#now i just need to not check out of work until then

[blauequuleus]

@snow-leopard-777

I am gonna run with this idea for a bit

Tim has a new obsession

Or maybe it would be considered a project?

Either way Tim has found a new fascination in one Danny Fenton

A Danny Fenton who had now been living in the 33rd floor men’s bathroom for about 4 months now. It was a bathroom located, seemingly forgotten, in the back of an old unused office/storage area, that hadn’t been occupied by a team for about 3 years now.

With Tim having only found out about Danny after he’d been living there for, as Tim estimated, about a month

Now normally this would have been a cause of alarm for Tim to find out an unknown person had taken up residence just one floor above some of their more sensitive projects.

And it was alarming, until Tim started to dig for information about Wayne Enterprises’ new tenant.

And what little he found he did not like

But that was also the main point of Tim’s new fixation …the fact that he found such little information about Danny and his background

Now not to toot his own horn but Tim knows he can find information and dirt on anyone. Give him a computer, some wi-fi and 5 minutes and he could find information that could possibly crumble governments in the same time span.

But Danny was turning out to be a very frustrating yet fascinating case

Because Tim kept only finding more questions than answers about the guy and where he’s from

His, what was supposed to be quick, look into his new neighbor turned into a rabbit hole of government conspiracies and coverups. A whole town that seemingly doesn’t exist anymore but with active but empty online profiles claiming to be from there, a heavily encrypted recent tax record of the city and also a census that was mostly redacted. Not to mention there being some billionaire mixed up in there too.

What had really made Tim pause was some possible evidence of human experimentation by a shady government branch and a bounty for Danny placed by the same governmental branch Tim had never heard of nor could he find much information on. Which Tim would bet all his WE stock on were connected

Needless to say Tim’s new project had him deeply fascinated and slightly horrified that the Justice League had missed something as big as this.

So Tim after keeping an eye on Danny for a bit and realizing he wasn’t doing anything other than using the bathroom as a temporary home, lets him stay. With Tim keeping an unknown eye on him just in case.

Cause other than the new can of worms with Danny’s background check, Tim was also curious about the guy himself.

He was interested to figure out how Danny had managed to bypass all their security measures. Because WE’s security system was nothing to sneeze at. Heck just last week and alarm had gone off cause a fly had gotten into a restricted area.

Yet somehow this guy about Tim’s age had not only managed to get into the building, he’d set up a bedroom for himself and was able to keep coming and going undetected.

Obviously some kind of meta or possibly alien but Tim knew they had security systems in place to detect those kinds of things. So the fact Danny ignored all of that was very interesting.

Unfortunately it all came crashing down a bit when in a routine maintenance Danny’s little place was discovered.

Tim had been doing some work in his lesser known office he has when he just needs to get work done without interruptions, it’s on a more empty floor and is “coincidentally” one floor above Danny’s little apartment. But suddenly after some commotion he looks up to see the new object of his investigative obsession running towards his open door looking panicked and asking to hide him.

And who is Tim to turn down this golden opportunity of Danny coming to him instead of Tim having to figure out a way to approach him without scaring him off.

So now Tim has a choice: he could get Danny out of the building and maybe if Danny will let him help find Danny a new place to live or he gets Danny out but drops info about another abandoned bathroom on the 35th floor that had just been repaired and shouldn’t have maintenance come by again for a few months especially if Tim changes the schedule for that one

And so now unknown to everyone but Tim, and an increasingly frustrated security team, Danny now lives at WE.

Tim decides two things as well: the less people that know about Danny’s existence for now the better with that government bounty on his head and that this will be a great way to win Danny’s trust and get more information by helping him hide

And so Danny lives there in the WE tower with only Tim being the wiser as to who he is. Danny will sometimes pop out and visit Tim in his 34th floor office where Tim now keeps food and drinks.

And this is a great set up for a while with Tim getting to know Danny and helping l him on dismantling/untangling everything that lead to Danny being there. No it’s not a crush Tim just finds Danny smart, funny and very cute but on a professional level. But then it dawns on Tim after a close call with security he can’t just let Danny keep up like this so one fake id and employment later Tim unceremoniously adds Danny to the employee registry as a security tester.

He’d run the idea by Danny who readily agreed plus now Tim can pay him and give Danny a new start.

Tim never tells anyone about the new hire until security catches Danny on an off day but before they can escort him out of the building Danny tells them he works there. Which they don’t believe until they pull him up in the system and discover his title and that he works directly under Tim.

Danny running into a room: Hide me!

Tim: Under my desk! Quick!

Danny: *Jumping the desk* Thank you!

Security Guard running in: Mr. Drake-Wayne! Have you seen a suspicious man pass through here?

Tim: Hmm? No. Is something happening?

Security Guard: A while ago, someone reported that a homeless man was found sleeping in one of our less used bathrooms. It looks like he had been staying there for a while. He had an entire camp set up. He ran as soon as the security was called but we think he's still in the building.

Tim: Wow that's crazy. Hope you catch him

Security Guard: Thank you. I suggest you move down to level 1 until we're sure he's not a danger.

Tim: Of course. I'll be right there.

Tim: *Moving his wheel chair back to stare into Danny's eyes* He's gone.

Danny: Thank you so much for hiding me.

Tim: You're welcome. Take off your clothes

Danny: Excuse me?

Tim: Switch into one of my spare suits. We're going to pretend you're my guest and walked you right pass security.

Danny: Who keeps seven spair complete suits at work?

Tim: *Holding up two ties* I do. Now, this Aqua blue makes your eyes pop, but this classic black with silver stripes gives you a mysterious aura. What are we feeling?

Danny: ....the blue one is nice.

[touyaismycomfortboy]

♡ mr. aizawa's wife....

a/n: i'll probably most definitely write about husband aizawa with a wife who has a quirk, but for now here are some quirkless wife hcs <3 this is lowkey all over the place, all I've been thinking about is husband aizawa and what that would be like so i need to dump out all my thoughts and then I'll write smth more organized eventually

word count: 0.7k

synopsis: what it would be like to be aizawa's wife <3

pairing: shouta aizawa x fem!quirkless!reader

genre: headcanons? dump? i honestly dont know!! i'm just writing stuff fr <33

you're not a pro-hero so you don't work at UA, but you're still there all the time. the heroes truly love you, you oftentimes get bored after your own job and bring the faculty fresh baked goods, typically leaving a big tray in the teachers' lounge but delivering aizawa's to him since he's always so busy with class.

the first time you met his new first years they were doing some training outside, you had just come by the school with a tray of peanut butter chocolate cookies and were about to deliver some to aizawa and give him a chaste kiss on the cheek before heading home.

when the girls of the class saw you walk up to aizawa out of the corner of their eyes and give him a kiss they gasped and stopped whatever they were doing.

aizawa panicked when he realized they saw and told them to get back to training, but they were already immediately approaching you and showering you with questions.

"oh my god mister aizawa has a wife?!" "how long have you two been together?!" "how did you guys meet?!" "what is aizawa like at home?"

you would laugh nervously and brush off their questions, whispering something to them about how aizawa is secretly a snuggle bug or something of that nature and usher them back to training, watching as they giggle and whisper to each other as they walk back, looking at aizawa and giggling some more.

aizawa isn't sure what you told them, but he'll "glare" at you for a moment with no real anger behind his stare, then mumble a quick "love you" before returning to work.

if you get off of work before him, he loves coming home and crawling into your arms, collapsing on top of you if you're lying on the couch.

he feels like a classy man when he wants to be. he'll be the kind of man to tell you to be ready at 7pm and to wear a nice outfit, and tell you he got you both a reservation at a restaurant.

he'll never tell you where it'll be, but he'll make sure to vet the menu beforehand just to make sure it has food you like so you never have to pretend to like something around him.

it will never be an insanely popular place with a bunch of people, but it'll always be nice. he doesn't like loud, crowded restaurants that are so loud he can barely taste the food in front of him, he loves quiet and intimate spaces with you.

if you ever volunteer to chaperone at a UA camp or dance or any other event, he always secretly loves watching you work with his students. he loves the chemistry you build with each of them and the effort you put into building friendships with them.

izuku loves to talk to you, he's always running up to you with his notebook asking questions about what the personal life of a pro hero is like and seeing if you have any anecdotes or fun facts about his quirk.

you're also one of the people all might lets see his true form before it's revealed to the public. you're always worrying over him, and he always brushes it off and tells you that he's okay, but you still check on him every time you visit UA.

as seen with how he acts around his students when something traumatic happens to them, he's very good at talking you through whenever you're sad. he's not a man of many words, but the words he does say leave an impact, and he always knows what to say.

he's not much for PDA, most people don't even know he has a wife until you just show up since he's so private, he prefers his intimate affairs stay intimate, he doesn't like everyone in his business or knowing how he acts around his wife.

nothing makes him feel guiltier than all the times you're awake for days on end next to his hospital bed after protecting his students from a dangerous situation. you understand why he does it, how important his students are to him, but still... seeing how destroyed his body gets after a villain encounter always makes you sick to your stomach, and you never feel quite at ease when he's working.

you both love taking naps together, if naps could be a love language that would be your guys'. you're always snuggling when alone and one thing will lead to another and you both end up snoozing on the couch for 30 minutes or so, something about being in each other's presence is so relaxing.

[penkura]

Holly Jolly Christmas

Summary: Your first Christmas with the Heart Pirates leads you out on deck for a few moments alone, only to be joined by your captain making sure you're okay.

Note: Just wanted to write something like this, Reader needing to step away to get their feelings in check and Law being willing to listen. :) Again, SORRY IT'S SO LATE. I went to see Sonic 3 this morning after church and it threw my whole day off. (:

“Oh come on, stay inside with us! It’s chilly out there!”

“I’ll be fine, Ikkaku, I just need some air!”

She rolls her eyes at you but doesn’t fight, instead being pulled away by Shachi for a dance while you laugh and step outside to the deck of the Polar Tang, taking a breath and feeling at ease. The holiday party your crewmates were throwing was starting to overwhelm you, a small break is all you need, some fresh air and the chance to collect yourself. It’s still hard to believe this is your life sometimes, that you’re a member of this crew and have friends that care about you, including a captain that wants you to stay safe. People who like and want you around, it’s so different from before.

Your first year with the Heart Pirates was coming to an end, right at Christmas time too. Never in your wildest dreams did you ever think a pirate captain would request you to join them after seeing you protect yourself from some robbers on your home island, you just wanted to be able to eat that night and keep your hard-earned money from them. Apparently it was enough that day to convince Law you would be a good addition to his crew, for some reason you felt like you couldn’t say no even though he didn’t scare you or anything. It felt like something told you that day to go, not like you had anyone to return to at home anyway. Most people on your home island tolerates you enough to pay you for small jobs, but no one cared when you left, you’re sure of that.

It didn’t matter though, once you were introduced to everyone, they all took a quick liking to you and showed you the ropes, taught you how the ship worked and everything you’d need to know for life as a Heart Pirate. You learned everything as quickly as you could, you didn’t want to be seen and burden or dead weight on the crew, and not one of your new friends thought that about you, they all gave Law good reports when they’d help you with anything.

You’re grateful for everything that’s happened the last year, watching your crewmates have fun tonight and enjoy themselves. It’s really like having a family again.

“There a reason you’re out here alone?”

Hearing Law’s voice just makes you smile at him over your shoulder, before he joins you leaning against the railing. Of course he’d find you, he’s very good at that lately. Sometimes it feels like he's actively seeking you out, though that could just be wishful thinking.

“I just needed some air, captain.”

“You don’t have to call me that when it’s just us, I’ve told you that,” Law rolls his eyes while you giggle at him, “Doing okay?”

You nod with a small hum, you know he won’t press too hard to find out what’s going on, he already knows everything about you. Law never pushed but always listened when you wanted to talk about your previous life, when he noticed you weren’t doing well one day and it ended in you sobbing in his arms for hours about your lost family. He was awkward about it but didn’t make you leave until you were calm again, it made him realize there was more that you hadn’t told him at that point.

You two were more alike than Law ever expected when he brought you on.

“I need to thank you, Law,” he looks over to you with furrowed brows, but you’re not even looking at him, “If you all hadn’t shown up last year, I probably—”

“Enough, you don’t have to thank me again.”

You laugh with a nod as Law rolls his eyes once again, before you reach over and hug him. It’s taken some time but you’ve gotten Law used to these random hugs, he’s even started returning them like he does now.

“Still though, I’m grateful…getting to know all of you and feel like I belong somewhere again…thank you for saving me, captain.”

“…we’re all glad to have you here.”

You both stay like that for a while, even though it’s cold out and you know Law will want you inside shortly to get warm again.  But these moments with just the two of you are rare, some people would question your relationship if it’s just captain and subordinate or something else there, but you’re happy with where the two of you are.

“All right, you lovebirds, everyone’s waiting for you to do Secret Santa already!”

The two of you almost up away from each other, Law giving Penguin a glare while you look away, your older crewmate having a smirk on his face.

“I won’t tell anyone, don’t worry. But really, come on! Everyone wants to open gifts!”

“Fine,” Law sighs, waving Penguin and keeping a hand on your shoulder, “We’ll be there in a moment.”

“Sure thing, cap!”

Penguin runs off to get everyone ready, leaving you and Law alone against. He’s obviously annoyed but it makes you smile anyway. It might be more than either of you are ready for, but you grab his hand and starts walking back into the Polar Tang.

“Better not keep everyone waiting, right, Law?”

“Yeah…guess so…”

You’ll tease him about the light blush on his face later, but tonight, you’ll keep the smile he gives you later on to yourself, and the fact you were his Secret Santa will be your personal secret until Law questions you about it.

You’re the only one who could’ve given him those coins from your home island anyway.

[tsukimefuku]

CHAPTER THREE PT. I: DIMINISHED CAPACITY ❀ HIGURUMA SENSEI SERIES

masterlist link | mdni!

❀ diminished capacity.

Diminished capacity refers to an individual’s impossibility to form the intent necessary for committing any criminal act, because their capacity to fully comprehend the nature of their actions is impaired. It doesn’t, however, completely exclude their responsibility, and they may be held accountable to a lesser offense.

wc: 5.7K ❀ pairing for the series: professor!higuruma x student!reader

❀ tags and c/w.

non-curse au. college au. slow-burn romcom. professor and college student pre-relationship. reader is lowkey obsessed. mentions of hypothetical violent crime. exams suck. higuruma has an old car. law firm shenanigans ensue.

❀ notes etc.

Thank you so much @ratiopoetry. If it wasn’t for you, this chapter wouldn’t exist, so a big, fat, huge thanks. You reminded me of the reason I started writing this (and why I write at all) in the first place. 💛

also, some love for the betas: @redlikerozez and @sandsorghum thank you both!

You sat there staring blankly during Higuruma’s class. He was definitely teaching… something. You had no idea what, though.

More importantly, you were laser focused on one thing, and one thing only — his crooked tie.

Burgundy, satin. Slightly bent to the left. Crumpled underneath the knot, bulging inwards. It kept pushing up anytime he moved his arms to write on or gesture towards the white board behind him.

