#typing with mostly my right pointer finger

[jaemotion]

blitzed | lmh (teaser)

pairing⇢ mark lee x reader

summary ⇢ finding Mark was always easy for you — which makes you his friends' last resort whenever they need him back.

genre/au ⇢ angst, smut, uh best friends ig?

rating & word count ⇢ 18+ | 0.6k

warnings ⇢ swearing, pining, drug use, high sex, allusions to mental health struggles, they’re kinda toxic ngl (more specific ones will be added in the full fic)

a/n: i couldn't finish the fic by the end of his birthday so i figured a teaser will do since it's been sitting in my drafts since March 💀. happiest 25th to the loml, my markie, my minhyung 🥺 we've been together for 9 years now? (he was one of the three rookies i picked from the SM rookie app 😌)

you hear a familiar giggle after opening the door.

sighing in relief, you should've thought of looking for Mark here right away. it's one of the secluded ones in this lounge that he and his friends frequented during their free time. mostly him cause his younger bros prefer staying in the main area where the consoles are. honestly, it's essentially a game room because of the other recreational amenities like billiard tables, etc.

your favourite actually, that's why you visit here a lot but that's mainly because you're also Mark's best friend.

he tends to stay in this room when he needs to be alone. just chilling around surrounded by his favourite things. being those colourful tablets on the small table beside him and apparently, you.

“hi baby~” he calls to you from the small mattress he’s lying on. he giggles after, arms splaying around when he sees the scowl on your face at seeing his current predicament.

you've gotten used to Mark calling you this petname though you haven't heard him call you that when he's sober. you stare at his form from where you’re standing, gaze switching between him and a couple of mollies. those smileys carved in each of the assorted candies further annoyed you for many reasons.

because it seems like they're taunting you.

he’s done this a million times before, sneaking out to take a breather when he’s going through something. you and his friends never bother him when it happens but it’s uncharacteristic for him to do this, getting high at this time of day so it must’ve been different.

“what the hell mark?!” you yell whispering instead of actually using your voice at him to not bring his friends’ attention from the main room. it’s already telling when Renjun asks you specifically to look for him when he usually does it himself.

“relax, i didn’t take a lot” he states, surprisingly sounding sober despite looking fried. you’re damn worried about him but instead, he’s out here biting his right pointer finger as he looks at you with those heavy lidded eyes.

“still..” you look away because of their intensity and then he starts giggling again, probably finding amusement in your reactions.

“mark what’s going on?” you prod, not wasting any more time. you already did by searching for him in other places even knowing that this is what he considered his safest.

you wait for Mark to answer because sometimes he takes a while especially when he's like this. fortunately for him, you’re the type to help in any way that you can.

hence why you tolerate Mark’s antics, taking whatever he can give you at the moment.

“don’t wanna talk about it” he quips, his arm that was lying above his head coming down to grab your wrist.

“then what do you want?”

“you” he says with serious intent, thumb rubbing around your inner wrist in a coaxing manner which prompts your eyes to return to him.

he's not looking at you though, his eyes seem so fascinated as his thumb continues circling your skin. if he’s being honest, Mark just doesn’t want to face a possible rejection from you.

he could take it like a man should but not right now. not when everything’s been going to shit for him. he can’t fuck up things with you too but he might’ve already by stupidly blurting out what’s been on his mind lately.

“me how?”

you actually knew what Mark was asking but it’s not often he’s like this, flogged up his mind to stop himself from being vulnerable around you. besides, you’ve wanted to pry him off to whatever he just had so you’ll entertain this specific request of his.

like you always do.

“on me” he whispers before bursting out in another fit of laughter. he may look disoriented but the sincerity in his eyes never wavers each time he looks at you.

© jaemotion 2024. do not copy or repost.

[immeasurablesaladagere]

Can we get a fic about Wilson&House finding out Chase regresses please 🙏🙏🙏

Fun fact! I already had a prompt similar to this sitting in my notes app before I ever made this blog, so I decided to work on that! It just includes cg!House, I hope that's alright. House would have a very... ahem, interesting first-time-cg style.

-----

Word Count: 1230

Summery: House can tell that something is up with Chase on an overnight shift.

-----

Something was wrong with Chase.

House stared at him through the glass of his office, watching him go back and fourth between flipping through the patient’s files and a newspaper crossword. At least, that was what he was pretending to do. Chase’s eyes were obviously unfocused and staring directly through the papers, and it looked more like he was moving them around on autopilot to seem busy in front of his boss who he knew would be spying on him through the window. A smart move to be sure, but ultimately a pointless one. 

Chase picked up his pen and hovered it over the newspaper like he was going to write in an answer, then stopped and put the end of the pen in his mouthfor the dozenth time.

House wrinkled his nose in disgust. He was never using that pen again. It was definitely covered in bite marks and saliva, and while there was probably a large clientele who would pay too much for pretty-boy’s spit, he wasn’t one of them. If it wasn’t the pen, then it was biting the top half of his thumb or pointer finger, before he would get a look on his face and switch back to the pen or the cuff of his coat sleeve.

Then there was the fidgeting. For the most part, Chase matched the expected appearance of a man who had been awake for twenty-four hours on an overnight patient watch; sunken eyes, painfully-bored expression, slumped posture, and a general air of ‘I’d rather be having steamy sex with a hooker right now’— or maybe that was just him— but Chase was fidgeting almost constantly. It consisted mostly of swinging his feet back and fourth under the glass table or mindlessly shaking his free hand up and down. When he was particularly lost in thought, he would begin rocking in place to entertain himself. 

It was when the thought crossed House’s mind that Chase looked more like a little kid waiting for their parent to finish up at the DMV than a doctor trying to stay awake that he began to think that Chase was more than just tired. 

Age regression was a zebra, but Cuddy hadn’t given him his own team and office because he was an expert at finding horses. 

He watched as Chase yawned and rubbed his eyes, then rested his head on his hand and slipped his entire thumb in his mouth. If it wasn’t regression, then House got an embarrassing habit to hold over his head for the rest of time.

It was probably best to test his hypothesis before they were called to deal with the patient and Chase’s toddler brain accidentally killed her. He turned to his laptop and typed ‘colouring pages’ into Google, then printed the first result; an ocean floor scene with corny cartoon dolphins and fish.

At the sound of the printer starting in the office, Chase seemed to snap back into some kind of focus and pulled his thumb from his mouth, hastily tucking it against his cheek. 

When House walked in, Chase pushed away his file and cleared his throat. “Did you find something for the patient? I can’t think of anything.” 

“Forget the patient, I have a much more important question.” He set down the colouring page in front of Chase, “How do you feel… about sea creatures?”

He watched as Chase’s eyes went wide for a split second before he schooled his face into confusion. “What’s this?”

“Sea creatures.” He tapped the cartoon dolphin’s face, “See?”

“Yeah, uh… Why?”

“You tell me. Why would I, as your boss, distract you from a case with a children’s colouring page?”

Chase shrugged, looking anywhere but directly at the picture. “I ‘dunno…”

“Sure you do.” House nudged at the pen on the table. The plastic end was completely mangled by teeth marks, and it left behind a small trail of spit as it rolled. “And the sleeve, and the thumb, and the fidgeting like a four-year-old.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, House—“

“Tell me the truth, or you’re fired.”

Chase looked up at him in disbelief. “W-What?”

“You’re showing signs of an altered mental state. What if you were drunk? Or on drugs?” House wondered aloud, “The hospital wouldn’t take kindly to that, and what would that say about me? I can’t have a drugged-out doctor on my team—“

“I’m not on drugs! Or drinking!” 

“Then what?“

“It’s age regression, okay?” Chase blurted, “It’s this thing I do, I-I was thinking like a kid and it’s not like— why am I explaining it? You already knew, I’m just— I was tired and we weren’t getting anywhere with the case, s-so…”

House smirked with vindication. “So you figured it was fine if your adult brain took a vacation for a few hours, right? The patient’s not important, I get it.”

Chase buried his face in his hands. The tips of his ears were bright red with shame. “Please don’t fire me. I swear, it was a one-time thing, I’m not— I can control it, I—“

He hummed and tapped his fingers against his cane in dramatic thought. “I don’t know… I’m pretty sure you need to be at least eighteen to be a doctor, and you’re, what? Five? Cuddy wouldn’t appreciate the liability, and I don’t know if I can trust you to be a big boy if you can’t handle a—.”

Chase sniffled. Ah, crap.

“M’sorry,” He mumbled and stood up quickly to leave, but House grabbed him by the arm before he could run away and lightly pushed him back down into the chair.

“Sit down, relax.” He wanted to mess with the kid, not make him cry. “I’m not going to fire you.”

Chase looked up at him, eyes round and wet like a sad puppy. House grimaced. “But you said…”

“It was a joke. I was just messing with you.” He didn’t look convinced. On one hand, House was happy that his theory was correct. On the other, now he was stuck babysitting his employee who he’d inadvertently worked up into a panic. Why couldn’t kids ever understand sarcasm?

“Oh…” Chase shrunk in on himself and fiddled with the end of his tie. “…Sorry.”

“It’s fine, kid.” He sighed. “How young am I dealing with here?” If he was babysitting, he at least wanted to know what he was getting into.

Chase stared at him owlishly like he was afraid to answer, and his face flushed pink as he answered, “Six..?”

“So I was close! Look at me go. Listen, we’re going to talk about this later, but you’re not fired, got it?”

“Mhm.”

“Oh, and you’re off the case until you’re an adult again. If you get paged, I’ll go. I was serious about the liability, Cuddy’ll be up my ass if I let a toddler perform CPR.”

Chase frowned indignantly. “That’s not a nice word. An’ I’m not a toddler.”

Oh good, the language police. “You’re close enough.” He turned to grab the cup of pens on a nearby counter and set it down next to the colouring page. “Here. Not much for colours, but it’ll do.”

Chase looked between him and the pens a few times before hesitantly picking up a red one and beginning to fill in the crab.

“Oh, and no eating them. Those are my good pens.”

[techs-goggles9902]

OH an idea struck and I just knew you were the person for the job 😌

I would like to request the Bad Batchs reaction to the reader blasting your favorite Ghost song on the Marauder 🤭 (also RIP to my fave ship 😮‍💨)

Head cannons or a one shot, it's up you 😊

TBB Reacts to The Band Ghost

REQUESTS ARE OPEN FOR ALL LISTED FANDOMS. SEE MASTERLIST FOR DETAILS <3

Warnings: cursing, satanic music (duh), Hunter can't sing (eardrums tortured in a loving way)

Word Count: 1718

A/N: lmao I took waaaaay too long for this. I went super overboard with Hunter and well... I re-did it so I could post them all at once. No fr I went back and re-wrote the entire thing multiple times lmaoo

Hunter

You couldn’t play it too loud, of course. Hunter was here. The others had gone to the docks littering the lowest level of Pabu. It was just you, your man, and your favorite rock band. 

You began to connect your datapad to the Marauder’s control panel. Hunter was who knows where, lurking around the ship doing who knows what. As your deft fingers tapped away at the buttons, you knew exactly what song to play. 

