Oh, wow," Steve can't help but grin, but he quickly replaces it with a smug, sarcastic expression. "You must be the queen of subtly, right?" His snarky words catch you off guard. "No, dear. Sorry about any miscommunications on my part. See you tomorrow, Y/N."

Steve steps around you and walks out the door without another word. You're stunned silent and extremely embarrassed. You consider leaving a resignation letter on your desk and never coming back. Furious, you slam the door to your car and drive home. By the time you get to your driveway, you've calmed down and accepted that everything you thought he was doing was just your imagination.

You're still angry, unable to fully accept that you'd be that delusional, but who really knows? From then on, you put away your fantasies and focus on work and getting money set aside for rent. The next few days continue like normal, with no more "misunderstandings" or advances. Until... Steve reaches for a binder off a shelf behind your desk. As he slides in behind you where you stand, right behind your pushed-in computer chair, and reaches his long arm up to the shelf, his other arm searches for a surface to brace on. That surface is your pencil skirt-clad waist.

You gasp quietly, but you don't allow yourself to react any further. Steve has the binder in his hand, but he doesn't remove the other from your waist. He lingers, staring at the back of your head trying to read whatever emotion must be displayed on the other side. You're rigid, like you usually are when he pushes these boundaries, but he also senses your frustration and boredom. He can't help but chuckle as he steps away.

"Thank you, Y/N," he says, waving the binder as he walks away to his office. Did he even need the binder? No, probably not. You huff at your seat, officially deeming him untouchable. You decide he must just be a weird old man that doesn't understand personal space and you can accept that now that he's no longer the object of your desire.

This is what he wanted. Your indifference. It's all part of his plan. As the days continue and your attraction settles to dust, he waits for you to make a mistake, any mistake. To his surprise and perhaps even dismay, you're nearly perfect. Then finally, you accidentally double-book a client meeting that leaves someone jobless with no way to reschedule. You're horrified and apologizing left and right to the man who is more than understanding, making you feel worse.

The man finally leaves, with no job, and no meeting. You sit at your desk and mentally scold yourself for being so careless. The stress of the approaching deadline of your rent seems to be taking a larger toll on you than you realized. Steve's client meeting ends and he sends the temp on his way with high hopes. You wish him a good day and try to focus on your computer.

"Y/N, can I see you in my office?" Steve appears from nowhere in front of your desk. He moves so silently when he means to, it's unsettling. You shamefully look up from your work and nod, following him to his office. You both sit in the appropriate seats and he releases a sigh.

"I'm disappointed in you, Y/N." His opening statement crushes you. "That was a huge fuck up, was it not?" His voice is stern and the use of cursing lets you know this is not a formal scolding. You're in trouble.

"I-I know, but it's the first one I've ever made since I started, sir."

"So that means I should just forget about it, right?" He leans back in his chair, folding his hands in front of him. "A man can't feed his family because he doesn't know when he'll have a ride back here."

"I know, sir. I'm... I'm sorry." You sigh, eaten alive with guilt. "He was very kind."

"Did you deserve it?" He's angry.

"No." You look away from him.

"What was that?" He tilts his head, eyebrows still arched. You glance at him, confused for a moment.

"No... Sir." You add.

"I think you're getting too comfortable here, Y/N. 'It's not very subtle.'" he quotes you and your face ignites with blush.

"O-Of course, sir. I'm so embarrassed. I'm sorry."

"Well, don't be embarrassed. Do better." You nod and begin to stand to leave when he leans forward with a softer expression. "Coffee?"

"What?" You don't even mean to ask him to repeat himself, it was just such a jarring switch in tone.

"Coffee. I just made it." Steve stands and crosses the room to a little black coffee maker in his office that you'd never noticed before.

"Uh, sure." You accept, hoping the caffeine will give you some sort of drive to improve your current work performance. Steve pours you both a cup and passes one to you. They're the same cup, but his looks comically small in his large, nimble hands. You take a few sips of the hot, dark liquid and begin to feel light-headed.

Everything around you seems to melt away. You've completely disregarded where you are or why you might feel this way. You try to stand and you drop the still-full cup on the office floor. Steve watches it all leaning against the table across the room. He nonchalantly sips his coffee as he waits for you to collapse. Just as he planned, the minute you get to your feet, your knees buckle beneath you. You're out before you hit the floor.

"Look at this. Look how little you think of yourself the second you hear how disappointed I am." Steve chuckles as he lifts your unconscious body. You're bound and gagged in the back seat of his '79 Ford Fairmont as he makes his way to an undisclosed location. Yeah, that one.

You wake up with a deep, sharp gasp as if you'd been holding your breath the entire time. Your head is spinning and your vision is blurry as you try to scan your surroundings. It's a dank grey room littered with failed attempts at his "side project" he'd mentioned to you weeks ago. Crumpled endo-skeletons and half-built robot heads cover each corner while wires and bolts cover the rest. Your heart begins to race and you try to rise from the cold, metal table you reside on, only to find that your wrists and ankles are strapped in place with thick leather binds.

"What the fuck?" You mumble to yourself as you continue to try to wake up. "Hello?! Help! Help me, please!" You scream and thrash on the slab.

"They all say that, you know? They always scream for help as if anyone's coming." Steve slowly enters the door. His tie is loose along with a few buttons, and his sleeves are haphazardly shoved halfway up his arms. His normally carefully combed hair is disheveled and damp with sweat as if he'd been hard at work before entering this room.

"'They?'" You tremble, rattling the metal.

"Of course, you're the first for this type of venture, I guess. Normally I just skip to killing," he chuckles, removing his tie. You're in a state of shock, sheer disbelief. Hearing that last word sends you into hysterics.

"Please don't kill me, sir. I- I won't fuck up again, I promise. Please-"

"Shut. Up." Steve's stern voice cuts directly through your pleas. "I haven't decided yet."

Tears flow steadily down the sides of your face as he begins to grope you. His rough hands explore every inch of you. His calculated hands knowingly leave bruises on your tender skin.

"Please..." You whisper with your eyes tightly shut, afraid of every movement he makes.

"Sweetheart, if this part scares you, I'm not sure you're gonna survive what comes next." He's only inches from your ear as he whispers. Your body shudders with terrified sobs. The cries only get louder when you feel Steve cutting off your clothes. You're too afraid to fight him off, unsure of whether any injuries you may acquire would be accidental or not.

"Why are you doing this? I-I literally came on to you!" You try to find reason in his actions, mostly to distract yourself from the fact that you're completely exposed, the remnants of your clothes a tattered mess beneath you.

"Where's the fun..." he drags the tip of his knife softly from your ankle to your navel as he steps closer to your blushing face. "In that?" He continues, positioning the weapon to stab through your abdomen, should he press down with any effort at all. Goosebumps erupt over your skin. "Now, are you going to shut your fucking mouth or do I need to shut it for you?" He places a gentle hand on your cheek. You nod frantically, looking into his eyes. They look so calm.

You hate to admit it, but the way he touches you seems to attempt to dig up that insatiable attraction you felt for him not long ago. Your fantasies never ventured to this genre, but you used to dream of him making you orgasm. You're torn from that memory when you remember his admittance to murder and how you know that means you probably won't make it out of this room.

Steve places the knife to the side and slowly slips his middle finger inside you. You gasp, and he plunges away, growing rougher with each stride. He curls his knuckles and watches your face closely as your crying eyes roll back into your skull. You yank against your restraints, trying to squirm away from him, but he's ruthless.

"You're so... Peculiar, Y/N." He removes his fingers from you and cleans them of your undeniable arousal with a pocket handkerchief. "I almost caved when you confronted me in my office. So bold. It's been a riot just picking at you." Steve reaches a hand into a desk in this mysterious room and retrieves an unknown device. You gasp as he slips the small, cold object inside you.

"What are you-" your question is swiftly silenced by the small remote in Steve's hand activating a powerful vibration from the item in your pussy. His free hand rubs rhythmically up and down your clit, stimulating you further. Steve stares down at you as you melt away into pleasure, ashamed and silently begging for more. He's laughing at you, hovering his head over yours as you anxiously avoid eye contact.

"Look at me," he demands, but you can't. You shut your eyes. He releases a breathy chuckle and raises the intensity of the vibrating gadget. "Don't start enjoying yourself or I might have to really scare you." You don't want to know what that entails, so you force yourself to look into his soulless blue eyes. The eye contact deepens the red shade that washes over your cheeks and Steve shakes his head, laughing at you again.

"Why are you so embarrassed now? Would you still be this shy if I'd bent you over my desk like you wanted? You're so much tighter when you're scared." Steve abruptly removes the vibrating toy from between your legs. You whimper pathetically in the absence of stimulation. He leaves the room and returns with yet another machine. This one's larger, a box.

He places the box down between your legs, as close to your throbbing entrance as he can get it. The side of the box facing you is adorned with a hole housing a phallic shape made of soft, silicone material. Your heart is bound to give out at this pace. The box itself covers a mass of gears and wires, a motor to power the rod in and out of its destination. You.

"We'll start it out slowly for you, how's that?" Steve presses a button and the machine pushes into you, slipping in easily as your body clearly craves it. You whine and cry out in pain as the machine stretches you out, slowly boring in and out of you. "If this thing's too big for you, what makes you think you could've taken me?" He laughs as he leans against the desk and watches the mechanism fuck you out. Every so often, he increases the speed.

Finally, it's maxed out. You're squirming and wailing in overstimulated pleasure and pain.

"Please! Please, I can't take it- I can't-" your begs are ignored. Steve places a rough hand around your neck, carelessly cutting off your oxygen and blood flow while his other hand delicately flicks your clit. That's it, that sends you over the limit. You climax harder than you ever thought possible, drenching the machine that's still fucking into you as your body quivers. Steve allows you to breathe again and takes his sweet time powering down the penetration machine.

You're shaking. Your tear-stained face is frozen in a look of exhaustion. The last thing you're able to do is move or speak. Your breathing is a plethora of hitched coughs and gasps and you flinch at even the possibility of being touched again at all.

"I think you might be ready now." He unfastens your bindings and takes a step back to observe. You don't move at all, not a single muscle. The truth is, you can't, even if you wanted to. Steve smirks, pressing a foot-lever under the table that lowers you right down to his waist. Two powerful hands hook under your legs and pull you so your beaten hole is perfectly accessible to him. You cry out as he moves you.

"I-I can't, Steve. I-" Your nearly inaudible mumbles are knocked from your mouth as he lands a hard open palm slap across your face.

"You're going to." He makes quick work of his belt and quickly aligns himself with your entrance. At one point all you wanted from him was this, but now you'd rather be anywhere else. Your cheek is ablaze, covered with a spreading stinging sensation. You're too distracted by the pain to notice Steve rearing back. He slams into you at full force, throwing his head back in ecstasy.

"Nooo!" You whine, unsure of how much more your body can truly take.

"Fuck!" He's almost primal when he's inside you, digging his fingertips into your flesh like he intends to take it off your body. "After all of that, you're still so fucking tight."

He reaches to your breasts and roughly gropes at the delicate skin. Your weak hand tries to tug at his wrist, but he simply flicks you away like a pest, continuing the assault. He slams into you, hoping to do more harm than anything, smiling at your sobbing face. Your makeup is a smeared mess and your hair is in disarray from the way you fought back on the table. You look pathetic to him and he loves it.