Just enough to make you want to stretch out your hands and touch it. Straighten it.

Probably a regular black tie or even a navy blue one would’ve suited him better. 

 Worked up and yapping continuously about something that was clearly important, Higuruma would pace back and forth, and all that you wondered was how the hell this man with dozens of academic accolades didn’t know how to properly tie a tie.

That single piece of attire seemed to mock you. The off-putting dip underneath the knot looked like a cocky smile.

It was all made worse when Higuruma mindlessly tugged his fingers around it. The tie bent even further from the center.

For fucks sake.

After a while, you gave up on trying to pay any mind to his class, and let the time slide off the clock’s hand until the bells went off and you were finally free to go. 

Before you could bolt your way out of there and leave this weird obsession behind, though, he spoke.

“Hey, Sanrio.”

Is he calling me Sanrio for real now?

Your cheeks flushed a dusty pink, and you were glad that nearly all of the students had already left the classroom. You gulped and turned calmly from your half done backpack to face him.

“Yes, Professor?”

“I need to speak with you, if you may,” he replied, signaling for you to approach him.

Your throat tightened, and you wondered if this could be related to the debacle from a few nights before. After all, this was the first time you saw each other after you unceremoniously gave him a pure vodka shower.

Then patted him dry with your scarf.

And spent a few moments holding hands.

Damn. 

He sat over his desk while crossing his arms, and your eyes were instantly drawn to his forearms, the way they softly bulged in that position, every corded muscle visible with his sleeves rolled up, his veins perfectly protruded down his forearm, all over the back of his hand, and his tie-

“Did you listen to anything I just said?”

Only then you registered that he was actually saying something, and you didn’t catch a word.

“Oh, no. I mean, I wasn’t… I got distracted.”

“I can see that. Actually, I wanted to ask if everything is okay, you seem off today,” he inquired, softly tilting his head to the side. His eyes landed first on your face, and slowly made their way down your body. For a second, you wondered if he was checking you out, or if it was just your imagination.

The thought had you blushing even deeper, because of course not, this is not happening, what the hell is wrong with me-

“Sanrio, you’re doing it again.”

“What?”

“Zoning out while I’m speaking to you.”

Fuck.

“I’m sorry, Professor. I must’ve been distracted.”

“With what?”

And he did ask it in earnest.

Distracted with you checking me out, and your forearms, and the way you tug that goddamn burgundy satin around your perfect neck, and-

“Your tie.”

One of his eyebrows slowly peaked up in disbelief.

“My… tie?”

For a second, you wished for a hole to be magically conjured right underneath your feet just so you could bury your head in it like an ostrich. Not the smartest defense mechanism devised by nature, but definitely one that would save you some embarrassment at that moment.

He cleared his throat, and you could just about die not knowing what he — or anyone, for that matter — could reply to whatever that was. 

“Do you want to… straighten it?”

“… What?”

“You heard me.”

Completely dumbfounded, you wondered if that was just mockery. Or a poorly executed joke, since he seemed to be a professional at cracking those.  

“If it’s so distracting, come on over here and straighten it,” he repeated, almost like a dare, holding your gaze. Sure enough, there was not an ounce of jest in that man’s face.

Disconcerted, you slowly walked in his direction, and as you lifted your hands towards his neck, Higuruma tilted his jaw up, projecting his neck muscles and making all of his tendons much more apparent.

At the same time, your teeth clenched, your mouth watered and your hands stuttered.

“Is there any problem?” The Professor asked while raising a curious eyebrow.

His voice sounded sultrier than usual. Suspiciously raspy and velvety. Is he doing it on purpose?

You simply nodded while your brain short circuited, and the more you tried to steer away the thoughts of how much you had the hots for the Professor, the more you wanted to tug on that tie and-

“There, straightened,” you whispered in a rush, eyes glued to the floor, ready to bolt away and leave all your belongings behind, even if you were still clutching his tie in between your fingers as if holding onto a lifeline. 

An unnecessarily sexy lifeline.

Before you could leave, though, he held your shoulder with one hand while tilting your face up by pushing his index finger under your chin, catching you completely off guard.

“Are you in a rush? Do you have some place else to be?”

Absolutely not hallucinating. He was, indeed, making a move on you, and his gaze slid down slowly towards your lips. “We still haven’t talked about that night. And how you left some lipstick on the cigarette you lit up for me.”

Nothing but a pathetic whimper left your lips. He smiled.

“Is this the same one?” Higuruma asked, flickering his eyes between your gaze and your lips.

“S-same… what?”

“Lispstick.”

It felt like you were in a plane cabin and it had just depressurized. 

I have to leave, I can’t do this, this is highly inappropriate behav-

You nodded. His smile widened.

“Perfect. Now I can taste it from the right place.”

Your stomach dropped further and your heart thumped in your chest, skipping more than just a few beats as it drummed enough to have the space around you both grow even quieter to your ears.

Rational thought had abandoned you as your grip tightened around his tie, your eyes dropping to his mouth. Higuruma seemed pleased, and slid one of his hands to the nape of your neck while carding his fingers through your hair, bringing his other hand down behind you to cup your lower back. You softly jumped in surprise, and he wasted no time into pulling your body against his, having you instantly feeling his warmth all over you.

As you both inched closer to each other, you could smell some of his aftershave on his skin, and his minty breath, and his cologne impregnated all over his clothes, and…

This smells like my laundry detergent…?

The bells went off again.

This time, however, it was your morning alarm yanking you out of sleep as your face sunk into your pillow like a rock in a lake.

Peeling your eyes open to the unforgiving light that flooded into your dorm room, you slowly propped yourself up from the mattress. Your laptop was open by the edge of the bed, and on the screen, you found your shame displayed in between three different types of ads containing huge twerking asses in 4K.

You had most likely passed out on top of your vibrator the night before and wondered if the kinky Professor x Student role play porn on your anon tab was the reason you dreamt… that. Especially considering that today you had a criminal procedure lecture with the star of the M-rated movie your horny mind cooked just for you.

Is there anything worse than meeting someone you shouldn’t be interested in right after having those types of dreams with them?

Fun. So fun.

At least this time life spared you the little mercy of having no company after Nobara decided to sleep over at Maki’s again.

Carrying yourself with the few shreds of dignity you still had, you rolled out of bed, and while getting ready for that day’s class, a realization suddenly dawned on you.

Where is my red scarf?

***

Higuruma’s car.

The beat up 2015 Toyota Passo had a lot of personality as an old piece of junk that failed on the road more often than not, but even so, it had been his reliable companion for nearly a decade. Its glossy navy blue paint was covered in dirt, and Higuruma wondered to himself as he entered the vehicle that morning if he should perhaps take it out for a wash, which, in all fairness, he never did. The rain will wash it clean was his motto, one that rarely proved itself to be true.

His car was always crawling with old food wraps, random papers, spare change and some clothes. While Higuruma looked frantically for something to wrap around his neck in the cold — a beaten up old yellow shawl all weaved in sunflower patterns he received as a gift from his grandmother —, his phone rang.

Using a makeshift bluetooth haphazardly rigged up to the radio, Higuruma answered the call while twisting his arm beside the passenger seat.

“Hello, who is this?”

“It’s Kento, good morning.”

“Morning. May I ask why such an early call?” Higuruma asked with a strained voice while he dove down his seat, a hand reaching between the passenger seat and the handbrake.

“It’s not early. Actually, I thought I’d find you at the campus, but since you weren’t in the teacher’s lounge, I’m calling.”

“Oh, I’m just… late,” Higuruma muttered under a tense breath, still bending himself over while prying his scarf out of its death trap underneath the seat beside him.

“I figured that much. Are you on your way?”

“Kind of.”

Nanami found that reply to be suspicious, especially considering his friend’s usual antics.

“… Did your car break down again?” Nanami asked with a hint of judgement to his inquiry. If the Toyota Passo had a hater club, Nanami would be its president, especially considering all the times he found himself stranded with Higuruma by roadsides while on past trips. This was the main reason Nanami would never be caught dead taking a ride with his best friend nowadays if he could help it.

“Shh, don’t say that. It can hear you,” Higuruma chastised while half joking, being more acquainted with Murphy’s Law than he’d like to admit. It had turned him into a somewhat superstitions man, at least when it came to the Passo.

“Hiromi, that’s not how cars work.”

“You can’t know that for sure,” he quipped. Hearing Nanami sigh on the other side of the line was an amusement that served him some semblance of comfort as he battled his way through his current predicament. “Now, what did you want to speak to me about anyway?” 

Hitting just the right slant, Higuruma felt the already familiar wool-weaved pattern on the tips of his fingers.

“Well, it’s about what I told you last Friday,” Nanami ensued.

“Go on.”

As Higuruma contorted his limbs and spine on the driver’s seat in some sort of malevolent pilates while searching for a better position to pull his shawl up, he slowly elevated his arm with a firm grip on the thing, doing his best to not have it tangle on its way out. 

“We’ve allocated some revenue to open more departments in the Firm, and to make some changes to others. I’d like your input, if at all possible.”

Higuruma’s tie contracted uncomfortably around his neck with every wiggle his body made, prompting him to pull around it in a feeble attempt to not have his windpipe crushed. It worked, but barely, messing up his already disarrayed outfit even further.

“My input?” he asked, taken aback while adjusting himself in his seat. “I mean, I’d like to help, but I don’t know if my input is what you’re looking for. I didn’t have that many years of experience as a private lawyer.”

“But you do have a lot of experience dealing with a team of people working with you, and impossible criminal cases absolutely no one would accept.”

“One intern and one assistant,” Higuruma noted, “and those cases weren’t impossible. No case is, even in our Justice System.”

Nanami smiled softly before replying. “Okay, ‘remarkably challenging lawsuits’, then. In any case, we’re creating a criminal law defense department, and considering your experience, you input would be much appreciated.”

Higuruma managed to haul nearly the entire shawl out of its hideout, but before he could consider himself victorious, it got stuck.

He sighed.

“My input or my participation, Kento?” Higuruma asked, even if it wasn’t an actual question. “I know you. You’re not that smooth when attempting to get me on board for something. I remember all the times you casually mentioned a group project in college — which all coincidentally had themes I was studying in depth at the time — while trying to act all nonchalant about it.” 

Nothing gets past him, Nanami thought to himself at being caught red handed.

“Yes, I’d like your participation.”

Higuruma stopped in his tracks, and placed the pulled-up end of the shawl over the passenger’s seat, propping himself up to sit. In silence, he brushed his fingers over his temples, and remained like this for a few seconds, not realizing how his whole body had stiffened up like dried bamboo.

“Kento, I don’t think that’s a good idea, I just…” Higuruma mumbled as he let his forehead lay over the steering wheel.

“Do you trust my judgement?”

Nanami’s question came without missing a beat.

“Of course I do,” Higuruma replied, “I don’t know if I trust myself.”

“Let me worry about that,” Nanami interjected, “I’ve gotten other attorneys on board that can work with us. With you.”

With an uncertain hum, Higuruma cleared his throat.

“I’m… late. I should get going. And sort my damn scarf situation. It’s awfully cold today.”

“That hideous little thing with the sunflowers?” Nanami’s disdain was evident, and Higuruma chuckled.

“Morning, Kento.”

With that, the Professor ended the call, and put his whole mind to solving his current dilemma.

As a final Hail Mary, Higuruma held all he managed to pry out with a firm grip, and slowly descended his other hand, feeling his way over the piece in an attempt to find whatever was hooking it.

Quickly enough, his fingers met something else entirely. It had a softer texture, almost like old frizzly, worn out cotton.

Well, I think I’ve found the culprit.

With a careful tug, he pulled everything out, and a snaky, crimson, polka dot fuzzy worm surprised him. Upon further inspection, Higuruma realized that such horrid sight was actually your ugly red scarf entwined with his sunflower shawl.

This… what? How did her scarf end up here? 

Blinking once, then twice, the Professor found himself still completely dumbfounded. For a moment, Higuruma wondered if this was all a figment of his imagination. That is, until he recalled last Friday, and remembered you used your scarf to pat him dry after an accidental alcoholic skin care routine.

Out of all the things I could’ve picked up by accident, this is what I got? This hideous little thing? 

He snorted at the red polka dot scarf while holding it with the tips of his fingers, wondering if you’d really care to have this back.

Smiling to himself, Higuruma remembered the exchange, your laughter, and his eyes slid towards the cigarette butt from that day. It was currently shoved into the ashtray he kept right in front of his handbrake.

He noticed there was still a faint red stain around it. Against his better judgement, his mind wandered for a moment as he reminisced on the occasion, and how smoking that cigarette left a soft tinted smudge on his lips too, one that he noticed upon arriving home that night and looking at himself in his elevator’s mirror.

I… really shouldn’t. 

Shaking the thought away, Higuruma mindlessly spoke to himself as he turned the engine on.

“I have to give this back to her.”

If only his memory didn’t betray him just like his car — more often than not.

After an uneventful drive, Higuruma stood in front of the white board ready to resume his criminal procedure class as all of the students made their way into the classroom, including you. 

Picking a seat not too close to the main stage, you noticed that Professor Higuruma had his back turned to the rest of the class as he wrote something on the white board. That day, from what you could tell, he was wearing just a plain white buttoned shirt and linen black slacks, not accounting for a coat and whatever else he had haphazardly tossed over his desk like a ball of garments.

There seemed to be a small red something tangled right under his coat. 

Your dream prickled you in the back of your mind, and you cleared your throat trying to feign off the thoughts.

This is real life, at a real class, and not my Orpheus domain. This is real life… You kept repeating mentally to yourself, like a mantra. Even if his shirt draped perfectly over his shoulders and highlighted his slender build.

I’ll just focus on today’s class and that will get my mind out of the gutter.

Higuruma stepped back from the white board and the word “truth” was written on it. Before you could think anything about today’s main topic, though, he turned around to face the students, and your day just became that much more awkward.

For a second, you couldn't truly believe your eyes.

His tie — which at least wasn’t burgundy, nor satin — was crooked. Actually, truly crooked in the real life of real events during a very much real class.

My life is a bad joke and I’m the punchline.

You straightened your posture in your chair with the sudden piercing, delusional self-awareness that anyone who looked at your face would know telepathically what you were thinking, because your cheeks felt suspiciously warm. You tried brushing your bangs down your face to no avail, and a small lock of hair poked out of it like a sore thumb.

In an attempt to distract yourself from that nonsense, you tried as best as you could to check how Higuruma was looking like today — apart from the crooked tie, that was — and noticed his hair was more disheveled than usual. It seemed like he hadn't shaved for at least two days.

Finally, Higuruma ensued his grand introductory lecture on the value of truth for criminal proceedings, and you were actually listening to it.

Good. Deja vu is not Deja-vuing enough. I’m fine. This is fine.

“Truth. Who can tell me the three main concepts of truth in western philosophy?” Higuruma asked while pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

You saw a familiar hand raising in the very front row, and Higuruma nodded for the person to proceed. 