Hunter never minded you playing your music whenever the others were out, mostly because with all the different preferences of music, no one was satisfied whenever someone’s song came on - except Omega, who liked all her brothers music, bobbing her head to whatever was playing, but that was a different story. 

The pad of your finger selects your chosen song, a gray swirl floating around the screen as the datapad loads. You sigh and tap your foot impatiently. How long has it been since this ship has experienced your glorious, powerful tunes? How long has it been since the soundwaves have echoed through the durasteel walls of the ship? Too long. 

The swirl faded away and the familiar intro to your song starts blaring through the speakers. The loud piano fills the ship and you hear Hunter shuffle around the back of the ship.  

“Damn it, Wrecker,” you mutter as you fumble with the volume switch, turning it down to a more… healthier level. You turn around to face Hunter, who’s slowly uncovering his ears and staring at you wide eyed, as you mouth sorry. 

“Was that Zenith?” He asks.

“Yeah. But I didn’t know it would be that loud, sorry,” you reply, giving him a guilty look. 

“Don’t worry about it, cyare. Turn it up a bit. I like that one.” He comes over, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. He presses a soft kiss to your temple and taps his fingers on your belly to the beat. “I saw some post on the Holonet about Zenith.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm,” Hunter hums, “apparently it means ‘the final end’. Do you think that means Co-”

“No. Don’t. Copia lives forever and ever,” you cut him off, shaking your head. Hunter gives a low chuckle. You reach your hand up behind you to run your fingers through his hair.

“Play it louder.” He hums the tune of the song in your ear, swaying you gently. 

“This is not the right type of dancing we should be doing to rock,” you whisper. 

“Shhhhh… ‘s the best part.” Hunter leans his head back a little and starts to sing, “Time will soon be gone… Right will turn to wrong.” He’s incredibly offkey and he knows it, curling his fingers around your wrists, moving them up and down like he’s trying to make you dance. You giggle. 

“Winds come on strong! So, help you God! Call on meee…”

“Hunter, baby, love of my life, stop. Please, you’re killing my ears.” You grin, laughing as he whispers a soft ‘no’. 

“You’re set free!” He twirls you around and dips you dramatically. You can’t help but laugh. His chocolate eyes gaze into your own as he leans down and presses a tender kiss to your lips. 

“You can’t sing for shit…” 

“I love you, too, cyare.” 

Tech

The signature rapping of drums and the low strumming of guitars filled the Marauder. You sat back in the co pilot's seat with your feet up on the console. You imitate the drums, tapping your pointer fingers in the air like you’re Pebble or Mountain on their stage. 

Tech’s somewhere on the ship, findling with whatever needs repairing. You’ve all stopped at some backwater world, the rest of the team going out to the local town for supplies. Tech’s never had an issue with your music, in fact, he lets you blast it as loud as you want when it’s just the two of you. 

I have my headphones, he’s told you, you rarely get to play your music. I do not mind. 

But, you were nice enough to never play it on full blast. Just loud enough to feel every time the drummer’s sticks hit the instrument. 

You don’t hear the footsteps behind you, not noticing Tech had come to the cockpit until he touches your shoulder. You gasp, jumping a little. Tech’s big amber eyes widen and he allows his lips to form a soft smirk. 

“Scared?” He rubs the pad of his gloved thumb over the bones in your shoulder. 

“Maybe a tad, yes.” You grin, putting your hand over his. 

“Mummy Dust, correct?” He lowers himself down into the pilot’s seat, his fingers trailing down your arm before slipping off. You nod. Tech’s head bobs slightly as the tempo quickens.

You and him both mouth ‘dust’ as Tobias Forge begins singing. 

“I was carried on a wolf’s back…” you mumble.

“To corrupt humanity…” Tech whispers back. 

“I will pummel it with opulence…”

“With corpulence and greed…”

You both sing, “In God you trust… My mummy dust…” You look up at Tech with a grin and you both - him less aggressive as you - bob your head to the beat of the drums. Tech gives you a soft smile and a low chuckle. 

The pair of you sing the next verse together, alternating between lyrics. His eyes close and he tilts his head back against the headrest as the keytar solo begins. His slender fingers twitching slightly, as if imitating the musician. You watch with a little grin.

“Having fun?”

“You know, if we were to acquire a keytar, I believe I could execute that solo to perfection. With some practice, of course.” Tech opens his eyes and looks over at you. 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, hun.” 

“I am merely stating facts, cyare.”

Wrecker 

The intro to the song plays loudly out of the speakers. You bob your head to the guitars and tap your foot. You feel strong hands grab you from behind by your waist just before you could sit back down into the copilot’s seat. 

“I’ve been lookin’ so long now for you now you won’t get away from my grasp…” Wrecker sings along to the song, Phantom Of The Opera, giving your waist a gentle squeeze. You smile. 

“What’re you do-” You’re shushed as he whispers into your ear, “You put on my favorite song, mesh’la…”

His deep, rough voice carries over the ship’s speakers. He spins you around, holding your hands as he dances you through the ship. His smile never fades as he gently holds you but aggressively sings. 

“Watch your step, he’s out to get you!” He tickles your stomach, your laugh drowned out by the music. “Come what may… Don’t you stray… from the narrow way!”

He lets go of you to vigorously shred his nonexistent guitar. 

“You’re runnin’ and hiding in dreams. I’m always there… I’m the phantom of the opera, I’m the devil. I’m just out to scare!” 

“Wrecker, you couldn’t scare a baby tooka if you wanted to.” You grin.

He stops singing and dramatically gasps, “What?! This face has scared quite a few clankers in its day.” 

You roll your eyes with a joking scoff. The song ends a moment later and Wrecker leans close to you. His lower lip juts out slightly as he whispers, “I’m scary.”

“No you’re not.”

“Yes I am.”

“Nuh uh.”

“Yuh huh.”

Crosshair

Your finger hovers over the screen of your datapad, ready to play your song. You’ve settled on Respite on the Spitalfields when someone’s long fingers curl around your ‘pad from behind you, gently pulling it away.

“That’s a good song, but if you’re going to play Ghost, play a better song,” Crosshair rasps in your ear. His deft digits scroll through your playlist. 

“Oh yeah? What’s better than Sodo’s solo?” You turn your head to look at him.

“The intro to Secular Haze. But the If You Have Ghost version.” 

You cock a brow. “Not Infestissumam?”

He scoffs, “The intro for the one in If You Have Ghost is better. Tobias’ vocals are better in Infestissumam. They have their differences.” 

A smile tugs at your lips. “Okay, Cross… Didn’t think you were paying that much attention to my songs.”

“I always pay attention to the things you like…” His slim arms loop around your waist as he pulls you in. His lips hover next to your ear. 

“Oh… Well… what other songs have you been paying attention to?”

“Mm.” Crosshair pauses for a moment. “Take It From Everyone by that one band with the members from Ghost in it…”

“Drag Talk?”

“Mmhm.” Crosshair rests his chin on the top of your head, swaying a little and taking you with him. You lean your head back against his shoulder and let out a content sigh as the guitars break through the silence of the ship as Secular Haze plays. 

Echo

It was just you and Echo on the ship, for once. The pair of you lie on his bunk, your head on his chest with his good arm around you. His prosthetic feet tap against each other as your music plays through the speakers of the ship. 

His lips brush against the top of your head as he shifts a little. What sounded like a clock ticking cuts through the quiet of the Marauder. Echo looks puzzled. 

“Never heard this one before,” he whispers. You can’t help but grin a bit. 

“Just listen…” 

In this your time of need

You're turning to the light

You had just begun to explore the dark

In the urban night

Echo nods a little. 

The world is on fire

And you are here to stay and burn with me

A funeral pyre

And we are here to revel forevermore

He presses his hollow cheek to the top of your head as the song plays. 

“I like that… Kinda sounds like a love story.”

You look up at him. “I think it means like… The absence of God or something.”

“Well, I think it has something to do with love. The world burning but you’re here to stay and burn with me? C’mon, that sounds something like love.”

“Um… sure, hon.” A small giggle escapes your lips. “Whatever you say, Echo.”

He jabs a finger lightly into your side, making you squirm.

(no dividers since I'm lazy)

Taglist:@fionajames @will-is-silly @dangraccoon @hellhound5925 @skellymom @sevdidntdie

[possibilistfanfiction]

legitimately fuckin obsessed with the avatrice football au my dude. that last snippet brought me pure JOY im tellin you what

[well here's some ava pov while i procrastinate ch3 plot lol, s/o to @unicyclehippo for the worst/best gay pun of all time, love u. honestly this is long enough to put on ao3 so ... i'll do that in a footy au series i suppose for context... justice for chanel lol]

///

waking up from your first surgery is a blur, mostly an inexplicable terror when you can’t feel your legs, when you can barely move your fingers. tears leak from your eyes and you can’t wipe them, can only let them roll down into your temples. but then there’s a hand in yours, and chanel’s comforting touch, her voice soft.

‘it’ll be okay, ava,’ she says.

it won’t be okay, you’re certain of it, because you’d been taken straight from the field to the hospital, and then right into surgery, your kit cut off so that they didn’t move your spine more than you already had. you love football; you love football, the feeling of being so at home in your body, the feeling of going fast and the delight of the burn in your muscles, of not being afraid of anything.

‘i’m really scared.’ you look at chanel, showered and gorgeous, in a team issued bomber that seems impossibly elegant, even now. 

‘yeah,’ she grants, swipes her thumb against your cheeks and into your hair, catching your tears. she grabs a tissue and wipes your nose, which, from anyone else, would be absolutely horrifying, but she does it with so little fanfare and you’re in pain and also not pain — the worse option — you can’t even really care. she’s your favorite teammate: kind and brave and funny. she’s your friend. ’you’re gonna get through this, though.’

‘i don’t — i don’t want to.’

you don’t even quite know what you mean, still out of it because of pain meds and anesthesia, but chanel sighs gently.

‘you will. one day, you will.’

/

you don’t, not for a long time. after your fifth surgery you kind of tell yourself that you’ve definitely given up on football; they move you to a long-term rehab facility specifically for spine injuries, which is better than the hospital for sure, but it’s still hours and hours of physical and occupational therapy that leaves you feeling discouraged more often that not. once the inflammation starts to go down in your spine, you start to, at least, regain some function in your arms and hands, and after your sixth surgery, things are, you’ll admit, more hopeful. at the very least, you’ll be able to do things like use a manual chair and cook and type emails. 

you’re not great at texting yet; your occupational therapist is always telling you that if you worked on writing, and holding cutlery, and even more boring, pointless shit like pick up sticks, you’d have an easier time, but, whatever, you can type with the pointer finger of your right hand and it gets the job done. chanel visits as often as she can, most days in the late morning, which feels particularly generous in the off season when she could be being glamorous somewhere else, probably invited to paris fashion week or something. she brings makeup — expensive, beautiful makeup — and doesn’t seem to care when you clumsily fuck up lipstick or poke your eye with a mascara wand. you know she brings it so you actually do your occupational therapy exercises, but she also brings you changes of comfortable clothes and washes your hair gently every few days. she lies back in bed with you, long limbed and beautiful, and watches matches when you don’t feel too sad.��

a few days after your eighth surgery, your last, according to your neurosurgeon, you wear a giant back brace over your beatrice xin jersey, your favorite player to watch, and your physical therapy team gets you strapped into this harness that connects to the ceiling so you can try to walk on the treadmill and for sure won’t fall. it kind of feels like you’re doing a stunt or something, and chanel stands there and indulges you with a smile while you make all of your best ‘strapped into a harness’ jokes.

and then — you do walk. it’s slow going, the treadmill barely moving, and your legs feel sluggish and so weak and almost not like your own. it’s been two months since you took a step and it feels like a fucking miracle. chanel wipes a tear or two from her own eyes, even though you can only walk for five minutes and are sweating kind of profusely — it’s a fucking miracle, and she understands it too. 