"You want to be filled up, don't you sweetheart?" He huffs, slowly approaching his climax. Your eyes open wide and a new wave of fear and adrenaline shoots through you, but you're still too weak to manage. Steve easily pins your wrists by your shoulders and thrusts deeper and deeper, hooking his hips to temporarily reach the very limit of your cunt.

"Please don't! Mr. Raglan, please!" You beg between gasping sobs as you listen to his labored breaths become unsteady. His agonizing thrusts lose their rhythm and suddenly you can feel his thick erection twitching inside you, brushing your G spot and carrying you over the edge again as well. You didn't even think that would be possible at this point.

You and Steve ride out your highs. He continues to pump into you making a heinous sound as he fucks his cum deeper inside you. To his surprise, he remains hard, so he continues to rut into your destroyed pussy until his legs threaten to give out. Steve finishes inside you a second time, laughing as he watches your horrified face realize how full of him you are. He's taking his time pulling out of you, playing with your cum soaked clit until you finally pass out from exhaustion.

Steve releases a breathy laugh as he fastens his belt and collapses in a chair nearby. You're lying there, naked and dripping cum from your swollen, demolished pussy. He can't get enough of this view. His original plan was to just get rid of you when he was done here, why not? But this is too much fun for him. Maybe he needs a new pet.

[yawujin]

hihihi I actually love your writing so much thank you for giving me a hearty meal

could I request dv3 boys with a reader who absolutely LOVES Sanrio like!!! so much!!!!! thank you for your time !!!!

hii thanks anon!! <3 i had an idea just like this so thank you for your request!!!

request | v3 boys x reader that loves everything sanrio

type | react , light hearted , non killing game , fluff , gender neutral reader

shuichi saihara ♡

often takes nap on your bed that has sanrio plushies everywhere

when he asks you to lend him a pen and later notices that it has a cinnamoroll design all over it

he finds it cute so it's okay lol

he bought you an enamel pin with kuromi on it so you could pin it to your shirts

just a thoughtful little gift

but also because he wanted you to match with the pin he wears from the detective agency he works for hehe

rantaro amami ♡

when he goes on his travels he often finds these little souvenier shops that sell bootleg versions of sanrio merchandise

he buys some of these so you can expand your collection

even though you both know they're fake

it's all for the novelty of it

and bc he likes to see you laugh and smile

"i can tell it's fake because hello kitty has her bow on the wrong ear" he grins while handing a minifigure over to you

K1B0/kiibo ♡

after you showed him what sanrio was, he too, found himself really liking the brand

whenever you invited him over; he sat atop your bed, hugging a plush close to his chest while you two talked

you offered to give him one of your plushies

"really!? i don't want to take something that's yours..."

you insist!

but only because he looks absolutely adorable while holding onto a my melody plush

korekiyo shinguji ♡

finds the difference in your guys' aesthetics fascinating

you two are basically the embodiment of all black s/o x all pink s/o

if there is a holiday rolling around and he can give you a gift you can bet that he'll buy you a shiny piece of jewelry that has a sanrio character on it

"this cutesy look really suits you, my dear." he says while you greet him, wearing a top with pompompurin on it

kaito momota ♡

you two went to a sanrio store once and he found this notebook that had the little twin stars inside of a rocket ship on the front cover

he loved it

you found it funny because he had said:

"this stuff might be a little too childish for me" before walking in

kaito, sweetie, you're really just a big child 😭

gonta gokuhara ♡

likes it when you wear those headbands that look like the top of the character's head (click here for reference if you don't know what i'm talking about)

he likes it bc it reminds him of antennas

also enjoys taking naps on your bed, resting his cute face on the soft blanket you purchased from a sanrio store <3

likes it when you decorate his album full of pictures of bugs with little sanrio character stickers

ryoma hoshi ♡

when you show him all the characters and ask which is his favorite he chooses chococat

DUHH OFC HE WOULD IT'S RYOMA

you also have the all black x all pink dynamic with him

you placed a few sanrio pins onto his jacket and he wore it with pride

everytime he's out and about and sees anything sanrio related he is instantly reminded of you

kokichi ouma ♡

"you really like this stuff, (Y/N)? it's a little too childish don't ya think?"

sanrio has no age limit silly kokichi

luckily for you, however, that was just one of his lies

his favorite thing about you is when you incorporate sanrio character inspired looks into your outfits (ie: all pastel blue and white clothing for cinnamoroll and red bows for hello kitty)

don't take his teasing so personally

he thinks you look super adorable

would definitely write 'kokichi ouma was here' onto your sanrio stationary just to mess with you

[kouchabu-archive]

Hajime Shino 4☆ Feature Scout 2

Title: President Grass and Pizza

Writer: Suika

Season: Summer

NOTE: I EXPLICITLY PROHIBIT USAGE OF ANY PART OF MY TRANSLATIONS ON ANYTHING THAT RELATES TO AI.

-----------

Rinne: (Hehe, today’s my lucky day!)

(Who knew I'd bag a big win in the slot machines today! Ain't that enough to make up for my losses this month?)

(I thought that of course I'd come home and celebrate, but I pro'lly got carried away and bought too many ingredients.)

(Well, not that I need to worry about leftovers when Niki's right there.)

(I gotta get back quick and let Niki—… Hm? That guy over there is…)

Hajime Shino-kun from Ra*bits, ain't it?

Hajime: Amagi-senpai? Hello~

Rinne: He~ya. Thrillin' to know that you remember this li'l ol' me's name.

So, what're ya hidin’ in the grass for? Up to somethin’ sneaky?

Are you buryin’ treasure or somethin'? Ya look like a little puppy digging like that~

Hajime: Oh, no. I just came to pick these up.

Rinne: Huh. Your bag has…some leaves and grass?

Hajime: That's right! I got quite a lot of them ♪

Rinne: Pickin' up wild grass, huh… Why?

Hajime: ? I'm going to eat them, of course?

Rinne: ………Ah, I got it. I can see what you're up to now.

That's for a TV show, isn't it? You should've told me earlier~

Hajime: Oh, this isn't for TV though? It's just that I got a craving for it since it's been a while since I ate these so I went here and got some.

Rinne: ………………

(From what I remember, aren't Ra*bits supposed to be a popular unit?)

(Well, not as much as UNDEAD or Akatsuki from the same agency but… each member seems to be goin’ strong in their own way, right?)

(So to see him here picking up grass like this… Never thought they're in deep shit that they can't even properly keep their stomachs full.)

'S that so? But ain't Seisoukan fully stocked with food? There's also lots of snacks in the ES break room, yeah?

If you're havin' trouble finding something to eat, ain't those better places to search in?

If anyone sees their precious idol foraging for grass in a place like this, that's not really a good look with the public, y'know?

Hajime: Trouble finding something to eat…?

Ah, no! You've got it wrong! I'm not gathering grass like this because I'm having trouble with money!

When I got on the phone with my family, we happened to talk about how we used to eat grass a lot when I was younger.

And then I just suddenly craved that nostalgic taste so I came here to pick these up. I normally eat properly, so please don't worry that much about it~

Rinne: Oh, so that's it? You made me uncharacteristically nervous for a sec there.

Hajime: I'm sorry for making you worry.

Rinne: Nah, don't mind it. My fault for jumpin' to conclusions so fast.

In fact, those grass growin' out there are delicious too. I also used to forage for them back when I was a li'l boy so I get ya, Hajime-kun.

I even used to go to the mountains to pick up some edible wild plants.

Thanks to that, I got some basic stuff down when it comes to edible grass. This one and this one can be eaten. This one's not. This one's edible too, but it's not really good.

Hajime: Wow! You didn't miss any! You're really knowledgeable about them!

Rinne: Hehe, told ya right? This ol' me won't ever lie ♪

This one's tasty if you blanch it a little. And this one's something that only Niki could munch on.

Hajime: Huh?! Shiina-senpai can eat this? I had an upset stomach when I ate this one by mistake.

Rinne: Yeah, same here. After eating it, I felt like dyin' the next day—couldn't move at all. But that guy's all fine and dandy.

Maybe it's got somethin' that only his stomach can digest. He's the one who cooked it, after all.

Hajime: Shiina-senpai is really good with cooking, isn't he? ♪

Rinne: Yeah. That guy's real good with his hands when it comes to food. Everything he makes is delicious. When I get home, I'll have him cook for me; that's why I got a lot of stuff here with me.

Hajime: Oh, that's indeed a lot. Let's see… Cheese, ketchup… There's also salami and basil… Are you planning to make pizza?

Rinne: Spot on ♪ Niki's pizza's always bangin', y'know? I end up eating too much if I don't watch it.

Hajime: Fufu, that's wonderful! Are you celebrating something today?

Rinne: Celebrating? No, not really…

Hajime: Huh? Is it okay to eat pizza on a normal day?

Back in my home, I was taught that pizza is a treat that you only eat on special occasions.

Rinne: Oh, is it now?

My bad, my bad. You're right, Hajime-kun. Of course, today is a special day~

And it's somethin' so important that we can't ever, ever forget about! None other than President Pizza's birthday!

Hajime: President Pizza's birthday?! I never knew about the existence of someone that great!

Rinne: You don't know him, Hajime-kun?! Man, that's really, really bad.

Hajime: W-What's wrong with it…?

Rinne: When it's President Pizza's birthday, everyone's gotta feast on some pizza.

If you only knew about it today, then I guess Hajime-kun never got to eat anything these past years, huh…

If that's the case, then it ain't good if you don't eat all those years' lost servings of pizza…

Hajime: All those years' lost servings of pizza… Are you saying that I should eat 17 years' worth of them?!

Rinne: Ah, then what I have here won't be enough. I gotta get back and grab some more ingredients, huh…

Hajime: I can't possibly eat that much!

Can't you do something to help me?! If I eat that much pizza, I'll end up hating it!

Rinne: Pfft… Ha…

Kyahahaha! Your reaction's takin' me out, Hajime-kun!

Hajime: This isn't a laughing matter! Uuu~ what am I supposed to do now?

Rinne: Don't ya worry your pretty li'l head. I was just messin' with you. That's a lie.

Hajime: A lie..? From which point was it a lie?

Rinne: Everything startin' from President Pizza's birthday.

Hajime: So, uhm… I don't have to stuff myself full of pizza until my stomach explodes?

Rinne: Yup. President Pizza doesn't exist.

Hajime: T-Thank god…

Rinne: I didn't expect you'd just take all of that without even questioning me.

You gotta put it in your head to suspect people a little more from now on, 'kay? Shino "Majime"-kun~ ♪ [1]

Hajime: Geez, you're so mean to deceive me like that, Amagi-senpai! You really scared me back there!

Rinne: Come on, sorry for bein' like that~

Oh, got it. As an apology for messin' with ya, lemme treat you to some pizza.

Hajime: …Are you sure you're not lying this time?

Rinne: Kyahahaha! Talk about a fast learner! Ya immediately got on your toes and suspected me! You take things so seriously. You really are Majime-kun, huh?

Hajime: M-My name is "Hajime"!

Rinne: Yessir~ Come on, let's bounce back home and have a feast! ♪

And while we're at it, let's use those grass you picked and make some wild grass pizza!

Hajime: W-Wah, please don't just drag me around, Amagi-senpai!