“The three main concepts of truth are the correspondence, coherence and consensus ones,” Megumi answered. 

“Exactly. The relevance of truth in legal proceedings has been an ongoing debate for centuries, and some lines of thought even consider it to be completely irrelevant. We won’t be tackling that. For those who think truth is important, the most well established position is that truth as correspondence is the one we should strive for, even if our true knowledge of facts that occurred in the past through evidence can be, at best, approximate.”

A few people nodded, and Higuruma continued his exposition.

“Truth as correspondence… In simple terms, a statement can be considered to be true if it corresponds to a fact that has happened in the real world. For example, by this, if I say ‘today I was at class at the inhumane time of 07:05AM’, and here we are at that very same time, it means my statement is true. In criminal proceedings, the truth finding task revolves around verifying if a crime has occurred or not, and in order to do such verification, we need evidence,” he paused for a moment and pulled a bottle of water from his briefcase, carefully putting it over his desk, “and one of the main types of evidence in criminal proceedings are witnesses’ testimonies.”

You were able to follow his exposition so far, and not get distracted by the crooked black ti-

Exposition. Truth. Witnesses. Focus, woman.

You could still feel the lingering sensation of his dreamt tie in between your fingers, and it wasn’t doing you any favors.

“What is a testimony? A testimony is basically someone’s account of an event they have witnessed, and formed a memory of through their senses — sight, hearing, etc. In that regard, it’s safe to say testimonies are a type of evidence that depends on memory, and human memory is fallible. What we can apprehend through our senses and actually remember is deeply affected by what we can or choose to focus on,” Higuruma concluded. 

Your eyes involuntarily dropped to his tie once again. 

Goddammit.

The class was considerably peaceful so far, and you wondered if he would require a victim for his usual slaughter sessions. It would certainly serve the purpose of getting your mind out of your fantasies. Fantasies about running your fingers down the fabric of his clothes, clutching them, crumpling everything in the messiest-

“You.” 

His voice fished you out of your daydreams and into the very much real and concrete reality presenting itself. Subconsciously — involuntarily, perhaps — his finger pointed in your direction, and you knew you’d be the prey for that class’ expository capers.

“Please, step forward,” Higuruma asked as he stood beside his desk.

You did like you were told, as a robot would, and walked in his direction, ready for whatever insanity he had to throw your way this time. Perhaps a marker for the white board. Or the water bottle.

“So,” Higuruma proceeded, “we need police to retrieve information from people that may have witnessed a crime in order to investigate it. That’s usually how investigations begin.” He quickly paused to check if everyone was following, and resumed his explanation, “after the investigation is completed and someone is actually charged or indicted, these same people, the witnesses, will be asked to repeat what they told to police right in front of the judge or a jury. The main question is… how reliable is that initial information relayed to the police at the beginning of it all? How reliable are these testimonies that give the very foundation for a criminal proceeding to exist in the first place?” 

You didn’t know the answer to that question. You knew nothing, really, staring dumbly at your feet while trying to not make a fool out of yourself.

 Before you knew, Higuruma grabbed the water bottle that was on top of his desk and approached you. When he was about a foot away from you, his cologne seeped into every neuron dedicated to smelling you had inside your nostril. Musky, fresh, and-

I can’t deal with this.

You tried fixating your eyes on the bottle of water he seemed to be giving you — anything but his face, his eyes, his nose.

His tie.

When you touched the bottle, he retreated it, and you felt somewhat confused. Then, he leaned it towards you again, you tried grabbing it again, and he retreated it once more. 

Is he teasing? What… what is he doing?

“Do you guys see where I’m getting at?” Higuruma asked, pointing towards the water bottle.

He was met with silence.

Higuruma then pointed at you, and your focused gaze on the bottle that was damn near boring a hole through it. “This is what we call the ‘focus on the gun effect’. You can all see that so far, her eyes pay more attention to what I’m holding than on any of my features. If this were a gun in a stressful scenario, it would probably only heighten such effect even more.”

Sir, this is a stressful scenario.

Your eyes flickered to his tie right before landing on the bottle again, and he did notice your gaze wondering elsewhere, but didn’t think much of it. 

“So at the moment she’d be testifying and was asked to describe my features, how well do you all think she’d be able to do it, if she hasn’t paid any attention to my face, focusing only on object I was holding? How trustworthy would such a testimony actually be?”

Tired hangdog eyes, aquiline nose, thick black frame glasses, white dress shirt crumpled at the hem, loosened black tie crooked to the right, criminally good-looking forearms, black linen pants-

“You can go back to your seat,” he remarked, and you did your best not to stumble on your way back.

The rest of the class went on painlessly, and by the end, Higuruma sat at his desk, lumbering back on his chair. He pushed aside the bundle of coat-and-other-stuff-in-a-ball, took his briefcase and opened it up to grab a pile of paper sheets from it. Upon further inspection, you gulped, knowing full well what those were.

“Before you all go, for those who are also my criminal law students, please come by my desk and take your corrected exams with you.  Give some special attention to the questions you got wrong, I made a list of the most common mistakes in these and will start off our next criminal law lesson by correcting them with the class.”

Shortly after, a line formed in front of Higuruma’s desk, and one by one, each student took their exams in their hands, either grunting displeased or sighing relieved with their result, leaving the classroom subsequently. You occupied yourself with slowly putting your things into your backpack, knowing full well that the walk towards that exam — and how poorly you did in it — would feel like a walk of shame. Only after the line was nearly done that you actually made your way to it, dragging your feet each step closer to what felt like doom.

“Good morning, Professor,” you mumbled as you reached for your exam and picked it up.

“Good morning,” he offered, bowing his head.

For the lack of a better term, your exam sheet looked like a crime scene, completely scribbled with red pen ink all over it. The discontent in your expression must’ve been incredibly evident, because Higuruma  spoke immediately.

“You know, these tests don’t truly assess your actual knowledge of a subject. Not entirely. It’s also about knowing how to take the test, and how the questions are phrased.”

You nodded half-heartedly. 

“Mm-mhm, I know. I just… I felt like nearly every question here could have-”

“Two answers?” He promptly interjected.

“Yes!”

He acquiesced.

“In criminal law, most things are determined by which line of thought one chooses to interpret a topic. You were not the only student to struggle with this, don’t worry. It’s easier to learn how to take a test than to learn the actual subject,” Higuruma offered, and as you looked at him, he welcomed your gaze with a soft smile.

“Is it?” you inquired, shoving the sheet of paper into your backpack. You looked back at him, and your eyes involuntarily dipped towards his tie. You averted your gaze while silently coughing. 

My future is on the line and here I am obsessing over a stupid tie. God.

He lifted a brow, intrigued, and continued.

“Absolutely,” Higuruma said, “you see, these types of standardized tests are terrible. Take a look on question number 15, the one about excess in self-defense.”

“Oh, I remember that one! The question in which guy 1 killed guy 2 through choking because guy 2 tried to kill him first with a sharp object but dropped it accidentally, right?”

“That one.”

“I was unsure, because even though he ended up killing guy 2, to be a target of an attempted murder must be horribly stressful. I mean, with all the adrenaline and everything, sometimes the body just reacts by itself, and the person is not even thinking.”

“Exactly!” Higuruma responded, clearly getting excited by this little exercise, “but the ‘right’ answer was that it was an excess in self-defense, because given the method — choking —, he could’ve ’stopped at any time’. Could he, though? Shouldn’t that be up for debate instead of…” The Professor took the list of answers and shook it in his hand, “this?”

He looks so adorable when talking passionately like th- stop. 

You shook your head before continuing.

“Yes, I agree. However, there’s not much we can do other than learn how to take these exams in order to get to where we want to, right?”

Your voice sounded more disheartened than you thought it would, and your self-disappointment dripped from it in a saddened cadence. You looked like a cornered animal who had just accepted its fate. Higuruma noticed it, and looked the other way to take a moment before speaking again, mindlessly tugging around his already loosened tie. It seemed like it could fall from his neck anytime soon.

Jesus Christ Almighty, can you stop fidgeting with the thing already? You brushed your face in quiet discomfort, and he barely noticed it, too immersed into whatever he had simmering in his mind.

“The main thing is… I just hope you and the other students don’t think less of yourselves because of this short assessment test,” he stated, “college shouldn’t kill the hearts of people who have dreams just because the way it works is not suited for everybody from the get go.”

What he said touched some deeper part of you, one you weren’t usually much in contact with. You stood there silently letting his words sink in, and curiously, they did have some tranquilizing effect of sorts. It must’ve been a while, because Higuruma looked at you with confused eyes when you finally snapped out of it.

“Is everything okay, San-…” he coughed, “I mean… are you alright?”

Pulling yourself together, you drew in a breath before you replied. Once more, you slotted your hands through your hair and his eyes involuntarily peeped over your pseudo ahoge in your bangs before landing on your face again.

“Yes. It’s just what you said about dreams,” you began, “I was worried that this test would nuke my future dream of becoming a criminal defense lawyer, but… I doesn’t quite feel like it now, somehow? It feels like not all is lost, it’s just an exam.”

Higuruma listened to you attentively before sparing you a modest smile.

“I suppose so. We are allowed to falter and make mistakes, especially here, in a classroom. You’re here to learn, after all.”

You nodded.

“Thank you, Professor. Truly. Your words have really helped me,” you stated, not realizing the smile  all over your face in a beam while you bowed towards him, “and for whatever it’s worth, your classes inspire me even more to chase my dreams. You are an amazing teacher.”

Higuruma seemed surprised and retributed the gesture, bowing his head towards you, his own cheeks pooling a soft pink.

“It’s my honor and privilege to teach you all, and I hope you get to realize your dreams in the future.”

You sighed content, and you both remained silent for a short while. Considering the conversation was already done, you bid him a “bye” and turned on your heels to leave the classroom, but his voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Hm, may I ask something?” Higuruma inquired.

“Of course, Professor. What is it?”

“You kept looking at something on me, is my shirt dirty or something like that?” he asked, trying to look down and assess his state.

Your ears went deaf for a second with the blood rush from your thumping heart at the realization he had, indeed, noticed your stupid obsession. And for a split second, you wondered if you should explain it. The dream flashed through your mind, and better not obviously was the answer you arrived at.

“Ah, uh… your tie, it’s crooked, and- yeah, it’s just crooked. That’s it. I tend to notice these things,” you blurted out, letting each syllable tumble over the other carelessly. You did your best to pretend you were scratching your nose, just so you could hide the small flush you felt over your face.

Whatta’ lousy liar am I. 

“Oh.” Higuruma gently glided his fingers over his tie, and tightened it slightly around his neck, “thank you for letting me know, but I figure that’s okay. My crooked tie has not prevented me from teaching today, or my students from learning, I presume,” he jested, and you acquiesced trying to hold down a chuckle unrelated to his lukewarm joke.

“Well, thank you for the talk, Professor. Have a good day!” you said, finally making your way out the classroom.

The door closed behind you, and instead of getting up immediately, Higuruma found himself still caught up in the conversation you both just had, being brought back to his old memories, his own old dreams and how he had once lived them in the past before everything went wrong. It felt like eons ago.

 The Professor pulled his phone from his pocket and opened up his chat Nanami, thinking back on their earlier conversation.

“Dreams, huh?” a lonely Higuruma mused before typing, failing to realize he had been softly smiling to himself for the past minute.

HH: Kento, if you’re really going forward with this idea, you should put up a notice for an intern opening

NK: Already did, for two positions actually.

NK: Did you think about what we discussed earlier?

Sighing to himself, Higuruma finally got up, stretching his legs and arms as if he had been sunk in it for millennia. He picked his briefcase up in one hand, and pulled his coat with the other. As he did so, your red scarf fell on his desk beside his shawl, and Higuruma realized how human memory, more often than not, was indeed pretty fallible.

“Argh, dammit.”

PT. II WILL GET POSTED ON DEC 26TH

I had completely forgotten to feature this amazing fanart of chapter 1 (that I’ve already screeched about like a banshee on more than one occasion) when I posted chapter 2. Traffi, as always, this is STUNNING, I JUS- Thank you 🥹

all credits for this amazing art go to @traffi -

Tag list (updated):

@arusearu @yammy-yammy-yama @markleeisdabestdrug @redlikerozez @killerplink

@alwaysfreakingout @murderofravens @cmdrfupa @higurumapet @cindyneko-strider 

@ohhheymessa @bigbaddulce @actuallysaiyan @s-witch-bitch @yeonjunarchives

@soft--cherry @bsaeshell @quinnyundertow @traffi @shibataimu

[alexafaie-asd]

What do you mean research and then do the work? With essays for university I just wrote the whole thing & handed in whatever I managed to come up with. Same as I did when I managed to do homework at school. All I learned at school was that I had to try harder to hand in my homework at all/on time. Never how to do it. I did well in exams so they knew I knew the subject fine.

You were meant to space it out? How would you know how much to space it out by? Like for uni we got given the essay title at the beginning of the semester & the essay was due in like 2 weeks before the end of the semester.

So I would start the essay a day or two before the essay was due in. Once I managed to start a week before but I spent the same amount of time on it. I wrote as much as I could, quoting as I went along and then had a last minute panic at an hour or so before hand in when I came in under the word count & then went over & didn't have enough time to get it to meet the 1500-1800 limit.

Never did figure out how you were meant to do it sooner. It was always due in several months time right up until I realised it was not & had to rush it. People talked about draft copies. I had one but that was just because we had to submit it printed with large margins & double spaced & I couldn't read it like that. For writing I used 1cm margins & single spacing & that was my draft. For final version I put it into double spaced, checked the margins were the required 2" & then had the additional panic of going over the page limit (why we needed a page & word limit I don't know).

I was still late handing in on multiple occasions (by minutes if not seconds as admin office set their clock fast to be jerks) so got lots of 40% marks (could only get that low passing grade if handed in late even if it would've scored more normally).

Still managed to get a 2:1 in the end though thanks to exams. It certainly wasn't thanks to my dissertation as I funnily enough didn't manage to finish it. I wish it had all been exams. They're way easier. You get a set time & just have to do what you can manage in that time. Easy peasy.

Never did figure out how to portion out the Not Now™️. There are only 2 times for me - Now & Not Now. That's as good as my body clock can manage.

Never figured out how to write a real draft & then rewrite it. Like how do you do that witjout being bored because you already wrote it? Like I got 60-80% on the essays I managed to get in on time without having to do extra boring bits. I never really understood why you'd bother forcing past the boring steps. Like its boring enough having to write the stuff down. I did the learning when I read it. The exams can prove that. Same way I never figured out how to revise. Like I learnt it once, why do I have to look at it again?

And then I kinda got bored at university and ended up reading about the history of corsetry instead. That was way more fun than having to work out how to do my dissertation.

So I taught my students during the first few weeks of class that for their paper, they needed to cite profusely. They needed to cite more than they thought they should cite. They needed to cite multiple times per paragraph. I told them that it was literally impossible for them to over-cite. I showed them an example of my own published papers. It was in the rubric.