/

‘what are you frowning at?’

she rolls her eyes and pockets her phone, easily pedaling with insane resistance on the peleton next to you while you struggle to get your legs to listen to your brain and pedal at all. ‘idiot bros on twitter. “trans women don’t belong in women’s sports” and all that bullshit.’

you stop trying to pedal because you’re already entirely unsuccessful today and now you’re not able to focus at all. ‘fuck them.’

she grins. ‘yeah.’

‘i’ll beat them up, just you watch.’

it makes her laugh, and you think she knows you really would physically get into a fight — on or off the field — if anyone ever said anything to her. 

‘plus, i can take you 1v1.’

‘in your dreams, silva.’

‘i’m going to, again. don’t even think i won’t.’

chanel pats your hand; you feel it all. ‘i’ve always known you could do it. i’ve never thought you wouldn’t, ava.’

you duck your head, unused to genuine praise after all this time stuck in the same boring, discouraging, painful rooms at the spine center, even though all of your doctors and nurses and therapists had been nice.

‘but,’ she says, ‘first you gotta pedal on this bike.’

‘it’s hard,’ you whine.

‘you’re just distracted.’

you look at the game you’d turned on, beatrice xin currently with two goals and two assists, and sigh. ‘i’m horny.’

it gets the biggest, best laugh out of chanel, and you feel a little something like pride bloom in your chest: you love making people you care about laugh. 

‘fine, fine,’ you grumble. you look down at your feet, your quads and calves so small and pale compared to six months ago; you try to breathe through the immediate fear and the tiny bit of shame that pops up. but you focus, feel your feet firmly on the pedals, think about how you know how to ride a bike; you know how to stand up straight and put on pants and kick a ball. the back brace you have on feels tight, feels restricting — but you focus on activating your quads, then your hamstrings, and you eventually get the pedals to move.

‘hell yeah,’ chanel says.

‘if you try to give me a high five right now i think i’ll get all scrambled if i try to move my hand.’

she laughs, reaches over and pats the top of your head instead. 

/

‘ava silva,’ chanel says, and you grin; you can’t help it. she holds her phone at a, thankfully, flattering angle as you walk along the beach — slowly, but steady: you trust you won’t fall, that you’re strong enough and getting stronger. ‘what does freedom feel like?’

chanel has like… three million followers, and she loves social media, something that your old club has always been thrilled about. they hadn’t renewed your contract, but you’d understood; they’re still paying for all of your medical care, so you don’t really feel upset, just a sense of loss you’re not quite ready to name. but chanel loves you, and she’s so, so happy for you — even if you never play again, you’re walking and even starting to run now; you’re in pain but it’s manageable. it’s okay.

‘it feels —‘ euphoric; devastating — ‘like a miracle.’

/

you flop down on chanel’s neatly made and extravagent bed; you’ve been staying in her guest room — which she had turned into her closet, so it’s still kind of packed with all of her beautiful clothes, although there is a very expensive bed for you — and training until, hopefully, you can get signed somewhere. she doesn’t even look up from her ipad when you sigh. ‘hello, ava.’

‘i have a favor to ask that i actually think you’ll be interested in.’

she pauses whatever she’s doing, then looks up. ‘i’m listening.’

‘well! okay, so. as you know, i’ve basically only worn hospital gowns and sweats for the last year and a half, and before that, i was, like, a child.’

chanel perks up, and you can practically see the wheels in her head turning already.

‘and now, wherever i get signed, you know, people are gonna care, and want interviews and all this stuff. so, in small part, i want to feel good about how i look for this next chapter of football.’

‘i love it,’ she says. ‘and what’s the large part?’

you flop back again, just for the dramatics. ‘i am… so horny. like, you don’t even understand.’

she laughs. ‘JC is nice though, right?’

‘yeah,’ you say, because he is. ‘but, like, girls.’

she pauses for a second, a happy smile on her face. ‘so, you want to look… more… bisexual?’

‘i mean, i do already? because i am? right?’

‘well, of course, ava.’ it’s gentle and reassuring but still a little amused.

‘but — yeah. like, i want to pick stuff i love, my clothes and my hair and whatever, gain back control, blah blah, everything my therapist is always going on about.’

‘your therapist is great, you love her.’

‘sure.’ she is; you do. ‘so anyway, i just — i guess i just want to feel like myself.’

‘now that,’ chanel says, ‘is a favor i love.’

/

‘you’re sure?’

‘it doesn’t matter if i’m sure,’ chanel says, sitting in the hairdresser’s chair next to yours. you have the salon to yourselves; she’d booked you a private appointment with her hairstylist immediately.

you turn to said stylist, dimitri, with their chic and very neat fade. ‘are you sure?’

‘like chanel said,’ they say. ‘it only matters what you want. we don’t have to do anything big.’

you look in the mirror; you hadn’t had the real opportunity to get a haircut in a long time, being in the hospital and rehab and then spending as much time as you could training after that. you haven’t, really, taken the time to deeply care for yourself, something your therapist has been bothering you about. you want, so badly, to live as big as you can. as much as you can. 

‘well, i’m sure, as long as you think it’ll, like, be good for my face shape or whatever.’

chanel and dimitri share a quick glance and then chanel rolls her eyes. ‘ava, you have to know that you’re beautiful, right?’

you pause for what you feel is an appropriate amount of time. ‘yes.’

‘but since you asked,’ dimitri says, ‘i do think this will be great for your face shape.’

‘alright,’ you say, feeling suddenly very excited and a little buoyed. ‘let’s fucking do it, then.’

chanel cheers and dimitri grins; they wash your hair gently, and you feel a little panicked until chanel starts talking about the threesome she had a few nights ago, which is delightful and grounding enough you stay, fairly easily, in the present of this beautiful, outrageously expensive salon, the control you get to have. not that you’re thrilled about your therapist being completely 100% correct, but… she was right. 

dimitri dries your hair and then combs it out patiently, divides it and then clips up the top part. ‘ready?’

‘definitely.’

chanel grins and it’s easy, so much easier than you knew it would be, to sit and watch yourself become. you’re filled with a sense of joy, this tiny seed that grows as dimitri cuts your hair to your chin precisely, and asks you about your plans for the day, and food you love, and chanel talks about her latest modeling contract — in addition to football, which amazes you in a way that makes you feel proud in the very center of your chest, this incredible person who showed up and helped take care of you. you feel your shoulders relax; you feel your feet firmly in the new sneakers converse had sent you, comfortable and cool; you even take time to feel your butt in the chair with the knowledge that you don’t need to do any pressure reliefs or weight shifts because, when dimitri is done, you’ll be able to stand up and walk and dance and run and even play football. and even if — even if — one day, you couldn’t, you have your friends and your teammates and your life.

‘you look hot, ava,’ chanel says, very genuinely, after dimitri finishes with a leave in, then shows you how to dry your hair and recommends a light oil. 

‘go ahead,’ they say, ‘run your hands through it, all that jazz.’

to touch; to feel. you think you might cry, all of a sudden, with your soft hair that you picked, that you wanted, and chanel takes in your wobbling bottom lip and then tuts and pulls you toward her. because of your height difference, your face is basically smooshed into her chest and, even though you do cry, you laugh too, wet and messy and alive.

‘this probably my favorite place in the world,’ you say.

chanel shoves you playfully and you grin up at her. 

‘thank you.’

she waves you off, as she always does when she’s a little overwhelmed too. ‘don’t thank me yet. now we have to go shopping.’

/

it’s not as bad as you’d feared; despite the fact that chanel only wears the most elegant designer clothes — her closet is full of gucci and bottega and, of course, chanel, and a whole shelf of louboutins — but she also loves you and knows you, deeply, and so when her driver pulls up to a row of a few very cool-looking thrift stores, you have to hug her again. she gives you helpful feedback on pieces and outfits and you feel, quite genuinely, happier than maybe you ever have. you buy crop tops and high waisted, loose jeans and a few sweaters you love; some silly earrings and a necklace and a cap that chanel laughs at, but fondly enough you know it works. you find a men’s button up with a bunch of flames on it and she rolls her eyes but you put it on anyway, knot it at your waist so it feels just above your shorts.

‘do i look bi?’

‘you look a little bit crazy, but i definitely wouldn’t think you’re straight.’

you’re practically shaking with excitement: ‘it’s… flaming. i’m flaming! get it!’

chanel groans. ‘ava,’ she says, but wraps an arm around your shoulders and throws it on the growing pile anyway.

/

you feel happier than maybe you ever have until the next morning, when you come back from a silly game of football on the beach with her and JC and a few of your other friends, your hair spilling out of the tiny bun you’d managed to get it into, which had made you laugh, and sit down to have some burrata — another one of your favorites that chanel indulges in getting for you from time to time, even did while you were in the hospital and she had to put it on little crackers and feed it to you herself — and then accept a call from your agent. you step inside to take it, close the door softly. 

after it’s done, you yank the door open this time, burst onto the patio. all of your nerves are alive; in your shorts, your legs look strong again, tan and muscular and capable.

‘good news?’

you’re almost too excited to explain that you’re getting signed by your favorite club, $6 million for the year, with, if all goes well, an option to extend your contract another season after. a bonus: they just hired dr. jillian salvius, one of the best sports specialists in the world. all of your care will be, of course, included.

chanel starts to cry, which makes you start to cry, and she hugs you to her tightly. 

‘i am so happy for you,’ she says. ‘and i’m really gonna miss you.’

‘i’m gonna miss you too,’ you tell her. 

she backs up and puts her hands on your shoulders, a smile sneaking up her face. ‘you know, i happen to remember your favorite player in the whole entire world playing at a certain club.’

you hadn’t really thought past football and then six million dollars, but — ‘fuck.’

chanel laughs, face beautiful and delicate and rich in the sun. ‘i can’t wait to show her pictures of you in her jersey.’

‘oh god, are there any on my instagram? i have to go check.’

she just keeps laughing, and it’s all brimming, so wonderful, right at your fingertips.

/

you sign a few days later, your hands steady.

/

‘well,’ chanel asks, lounging back in bed on zoom, ‘how was day one?’

‘oh my god.’ your hair is still wet from the shower you took at the training grounds; you had raced back to your new apartment to make sure you were on time for your call. ‘i got there early, to play a little bit, get the nerves out, you know. and guess who was there and wanted to play 1v1?’

she grins. ‘no fucking way.’

‘i got schooled, obviously,’ you say, think of the way beatrice xin had moved with the ball, how surely she went into tackles, how precise she was. ‘i did score twice, though, and nutmegged her once. greatest football moment of my life, i’m pretty sure.’