-----------

Translation: Sophie

Proofreading: Ara

NOTES:

[1] “Majime” / まじめ = lit. means as a person who’s earnestly sincere and honest, and therefore takes things seriously at its face value. It’s a syllable off Hajime’s name, which makes it funnier given how Rinne has a penchant for giving silly nicknames to people he encounters.

Also can I just point out how Hiiro, who’s actually Hajime’s classmate and therefore theoretically closer to him, calls him “Shino-kun” (last name) while Rinne calls him “Hajime-kun” (first name) right off the bat. I just think his shamelessness is hilarious LOL

[honeydazai]

୨୧·࣭࣪̇˖ 𝆬  ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʀᴇᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴀᴛᴛᴏᴏꜱ 𝆬 𓏸

feat.: Dazai, Chūya, Kunikida, Ranpo, Atsushi, Akutugawa, Nikolai Gogol

content: implied f!reader because of some pet names, maybe—?

DAZAI knows about your tattoo. Of course he does. Still, he makes sure to raise an eyebrow while sauntering over to where you're presenting it proudly to the other Agency members for the first time, mimicking surprise.

He doesn't hesitate to openly compliment you on it; he's a charmer by nature and syrupy-sweet words fall from his lips with ease as he traces his fingers over the swirls of ink, gaze appreciative. He can deal with all kinds of reactions from you, but he's all the more pleased if you smile bashfully or blush a bit at the cascade of compliments he's showering you in.

“My, my, bella, and here I thought you couldn't possibly get any more interesting. That suits you awfully well, you know? Ah, the fact that I'm even allowed to lay eye on a being as gorgeous as you gets me get all excited.”

While CHŪYA is surprised at the sight of your tattoos, his lips curl into a smirk almost immediately. He likes tattoos a lot, and you having some only makes you all the more irresistible. To him, they don't just look amazing, but they're also proof of you being strong enough to endure the pain of getting them — whether you've taken painkillers or not beforehand doesn't matter to him —, and that's impressive in itself. He's awfully lucky to have scored someone this gorgeous and badass.

He might just have to ask you for your tattoo artist; yours are so skillfully done, the design is nothing short of amazing and, hey, don't you think he'd look hot with a tattoo somewhere?

“Those are a damn work of art, babe. Hey, where'd you think I should get one? I'm thinkin' hip. Gotta fit into the whole tattooed mafioso cliché, right?”

Honestly, KUNIKIDA doesn't expect you to have tattoos when he first falls for you, but he grows fond of them more quickly than he ever would have thought possible. They're a part of you, which makes them perfect in his eyes; perfect, just like you are.

Even though you might assume he's not too knowledgeable when it comes to the topic of tattoos, he has a keen eye for detail — he's quick to marvel at how well done yours are, how clean the lineart is and how artfully they decorate your skin. He might just come along if you ever get more tattoos, if only to check if the place is up to standards; the risk of an artist using an old used needle on you doesn't leave his mind until he personally makes sure you're in good hands.

“I have to admit that these are very nicely done, dear, and they suit you well. Really well, even. Are you planning on getting more in the future? What? No, I'm not against it. Of course not. Quite the opposite; I'm merely interested in the things you like.”

For someone pretending not to care much about your tattoos, RANPO stares at the ink decorating your skin quite a lot. He doesn't care enough to be subtle, either; the second your eyes meet when you catch him looking, he merely turns away o so slowly, his attention once more on a document or a piece of candy.

If you let him, though, he'll gladly inspect each and every line, each dot and curve with utmost interest. You're his lover, after all; of course he's intrigued when he sees a part of you he hasn't until now. Really, he wants to know everything about it, even though he's got a few ideas about what they could mean — if they do mean anything — already.

“So, what about this one? Does it have a meaning? Yeah? Tell me, I wanna know. Actually, I know already. Well—, just tell me that I'm right, alright?”

To say that ATSUSHI is stunned when he spots your tattoos for the first time would be an understatement. Sure, it's not like he's never seen tattoos before, but he still didn't expect them on you — besides, yours look so cool, it's only fair that he's quite astounded, right?

He doesn't make the biggest deal out of it, but he'll listen eagerly if you want to explain the meaning or any design choices to him, nodding all the while and complimenting the work. If you ever get another tattoo, he might just come along — not to get one himself, he's not sure if that'd work with his quick regeneration ability, but simply to keep you company.

“These are amazing! I had no idea you had tattoos this cool! Do they have a meaning? Oh—, I mean, you don't have to tell me if it's too personal, of course. They're just so pretty.”

AKUTAGAWA isn't the type to mention your tattoos, though he is quite surprised when he sees them for the first time. Surprisingly enough, he quite likes the look of dark ink splattered artfully on your skin, and, for a moment, he even considers getting a tattoo himself, only to quickly decide against it; it'd be no use, given how he's fully covered up at all times either way.

If you want to get an actual reaction out of him, though, you have to be the one to bring the topic up, whether that's by showing your tattoos to him directly or just by mentioning them. While he's not a man of all too many words, he might eventually grunt out some appreciation — you're dear to him, after all.

“They look nice. What? You understood what I said just fine, don't play dumb. I won't repeat myself.”

Frankly said, showing NIKOLAI your tattoos is a mistake. He's immediately fond of them; really, his eyes light up at the sight and he's quick to grab you, pulling you closer to get a better look at it. It doesn't matter if you struggle — do you really think he'll let you overpower him? Besides, if you complain too much, he can simply cover the body part you've got tattooed with his coat and, well; his ability is quite useful in this situation, too. You really can't pull away when half your body is stuck mid-air.

He will get matching tattoos with you. If you ever so much as joke about it, be aware that he'll make it reality. What, you don't want a clown's grimace on your wrist? Well, too bad, because he thinks it'd suit you o so perfectly, and you wouldn't want to refuse him, now would you?

“Oh, oh, come look at this one, doll — don't you think it'd look just perfect on your skin? No? My, my, you're picky. I really don't think you could go wrong with a bird. Or, wait; could it be that you just want my name tattooed on you that badly, hm?”

notes: dedicated to @pseudowho <3 also, i'm finally watching season 4 and!! i like mushitarō lots. and jōno. jōno especially.

tag list: @pigeons-are-rad @cicada-teeth @dzaixchuu @hanakotheghost @shinwifexx @rhaeena @irethepotato @beandaifuku @the-foreigner @ranpobb , @arixsux , @dei-lilxc @atsyushi @satoruislove @pastelsbaby @marina-and-the-memes @texchou @shiggysredhead @savagemickey03 @rosepxtlz @nikolaiswife @okura-s @ladykatakuri @lunerenzo @berywritesstuff @xelia25 @yuuotosaka3 @double-black-dazai @alice0blog @fyodorstolenushanka @ttaiyaki @itsnovariella @black-rose-29 @fyodorscumsock @ayshaashaya @qxxstuff

@serenareiss @atsvsh1 @dilucshandholder @reiikonee @1-800-mocha @xvocadooo @hexiisexii @cupxfcxffee @jodidann @Happymoon16 @yumidepain @nchuuyahq @janeinerz @aaronthegreatestsimp @fanfiction-waifu @KimxKiba @Morigumy @villainouspotential @ashthemadwriter @mrsdostoevsky @nikolaisgoofyahhhat @yeonwoomyheartbelongstoyou

@hellgirlwhore @Itssara-chan @lyrstybsd @angelsrunes @wuaoqu @disa-ster @aspookyscaryghost @nikolaisboner @urgodmoon @polish-anon @arisu-chan4646 @eroscastle @somnobun @birbysaur

[ellephlox]

Embers and Ashes

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Summary: It's not easy to keep a low profile when you've got the power to heal, but you've managed to carve out a home for yourself in Hell's Kitchen. By day you're an assistant at a literary agency, and by night you mend broken bones and bloody cuts. It's a double life that constantly forces you to question your morality, because the wounds you seem to magically heal don't vanish forever — they've got to eventually go somewhere.

But after you make the mistake of healing the wrong people, you become Daredevil’s next target, and suddenly your double life becomes far more tangled than you could ever have predicted.

Set post-S3. Slow burn Matt x Fem!Reader. Chapter one will be posted here on tumblr, but ensuing chapters will be uploaded to AO3. You can read Ch. 1 on AO3 here, if you'd prefer.

Warnings: Description of injuries and profanity.

Most normal people in the city dreamed of being an Avenger. 

You overheard them at work constantly, ever since it became increasingly commonplace for people to crop up with super-strength or freakishly accurate aim with a bow and arrow:

“I actually ran into Spider-Man this morning — the real Spider-Man! I begged him to sign my arm, obviously, because there was no paper around, and he actually did it! Look, right here. I'm going to get it tattooed after work.”

“Well, last night I had a dream that I was recruited by the Avengers. It was absolutely amazing, Debbie — Tony Stark wanted me to be his girlfriend! God, it was fantastic. He even let me try on his Iron Man suit.”

“Oh, I’d give anything to be enhanced. I’d want to be able to fly. Or teleport. Any power, really, if it could get me a one-way ticket to fighting with them.”

“But did you hear my friend got threatened by Daredevil the other night? That red horned suit is gone, though. He’s in that black suit from the days when we called him the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. I’d love to run into that guy — he’s so strange, isn’t he? Handsome, in a mysterious way.”

At this point in these types of conversations you always tried to tune them out. Their rosy idea of enhanced ignored the things that you saw whenever footage of the Avengers was shown on the evening news. After the battle in New York, they raved about Captain America’s strength, that magic hammer of Thor’s, and the way Dr. Bruce Banner metamorphosed from a man into a monstrous hero, as though it were the best thing in the world to have super-powered abilities.

But when you had watched that footage on the news, after the battle was over, all you saw was the blood. The bodies. The expressions on the Avengers’ faces, of the anguish and turmoil they had witnessed. Being enhanced was a curse, not a gift, and you came to resent the word itself — not for the political controversies it provoked, but for its connotation. In the mouths of anyone else, enhanced was a good thing. 

But you knew. 

As you held the temples of the man lying in front of you, his skin burnt severely from his fingers to his wrists, you knew. 

He writhed, his hands flopping like gasping fish. They were scorched as though in a paisley pattern, leathery and swollen. Second-degree, if not third-degree burns, you thought, as the man jerked away from the light emanating from your own hands, but you kept your grip steady. Slowly the skin began to return to its normal color — splotches fading like they were diluted, heaves of scars sinking back and reshaping as though they had never been there, the energy of his wounds transferring into your hands and through your bloodstream. 

You knew, better than anyone, that every gift had a price.

 

TWENTY-ONE HOURS LATER

It was snowing, yet your hands were blistering. 

The plows hadn’t come through yet, and there wasn’t much foot traffic on this side of Hell’s Kitchen, so the sidewalks were thick with snow. Despite your best efforts to hop in the few existing footprints, snow kept falling down into your boots. Your toes were numb, and your ears felt like they were about to get frostbite; you weren’t dressed for the weather. There hadn’t been time to grab a hat and thicker socks when you left your apartment, because you were more preoccupied with the searing burns that were popping like budding flowers on the palms of your hands. They weren't yet to the severity of the burns you had healed on Lynch's hands the previous night, but it was only a matter of time before they began to worsen. 

Only one more block. 

It was past midnight, and all you wanted was to be in bed, curled up with your pillows and quilted blanket, but just before falling asleep, you’d felt the skin tear open on your hand as though someone were holding a blowtorch to it. It was unnerving. You'd estimated another eight hours, until morning, before the energy you had taken from Lynch's wounds would make itself known.

