#the complete panic and overwhelmed feeling of showing up wanting to get with ur crush only to be inundated with his whole extended family

[natjennie]

fics where havers somehow gets up in the mix with the button house crew are always good bc mwah capvers but it's also always funny to see him interact with the other ghosts. it's like daniel vs the cooler daniel. the ghosts inexplicably love him and dunk on cap. maybe it's just the novelty of a new person but they're always like oh a nice soldier! such a gentleman, so polite! not like you, captain. big "julia you have a lovely home, jacob you could do better" energy.

[gordontheengineswifenirmal]

Yes! This is me, except i wish it WAS second hand embarrassment that i felt. I feel more of an unearthly dread mixed with overwhelming cringe and disgust when im forced to see sex or romantic scenes in films. In real life, it’s the same.

Folks engaging in PDA gives me this feeling. One of me schoolmates got engaged years ago n offered me to stay at her place. She lives with the fiancé. I can’t, even if they don’t do anything, because I get this feeling. The longer I’m forced to feel this feeling, it quickly turns into a very bad panic attack. I had crushes grinding up, but even the idea of having a crush made me feel like this over time. I felt like I was a voyeur, and violating something I shouldn’t. It didn’t feel fun n exciting. It felt disgusting.

Ive had relationships in the past. I never felt the attraction I was supposed to. If I did, it was temporary. I’ve had to fake attraction. It felt disgusting. I felt like I was lying to them - and to meself. In a way, I was. I was looking for something, but it wasn’t so much about ‘the right msn’, as it was more about trying your understand who I was. I thought I was straight, but was always pickier. I wanted a partner who was mature, but also virgin, who had not seen porn, who hadn’t been exposed to certain social media, because of attention seekers who easily take advantage of others.

I liked older men. Or the concept thereof. I wasn’t really into younger lads, n the few I was around were only a few years younger. I didn’t like the idea of being a ‘cougar’. Vastly younger men are like dating ur son. (This goes for vastly younger women too, admittedly). That disturbs me greatly. The only reason why I liked older men, was because I was used to being patronised, not treated like I was a child, when secretly, I had to be very mature. I wanted to be treated maturely by someone. I wanted THAT to be validated. I wanted to not deal demeaned for once. Also, I’ve never been into partying, rap, n a lot of the stuff that younger folks r often into. I never felt I could relate to younger lads. That made them even more awkward n off putting. I was more looking for the attention n validation meself n finding out id looked in the wrong place. I was neglected and seen as an outcast growing up, so I wasn’t used to this stuff. I wanted to feel something and be acknowledged for something I rarely got. Instead, I got more pain. I was also raised in an era where sexuality wasn’t talked about as much.

I don’t mind the concept of sex, I can even read about it (although I prefer not to most of of the time.) I’m ok with gay male anime, and stuff written with gay blokes (I’m a woman. I’m the woman in me profile pic in fact). I make sex jokes, some sex jokes r funny, but I do get touchy with others. It depends. Things with other females especially effects me negatively, especially when they are showing their bits.

At first, I thought given up trying to have someone would be terrifying. What was terrifying was the cycle I’d put meself into. Once I finally mustered the strength to stop looking, it was still awkward for awhile. It was like pulling a tooth and having that gap - except it was emotional. I felt completely lost. In time though, I made sense of it. It began to feel better, and exploring bring me own validation has been wonderful. Drooling over fictional m trains and Kirby the vacuum have also been. They allow me to laugh n not take meself so seriously. I can also explore my feelings in a way that’s safe. They won’t hurt me. They’re not real. They’re also not portrayed as romantic. They’re a safe space. They’re a blank canvas, ready for me emotional masterpieces lol

To be fair, these reactions could be a combination of things.

1. Is my asexuality.

2. I was molested by an old lady in our neighbourhood who used to babysit me. I don’t remember all of it, but I do remember some disturbing parts. She used to pull me knickers down n watch me use the loo in a ballpark. The parts I don’t remember r her bathing me. It’s possible, n there was evidence that u came home with wet hair from a session with her. I’ve also been sexually abused by many of the blokes I trued to be with n verbally harassed by other females.

Let me be clear that although these things can overlap in terms of how they affect a person, they are two very different things.

To the last re blogger, n to all who blogged/faved this - thank you! I hope I’m helping you discover yourself. I hope I’m also helping those who may not understand so easily n think that we r making things up that this is very real.

For those who think asexuality isn’t real,

Why am I having NOT having something then? And if you think it’s for attention, why am I happy

NOT getting attention? Stop your ignorance, you make no sense.

“This person is not like me! They don’t like what I like, or what makes sense to me! They must be bullshitting!” You sound like ur doing straight people logic. Or lack thereof. Be BETTER.

Also, I did not create the flag image. I only did the bit in black. Please Google search to find more, and explore your identity further. I may try to edit this to include more in the future

[spooky-z]

In your pack au it says that the Fam know about everything since the pack thought that it would be easier this way instead of having to explain everything later, but what about the other superheros? What would happen if on a mission Damian is captured or hurt and the other heros/JL/Teen Titans members are panicking only to have this group of FERAL animal themed heros bust in to save the day?

Here it is. 1.3k of badass pack!

PACK’S FURY

Warning: blood. Lots of blood and violence. Gore (I think) and Dark.

Blood.

There was blood, a lot of blood.

Damian's blood.

Damian, who was as limp as a rag doll in Bruce's arms after being hit by a bullet.

Weak pulse, unconscious.

Everyone was fighting and she should be doing the same, but the sight of Damian, fragile and broken, was glued to her eyes. Burning like fire soaked in alcohol.

Everything Marinette was capable of feeling; anger running through every part of her body, from the sole of her foot, to the root of her hair. The fear of losing someone she loved. Impotence for not being able to prevent it from happening ...

She was ready.

Ready to finish.

To destroy.

To avenge.

And the pack, like her, wanted blood.

They wanted to hunt, bite, tear, crush, vaporize those responsible for this.

Viperion looked at Ladybug, he was barely able to control himself, wanting permission. A signal. Chat Noir had its claws embedded in the concrete. Queen Bee buzzed like an angry beehive. Ryuko had smoke coming out of her nose. Pegase and Roi Singe had murderous expressions.

They were waiting for the alpha prime command.

And Ladybug was already tired of waiting for Batman's signal.

They were losing.

A green hero - whom she vaguely resembles Damian calling him Garfield - had been knocked out by two villains. The shadowy girl in the cloak was overwhelmed looking after another group while trying to protect him.

Nightwing, Red Robin, Red Hood and Blue Beetle were trapped and injured by dozens of men.

Star Fire fought and tried to cover Batman, who protected Damian.

Meanwhile, the man who had shot Damian, watched everything as if it were the best comedy film he had ever seen.

"... Leave him to me." She says, her voice clinical and emotionless. “Make them regret hurting what's belongs the pack. I want them to suffer.”

It didn't take much more words for the group to come out of hiding and attack.

Chat Noir's cataclysm vaporized dozens at once; Queen Bee paralyzed everyone she could, while Roi Singe and Pegase destroyed them; Ryuko cremated everyone who dared to get close; Viperion took no care in breaking necks.

They paved the way for alpha prime to reach her goal.

American heroes - and aliens - looked horrified by the bloodbath. The mad eyes. The cruel smiles when blood spilled and the henchman fell dead on the floor.

"My God." Nightwing whispered, incredulous of what he was watching.

Children who were once pure sun and rainbows were now bloodthirsty demons looking for revenge. He felt his stomach churn.

Red Robin believed that it could only be a hallucination induced by some toxin, because it couldn't be real.

Red Hood had sat on the floor, worn out and not at all surprised. He knew what potentialized hatred was capable of doing to even the best of men.

Blue Beetle, Raven and Beast Boy - who had woken up - retreated amid the carnage. That group was an uncertain and unstable group, they didn't know if they could be trusted.

Star Fire was in a defensive position, even though she knew who they were, instinct speaking louder than reason. Her tension grew when one of them, all in green with scales, approached her and Batman.

The whole place froze watching the scene.

He held out his arms to the man, paying no attention to her.

"Give him to me." Demanded.

Batman stepped back as if to hide Robin from the other hero, but the angry whistle and the icy gaze held him in place.

"I said, give him to me." He waved his hands. “You don't want to face the fury of the pack, Batsy. We are not in our best mood right now, so you better cooperate.”

Batman hesitated for a moment, but ended up handing Robin over to the other hero.

"What-" Star Fire murmured confused when Robin was placed on the floor.

The boy did not seem to have heard her as he bent over Robin's body, placing his left hand over the bullet wound in the kevlar.

For a moment, she thought he was mourning over his body, but then his hand began to shine and the glow began to envelop the vigilant’s entire body. The light show didn't last barely five seconds before it went out and Robin stood up in panic, choking on the air.

The chest, where there should have been a bullet hole, now fully healed. No traces of blood.

He looked confused at everyone, before his gaze landed on the scaly hero.

“Viperion? What are you doing here?"

The hero sighed in relief and smiled.

"We came to take what was ours, Ure."

"We...?" And then he noticed the unusual color in the place.

Queen Bee strangling the last henchman on the floor.

"Did you come to Gotham because of me?!" He complained.

Viperion opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted.

"We would go to hell for the pack, my love." Ladybug replied.

She was standing in the center of all the carnage. The red-spattered face and the black gloves of the suit, dripping blood on the concrete floor. At her feet, Harvey Dent – Two-Face - lay dead. The jaw completely broken, the left eye missing and the right arm at an unnatural angle.

Damian's heart raced at the sight.

His angel had become a demon and all he could think about was how he wanted to kiss her breathlessly.

"We have a rule of not killing, Ms. Ladybug." Batman cut Robin's line of thought. "You and your... pack... just killed thirty men without mercy."

The pack made a mocking sound.

Ladybug raised an eyebrow at the man.

"And...?" Her voice was icy. “They took what is mine. They hurt and almost killed him.” The Parisian heroes - except Viperion, who still held Robin - approached her. "No one who hurts the pack, survives to tell a story."

Batman sighed tightly.

"Even so. We don't do that in Gotham.”

Ladybug put a finger to her chin, eyes away; seeming to ponder the man's words before focusing on him again. The face contorted in an animalistic expression.

"So, the next time Robin is sent on a solo mission, keep in mind that if he suffers any serious injury, it will happen again." She smiled bestially. “You're lucky that I'm not around your neck, Batsy. Because that's what I want to do.”

And everyone felt the truth in those words.

She was prepared to burn the whole world if the pack was attacked.

BONUS:

"Bro, Robin's girlfriend is scary like him." Beast Boy whispered to Blue Beetle.

"Her friends too." The bluish hero replied. “And what is this about a pack? Does it have to do with those animal suits?”

They didn't notice the presence behind them, until it was too late.

"You are very curious, huh." Chat Noir put his arms around the shoulders of the two heroes, who jumped in fright. He had a smile that would seem docile, if it weren't for the sharp look. “But I think it's better if you keep that curiosity for yourself. It's just like that proverb: curiosity killed the cat and I'm sure you don't want to die, right?"

Beast Boy and Blue Beetle nodded violently.

Chat Noir smiled even more.

"Great!" He released both of them and clapped his hands, passing them. “It was nice to finally meet the other Ure partners. I hope to be able to fight alongside you again in the future. Have to go now! Bye!" He waved and a portal opened in front of him, swallowing the hero and disappearing.

The american heroes were paralyzed by what had happened.

"I really hope I don't have to meet them again."

"I agree."

I hope I have met your expectations.

[goldafterglow]

my love is a dagger

Summary: Jack Daniels is hopelessly gone for you, and you’re starting to think it’s a two way street. Maybe.

Request: “May I please ask for Basorexia and Whiskey please? 🥺” - @scribbledghost (ma’am I’m SO sorry this took me so long and then after the long wait you got whatever this is); taken from this post

basorexia: the overwhelming desire to kiss

Pairing: Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x reader

Word Count: 4.8k+

Warnings: suicidal themes (just a little and not really but there’s definitely a line), sexual harassment, anGST!!, PINING omg SO much pining like folks get ready to y*arn, a little bit of fluff bc Jack is a sweet talking southerner and I couldn’t help it, more angst I rly hope you cry, there’s a cute little lesbian couple in one line so don’t read if ur homophobic! but that goes for all of my work :)))

Author’s Note: Thank the GODS for @catfishingmorales for being my first ever beta reader!!! maybe this one will make any fucking sense at all!!! also a special shoutout to my wife @pascalplease bc she stayed up all night vomiting headcanons with me about this and I didn’t even get to all of them.