‘what’s she like?’

you think chanel is probably humoring you, but you don’t care. ‘beatrice is… beautiful.’ it’s really the only word you have: her neat bun that stayed in place perfectly other than a few errant strands by the end of the session today; her clipped, lovely accent; the way her calves had looked while she was sprinting; the delicate lines of her face; her freckles and her eyes; how she had been serious and professional but kind; her strong back, muscles rippling under her skin in a way that made you shiver, in the locker room when she had untucked her quarterzip and pulled it over her head; how she seemed lonely, despite it all. ‘she’s really beautiful.’

/

it’s a while later when the sheer mortification dawns on you, but then beatrice, in her weird, hot, hilarious way, seems to dissipate the extreme embarrassment you’re going to be faced with by being embarrassing first.

‘hello, chanel.’ she reaches out her hand very seriously, in her favorite linen jumpsuit and a very expensive pair of off-white dunks and black, cat eye sunglasses that are honestly cooler than you expected, in front of her favorite nice brunch place. chanel shoots you a glance and then shakes bea’s hand firmly while you both try not to laugh. 

‘hey, it’s great to meet you.’

‘you, as well,’ bea says. ‘i — before we sit, i just wanted to extend my admiration, for the work you have done both on and off the field for trans equity in our sport.’

it’s so serious, and so genuine, chanel seems a little disarmed and a little affected. ‘thank you.’

bea nods once, seriously. ‘and, maybe more importantly, even, my deep gratitude, for caring for ava. she’s spoken so highly of you, and it means — i love her,’ bea decides on, after a pause. ‘i’m glad, immeasurably so, that she has people who love her too.’

chanel suspiciously sniffles. ‘can i give you a hug? is that weird?’

bea smiles, a real smile, your favorite, and opens her arms. you resist the urge, passionately, to make a joke about how the two hottest (sorry, lilith) women you know together is really gonna do it for you during your alone time later, which is honestly a fucking feat.

‘well,’ chanel says, ‘i made a presentation of every embarrassing thing ava has done that you should know about.’

‘oh no.’

bea loops her arm with chanel when she gallantly offers, and bea says, ‘oh yes.’ you trail behind them, feeling short and small and bursting with happiness. chanel orders basically the entire menu for you to try and she and bea laugh at your expense when chanel opens her phone and does, indeed, have an entire canva presentation of you being embarrassing, but you don’t really mind at all. the sun warms your shoulders and you drink champagne that costs way too much money, the bubbles bright on your tongue. chanel laughs and bea puts her hand on your thigh, just like that: you feel it all.

[electrasev5nwrites]

Ninja Daily: Vapors 82

“Not now.” Aiko pushed her nose further into her pillow and tightened her grip around Mitsuo with her right arm. Funny. He was shaped differently than she remembered—less round. And significantly less furry than usual.

Blearily, she raised her head just enough to see dark hair and remind herself that she hadn’t fallen asleep snuggling her dog.

“Oh. Good morning, Sai.”

Her fingers had been outside the blanket and were cold, so she wiggled them under the covers to flatten against his abs. Sai was too disciplined to jolt or complain about being used for his hot body, so she didn’t feel guilty at all.

“May I be released?” Sai sounded surprisingly detached and polite for someone being treated like the world’s tallest teddy bear. “I am under orders to report to the Hokage’s office for an assignment.”

Aiko frowned at that, trying to remember if she was meant to report. She couldn’t think of any call… so that meant he was going on a mission without her. Unusual. “What time?”

He seemed to be attempting to check the time through the mostly covered window. “In twenty minutes, I believe.”

She paused. “Are you already packed for your mission?”

“Yes, but the equipment is at my residence.”

Ten more ninja points to Sai. God, he was good at this game, wasn’t he? He should have been a boy scout. He and Yamato could flit about and be impossibly anal and good-natured, saving puppies from trees and carrying old ladies’ groceries.

‘Maybe I’m a little tireder than I thought. Something was definitely wrong with that phrase.’

“Aiko?”

“If you think you’re escaping without a good morning kiss, you are severely mistaken.” Jokingly, she pressed a kiss against the back of his neck and nuzzled him.

Sai gave a good natured sigh and twisted around to give her a flat look.

She giggled and released him. “Alright, alright. You know you’re going to be late anyways. Just tell the Hokage you’re sorry.”

“I apologize for my tardiness, Hokage-sama.” The little twerp gave her one of those patently false grins. The knuckles in Sasuke’s hand creaked ominously when he unconsciously formed a fist. “I was detained by a fair maiden.”

“My god, it’s catching,” Shizune breathed lowly, eyes wide with horrified fascination.

Naruto was practically vibrating with rage. “Not you too,” he growled, grabbing Sai’s collar and yanking on it. Sai merely blinked at him.

“My apologies. I-”

‘This has gone on long enough.’

“I don’t want any of your excuses,” Tsunade interrupted. For the first time, she genuinely rued handing the boy over to Hatake’s team. What the hell was it about that man that inspired devotion and imitation?

She tabled the thought for later.

“And Mr. Ukki needs to be watered every other day, but the begonias can go a week without. They like to be rotated every other day, though, so that they get sunshine everywhere.”

Aiko nodded along and tried to look attentive, even as Naruto detailed how often his mail needed to be picked up to prevent the post office from sending him nasty missives about his full box. Every other day, apparently. He wrote a lot of letters.

“Look, how long are you guys really expecting to be gone?” She raised an eyebrow inquisitively, but Naruto didn’t get the hint.

“I have no idea!” He chirped cheerfully, flashing a toothy grin. “But I bet it’s going to be awesome! I told you we were working with Asuma’s team, right? He’s a wind type too and he agreed to give me some pointers.” He gave a fist-pump. “I’m going to get that wind-natured Rasengan.”

‘Well, whatever works.’

She wasn’t particularly broken up about not being brought along on this mission in specific, though the timing stank. Yamato and Sai could take care of the boys, even if team Ten wasn’t there to pick up the slack. How much trouble could they really get into in a temple, for kami’s sake?

“You do that.” Absentmindedly, she tousled his hair (and was a bit miffed that she had to reach so far up to do it. If he didn’t stop growing she was going to put bricks on his head to stop that shit herself) and grinned at the indignant yowl the action drew out.

“Cut that out, Nee-chan,” Naruto whined, ruffling his hair back up into the ragtag arrangement of spikes that he seemed to favor. Personally, it looked utterly without law or order to her, but it wasn’t her hair. He gave her a surprisingly stern look. “If you ever want to be awesome like me, you’ll have to at least get the original Rasengan down, or you’ll never catch up before I make it even better. Even the pervy sage has the first level.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Aiko muttered resentfully, pursing her lips and looking away.

‘Even the pervy sage? He has a twisted way of gauging competency. Proficiency with the Rasengan is hardly the only measure of strength.’

“I mean it.” He slung an arm over her shoulders and steered her out of the post office, his free hand gesturing animatedly even though it was full of envelopes. “You can’t give up just because the second part is harder! Even though that’s so weird, because once I had the first part down, the second really wasn’t that big of a deal and I don’t understand why you’re having so much trouble-”

“Okay, okay,” she interrupted. “Feel free to stop insulting me at any time.”

She probably did know why she had gotten stuck on that stupid purple rubber ball she was beginning to hate. This was hardly her first rodeo in regards to free-form movement of water: so as soon as she’d gotten past the barriers of problems created by maintaining multiple currents without letting them bleed into one another, the water balloon had been easy enough to burst. Cockily, she had thought that the second practice aid would be similarly easy, assuming that she was just that good.

Apparently, air currents were very different to manipulate. Moving air in general was hard. Grasping the damn particles was a massive pain, and forcing them to move according to her will sucked. She could make one current, but as soon as she tried to maintain more than that everything fell apart. Using air as a medium wasn’t as intuitive as using water as a medium.

Hopefully she wouldn’t have such a hard time when it came to using raw chakra and no medium, even if it apparently handled more like air than like water.

As soon as Naruto had gone, she flitted off to run through her self-assigned route. She’d had it on her mind throughout their conversation: apparently, she had been sleeping too deeply to wake up at her alarm, and her brother had come to find her immediately after his briefing to ask her to take care of the house while he was gone. So she had been almost two hours late to run her circuit.

‘It was dumb to stress. Nothing happened, of course.’

Konoha’s northern forests were just as peaceful and free of enemy nin as they could generally be expected to be.

Of course, that left her not knowing what to do with herself. It was bizarre to be stuck in Konoha when almost everyone she spent time with was out on a mission or working. Karin was in the hospital, Ino and Hinata were probably training, and Anko was nowhere to be found. ‘I suppose I could hunt down Kakashi and see if he wants to eat ice cream and talk about boys.’

Involuntarily, she snorted. Probably not, though it was incredibly poor timing for every girl she was remotely close to to be out of town. She’d have to wait for Karin to get back in from wherever she was. Well. She supposed she could talk to Anko, but that was bound to end in tears and humiliation. The older girl was hilarious, but maybe not the person she wanted to gossip about her first sexual experience with. Ino or Karin would find it much easier to relate to her current experiences on the same level, and Anko wasn’t maternal enough to be able to empathize with her throughout the barrier of their lack of shared experiences.

‘So instead of anything remotely enjoyable and useful, I will instead go to that awful meeting.’

She slumped, not caring that she was walking down one of the main streets and she probably looked like a lunatic about to break out into tears. It had been outright cruel of Tsunade to keep from assigning her to a mission just so that she was in town for one of those council meetings, even if it had been couched as a favor. She’d never thought she’d end up with the inverse of a sinecure. It was thankless and idiotic and took up far too much time.

Aiko probably spent far too much time moping over the fact that she had to go to that stupid meeting. That meant she had to rush through preparations to be fit for public. She had replaced the first mesh bodysuit with one that followed more closely to the design of a swimsuit than the weird things with half-legs and half-sleeves, and preferred it immensely. It didn’t weigh down her limbs but still provided protection to the majority of her vital points. The only weapon weighing her down was the single Hiraishin kunai she carried strapped to the underside of her right arm. It did mean that she had to be careful with how she held her arm to keep it from showing, but it was better than going totally without conventional weapons. She was never unarmed by any means, but sometimes steel could do what fists, seals, or ninjutsu just couldn’t. As had become tradition, she slipped on a kimono (orange this time) and the blue butterfly pin before she hurried out the door at the most dignified trot she could manage.

She spoke her piece early: advocating for a re-design of the genin corps, and then sat while the other suggestions were volleyed. Some of them seemed to completely miss the point to her. What good would encouraging more shinobi to settle down to reproduce early do? Trying to persuade more civilians to send their children to the Academy was a little closer, but still wouldn’t get at the real problems.

On the bright side, there did seem to be a chance that she could make a positive change in Konoha through her assignment. By whose standards that chance might be positive varied, however. Probably not by those of the grumpy old men and women who were her peers in the Council.

At this point she wouldn’t deny that the large council had been right to notice that the current graduation rates weren’t putting the village on track to regain full military strength. They had been experiencing a time of comparative peace for long enough that they really should have been in the full bloom of power for the last couple of years. But they weren’t. Konoha was hardly about to lose their position as one of the five strongest villages, but their large numbers and economic prosperity hadn’t lead to a proportional increase in sheer power.