Clearly I was wrong. You seethed with irritation at yourself and at the fact that Lynch had burned his hands in the first place as more snow collected in your boots. A warm pair of socks would be really, really nice right now.  

But situations like this came with the job, even if most people didn't realize it. Whenever people discovered you were able to heal — and they never truly knew it was you, because you were careful to keep your identity obscure — they assumed it was simple. As though you could just lay your hands on someone’s bleeding wound and it magically stitched itself back up. Poof, problem solved! Sort of like all those Avengers your coworkers persistently chatted about. Yeah, if only healing were as easy as doing a few fancy finger movements to open up a portal into another dimension. Doctor Strange doesn't know how good he has it.

Because fancy finger movements definitely wasn't how it worked for you. It wasn’t even close. 

You inhaled sharply as another burn made itself known, this time higher on your hand. A quick handful of snow against the welt soothed it slightly, but not much, and you picked up your pace down the street.  Your destination was an unassuming brick building, wedged between a hardware store and auto repair shop. LYNCH FUNERAL HOME AND CREMATORIUM, read the sign outside, underneath a layer of graffiti. It was one of your closest friends who owned the funeral home, and the previous day he'd sent you an emergency call for help, though you still hadn't heard the story of how he'd burned his hands in the first place. Not that it mattered much. You didn't ask questions very often; healing was your only responsibility. 

There was no one else on the street. There wasn't even much light, because most of the street lamps that weren’t burned out had been buried in a pale coating of frost. Your thoughts turned abruptly to the reports of the so-called vigilante Daredevil, who had reportedly been back on the streets lately. With what you had done in the past, and even with what you were doing now… well, you hoped you never crossed paths with him. Quiet streets like this always made you wonder if today was the day you’d run into him, but it had never happened. Sometimes you wondered if the media simply made him up as a fear tactic to keep crime off the streets of Hell’s Kitchen. 

You hurried inside the funeral home, searching for the only person who you knew would be up and about. Please, be here, please, please…

He was. “Grey,” the man at the desk said, surprise crossing his face when you burst into the crematorium. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Grey . Just like the word itself, it was ash on your tongue. It wasn’t your real name. Years ago it had been bestowed on you as a code name, a way to keep your identity impersonal from the people you worked with. But it stuck, and now you could count the number of people who knew your real name on one hand. 

“Emergency visit, Thato,” you said, showing him your hands. “I’m sorry. I thought I could manage it until tomorrow, at the very least, but—” You cringed as another burn blistered forth, erupting on the pad of your thumb. “Ow. Shit.”

Thato got to his feet, wincing in sympathy. “Never apologize for this. It’s not your fault.”

You shook your head. “I should be getting better. Improving… this . And I’m not.” It was true. For years, you had been at this same level. If you healed someone — which wasn’t really healing , if you were being technical; it was more like taking their injury and transferring it elsewhere — you could only hold onto it for a short amount of time. 

Option One was taking that energy from the injury and transplanting it onto someone else — typically, a corpse. You had a strict policy for yourself to never inflict a wound from someone else that you’d healed onto someone who didn’t receive the wound in the first place.

Option Two was just holding onto that energy until it began to manifest itself on you instead. And that was never pleasant. 

Case in point: the damn burns on my hands right now. 

You glanced at the door to the morgue. “Please tell me you’ve got bodies in for cremation?”

“As a matter of fact, one arrived tonight,” Thato said, and he put his hand gently on your back to steer you inside. “Let’s go.”

The morgue was cold. Goosebumps pricked up your arms. Thato worked quickly, and within a minute he was pulling out a storage drawer. A woman, her body pale and lifeless, slid out in front of you. 

Even when the bodies were dead, this was never easy.  You averted your eyes, opting instead to look at the ceiling, and placed your freezing hands on the sides of the dead woman’s head, against her temples. Gradually, after a minute, your hands began glowing — not the yellow glow of the man the newspapers called the Iron Fist, nor the red glow of that Avenger you’d seen on television, Wanda Maximoff. Instead, it was a pale slate color, as though smoke itself had become a source of light. It was this color that earned you your nickname. 

“Grey,” your brother had told you, lifting your chin up roughly to stare you down. 

He wasn’t really your brother, but he might as well have been. You’d known him as long as you could remember. Kane was the one who raised you, who had been with you since... for a long time. “Got it? Here with us, that’s what you’ll answer to.”

“But my name is—”

“No. When you’re with us, you don’t use your real name,” Kane said. Of course, just like your name wasn’t really Grey, his name wasn’t truly Kane. “You use Grey instead, okay? Grey Arztin, if anyone ever asks for a last name.” He handed you forged identification papers. 

“Why Arztin?” you asked, reading the name, and fumbling over the pronunciation of the word. 

“It means doctor, in German. Come with me. I have people for you to heal.”

“But I’m not very good at it.”

“Then you need to practice that ability. It’s going to be your greatest gift someday, Grey.”

The energy pulsed in your own temples as it transferred to the corpse, and slowly you began to feel it drain out of you. There was no comparable feeling to this moment, when the build-up of pain was finally relieved from your mental storage space — your cache, you liked to call it.  And, suddenly, burns just like the ones on your own hands bloomed across the white hands of the dead woman — raw, fiery welts, discolored in the center and streaking from her wrist bones to her fingertips. They were identical to the burns that had stretched across Lynch's hands the day before, down to the charred bit of skin just below the thumb knuckle. When the energy was gone, you dropped your hands, and the smoky glow faded.

The few burns that had already marked your own skin were still there, of course, because your healing abilities could never fix what had been done to your own body — yet another shortcoming of your power — but they wouldn’t get any worse. It was over. 

The corpse was rolled back into her drawer. The family would never know that her hands now bore severe burns that hadn’t been there at her time of death. She’d be cremated tomorrow, Thato assured you. It would be as though you had never even touched her. Guilt curled in your stomach at her desecrated hands. Maybe she had been a pianist. Those hands might have been held by someone else, once upon a time — a mother, a lover, a child. She could have used those hands to climb mountains or type out a novel on a laptop or serve plates of food at a restaurant. 

Now, because of you, they were mottled and burnt. 

“She’s dead,” Thato reminded you quietly, once you were outside of the morgue and back at the funeral home desk. “She’ll be burned anyway.”

“I know.” You played with the edge of the desk. “I just always feel bad. It feels like I’m… spitting on her memory, or something.”

“It’s a price you have to pay,” he agreed. “But it’s in exchange for the good you do, each time you use your skill. You even bore some of the price yourself.” He nodded at the burns scattered across your own hands. “I don’t like to see you feeling bad, Grey. Anything I can do?”

You smiled. “It's okay. You already helped me. Thanks, Thato. Really.” 

I don’t want to keep doing this, you wanted to add. I’ve had enough of all this. The healing, the transferring of the injuries and scars and bruises, the role I’ve played in Hell’s Kitchen. I’m done.

You wanted to tell him, so badly that it made your chest feel tight. Thato had been your friend for as long as you could remember. But if you told him, then your brother would find out, and if your brother found out…

Well, Kane wouldn’t be very pleased with you. He'd see it as a failure on your part, or worse, a betrayal. But it didn’t matter anyway, because you couldn’t leave the organization. Not after everything Kane had done for you, and especially not while you were the one thing that stood between him and death every night that he risked his life. 

You tightened your jacket around your shoulders before heading back out into the night, towards your apartment. You took your time; your earlier exhaustion was gone, and with your hands bandaged now, you were able to appreciate the falling snow as it amassed silently, insulating the streets from the sounds of the city beyond. 

But you might not have had such a leisurely walk back if you’d happened to tilt your head upwards and look at the roofs — if you had been able to hear the footsteps above as someone followed you in the shadows, if you had known the man they called the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen stalked you, having listened to every word of the conversation in the crematorium.

[littencloud9]

Can you do more Kunisig,,, I love them,, /nf

I ADORE THEM!! have this drabble based on this post by @ixapixie bc it has been plaguing my mind since i saw it

-

Sigma is getting ready for work, putting their hair up in a ponytail with a hair tie they borrowed from Kyouka, when they hear Dazai's voice from the other room. They're aware that this is a regular occurrence between Dazai and Kunikida—that is, Kunikida calling Dazai to check up on him. At first they were surprised, for it seemed out of character from the sharp-tongued, stern detective. But, well, Sigma has been training under Kunikida since they joined. And from their interactions, they've learned that he's extremely devoted and considerate of his fellow Agency members. Though extremely serious, Kunikida extends a patient hand to Sigma every day, speaking to them with much more gentleness than the rest. It makes them feel— ah, well, they probably shouldn't read too much into it. They'll fluster themself. "Sigma!" Dazai calls, prancing into the room. His cane has been tossed aside, which Sigma is about to scold him for, but they freeze when they see Kunikida's contact on Dazai's phone, still on the line. "Kunikida-kun asked how you were doing! Wanna talk to him? Here!" Sigma puts a hand up, waving it frantically. "Oh, no, no, it's fine." Dazai doesn't listen, because of course he doesn't. If anything, he starts grinning gleefully. "Don't be shy. I'm sure he's dying to talk to you. Here they are, Kunikida-kun!" Sigma flinches when the phone is shoved in their face. Dazai lets go and they scramble to catch it, about to shout expletives at him for being so careless, but they're immediately distracted by Kunikida's voice through the phone. "Sigma," Kunikida greets, "good morning." "U-uh, good morning." They grimace at how weak their voice is, glaring at Dazai, who is watching with his cheeks held between his palms. "I hope Dazai didn't cause you any trouble." Kunikida lets out a deep sigh, though Sigma can hear the fondness beneath it. It makes their heart stutter. "I'll see you in the office later? There's a new plan about case assignments to be implemented, but I want to go through it with you first. I think your opinion will be valuable." "Really?" Sigma blurts out. They flush when Dazai chokes on a giggle. "I mean, yeah, sure. That sounds good. I'll see you later, Kunikida-san." They hang up before they can hear anything else, tossing the phone away. Dazai bursts out laughing this time, hands on his stomach and bending over. "Sigma, you're so cute when you have a crush!" "I'm going to kill you," Sigma hisses, their face burning brighter. "If it helps, I'm sure Kunikida-kun likes you too—" "Shut the fuck up!"

[acheemient]

Things I think Will happen in Season 3 (it's not spoilers if it hasn't happened yet!):

Crowley takes up the roll of Duke of Hell.

Aziraphale was put into the role of Supreme Archangel so Metatron could keep an eye on him/get him out of the way/control him

God has been removed from the Book of Life or has been trapped or whatever by Metatron since the Not Apocalypse (hence no God narration in season 2)*

Crowley was a high ranking Archangel who Fell when he went to Metatron with questions. Crowley's memories have been erased (Duh)

Nina and Maggie will be back

Crowley dies in Aziraphale's arms, but Az is able to miracle him back from the dead (foreshadowed in season 2 by the whole "Lazuri" measuring system)

Crowley tells Aziraphale, "I forgive you," at some point**

Ineffable Husbands retire to a cottage in South Downs (because Neil loves us and will do right by us)

A Nightingale will sing outside the cottage and will be the last image we see.