Gif Cred: the lovely @coredrive​

Masterlist | Taglist Modifications

“Two single-bed rooms,” he says. No; he manages.

Jack has to pry the words out of his esophagus, the passageway so clogged with sleep that he thinks that if he clears his throat he might be able to clear it.

It doesn’t work.

He tends to add a little brightness and smile to his voice when he talks, always eager to please even strangers. He embellishes his sentences with pleasantries and a chipper shimmer that makes even the most overworked bartender smile and the most destitute rancher crack a grin because he has this uncanny ability to make everyone feel special. But right now, at eleven pm on a Saturday evening after what might’ve been the worst, most emotionally grueling mission Jack has ever completed, he is not pleasant. His words are simply a tool for him to get a message out, his voice choked and flat.

“I’m so sorry for the inconvenience, sir, but it looks like we only have one king-size room available,” the lady informs. She is looking intently at the screen, still typing and clicking like the words might miraculously change right before her eyes.

The powerful Agent Whiskey’s heart falls into his stomach.

He can’t tell if this is the best or worst thing that has ever happened to him. Is this finally the excuse he needs to sweep you off your feet, like the catalyst giving him the strength to overcome his intense paranoia? Or is this the last straw, the final stone before you step off the staircase of his heart and back out onto the run-down open streets without him? Panic floods his chest and he is so paralyzed that he doesn’t even know what to tell her; for once, Jack Daniels is speechless.

Thank god he doesn’t turn around; he’d’ve seen your wide frantic eyes and would’ve known immediately what you’re thinking.

“Oh, it looks like a vacancy just opened,” the hostess chirps, a hint of relief floating on her words. You and Jack turn your heads to your left, where a young couple is saying their “thank you”s as they rack up the handles of their suitcases, hand-in-hand. One girl leans over to kiss the other on the temple with a smile; they both seem so secure. You turn your head back to the hostess; the sight of two people being content was disturbing to you and frankly a little offensive. “Unfortunately they’re on separate floors. Is that-”

“We’ll take them,” Jack gruffs. He wants to sleep, wants to die, wants to be in any existence where your soft eyes aren’t glued to the back of his head because he can feel it and he thinks you might burn holes into his skull just to find that he’s hollow inside.

Empty.

The transaction is quick and a little forced. She hands you both your respective key cards wordlessly, and if your eyes had lingered on her just a little longer you would’ve caught her face falling into it’s default relaxed state of misery. Jack walks with you to the elevator in silence, but he’s still close. He’s always close to you. Often you’ll turn your head in an empty room and anticipate him being there just to be sorely disappointed, though you aren’t sure what you’re always so disappointed for. His spirit haunts your thoughts, floats around your body and does laps around your brain because he is always there when you need him, so much so that you expect him to be there when you don’t need him. You want him to always be there. To always be with you.

Strange thoughts to have so late at night.

Jack sets his bag down beside you, stepping forward to press the button for you; it’s such a small gesture, something that he probably didn’t even think to do since hospitality runs in his bones, and yet you noticed it.

Strange.

The door opens, and he wordlessly puts a hand on your back, guiding you towards the elevator in front of him. Letting you on first. You can’t help but smile a little at him; you can tell he’s so tired and yet he still finds it somewhere in his heart to make you feel so important.

“You know I don’t need that from you,” you tease lightly, turning to look at him as the doors drag shut. The elevator shudders around you, indicating that it’s ready to start it’s journey to the fifth floor.

Jack grins at you; it’s not something he’s doing with his voluntary muscles, something that he thinks is coming off muted because he just doesn’t have the energy. It’s something he doesn’t even think about doing, a visceral reaction to hearing your sweet voice like aloe vera on his scorched throat.

“Well then, darlin’, take it anyways just to indulge your favorite cowboy,” he almost begs, lip pouted and eyebrows raised like he’s a child asking for candy except he’s an addict crying for just one more dose before the night ends because the nights he goes home without the memory of your eyes, your smile, your scent in his system are the nights he can’t sleep through.

You giggle softly, nudging his side gently because you want to crush him in your embrace and lift him onto the barbs of feathers into the moonlight all at the same time. To Jack, it feels like you’ve just kneed him in the chest, hogging all his air and wrapping his head in plastic so he can’t breathe, not that he minds. He’d let you tear at the delicate skin of the inside of his wrists, bite into the gentle flesh of his cheeks until he’s on his knees, bleeding at the seams. He’d let you destroy him if you wanted to.

He sighs a little, so dead, as a flush of air enters the vacuum of the elevator; you’ve arrived. But he doesn’t want to leave yet, wants to wring every last drop of your attention out of your pliable bones, so he follows you out and walks you to your room.

“I don’t need this either,” you say, a yawn stretching and blurring the edges of your words.

“I know,” Jack concedes, rolling his eyes in a way that is so adoring that he might as well have kissed you full on the mouth.

Not that you wanted him to.

“I know you don’t need a lick of help from me, sugar. Maybe I just like giving.” He grins down at you again, his side brushing against yours as you place slow, careful steps down the carpeted floor.

Yeah, he likes giving.

He gives you his leftover coffee when he “doesn’t want it” - it’s a tall cup of his favorite brew. He definitely still wants it. He gives you his blazer when you call his desk landline just to tell him your office is cold because you know he’ll give it to you. What you don’t know is that it’s because he’s completely and utterly whipped for you - he’d strip naked in a snowstorm to keep you warm, hold you in an icehouse as the bite of the frost burrows into the cracks of his dried skin, because he doesn’t need clothes when you’re in his arms. That’s about as warm as he’s ever been.

He gives you his time of day - almost all of it. He’s the first person you see when you step into work, the last face you see when you’re ready to retire. He walks you to your office every morning - he had to beg Champ to switch offices with him so that he could be adjacent to you, but every ounce of dignity lost was paid back to him with royalties in the precious extra seconds he gets to spend rubbing his shoulder against yours. He saunters into your office unannounced daily at 12:35 pm sharp to eat lunch with you, flopping onto your couch with the audacity of a man wet with wealth and simultaneously listening to you rave about your day with the patience of a therapist. Your time is a sacred commodity to him, and he makes sure that he’s earned it.

He gives you his whole soul. Sometimes he wonders if you’ll one day open your purse and find his glass heart sitting there, beating hard and loud and only for you. He wonders if you’d pick it up and smash it against a wall. He wouldn’t mind it at all.

The silence hangs in the air, dancing on your breaths as you seem to be inhaling each other, soaking in each other. It’s strange, the moments you share alone with Jack. There are the ones you share late at night, croaking at each other over the phone about how shitty that one show ended or how beautiful blue things are. Blue like his suffocated lungs, like the ocean of tears that drown him when he looks at you, like the finger you’ve got him wrapped around real tight.

But then there’s the moments when you’re in a room full of people. The briefing room sitting at a table spanning the length of the room that’s completely full of people, a club chock full of sweat and neon energy, the lobby of the lavish estate of a target where the bourgeoisie can swarm and stalk each other. All he has to do is toss you a roll of the eyes, a grin, a subtle brush of his hand against yours, and you are instantly thrown into the web of his affection as you get lost and locked in the atmosphere of his presence. Like, even in a room full of people, he’s the only one around. You’re not breathing in oxygen but the hickory fumes of his skin, the only sound getting registered being his dark honey voice. You’re not quite sure how he does that, distorting reality so heavily that you feel like you’ve traversed to an alternate dimension every time he touches you, pays any mind to you. Every single time.

“This you?” Jack asks, his words like a rubber band to your pulse as you’re snapped out of your train of thought. You look up at the room number - room 513 - and then down at your keycard. It reads the same. There’s a dull ache of disappointment that erupts through your chest, beige and static like the chipped paint on the walls.

“Yeah,” you mutter, turning to face him with your back to the door. He smiles at you softly, gentle like his fragile soul that you always manage to make hurt so bad without doing a single thing, and he opens his arms to you. Nothing out of the ordinary; you’ve grown accustomed to his goodbye hugs. “You’re so needy,” you giggle, stepping forward to bury your face in his pillowy chest and letting yourself sink into the quicksand of his warmth. It’s so easy to get caught up in him like a butterfly to a flower, and yet it’s so hard to pull away. He’s always been difficult to separate from; every time it’s like you’re sewing a microfractal of your esse into the velvet of him. Not big enough for you to notice, but still missing, and it adds up every time until there’s a big gaping hole in your chest that Jack holds claim to and the only way you feel right is when he’s with you.

I know, he wants to say to you. I know I’m needy. I know that you’re the only one, the only person, the only fucking thing that I’ve ever wanted this bad. I know I steal your time and your space and your thoughts but I’m a greedy man. Please forgive me. But he doesn’t say that; he could never say that to you. So instead he buries his face into the top of your head, trying to get a big sleepy lungful of you before he parts with you for the night, and says “Can you blame me, baby?”

You look up at him, eyes bleary and red but still eager to be so close to him. “Always such a tease.” He smiles wide at you, like he’s looking at a whimsical sprite so colorful and magnificent, but it’s just you. What does he see when he looks at you?

“G’night, pretty girl,” he coos, arms still wrapped around you and eyes big and doe-y. Please don’t leave yet, my perfect thing. Except that’s the part that stings him the most; you’re not his. He doesn’t get to say that sacred “my.”

“Good night, Jack Daniels,” you whisper, words fanning on his cheeks like waves of heat from a bonfire. But you don’t move, and neither does he. Not yet. Please.

He’s looking down at you with a certain reverence, like you were sculpted by the angels and placed right here in front of him with intimate precision. And then, without a breath to spare, he leans down and presses a kiss on your forehead so light that you wonder if it even happened or if someone has just thrown a marshmallow at your face. A friendly kiss from a friend that you’re friends with.

It feels like the seams of your limbs are being ripped out as you slowly separate from him, flashing him a soft smile as you take your duffel bag and unlock the door in front of you. You step into your hotel room, the air conditioning immediately sticking to your damp skin. As you close the door you catch him still standing there, looking at you like you’re something so precious.

Platonically, of course.

You sigh as you look around the room, suddenly freezing. The tiny dress you’re wearing doesn’t add much insulation and the big diamond necklaces and chandelier earrings and silver cuffs adorning your body like ornaments become ice on your skin. Kicking your shoes off and into a forgotten pit of the room, you step into the bathroom. Flicking the light on, you stare straight at the bulbs, letting the light sear your pupils just so that you can focus on something other than Jack fucking Daniels. Your jewelry is the first to go, becoming a delicate display on the bathroom counter. Something so pretty, but they’ve left angry dents in your skin that are starting to inflame and you figured it was too good to be benign. Nothing so beautiful, nothing that makes you feel so beautiful, could do so without hurting the paper-thin barriers of your heart. You’d have to be a fool to not know that.

You open up your duffel bag, fishing around impatiently until you find your makeup remover and cotton pads. As you erase the paint on your skin, removing the rough mission from the memory of your face, you start beginning to look less disheveled and more exhausted. Now you can really see the dark circles under your eyes, the discomfort of Rolex’s touching the small of your back and Armani cologne grabbing at your hips while you let it happen. Your body had become free real estate and in just hours you had broken down to feeling like you were stained, a dirtier version of yourself that couldn’t ever be cleaned.

You hadn’t felt so filthy when you were in Jack’s arms.

Eager to try and scrape the mission from your lungs, you peel the tight fabric off your body, letting out a breath of something far redder than relief as it falls to a pool around your ankles. You turn around to reach for the shower handle and grip it hard, letting the cold steel fill your palm as you twist it mid-way. While you wait for the steam to seep into your pores you reach for a bar of packaged soap on the bathroom counter, sizing up the créme box. It’s about a centimeter thick, easily filling your palm, and you frown a little at realizing that most of it will be thrown away, unused. Such a waste.

Turning your attention to the water, you run your hand under the water pouring out of the shower nozzle. It’s warm enough. But you don’t want it to be enough. You want it to melt your skin, to burn through your used body and shed your cells to unleash the layers beneath, the layers that Jack had touched, because thinking that your body has been safe inside his embrace feels better than thinking that you put your head in the jaws of the alligators and hoped they wouldn’t snap.