At the end of the term, I graded their papers. Most of them did ok. Some of them only cited 2-3 sources even though their References section had 6 sources. And some of them... some of them didn't cite a single time in their entire paper. They had their citations in the References section, but didn't cite them in the paper even once.

Some people just do not follow directions. It's baffling.

And that doesn't even get into all of the APA style errors. Those I can forgive because citation styles are confusing. Citing enough and citing correctly are two separate parts on my rubric to account for this fact, actually.

BUT - it just gives me data for how to teach this even better next semester. I don't have any way to require them to use a citation manager, but the students who used one did MUCH better than those who didn't.

[vero1shere]

caught in your gravity

pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader

word count: 961

summary: you’ve been getting harassed at work for the past few months. that is until a handsome stranger arrives one night and defends you. 

warnings: very cliche-y bartender stuff, harassment, derogatory language (slut, bitch), alcohol abuse, mild violence

a/n: so i’m back??? ik i haven’t written anything in a long time but umm here i am!!!

masterlist. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁inbox

A frustrated sigh escaped your lips as you wiped down the counter for the fourth time that night, scrubbing at a stubborn stain while silently cursing your job for the thousandth time. The endless mess, the sticky floors, and the clinging stench of stale alcohol on your clothes were bad enough. But the worst part? The relentless parade of truck-stop regulars: sloppy drunks who flirted too aggressively and looked at you as though you were just another item on the menu.

You tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, trying to brush away something that had dried on the counter, when the bell rang on the other side of the bar. You looked up to see a rather attractive guy approaching the bar. It was almost one in the morning, so the place was mostly deserted aside from a few regulars. Once he was closer to the light you changed your mind; a very attractive guy.

Throwing the dirty towel over your shoulder you took a deep breath before walking over to the handsome stranger. “What can I serve you?” You smiled, leaning on the bar. He looked down at you and you felt the air catch in your lungs. He had the most amazing green eyes. You were used to seeing new faces every day, but none like his. He smiled, seemingly checking you out as his eyes traveled through your face, answering the question. 

“Just a beer, please” he replied, his voice deep and rough, like a low roll of thunder.

It wasn’t just his voice that threw you off. The way he looked at you, his gaze lingering as though he saw more than just a tired bartender, made your cheeks warm. Why was someone like him in a place like this at nearly 1 am? 

“Coming right out” you responded, almost breathlessly. You were hyper-aware of his presence, the way his gaze followed you as you moved. Diverting your attention from that beautiful stranger, you served him the beer. Still smiling like an idiot. Your hands trembled slightly as you set the beer down in front of him, and when your eyes met his again, he smiled. A small, crooked smile that made your stomach flutter.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice softer this time, like he didn’t want to break the moment.

Before you could respond, a voice you knew all too well cut through the quiet.

“Hello darling,” Sighing and closing your eyes, you walked up to the drunk guy who was here seven days a week, flirting constantly with you. “What do you want, Carl?” you asked, your voice sharp.

“Wow, I don't think that's the way to talk to your best client,” he growled drunkenly. His breath reeked of bourbon, or maybe whiskey. You honestly couldn't tell, not that you cared.

“Are you going to order something else or are you finally going to get your ass out of here?” You exploded, not having the energy for this.

“I've always liked my women feisty”, he winked at you and a shiver of disgust passed through you. “What would it take for you to go out on a date with me?”

“‘M sorry, but for the thousandth time, I’m not really interested. Now please excuse me, but I need to get back to work,” walking to the idiot's left to clear another table, he grabbed your wrist. It was quite a rough grab and you knew it would leave a mark. You were whipped to face him and tried to hide the fact that you were terrified. He was drunk, strong and almost a foot taller than you.

“I don’t understand why you don’t just go out with me, I mean, you’re just a sleazy bar slut and it’s not like many other people want you” Carl growled, not looking away from your eyes. You tried to appear tough but the situation was getting scary. That’s when someone stepped in the middle of you too, breaking his hold on your wrist. 

“Why don't you do us all a favor, apologise to the lady and get your ass out of here?” A deep voice said calmly. You recognized the voice, but you weren't sure who the person was until you looked over to where the green-eyed stranger was sitting. He was gone, well he wasn't gone, he was defending you. 

Carl scoffed. “Yeah, like I owe any of you anything. A bitch and an idiot who’s fighting with someone on one foot-” he didn't get to finish. He was interrupted by the attractive stranger twisting the drunk’s arm, which resulted in a scream from the victim. He jerked his arm away and ran out of the bar.

You found yourself laughing after he left. After a few months, someone finally got that idiot to leave. Speaking of which, you finally got a better look at the stranger as he turned around, still quite close to you. The light nape of the neck that covers a sharp jaw, the perfect smile hidden behind full lips. Not to mention the eyes. Oh my god, those eyes made you melt.

“Are you alright?" he asked, much less intimidating. You realized he was looking at you and instinctively looked at the ground. 

“Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Thank you,” you murmured, feeling your cheeks flush. Then, he gently grabbed your wrist, which was already forming a bruise, and ran his fingers over your skin. Every second you were in contact with him, sparks broke out on your skin. You both looked at each other, staring into each other's eyes. Losing yourself in his eyes once again, you were glad he spoke.

“Dean,” he said breathlessly. “That’s my name,” he added after seeing the confusion in your eyes. “What’s yours?”

[boofeine]

Heyyyy I really love your writing and I think it fits the members very well

I am not sure if you do these types of request but are you okay with writing headcanons on Jeonghan's personality? Like just his personality in general? Are you okay with adding some spicy (I didn't know which other word I was supposed to use) ones at the end? How would he be like? I am a very weird person and I love analysing people's personality and jeonghan happens to be my main interest these days lol. You can do it through tarot if you want!! You of course know better than me lol and I am completely alright if you don't wanna do my request. I will still love you lol

helloo!! u r def not weird at all!! as a psychology major bb i also love analyzing ppl :)))) — i won't work with tarot for now bc next year im planning on open requests just for it. one more thing I've done tarot in their persona in bed over here !

Jh's personality – headcanons

WARNINGS: mdni under the cut, descriptive and mention of sexual subjects

jeonghan gives me best friends vibes... he looks calm, almost indifferent, but he just looks like he loves to peep with you, to talk for hours and go grab meals together. he reminds me of family.

you know his lives just eating, joking around and talking... that's exactly how he is with his friends. obviously, he's more reserved because it's with us, but i feel he is all out with his friends. that one friend that literally doesn't know when to stop the teasing and goes overboard, but it's funny nonetheless... especially when he's drunk.

prefers to do meetings at his home with homemade barbecue and beverages. or going to a restaurant with his close friends. not the club type 100%. he likes the introspective meetings.

cocky and flirty for fun :/

so so so so caring!!!!!! the type of person you'd choose to say your deepest secrets and ask advice. hears you closely, gives you comfort, and tries to help you how he can. he will even make sure to check up on you for the next days, make a joke or two to light up your mood.

he's love language is probably acts of service.

don't ever pick up a fight with jeonghan... he's that type of scary that nothing bothers him until it does. his words get assertive, and he's not afraid of saying what he has to.

something makes me believe jeonghan is protective with his friends. he will speak up if he's in a situation that makes any of his friends or anyone really uncomfortable. when there's something you tell him, he not necessarily picks a fight but encourages you to do what you should, would that be cut someone toxic from your life or doing what you want.

Spicy Thoughts

kinky!!!! KINKYYY!!! he will be honest with his wantings and desires with you, you will know what he wants to try, and he's hoping you're wanting too. communicative as hell, we love it.

jeonghan isn't quiet. man trying to contain himself?? not him!! he moans, groans, dirty talk, grunts, the whole package bb. you're making him feel good, and he wants you to know.

a switch and open for anything.

sex drive high and horny. when i say he's open for anything, i mean it... he's up for anything!! will not always be penetrative sex, you want to get on your knees and suck him, fine, let's do it. want to make out, grind and cum on your panties, he's up to. just finger you and make you cum on his tongue, okay... let's do that.

not the type to enjoy lazy or slow sexy, he likes raw, sweaty, and nasty sex.

im sorry, but i do believe he'd go to strip clubs. i feel like sex is a need for him, like a healthy need, you know what i mean? so if he's not with someone, he'd would satisfy that paying for it.

a tease, baby!!! prepare yourself for overstimulation, sensory play, and orgasm denial. he's up to make you cum many times 🙂‍↕️ you're getting sore and sensitive next morning.

jeonghan is not aggressive. he's ok with accessories, handcuffs, blindfolds, anything, he's just not causing you any physical pain.

[the-thing-withfeathers]

high up | cowgirl!madison beer

fluff, & smut.

a/n: hello again my loves 🥰 i’ve missed you all. i’m sorry for being gone so long but i’m back and better than ever. hopefully this suffices as an apology for leaving you all for a bit.

‼️smut warnings: semi-public sex, strap on usage, hair pulling, rough sex, slight degradation & humiliation.

𐚁 𓃗𐚁 𓃗𐚁 𓃗

a whole year had passed since you set foot on the farm. since you and madison met and started your whirlwind romance. a whole year and you were the happiest you’d ever been.

while you celebrated the exact one year marker with your grandparents, feasting over your grandmother’s chili, madison had suggested you two spend your one year together back in the city.

initially, you were reluctant to go. all your favorite spots were in the country. everywhere you and mads had spent making memories rested in the peace of the farm.

but she was persistent, and you knew your girlfriend wouldn’t relent. she argued that you spent a whole year learning the ins and outs of her biome. it was time for her to learn more about your roots too.

so the two of you found yourselves in madison’s truck, pulling into the parking of your condominium. you two had done the trip yourselves despite your parents offering, but you wanted the insurance of madison’s truck around in case she needed to get back.

your parents had been out working when the two of you arrived. you unlocked the front door to your penthouse apartment, welcoming madison into your home.

as madison stepped in, she marvelled at the space the penthouse offered. she knew your family had money, but now she was seeing it.

she was greeted with marble floors leading into carpeted ones depending on where you went and a massive living room with tall windows that looked like they could go on for miles.

you went to put your stuff in your room but she was left stunned. you poked your head back out to check on her and smiled at the sight of her mouth agape.

“like what you see?” you teased her, bringing her out of her daze.

“i’ve never been this high off the ground before. we’re practically in the clouds!” she exclaimed, taking her hat off.

you stepped closer to her and took her hat from her, grabbing her hand and pulling her towards your room, walking backwards. you held a mischievous smirk on your face, one she knew too well.

when you opened the door to your room, you giggled at her face. your room had a wide rectangular window that covered the entire wall, overlooking the city below.

your room was… so you, madison thought. it was littered with small trinkets that she found adorable. the wallpaper was your favorite color, she started to grow fonder of it when she learned how much you loved it.

she stepped closer to your vanity mirror, admiring the photos that were attached to it. photos of you and your friends, photos of you and your parents. even a few baby pictures. she was deep in thought again, but you were quick to make sure she didn’t get too absorbed by her own mind.

“hey.” you said, practically barking a little at her. she quickly spun around, catching the tail end of you dropping your dress for it to pool at your feet.

you opted for comfort on the drive, which meant wearing this dress that drove madison crazy. it was loose on you but still showed your figure off perfectly. but she enjoyed it off just as much.

“did you wanna get a closer look at this window?” you side eyed the window while madison reached for her bag.

“hell yeah i do.” she whipped out the strap-on like she had x-ray vision and knew exactly where it was.

she threw the strap-on onto the bed for the meantime, walking closer to you and capturing your lips in a kiss with many words. she missed you while on that drive, having to focus on the drive.

you were the object of her affection, she could never go for very long without trying to show her love for you.

she pulled you closer by your waist, stepping forward and backing you up until your ass and back were against the cold glass of the window. you squealed a little, the chill sending goosebumps across your skin. she swallowed every noise you made.

you unbuttoned madison’s shirt, pushing it off and yanking it until it untucked from her jeans. you made quick work of her belt, pulling it off in one swift motion and getting her jeans off. she pulled away to put the strap on around her hips.

you watched her with your bottom lip between your teeth, your eyes never leaving her body. no matter how many times you’d seen her naked, you found her absolutely flawless.

she got close to you again, her chest pressing against yours as she kissed you. you felt her fingers slip between your drenched folds, a smile plastered across her face.

“so wet already baby, we just got here!” she snickered and dropped to her knees, lifting one of your legs to rest on her shoulder. she buried her tongue between your folds, your breath hitching as an immediate reaction.

despite being out of her comfort zone, madison felt good with you. being so high up in the clouds with the bustling city beneath you both, it worried her a little bit. but her heart beat for you, and in turn you promised to make yourself a safe place for her with your legs wrapped around her head.

“shit!” your body jolted as her lips wrapped around her clit, sucking and flicking with her tongue. she slipped a finger into you as your head fell back against the glass.

she knew how to work you perfectly, being alone on the farm gave you two a lot of privacy to get to know each other on an intimate level. a hand of hers ran up your body, squeezing one of your tits, the mix of stimulation caused your head to spin.

you’d missed her like this, it wasn’t going to take long until…

“mads… mads…” you tapped the top of her head. “i don’t wanna cum yet.” you warned, not wanting to get too tired yet. you were both exhausted from the drive but refused to hold yourselves back from intimacy.

“okay, princess. want me to fuck you then?” she asked, her southern drawl felt more prominent when she was out of her natural habitat.

“please…” you begged. she nodded and quickly spun you, your hands pressing against the glass window. she pushed you forward, your tits and face against the glass now too.

“c’mon, baby. be good for me. show them how good i fuck you.” she said, slowly inserting the 8-inch silicone dick into you. you whined at the intrusion, trying to find something to grasp onto. your efforts were futile as all there was in your reach was the window pane.

madison started slow, wanting to make sure you were comfortable. in truth, this was turning you on so much that you wouldn’t have cared. looking down at the city below, knowing madison would have no problem fucking you on the sidewalk if you asked.

she wanted them to know that she would fuck you better than anyone could. she wanted you to know that your pussy was eternally hers and hers only.

“you’re being so good for me.” she grunted in your ear, pressing her chest against your back as her fist circled in your hair, tugging softly. “want everyone to know how good i make you feel. i make you feel good, don’t i?”

“yeah! yeah… mads, right there! fuck! don’t fucking stop!” you cried out, gasping for air. her sneaky fingers made their way to your cunt again, rubbing quick circles around your clit.

your eyes squeezed shut, the pleasure getting to you. madison was now thrusting harder into you, hitting that spongy spot that made you see stars.

“don’t you wanna cum for me, darlin’? wanna see you cum on my cock.” she whispered into your ear, peppering kisses on your back.

madison’s verbal encouragement was enough to push you over the edge, slick juices coating her strap as you reached your orgasm.

“ah! fuck!” you called out as you came on her cock and fingers, you heaved as your body relaxed.

madison wasn’t done yet though.

she spun you back around and pushed you to your knees, pushing the tip of the strap against your lips. you eagerly took it in your mouth, sucking your cum off as madison watched you.

you caught as her stomach flexed, knowing the friction of the strap against her own wetness would be enough to finish her off too. you bobbed your head at a rapid pace to assist her in reaching her own orgasm.