Things I think Might happen in Season 3:

Crowley HATES being Duke of Hell, but he does it to spite Aziraphale

Aziraphale HATES being Supreme Archangle, but he pretends he's Fine. Lots of fake smiles

The Second Coming is a baby, and the Ineffable Husbands have to deal with keeping a baby safe from both sides

The Them come back to help save the day

Aziraphale brings Crowley back to life with a very tearful kiss **

Ineffables free God/bring Her back/add her back to the Book of Life somehow

God narrates the ending scene of the Ineffable Husbands living happily ever after, now that She has been freed/brought backby the Ineffables

The Ineffable Husbands end up raising baby Second Coming as their own in their cottage (throw back to them raising the fake Antichrist).

Thinks I Want to happen in Season 3:

So many kisses (I think we will get one, maybe two) between the Ineffable Husbands

A Big Hug between Aziraphale and Crowley (I'm taking about Embrace levels)

Crowley sarcastically bowing to Aziraphale and addressing him as "Supreme Archangel"

Adam still has some of his Infernal Powers. Nothing like before, but some left over

The return of Anathema, but I think her story is done, so this is less likely

A sex scene or an allusion to sex (but it won't happen, so don't worry - see below)

The last scene shows Aziraphale, Crowley, and the Second Coming in their garden outside the cottage in South Downs living as a happy little family.

Things I think we Won't see in Season 3:

Coffee Theory ***

Body Swap Theory ***

A sex scene or an allusion to sex between Aziraphale and Crowley (even though I want it, Neil won't bring it up one way or another. He'll let us all make our own choice on that one)

Newt. I just don't see him coming back

These are all just my opinions. Please do not get angry about anything listed above if you don't agree.

* God's Ineffable Plan was always for the Apocalypse to be stopped by Aziraphale and Crowley. Metatron still wants Earth to be destroyed. He wants his war.

**I'm hoping the "I forgive you" is heartfelt. Possibly when Aziraphale kisses Crowley back to life. Imagine Aziraphale holding dying/dead Crowley in his arms, saying, "Pease don't leave me, I need you, please don't go, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Crowley" (etc.). And then Aziraphale's eyes glow purple as his pulls up every bit of his power and presses his lips firmly to Crowley's lips (much like their first kiss), and we finally see Crowley lift a hand to Aziraphale's cheek to kiss back, and Aziraphale is SHOCKED and pulls away to look at a very weak smiling Crowley who quietly says, "I forgive you."

***I know some people really hang their hats on this one, and no insult to them, but I don't think Aziraphale needed any extra prodding or powers used to get him to go back to Heaven. It's enough that he thinks he's going to be able to make Heaven better and/or protect Crowley. I kind of feel like it cheapens Aziraphale's agency and the story.

[i23kazu]

𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆'𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐁𝐈𝐄𝐒

these are all my ocs !!! do be nice :-) i've worked hard on them hehehe and i'm glad they get to come out of the basement now, please click on the picrews for better quality ! ! !! | post best viewed in light mode

𝓵𝓾𝓬𝓲𝓮𝓷

he/him | 24 y.o. | modern au genshin !!! | ✦✦✦✦

fontainian intern at tianquan co ( a government agency dealing with policies ) !

lucien is originally from the court of fontaine but studied in liyue for law (ex-classmates with yanfei heheeee) and is now working as an intern ( because the government companies in liyue won't let him full time :") )

he hopes to create a stronger support group for foreigners in liyue to connect them with job opportunities & resource broking heh – he and yanfei work together to try and find loopholes but liyue law is TIGHTT

wishes he could do more though ngl poor bebs

hydro polearm :3 !!!!

it was his flex for a while that he got the same element as the one from his homeland mwahaha

love language : words of affirmation

𝓴𝓪𝓲𝓵𝓪𝓱

she/her | 20 y.o. | slight modern au genshin !!! | ✦✦✦✦

LIYUEAN SOCIAL WORKER !!!! <333 she's my representation /cope

masc girl ever

works in liyue's youth sector for the ministry of social affairs !! covers up her tattoo when she goes to work (everyone always asks her why she's wearing a turtleneck in office)

has a wolfcut - mullet - thingy ?? ?? ?

super boisterious like this girl is loud. she's one of beidou's friends & is close to shuying ( my self-insert oc !!! )

yongjia's twin !!! younger than him by 4 mins

does boxing in her spare time

u'll find her organising peaceful protests when she can btw #advocate

pyro claymore !!!

love language : physical touch

𝔂𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓳𝓲𝓪

he/him | 20 y.o. | slight modern au genshin | ✦✦✦✦

communications manager for a supply company that works with the restaurants of liyue!

kailah's twin !!!! older by 4 minutes

the more reserved sibling – but certain people definitely bring out certain parts of himself

dyed his hair bc he went through the phase of not wanting to look like kailah ..

ask him out with drinks after work, why don't you?

this man has really good memory ... remembers the little things about everybody + analytical ass brain

the brain of the twins, while kailah is the heart

well liked by the aunties of liyue what can i say

geo sword !!!

love language : quality time

𝓼𝓱𝓾𝔂𝓲𝓷𝓰

she/ her | 18 y.o. | slight modern au genshin | ✦✦✦✦

studying social work!!! kailah is her mentor & is one of her good friends

she wants to work with little kids in the future!!

is baizhu’s daughter :3

absolutely adores the twins, they’re like the older siblings she never had

has tried to pick up crocheting. never again. her hands were shaking the entire time and she couldn’t do anything

loves giving gifts!!!

tbh shuying is my self insert soooo. if i continue any longer it’ll just be “hey isnt this just ying”

dendro polearm !!!!

love language : physical touch

𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷

he/him | 25 y.o. | modern au genshin | ✦✦✦✦

a librarian at the house of daena :3

loves making friends honestly!! he's down if you're down.. except that some over-excited students take him a bit too seriously and get their hearts crushed

local sweetheart i'm ngl. good with old ladies and good with children. very sweet

family man! will introduce his family one day

heuheuehuue i love him so much,,, this sweetheart,,,

also his name was inspired from a typo btw. just saying

anemo catalyst !!!!

love language : acts of service

picrew one | picrew two

[yurislotusgarden]

Dazai and Chuuya separated with prompt 11*

ʚїɞ Separate! Dazai Osamu, Nakahara Chuuya x Gn!Reader

ʚїɞ Keep in mind English is not my first language, so you may find mistakes!

ʚїɞ word count: 1975

ʚїɞ The event

ʚїɞ Tw’s: None! Just pure fluff, is not specified

ʚїɞ Hope you two won't mind me merging these two asks <3

ʚїɞ Prompt 11: "I never really celebrated Christmas before"

ʚїɞ This took way too long ;-; It's also the longest thing I have written I think, we're also gonna ignore that Christmas in Japan is like valentines for the sake of this post

ཐིཋྀ He doesn't know whether telling you he never really celebrated Christmas was a good idea or not

ཐིཋྀ On one side, he doesn't mind the fact that he did not since he never really saw anything special about it, but on another hand, you're excited about it and he doesn't wanna make you sad by saying he won't celebrate.

ཐིཋྀ Well, he did make you kind of sad when he told you he never really celebrated it, and that the closest he has been to that were the times when he and Chuuya would give each other gifts under a small Christmas tree that wasn't bigger only because they didn't feel like taking it out of Chuuya's apartment in a month.

ཐིཋྀ You managed to get Fukuzawa to make the annual Christmas party the agency has every year a non-skippable event, so Dazai had to come to it this year (The agency has a Christmas party every year but it's more of a ‘you come if you want’, and Dazai didn't bother showing up on any social event that wasn't mandatory)

---------------------

Dazai didn't know what to think when he got told that he had to come to the Christmas party this year.

”Alright guys, see ya next week!”

“What do you mean? We're seeing each other on Saturday.”

“Huh? Kunikida-kun, you know I won't be at the party as per usual so-”

“Yes, you will be there this year.”

“And how are you so sure of that?”

“Don't think you won, it's mandatory this year, so yes, I will see you on Saturday, Dazai.”

“HUH?!”

He was happy that he at least didn't need to really improvise with the present. Every year there's a lottery on who buys who a present, Dazai was in it every year even if he wasn't at the parties. The presents were mandatory unlike the party, you just needed to leave the present under the tree so it could be given to the person you got, Dazai always found his present in front of his door on that day he will deny the smile he gets at that for the rest of his life.

He got Ranpo this year, and as classic as that was, sweets were the best present for that guy's sweet tooth, and he knew the shorter detective wouldn't complain. What he didn’t know was why Fukuzawa made the social event a must-attend this year. At the past parties, he was perfectly fine not to show up as long as he left the present before the gathering, which he did every year, so why was this year any different?

He got to the agency building shortly after and walked up the stairs, wanting to get the whole socializing thing over with for the day already. He normally wouldn’t mind being at the party that much, but it was a problem this year since it meant he couldn’t be spending the time with you until he was let out. He tried to get Fukuzawa to agree to let you come since you don’t work at the agency and the whole event is for the workers (and otherwise you're gonna be alone until he comes back), but surprisingly for the brunette, the older man didn’t agree to it as the younger one expected, he did agree to let Dazai leave earlier than the rest though.

Naturally, he was the last person to arrive.

“You sorry-waste of good bandages! Where the hell have you been?!”

“Oh? I was just spending my time with my sweet s/o! Something you don’t have at the moment, ku-ni-ki-da-kun~”

“That’s it! You’re going out the window!”

“Already?!”

“Kunikida-san no!”

Atsushi tried to save him and for once succeeded, he’s gotta buy the younger boy some tea on rice soon with his partner's money but who’s to say that?

When he first opened the door to the office, everything looked the same as it did every other year for the most part, and as expected, that’s why he absolutely did not expect the door to the agency to open half an hour into the party. He knew that everyone who was meant to be there was present already, from the main agency members to clerks who didn’t have anyone to spend Christmas with.

So he couldn’t exactly comprehend what was happening when his dear Belladonna appeared at the agency’s entrance.

“Bella! What are you doing here? Not that I’m complaining at seeing your pretty face but I got told you can’t come.”

“And you believed that Fukuzawa-san wouldn’t let me come?”

“...Now that you mention it… it was dumb of me to think that Boss wouldn’t let you come here...”

“At least the surprise was a success.”

“What?!”

That’s when he realized everything. The party being mandatory? You got Fukuzawa to do that. The fact that he couldn’t stay home even tho he has a significant other? Your fault. The party having more decorations done than in other years? You, once again.

“You’re cruel, bella.”

“Why?”

“I thought I wouldn’t be able to spend the day with you :(“

“Oh, love, I’m sorry for that.”

“You’re gonna have to make up for it.”

“Is getting you 5 presents not enough?”

“Not at all! I’m demanding you to add cuddles and kisses to the present bundle, darlin’.”

Why were you laughing when he was serious!? He wanted his daily kisses and the whole affection package! The brunette also had to figure out why you bought five presents for him instead of one, but that’s for later.

“Hey, lovebirds! It’s time to open the presents!”

“Yeah! Ranpo-san is, quite literally, being physically restrained from opening his present…”

On second thought, maybe he actually had missed out on some fun opportunities to tease his friends by not attending the previous parties.