Once the water is burning, sure to inflame your skin, you step in and close the shower curtain before beginning to let the soap glide along your arms. Except it’s not enough. You’re not clean enough. So you run the bar over yourself again and again, wearing it down as your skin turns hot to the touch until you’re using the tips of your fingers to salvage the last bits of product onto your chest. Shit. You don’t even realize that the bar is all used up until you feel the sensation of your fingers rubbing against your now irritated skin and yet you still feel soiled. So you elect to give up on your sorry attempt at washing away the strange eerie touches and predatory looks and turn off the water, drying yourself off.

The solitude in the air stings.

By the time you’re laying in your bed and looking up at the plain off-white ceiling so that you don’t have to look at the old collections of dirt in the crevices of the wall and carpeted floor, you haven’t thought about Jack for the past 30 minutes. Not since you were washing yourself and the ghost of his fingers scraped your scalp, making you long for the feeling of his chest pressed to your back and the sound of his voice floating into the vinyl of the curtain liner while his hands danced in your hair - 

Not since then.

But Jack Daniels is most certainly thinking about you, and he’s far too deep to bother pretending that he isn’t anymore.

He stands outside your door for just a little while longer after you close it, staring at the fool’s gold embellishment on the front as he basks in the faint warmth of your spirit that lingers in the space of the hall and inside of his bones. He’s not sure how he got so lucky so as to be able to touch you without abandon, kiss your forehead out of greed and hold you in his arms because he really is so needy. He replays the scent of your dainty floral perfume and rewinds the heat of your forehead under his used, chapped lips, trying to commit you to memory as if he hadn’t done this a million time already, as if he hasn’t tried to burn a million of your hugs into the plush cotton of his skin like a brand. Your fading ghost consumes his mind, and by the time it’s whispering farewell to him, he’s already at the bank of elevators waiting patiently for the doors to open for him. Jack does a lot of that; waiting.

The weight of his duffel bag starts to grow and he can’t tell if his tired left arm is getting weaker or if the bag is getting heavier, but he can tell that his nerves are aching because he already misses you.

He’s always missing you.

The trip to his room is quiet, lonely, and as the elevator doors close for him to make his way to the 6th floor he wonders if this is how it’ll always be. Having you so close, seeing you right in front of him, and yet never truly being with you the way he wants to be. Never belonging to anybody, just a wisp of air passing through your life without holding any true substance or having any real meaning to you; but what a privilege to be one of your wisps. To have been in your lungs and have seen what he imagines are wide open plains, vibrant with wildflowers and gentle beasts. He wishes he could stay.

The elevator door dings.

This time he is caught off guard and he inhales like a shudder, eyes darting around the cold yet damp walkway to see if anyone has caught him thinking, caught him yearning.

Hallucinating.

Deluded.

He steps inside of the compartment with his stupid heavy duffel bag, immediately letting it fall to the elevator floor. His eyes find the plastic, cloudy buttons making up the keypad of the elevator. His left arm lifts to press the “6” button but he immediately regrets it, feeling a searing agony shoot through his shoulder. He mutters a little “fuck” to himself like it’ll help balm the pain, and of course it doesn’t, but Jack is a stubborn man and the buttons are to his left, so he shakes his arm out the way you shake out your boots before stepping inside mama’s house and tries again. But his dry, chapped fingers struggle to reach for the buttons, shaking in his own seismic wake. It takes him a few seconds to steady himself, taking temporary control over his body so he can actually touch the button; the plastic is cracked, a small piece having fallen off to be lost, likely thrown away. A discarded fracture in the shell leaving the inner label forever open and exposed, never to be whole again.

The elevator door shuts.

Jack lets out a low sigh, leaving his arms to fall to his sides as he leans against one of the walls. The back wall of the elevator is reflective, muddled and stained but clear enough that Jack can see what has become of him. His stetson is barely on his head anymore, his tie crooked and his collar untucked. He almost feels like a suit monkey, walking around playing dress up with the caveat of poisoning a man’s fresh champagne. But you told him he looked so handsome all gussied up like a proper gentleman worthy of taking a dime like yourself out. So he leaves it at almost.

He does a lot of that too.

The elevator hiccups, and as expected the doors open, inviting him to leave. He looks down at his duffel bag and he can already feel the weight of it on his weeping muscles, but he’s so close to his room and he can’t give up now that’s he’s made it so far, so he uses the momentum of his swinging right arm to sweep the bag up off the floor and drags himself out of the elevator. Not the best thing he’s ever done, but certainly one of his proudest moments.

The sixth floor is less damp, less like a moldy underwater cave and more like he’s at the top of a breezy mountain where the strands of air are like spurs to his cold, tight skin. Crisp. It is different, and yet he feels the same. Like his joyful warmth has drained out of his system, flushed out of his body, and on the inside he is the 5th floor of a shitty decrepit hotel in the middle of fuck all Kentucky. 

He makes quick work of finding his room, the inertia from getting off the elevator being the driving force that gets him down the two hallways and standing before room 645. He pulls out the plastic keycard, adorned with scratches on its surface and stains on its edges, and shoves it into the card reader. With a subtle flash of green and a gentle click, the door gives way for Jack to practically fall inside. He flings the bag as far across the room as his arm will let him, letting gravity control his movements as he is drawn to the white mattress in the center of the room. He releases a groan a little louder than should be appropriate this late at night - he checks the alarm clock on the bedside table to confirm that it’s 11:08. He hasn’t been apart from you for longer than what, 4 minutes? No, he did stand outside your door for a little bit. He decides it’s been 5 minutes.

Oddly enough, the extra sixty seconds don’t make him feel any less fucked.

Now that he’s finally still, his body begins to focus on how sore his legs are as any pain grows from the ends of his limbs and seeps into his chest. He can feel the weight of the night press down heavy on his diaphragm, suffocating him in a way that travels to his eyes and sprays sand like mist onto the walls of his throat. He selfishly lets himself lay there for a second, thinking about that weight being you pressed up against him, face buried in his chest or his neck or in his own face. It’s sacrilegious the way Jack thinks about your touch, the flutter of your lashes like majestic butterfly wings against his cheek, so enticing. So pretty.

His shower is fast despite the way his muscles screech at him to let them rest, begging him to just fucking sit down. When he leans down, back made of creaky burnt red iron, to reach for his sleep clothes, he does a double take; there’s not much in the bag at all. A bunch of small, disguised weapons, communications devices, a pair of grey sweats, a white t-shirt. Nothing oppressively hefty to pull on his tendons; at least, not in a way that could practically drag his shoulder out of its socket. Then suddenly he remembers; he had been holding your bag until you’d both reached the lobby desk. It was a long walk from where you’d been instructed to dump the care and the hotel, so after watching you squirm a little in the freezing air, he offered to take your bag off your back. He’d walked with a bag in each arm for maybe a minute before he realized that his greedy fingers missed being wrapped around your side, missed your melted essence seeping into his stomach, so he’d held both bags in the one left hand for the rest of the thirty minute walk. He hadn’t even noticed how bad he was hurting; perhaps you were too distracting, smile too alluring as your words painted his eyes in lilac and blinded him from his own discomfort.

For being the one person Jack wanted, you sure did hurt him a lot.

Once he is dressed, he lets his sore body absorb into the linen sheets as his muscles finally find some form of permanent relief in the salve of stillness. But this is a dangerous state to be in; when Jack isn’t talking someone else’s ear off, he thinks. He fantasizes, ponders, mulls and muses himself into a state that is suspended between consciousness and sleep.

He thinks about your lips.

You’ve never been too shy to mouth him off, poking and prodding at him and his eccentric cowboy aesthetic. Seeing you walk in every morning and beeline it straight to greet him with a casual fifteen-second hug sends daggers flying into his heart every time, a pain that he’s learned to brace himself for and yet can never seem to be able to handle. And when he looks down at you, adoring eyes and all, he can never help but glance at your lips. It’s always short, a self-indulgent guilty pleasure that he could never admit to, and he thinks about the way they feel against his collarbone when you hold him tight. He thinks about the way they might feel on his own lips.

Sinful.

And then he is thinking about that wretched mission, flashes of luxury clothes and manicured hands trying to feel you up right in front of his eyes. The way you fake smiled at men with money and wrinkles as they leaned into your ear, trying to whisper enticing tales of exorbitant trips to islands that are garishly tropical and dresses so exclusive and designer that no one in the world would own a duplicate. Watching in utter silence because no matter agonizing his need for you is, you’ll never be his.

Suddenly that ache in his body has traveled to his face. It’s so painful to think about you, and yet he takes the jagged edges of his love for you and drags them through his wrists because he’d rather fucking bleed than ever forget you.

Outside his window he hears the clouds crash into each other as an icy downpour beats the pavement. And like a curse, at the expense of his own self-destruction, the image of you in his arms in front of room 513 slices through his brain. Your face right under his mouth, forehead right up against him, your lips right fucking there. And then the feeling of you pulling away. Of you leaving him to rot with the flies, because he’s never going to be strong enough to tell you how bad he needs you,  let you tear his heart into a million pieces for good.

From somewhere in his room the rain begins to fall on his face.

people who asked to be tagged: @gustavos @catfishingmorales @keeper0fthestars @1zashreena1 @blancatobarxoxo @honeyedspace @chaotic-noceur @opheliaelysia @adikaofmandalore @din-damn-djarin @ergotautology

people who most certainly did not ask to be tagged sir: @agentpike @damndamer0n @dindjarindiaries @moonglowcarrillo @girlwithanewplan @mrpascals @bunnykjm @maxlordd @buckstaposition​ @cryptkeepersoul​

This is new so I’m putting it down here too, but I made a little form for those of you that want to be added/removed from my taglist (pls take it my tags are very disorganized rn).

[kae-karo]

Hi can you write 13 and 21 please sry if I ask for too much :)

for context (x - make me write things!)

oh my gosh first of all please do not feel like u have to apologize i love any opportunity to write my fave ships and this was no different also i just need to say ur icon and header are amajiki and kiri two of the best Best Boyes on the entire show i literally love them and would die for them

anyway! thank u so much and i hope u enjoy and don’t mind that i put these as two separate lil prompts

13. “Look, I know you’re a hardass, but can you play with my hair? It would really help.” - hawks - [read on ao3] - this is loosely based on the idea of hawks having bird-like qualities, specifically raptor stress grip (x) but also the idea that he likes being preened 

21. “This might sound selfish, but I don’t care about the world - I only care about you!” - villain!denki - [read on ao3] - go read this (x) first cause i feel like this suits a part 2

–

13 - [read on ao3]

Hawks’ grip on his arm is something unusual - not quite strong enough to be classed as painful, but strong nonetheless. Any harder and it might border on the feeling of his father dragging him around as a child, his hand so tight it threatened to snap his arm. But this falls short of that, and Dabi’s grateful.

He’d rather that anything associated with Hawks be positive, or at least not remind him of his past.

“You’re sure it’s fine?” Hawks asks for the twelfth time in the past ten minutes. Dabi huffs out a breath of laughter.

“Yes, it’s totally fine,” he reassures Hawks yet again. He’s only ever done this to Dabi once before, but it already feels strangely comforting to know that, in some way, he chose to seek out Dabi when he’d become overwhelmed.

It’s a stress thing - something to do with his quirk, Hawks told him - and Dabi wonders if he should really be appreciative of something that’s a source of unease for Hawks. Not that he knows what exactly happened, but he assumes if it were important, Hawks would’ve told him by now.

Maybe it’s selfish, but he kind of hopes Hawks continues to stay stressed out. Dabi’s not used to having him this close for however long it takes him to calm down, but he’s starting to enjoy the company.

Dabi watches patiently as Hawks’ gaze flicks around the empty room - Dabi’s room, where he’d been going through some profiles for other potential recruits before Hawks had burst in. The last time this had happened, it’d only lasted for maybe fifteen minutes, which means his time with Hawks is likely running out.

Although Hawks doesn’t look any less stressed than when he’d rushed in, not that Dabi’s complaining.

“You should, uh…” Hawks nods at Dabi’s papers. “I didn’t mean to take you away from whatever you were doing.” Dabi shakes his head.