“yeah, baby. i love the way you take me in your mouth.” she leaned forward. her hand pressed up against the glass as she towered over you, tryung to keep herself stable. “keep going, princess.”

her breathing got shaky as she commanded you, your hands got thrown into the mix to help jerk her off, rubbing at the places your throat couldn’t reach.

“that’s it, baby. doin’ so fuckin— ah!” she groaned softly, reaching her peak. her legs shaking a little while she released all over the strap on.

she paused for a second, you backed off and helped her take it off, letting the dildo drop to the floor. you stood and grabbed her hand again, walking her to the bed.

you gently pushed her down onto the mattress and she moaned at the touch.

“holy shit, this bed is so comfy.” she adjusts her position so you can take your place on her chest. you put your head on her and kissed her gently.

“you’re comfy.”

𐚁 𓃗𐚁 𓃗𐚁 𓃗

a/n: heyyy… i know this was a short one but i fully intend for a part 2 to this madison in the city era. it’ll be a bit longer cause there will be a proper storyline but i wanted to post something to let you all know i was still around. sooo much love. i adore you all.

[moongeonight]

Play time

Summary: There is no plot, just fluff between kid Viktor and Rio.

A/N: I promised @home-of-the-squirmle That I would do this and honestly it's such a cute concept! I need more of these two 🥹

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

Viktor had finished collecting enough food to feed Rio, that's what the doctor called her, Only a few days had passed since he agreed to be his "assistant" but for the moment he only had to feed the pink creature.

He entered the cave where she was supposed to be, but surprisingly it was... alone, probably the doctor went to look for supplements but it was strange that she wasn't there... he decided checking the improvised laboratory that was in that same cave, he opened the door but he didn't find anyone...

"hello..? Doctor Singed? Rio...?" He called out in case the doctor was there, Only to be met with silence in the room, not a sound.

Viktor came out of the small laboratory, still confused and with the food box in one hand wondering if maybe she escaped, until...

He was suddenly knocked to the ground with a small cry of pain falling on his stomach with his cane falling to one side of him , the food in the box just scattering everywhere, now with the giant pink waverider on top of him that had come out of the water... that's why he couldn't find her...!

"Ah...! R-Rio?! What were you doing in the water? G-Get Off me!" He exclaimed as he struggled to make her get off of him, it was clear that he wasn't strong enough to do anything against her, he tried to push her as hard as he could but it didn't work...

Meanwhile she was grabbing with her tongue the food that was scattered on the floor near Viktor as he didn't know whether to try to reach his cane with the few strength he could use to try to get up or wait for her to come out on top of him, to his misfortune, Rio began to eat the food that had fallen from the box.

"hey!, Rio no! Don't eat them all!, they're for later-" He exclaimed as he saw how she literally ate everything on the ground in a few seconds.

Viktor let out a little frustrated sigh when he saw that she finished eating everything burying his head into the ground.

"Ugh... the doctor will be mad at me..."

Once Rio finished eating the food on the floor, her gaze once again focused on the pale kid below her who she had knocked down a few moments ago, she let out a small sound while looking at him curiously as she rest on top of him.

Viktor couldn't move now that her large body was on top of him and she was preventing him from leaving... All he could do was let out another annoying sound on the floor.

"You're very heavy Rio- And it's hard to breathe under you..."

He said as he tried his best to look at her with a mixture of annoyance and tiredness from being unable to breathe and move properly, while she ignored him and instead took the tip of her head to rub on his hair.

Viktor let out a small sound of discomfort, it's not that he didn't like the gesture but her saliva was making his hair dirty and even more messy.

"W-Wait Don't rub me so hard, you're making my hair messy!" He tried to push her away but due to her size he couldn't push her away much.

Rio continued to rub against the young boy, completely disregarding what he was saying, her tongue came out of her mouth again and began to run all over his face.

"W-Wha-?! No! stop! Ah- N-Not my face! Come on it's gross!"

He quickly tried to cover his face with his hands when he felt her big tongue run across his face, It didn't help much that she had... 3 tongues?? how did that even work...?

Viktor's face was now a mess thanks to Rio's affectionate tongue, when she finished covering his face in her saliva, she decided to continue her "affectionate attack" now with the rest of his body, She placed her head on his stomach and began to gently rub it against him.

"E-Eh?! N-Not my stomach-!"

He let out a small giggle when she rubbed against his stomach, it was... a little ticklish, more when her tongue ran all over that sensitive area causing an involuntary laugh from the boy.

"O-Okay ohohokay! D-Don't rub my stomach anymohohore please! I-I'm seriously ahahasking you- P-Please!"

Rio seemed to ignore him or just didn't want to stop her tickle attack on the boy, her tongue also slipped under his t-shirt and began to roam all over his stomach again.

"NO-! Nonohoho! Rio- S-Stop! I-It tihihihickles! Hahaha!" He continued to laugh because her tongue was tickling him so much.

The pink creature changed the area of her attack as she stopped rubbing against his abdomen and now she was rubbing it against his sides, she really seemed to like that area too.

"N-No not the sides! P-Please nohohot the sides! N-Not there...! Hahaha! T-This is too much...!"

Thanks to the sensitivity of his sides, he couldn't help but laugh out loud from the tickles, but that seemed to only encourage Rio to continue tormenting his flanks. She continued to rub against the sides of the young boy with her snout while he laughed and yelled for her to stop.

Viktor really couldn't take it anymore, tears from so much laughing and begging for her to stop were beginning to come out on his face.

"Please! I-I really can't stand it! Ah! Hehe- hahaha! I-It's Too- Much! shoo! shoo!"

Finally it seemed that Rio was tired of tormenting the boy's sides, she finally stopped rubbing against his sensitive spots which caused him to let out a big sigh of relief, but his respite was short-lived... She had another zone to attack.

"Good thing you stopped..."

He said, trying to slow his breathing a bit due to the tickling, but he soon noticed where her head was heading... Right towards his leg... right towards where he has a limp leg... uh oh.

"W-Wait! R-Rio please no! N-Not my leheheg! I-It's very sensitive don't!"

He began to beg, knowing well where this was going to go, Rio ignored his pleas and her head went to the boy's disabled leg, she began to rub there, he soon realized that this time she was rubbing it very carefully as to not accidentally hurt him...

And although he was happy that she was rubbing him carefully, there was the small problem... That That part was extremely ticklish...

"AH..! HAHAHA! NO! D-Don't rub there! I-It's very- S-SENSITIVE! it really t-tickles! Hahaha! P-Please stohoHOHOp!"

She continued to run over his leg, but after a few minutes that seemed like an eternity, she finally stopped her "attack" and rest her head on his stomach since she had also become tired.

"Damn... That wasn't necessary Rio! But still... I guess T-Thank you for stopping..."

He said with a tired voice as he tried to catch his breath, his stomach was wet because of her saliva... he definitely needed to change clothes...

[shyamanuensis]

love your work! any chance for some sad sebastian? you write sad ominis with such grace i'd love a little more drama if possible. xoxoxox

I swear someone is listening in on the conversations @eva-fitzgerald and I have because we literally were talking about this earlier today. A lazy oneshot written in the car as we drive home for Christmas. Enjoy xx

“So, what do I tell everyone if you don’t come home one night?” “The truth – that I died doing my job.”

The small black box I held in my hands was standard government issue. A ‘goodbye box’ was what most widows of ministry workers called them, however only being engaged, I wasn’t sure the lingo applied in my situation. What was usually delivered by a high-end ministry official, had been brought by instead by his best friend. Waking up to the sound of knocking at my cottage door a little after 3am, Ominis was the last person I expected to be standing there. His choice of words deliberate – tone cold, yet soft as he spoke. As if hearing what he was saying with a more sympathetic, yet straightforward voice would make things easier. However, irrespective of what he saw, experienced and recollected throughout the current ongoing wizarding war; it was obvious that the requirement of delivering bad news never got easier.

“And you think the kids will understand?” “Sweetheart, I’m doing this for them.”

Stumbling back into the house, I left the door open for Ominis to follow through and took a seat on a sofa; balancing the small black box on the tops of my thighs as hands cradled the lid to lift it and peek inside. I could feel my breathing hitch, my skin begin to burn, hot tears fall into the corners of my eyes. I knew however, I had to stay quiet and not wake the sleeping toddlers in their bedrooms. Feeling Ominis hand on my shoulder; gently rubbing as it travelled along onto my back I sighed softly, knowing this day would have to one day come.

“Sebastian you’re being unreasonable.” “No, you just aren’t being supportive.”

The first thing my eyes flickered over in the box was his auror badge; employee number etched into the back as if that’s all he was. Beside this, the trusty broken teal checkerboard wand handle I knew had failed him. There were a few folded pieces of parchment, notes maybe or letters unsent. Beneath them a photo of the children poking out from behind the cover of a leather-bound journal I’d one day bring myself to read. That was what made the first tears fall. In silence. The photograph of the children.

“You know what, I’m sick of this argument. Just... go.” “Promise you, we’ll talk more about it when I get home.”

Closing the lid; I managed to keep it together only barely as I placed the box on the coffee table and picked nervously at my lips. A quick look at Ominis which held vulnerability, naivety and despair without a single word spoken had him responding that he’d stay until the children woke up; knowing that right now, solitude was not what I needed. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I sighed dryly, remembering our last conversation before Sebastian left for work the previous evening. A heated argument: words left unsaid, tensions high as they had been the last few weeks; knowing through whispers, rumours and phone calls what he’d be dealing with and going through.

“…fine.” “I love you.”

I’d never have the chance to turn back time and reply. The image of him leaving home for work one I’d forever have etched into the back of my mind. We’d promised each other we’d never argue before work or before going to bed; but the regret of our last conversation would haunt me now forever. Ominis rubbed my knee gently before whispering that he’d go and check on the kids. And once alone; in the darkness of this house with a fireplace dying out which no longer felt like a home, the cries came crashing down uncontrollably.

[pricegouge]

alright.

cw: price x trans!reader. no gendered terms used so you can be trans in any direction you want. attempted deadnaming.

he knows something's amiss the second he opens the door to the pungent, chemical scent of too much cleaning product.

it's not that you don't keep a tidy house. some clutter, maybe, but only enough to feel homey, and he's never once found fault in the level of dust or dirt build up, even with his heightened standards after so many years in the service. but this level of cleanliness, the pristine shine of counters, and the cheery scent of orange peel and anise in the simmer pot on the stove. it could only mean one thing.

you're nowhere on the ground floor, though his search reveals more bleached grout, shampooed carpets. john calls up the stairs for you sweetly, a warning of his approach just a much as a barometer by which to gauge your response. he's never shied away from conflict, but he's only made it this far in life by being smart, never going in half-cocked, or with bad intel. he curses silently when you don't play along, either not having heard him or just outright ignoring him.

it's not looking good for him, that's for sure.

"sweetheart?" he tries again, beginning the ascent to your shared room. abject fear doesn't set in until he hears you banging around, taking out whatever pent up aggression you still haven't worked out on his things, by the sound of it. he scrubs a palm over his whiskers, checks the calendar on his phone to ensure he hasn't missed an important date by mistake. he doesn't truly start to panic until he hears you mutter an honest to god 'lousy good for nothin'.'

whatever he's done, there's nothing for it but to take your anger on the chin and start groveling.

you don't even give him time to greet you when he opens the door, spinning around to level him with that same look you use on the boys when they're being insufferable. it transforms you into some wild thing, fiery and tempestuous with sweat caking your hair to your temples and your breath puffing your chest up. he's half a mind to tell you how gorgeous you are, but he's a little afraid you'll make him swallow that swiffer duster if he does.

"dove -?" he tries and you huff before he can even finish, turning away to continue your tirade, mumbling incoherently all the while and he must have a death wish cause he follows after you, hands gentling on your shoulders even as you try to shrug him off. "love, look at me, please. what's wrong? hm? have i done something?"

cagey and stiff, you fight him even as he envelops you, hissin' and spittin' the whole way.

"it's nothing, john. can you -?"

his eyebrows nearly escape the confines of his forehead. "nothin'? that why you damn near polished a hole through the dining table?"

a sputtering sound, somewhere between a cough and laugh. it's all he needs to breathe a bit easier. if it had been something he'd done, you'd have mouthed off about putting a hole in him next time. he guides you to the bed, shoves the wadded up pile of dirty linens you'd clearly intended on laundering up the mattress to clear a spot for you. the smell of febreze wafts around you as you sink into it, not an inch of the house having eluded your wrath. "alright. it's alright now. c'mere, look at me," he coos, waits for you to abide before giving you an overly sweet smile. "now, what's happened?"

you sag, cut strings, the tension in your spine leaving you entirely the second he guides you through one long breath. unexpectedly easy, as if you wanted to be settled and soothed. "got a holiday card from my dad," you grumble, voice muffled somewhere in the pocket of his neck and shoulder.

he hums, the nature of your frustration starting to take shape. your father - absent the entire time he's known you, at least, though from what he gathers that hadn't been a recent development even back then. you exchange texts sometimes, often laugh when he forgets your birthday. chew john's ear off when the man has the nerve to say you're absent from his life when you fail to wish him a happy easter. he waits for you to elucidate. offers some semblance of a truce when he waits too long. "that was nice of him?"

a scoff, some wriggling. you produce a folded up drug store card with a chicken in a santa hat printed on the front. "misspoke," you croak, shoving the card into his hands. "he wrote someone a holiday card."

john sighs, presses a kiss to your scalp as he drops the card right back onto his lap. he doesn't need to open it to know what he'll find, though he's honestly surprised you'd even bothered to tell your father, not when you speak with him infrequently enough that him knowing your preferred name even seemed to matter. but it was your call and if you'd done so, only to have your wishes ignored, he'd half a mind to find this man and unload some built up issues he'd been collecting and ignoring ever since you'd first asked him to leave it.

"oh sweetheart," he murmurs, follows it with your preferred name because he wants you to know how much he likes it. "i'm so sorry. but you know who you are, even if he doesn't accept you, and -."

he stalls out when you squirm away from him, pluck the card right back up from the floor where it had fallen to press it, open, into his face. you're angry again, stalking around the room before he even realizes you've stood.

"you're sweet, but too optimistic, john." the accusation nearly levels him, not one that's ever been laid at his feet. it's a shock that only festers, bottom giving way when you continue, "that motherfucker wishes he'd deadnamed me."

well. doesn't that just pique the curiosity. he's not sure what he expects to find when he uncrumples the card. a medical bill, maybe - your father deciding that all these years of separation ought to be repaid literally. maybe the fool had gone and had another kid, sent you the ultrasound like you were all still one big happy family. he's decidedly not expecting to see the damn thing addressed to someone else entirely. so much so that he nearly asks who it's for before taking a second look, reading it over again.

wrong name. wrong deadname. a slight variant of your legal, christian name. and not even a matter of getting you confused with another family member because as far as he can remember, no one in your extended shares this name. and he can certainly remember more of your family than your damn father can. no, the man had simply forgotten what was on the birth certificate he'd signed. close, though.