Sarutobi hadn’t been an incompetent peacetime leader, though he had been better in a time of war. (As far as she could tell, he had been better at warfare but preferred a soft touch). He had altered the graduation and academy requirements after political affairs had settled down between the time of Uchiha Itachi’s enrollment and her own. In wartime, the philosophy had been to churn out as many moderately competent soldiers as possible as quickly as possible, which made it easier for children who had already been trained by family members to meet minimum requirements and test out of the system.

That system had many drawbacks, but the one that mattered to the Council was that it was a short-term stopgap measure. Those unprepared soldiers (who had less mental conditioning, less maturity, less everything that mattered) burnt out faster than their counterparts, cracked under stress and were unable to acclimate to other conditions, or got killed and were totally lost as resources.

Those truths were the ones Sarutobi had used to alter the Academy curriculum and requirements. It became much more difficult to graduate after that, and she didn’t see a single example of a student who spent less than four years in the Academy in the last ten years. It was a stark change from the prior situation, and one that she could appreciate.

But it wasn’t perfect either. Though even the dead-last by the new graduation standards was ahead of the curve for the old requirements, the few elites that the system hoped to nurture had a lot riding on their frail shoulders. The third Hokage must have been a big believer in the master-apprentice relationship at that point in his life, because it was clearly where he had drawn inspiration. Much in the manner that he had been taught by the second Hokage and he had hoped to teach the fourth, the aim was to give Konoha a backbone of A and S-class warriors that would outnumber the high-ranked analogues in other countries through close personal attention to their most promising canditates.

Of course, in pursuit of that aim, they had sacrificed the large proportion of respectably B-classed shinobi that formed the meat of the forces in places like Cloud and Stone and had to make do with masses of largely self-taught C classed shinobi who struggled up to Chuunin from the genin corps instead.

The genin corps as a concept wasn’t unique to Konoha, and nor was the fact that those within it were encouraged to become relatively low level jacks of all trades as opposed to specializing. A genin corps member with the talent to succeed in that type of competency could pick a specialty after becoming a Chuunin and make special Jounin, but that was about the pinnacle of what someone who wasn’t picked to apprentice could expect to achieve.

To her eye, the obvious solution to their low numbers of high level fighters lay in the way that they thought about the genin corps. She did understand that not every child had the raw natural ability of a future elite, and that it wasn’t necessary to push them that way – or even intelligent to think that it would be advisable to try to make everyone perform to such high standards. Someone had to perform the bulk of the low-risk and glory-less missions that paid the bills, of course. For most Konoha shinobi, D and C class drudgery was the characteristic common denominator of their lifetime of servitude to the village and not an episode that was short and quickly forgotten when they moved up in the ranks.

But the reliable drones who kept the village buzzing with prosperity in times of lazy peace became a liability in more dangerous times. They were vulnerable to strike teams from the enemies’ higher-ranked and more specialized shinobi. Having higher quality shinobi in fewer numbers was a great strategy for assaults but a shitty one for defense. So Tsunade would have to compensate by increasing the numbers of lower ranked shinobi on any specific mission. Once their numbers started to thin from casualties… they would be on the defensive.

‘Actually, she’s probably reinforcing all the border outpost guards now.’

It would have taken a few days to rearrange all active assignments, and Cloud’s jinchuuriki had only been killed less than a week ago. It would take a full day at the very least for genin and Chuunin teams to make their way to the border outposts. More than that, if they were doing sweeps on their way out, which they just about had to be.

Any half-decent strategist would know that. If she were in charge of Cloud’s forces, she would have gone with a strike force deployed as soon as they’d decided to blame Konoha to hopefully get in before fortifications could be flawlessly tightened—she would aim take out a few high value targets to put Konoha on the defensive, sow panic and confusion. That type of strike could make it possible to wring concessions and force Konoha to back down.

But that was a personal preference. Others might not see the value in anything less than peace or total annihilation. It was admittedly risky to allow your enemies to hold some of their own strength. Not that there weren’t dangers in going for ‘mercy’ and being internationally perceived as weak. Lightning might actually have to challenge Konoha to keep their status. If that was their motivation, then a war in name would suffice. If this really was a vendetta fueled by the Raikage’s sense of loss, however… He would only be satisfied with blood and ash.

Time would tell. But probably not much time.

She must have spoken relatively well, because her suggestion wasn’t tossed out. It wasn’t adopted either, but that didn’t seem to be the way things were done in bureaucracy. Yet another session and smaller committee would be dedicated to investigating the support and logistics available for three of the possibilities mentioned in today’s meeting, hers among them.

Konoha was struggling under the weight of its own bloated government, in some ways. But at least those structures could be manipulated into the occasional bout of usefulness.

Still dressed up like a porcelain doll and not particularly unhappy about it now that it wasn’t a novelty, Aiko wandered out from the council hall en route for dinner. There wasn’t enough time for her to bother getting groceries for dinner before she went out to check the forest in her self-imposed patrol that even she was beginning to feel serious about.

“Uzumaki-chan?”

The unusual address and a voice she hardly ever heard caught her attention. Kurenai was giving her a polite wave from inside the restaurant Aiko had just wandered into, sitting with a blue-haired woman she didn’t recognize.

“Kurenai-senpai,” she greeted politely, gracing the older girl with an incline of her neck. The hastily-chosen title was a formality to be polite and not because she had actually worked with Kurenai enough to see her as a mentor figure.

Kurenai seemed to note the same truth with a bit of amusement. “I don’t think there’s any call for that. We hold the same rank, after all.”

There was something dry but not exactly displeased about the way she said that. Bitterness wouldn’t have been entirely unjustified, considering she was probably hyper aware that Aiko’s promotion had come almost shockingly early in her career. Sure, she was older than Kakashi or Itachi had been when they hit Jounin, but the ‘average’ Jounin could hardly be compared to people like that. And there was probably more than a fair share of bitterness aimed at those extraordinary types, if one was to be honest.

So she didn’t protest, and gave Kurenai a self-effacing smile that was intended to communicate that she wasn’t the egotist that many would expect from someone who had shot up in the ranks. “Kurenai-san, then?” At the amused look on the brunette’s face, she blinked innocently and modified the question to a saccharine, “Kurenai-neechan?”

“That’ll do. Would you sit with us? This is a friend of mine, Otohime. Otohime, this is Uzumaki Aiko.”

“Otohime-san,” Aiko nodded politely, and took a free chair without letting onto her confusion at the invitation. Was Kurenai just curious and friendly, or was there a specific reason?

Looking at her dinner companions didn’t seem to answer that question. Otohime was pretty as a picture, and almost impossibly delicate for a shinobi. The conversation that followed indicated that delicacy was because she was in fact a civilian who Kurenai had been friends with since childhood.

The other two had already ordered, but the waitress that came around didn’t mind having their meals delayed until Aiko’s was ready as well.

“So.” Otohime blinked golden eyes at Aiko, seeming to see right through to her soul. “You’re really a kunoichi, then? Aiko-chan, you’re so little!” She reached across the table and grabbed her hand. Aiko was momentarily stunned by the other woman’s forwardness and didn’t respond before Kurenai chuckled.

“Don’t be alarmed, but if you’re not careful, she’ll talk you into resigning and sign you up to work for her.”

Otohime’s grip tightened around Aiko’s hand, and she gave a faux-stern pout at her taller friend. “What she means is that I recruit dancers, but she makes me sound like a yakuza. Kurenai-chan, why are you so unkind to me?”

Uncertainly, she pulled her hand out of Otohime’s soft, perfumed grip and tucked it onto her lap. “Ah, flattering, Otohime-san, but I’m afraid I have no natural ability.”

The look she received was absolutely scathing. “If you can learn taijutsu, you can learn traditional dance.”

“No, I keep telling you that you’ll be surprised,” Kurenai interrupted fondly, leaning on a hand. “There’s a big difference between learning to perform the dance of death and the less…” she cleared her throat and shrugged. “Well, you know what I mean. Besides, I think Aiko-chan’s current career is going relatively well. I feel like I know you much better than I do because I hear about you every so often. Hatake is insufferably proud of you, I hope you know.”

Embarrassment warmed her cheeks, but she couldn’t imagine him ever saying anything like that. Maybe he would say something to her if she needed encouragement, but he wasn’t the type to brag.

Kurenai must have read the question in her expression, because she easily answered it. “Of course he’s proud, everyone wants to see their students end up doing well. He’s not a man who shares those feelings openly, of course, but whenever Asuma has to whine about Shikamaru-kun being uncooperative he’s always just a little too hasty to muse that he never had those sorts of problems.”

“He is kind of a jackass,” Aiko admitted frankly, forcing the smile off her face. An attractive, intelligent, and ultimately well-meaning jackass, but a jackass nonetheless. She actually liked that about him. Difficult, cantankerous people were fabulous, and his bitch-fu was among the best when he cared to drag his nose out a book to deliver scathing commentary.

Apparently the other two women hadn’t been expecting that bit of bluntness. Kurenai twitched, but Otohime tossed her head back and laughed. “I’ve not met the man, but that’s an amusing character description when juxtaposed with how fond you seem. Perhaps you should introduce me?”

“I like you far too much for that,” Kurenai deflected dryly, before seeming to remember that Aiko was there. “No offence meant, of course!” She waved cutely to deflect a sense of hostility.

Aiko shrugged, forgetting how ungainly the motion would be in formal dress. “None taken. He can be difficult to deal with outside of professional settings.” She stopped and added, “And in them, I suppose.”

Conversation changed after their food arrived, leaving talk of shinobi that Otohime was unfamiliar with behind in favor of the food, weather, and the most recent princess Fuin movie. The focus on anything but the depressing political climate was almost too pointed.

“It was very nice to meet you, Otohime-san.” She genuinely smiled at her two dinner companions when they parted at the door. “And talking with you was fun as well, Kurenai-neechan. Thank you for the dinner invitation, this was much better than eating alone.”

“It was no trouble on my part,” Kurenai assured her, buttoning the jacket she had brought to contend with the night air. “I miss a large dinner party when Asuma’s team is out of town.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Aiko put a finger to her lips in mock thought, itching to confirm a theory. “You two are a couple, yes?”

Kurenai looked like she’d been slapped with a fish. “O-of cour- Where did you hear that?” she rapidly changed tracks, fighting off a blush and giving an ineffectual glare to Otohime, who was engaging in the least graceful hyena cackles Aiko had ever heard.

“From you,” she confirmed blandly. “Before now, it was just a pet theory. I hope to see you again!” Aiko whipped around and set off for home without letting Kurenai recover from her embarrassment, in large part because she liked having the last word. Of course, the setting sun was a reminder…

‘It’s time that I go check on those seals again.’

Really, she was starting to feel spectacularly silly about it. It was possible that her fear of Danzo was outweighing her good sense and that she was engaging in a futile exercise.

At war with herself, she wandered to the outskirts of town and took a deep breath of the heady air. Eventually, she decided, ‘It can’t be embarrassing if no one else knows about how silly I’m being. If I don’t do it, it’ll bother me all night and I won’t be able to sleep. For my own peace of mind, if nothing else, I can go check one more time tonight.’