“You didn’t interrupt, it can wait.” Dabi can wait, he could wait an eternity with Hawks clinging to him like this. Hawks’ fingers tighten on Dabi’s arm just slightly.

“No, that’s-” He shakes his head. “It’s really not helping, worrying that I’m keeping you from doing stuff.” Hawks’ voice is relatively even, but his eyes never stop wandering the room, and Dabi’s starting to wonder if this is going to last a bit longer than the first time. He crushes down the little spark in his chest that says he hopes it does.

Hawks is clearly still stressed, and Dabi shouldn’t be taking advantage of that. No matter how it makes him feel to have Hawks so close.

So he picks up a paper, the one he’d been looking at before Hawks barrelled in and plopped down beside him on his bed, and scans it superficially.

At first, it’s truly just with the intent of appeasing Hawks’ nerves and pretending he’s focused on his work instead of the warm grip of Hawks’ hands on his arm, but it soon becomes a genuine effort. He’s pretty sure he’s the only one in the League actively searching for potential new recruits, and he’ll be damned if this whole thing falls apart while Shigaraki is away. Not that he had officially dubbed Dabi his replacement, but Dabi’s pretty sure it was implied.

Besides, nobody else is really fit to take up the mantle.

So he loses himself in the various pages he’d printed - his eyes started hurting from staring too long at a computer screen - and searches with intent for the right qualities that might make another useful member of the team. Or pawn, depending on what they bring to the table.

With his eyes buried in endless pages, it takes him nearly an hour to realize Hawks’ head has slowly drifted to rest on his shoulder. In fact, it takes Hawks huffing out a breath that might be laughter for Dabi to notice this new position, and he has to reign in the sudden racing of his heart to prevent it from scaring Hawks away.

But his hands haven’t moved from their spot on Dabi’s arm, and Dabi lets his gaze drift to the tufts of hair tickling his neck.

“You really think that kid’s going to be of any use?” Hawks says, his tone light and humorous but more than obviously forced. Whatever’s going on in his head, his it’s clear that his concerns haven’t subsided. Dabi’s starting to wonder if he should be asking about what happened, why he’s so stressed all of a sudden.

“I think he has potential.” Dabi rearranges the pile of papers he’d just set this profile down on top of. “Why, you don’t?” He hadn’t said a word about what he was doing, but Hawks must live up to his name - he must have incredible observation skills to notice how Dabi has been organizing these people, to recognize which pile was for the ones he deemed useful.

“Your criteria are too superficial.” Hawks’ head shifts on Dabi’s shoulder, but he doesn’t lift it. “Powerful quirks, high-up connections, anger management issues? It’s too broad, they won’t hold together in the long run.” Now it’s Dabi’s turn to blow out a breath.

“For someone who got recruited by me, I feel like you’re not really in any position to judge,” Dabi says. He’s pretty sure his tone contained enough sarcasm to warrant a laugh, but Hawks’ hands just tighten on his arm. 

As much as he’s enjoying Hawks’ company, he’s not sure it’s healthy for him to be on edge for this long. He shifts and picks up another paper, but he’s not really reading it.

“What do you normally do?” Dabi asks, trying to keep his voice soft. He was always terrified of his father’s yelling, to the point that even hearing him talk too loudly would kick his panic up a notch. 

“What- what, for recruiting? I don’t really do that, I mean I guess I do for the agency, but not-”

“No, no,” Dabi interrupts Hawks’ rambling. He does his best not to smile at the reaction - Hawks is stressed, it’s not something he should be considering cute.

“When this happens,” Dabi gestures to his arm and Hawks’ hands clinging there, “what do you do?” Hawks exhales a breath and a soft ‘oh’.

“I don’t, um…” he trails off, and Dabi waits patiently, his silly hopes fluttering in his chest. He’s not usually one for hugs, but if Hawks is gearing up to ask for one, he might be willing to make an exception. 

“I’m not usually around anyone I can trust.” 

Now it’s Dabi’s turn to let out an equally soft ‘oh’. Hawks trusts him? Trusts him, of all people? A villain, someone who could set him on fire with a single touch? He trusts Dabi in spite of that?

“Okay…” Dabi fumbles for words in the silence, not daring to look over at where Hawks is still resting on his shoulder. He can’t tell if the air has suddenly become thicker, coating his tongue and throat and lungs and making it impossible to breathe, or if he’s just overreacting.

“Is it…normal for it to last this long?” Hawks trusts him, and he should trust that Hawks would say something if this was unusual, but it doesn’t stop his concerns from bubbling over and falling from his lips. 

Hawks stiffens and clears his throat.

“Sorry, I didn’t- I didn’t think it would, I’d stop if I could, I just-”

“No, that’s not-” Dabi sighs. “Is…is there anything I can do to help?” He’s not trying to get Hawks to leave, but it’s clear this whole thing is only continuing to stress him out. Not that Dabi has any clue what got him to this state in the first place, but if he can help him calm down, maybe he can find out.

Hawks shifts beside him, and he sucks in a breath. Dabi expects he’ll release it along with a suggestion for how Dabi can help, but he just exhales. So Dabi waits a few more seconds, then a few more after that, until it’s most definitely been too long.

“Well?” Dabi tries again. Hawks sighs, and his hands tighten on Dabi’s arm. Dabi can’t imagine how on earth trying to calm him down would somehow stress him out more, but-

“Look, I know you’re a hardass…” Dabi freezes - is that what Hawks thinks of him? Hawks takes a deep breath, and his voice barely comes out above a whisper. “But can you play with my hair? It would…really help.” 

Hawks goes still, totally and completely still, as if his own words have startled him, and Dabi stares hard at the paper in his hand. It’s all a blur of black and white, letters that don’t turn into words but mix around on the page and blend together into all shades of gray. Hawks wants…he wants Dabi to touch him? 

Just his hair, just to help him calm down, Dabi reminds himself. This isn’t anything, it doesn’t mean anything. He tamps down on the voice in the back of his head that says Hawks trusts him. That doesn’t mean anything either.

With as much care as he can manage in spite of his sudden nerves, Dabi lifts his hand to the mess of hair on his shoulder. Hawks doesn’t move, doesn’t shout out a last minute ‘wait, stop!’, doesn’t pull himself away, and Dabi lets his fingers comb gently through the wild locks. 

Hawks’ breath slows almost immediately, and Dabi wishes desperately that he could see Hawks’ face right now. Not that he needs much reassurance that this is truly helping Hawks - the grip on his arm loosens, and Hawks leans into his shoulder. A rustling sounds behind Dabi’s head, but it’s not til the expanse of a wing flops into view that he realizes Hawks must’ve let them droop to the bed. 

Dabi holds his tongue, afraid to ruin whatever’s happening, afraid to set Hawks on edge again when he clearly needs to relax, but questions buzz inside his head and demand to make an appearance.

“That’s helping?” he asks first, and his lip curls up in an admittedly self-satisfied smile when Hawks nods into the crook of Dabi’s neck. 

It’s soothing, both the repetitiveness of his hand in Hawks’ hair and the comforting warmth of Hawks leaning further and further into him, and the warmth spreads through his body and up to his brain, encasing it in a pleasant fog. He’s vaguely aware he’d wanted to ask something else, or maybe several somethings, but they’re lost behind a veil of comfort.

Before he can stop himself, Dabi leans back toward his pillow, gently pulling Hawks with him. His brain isn’t exactly capable of coherent thought right now, but he’d like to imagine it’d tell him what a great thing he’s doing, how this is definitely helping Hawks.

And he’s pretty sure he’d be right.

Hawks’s grip doesn’t release from his arm, but it’s loose enough now that he manages to comfortably curl himself against Dabi’s side, and his head lands on Dabi’s chest. 

Dabi’s eyes drift shut of their own accord, and he doesn’t even bother with the excuse to himself that he’s just resting them. He’s warm and Hawks is here and everything else is drifting into the background so what else even matters? 

“Thank you,” Hawks mumbles into his shirt, and Dabi’s chest feels like it’s exploding. But the pretty kind of explosion, like art. He feels like artwork, with Hawks pressed against him, like something far more than himself.

“Anything for you, little bird.”

———————————————

21 - [read on ao3]

“You asshole!” Denki screams, and the wooden chair creaks as he struggles against the bindings. Hitoshi dips his head.

“We need to know what you know,” Aizawa says again. Denki coughs out a bitter laugh.

“I don’t know anything, I’ve never known anything, and there’s nothing you could do to me that would matter anyway.” His words cut like ice - he’d said that once before, before all this had happened.

“I swear I don’t know anything, can you tutor me, Shinsou?” And god, Hitoshi had fallen for it. Fallen for everything Denki said.

Fallen for Denki.

“I thought we were saving Kirishima!” Denki shouts again, and Hitoshi is grateful for the soundproofed room they’re in. Aizawa has some weird resources, but he supposes they’re useful.

“We did,” Hitoshi argues.

“And then you brainwashed me.” He’s never heard Denki like this, his tone so acidic it rivals Mina’s quirk. Hitoshi’s head hurts as it tries to reconcile everything - Denki’s betrayal with his prior kindness, Hitoshi’s own promises to never do something like that to a friend with the question of whether Denki ever was a friend.

Friends don’t betray friends.

“We need information,” Aizawa butts in, straightforward as ever. “There are lives on the line.”

“There are always lives on the line, why does it suddenly matter so damn much?” Hitoshi turns away - the Denki he knows would care, at least a little. He wanted to be a hero, what the hell happened?

“Man, I swear I have to get way better with my quirk or I’ll never be a real hero!” Hitoshi had laughed at that, at the idea that Denki would be anything other than exactly who he wanted to be. Hitoshi always found himself laughing around Denki.

“Why- why does it matter?” Aizawa’s clearly losing his patience. Hitoshi inhales a few deep breaths, trying to keep himself calm. But how the hell is he supposed to be calm when his best friend turned on him? On the entire school?

How was he so easily fooled?

“Shinsou, please, keep an eye on him,” Aizawa grumbles, brushing past Hitoshi and out the door. “I need a minute.”

Hitoshi doesn’t want to turn around. He doesn’t want to see those bright yellow eyes turned hard and brutal against him. He would rather remember the way his mouth opened a little too wide when he laughed, the way he hung around Hitoshi even when he didn’t think he wanted the company, the way he could quote Shakespeare word for word then turn around and ask Hitoshi if birds could see the same colors as people.

“You’re no better than I am,” Denki hisses at Hitoshi’s back, and the words creep up Hitoshi’s spine and worm their way into his ears. He wishes he could pull them out, throw them to the ground and squish them under his feet.

“You betrayed me, and I betrayed you, so we’re even now,” Hitoshi says to the wall. Denki coughs out a laugh.

“Perfect, you can let me out of here, then.”

“Not until you tell us who you’re working for, who your contacts are.” Maybe Hitoshi’s been spending too much time with Aizawa, but his mentor is right, there are lives at stake, and Denki might have the intel that could help save them.

“I don’t know,” Denki says again, “what the hell do I have to say to get you to believe me?” 

“I did believe you,” Hitoshi says, though he wishes he hadn’t. His tongue refuses to stop now that it’s started, though, and all the damn emotions he’s been holding back come spilling from his lips.

“I believed you wanted to be a hero, I believed you wanted to help. I believed you were my friend.” He does turn around now, and he almost regrets it - Denki’s staring back, eyes wide and lips parted like he might be about to argue that point. Hitoshi wishes he would, wishes he would say something and make Hitoshi believe it.

But nothing comes out, only an aching silence that makes Hitoshi want to scream, but he doesn’t. He won’t lose himself in front of Denki, not when he’s taken everything else. No, Hitoshi can hold onto his anger. That’d been a gift from Denki, after all.

“I believed you loved classic literature and didn’t understand geometry and liked pranking the other students and wanted to control your quirk and I believed you cared.” Hitoshi’s out of breath now, but the lack of oxygen only fuels him. He lifts his voice modulator.

“I like you, Shinsou,” he says in Denki’s voice, and Denki’s eyes drop to the ground. Hitoshi lowers the modulator. “I believed it when you said that, too. And look where that got me.” His hand clenches in a fist at his side and tears prick at the back of his eyes.

“I could kill you right now,” Denki says, his voice so low that Hitoshi almost doesn’t hear him. As soon as he does, though, he wishes he hadn’t. “Electrocute you and Aizawa and find a way to get free once you’re dead.”