"well, he's got the first syllable right," john hedges, folding the card carefully closed along the same seams you'd pressed into it. you don't find him funny, barely even acknowledge he's spoken as you continue to pace. he tries again, casting desperately for an excuse he knows the man doesn't deserve. "is he... unwell?"

"he's fucking fine, john. he's just an ass."

"he's getting up there," john counters, standing, creaky kneed, to trap you in his arms again. "you haven't seen him for years, right? maybe he's -."

"he's fine. called him to thank him for the card," you scoff, take a minute to resettle yourself before speaking again. "i was thinking maybe the same thing, you know? not unreasonable. but he's completely fine. even asked to speak with his girlfriend, just to be sure she hadn't noticed anything either. fit as a fucking fiddle. just forgot what he fucking named me."

without the distraction of cleaning, or pacing, or cursing, your frustration has nowhere to go except tears. he holds you, presses kisses to your crown. calls you by your name - your real one, the one you chose - just to make sure you know someone remembers it, he supposes. honestly, he's at a bit of a loss. not something he's overly used to, people's ability to surprise him having long since worn off. but this is a new one. or, at least not one he's equipped to handle. fathers forgot their kids all the time. forgot to go home after that trip to the store, forgot to call on their birthdays. his own old man had forgotten plenty in his time, too. but he's still fairly certain the man would have been able to recall what he'd named his son right up until the day he'd died.

by the time you've calmed down you're ready for a shower. he'd join you, but he hears the way your stomach growls, food evidently forgotten all day. so he pulls the curtain closed on you after one last kiss and picks his way to the kitchen where he starts first by sifting through the trash, finding the merry red envelope addressed to the wrong person at the bottom, buried under all the waste you'd excised during your cleaning spree. he takes a picture of the corner, tastefully crops out the name that had given you so much grief. sighing, he returns everything to the bin and washes his hands, careful to ensure he won't accidentally scald you.

the rest of the evening moves easier. there's nothing that can be said and you both know it, so you don't. he can let it settle as long as you want, doesn't mean to keep scratching at a fresh wound. so you eat dinner in relative silence, and you sit in relative silence when he lets you use him like a pillow on the couch after, your favorite comfort film playing softly. and that's fine. the next bit he can do alone, anyway. got your father's address tucked safely in his pocket already.

he just thinks someone should make sure the man's okay, is all.

and if i write a comfort fic where your daddy as hell boyfriend takes care of you after you open a card from your flesh and blood father to find it addressed to the wrong fucking name, are y'all gonna be super chill and never ask what inspired it?

[ay4tou]

daisies and lilies | johan seong x reader

summary: at the flower shop you work in, one of your regular customer finds solace he's been finding amidst all the beautiful flowers — you included.

author's note: i ate in making the summary omg... anyway i love this boy sm (╥_╥) he's the main reason why i started reading lookism | masterlist

The bell above the door chimes again, the sound so familiar now that you don’t even need to look up to know who it is. You glance at the clock on the wall:

6:57 PM.

Right on time.

“Late today,” you say lightly, focusing on the bouquet of snapdragons you’re arranging. You don’t need to check, but you know he’ll be leaning against the doorframe, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket, his sharp eyes scanning the shop like it’s a place he’s not quite sure he belongs in.

“You close at seven. That means I’m on time,” he replies, his tone carrying the same stubbornness it always does.

It started with silent visits, weeks of him stepping into the shop. He never bought anything at first, never even spoke until the day you called him out on his quiet lurking.

“You know, this isn’t a library,” you’d said that first time. “You’re supposed to buy something, not just stare.”

He’d blinked at you, almost like he didn’t know how to respond. Then, after a moment, he’d muttered, “What if I don’t know what I want?”

“Then you ask for help.”

That had earned you a long, piercing stare that had made you feel like he was sizing you up, trying to figure out if you were worth the trouble.

He must have decided you were because he’d kept coming back after that.

Now, months later, you’ve fallen into a strange rhythm. He comes in most evenings, buying a single flower or just watching as you work. You thought it was kinda weird at first, but you really didn't mind, as long as you had company on the boring parts of your shift.

You still don’t know much about him, not really. But at least he told you his name. Johan Seong.

You’d offered yours in return, and the sound of it on his lips had stayed with you longer than it should have.

“Hey, Johan,” you say, breaking the silence. “You know, if you keep coming here, people might think you actually like flowers.”

He snorts, stepping closer to the counter. “Maybe I do.”

“Oh, really?” You arch a brow, meeting his gaze. “What’s your favorite, then?”

His eyes flicker over the array of blooms, but he doesn’t answer. Instead, he picks up a lily from the vase on the counter, turning it over in his hands.

“This one,” he says finally.

“Peace and renewal,” you murmur, watching him carefully. “Why does that not surprise me?"

He looks up, and for a moment, there’s something almost playful in his expression. “What, you think I need peace or something?”

You shrug, your lips twitching into a smile. “I think you need a lot of things.”

He laughs then, a short, sharp sound that’s more bitter than amused. “You’re not wrong.”

“What about you?” he asks suddenly, pulling you out of your thoughts. “What’s your favorite?”

“Daisies,” you say without hesitation.

“Daisies?” He raises a brow. “That’s boring.”

“They’re not boring,” you protest, crossing your arms.

He tilts his head, a small, amused smile tugging at his lips. He doesn’t argue. Instead, he sets the lily down and leans against the counter, his expression softening. “You ever think about leaving this place?"

The question catches you off guard. “Leaving? Why would I?”

He shrugs, but there’s something in his eyes you can’t quite place. “I don’t know. Seems like you’re stuck here.”

“I like it here,” you say simply. “It’s peaceful.”

He doesn’t respond, but the way his jaw tightens tells you he has thoughts he’s not sharing.

The nights grow colder, and his visits become less frequent. When he does show up, he’s quieter, more distant. You want to ask him what’s wrong, but something about the look in his eyes keeps you from speaking.

The bell above the shop door stays silent as the hours tick by. You close up, heart heavy with a worry you can’t quite name. The shop feels emptier without him, like a shadow has been cast over the warmth of the flowers.

It’s a week later, just as you’re locking up for the night, when the doorbell chimes faintly. You turn, and your breath catches in your throat.

“Johan?”

He’s leaning heavily against the doorframe, his face pale and drawn. A cut above his brow is bleeding sluggishly, and bruises bloom across his jaw and neck.

"Hey,” he rasps, his voice weak but still carrying that stubborn edge.

You rush to his side, your heart pounding in your chest. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Don’t… don’t worry about it,” he mutters, waving you off even as his knees buckle. You catch him before he can fall, his weight heavy against you.

“Johan, you’re bleeding! Let me-”

“No,” he interrupts, his voice firmer this time. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you see something raw and unguarded there. “I didn’t come here for that.”

“Then why-”

“I just… I needed to see you,” he says quietly, his voice cracking on the last word. “One last time.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You grab his arm, your fingers tightening instinctively. “What do you mean one last time? Hey, you're not gonna... are you?”

“I don’t have a choice,” he cuts you off, his expression twisting with something like regret. “But I'll be back. I promise.”

Your chest tightens, and you shake your head, refusing to believe what he’s saying.

"You're a liar. Stay. I want to help."

“You can’t fix this.” he says, his voice in pain but softening.

Tears prick at your eyes, but you blink them back, refusing to let them fall. “And what about you? Are you just going to disappear?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a single lily, its white petals slightly crumpled but still beautiful. He holds it out to you with a trembling hand.

“I mean, I brought this.” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "You said you liked lilies, right?"

You take the flower, your fingers brushing against his. You stared at the single lily, almost wilting but staying strong, even as it's stem is shriveled up.

“Johan…”

"Yeah?"

He leans in, so close you can feel his breath against your skin. For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you.

"I said I liked daisies. Not lilies."

He stops just short, his forehead almost resting against yours. He retracts his head and makes eye contact with you, looking a bit surprised.

"Oh shit. Really?"

"You really need to take care of yourself." You stifled a laugh. "So young and already has memory loss, what's next, blindness?"

"Hey uh, about that..."

Moments pass and his wounds are all bandaged up, Johan preparing himself to go out of the store one last time.

He sighs. “Take care of yourself too, okay? Bye.” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.

“Johan!” you call out, but he doesn’t turn back.

The bell chimes faintly as he disappears into the night, leaving you standing there with the wilted lily clutched tightly in your hand.

Days turn into weeks, then months, and you don’t see him again. The ache of his absence feels like a wound that refuses to heal, but life goes on, even when your heart feels heavier than it should.

Then, one morning, you step outside to open the shop and find a single lily on the doorstep. No note, no explanation. Just the flower, pristine and beautiful.

Your breath catches, and for the first time in months, you feel a flicker of something that feels like hope.

The lilies keep coming, rarely but consistently. Sometimes weeks pass between them, sometimes months. But each time you find one, it’s like a quiet reminder that he’s still out there somewhere, alive and thinking of you.

You never see him again, but you carry him with you in the quiet moments. Although the ache of his absence never fully fades, there’s a quiet comfort in knowing that, in some small way, he’s still with you.

[theboredhooman]

okay but kame and asa are literally 100% in love i don’t make the rules ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

long post overanalysing and yapping about these two lesbians + spoilers for the ‘mononoke: phantom in the rain’ movie! go watch it right now if you can 👹👹

kame is literally asa’s most precious thing.

asa was soo flustered and didn’t want to tell kame about this, even blushing?? like understandable it’s basically a confession

one of asa’s first reactions was always to check if kame was okay whenever the mononoke appeared

sure, it could’ve just been a friend thing, but asa was constantly looking out for kame in the ooku

defending her and taking the blame for all her mistakes and trying to protect her from harm, standing up to awashima and mugitani

asa i know what you are i saw that blush when kame smiled after you told her she could work with you instead of mugitani (I get you she was so cute tho)

”Such neat handwriting” asa’s eyes were so soft it actually broke my heart when i saw awashima cutting kame’s hair

the well scene….just…

asa trying to pull up kame, and kame doing the same for her

also asa being sort of lifeless while she hangs there until kame tells her that ‘it’ll be alright!/I’ve got you!’ and suddenly she snaps out of her shock, gaining emotions again

also it was so cute when they were talking next to each other at night

speaking of which, kame making asa promise to not let go while they sleep and asa adjusting to a more comfortable grip while holding hand was just; auGHHH 😩

ALSO ALSO “Kitagawa made me realise what was important, what I should never throw away,” and then KAME TURNING TO SMILE AT ASA AND ASA SMILING BACK WITH THAT ADORING LOOK IN HER EYES?? (note: there was also minor foreshadowing here with the empty doll cupboard but i think that had more to do with kitagawa)

and the cut off after saying she needed to say something important was really suspicious like what did she say??

idk how this related but afterwards she became more focused and hardworking on her job(but also more rigid and firm in her beliefs) and kame tipped out her water instead of drinking it (because she became the opposite? more rebellious/defiant maybe? idk)

speaking to the medicine seller, she said she understood kitagawa’s feelings, which makes me think kitagawa also had a thing for her friend lol like there was absolutely something going on there if she(kitagawa) fell apart after her friend left

only mildly related but i believe karakasa’s next target was probably going to be kame and she was used as bait for it (as something a redditor* mentioned was asa may have sent kame away to protect her rather than the reason kitagawa did, OR lure out karakasa) edit: nvm i remembered wrong it was utayama i believe (due to perhaps resentment within the doll’s umbrella*) or asa (following the logic that awashima and mugitani were both the head housemaids(?) favoured by utayama before asa, although again the end goal was probably to attack utayama)

also when asa was addressing the other maids of the ooku before the birth celebratory ceremony and bowed, kame bowed but nobody else did (which means they didn’t respect asa)

then kame got mad and showed her support for her girl like hell yeah 👏 and asa gained more confidence which i think was sweet

oh and asa was also like “the thing that kept me grounded was lady kame” 🥹🥹

she also said (acc. to netflix subs) “And yet, I yearned for nothing more than to share meals with Kame. And spend countless nights just staying up late, giggling and talking to her.” SHE SOUNDED SO LOVESICK 💔

btw love how the medicine seller instantly knew asa was looking for her boo lmao

anyways i think it mayyy not have been requited on kame’s side, at least canonically, but I have literally zero doubt asa was in love with her. then again homophobes and censorship. uh. it’s alright i ship them very hard either way i need more lesbian rep in anime hehe.

in conclusion. Harold they’re lesbians. thanks for coming to my ted talk. yeah o7

*redditors talked about the choice of karakasa as the yokai.(i reccomend reading it, it’s very interesting imo)

[rebelliousstories]

Online Shopping

25 Days of Ficmas

Relationship: James “Bucky” Barnes x Reader

Fandom: Marvel

Request: No

Warnings: Fluff, Mentions of Alcohol, Brief Strong Language

Word Count: 1,779

Main Masterlist: Here

Marvel Masterlist: Here

Summary: Trapped in his own home, there’s very little that he can do to express himself, or show that expression to anyone else. But Sergeant Barnes ain’t no quitter; he just has to navigate a new world.

Consider Donating: Here

Going out to a physical store during the holidays was a but too much for Bucky right now. Sure, he could go into high stakes, life-threatening missions with no problem. Dealing with crazy crowds of angry shoppers trying to get their last minute gifts? Absolutely not.

However, he had yet to find the perfect gift for a certain someone. This one woman that went to the same bar that he frequented that he actually had a lot in common with. Read the same type of books, enjoyed similar music; even had the same affinity for obscure, random, useless facts.

So here Bucky was, days before Christmas, struggling to find the gift he wanted to give her without leaving the house. He was supposed to meet her at the bar Christmas Eve to spend some time together, and he was hoping to give her a present then. However, there was no way he was going to leave his apartment to go shopping.

That is, until James remembered something Sam had mentioned recently. There was shopping online. It was a brilliant idea, with just one small problem; he had no idea how it worked. Begrudgingly, Bucky tried to talk himself into contacting his partner. He knew that Sam would never let him live this down.

Forcing himself to pick up the phone, Barnes reluctantly dialed up the number. Part of him hoped that he wouldn’t pick up as they line just kept ringing and ringing and ri-

“Bucky, what’s up man?” Sam answered with a cheerful tone.

“Hey, Sam. I, um…” Bucky sighed, rolling his eyes as he talked himself into actually speak. “I need your help with something.”

“Sure, man. Whatcha need? Hold on, one sec.” There was some shuffling on the other end of the line before Sam came back on. The sound of children laughing, and people chattering came through. “Alright. What’s up?”

“Could you help me shop online?” Bucky asked, shifting from foot to foot.

“Come again?”

“I-I need to buy something and I don’t wanna go into stores right now.” He tried explaining as he paced around his apartment.

“Bucky, are you sure there isn’t someone else who could help you out? I’m on the opposite end of the country right now, man. What about that chick you’ve been talking about? The one from the bar.” Sam stared out into the vast open waters from the dock of his family home.