She seriously considered going home first and changing. But it would be a waste of time. She would just have to change into bedclothes as soon as she came back again, and changing twice would be stupid. Of course, she could just change directly into bedclothes, but getting seen wandering the woods in a kimono would still be less embarrassing than the same in her pajamas. It would just be a quick trip.

Flicker. Flicker. Flicker. Seal after seal, working from the village to the borders, showed nothing out of the ordinary. Until they did, and she was blinking at a rush of color to her left. Reflexively, she leapt and turned—which saved her life.

She didn’t take much time to gape at the three blades quivering in a tree-trunk several inches from her torso.

‘Well, shit. I think I can’t count on the element of surprise.’

“Where the hell did she come from?” a practically dressed blonde woman seemed to ask her group at large. And it was a rather large group, considering that she was one girl. Two full squads… eight enemy shinobi. Well within the limits of Konoha’s territory… Had they really all managed to creep past a patrolled border, or did this mean that a larger force had actually taken an outpost?

Unsettling thoughts to be investigated later, she supposed.

“Ah, hello adorable Cloud shinobi!” Aiko greeted cheerily with a very Kakashi-esque wave. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” Aiko tilted her head and blinked cutely, letting the loose bits of her hair move over her shoulders.

A dark-haired man twitched.

Confusing the hell out of them might work just as well as surprise. She probably looked quite the picture—unarmed as far as the eye could see, suddenly appearing in their midst in a full kimono with her headband tucked around her blue and red obi. Thankfully, her kimono was only secured tightly at the waist and allowed her a lot more range of movement than it appeared to. If she had to do anything especially acrobatic like high-kicks she might be indecent, but that was a lesser evil compared to dead.

‘Strangely, I really like the theatricality of this. There are shinobi who wear kimono in the field. I do like pretty things, and these sleeves are great for hiding things… Maybe I should give the wardrobe change a try.’

Unfortunately, no matter how weird she chose to act, they weren’t all off balance enough to fail to recognize that she was a possible threat. “Sorry little girl.” She didn’t recognize the pale man who moved into a defensive posture, but he was a total fox, with incongruously dark eyes and slightly mussed sandy hair. “We can’t allow Konoha dogs to live.”

Suddenly, she hated him. He needed to be taken down a peg or two. Sure, Konoha sort of sucked, but Naruto wasn’t going to settle for being Kage of just any shithole. And besides…

“What’s so wrong with dogs?” Aiko grasped three Hiraishin seals and blurred into motion, dropping directly behind him and yanking his headband off with brutal force that snapped his head backwards and took to the trees in the next motion. Even as she did it, she darkened her chakra signature and went absolutely silent, crouched in the treetop above-head to give herself a moment to think as she slipped the stolen headband under her sleeve.

‘What do I do? If I kill them all, there would be no chance of reconciliation with Cloud, and that’s if I could even manage that. I don’t actually want to be the impetus for a full-fledged war. The Raikage is attacking us because he’s convinced we’re responsible for B’s death. We’ll need every ally we can get to destroy Akatsuki, or at least to not be fighting on two fronts. I could get reinforcements, but anyone else would probably just want to kill them all.’

But she couldn’t let them think Konoha was weak either. The only thing that would stall further escalation would be to scare the absolute fucking crap out of them. She did have one tool in her arsenal that was unmistakably Konoha’s and undeniably terrifying.

Grimly, she swallowed. ‘Let’s hope that the thunder god is still causing nightmares in Lightning, because most of them look way too young to remember Minato.’

“Up there!”

‘He’s a sensor,’ she noted dimly, switching position rapidly even as the practically-dressed blonde woman she’d noted earlier charged up the tree she’d been hiding in. That one must be one of their big guns, then. Odd that she was the only woman in their party.

Stealing the cutie’s headband had been an impulse, but it really wasn’t a terrible idea. Humiliating them could backfire if they were the types to get stronger and perform better when pissed off, but it would also be a good demonstration of strength on her part.

As would separating them. That would be good psychological warfare: if they didn’t know what she was doing, seeing her pick off party members without a trace of a body would be seriously unnerving.

She stopped moving just long enough to hone in on one of the more intimidating-looking fighters (not so coincidentally, one who was on the outskirts of the group) and darted in with the aid of a seal to use inhuman speed to snatch him up by the back of his weird asymmetrical flak jacket and ricocheted the both of them outside of Konoha’s borders. Her left hand shot up to tug off his headband and her right rabbit punched him twice between the shoulder blades and sent him stumbling forward in the same instant that they hit the ground in a new location.

He spun around just in time to see her cheekily hold up his cloud insignia with one hand before tilting her arm to let it slip down her wrist with the other one. “This is nice, I think I’ll keep it, Shinobi-kun.”

‘That oughta leave him steaming.’

The curve to her lips belied her thoughts—it was hard to lie to yourself. She’d done that because it was funny just as much as any tactical reason. Killing these people could backfire, but leaving them stranded and confused in some rice field would be an utterly humiliating way of asserting her superiority over them. (Even if, you know, they would probably wipe the floor with her in a fair match. What the hell did actual physical superiority have to do with dominance?)

One of the first things she needed to do was thin their numbers and leave anyone who wasn’t going to end up in Konoha’s custody thoroughly fucking disoriented. With the flying thunder god on her side, she was almost certainly faster than any of them could hope to be. That didn’t mean that they couldn’t get her when she inevitably stopped to get her bearings, especially if she was so outnumbered.

But she had been gone almost two full seconds, and she could hardly leave the others alone within her country’s borders. So she blurred back into motion, Hiraishin war-song drowning out all other sounds in her ears.

“t fuck just-”

“She’s here again!” The only unmarked shinobi in that clearing was frowning in her direction. Damn,    he was a hell of a sensor.

“You’re annoying!” Aiko barked out, grimacing at the hottie who had besmirched her hometown and summon animal in one fell swoop. He had to go. But he was too annoying to be released into the wild to awkwardly stumble until he found someplace to give him directions (as hilarious and embarrassing as that would be).

She crouched and sprang to dodge the blonde woman—and hell, she was fast—and darted to the man who had been a thorn in her side. Unfortunately, he was quick on the uptake and had already moved the first time that she flickered to snatch him in a flanking maneuver.

He didn’t dodge her the second time. He probably didn’t even know what had happened until her hand fisted in the black zip-up sleeveless top above his asymmetrical flak jacket.

“What the hell!” Tsunade stood up with such force that her chest bounced up nearly to hit her in the chin.

“I brought you a present!” Aiko chirped, shoving her blonde captive into the beautiful mahogany desk with an unpleasant thunk as his forehead collided with the dark wood. Belatedly, an ANBU leapt out of hiding and reached for her prisoner.

Tsunade looked pained. “Is that a lightning shinobi?” Her tone was merely incredulous, but that didn’t stop her from reaching out and punching the poor blond chump in the head with enough force to send him flying to the back wall before the ANBU could secure him. Something in their prisoner’s back crunched when he collided next to the doorframe. After a moment, he peeled off and limply fell forward.

She almost felt bad for him. Getting caught up in someone else’s transportation technique was sucky enough when you weren’t immediately pummeled in the head by a Kage afterwards. He probably wouldn’t be walking in a straight line for a few days.

Well. As long as there wasn’t any more head trauma, he would probably be fine.

“Yes, I think there’s six more in the northwest, about twenty-five kilometers south of the yellow outpost. Do you want the rest?”

“In my office?” Tsunade asked a bit weakly. The ANBU securing the chump with wire didn’t seem more impressed. The door flung open and Shizune burst in, wielding steel.

“If you don’t want them, I could just ditch them outside the border like wayward puppies,” Aiko generously offered, brushing her hair back and dropping the two collected headbands on Tsunade’s desk with an absentminded clatter of metal plates. “I should hurry though, I don’t want to leave the rest alone.”

“Those poor bastards,” Tsunade muttered. Shizune just looked confused. The Hokage stiffened seriously and pinned her with an intense stare. “I don’t want any more in my office. Their aim was probably something in the village and we don’t know that bringing them in wouldn’t help them. This one will do as a political prisoner—he’s one of the Raikage’s bodyguards.”

“Grass and Wave Country it is,” Aiko muttered with a distracted nod.

“Wait don’t go back out-” Tsunade slumped slightly, having leaned over her desk in an attempt to reach the teen before she left. “without reinforcements,” she finished wryly, dropping back into her seat. “It would also have been nice to know where exactly she found them. Shizune, get me the best sensor we have in-village, and a strike team.” She held up a hand at a sudden thought. “Two teams! We need to check on that outpost.”

“Hai, Hokage-sama!” Shizune nodded and darted out of the office.

“You, get that man to Ibiki,” she brusquely commanded the ANBU. He hightailed it out of there, the man  called ‘C’ slung ungracefully over his massive shoulder (a tousled blonde head hit the doorframe with a rather sickening crack as Boar made a run for Torture and Interrogations).

Alone in her office, Tsunade swallowed down nervousness and resisted the urge to tug on her ponytails. Sitting her office when she knew one of her shinobi was fighting within her borders was against everything in her heart.

After having two of their comrades spirited away (and plenty of time to ruminate on the odd disappearances) the remaining Cloud shinobi had apparently figured out the working strategy of ‘not staying still’.

It was frustratingly effective when she was fluttering about a group as large as this one. Her perception and predictive ability was good, but not flawless by any means. Being outnumbered and trying to pick out targets put her at a vexing disadvantage.

‘Why couldn’t they be stupid enough to stand their ground?’

Time to be a bit more blatant.

Aiko shoved her hands into the opposite sleeves (obscuring the movement so that it would be difficult to tell where the weapon would be coming from) to unhook the kunai on her right arm and drew it out in a snapping motion, directly at the blonde woman.

“Hiraishin!” Someone called out with a strange clipped tone that blurred as she slipped time and space like a fucking champion. She didn’t see who had yelled, but was thankful that using the conventional method had finally clued them in. Now if they would just please be obliging enough to be irrationally frightened of Konoha’s bogeyman technique and scarper off, that’d be great.

She was too close to her target to see if any eyes widened in comprehension or fear. In the same millisecond that she emerged in front of her target with her hand already wrapped around her weapon, she ducked down under the arm that was moving to deflect her kunai with a Cloud arm guard (snatching her kunai down with her) to hit the other girl with as much force as she could muster with her free hand, along with an explosive-primed seal.

Unfortunately, she was no Tsunade. It would hardly be a finishing blow, but she would have hoped to at least stun her opponent. It was not to be.

Even as the force of her blow brought the other girl curling over, a vicious and flexible double-kick snapped Aiko’s knees in a direction that they definitely did not want to bend. Horrifyingly, her opponent seemed to have suddenly grown several inches of razor-sharp toenails that cut into the flesh above Aiko’s knees, puncturing her pretty kimono and sticking it to her flesh with dots of hot blood.

‘Her taijutsu is probably better than mine. She’s faster than I am sans Hiraishin, and she’s definitely physically stronger. It’s like taking a punch from Naruto, sturdy little bastard that he is.’

If she didn’t have Hiraishin, she might in serious shit. But short of something like a disorienting poison or a state of unconsciousness, that massive cheat card could hardly be taken away from her. So Aiko avoided the next blow by means of orienting between three seals to settle behind the group (most of whom had spun to look at the two girls).