“Do it, then. What’s stopping you?” Hitoshi grits his teeth to keep his lip from trembling. Denki would kill them. Kill him.

“I don’t…want to.” He sounds so resigned, and Hitoshi blows out a shaky breath.

“That’s reassuring,” he says, hoping the dark humor will help dispel some of the ache in his chest. It doesn’t, but Denki laughs, a real laugh, and Hitoshi’s breath comes in a little easier this time. 

Maybe, somewhere in the depths of his imagination, he can pretend Denki’s going to break down and tell them it was all a ruse, just a clever manipulation and he’s really one of the good guys, he really is a hero. And maybe there’s absolutely no reason Hitoshi could even begin to justify that hope inside his head, but it refuses to leave him alone.

“This was never…it was never about UA, or class 1A or Aizawa or any of them,” Denki says, and Hitoshi looks up to find him staring at his shoes. “It wasn’t even about you, not at first.” Hitoshi stops himself from interrupting - information, that’s what they need. That’s what he did this for, to save people. He can still be a hero, even if he couldn’t save-

No, he won’t give up on Denki yet. He can’t, it would break something inside him to do that.

“Why, then? Why all of this?” He waves a hand in Denki’s direction. Were we not enough to change you? Was I not enough? He can’t ask that, though. He can’t even begin to consider hearing Denki say that he wasn’t.

“I had to keep myself safe, keep my family safe,” Denki says to the floor. The chair creaks as he leans forward, his hair falling to block his face. “I thought…I thought I wouldn’t care.”

Hitoshi stills at the words. Did he care, then? 

“I thought…it’d be easy to do whatever was asked of me - and no, I don’t know who it was, the whole thing was anonymous.” Denki’s staring hard at him now, but Hitoshi can’t come up with any words. “I didn’t think-” he pauses, then his gaze softens. “I wasn’t there to make friends.”

Hitoshi blows out a breath - the same thing he’d said to Denki from day one.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have.” He means it as a joke, almost. Almost, except for the gaping hole left in his chest after Denki’s betrayal. Almost, except for the memory of raucous laughter turning soft as Denki leaned closer to Hitoshi. Almost, except that Hitoshi had been willing to hand his heart over. Almost, except Denki had run away and left it broken.

“I thought I could protect you too,” Denki says, and he sounds almost as shattered as Hitoshi feels. “They said they’d keep you safe, and I believed them.” Hitoshi squeezes his eyes shut, desperately fighting back the wave of tears that threaten to overwhelm him.

It takes several moments too long, but he manages to shove them back down, and he takes a deep breath as he opens his eyes. Denki’s still staring at his feet, and Hitoshi wants nothing more than to lift his chin, to tell him things will turn out okay in the end. That he doesn’t need to worry, Hitoshi is a hero and he’ll keep Denki safe now.

But it’s Denki’s fault they’re in this mess. A real hero would see that, wouldn’t they?

“You put the entire world at risk to keep me safe?” He hopes his tone comes off angry - hell, he should’ve just switched on his modulator and flipped to Bakugou’s voice. That’d have done better than letting his own words betray how hurt he is right now.

Denki just blows out a breath of bitter laughter.

“I know this might sound selfish,” he shakes his head and lifts it just enough to catch Hitoshi’s eye, “unheroic, even, but I don’t care about the world.” Hitoshi clenches his jaw. “I only care about you, Hitoshi, I just wanted to keep you safe.” He shakes his head, leaning back in the chair. “You have no idea what’s coming.”

Hitoshi does his best to ignore everything Denki’s saying, everything that isn’t useful. Emotions aren’t useful, not right now.

“What’s coming, then? What do we need to protect ourselves from?” He takes a few steps closer, hoping it comes across as intimidating.

“I don’t know, they won’t tell me, but it’s big, Hitoshi…” He exhales a slow breath, and Hitoshi watches the line of his throat as he swallows. “I don’t know if we’ll make it.”

Hitoshi startles at the tears pooling in Denki’s eyes - he’s never been one to cry, as far as Hitoshi’s ever known, but that alone is enough to set his heart racing. Something big, something Denki’s not sure they’ll survive…

“We just gotta stick together and we’ll be fine!” Hitoshi says into his modulator, and it comes out as Denki’s voice - sure, they had just been training, it was just practice, there wasn’t a real threat like there is now, but those words had helped him then and maybe they can help Denki now.

Maybe he can still figure this out, maybe he can still bring Denki back to the right side. Maybe it’s not that Denki doesn’t care, but that he cared far too much. And maybe Hitoshi cares far too much, too.

[purplellamanator]

Hiii 💓 I really obsessed with ur shinran stories. Can you do #8 on winter promps, pleasee.. Oh and I loved Interview Mania, hope u'll be updating it soon Thank you

8. "Thanks for the.. Uh.. Gift?"

A/N~ Thanks for the ask! I am glad you like my stories this much!! It really means a lot! And I’ll do my best to start on Interview Mania soon! Hope you enjoy :D I decided to go for a little more ShinRan pining and another AU because I am incapable of writing anything else properly :D here is the prompt list as well 

oOo

This was the year. This was the year that she would finally do it.

This was the year that she, Mouri Ran, would confess her feelings to her crush since junior high. She was a year away from graduating. There was no other chances after this. She couldn't risk waiting for Valentine's day and chickening out again. She knew that every time she told herself she'd wait for a special moment that she was just trying to delay what she didn't want to do. But there would never be a special moment. Not unless she created it.

And nothing was more special than the holidays.

She even got help from her friend in Osaka, Toyama Kazuha. Which was actually big help. Being the girlfriend to Hattori Heiji, Shinichi's best friend, she was able to inform Ran that he would be joining her in watching Hattori's upcoming kendo match. So Kazuha invited her.

And Ran was freaking out.

It was honestly a good idea. This way she'd actually be able to sit with Shinichi and speak with him before attempting to give him her gift. But the closer the day came, the more and more anxious she got. She tried backing out, or at the very least tried to take Sonoko with her. But her Osakan friend wouldn't hear anything of it. She had already agreed to go and if Sonoko went, Sonoko would only interfere and control the conversation. She didn't Ran to get distracted nor did she want her friend to use the Suzuki heiress as a way to block out why she was really there.

So there she was, the night before the match, sitting in Kazuha's room about to have a breakdown. Ran had called her, panicking out of her mind that she couldn't do this and that there was always Valentine's day. Kazuha wouldn't hear another word and demanded she come a day early just so that there was no way for her to back out. Kazuha told her that she would drag her there if she had to.

So there she sat, in the bleachers with Kazuha, gripping a neatly wrapped git to her chest. Her gift to Kudou-kun was a blue sweater that had taken her weeks to knit perfectly under the instruction of her mother. She knew of course that there would be no gift in return for her considering she planned this with idea of confessing but that was fine. The point wasn't to make him feel guilty but for him to look at her in a different way.

But after the first match passed and then the second, Ran had to ask Kazuha if he was even going to show up. And that's when the panic set in.

Maybe Hattori told him that she would be there and so he backed out. They didn't really know each other that well so could they even be considered friends? No which meant that he must've noticed that she had a thing for him and got freaked out.

Seeing how discouraged her friend was getting, Kazuha called her boyfriend. In fact, he had been missing as well and now even she was starting to get annoyed. His match was coming up soon and he was no where to be seen.

"A case!" Kazuha exploded. "There's always some stupid case! And what a time to do it. The day that his rival is here."

Listening to that after her friend ended her call, Ran gave her look that wasn't all that disappointed considering she was wanting to back out already. "So Kudou-kun is not coming?"

Kazuha blinked, a bit confused before she gave a small laugh. "Oh no, Ran-chan. He's here. You'll still be able to confess. This is a different rival," she waved her off.

But Ran was still puzzled. Hattori-kun had another rival. . . that wasn't Shinichi. . . ? She had never known that. For as long as she had known Kazuha, she had never mentioned anybody else. But who ever this rival was, it was clear that her friend was confident that Hattori would not lose. Which is what would happen if he never showed up. So pulling her from her seat, Kazuha said that they would find Hattori and Shinichi-kun themselves. Ran could do nothing but hug her gift to herself tightly and trail after her. She couldn't take it though. Every step they took, she felt like she was getting closer and closer to her doom. She wasn't ready for this.

She couldn't confess!

With a quick outburst, she yelled that she needed to use the restroom and ran off. Kazuha barely had a chance to acknowledge what she said before she was already gone. Ran didn't even allow herself to feel guilty for just ditching Kazuha like that. She needed the space to think. She understood that the girl meant well and she actually appreciated that Kazuha was this determined to make her confess her feelings before she missed her chance, but it was overwhelming her. She couldn't help that she was this scared.

It was awfully quiet where she had wandered off to. No one seemed to be around considering she had gone to use the restrooms towards the back of the building. It made her thoughts even louder- unbearably so.

Finally having enough, she shook her head as if to disperse the cowardice thoughts. "You can do this!" she said firmly to herself. "You're going to walk up to Shinichi-kun confidently," she reaffirmed. "And you will say," and with fists clenching around the gift she had been hugging and with shut eyes, she extended her arms in front of her as if he were really there in front of her. "Please accept this as a symbol of my feelings for you!"

"Thanks for the. . uh . . gift?"

Ran barely had time to make the connection that she wasn't alone when suddenly, the present she had been gripping so tightly, was stripped from her hands. Horrified, her eyes opened and gave a small shriek.

And about had a heart attack.

She really thought it had been Shinichi-kun for a moment. Thankfully it wasn't but their resemblance in the face was uncanny. In a way, this boy resembled her crush more than Kuroba-kun did which was bizarre. Just how many doppelgangers did Kudou-kun have?

But then another problem surfaced; a more pressing issue.

She had just confessed her feelings aloud. . . to some stranger! Right now he looked more confused than anything as he looked at the wrapped gift curiously. But when he looked right at her, he gasped loudly frightening her. When he took a step closer to her, she couldn't help but take one back in retreat. She was about to ask if he was okay when he suddenly talked.

"You're really cute!"

Ran had not been expecting that and the blush that heated her face was instantaneous. She was also ashamed to say that though she definitely had not meant to confess to him, he was very similar in looks to her actual crush. It perturbed her a bit and she stared a bit longer. Which was bad on her part considering he probably was taking that as her showing even more interest in him, when in actuality- there was none.

"What? Have you fallen in love with me already?" The grin he was sporting was a cheeky one. He reeked of confidence.

And a little arrogance. But it was still enough to have her flustered. She knew he took her staring the wrong way.

"N-no," she said leaning away.

He didn't seem to be bothered by her rejection. If anything, he got even more cocky. "Don't underestimate a samurai. I can sense it."

His words startled her though. She felt powerless and only raised her hands as if to fend him from getting any closer. Were her thoughts that easy to read? He could tell how she felt simply from thinking of Shinichi-kun? And if he could sense that, then did that mean . . . did that mean. . . that Shinichi-kun. . . could as well-

Out of nowhere, something dropped down hard on the stranger's head, and Ran gave another horrified shriek. That had really startled her.

"No one can sense that, idiot!"

Realizing that it was a wooden, kendo rod that had whacked the guy in the head, it only took her a second to link that to the voice she just heard.

"H-Hattori-kun!" And if he were here. . . that could only mean that. . .

Just as quickly as they had landed on him, they snapped away. Shinichi-kun was there as well. And he looked annoyed. Probably that they had stumbled into their crime scene, she was just now noticing.

"Ran-chan!" Kazuha's shocked gasp rang out dragging Ran's gaze up again. Getting so nervous from seeing Kudou-kun, she hadn't even taken the time to notice that Kazuha had somehow already managed to find the boys.

But then her friend's gaze slid to the gift that was still clenched in this stranger's hand and Ran could see the misunderstanding just as it entered her eyes. A fire lit, the girl stomped forward.

"That's my friend," she waggled her finger at the boy as she stood in between them. All he could do was lean away, a bit frightened by how angry this small girl was. "Stay away from her."

But it seemed something else captured his attention; something else that he friend had said so quickly.

"Ran-chan, huh?" he said so brightly and her face got even brighter from how casual he said her name. "That's a nice name. I live in Kyoto's Kamigyo Ward. Let me know if you ever come to Kyoto. I'll show you around," he continued as he completely bypassed Kazuha to greet her even more enthusiastically.