---------------------

His question on whether telling you about everything was a good idea or not? Let's just say he got his answer to his questions after that day ;)

ཐིཋྀ He didn't realize that telling you about how he never celebrated not only because of his past before the sheep, then the whole sheep organization where they just had no way of celebrating it in the slums with their situation, so the only times he did were those few with Dazai under a small Christmas tree, would make you sad😭

ཐིཋྀ Of course, there was the Christmas party that the Port Mafia throws a few days before Christmas every year, but it isn’t really celebrating it in Chuuya’s eyes.

ཐིཋྀ Since Dazai left the only Christmas thing he did (besides the PM party) was exchange presents with Kouyou and the Akutagawa’s with a small dinner at someone’s place, even though none of them decorated their place for that.

ཐིཋྀ He thought it’s gonna stay at that, the only difference being that you joined them this year… turned out he was wrong. Very wrong.

---------------------

His place was decorated all over once December came (you did way more than you normally do for Christmas just to make his place colorful), but he didn't regret saying yes when you asked if you could do that, because for once his home gave the vibes of Christmas.

Christmas lights, an actual Christmas tree, not like the one he had till 18, small decorations around the house like some garden dwarfs or gnomes that had Christmas outfits, table or dresser decorations (was that a miniature reindeer on the table in front of the TV?) or other small decorations. It brought a smile to the ginger’s face every time he came home for the whole month. 

His plans went downhill when he asked others about the annual dinner. Kouyou was being sent to Europe for a few days, to maybe even 2 weeks, and the Akutagawa siblings had things to do as well. Gin has been assigned multiple missions close to each other and in different cities, making it so she wouldn't be able to be at home for the entirety of Christmas, while Ryuunosuke had not only missions but his training intensified for some reason. Chuuya was sure that something happened to Mori lately and now he’s taking it out on his subordinates.

That’s exactly why he didn’t expect to come back home just to see the trio he always spends Christmas with at his house. All three of them, Kouyou, Ryuu, and Gin told him that they were assigned missions on Christmas and unfortunately wouldn't be able to have dinner that day, that the nearest date they could, would be a few days after Christmas. Yet, they were at his house, the siblings sitting at his kitchen island-

“Do you think that my idea was good?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Ryuu I’m asking for an actual answer.”

“And I’m answering honestly.”

-while his sister figure and his beloved s/o were making goddamn cookies he’s ignoring they were his favourites.

“I’m really not sure about that last ingredient, dear.”

“Trust me Kouyou-san, I always add it.”

“And it tastes good?”

“You always compliment my cookies, no?”

“Very well, I shall allow my worries to fade away.”

“What’s with the sudden Shakespearean wording?”

“I just felt like it.”

As if he wasn’t surprised enough, there were more people. Tachihara whom he wasn’t the closest with, only exchanged some words here and there, could be seen trying to eat one of the cookies fresh out of the oven (Chuuya tried not to laugh when he let out a silent scream due to his tongue being burnt).

“Are you alright?”

“No, it hurts :(“

“You kill people and you want to cry over a slightly burnt tongue?”

“Shut up Gin, it really hurts!”

He has absolutely no idea how you got Elise in here without Mori in the house he was like 95% sure the older man was hiding somewhere in a closet.

“What is it, Elise?”

“I was about to steal a cookie but then I saw Tachihara and decided I won’t.”

“Good decision.”

He could see Hirotsu making tea on the side, the man had been at one of the trio’s dinners before so the old man wasn’t a big surprise-

“May I ask if you guys have any green tea?”

“Yeah, we have some in the cabinet on the far left, middle shelf.” “Thank you- Oh it’s my favorite brand of green tea.”

-And WAS THAT VERLAINE?! He was so confused about how you got the guy out of the PM basement

“Is the tea that good if it’s your favorite?”

“Yes, I have tried many brands yet none of them have come even close to beating this one.” “Hmm… could you make me one cup of it? I would like to try it.” “Of course, no problem.”

“CHUUYA!”

And then he was noticed.

He really didn’t mind the surprise as much as the others thought, it was a nice one. 

–

“We’re sorry for lying Chuuya-san!”

“I was forced into it.”

“No, you were not.”

“I really don’t mind, you two.”

–

“I hope the cookies came out well, [Name] had let me do most of the baking so I’m hoping that I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“It was your first time baking this recipe, it’s normal to do something wrong, Ane-san.”

–

“How’s the tongue?”

“You saw that?!”

“Yeah… So?”

“... It still hurts.”

–

“What are you doing here, midget?”

“I made a deal with [Name]. They let me be here with all of you and in exchange I get Rintaro to give you a day off.”

“Oh.”

He was already making plans in his head for that.

–

“You like green tea?”

“Yes, I do, Hirotsu-san”

“We shall have tea-drinking meetings.”

“I already have them with Ane-san.”

“I don’t care, Chuuya-san”

–

“Didn’t know you knew that world outside of the basement existed.”

“Shut, you little shit.”

–

“Chuu, you’re smiling.”

“No, I’m not!”

And yes, he’s gonna deny the smile that appeared on his face forever.

Notes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated

Masterlist

@sukiischaotic

[terresdebrume]

People have expressed interest and my brain is desperate for a reason to procrastinate on the couch so there we go

"So what do I call you?" Crystal asks ot the end of her first day with the men who were hired to kill her.

She doesn't remember a lot from before they exorcised the demon who'd taken over her, and nothing from before that happened. She thinks there was thievery involved, hopefully the non violent kind, but it's all too blurry to tell. Like she'd been possessed by a shy demon, somehow.

"You heard our name," the wizard says.

He sounds as prickly as he did when Crystal first woke up, vaguely grateful to remember at least her name. Irritatingly straight backed, tightly wrapped into greenish-gray wizard robes with a high collar, gloved hands pressed together into fists. Crystal would have an easier time forgiving him all that if he hadn't told his colleague that he wasn't allowed to keep her, like she's a stray dog or something.

"I'm not going to call you 'Mr. Payne' forever," Crystal protests.

"Of course not," Mr. Payne replies, sounding scandalized. "You'll be gone long before then."

"Well, we can't really know that for sure, can we Mr. Payne?" Says Mr. Rowland.

Crystal can't quite tell if he's a soldier or a thief or some combination of the two. He's wearing maroon leather armor over a vivid red shirt that might have cost a little fortune to dye. He's lounging around the campfire, opposite Mr. Pain, and using one of his numerous daggers to whittle what looks like a little bear out of pale wood.

His hands pause in their movement when he turns to look at Crystal, pointing at her with the tip of the dagger:

"You sound nothing like the people for around here, for one," he says. "You clothes are completely wrong for the season, and we haven't heard anything about a girl going missing."

"Where is here, anyway?" Crystal asks, past the knot clawing at her throat. "Because it fucking sucks."

Mr. Payne clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes at the proclamation, but Mr. Rowland only chuckles. Crystal is right, anyway. There's nothing around but grass, grass and more grass, the occasional gaggle of sheep, and a forest on the horizon that's been covered in mist the whole day through.

"This," Mr. Payne says primly, "is the north of Hilarion. The nearest village about three days to the south of where we are, by foot, and if the environment is not to your convenience, you are very welcome to find transportation to wherever you came from by yourself."

"Easy, Mr. Payne. She's just a girl."

Mr. Payne shuts up, visibly irritated.

"Right," he says, brusquely getting to his feet. "I suppose it is time to bring out the agency. If you please."

He extends a hand, and Crystal watches Mr. Rowland hand him a piece of string, a fork, some fleece, and a pinch of lavender which Mr. Payne clicks his tongue at and immediately discards. Then he steps away from the fire, and starts drawing runes in the dirt.

"Don't mind him too much," Mr. Rowland says. "He's a good sort of chap. He's just not so good at showing it."

Crystal stares at him, skeptical, and he smiles. It doesn't last long, though: eventually, his face sobers up and his voice lowers as he adds:

"Besides, your case is turning rather more complicated than we expected it to be. That you aren't from here is one thing, demons rarely stay in place once they possessed someone... But the man who hired us specifically asked for you to be put down. Now we have to figure out how aware he was of your situation. If he knew, then the whole thing goes from a muck up to a potential assassination with us as its instrument, and that changes things."

"How?" Crystal asks, mostly so she doesn't have to think about the fact that someone might genuinely have wanted her dead.

"For one, it might force us to engage with law enforcement," Mr. Payne calls out over his shoulder. "Something we generally avoid."

He stands up again, wiping his hands, and Crystal notices the square wooden door standing behind him, where there was only empty air before.

"Come on," Mr. Rowland says, getting to his feet in one impossibly fluid motion, "let's have this conversation inside."

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

The Shadow Falcon | Knives in Darkness

please i need more of the complicated world of shadow falcon 🫣- anon

I really liked The Shadow Falcon, but as someone who really loved the Remus chapters at the end of Little Prince, I was wondering if there's any chance of that here too Also, what is Janus' part of this, considering Logan seems to be the main caretaker this time around -🇵🇱

Read on Ao3 Part 1 Part 2

Warnings: implied/referenced torture, implied/referenced major character death

Pairings: intrulogical, anxcietmus

Word Count: 4739

"You need to let me talk to HQ."

"And why the fuck would we do that?"

Roman sighs, wincing as he sits up a little more in bed. Remus adjusts the tray over his lap as Logan puts a few more pillows up behind him. He shuffles through his hand and plays another card. "Because the longer it takes them to find me, the more likely it is that when they do, they're not going to believe me when I say it's not worth attacking the building I'm in to get me back."

Logan lets out a small noise that's probably meant to be something of a scoff. "Not to insult the abilities of your esteemed colleagues—"

"Cut the bullshit. You and I both know that if it actually came down to an open firefight, you're not winning. There's a reason you've been stockpiling in the eastern quarter—yeah, we know about that, and I'm telling you this now because you're the one who actually has the power to make this not go the worst way possible," Roman says sharply when Logan's gaze darkens, "so how about we all pretend that I'm not just a hostage and talk about this?"

He glances over and sees Remus's surprised expression and raises an eyebrow. Remus shakes his head. "Nothing, nothing, I just…what happened to the boy who was always so eager to do whatever the instructors wanted?"

"Someone killed my brother."

"…yeah, that'll do it," he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Okay, but we're not—you reacted this way to finding out I'm still alive, how the fuck is everyone else going to react? How're they gonna believe you?"

"They will."

"They didn't last time," Logan says in a voice far too gentle to be anything other than devastating. Roman shifts with the bruises.

"Yeah, well, that was before I became the Agency's leading expert on hallucinogens and body doubles."

"…and how the fuck did you do that?" Roman doesn't even dignify that with a response, just turning and looking at Remus. "I'm a little scared of you right now."

"However impressive your credentials may be," Logan breaks in, "that doesn't exactly offer me any incentive to return you to their clutches, nor reveal anything about my own operations."

"Which is why I'm not asking you to do that. I'm asking you to let me contact HQ. You can monitor everything I say, you can even say it for me if you want to, but the longer they go without hearing from me, the harder this gets."

"And what would 'this' be?"

Roman stares at Logan for a long second before glancing at Remus. "The Agency's changed a lot more than either of you realize. We don't let our people go anymore. We don't just give up on them if they're presumed dead. We confirm it or we get them the fuck back."

"Also, since when have you started swearing more?"

"Since you put me on the good painkillers and I'm getting really tired of the bullshit."