The gaping dolts weren’t here to look pretty, apparently, as demonstrated by the unpleasant speed with which two men spun to leap in her direction. She darted backwards and ran a few feet up a tree before jumping to another one, raising her voice in a taunting shout. “You know, you chumps have already failed!” She gave an involuntary ‘huff’ when a flying- was that an axe of all the things- forced her to dodge and flip upwards, grimacing and crouching to get the momentum to bound across the clearing over the blonde lady’s head, at least one man in hot pursuit.

At least she was faster than they were, but even if she was faster, dodging so many put her at a disadvantage. “The grumpy one is in the Hokage’s custody, and at least one team is on the way out here. How does it feel to completely suck at your job?”

An incoherent growl rose up from behind her and the unbearable heat of a near miss from a lightning strike seared across her back, probably singing her clothes from proximity.

‘Ah. Right. Shinobi from the land of Lightning and all that jazz. Can’t stay still if I don’t want to get fried.’

“I guess that means that it sucks to suck.” Aiko swallowed hard, feeling mildly ill from bouncing around like a ping-pong ball. She flung the kunai in her hand straight up into the air so that she could flicker to it and get an aerial view of the clearing. Three of the freakishly persistent lightning shinobi were already in the motion of looking up when she blinked down. She hung suspended in the air in a crouched position for a bare instant to survey the area.

‘One, two, three, four… where are the other two?’

Ah. There they were. One was blending into the tree she had just been on under a genjutsu (that was lucky, he could have killed her if she hadn’t just switched trajectories) and the other one was hiding under ground. Shit shit shit. Neither of those would be easy to grab.

One of the men was slightly further away from the others. That had to be her next target. She drew the kunai close to her chest and snapped it back out in a path that should end a few feet above his head and caught it again a heartbeat later, kicking her feet onto his shoulders and letting her momentum help her ride him to the ground. He hit the dirt face-first in what had to be a painful forwards fall, but the maneuver (and the slight unresponsiveness in her knees that she hadn’t accounted for after the clawed kick they’d  taken earlier) left her on a downward path that was going to end with her knees buckling under and her ass hitting her heels. Her torso wanted to bend forward, but the woman in purple and black was coming in hot.

Fuck, didn’t she ever give up or take a second to react? She was relentless and demonically fast.

Aiko could see how the current tableau was going to play out as if it had already happened. If she didn’t move, that scarily strong woman was going to knock her head straight off her shoulders. (Or cut it off with the freaky claws she’d gained in the last minute-and-a-half. Where did those come from?) There was no chance that she would be able to unfold her legs and jump out of the way in time. Perhaps she could roll to one side or another, but that would leave her vulnerable on the ground in the next second as well.

So Aiko snapped her torso backwards with painful force, flinging her hands over her head up to blindly grab at whatever she could reach of the shinobi behind her, came up with a handful of his hair (and barely missed grasping a shoulder) and pulled on the first tag she felt. That one wasn’t nearly far enough away, so she took the millisecond necessary to seek out the tag in Mist and pull on it and two others.

If she’d done that right, they were probably in Wave. She probably hadn’t, however, since the next thing she knew was that she was soaking wet, having apparently landed on a body of water. Her head collided with the surface with a cold shock and she would have sputtered if she wasn’t breathing in salt water. Her body was still curled up backwards, but at least landing in water gave her the mobility to straighten simply by kicking her legs straight (even though that left her floating face-up instead of in any tactical position).

A blow to the back of her head made her see white and lose her grip on a fistful of short-ish hair.

‘Right. That guy. He’s still here and conscious.’

The force of the punch had actually sent her further underwater and would have been considerably worse if it hadn’t been slowed by their surroundings. Her opponent was on top of her in the water, the preferable position. He could very easily kill her.

If she’d stayed, that was. Aiko frantically pulled on the first three tags she could register (by coincidence, the one in Mist, one on the northern border, and one in Grass) and landed somewhere between the three, violently spitting out foul water even as she awkwardly touched down on solid ground with her hastily bent legs. She was probably in Rice country, though she wasn’t about to consult her map. Especially since there was still a fist curled in her hair.

She yanked her head forward and ignored the pain, because the angle dragged his arm up and allowed her to twist just enough to elbow the man behind her with adrenaline-fueled force that audibly snapped a rib. He howled in her ear and let his grip loosen out of shock. It was all the opportunity she needed to turn the rest of the way to push one palm on his chest (planting a seal reflexively) and wrap her fingers of the other hand around the warm metal of his forehead protector. She removed it with the simple expedient of leaping straight upwards and pulling it with her (though there was more than a bit of hair caught in the knot at the back, ew).

‘What happened to my kunai?’

Fuck. It had probably been dropped in the water, and she wasn’t in the mood to go back for it.

“Bye bye, asshole!” Aiko bit out with considerably more venom than was strictly necessary. He’d been a bigger pain in the ass than anticipated.

The five Cloud shinobi still in the clearing were inured enough to her coming and going that they didn’t jump to see her reappear. Though there was at least one confused double-take at her dripping hair and clothes. She took a moment to tug the hairpin hanging limply from her skull free and tuck it under her obi for safe-keeping. Damn, that was a good accessory. A lesser bit of jewelry would have been knocked free in a scuffle like that.

“Almost halfway done!” Aiko taunted as she crouched in a ready position, concealing her breathless and mildly lightheaded state from gulping in water instead of air a few moments ago.

“Don’t be so arrogant!” The blonde woman called out in a bizarrely low growl. Hadn’t her voice been much higher a few minutes ago? Odd.

“We should retreat!” The look that accompanied that call was wide-eyed and frankly a bit crazy, but at that moment Aiko loved the older man who’d given it. “If there are more coming, our mission is lost.”

“Coward!” The rasp was all but inhuman. And it frightened the Cloud shinobi as much or more than Aiko did, because all but one of the men in that clearing turned tail to run. “We can’t get our primary target, but there’s a shinobi right there!” The odds looked significantly better for a bare instant, even if she was now mulling over the unpleasant possibility that there was something going on other than murder that she hadn’t figured out.

Then her heart thudded to her gut. ‘I’m in over my head.’

It wasn’t just that she was outnumbered by high level shinobi. Or that she knew she couldn’t possibly have reinforcements in time to help if this went badly. Those things weren’t bad enough on their own merits, so it was just the cherry on top that she’d never fought a jinchuuriki before.

Well. There was that time with Gaara, but that had been short and she’d had back up. And he had been overwhelmed by his demon into a state of stupid brutality. The blonde woman who had just sprouted the beginnings of a virtual cloak of chakra was definitely in control of her facilities, judging by the obvious intelligence glittering in her eyes and mona lisa smile.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuckity-fuck.’

[sevenstevearmy]

(Obligatory not saying this as an "ah-ha, gotcha!" type thing bc op was describing their experience so I wanted to describe mine that happens to be a little different.)

The bags match my experience 100% so consider this one peer review. I have to take a backpack with me places which can cause trouble at museums, but usually they allow a medical pass (it was v comical when I took out my folding cane and started taking out my medications and they were like 'oh my god, give this person a pass' [i brought and stored my folding cane bc we were on a trip on boston and using the public transit and they do not move for disabled people most of the time so it's better to have more free hands to grab poles for me personally]).

I actually have trouble using my cane with my non dominant hand so I don't! It makes some thing smore difficult this way so I have to find the same kind of work arounds someone who broke their dominant arm would use. If I'm standing still, however, I will put my cane in my nondominant to lean on. With the handle I use I can sometimes shove something in my left and still use my cane but mostly I'm filling up my right hand with hald a million things bc having to take off my back pack to shove stuff in is a hassle and hard if there's not a high enough surface around and other types of bags either don't carry everything I need or get in the way of my cane use (for me personally).

For artists: I use the third type of handle. The pointer and thumb go in front so the pole is between my pointer and middle fingers. And if you want to show it packed up the following is a good example:

I lost the plastic thing that keeps it folded so it will spring out to full length and hit someone if I'm not careful taking it out since the cord inside is elastic. I have two so I can keep one in my backpack and one in my car. I spray painted one yellow just because. These kind are less 'sturdy' than others meaning they're more likely to damage bc of various weaker points but just don't like beat people with them and it should be fine.

Also the wear on a rubber base is real. If you're using it on pavement a lot it's going to get ground down. If you're like me (adhd lmao) it's really easy to forget tour cane places! If I need two hands I have to lean it against something and if I'm having a decent day I might not remember I needed it and have it until my back starts to protest and it's nowhere in sight. There's nothing like hobbling around trying to track down your cane in a Walmart (If I go on for one thing I almost never get a cart. I should really get a cart).

Thank you very much op for sharing this!

A general cane guide for writers and artists (from a cane user, writer, and artist!)

Disclaimer: Though I have been using a cane for 6 years, I am not a doctor, nor am I by any means an expert. This guide is true to my experience, but there are as many ways to use a cane as there are cane users!

This guide will not include: White canes for blindness, crutches, walkers, or wheelchairs as I have no personal experience with these.

This is meant to be a general guide to get you started and avoid some common mishaps/misconceptions, but you absolutely should continue to do your own research outside of this guide!

The biggest recurring problem I've seen is using the cane on the wrong side. The cane goes on the opposite side of the pain! If your character has even-sided pain or needs it for balance/weakness, then use the cane in the non-dominant hand to keep the dominant hand free. Some cane users also switch sides to give their arm a rest!

A cane takes about 20% of your weight off the opposite leg. It should fit within your natural gait and become something of an extension of your body. If you need more weight off than 20%, then crutches, a walker, or a wheelchair is needed.

Putting more pressure on the cane, using it on the wrong side, or having it at the wrong height will make it less effective, and can cause long term damage to your body from improper pressure and posture. (Hugh Laurie genuinely hurt his body from years of using a cane wrong on House!)

(an animated GIF of a cane matching the natural walking gait. It turns red when pressure is placed on it.)

When going up and down stairs, there is an ideal standard: You want to use the handrail and the cane at the same time, or prioritize the handrail if it's only on one side. When going up stairs you lead with your good leg and follow with the cane and hurt leg together. When going down stairs you lead with the cane, then the good leg, and THEN the leg that needs help.

Realistically though, many people don't move out of the way for cane users to access the railing, many stairs don't have railings, and many are wet, rusty, or generally not ideal to grip.

In these cases, if you have a friend nearby, holding on to them is a good idea. Or, take it one step at a time carefully if you're alone.

Now we come to a very common mistake I see... Using fashion canes for medical use!

(These are 4 broad shapes, but there is INCREDIBLE variation in cane handles. Research heavily what will be best for your character's specific needs!)

The handle is the contact point for all the weight you're putting on your cane, and that pressure is being put onto your hand, wrist, and shoulder. So the shape is very important for long term use!

Knob handles (and very decorative handles) are not used for medical use for this reason. It adds extra stress to the body and can damage your hand to put constant pressure onto these painful shapes.

The weight of a cane is also incredibly important, as a heavier cane will cause wear on your body much faster. When you're using it all day, it gets heavy fast! If your character struggles with weakness, then they won't want a heavy cane if they can help it!