Still, Ran got nervous was this guy's blatant interest. She had admirers before but not usually this forward. And not able to be the least be rude, she couldn't think of anything to respond back.

But someone else clearing throat made it so she didn't have to, and on closer inspection, it was Shinichi-kun. And he wanted to get back to the case. Even more embarrassed to be caught as if she were flirting with someone, she felt even worse. He looked really irritated. He probably thought she just stumbled into this crime scene just to talk to this other guy.

The case seemed to involve kendo referee however, so thankfully that allowed Ran a moment to catch her breath. Without the constant flirting from the one guy and the blatant aggravation from Kudou-kun, she felt like she could actually breathe properly now.

"What were you doing talking to him like that?" Kazuha turned a suspicious glare on her. "And why does he have your gift for Kudou-kun?" she asked in an even lower voice so as not to be heard by anybody else.

"I-It was an accident," Ran stammered. "I don't even know who he is. I was trying to practice what I would say when I actually gave my gift. I didn't think anyone was listening and he must've thought I was talking to him!" Now that actually said it aloud- it sounded ridiculous.

Kazuha didn't give her much of a hard time though when it was clear Ran was in full blown panic mode. Okita-kun- whom Kazuha had informed her was the strange boy's name, had her present. Had Shinichi's present. She had zero ideas on how she was to get it back.

When she didn't know what else to do and when the case was solved and done, she did all she could think of. And simply asked for it back. Which made her feel like a terrible person. The guy was odd but it didn't mean she wanted to hurt anyone's feelings especially when the misunderstanding had been her fault.

"O-Okita-kun," she couldn't help the nervous stutter as she walked up to him. She made sure to do this when no one else was nearby to hear her explanation though. She couldn't bear anymore embarrassment after this. She would die.

But when she explained slowly but timidly, the grin hadn't fallen from his lips and she was beginning to think he'd tell her no.

Then he smirked. "I figured it was something like," he chuckled before holding out the still wrapped gift. He hadn't opened it which meant he likely knew that gift was not for him the entire time.

She couldn't hide her gratitude though and after accepting the returned gift, bowed her head apologetically.

"I was serious though," he started again, and confused she tilted her head. "If you're ever in Kyoto, look me up."

The blush resurfaced tenfold and it had him laughing even louder.

"Oh, and Ran-chan?"

Honestly, at this point she was afraid to respond but she did.

"I would say you'd better hurry and be clear about your feelings and give the gift to the intended receiver," he leaned down to playfully whisper to her. "Or other misunderstandings could happen." His only hint was to look Shinichi-kun's way before turning back to wink at her. And on instinct she had followed his gaze.

Only to find that someone else had been watching her already. It was Kudou-kun! And he had looked. . . mad again.

But before she could ask Okita what his words meant, he was already walking away.

It wasn't until long after that conversation and sitting between Kudou-kun and Kazuha that she understood. The boy she had intended to give this present to had not stopped glaring at it as she gripped it tightly. And he was glaring with so much annoyance and disdain.

That was when it her that. . . .Shinichi-kun thought that Okita had given her this gift. And after all that flirting-!

Ran wanted to scream and pull her hair out. She could never give him this gift now. He would never accept it!

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Okay so ik ur in he middle of writing a series rn but do you think you might ever revisit “the bad guy” & maybe do a part 2 where like another enemy comes along and y/n, e and gray have to maneuver thru it?? I’m sorry if you’ve already answered this but I am so hooked on these characters it’s not even funny. I’ll dead ass be in a lecture thinkin about their love story & the dynamic they had w/eachother. It reminds me sm of daisy & gatsby especially w/the national anthem vibes. Ughh I love it!💕

I love that you still think about them, cause I do too. I honestly had no plans, but I do have something written in case I change my plans.

It's totally unedited and filled with imperfections, but this is how I saw their story evolve next.

If anyone is interested, let me know. 💕

The Bad Guy - preview of a possible part two

He opens his eyes, the darkness around him seemingly moving through the cracks and pushing in. His right arm falls open to the side as he struggles to breathe, blindly reaching out for his nightstand, the top drawer where his inhaler resides. While his right hand struggles to grasp what nature intended to be his cure, his left one taps around the bed for his real remedy - his saving grace.

Finally finding the pump, he takes one puff for the wheezing to stop, allowing his mind to function properly.

His left hand comes up empty, void of what he holds dear and he sits up madly, looking around the room in a daze.

She's not there.

His already wild heart beats fast, letting his hands and feet numb further than when he awoke from his sleep.

But was it all a dream? Was Y/N ever real? If she is, did Mikhail really take her from him?

The questions in his mind drive him up the wall, his arms shaking and legs no longer able to hold him up, so he remains seated. Gripping at his hair, he feels the panic seep in, overtaken with cold sweat and trembling chin.

She must be real. He felt it in his heart. She wasn't just a dream, but her being gone could be more than his imagination.

She's not here.

Had she been there, she'd surely be tucked into his side, her cold feet warming on his calfs or at the very least she'd drape a leg over him.

She's not here.

It's more than panic, paralyzing him. He can't breathe, his lungs are heavy. He feels the air around him, pressing in, overwhelming. He finds his phone, pressing number one on instinct, knowing he had put her in because she's his number one girl. If she is his, she is always his number one dial.

The line goes silent, his mind unable to process the generic response of the caller not being available, eyes widened and a lump forming in his throat.

Wanting to scream, he chuckles because there he is, a man who fears nothing and yet he's absolutely lost in his fear of losing one girl he is no longer sure exists.

Columbia.

"If she's real, that's where she'll be." He whispers to himself, scrambling to his feet without putting on any clothes. Only in his briefs, Grayson runs out of his mansion and sits into his Porsche, driving at illegal speed toward where he might find her.

One of the cops recognize his car, not stopping him. As if he would stop.

Finally on campus, he parks in front of her dorm and rushes out.

Room 23, he thinks, already finding himself before the red door and his heart stumbles on itself when he realizes she must be there. He can't be imagining everything, believing he isn't that creative.

Connecting his fist with the door, he pounds on it impatiently. Until the lock is heard and the door creaks open, her nose and her right eye the only parts of her peaking out.

He sees her eye widen in recognition, the door opening instantly and her worried face meeting his unsteadiness.

"Gray?"

In one move, he grabs her smaller form and presses her into his chest, folding his arms around her. His nose buried in her hair at the top of her head, his hands at her sides, crossed at her back, her arms wrapping around him as well.

"Shhh. It's okay. I'm here." Her voice is muffled by his chest, but the sound of it alone makes his heart calmer and the smell of her hair puts his mind at ease.

She doesn't fight his embrace, for this isn't the first time he came to her room completely out of his mind. Physical touch is what he needs now and not the sexual kind. He needs to feel her, breathe her in and she allows him.

Slowly pushing him in, she kicks the door close and moves him to her bed. She notes the warm, naked back and the muscular built going up and down under her fingertips, realizing he must have had a bad dream. She told him to call her if he needed her, come what may she'd be there. But here he is, in all his glory, trembling like a scared child in her dorm room.

Laying him down, Y/N snuggles into his side, enjoying his strong arms as they push her into him and the way his palms go up and down her skin to assure himself of her existence.

Tenderly, she presses kisses into his chest and neck, reminding him she's with him as she promised to be.

Ever since Mikhail nearly killed both of them, despite the man being dead, Grayson had been restless. They didn't talk much about his gang related work, knowing it upsets both of them as result. But it didn't stop Y/N from insisting Grayson finds help for his nightmares that usually led him to her door at ungodly times and all in his underwear.

Although she insisted living on her own in a dorm, she's become quite aware he needs her with him. She's been splitting her time to the best of her ability between his bed and her own, wanting to permanently give into his requests of her moving in. It's hellish, making a decision between having all she wanted in the accelerated med school programme and having Grayson, what she never thought would be an option.

"You're really here." He mumbles, eyes closed and already drifting off, failing to notice the tears in her eyes as she chooses him above all.

"I am. I always will be."

Once the morning came, Y/N's alarm wakes them both in the most frustrating way possible.

The "I like to move it" song blares, startling them and as big as Grayson is and as small as Y/N's bed is, he nearly dropped Y/N on the floor when he jumped up. Catching her mid fall, pressed against the bed frame with his arms, a scream dies kn her throat and her hands grab at him for support.

"You good?" Grayson chuckles, half thinking how he's too old, too rich for dorm rooms and half thinking how lucky he is to be in her dorm room.

"Think it's time." She grumbles, helping him pull her up into the safety of his chest, draping her leg over his stomach for a better hold.

"For what?" Grayson leaves a kiss atop her head, running his fingers up and down her arm, his ring grazing her skin lightly.

"For me to move back with you." She sighs, enjoying the feathered coldness his ring brings to her warm skin. She's always cold when she sleeps alone, yet sleeping with Grayson, a human volcano, she finds herself burning up.

Grayson's lips part, trying to hold in a confused, but excited gasp. She always makes him feel like a high school girl with a crush, still going through puberty: senselessly blind and constantly confused, wanting to gush about his feeling for her and write poems even if he's not particularly good at it.

"Didn't you say it would take you forever to get here and it would affect your grades?" Grayson asks, still holding in his true feelings. He respects how hard she works, her ambition and drive endlessly, even admires her for it, but he also wishes she'd just be with him...all the time. God knows he had more money than he can spend in seven lifetimes, she need not work a single day of her life, yet he knows how important it is for her which is why he offers his home to her every month, but never pressures her into accepting.

"Yes. But I also want to wake up in your arms every morning like this without falling on my ass. I'll just have to take my Impala and put it into use for the drives, a few hours lost is better than being away from you so long." She excuses, refusing to tell him the truth; that she's worried for him.

After all, Grayson is a head of the most formidable criminal organization, a gang as some would say, and he can't afford to show weakness and these dreams might come across as such. When she's there, the dreams tend to go away. Most of all, she makes sure he takes his prescription and attends his therapy sessions.

"You know I'd love that, but only if you're sure. It's a big move in a relationship and neither of us have much practice there. It's also a strain on you, so if you're absolutely sure, I would love nothing more." Practical, very self aware and extremely protective response put in the sweetest, most gentle way possible. There's the charming, magnetic man she loves so much. Right underneath the rubble. But she found she loves the rubble too.

"I'm sure." She lifts herself up, just barely enough to peck the tip of his nose because that always made him scrunch up and his lips whirl to the side into the cutest smile she had ever seen and that's what she loved the most - having such an effect on him that she discovers new things about him that not even Grayson himself knows.

Lazily, his hand slides down her back and rests upon her bum, squeezing it a little too hard but not enough to make it painful, although she never opposed to a little pain. Releasing the flesh he wanted to take a bite out of, he taps her gently, like a summer breeze.

"In that case, get that cute ass to class and I'll call a few people to help me move all this by the end of the day." Grayson taps her but once more, getting a happy giggle in return only prompting a crooked smile of his own to appear.

She tumbled over to her side, barely managing to survive the fall from grace she considered his chest to be, only to throw on the first thing she could find - a deep green summer dress, falling to her ankles where a tattoo rests; one she got after being saved by the members of The house of the rising sun. As her eternal gratitude, the rising sun tattoo on her right ankle will forever be there to remind her why she's able to giggle with her boyfriend while running late to class.

"And take a banana and an energy bar with you!" He commands, the change in his voice now evident to her. She could always tell when he simply suggests something in comparison to when he orders her to do something, when he dared to do such a bold thing.

Y/N didn't mind this particular demand, knowing this is just another way Grayson shows his love for her because she does forget to eat on time and his nagging helps keep her healthy and at the top of her game.

Quickly pecking his lips, she stumbles toward her door and turns around to take him in. Just for one moment longer her eyes remain on his faintly lit sculptured body, the sun rays dancing on the tan skin. His hair is a mess, his eyes tired but bright and his lips curled into a self satisfied smirk because he knows she's checking him out.

"Clothes are in the drawers." She begins, Grayson joining her for the last part to be said in unison.

"Second one from the bottom." Both smile, giving them enough soul food to survive the day.

Some would consider this a mundane thing, but for Grayson it was extraordinary, magic even. For a man who didn't think he'd live to see his thirtieth birthday, this was the epitome of happiness.