"You mentioned." Logan looks both mildly amused and mildly irritated by how little Remus seems to care that he's mouthing off and making trouble—then again, that was always Remus's MO, he's probably thrilled that Roman's coming around to it, and doesn't that just tug on the heartstrings just a little more? "So your proposition is that if you communicate something along the lines of: 'alive, don't send out the cavalry,' this will buy you time to…what?"

"Well, if I send out something like: 'alive, relatively safe location, will move when recovered enough,' that buys you time to figure out what you want to do with me."

"I thought we were past treating you as though you were just a hostage."

"Just a hostage I may not be, but still your hostage? Yeah, very much so." Remus curses at him under his breath when he plays another card. "I'm not about to pretend I have more leverage than I do, which I don't. But I'm also not just going to let you think that nothing's going to happen if you keep me here without letting me tell them I'm alive."

"You seem awfully assured about the Agency's desire to keep you for someone who was horribly betrayed by them not ten years ago."

"I don't know how many times I have to tell you that it's different now before you believe me—"

"Are you gonna be the only one happy I'm alive," Remus interrupts, his voice far too small and scared for Roman's liking, "or not?"

Roman's mouth freezes halfway through whatever he was going to say next. He turns to look at Remus and yes, there it is—his shoulders are just a little too tense, his gaze focused a little too intently on the cards. He glances up at Roman and can't hold eye contact.

"Re," he mumbles, not caring a bit that he's still playing all of his emotions out clear as day for Logan fucking Hoskins, "if you think I was the only one ruined by your death, you're wrong."

Remus huffs in disbelief. "You're my brother."

"Yeah, which means I'm the one who—" don't get stuck there, don't get stuck there, don't get stuck there— "which means it affected me the most, but Re—oh my god, you don't know."

"Know what?"

Roman can't speak. He's can't say a fucking word because his hands are over his mouth and his eyes are wide and tears are streaming down his cheeks. He can't think about it. He can't talk about it. He can't—he can't—oh, God—

"Ro? Ro," Remus is saying, insistently now, the tray in his lap is gone, his hands are tugging at Roman's, trying to get them away from his face, "Roro, don't do that, don't—it's okay, just—just tell me what's going on—"

"Roman," Logan says, his voice gentle, too gentle, hands too kind as they try and smooth his hair back from his face, "you need to breathe. Take a breath, now, shh, don't try and speak just yet."

He can't. He's too busy reaching out for Remus, wrapping his hands too tightly in his hair and pulling him close, panting breaths shuddering into the crook of his neck as Remus flails awkwardly for somewhere to put his weight that won't fuck up Roman's ribs. Logan's hand is on his shoulder, the other probably somewhere on Remus but he doesn't care, can't care, not when he's pressing against Remus's pulse for everything he has and reminding himself that his brother is, after all, alive.

"Ro," Remus murmurs after god knows how long they spend like that, "Ro…what don't I know?

***

Psychological Findings and Progress Report #103826.89.2

Patient shows no sign of improvement. Patient is still insisting on feeding delusions involving conspiracies that [REDACTED] is still alive and that his body was a hoax created to test a new bioweapon. Patient shows high levels of stress and hysteria when challenged on this belief. Patient harmed three orderlies and threatened to 'burn this place to the ground before [he lets] something like this happen again!' Patient is being sent for more intensive treatment.

Addendum: patient is being quarantined for his own safety and the safety of other recruits. He has begun attempting to persuade others of the truth of his delusions. Further close monitoring will be required.

Addendum: patient has successfully convinced three other individuals. Patient has been restricted to solitary confinement.

Addendum: we need to do something now. He's getting out of control.

***

Post-Mission Injury Summary #12532985.43.8

Survivors underwent approximately ten weeks of physical and psychological torture. Initial review shows broken bones, bruises, lacerations consistent with training blades and real blades alike, and signs of severe medication withdrawal. One subject appears to have been waterboarded, another shows mild signs of hypoxia indicating suffocation.

Patient 161891435 is still in a medically-induced coma. It's unclear whether his body will continue trying to heal itself. At this time, we cannot draw any firm conclusions as to why, but one of the doctors thinks it might be due to the fact that we have no idea what truly happened to his brother.

***

Transcript from Interview #57

"Thank you for agreeing to this."

"Sure."

"Can you describe for me what you remember about the day you were taken?"

"Yeah. Uh, Princey—Roman was supposed to be coming back from training. He was half an hour late—I don't know if you know this about Roman, but he's not really the 'come back' late sort of person. We gave him the full hour to see if maybe he'd been called away to something else and just forgotten to message us—

"Could you clarify who 'us' is for the record?"

"Oh, yeah. Uh—me, I'm his training partner right now, Janus is our group instructor at the moment, and then Patton's overseeing our whole division. We were waiting for Roman to get back 'cause we had a, um, meeting thing we were going to do—"

"I'm going to remind you that this isn't a disciplinary hearing and it's important to be honest."

"Fine, yeah, we were gonna talk about the shitty stuff happening in the Agency, is that what you want to hear?"

"Is it true?"

"Considering what we just got tortured for, yeah, I think I can say it's fucking true and that we were fucking right. Actually, no, fuck that, Roman was fucking right and you can tell that to his face when he wakes up."

"There's been no change in Roman's condition, I regret to inform you."

"Oh, he's gonna wake up."

"Can I ask what makes you so sure?"

"'Cause we still don't know what actually happened to Remus, even now that the fucker who did this to us—all of us, might I add, you got fucked over by this too—is behind bars, and if you think Roman's gonna leave that job unfinished, you don't know him at all."

"You sound like you might admire him for that."

"If you're not a little scared of Roman right now? You're an idiot and you fucking should be. Someone took away his brother."

***

An Open Letter

To the people who don't know, my sincere apologies for the rude awakening you are about to receive. If there were a gentler way to do this, a more compassionate way to do this, even a slightly easier way to do this, I can promise you I would be taking it. But the very thing I am attempting to fight against would silence my words before you knew I had opened my mouth, and so I cannot afford to be gentle.

To the people who do know, know that your days at this Agency are numbered.

You enabled a power-hungry megalomaniac to manipulate and abuse a system designed to keep vulnerable people safe. You allowed him access to data that could destroy the world and limitless capabilities to affect it as he saw fit. You willingly turned a blind eye to those who were suffering and suppressed their voices when they tried to fix it. And now, when his crimes have been exposed and it's your own heads on the chopping block, you scramble to hold on to any semblance of power you thought you once had.

At midnight, the dossiers will be released. They will be made available to Level 0 clearance. There is nothing you can do to stop them and any action on your part to attempt to do so will be treated as treason of the highest order. You have until then to decide how you want your stories to end.

You will not force me out of this Agency. You will not silence me nor the others who have spoken up against the unfairness enabled by you and perpetuated by the system you helped to create. You will not preserve this horrific brutality and you will not get away with this again.

You know that I'm not alone. You know that there's no way you can win this. Your best option right now? Help us be better. You know it's possible because there's no other reason you would be so foolish as to try something like forcing us out. And because of that, we're willing to put our names on here, so if you try and come for us again? You'll find out why he wanted us dead so badly.

The clock is ticking. Your time is running out.

Signed,

Patton Everlark, Janus Russo, Virgil Dagenheart, Roman Prince

***

"Remus," Logan coaxes for the fifth hour in a row, "Remus, you need to sleep."

"He got tortured for me, Lolo," Remus responds in a hoarse croak, the same way he has over and over, his hands still white-knuckled around Roman's shirt and blankets, "he and the others—they almost killed them for me and I—I didn't—they don't—I—"

Logan crosses the room and sits down next to him, covering Remus's hands with his own. He doesn't attempt to make him let go. He rests his head on Remus's shoulder. Remus takes a shuddering breath and shrinks under him, so much so that Logan quickly shifts his arms to wrap around Remus's waist to keep him upright. He kisses his cheek.

"Talk to me, dear," he whispers, "please."

"Every time," he manages, "every time I think I know what happened, he tells me something else and I—I keep thinking about what might've happened if I'd just—"

He shakes his head suddenly.

"I know I can't think about it like that, but he—fuck, Lolo, he's—how did I ever think this would be easy?"

"I don't think you ever did," Logan says softly, "I think we both knew the moment you saw Roman again, it wouldn't be easy."

"Yeah, because I was trying to wrap my head around the fact that I'd have to kill my brother, not—not whatever this is." He leans against Logan's chest. "I don't know if I can do this anymore, Logan."

Logan hums, rocking them slightly back and forth. "So you believe him, then?"

"Why the fuck wouldn't I believe him?" He twists around to stare at him. "What incentive does he have to lie to me right now?"

"It splits our attention between finding out his supposed truth about the Agency with our goal to take it down. It splits your focus and emotionally compromises you. And it drives a wedge between you and me." He presses his hands gently against Remus's stomach. "And that's not saying what it means for the rest of our operation."

"Roman wouldn't do something like that," Remus says, but his voice is wavering, "he wouldn't."

"And you believe he would willingly rebel against everything he's ever known just on the off-chance that he was right? Is he that confident in himself?"

Remus looks back at Roman, asleep in the bed. His chest rises and falls steadily. His hands twitch.

"Believe me," Logan continues, his words tinged with something almost like remorse, "I want to believe him. If what Roman's saying about the Agency is true, then there's a greater chance that we could reach an agreement without an unnecessary amount of bloodshed. But, Remus, if we're wrong—"

"Are you jealous or something?"

Logan startles into silence. "What?"

"Are you jealous that I care this much about Roman? Is that what this is? Are you actively trying to undermine how much I care about my brother right now?"

A chuckle rumbles through his back. "Do I seem like the type to be threatened by such a thing?"

"I don't know, you're trying really hard to convince me not to listen to my brother right now and I'm not exactly sure what motive you have other than, oh, I don't know, you don't like that I'm paying this much attention to him."

"It's your brother, of course you're paying a lot of attention to him." Logan holds him a little closer. "And he knows that too."

There's a pause. The sudden quiet in the room makes the slight rasp in Roman's breathing all the more obvious. Remus slowly frees one of his hands and adjusts the blanket so it covers Roman's shoulder. Logan doesn't say anything. The heating in the room kicks on. Somewhere outside a car drives by.

"Stick to the plan, then?"

Logan nods. "If Roman is telling the truth, then things will be much easier."

Remus swallows heavily. "And if he isn't?"

"Then we'll be prepared."

"So are we gonna let him talk to HQ, then?"

"We will, yes, but it will be on our terms."

"We won't hurt him," Remus says suddenly, his voice small and quiet again in that way he hates, "we won't—we won't hurt him unless we have to, right?"

Logan shifts, letting his grip slide loose just enough to cradle Remus's chin. Remus's eyes are wide and watery, his hands beginning to tremble ever so slightly. Logan kisses his cheek gently, then his forehead, closing his eyes and letting them rest together.

"Not unless we have to," he agrees, "and I would never make you do it."

Remus's breath shudders out of him and he sags into Logan's hold. His grip loosens slightly on Roman's shirt as Logan tucks his head under his chin. As Remus begins to doze, his eyes trace the lines of Romans' sleeping face.

"The two of you do look remarkably similar when you sleep," he muses in a voice too quiet for Remus to properly make out, "but there will always be little differences here and there."

Such is the reality of growing up believing your brother would leave you for dead. Such is the price to pay for misunderstanding.