“Well, um… that’s who I’m getting the thing for. I kinda don’t want her knowing.” Scratching the back of his head, Bucky felt uncomfortable as he had been forced to say it aloud.

“Ooo, you sly dog, man!” Sam cheered. “Whatcha wanna get her?”

Now, there was a blush creeping up his neck from the man’s words. “A set of books.”

“Okay, now we’re working with something. You probably don’t have amazon set up yet so, can you find this set online? Like the Barnes and Nobles or Books-A-Million websites?” Wilson instructed, fully getting on board with this idea.

“Uh, yeah. Hold on.” Behind the phone, Sam could hear Bucky moving through his apartment to sit at his computer. Clacking keys, and mumbling were the only indicators that any progress was being made.

“Okay, okay. I found it on Books-A-Million. Add to cart, right?”

“Yep. See you got it man. Now, when you hit check out, you have the option of choosing whether or not to ship it or pick it up in store.” Sam continued to explain, trying to get his friend through this.

“Which do I pick?” Bucky was so confused staring at the computer.

“Whichever will get the item there faster and on time.”

“Will it say that somewhere?”

“Can you read the damn page?” Sam sighed, now, rolling his eyes.

Bucky snorted through his nose in contempt. “Alright, it says it can be at my apartment by tomorrow. What do I do now?”

“Click checkout and put in your card info.”

Some more clicking and typing occurred before James came back to the phone. “I think it’s done. Listen, um thanks Sam. I really appreciate it.”

“Yeah, yeah, man,” Sam started, “I just expect to be invited to the wedding.”

“Ha ha. Bye, Sam.” The phone call was disconnected without another chance for a reply. Leaning back in the desk chair, Bucky was fiddling with his hands as he thought about what he was going to do with wrapping.

He was not the best at presents, even back in his younger days. His sister or mom would always wrap presents for him, while he could, at best, put something in a pretty bag. Bucky was not even sure if he had wrapping paper around his apartment.

Which meant he needed to go get something to make it pretty before giving it to her. Which meant having to go out into the crowds of shoppers. A memory of seeing some wrapping paper at the bodega on the corner popped into his head. Maybe James could skip the lines and crowds that made him feel anxious.

Two nights later, Bucky was standing outside of the bar that they were supposed to meet at. In his hands, a gift bag heavy with the weight of books rested. The cold December air nipped at his cheeks, and made his breath appear in front of him, but he could not just walk in just yet. He was still trying to work up the nerve to go in and meet her. This night could be the end of their friendship in one way or another if he did not play it right.

Exhaling sharply, he pushed open the door. Scanning the room, Bucky smiled as he saw her happily sitting with a few drinks in front of her at a booth. Walking up, he opened his arms just in time for her to launch herself into them.

“Bucky! I missed you. Come on, I got the first round.” She kept a beaming grin as she hugged, and led the man over to his booth.

“Hey, missed you too. Thank you.” Sliding in, he set the gift bag on the seat as he sat down. Barnes clinked his bottle against hers and took a sip.

“So what have you been up to?” And thus began their conversation that would branch off into an evening together.

He loved hearing her talk. Even if she read the dictionary, Bucky could just listen to her forever. There was something calming about it. His mind was often flooded with too many voices, too many memories; it was just too active. This was the kind of voice that he could relax to. It gave him a sense of calm he could not replicate anywhere else.

“Oh,” her voice broke him from his trance. “Before I forget, here you go.”

A gift bag was set on the table, and pushed across to him. Bucky, with wide eyes, gently grasped the handles of the bag, and pulled it closer to him.

“What is it?” He whispered, eyes tracing over the decorative paper coming from the top.

“A bomb.” Her voice was deadpan, as was her expression. Leveling her with a similar look, Bucky chuckled when he saw her beaming now.

“Open it, silly.” At her encouragement, James delicately tore into the bag. Below the tissue paper, there was a box-like object wrapped in beautiful wrapping paper. He plucked it from the bag, and turned it over in his hands, trying to figure out what it was. Tearing a stripe through the paper, the second he saw what was inside, he became giddy.

“No. You didn’t.” Resting in his hands now, was an original 1937 copy of the Hobbit. The bindings were fresh, as if someone had recently redone the book. A distinct old book smell wafted into his nose when he opened the book. Flabbergasted, Bucky shifted his gaze between the book and the woman across from him.

“You mentioned you’d like to read it again and someone at my book club was looking to sell it. He gave me a steal because we’re friends. Said his grandfather originally owned it, and brought it with him when he moved to here from Germany.” She casually explained, shrugging and taking a swig of her drink.

“I… thank you. Truly,” Bucky reached his hands across to hold hers that was on the table, “I just- I don’t know what to say besides thank you.”

“It’s not a problem, Bucky.”

“This, um-” he cleared his throat, “makes my gift a little coincidental.”

Bucky reached next to him to place the bag on the table. He sat there, with bated breath and rapt attention as she began to dive into the bag. As opposed to her gift, his was just placed inside without wrapping paper. But James at least put some pretty tissue paper on top. And yet, even without the wrapping paper on the present, she was giddily pulling the books from the bag.

“You got the entire Neon Gods set for me? Oh, Bucky…” she sighed dreamily as she held and looked over each cover and backing.

“Yeah, well. You mentioned you’d wanted to read it.” Bucky smirked, catching a glint in her eyes. He did not want to get his hopes up, but he loved that little glint.

“You’re such a sweetie. Thank you.” Getting out of her seat, she went across to his section of the booth and wrapped him in a hug. Bucky pressed his nose into her hair, enjoying the comforting feeling of her embrace.

She sat back after a moment, and looked over her books again. “I still can’t believe you got me the entire set. All I got you was a single book.”

“Hey,” he shook her lightly, “don’t do that. I love this single book. However…”

At this she perked up. “However?”

“Maybe, you’d be able to get me one more Christmas present that’s been on my wishlist,” came Bucky’s ask, albeit very hesitantly.

“What is it?”

“Would you wanna go on a date with me?”

A second of utter silence passed between them. So long that Bucky was genuinely about to retract his statement, chalking it up to a joke. A very lame joke.

“I’d love to.” She muttered, dropping her eyes down to the shirt covering his chest. James breathed a sigh of relief.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Nervous chuckles passed between the two of them as they took in the situation at hand.

“Okay, then.” Bucky threw his arm over her shoulder and pulled her in closer. He pressed a kiss to her hair as he basked in the triumph of the moment. Totally worth it in his book.

[maisnamedmoon]

Identity Reveals #1

I postet this on AO3 too, just incase you want to leave Kudos or follow me :)

Here is the link v

"Coordination only works if you don't have siblings!" (Nightwing)

With the monitors and alarms beeping no one notices when the monotone Voice of the Zeta beams calls out “R24 Richard Grayson-Wayne”. Until the man walks to the front of the room “Good evening Justice League”

“Who are you?”, Green Arrow was the first to react, already pointing an arrow at the intruder, “And how did you get in?”

“I am Richard Grayson, ex chief of police of Blüdhaven and now your link between the police and military force on earth and yourselves.” The raven haired man said, giving a small bow before frowning and turning around to the computer, just for him to press a button and the beeping of the alarms to turn off. “I’m here to coordinate this Alien intrusion”

“We don’t need someone to coordinate our missions” Batman growled.

“I believe you don’t have a choice there, Batman”

“No, he is supposed to be here, I got a call this morning. Nice to meet you” Superman said, trying to calm the still sceptical heroes. Their questions were quickly forgotten, when an explosion rattled the Watchtower. Everyone jumped into action, Grayson quickly turning around, pressing his earpiece, informing whoever was on the other side of it that they were under attack, while typing away on the computer. Batman walked up next to him pulling up files, letting out little grunts and huffs when Grayson throws aspects and ideas for plans.

“Everyone got the new team groupings on their screens, suit up for battle” Batman calls out, still typing.

When the heroes got back into the room, now suited up, they heard what sounded like Grayson trying to not hit someone over comms “Get your ass moving Arsenal and take Red Hood with you ….. Don’t question how I know he is there ….. I literally could not care less if he refuses to take part in this or not ….. Tell him I’ll take his patrol privileges away from him if he doesn’t ….. Yes I can do that, do not test me, Roy ….. he better be” He lets out a huff of frustration and continues to talk, now with someone else it seems “Grayson to troops, status report” With each answer he got cities on the map in front of him turned different shades of orange, yellow and red, marking the severity of the attacks they were under.

And then he started to call out team names and cities, appointing the teams of heroes to different cities all over the US. “Batman, I need you to go to Gotham and coordinate the cave” Who without even the slightest hint of the BatglareTM that everyone, who tried to command him got, turned around and walked to the Zeta tubes.

“How did he do that?” Green Lantern asked looking in the direction Batman just disappeared in. “I don’t know but I’m more concerned with the fact that he knows Arsenals civilian identity” Green Arrow frowned, looking at their new team member.

With Grayson on comms coordinating the different teams, including military forces, the Justice League, Young Justice, Teen Titans and the situation that is Gotham, the whole ordeal was surprisingly easy to deal with. As more and more of the Justice League hero teams came back to the Watchtower, more cities on the map, that were before various shades of red, turned green.

Now with most of the cities Alien free and most of the Justice League teams back, Grayson only had to check in on the teams not stationed on the Watchtower, “Kaldur’ahm, status report”.

Aqualad’s voice called out through the monitor room: “All clear over here, Rob, some minor injuries, but nothing too concerning” The heroes seemed to slump a little bit, knowing that their sidekicks are fine.

After also confirming with the Teen Titans that they were fine, there was only one more team to account for: “Dick Grayson to Batcave”

“Access denied” The monotone voice of the computer rang out.

“Richard Grayson to Batcave” He tried again.

“Access denied”

“Oh you are so fucking dead RR” Dick let out a sight. “Nighwing to Batcave”

“Here Batcave” A male voice answered, slightly amused.

“Batcave, status report! Also Timothy, I will personally rip your head off and burn all your coffee!”

[whosscruffylooking]

The Purest Things- Envy (Mayhem) Part 2

Aaron Hotchner x Fem! Reader Word Count: 4k Warnings: Mentions of blood, injuries, and weapons. References to bombs. Mention of death and the description of one of the unsubs k!lling himself at the end. The Purest Things Masterlist

au! may 2008

Bookend: "We win together as a team, and we lose together as a team." - Kenny Smith

“Penelope, what do you see? Are they hurt?” you plead, the panic rising in your chest.

“Hotch seems to be okay, but Kate hasn’t moved. He’s not moving her either,” Penelope responds, her voice shaky. “Okay,” you answer, trying to steady your own breath. “Check on the others. I’m going to Hotch and Kate.”

“Please be careful,” she begs, the worry clear in her voice.

As you pull up to the bomb site, the scene is chaotic. The road is blocked off with first responders, their presence thick and tense. You slam the car into park and rush out, already knowing what’s coming. An officer steps in front of you, prepared to stop anyone trying to get through.

“You can’t come through, ma’am. None of us can. Orders,” he says sternly.

You shake your head, irritation boiling over. “I’m with the FBI. We created those orders. Let me through.”

He doesn’t budge. Instead, he holds you back, unyielding.

“My boss is in there!” you snap, voice rising in urgency.

He pushes you back, and then you hear it—the sound you were dreading. Hotch’s strained voice, distorted like it’s coming through a haze, “Officer down! Please! We need help down here!”

Your heart sinks, and everything inside you screams to break past the barricade, but you’re still stuck.

“Let me through, damn it!” you yell, hands shaking with frustration.

“We’re here! Please!” Aaron cries out again.

Your heart feels like it’s tearing in two at the sound of his pain. You fight to keep your tears at bay.

Just then, Morgan pulls up. He’s already furious, storming toward the barricade. The officers try to stop him, but Morgan’s presence is far more intimidating than yours, and they turn their focus to holding him back.

You lock eyes with him, giving a subtle signal. It’s risky, but you need to take the chance. Morgan ramps up the theatrics, getting louder, and playing his part perfectly.

You don’t hesitate. The moment they look away, you slip through the gap, moving fast, heading straight for Hotch. You can hear the commotion behind you, but all that matters is getting to him.

“Aaron!” you scream, your voice breaking through the chaos.

His eyes find you, and a wave of relief washes over him.

You rush to his side, immediately checking him over. He seems okay, just some cuts and bruises, but you can tell he’s shaken. You glance at Kate, who’s bleeding heavily, and then at the man standing next to Hotch. Something about him feels off, but your focus stays on Hotch and Kate for now.

“I’ve got it pinched off, but I can’t move her without losing my grip,” he says, his voice trembling.

You place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “We’re going to help her, just hold on.” Turning toward the barricade, you call, “Derek! We need you!”

It takes a moment, but Derek eventually breaks through the crowd of officers and runs to your side. Together, you all work to stabilize Kate. But you can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong with the man standing off to the side, looking too calm, too collected.

“You need to leave,” you say to him, your voice firm. “We can’t help her until you’re out of the way.”

Derek’s phone rings, and you signal for him to answer it. His face immediately falls, and you follow his gaze, your heart sinking as you look at the man again.

“Hotch,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s him.”

Hotch, still trying to keep his composure, turns to the man. “Go, Morgan. Y/N, stay with me.”

Finally, you think to yourself. You’re not going anywhere.

A paramedic comes running through the chaos, rushing to Kate’s side. He immediately begins assessing her injuries, his face grim as he kneels beside her, gently pulling her into a more stable position.

“She’s losing a lot of blood,” the paramedic mutters, working quickly to apply pressure to the wound. “We need to get her out of here now.”

You step forward, keeping your eyes on Hotch. “I’ll take my car and clear a path for you to the hospital,” you offer, your voice unwavering despite the alarm building in your chest.

The paramedic looks up, nodding sharply. “Good idea. We need to move fast. Go ahead.”

You nod in return, already moving toward your car. “I’ll be right ahead of you,” you call out, glancing back at Hotch one more time.

With determination setting in, you climb into your car and start the engine. You weave your way through the barricades, ready to clear the road and get Kate the help she desperately needs.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

The hospital doors burst open as you and Hotch rush into the ER, trailing closely behind the gurney carrying Kate. The medics shout vitals and updates to the doctors, their words blending into a blur. You follow closely, your eyes locked on Kate’s pale, bloodied face.

“She’s stabilizing,” one of the doctors says as they wheel her through the double doors toward the OR. You exhale deeply, relief washing over you, though your body still hums with tension.

Turning to Hotch, you expect to find him focused and composed, but instead, his face is ashen, his steps unsteady. His hand suddenly grips your arm.

“Aaron?” you say, alarmed, as he sways.

Before he can answer, his knees buckle, and he collapses to the ground. 

“Hotch! Someone help!” you shout, panic threading your voice.

A nurse rushes over, quickly assessing the situation. “We need a gurney here!” she calls to a nearby orderly. Within moments, they ease him out of your arms and onto the gurney.

“I’m fine,” Hotch mutters weakly, though his pallor and shallow breathing suggest otherwise.

“You’re not fine,” you counter, your heart pounding as they wheel him toward an ER room. “Aaron, just let them help you.”