The men came quickly, packing all Y/N's things except her underwear, for Grayson had packed that before anyone even showed up. Maybe being jealous over his men seeing the sexy underwear he loked to provide her with is silly, but he wanted to be the only one with such privileges.

Just as they're leaving the day at its end, Grayson finds Ethan rushing in with a crazed look in his eyes.

"Where the fuck have you been all day?!" Ethan speaks through gritted teeth in hushed voices.

"Why?" A dark look befalls Grayson as he already knows something is happening and it's bad. It's always bad.

He spent the past year trying to make right of his wrongs, legitimize his work, but that can't ever be entirely done.

"Silver Snakes heard you closing up shop, and declared New York an open season." Ethan hissed, finding Grayson's face harden like stone.

"I am still the leader. I am still the Capo." Grayson's jaw clenches, only now seeing he and Ethan aren't alone.

"What does open season mean?" Her voice is determined, but the fear in her tone doesn't go unnoticed by either of them.

"It means they want this territory." Ethan answers instead, seeing his brother had gone back to the cold person he was before he ever met Y/N.

Grayson still considered New York his playground and he definitely had no intention giving up such a prized possession many died for him to keep.

"The Silver Snakes must have found out Gray has you now and in our world that means weakness. When one has a weakness, he can be dealt with. You're a liability." Ethan continues until Y/N starts to shake her head, her chin trembling instead of her lips because her jaw is clenched tightly enough to prevent that from happening.

"What does that mean? How does he get the territory?" Y/N insists, walking toward Grayson.

"It means Grayson has to die. Both of us. Heirs if there are any as well." And that's when her world comes crashing down once more.

"We can fight this. Them." She quickly moved ahead, standing on her tiptoes to cup Grayson's face and bring his eyes to her instead of the faraway place this piece of information took him to.

"We will prevail. As always." He noticed her speak in plural, meaning she would fight with him and although he loved her for it, that is exactly why he's so scared now. That's a part of her magic; she sees the sun even in the darkest days.

[mirthless-misanthrope]

I’ll Try. (Jotaro Kujo Imagine)

A/N: hooooo boy my first request! sorry, I kinda went nuts. there’s a lotta hurt here, not gonna lie, so I hope that anon is ready for this~

The request was:  Maybe you could write something about a depressed reader that self harms unknown to jotaro but he walks in on them cutting them self or something? Love ur writing :)

Trigger Warnings: Self-harm, depression, anxiety, insecurities, cutting, swearing, jotaro accidentally makes it worse at first, non-sexual body worship

Y’all blease be careful, this is some triggering stuff so i think i’ll do a “Keep Reading” thing for this one.

A message to anyone who reads this: hey. y’know, if you feel this way, and self-harm, or are struggling with depression/anxiety, i know it can be the worst. my DMs are always open, though i’m awkward and might panic. as someone that has a lotta mental issues, i just ask that you don’t send me suicidal messages, since i hate the feeling of having someone’s life on my shoulders. it sends me into panic attacks. i’m sorry. there’s more reliable resources after the imagine. i take this kinda thing... really seriously, sorry ;-;

Sending Jotaro off to his class takes more from me than usual. It’s… turning out to be one of those days. The days that I feel miserable, and out of control. The days that lead to fresh wounds on my legs due to how much I want to have control over at least one thing in my life. Now that I know Jotaro won’t be around until late at night, it doesn’t take long for me to succumb to the feeling of hopelessness that shrouds my mind. It’s stronger than ever today. No matter how hard I try to tell myself to stay away from anything sharp, my body moves on its own and takes me to the bathroom. 

Not too long after I see my razor in the shower, my hands fly out and break it, pulling the blades out and wincing at the cuts they leave on my shaking fingers. It hurts… but I can deal with this pain. It’s nothing compared to the spiraling thoughts in my mind, messing with my will to do anything. So I lightly pull my leggings down to expose my thighs and pick up one of the blades. As if my skin is the canvas and the blade is the paintbrush, I draw lines across the already scarred flesh. Not too deep, but not shallow either. Deep enough to draw blood, but shallow enough that I won’t bleed too much. I have to be cautious, since Jotaro is perceptive and I never want him to find out about… this. Crimson paints over my skin and I feel relieved at the sight. 

… That is, until I hear thudding footsteps and a knock on the bathroom door.

“What the hell are you doing in there?” Jotaro sounds nervous, something I’ve never heard from him before. How the hell does he know…? My stand phases through the door and gives me a pointed look, and I realize she must’ve flown out after him as soon as she realized what I was about to do. Goddamnit, he’s not supposed to know, anyone but him. Before I can move, Star Platinum is breaking down the door and I see the exact moment that the stand before me realizes why I had locked myself away. 

The shock in those godly eyes brings me to tears. 

Purple hands take each blade from me with such precision that they leave the see-through skin unharmed, and I gasp as the hands crush the blades with as much force as a hydraulic press. Blood drips from Jotaro’s hand, but he doesn’t move. He’s frozen, unmoving, expression showing disbelief. “Oraaaa,” my attention turns back to Star as he cries out to me. His fingers brush over each cut on my thighs, so gentle and soft despite the callouses covering his skin. How can a stand so menacing and harsh… also be so caring and mellow at the same time?

“Why.” Jotaro breaks the silence. He’s not asking, he’s demanding an answer from me. I can hear the emotion in his voice despite his glare that he’s shooting at me now. “Why would you do this to yourself. Y-Yare yare…” He finally moves, getting out our first aid kit and kneeling in front of me. “Whatever… Give me your legs. I’m cleaning those.” There’s no room for objection, so I let him pull my still bleeding leg onto his lap.

Dabbing at each cut with a cotton ball dipped in hydrogen peroxide ends up stinging more than I thought it would, but I don’t dare say anything. I’m… terrified. He found out. Now he’s going to leave me. Or maybe he’ll just lecture me? God, I don’t want a lecture. Star must sense my growing anxiety because he wraps his arms around my waist, mumbling oras of affection to soothe my worries. It works for a while, but I’m still tense and shaking with anxiety.

Wet drops splash against my legs, and it takes a few moments for me to figure out they’re coming from Jotaro’s eyes. He’s crying? Tears fall onto my shoulder too, telling me that Star is crying as well. “Ora ora… oraaaa!” Star’s grip tightens as he sobs into my shoulder. I don’t know what I should do in this situation… so I reach behind me and run a hand through his hair, showing off more scars that I’ve been hiding. It’s not intentional, but my light wince at the sight of the scars out in the open alerts Jotaro, his eyes snapping up to observe me. “Your arm… You’ve done this for a while. Yare yare daze, why didn’t you tell me…” He seems saddened for a moment as he stares, but his expression shifts back to the stoic glare I’m used to as he focuses back on the injuries littering my thighs. 

Whining, Star kisses each scar on my arm that he can see. He wants to make it better, but he doesn’t know how… at least, that’s how I read his expression. My stand comes out and pats Star’s shoulder, trying to comfort him for me since my arm is now occupied. I wish I could say something, anything, but all of my words get stuck in my throat and I can’t calm myself enough to let them out. 

Jotaro puts some neosporin on my thighs before wrapping them up with bandages. “You gonna explain why your stand dragged me back home and I found you like this? Why didn’t you say something before I left?” Slight voice cracks interfere with his words, and he does what I’m so used to seeing: he turns his sorrow into anger. “What, are you stupid? What’s the point of doing this to yourself? I know you have depression, but jesus, you didn’t tell me about this.” Despite Star’s sharp ‘ora’, he continues to grunt out sentences filled with anger, managing to hurt me more and more until I can’t take it anymore.

“S-Stop it! I-I-I know it means nothing, but I’m sorry, okay? God, just-just please… please stop hurting me…” By the end of the sentence I’m crying and I must look like an absolute mess, because Jotaro seems to be disgusted by me. Even if Jotaro is angry and disgusted, Star is the complete opposite. It’s well known that Jotaro is terrible with emotions, always giving off different emotions than what he really feels. But Star is my window to his soul: I can tell how Jotaro feels just by interacting with Star, and it’s clear that he’s angry with himself right now. There’s no way he’s angry with me, considering the way Star is still holding me with the lightest of grips possible, but his oras sound pissed. I think if I wasn’t there, he would be punching the shit out of his user…

Instead of an oral response, Jotaro scowls at Star as the stand pulls me away from him. “Star. What the fuck are you doing.” 

“Ora.”

“... Yare yare, yes, she’s in pain, but she did this stupid thing and-”

“Ora!” Star slaps Jotaro as hard as he can. What…?

Silence surrounds us after the harsh impact of the slap. Jotaro had gone flying, and Star has a large handprint on his cheek but he doesn’t seem to care. He takes me elsewhere, leaving Jotaro and laying me down on our bed. “S-S-Star, why did you… do that? You hurt yourself…” His face contorts into a sorrowful expression at my words, and I realize my mistake. “... S-Sorry, I… guess I can’t really say that, huh?” 

“Ora… ora ora.” 

My sweater is being pulled off of me before I can object. Squeaking, I try to curl up into a ball to hide my body from Star’s prying eyes but he pins me down before I can. Sure, I’m not naked since I still have my undergarments on, but… he can see everything. The endless scars all over me, the stretch marks on my sides, the extra fat on my stomach, everything. “Wh-What are you-?!” Flustered, I watch as the purple giant leans down and brushes his lips against every single mark on my skin. Kiss after kiss after kiss and he doesn’t stop, even as I try to push him away. “Star, what are you-?”

Another set of lips joins in and I stiffen. Somehow, Jotaro is here now, and smothering each imperfection with affection. “So this is why you’re afraid of intimacy,” he mumbles against my stomach. “Yare yare. It doesn’t matter if you have all these scars. It just means you’re human.” The words are… weird coming from Jotaro. He’s not one to reassure, especially when it comes to insecurities like this, so the fact that this is happening brings more tears to my eyes. One look from Jotaro and Star disappears, understanding that his user needs a few moments. “I... want to know why you do this. I don’t understand it at all. And I said… rash things earlier. Things that I shouldn’t have said.” He leans back, looking into my eyes, and I see the apology in his eyes. It doesn’t matter to me that the apology stays inside. Just seeing the overwhelming guilt is enough to make me forgive him. “I want to understand. I want to help you…” 

Hours go by as I explain everything to him. Expecting him to interrupt and tell me how dumb it is, I’m surprised by how much he listens. Once I finish explaining, he sighs, moving up to nuzzle his cheek against mine. “Damn. I didn’t know you felt like that… Yare yare, woman, listen to me. I… I know emotions aren’t my strength, but… Next time you feel like that, tell me. Let me in. I understand the why now, so I won’t yell like earlier.” His hands wander up and down my sides, comforting me while also feeling my soft skin. “I’ll tell you as many times as it takes. I love you. I don’t say it much, but I do. You… You’re beautiful,” he looks down at my body, “even with the marks you hate. Don’t be so hard on yourself.” The feeling of his hands coming up my back makes me shudder, snuggling up to him without a word. “... I’ve never seen this much of you. Now that I know… you’d better show me this more often.” I’m assuming he means to show him any new injuries or scars… “I won’t force you to do anything, but-”