***

They meet in a warehouse. Not terribly original, not terribly secure, but necessary. Roman sits in a chair, mobile enough to make it there but not to stand and pace the way he desperately wants too. He feels every bit the hostage still, even though he knows that this meeting is on as equal footing as they could manage.

He still wishes Remus could've heard the disbelief in Virgil's voice. Wishes he could've heard the hope that he might be able to see him again. Even the hope that Roman might be wrong and that this horrible thing that happened might be a little less horrible because it would mean they didn't abandon one of their own too early.

But in a few minutes, Virgil's going to be here. He's going to be here and Remus is going to see that he was never forgotten, never abandoned, that they tore down and remade the world so that there would never be another like him, not that there ever could, because he's Remus and he was theirs and nothing could ever happen for the rest of time that would change that. Ever.

"You're anxious," comes Logan's soft voice—no, he's still not over that, not when it rasps unfamiliarly at his skin— "try and relax."

He turns his head to snap that he'll be as tense as he wants, thank you very much, only to see that Logan isn't talking to him, he's talking to Remus. Remus stops short like he's been caught with his hand in the cookie jar and only whirls around to pace in another direction. Logan rolls his eyes fondly and relaxes into the other chair, shooting Roman a look like they're about to bond over how stubborn Remus can be.

"What?"

"Oh, don't give me that, little hero, you have the same pinched expression on your face right now. Don't try and pretend you wouldn't be doing the same thing if you could pace right now."

"I'm not going to answer that question on the grounds that I don't want to."

"Mm, and would such a defense hold up in any meaningful court room?"

"Funny, I wasn't sure you knew what those were, since you're in the habit of getting yourself into the most kangaroo-laden courts you can find."

"It's less fun when they have actual kangaroos," Remus adds, because he's Remus and that's what he does, "trust me."

"You know what? I'm gonna take your word on that one."

He doesn't quite see the small flinch as Remus hears him say that, but something in his brain just clicks. The same one that had him look at that corpse—don't get stuck there, don't get stuck there, don't get stuck there—just a little bit closer.

"Re—"

"They're here," Logan says abruptly, looking down at his phone, "their car just pulled up."

Remus pivots abruptly, facing the entrance. The three of them wait in silence as the door slowly slides open and—

"Holy fucking shit."

Remus freezes. "Virgil? Is that—"

"Yeah, it's fucking me, you think I was gonna find out you were alive and not race down here to see you? Holy fucking shit, Remus, you're—you're—oh my fucking god—"

And then there's a hand wrapping around Virgil's shoulder and holding him still as Janus walks in behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Remus stand up a little taller and he can't help the small smile that crosses his face at the same instincts that come over him. Even now, some part of them is still the little kids standing at the edge of the training mats waiting for instructions.

"The course objectives for the round-off qualifiers," Janus says smoothly, like they're back on those mats again, "what are they?"

He sees a truly impressive range of emotions cross Remus's face, from surprise to fury to something he can't quite name—something else in his brain clicks—before settling on a wide grin. "Go fuck yourself, old man, or sit back and watch."

There's a pause. Then Janus sniffles and there's a very quiet oh, sweetie, and two people are dashing across the warehouse floor to wrap Remus up in their arms. Roman can't stop beaming at Remus's confused little face, nor at the way his knees go weak as Janus presses a fierce kiss to the side of his head. He always denied that he was capable of that, after all, but oh, now he's just a little pissed that Remus fucked up his ribs so bad because he wants to be in that hug too, dammit.

"I'm so fucking sorry, Remus," Virgil's babbling, "we didn't—we didn't believe Roman until it was too late and we—they got us, I couldn't—I tried—"

"You tried?"

"Of course we tried, sweetie," Janus murmurs when Virgil just chokes off in a sob, "we were—I don't think I could ever put into words how furious we were when we realized—when Roman convinced us that he was telling the truth—"

"Which was hard," Roman adds, not above it in this moment, not right now, not when his face hurts from grinning too much, and not when Janus is so distracted he doesn't even get scolded for it.

"—but you have to know, sweetie, we moved Heaven and earth to try and find you afterwards." His gaze slides to Logan for only a moment. "I should've known you'd be resourceful enough to make it."

"Of course you should," Remus says with enough false bravado that Roman almost believes him for a second, "I've always been better than you thought I was."

"Oh, sweetie, no—"

"You've always been his favorite," Virgil interrupts, "it's really fucking obvious."

"True."

"Wait, what?"

"I don't have favorites, you two."

"He says, you know, like a liar."

"Mhm."

"Wait," poor Remus says, and fuck Roman wants to hug his brother right now, "wait, I'm—I was—"

Janus softens—see? Favorite—and cups Remus's face properly in his hands, letting Virgil move over to Roman to check that he's alright—which is not the priority right now, but he does appreciate it. "Sweetie, if you don't know how much you were loved, then we've failed more miserably than I thought we ever did."

"He thought you abandoned him," Logan says softly when Remus can't speak, and Janus's head whips around to stare at him, "he thought you were willing to believe he was dead because it was easier."

"Bullshit," Virgil spits, "Remus, that's bullshit, right?"

But Roman's already been through this, and he can only grab for Virgil's hand when Remus suddenly stops being able to make eye contact. Janus looks like he's about to cry again—which is its own level of fucking weird as hell—and Virgil just rushes back over to wrap him up in a hug. The three of them start mumbling together and Logan's expression just softens further as he watches them interact.

Eventually, they step back, wiping away tears with varying levels of discreteness—or in Remus's case, refusing to wipe them at all. Janus attempts to gather himself and looks at Logan.

"I'm no fool. I know this meeting is conditional. State your terms."

"I won't be so brutish as to insist upon such haggling right now," Logan says, "perhaps you should take this as a token of good faith between us."

"Your last 'token of good faith' involved a hundred suitcases stuffed with half-bloated corpses showing up on the City's doorstep. Try again."

"Why the animosity?" He leans back in his chair. "Have I not earned myself any goodwill at all?"

There's a silent stare-down for a few seconds. Then Logan sighs.

"I suppose it was too much to hope that you would be reasonable right away." He stands, adjusting his suit jacket. "Remus, Roman, I believe our time here is up."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Virgil steps between them. "What the fuck do you mean, 'Roman?' Roman's not going anywhere with you!"

Logan just turns and looks at Roman. And Roman…

…is torn. Because he knows the smart thing would be to go back with Janus and Virgil. Logan is right, this isn't the time or place for this negotiation and if they all have time to rest and recover—mainly him—then the next time they actually meet, they might have a chance at actually getting somewhere. Plus, now he knows that Remus is alive and safe, then he might be able to rest at the end of all of this.

But walking away from his brother? Again? That might just finish the both of them off.

"Before you go," Virgil blurts out, "can—can Patton see you first?"

Remus's head whips around. "Patton's here?"

"Yeah, Patton's here, he—fuck, Remus, yeah, he's here. Can he just—before we do anything else? Can he?"

Remus just nods silently and Virgil steps back, muttering into his comm. He glances back at the door and the whole building waits silently.

Patton steps inside and three things happen in quick succession.

One: Patton bursts into tears and starts running forward.

Two: there's an almost imperceptible schink as something metallic slides into place.

Three: Roman lunges up out of his seat and tackles Logan's chair to the ground as he pulls out a gun.

His ribs scream in protest. He ignores it. The gunshot goes wide. Footsteps and shouts come from outside. Someone is yelling. He gets up and picks up the chair, throwing it at Logan. Janus and Virgil are already shouting. Patton's still running toward them. He looks up at Remus.

Shock. Surprise.

The thing he couldn't name before: guilt.

They make eye contact.

He's never been more grateful that Remus is his brother.

He hauls himself to his feet and starts running.

***

"Well," Logan sighs as he hears the four of them have gotten away, "that didn't go precisely as expected, but—"

"You lied to me."

Remus's back is one angry line. His hands are curled into fists.

"You lied to me."

"Remus—"

"You said we wouldn't hurt him unless we had to. You said this would just be a meeting. You lied."

Logan doesn't say anything. Remus just looks off in the direction Roman had run. Because Roman had taken one look at Remus and been able to tell that Remus might have known something, but he hadn't known and hadn't agreed with what just happened.

Roman hasn't abandoned him. He never had.

And neither had the others.

"…what have we done?"

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[something-about-sunflowers]

I kinda feel like too many people aren't looking at the whole picture with Guillermo and Nandor/his family this season?

Guillermo knows, to a certain extent, that it's hurting Nandor that he's avoiding him. He just can't not avoid him because of the whole 'secretly turned by another vampire and Nandor will have to kill him then himself for the sake of his bruised honor/ego' thing.

Guillermo is also hurting though. His attempt to take some agency for himself by actively pursuing something he's wanted since before he even met Nandor has massively backfired on him in every possible way he couldn't even begin to expect. He didn't know he'd have a Weird Transformation. He didn't know there was some taboo for having another vampire turn him as Nandor's familiar (and he's not actually Nandor's familiar anymore anyway, technically, they're all just dumb and forgot that fact). He, comparatively, only recently found out about the whole Van Helsing thing and that his family can't control themselves around vampires (though I feel like it probably will be different with their Memo, if we're being honest), so he very likely thought for most of his time waiting for Nandor to turn him that he'd still be able to see them occasionally and get/give closure over a longer period of time before he had to stop seeing them when it became obvious he wasn't aging like they were.

He does care about his mom, yall, did you miss him breaking down in the elevator or were you just distracted by him breaking the hand-rail? He's just been very preoccupied with a whole lot of drama (Which he complained about! He told Nandor how upset he was that the wedding and Baby Colin were keeping him too busy to see his family! The end of season 4 was days before the start of season 5.) and an extreme life change. He's an adult. That kind of shit happens when you're an adult (granted, his situation is significantly more fantastical given the whole vampires thing but still). Sometimes you get caught up in your adult life and you miss your mom's birthday. Sometimes you make a big life change that you think is what's best for you and it means you won't be able to be as close to your family. Yes. It's selfish of him - to an extent - but for fuck's sake you can't live your life for other people, even - especially, in some cases - if those people are your family. I'm kind of appalled at people saying that he's deserving to feel bad and rejected because he made a choice for himself. Do you think his mom is blaming him as harshly as some of you are? No! The first thing she asked him was 'are you happy with this change?' She cares about her son's happiness. He's not entirely in the right but fuck do yall know how to do anything but swing hard in the other direction? There's grey areas! All in the middle! Right there, look!!

And then on top of him already being extremely emotionally compromised from reckoning with having to leave his family behind, on top of the already 'emotionally difficult' avoiding Nandor for both of their sakes, he gets another big rejection in his own home from the people he cares most about. I don't know if Nandor noticed that his rejection hurt Guillermo. He's dumb but I really don't know if he's that dumb. He's been able to recognize in the past when he's hurt Guillermo so I don't see why he couldn't now. Are yall gonna blame Memo for feeling bad if Nandor decides to do something to try and win him back or cheer him up? Or if Nandor is upset/worried about having hurt Guillermo?

I don't really know where I'm going with this anymore lmao. My point is: Yes, Guillermo's choice is hurting people but it's also hurting him and he's been hurt for a while now and hurt people hurt people (which is why Nandor lashed out too!) so cut him a little bit of slack maybe? He didn't do anything to intentionally hurt anyone he just wanted to take some agency back for himself that he's been missing for like. Ten. Thirteen years or so now.