He doesn’t argue, his head lolling back slightly as his eyelids flutter. The sight unnerves you, but you force yourself to stay calm, following closely as they take him into the room.

The nurses hook him up to monitors, checking his vitals and administering fluids. “Looks like exhaustion and stress-induced shock,” one nurse says, glancing at you. “He needs to rest.”

You nod, your worry settling into a sharp ache in your chest. “He doesn’t stop, not even for a second,” you mumble, mostly to yourself.

Hotch’s eyes flutter open, and he looks at you, his voice faint. “Kate… the team…”

“Shh,” you interrupt gently, stepping closer to him. “Kate’s in surgery. The team’s fine. Right now, you need to focus on you.”

He gives a slight nod, his hand brushing against yours on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“For what?” you ask softly, leaning in so he doesn’t have to strain his voice.

“For scaring you,” he replies, his gaze flickering with guilt.

You squeeze his hand lightly. "I'll get you back one of these days.”

The tension in his features eases slightly, his breathing slowing as the monitors show his vitals stabilizing. You stay by his side, unwilling to leave, your own relief tempered by the knowledge that the night is far from over.

You sit in the waiting area, your eyes darting toward the entrance every few minutes, hoping Derek will arrive soon. The hum of the hospital feels louder than usual, amplifying your nerves. You’ve just managed to settle into a moment of calm when raised voices echo down the hallway.

“No, I’m fine. I don’t need to be here,” you hear Hotch’s unmistakable tone, clipped and insistent. Your stomach drops.

You jump to your feet and hurry toward the noise. As you approach his room, the nurse’s frustrated voice cuts through.

“Sir, you need to stay in bed! You’re still being monitored—”

“I don’t need monitoring,” Hotch snaps. “Where are my clothes?”

Rushing in, you find Hotch halfway off the bed, his hospital gown untied and his hands fumbling with the IV line attached to his arm. His face is pale but determined, his jaw clenched as he tries to pull the monitors off his chest.

“Hotch, what are you doing?” you exclaim, moving quickly to his side.

“I’m fine,” he says without looking at you, his voice low and stubborn. “The team needs—”

“No, they don’t need you like this,” you interrupt, your tone firm but calm. “Aaron, you’re going to make this worse.”

The nurse stands frozen, clearly exasperated. “He’s refusing to cooperate,” she says, looking between you and Hotch.

Before you can respond, Derek strides into the room. “Hotch, man, you need to chill,” he says, his hands raised in a calming gesture.

“I don’t have time for this,” Hotch bites back, still tugging at the IV line. “I’m fine, Morgan. I’m fine.”

Derek steps closer, but Hotch’s eyes flash with irritation, his composure fraying. “Don’t,” he warns, his tone sharp.

You take a step forward, gently placing your hand on Hotch’s arm. “Aaron,” you say softly but with authority, “look at me.”

His movements still for a moment, and his eyes reluctantly meet yours. There’s a storm of frustration and exhaustion behind them, but you don’t waver.

“I know you feel like you have to keep going,” you say, your voice steady. “I know you think you’re fine, but you’re not. Your body is telling you to stop, and you need to listen. For Kate, for the team, for me.”

His gaze softens slightly at your last words, the tension in his shoulders easing just enough for you to continue.

“Please,” you add, your tone almost a whisper now. “Sit down. Let them do their job. You’re no good to anyone if you collapse again.”

For a moment, you think he’s going to argue, but then he lets out a long breath and sits back on the bed, his hands falling to his sides. His eyes close briefly, the fight draining from him.

You glance at Derek, who gives you a small nod of approval, before turning to the nurse. “Can you give us a minute?”

She hesitates, then nods and steps out of the room.

Hotch looks up at you, his voice quieter now. “I just… I can’t stand waiting. I need to be doing something.”

“I know,” you say, sitting beside him on the bed. “But right now, waiting is the best thing you can do. Trust me, okay?”

He exhales again, his hand brushing against yours briefly. “Okay,” he finally agrees, his tone resigned.

Derek leans against the doorframe, smirking slightly. “Guess I’ll leave this to you next time, huh?”

You shake your head, your focus still on Hotch. “There won’t be a next time.”

Hotch gives you a faint smile, and you know he’s far from fully convinced, but at least for now, he’s staying put.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

A short while later, the doctor gives the all-clear for Hotch to be released. You wait outside his room with a fresh set of clothes, ones you managed to grab from a nearby bag the team had on hand. When he steps out, he looks exhausted but determined, his expression already refocused on the case.

“Here,” you say, handing him the clothes. “Let me help.”

He hesitates for a moment, clearly uncomfortable with the assistance, but he nods and lets you adjust the FBI vest over his shirt once he’s dressed. You tighten the straps securely, your hands brushing against his shoulders before stepping back.

“Thanks,” he says quietly, glancing down at you, his voice softer than you’ve heard it all night.

You meet his gaze, knowing now is the moment to say what’s been weighing on you. “Hotch,” you start, “the profile. Something about it isn’t right. It’s been bothering me ever since we presented it earlier.”

He frowns, his attention sharpening. “What do you mean?”

“When I first laid it out,” you explain, “I said it was a test, but also a diversion—something meant to distract us while the unsubs worked toward their ultimate goal. We got too focused on the idea of it being a test run for something bigger. I think we’re missing the real target.”

Hotch exhales, his jaw tightening as he processes your words. Then, unexpectedly, he looks back at you with something resembling regret. “I should have listened to you sooner,” he says, his voice low but sincere. “You were right from the beginning, and I dismissed it.”

His apology catches you off guard, but you don’t let it show. “It’s not too late to make it right,” you reply. “But we need to shift our focus before it’s too late.”

He nods, already slipping back into his leadership role. “Let’s regroup with the team. We’ll start from scratch if we have to.”

“Are you okay?” Emily asks as you both enter the room.

“Yeah. I just want to understand why I’m still alive,” Aaron responds, his voice low.

“I was asking her,” Emily corrects, motioning toward you. “She’s the one who had to deal with you.”

Aaron looks at you, his expression flickering with insecurity—or maybe regret. He glances down, avoiding your eyes.

You offer him a soft smile, brushing your hand lightly against his arm. “He was a good patient,” you reply with a touch of humor.

Aaron inclines his head slightly. “Y/N has a lead. Her original profile suggested the unsubs might be using these attacks as a diversion or working toward a larger goal,” he says, stepping aside to give you the floor.

Taking a breath, you step forward, the weight of everyone’s attention on you. “We know terror cells evolve and adapt, learning from one campaign to the next. What if this isn’t about the individual attacks? What if it’s about what comes next? They’ve been deliberately targeting isolated locations, ensuring minimal civilian casualties. It’s not random—it’s calculated. Each move is designed to refine their process. They’re testing, learning, and perfecting their methods. This isn’t just a series of practice runs; it’s a setup for something much bigger.”

You catch Hotch flinching slightly, his hand rising to rub at his ear. He meets your gaze and gives a subtle shake of his head, silently asking you not to mention it.

“Hotch,” Spencer calls out, pointing to the computer screen. It’s playing security footage of the car bomb explosion, showing Hotch and Kate being thrown through the air. Hotch freezes, watching it play out, his jaw tightening. You glance away, unable to watch the moment replayed, the knot in your stomach twisting tighter.

Hotch finally speaks, “Same, the kid who stayed by Kate and me, did anyone locate his phone? Did he call 911?”

“It was a disposable phone,” Spencer answers. “He never called 911, only the same number six times every few minutes. Garcia tracked the number, but it went dead right after Sam died. Whoever had it destroyed it.”

Hotch’s brows knit together in thought. “If he didn’t have a secondary device to detonate, there’s only one reason he stayed with us.” He turns to you, his eyes searching yours. “What was it?”

“To make sure the ambulance got to you,” you say, the pieces clicking into place. “And in a city on lockdown, an ambulance with its siren blaring and lights flashing can get through every roadblock virtually uncontested.”

Hotch steps closer to you, his voice dropping slightly. “And straight into a hospital with a bypass order on it.”

“What does that mean?” Morgan asks, trying to piece it together.

“Secret Service has a bypass order for this hospital,” you explain, your tone grim. “It’s closed.”

“Secret Service?” Morgan echoes, confusion flickering in his eyes. “Who are they protecting?”

“We need to find out,” you answer, frustration mounting. “So Sam was calling the man in the ambulance the whole time.”

Hotch’s expression hardens as realization dawns. “The ambulance I was brought in. This hospital is their target.”

He pauses for a beat, then looks directly at you. “Y/L/N, I need you with me.”

The words settle over you, and despite the pressure of the moment, a spark of relief and pride ignites in your chest. Finally, he’s not shutting you out. You nod, ready to follow him. “I’m with you.”

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•:•.

The hospital halls are a frenzy of activity, but you and Hotch cut through it with singular focus, questions sharp and urgent as you flash your badges at every nurse, doctor, and hospital staff you come across. The paramedic in the ambulance—it all comes back to him. No one can recall his name, and the details are too vague to pull from memory, but you piece together his last known location: the parking garage downstairs.

“He never left the hospital,” you say, adrenaline spiking.

Hotch nods, already moving toward the elevator with you right behind him. “If he has the detonator, he won’t leave willingly.”

The two of you reach the garage, your breaths echoing in the eerie quiet. The space is dimly lit, with shadowy corners creating a sense of unease. Then you spot him—sitting on the edge of a low concrete wall, the dim glow of the garage lights catching the blade of the knife in his hand.

The man looks up, his face pale but eerily calm. He isn’t scared; he’s resolved.

“FBI,” Hotch announces, stepping forward with his hands raised in a show of nonaggression. You follow his lead, your eyes locked on the man’s every movement. “Put the knife down. We just want to talk.”

The paramedic shakes his head, his other hand clutching a small device—the detonator. “It’s too late for that. You don’t understand what we’re doing here.”

You take a step forward, voice steady but firm. “Then help us understand. Tell us what you’re trying to prove. Killing yourself won’t make your message clearer.”

He lets out a bitter laugh. “You think I’m afraid to die? You think I’m afraid of you?” His grip tightens on the detonator. “That ambulance—your agent is driving it right now. One press, and—”

“Stop!” you cut in, heart pounding. “You don’t have to do this. It’s over. You’ve already made your point.”

Hotch inches closer, his tone commanding but calm. “Look at me. You don’t need to die here. Tell me why. Tell me who sent you.”

The man glances between you and Hotch, his resolve flickering. For a moment, it seems like he might relent, but then he shakes his head again, muttering something under his breath.

“I can’t,” he whispers, more to himself than to either of you. He raises the knife, his hand trembling but resolute, as though preparing to strike himself. For a fleeting second, you think— surely he wouldn't.

"Look away!" Aaron shouts, his voice sharp and commanding. Instinctively, you obey, turning your head.

A metallic clatter rings out, followed by a sickening thud. When you look back, the knife lies on the ground, blood pooling around the man's lifeless body. His eyes are vacant, his chest still.

You freeze for a moment, your mind racing to catch up with what just happened. Hotch moves swiftly, stepping over the body to grab the phone clenched in the man's hand.

His fingers close around it, but before either of you can react further-

A sudden, deafening explosion erupts in the distance. The blast reverberates through the parking garage, shaking the veryground beneath your feet.

"Derek," you whisper, fear clawing at your chest.

Hotch doesn't let go of the phone, his expression hard as he pulls his comms to his mouth. 

"Morgan, report! Do you copy?"

The static seems endless, each second stretching unbearably as you and Hotch remain frozen in the garage. The weight of the explosion lingers in the air, the silence amplifying every doubt in your mind. Then, finally—

“Hotch? Y/N?” Derek’s voice crackles through the comms.

You exhale sharply, a rush of relief making your knees weak. “Morgan!”

“I’m good. Ambulance is toast, but I got it clear of the city just in time. Shook me up a bit, but I’m in one piece.”

Hotch presses his comms button. “You’re sure? No injuries?”

“No injuries, man. I’m solid. What’s the status on your end?”

Hotch glances at you briefly, then replies, “Situation contained. I’ll fill you in later. Good work, Morgan.”

As Derek’s voice fades from the comms, you release a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Your eyes shift back to the paramedic slumped on the ground, the crimson stain spreading beneath him. The stark finality of it hits you, and your stomach churns.

Hotch steps closer, his hand brushing your shoulder. His presence is grounding, his warmth pulling you out of the chaotic swirl of emotions.

“It’s over now,” his voice is steady.

You shake your head, your gaze locked on the lifeless figure. “He stayed behind to make sure the bomb went off. He really believed in what he was doing.”

Hotch’s hand moves to your back, his voice low and steady. “We stopped it. That’s what matters.”

You nod, swallowing hard before pulling yourself together. Your hand brushes against his arm as you steady yourself. “Kate,” you say suddenly, looking up at him. “You need to check on Kate.”

He hesitates, his gaze lingering on you for a moment. “And you?”

“I’ll be fine,” you insist, the determination in your voice not quite masking the lingering tremor. “She’s been through enough already. Go.”

Hotch gives a short nod, squeezing your shoulder one last time before stepping away. As he moves toward the stairs, you turn back to the paramedic one last time, the reality of the night settling over you like a heavy fog.

The team gathers in the hospital lobby, their exhaustion etched into their faces. Derek slings his go-bag over his shoulder and glances at you. “You coming?”

You shake your head. “No, I’ll stay. Hotch shouldn’t be driving himself. He’s been through too much tonight.”

Rossi gives you a knowing look, nodding slightly. “Take care of him.”

Emily squeezes your arm briefly, offering a small smile, and Spencer gives a quiet, “Call if you need us.” They head out together, leaving you alone with the low hum of the hospital and the weight of waiting.

Minutes stretch into what feels like hours until the elevator doors finally slide open. Hotch steps out, and your stomach tightens. He looks pale, his face drained of color, his eyes dull and distant.

You approach him, searching his face for something to hold on to. “Hotch… how’s Kate?”

He stops in front of you, his posture stiff, his jaw tight. His eyes flick to yours, then away, as if looking at you directly is too much. “You didn’t have to wait,” he says, his voice low and almost resigned.

Your throat tightens, but you steady yourself. “I couldn’t forgive myself if I didn’t.”

He finally meets your gaze, and for a moment, you think you see something break behind his guarded expression. “She didn’t make it,” he says softly. The words seem to drain the last bit of energy from him.

Your heart sinks, the air catching in your lungs. You reach out instinctively, your hand hovering near his arm, but you hesitate. The uncertainty between you lingers, a barrier you’re not sure how to cross.

“I’m… I’m so sorry,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nods slightly, but it’s a hollow gesture. His eyes seem focused on some distant point, lost in the enormity of the night.

“Hotch,” you say hesitantly, trying to find the right words. “Let me drive you back to the hotel. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

For a moment, he seems ready to argue, his jaw tightening, but then he exhales, the fight leaving him. “Okay,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible.

You guide him toward the parking lot, keeping close but not too close. The silence between you is heavy, but for now, you stay by his side, knowing that even if words fail, your presence might be enough.