“I-I… I’ll try. For you, Jojo.”

~~~~~

here’s a few things to help with self-harm urges:

1-800-DON'T-CUT – More info on self-injury

1-800-273-TALK – A 24-hour crisis hotline if you're about to self-harm or are in an emergency situation.

To Write Love On Her Arms (http://www.TWLOHA.com) - A non-profit movement dedicated to presenting hope and finding help for people struggling with depression, addiction, self-injury, and suicide.

1-800-334-HELP – Self Injury Foundation's 24-hour national crisis line.

for those afraid of phone calls, you can also text “CONNECT” to 741741 and a trained crisis counselor will text with you.

for those who don’t want to bother others and just want to deal with it yourself, there’s an app called Calm Harm. it’s free and helped me a lot!

please everyone, stay alive and well. i believe in all of you. <3

[vkndr]

master cheryl x veronica post

This is my master post about cheryl x veronica relationship up to episode 7 (chapter seven: in a lonely place), so bare with my madness and you’ll see what I see.

Just have in mind that:

♛ I truly believe that Veronica Lodge is into girls, and that she’s at least pansexual or bisexual (but I can’t say that the writers know this too)

♛ I’m a little bit crazy and sometimes I see things where there’s none, so excuse me for that in advancement.

♛ I’ll be using what I think it’s foreshadow, popular references and reading between the lines.

♛ I’ll also be pointing out why I believe Veronica is queer (specially with Betty).

♛ I made this to my express my hopes that Cheryl and Veronica will become canon in terms of romantic feelings.

And please, join me into expanding this master post. Discuss with me and other all about it. Point me out if I’m wrong or extremely right about something. I love feedback.

So, I decided yesterday to do binge re-watching of all episodes, and I wrote while I was watching it. So here it is:

♛ Chapter One: The River’s Edge

♡ In the intro Jughead says ❝Get closer tho, and you’ll start seeing the shadows underneath❞ and that’s exactly what I’ll be doing here.

♡ Veronica is extremely happy finding a gay friend (Kevin) in Riverdale. This could mean a lot more than the cliche rich girl + her gay friend, after all if Veronica’s gay she will want to have another queer with her. The queer kids gotta stick together.

♡ Like someone already pointed out #There’s no heterosexual explanation for Cheryl turning around at the very moment Veronica comes to find a table, when none of her minions is even the slightest turned to see if the new girl was there. Like that’s a fucking gaydar or something. And she definitely checks Veronica out. And on the other hand Reggie turns like he’s not even interested. Mmm.

♡ The famous B&V kiss actually can mean A LOT. 

Firstly, I think that V had a crush on B since the begging for sure.

V was okay with doing it, like it meant nothing new to her; she’s so used to kissing girls that it didn’t make the difference for her. But she thought it would mean something completely new and bold to Cheryl and her minions, when actually it doesn’t. Cheryl rolls her eyes, implying that what she saw did not impressed her and that she was bored. If you didn’t caught that then she throws that at their faces saying  ❝Faux lesbian kissing hasn’t been taboo since 1994❞. This whole scene could be queerbaiting like many thinks it was, but this single scene could’ve also been done to show that neither Veronica or Cheryl were shocked with the idea of lesbianism; that is actually something normal for both of them.

♡ The aftermath that comes after the kiss is interesting as well. Veronica at some point says ❝I know what you need, Cheryl, because I know who you are. You would rather people fear than like you, so you traffic in terror and intimidation. You’re rich, so you’ve never been held accountable, but I’m living proof. That certainty, that entitlement you wear on your head like a crown? It won’t last. Eventually, there will be a reckoning. Or… Maybe that reckoning is now. And maybe, that reckoning… Is me.❞ Do I really need to say more? Veronica is the closest that Cheryl (besides maybe Josie) has that have been through most of the things she has. No one can understand Cheryl best than V can. And she just said that she's freaking messiahs or something that came to change the reality that Cheryl’s trapped into. 

♡ V also says that she used to be a spoiled rich bitch ice princess, and that is the perfect way to describe Cheryl.  ❝I was like Cheryl. I was worst than Cheryl…..  I made a pact with myself to use this as an opportunity to become maybe, hopefully, a better version of myself.❞ Betty replies  ❝That’s a lot of pressure.❞ and I believe that’s implied to Cheryl and Veronica relationship as well, and it’s what’s going to happen. Veronica will try to help Cheryl through what she’s going though, she’ll try to have Cheryl become the better version of herself. And that’s going to be a lot of pressure, it won’t be easy. 

♡ Betty after says ❝When Polly and Jason got together… It meant everything to her and nothing to him, and… And things got super intense and weird and toxic and my mom turned on Polly. Said Polly wasn’t her daughter anymore, said all these awful things to her. Jason hurt Polly, but it’s my mom who broke her.❞ It could also be a foreshadow to Cheryl’s and Veronica future relationship. I’ll link this to Madelaine’s interview later on this post.

♛ Chapter Two: A Touch of Evil 

♡ Veronica is poor af right now and she still manages to get Betty flowers and cupcakes flown from New York? #There’s no heterosexual explanation #So gay

♡ Veronica was checking Betty’s ass at practice or?  #There’s no heterosexual explanation #So gay

♡ ❝Most of the time the people we like don’t like us back. Romeo and Juliet are the exception, not the rule.❞ Besides being my favorite quote so far, I can’t help myself relating this line to something that Madelaine said in a interview, that I’ll link to it later on this post.

♡ Cheryl calling Veronica closet monster I believe I don’t even have to mention the ambiguity here.

♡ Veronica calling Cheryl the anti-christ in the first episode and Cheryl calling Veronica the evil incarnated in the second episode. It must be love.

♡ Cheryl having her panic attack and Veronica going after her just proves my point that Veronica will try to help Cheryl become her best version. Why in the hell would she help if she despises Cheryl likes it’s implied in the first couple episodes? This scene breaks that.

♡ In the begging of the episode Veronica is more than eager to pair up with Betty in class, but in the end, when the principal and the sheriff comes for Cheryl we can see that Veronica paired up with her. Why if they’re not friends or anything? Ar this point Veronica is closer to Jughead after the core four hang out @ Pop’s than she’s with Cheryl.

♛ Chapter Three: Body Double

♡ When Veronica’s crying about the nasty comments about her, we can see a comment by Cheryl ❝I usually pity the poor, but❞ and Cheryl’s comment isn’t that bad, but if I was Veronica I’d be hating everyone who commented.

♡ The most awesome scene in this goddamn series: party’s @ Ethel’s. I just want to say a huge thank you very much for who created this scene, ‘cause it definitely made me realized that Veronica Lodge is for sure into girls. That look that she gives Betty can only be translated as ‘OMFG, UR SO HOT I WANT U SO BAD RN’, everyone can see it.

♡ I find it rather interesting that Veronica couldn’t sleep after torturing Chuck. Betty I understand, she went full psycho over him, but why V? She should’ve slept like a baby after getting the truth out of that jackass. My guess is that she was so overwhelmed with her attraction for Betty.

♛ Chapter Four: The Last Picture Show

♡ Veronica preferences on films ❝I vote for anything starring Audrey Hepburn. Or Cate Blanchett.❞ Me too girl, specially the Children’s Hour and Carol (both LGBT films with main lesbian characters with Audrey and Cate respectively)

♡ Cheryl saying ❝You are a Lodge, after all, and Lodges are known to have sticky fingers.❞ God, this sounded so dirty in my mind that I can’t even.

♡ #There’s no heterosexual explanation for Cheryl out of the blue deciding to sit with Kevin and Veronica at the drive-in after all that feud between the two of them. Like she just decided to sit there? SO RANDOM and weird. I don’t even know how to explain because I don’t even know what happened. It’s clear that Veronica couldn’t care less about Cheryl, trying to get her out to get more refill, but all Cheryl does is to ask Kevin to fetch more and when he does and Veronica starts to get away from Cheryl SHE JUST GET’S CLOSER TO VERONICA LIKE WHAT¿ SHE DOESN’T EVEN LIKE VERONICA. #So gay #So gay #So gay

♛ Chapter Five: Heart of Darkness

♡ Cheryl attacks Veronica while handing her the invitation for Jason's funeral ‘cause she’s Cheryl and Veronica is used to it. But Betty tries to reason her [Cheryl] behavior to Veronica, implying that Veronica actually got upset by Cheryl comments.

♡ Veronica decides that she’s done with her feud with Cheryl and the only way for it to end is by becoming friends. Or frenemies. Or girlfriends. And Cheryl accepts it in a heartbeat. For someone that despises Veronica she should at the very least five it a time to think about it, but instead she invites Veronica to her home, for a freaking sleepover. Too fast, like it was already planned. Veronica makes a face of ‘FML, if that’s what it takes for you to sop fighting’ but agrees to it.

♡ Penelope ❝Cheryl invited you. I have no idea why you’re here.❞ and to that Veronica replies ❝Me neither. I thought there’d be other girls.❞ and Cheryl doesn’t even bother to answer. # Random Cheryl moment

♡ Do I really need to mention the lingerie? Like c’mon, I know that’s to show that they are fancy girls, with the same background, but did they really needed to do that? Really?

♡ Let me just say that one of Veronica Lodge’s favorite hobbies is to look at pretty girls lips, and gurl, she does that not once, not twice, but four time in the gap of 5 minutes with Cheryl.  #There’s no heterosexual explanation #So gay

♡ Veronica insists ❝Why did you invite me tonight? Why not Tina? Or Ginger? Aren’t they your besties?❞ And Cheryl gives her the truth  ❝And yet, that night at the pep rally, after I had my panic attack, you helped me. Not them.❞ Okay, so Cheryl’s grateful for that but even after it happened she continued to treat Veronica like crap, like she forgot what Veronica did to her.

♡ How did they bonded over night so hard for Veronica to feel like she was that close enough to touch Cheryl’s hair like that? # Weird # Random Veronica moment

♡ Let’s just say that protective!Veronica is my favorite. And she was like that A LOT in this episode with Cheryl.

♡ She was so worried about Cheryl that she followed her and Penelope at a very private moment. I just think there’s a much deeper meaning in this scene where we can see Veronica looking to a broken Cheryl through the door crevice than I can put to words.

♛ Chapter Six: Faster, Pussycats! Kill! Kill! 

(None Cheryl in this episode)

♡ Veronica holding Josie’s arms? # So gay In a regular squad you wouldn’t do that.

♡ And there’s the famous caption of that choker Veronica was using during the Pussycats performance. It’s exactly the same we see Cheryl using in episode 3. There’s who believes that they are actually the same and Cheryl gave it to her. I see other two options: they both have the same taste in accessories (that’s also because you can always see some girl at Riverdale wearing a choker, what’s with this town obsession with chokers?) or Veronica actually stole it. That would be kind funny given the whole Cheryl’s speech about searching bags in case of robbery in episode 5.

♛ Chapter Seven: In a Lonely Place

♡ Veronica really close to Josie at the club # So gay 

So those are my thought while re-watching the episodes. Now it’s my thought about a certain interview that I find rather interesting that I already mentioned in a other post. 

In this interview they asked Madelaine (Cheryl) if her character would get a love interest this season, and she said: YES. Cheryl will be having a love interest, later the season, more like a fling. She dares to say that everyone will love, man I can’t think of anyone besides Veronica that people are rooting Cheryl to be with. She even says that people will go crazy about it (read it WE’LL GIVE YOU CHERONICA), there’s no character already introduced that matches Cheryl. None. Only Veronica and a little bit of Josie. But no guy. People are against Cheryl involving romantically with Archie (maybe people will agree to it if it means Archie doesn’t get in the way of Bughead and Beronica), but anyway, let me link you guys to what I’ve said earlier:

♡ Betty after says ❝When Polly and Jason got together… It meant everything to her and nothing to him, and… And things got super intense and weird and toxic and my mom turned on Polly. Said Polly wasn’t her daughter anymore, said all these awful things to her. Jason hurt Polly, but it’s my mom who broke her.❞ It could also be a foreshadow to Cheryl’s and Veronica future relationship. [Chapter One: The River’s Edge]

Madelaine said that Cheryl doesn’t want a relationship. Maybe if (when) she gets with Veronica she won’t be ready for it. It’ll fell like it means everything to Veronica and nothing to Cheryl. And like it’s the CW they will fuck it up and will become a weird and toxic relationship and stuff. Idk, this is really a personal weird post-high thought. You shouldn’t take me seriously here.

♡ ❝Most of the time the people we like don’t like us back. Romeo and Juliet are the exception, not the rule.❞ Besides being my favorite quote of this series so far I can’t help myself relating this line to something that Madelaine said in a interview.

Madelaine said exactly  ❝But of course, Cheryl doesn’t get what she wants because why would she ever?❞ Maybe her feelings is not mutual, maybe Veronica won’t be down for it.

Well, those are just what I think and hope will happen. As long as it becomes canon, cause seriously, they’d be the dumbest if they didn’t made a lesbian couple become canon in this series. Give us lady kisses. 

And last but no least I recall seeing some people making parallels between Riverdale and Gossip Girl, and what I already saw is: Veronica/Blair, Betty/Serena, Jughead/Dan, then there’s Cheryl and Archie left and I think Archie/Nate is obvious, so it’s left Chuck for our dearest Cheryl. And just in case you don’t know or don’t remember, Chuck and Blair, Dan and Serena were endgame. Long live Cheronica and Bughead.

Again guys, give me your feed back and also if you guys could answer a quiz I’ve created about LGBTQ+ representation on TV Series would mean A LOT to me, and I’d be extremely grateful.