This is also part of why sword canes aren't usually very viable for medical use (along with them usually being knob handles) is that swords are extra weight!

However, a small knife or perhaps a retractable blade hidden within the base might be viable even for weak characters.

Bases have a lot of variability as well, and the modern standard is generally adjustable bases. Adjustable canes are very handy if your character regularly changes shoe height, for instance (gotta keep the height at your hip!)

Canes help on most terrain with their standard base and structure. But for some terrain, you might want a different base, or to forego the cane entirely! This article covers it pretty well.

Many cane users decorate their canes! Stickers are incredibly common, and painting canes is relatively common as well! You'll also see people replacing the standard wrist strap with a personalized one, or even adding a small charm to the ring the strap connects to. (nothing too large, or it gets annoying as the cane is swinging around everywhere)

(my canes, for reference)

If your character uses a cane full time, then they might also have multiple canes that look different aesthetically to match their outfits!

When it comes to practical things outside of the cane, you reasonably only have one hand available while it's being used. Many people will hook their cane onto their arm or let it dangle on the strap (if they have one) while using their cane arm, but it's often significantly less convenient than 2 hands. But, if you need 2 hands, then it's either setting the cane down or letting it hang!

For this reason, optimizing one handed use is ideal! Keeping bags/items on the side of your free hand helps keep your items accessible.

When sitting, the cane either leans against a wall or table, goes under the chair, or hooks onto the back of the chair. (It often falls when hanging off of a chair, in my experience)

When getting up, the user will either use their cane to help them balance/support as they stand, or get up and then grab their cane. This depends on what it's being used for (balance vs pain when walking, for instance!)

That's everything I can think of for now. Thank you for reading my long-but-absolutely-not-comprehensive list of things to keep in mind when writing or drawing a cane user!

Happy disability pride month! Go forth and make more characters use canes!!!

[amplexadversary]

Welp I just had a bizarre-ass dream about the infamous ending to a manga that almost definitely doesn’t exist.

I can sure name some stuff it reminded me of that probably made up components of this though. Not sure where the imagery came from though unless it was my absolute thirst for weather that did it.

Bulk of the work over all took place at this specialty school, which had this daily morning-evening commute via trains through some misty, unusually steep mountainous region. The trains were the fancy type that served meals and I’m hung up on this because a ton of the scenes featured food-porn type close-ups of everyone’s food, mostly but not all of it Japanese cuisine (the impression being like ehh ~85% nationalism plus a handful of the author’s favorite foods that weren’t from their home country? I guess?)

You had your typical frustratingly-passive female hero reminiscent of a whole bunch of 90′s manga and parts of Twilight (except this chick was super bubbly in an un-meyer-like fashion), a primary love-interest who from the start was that kind of obvious-endgame type of deal, and then a guy who shows up like a third (?) of the way through seemingly just to create a narrative love-triangle but was more akin to a younger-brother type figure to the protagonist who happened to get really tall and go through most of puberty since the protagonist last saw him.

Primary guy was kind of troubled and a big part of that was tied to the fact that he got his shit rocked by a bunch of undead before coming to this school, which had an odd effect on him where none of the weird-gothic-monster accommodations he needed matched up with a particular type of spooky gothic monster. Secondary guy had pretty standard symptoms of something I don’t remember, probably whatever the girl had (that unspoken fraternal symbolism was super noticeable, although both sets of parents were shown. Kind of reminds me of that one cousin from Jane Eyre tbh). Both love interests had an associated “rival” for the main girl’s affections too, the “secondary” guy’s being introduced very shortly after he was and the “primary” guy’s being introduced something like 5/6 of the way through.

Countdown to Failure State:

~ Again, 5/6th of the way through the chapters that actually got written: “Primary” rival introduced. “Secondary” guy makes hard turn into actual love-interest territory. A little later, Main girl swaps trains at a changeover point to have a meal and a serious talk with him. After this point, the translator’s notes start hinting at something being up with the author. Story goes on for a while like this.

4 chapters from the end: You know those goofy sort of non-canon skits that get collected in the end of the print volume of manga from about 1990 something to 2010 something? One of those shows up at the beginning of an actual chapter. Main girl and all her girl friends give something of a PSA about how this is where the manga stops being good. One of them is posed like Sailor V for some reason.

Things start getting more serious than before between main girl and “Primary” guy. Most of the cast prepares to head to a vacation home owned by Secondary guy’s parents.

3 ch from failure: Everyone is at the vacation house. Rivals 1 and 2 are getting along. Primary rival has expressed intent to pursue someone other than primary guy. Primary guy has ran off to the other side of the property to deal with a vague threat that was explained only to him. It’s kind of clear to the audience that this is some scheme to get him away from what’s about to happen, but there is Zero information hinting at who the hell is doing the scheming.

Second to last chapter: Everyone else is in or nearby the pool. Secondary rival comes out wearing most of a mascot suit. She starts saying something, counting up on her right hand as she does so. Both she and the back of her hand are facing main girl. Starting with her pointer finger and ending with her little finger and then her thumb, she counts upward as part of what she’s talking about, 1, 3, 6, 9, 10. Each time she counts upward, main girl looks a little dazed, staring at her, and slowly starts too look excited, and then flushed and breathing heavily. No one else notices anything wrong with main girl until she collapses, and then everybody freaks out.

Final Chapter: Main girl is shown in some kind of dream-state. She’s floating in what appears to be a partially destroyed wooden building, and is still dazed and flushed. There is nothing else in the room with her, until she suddenly notices a presence.

Instead of showing what main girl saw, we cut to another room in the same dream-scape building, where primary and secondary rival are having a full-on fight scene. Both of them are furious, primary rival being all “how could you just sit back and let this happen she’s our friend” and secondary being all “well I couldn’t do anything, secondary guy doesn’t love me like that.”

When we cut back to main girl we find out that the figure she saw was secondary guy, who floats up to her, and they kind of land on a bed which is there now.

What follows is a scene that is pretty damn graphic for the genre, depicting stuff where it can be interpreted as kind of a fantasy deal if the writer/reader is emotionally repressed but if you’re not in the right mindset kiiiiiiinda comes across as assault. And the chapter ends with main girl clinging to secondary guy, with no further explanation to what the hell just happened.

The final print volume came with an addendum after this: There’s this bit from the translator about the English publication being an undertaking of love from the fandom, urging fans to “[not] let the ending spoil any feelings they have for [main girl/primary guy]” and “We still love [Manga Title] in 1998, despite how it ended″ This is like a 2-page spread. Turn the page and you find:

An explanation of what happened to the author. Starting from the point mentioned earlier, she had a huge falling out with her artist. There were quotes from multiple people saying she was not herself and that they were concerned etc, and it eventually came out that the author was on meth, and that that ending was the last chapter she had written before going to prison.

[raksh-writes]

As much as it kills me, I might need to step away from writing fics and posting/updating. Maybe for a month, maybe a few until Im done with my uni/thesis, I don't know. It seems Im straining my wrists too much even when I try to be careful 😔

More on this below the cut, because I wont hide Im kinda in a very deep depressive slump rn and it's definitely gonna come through. So, keep your own mental health in mind and skip reading this post if it might end up upseting for you. Take care ❤

For those that want to know more, here goes:

My left wrist is still bothering me. The numb-staticy feeling has weakened a bit and its mostly just my thumb now, but my wrist feels very weak overall atm. And thats definitely not a good sign 😔 I dont think its the inflammation acting up again? Its only my left wrists, when the last few times it got both, and usually it manifested with my fingers hurting in a very particular way, but who knows ;/ Maybe its just strained a lot? Its prob from typing on my phone a lot too, because the staticy feeling seems concentrated around the thumb.

I dont have my usual meds at home now but I kinda dont want to take them when Im so unsure if its actually inflammation again, so for now Im using the anti-inflammatory ointment. I started yesterday and today its the slightest bit better, so maybe its working? I hope so, at least. I'm thinking of taking another week, maybe even two, completely off from writing or anything that can strain my wrists, so my left one can heal. And I'll see how it goes.

It'll make me extremely stressed about my thesis and whatnot, but I think I'll try to talk it out with my promotor, how to proceed now. He's a great guy, so I hope he'll be understanding and help me through this. I think I might ask what would happen in cae I wouldnt be able to finish this year - would I just repeat it or how it would go. I DO want to finish it now, have this three years count and even if I wouldnt go to get a degree in next few years, at least I would hogher education, y'know. That has to count for something...

So, taking all this in consideration, fics are unfortunately what falls down the list of priorities, as much as it breaks my heart ;_; If I want to focus on finishing this and my thesis and getting it all done while my wrists are so fragile, I need to cut on other straining things. I prob wont stop writing wholly, only because it would prob make me go insane, I need the comfort my fics give me, but it'll be far less and the updates or posting would happen rare ;_;

So the next LitA update will prob happen in a month, cause 20th of April is its posting anniversary and chap 25 is mostly post-ready too, but then I have no idea. Depends on everything mentioned above.

I might switch to more of hand writing in my notebooks, maybe start on my Beauty and the Beast AU this way since its comfort fic and Im not in rush with it in any way. Maybe I'll dictate some from time to time, if I have the mental strength and fortitude for it xd But my focus needs to go into my uni and all. After all, the sooner I have big progress with it or finish it, the sooner Im "free".

It might also turn out this is just my depressive slump talking and it'll turn out to not be so bad in some time xd Who knows, for now I wanted to give y'all a heads up.

Some of y'aal will prob move on, which I totally get, thats how fandom works and I've been there;p But I hope some of y'all will still get some joy out of my fics, whenever they might come in future.

Hope y'all are weel and healthy out there, all the love 💗

[keiffeine]

BF KEITH HCS PLEEEEEZ

with gender-neutral reader.

genre: fluff

© all rights reserved to keiffeine. reposting, plagiarizing, modifying, and translating is NOT allowed.

• keith is so <3

• he shows you sides to him he’s never showed to many people before. you find out he can be so so so soft and deeply caring.

• like sometimes he’ll go on a tangent about how much you mean to him and he’ll get emotional.

• “keith, are you…crying?” “no, shut up.”

• he has this kind of husky scent to him, and you often wear his clothes because it smells like him.

• lowkey, keith loves seeing you in his clothes. a lot. sometimes he’ll purposely leave something out and hope that you’d wear it.

• if you don’t, he’ll be like: “hey, are you sure you’re not cold? like, you’re sure you don’t want to wear my sweater?”

• you also discover that he can be pretty touchy. keith is touch-starved, so any opportunity he can get to feel you, he’ll take it. he is basically a koala because he literally clings on you. always.

• he likes to cuddle on the couch with you, sharing a blanket, with his head buried against the crook of your neck (+ if you’re gently running your fingers through his hair).

• his kisses are so sweet and slow. likes to kiss you anywhere and everywhere, mostly your cheek and the back of your shoulder (and your lips, obviously).

• compliment him. it makes him feel really giddy on the inside and causes a very visible blush to form on his cheeks.

• he’ll ask you to spar with him sometimes. gives you pointers on your posture, stuff like that. any time you take him down, he’ll be extremely impressed and flustered at the same time (because he thinks it’s like, really hot?).

• keith’s definitely the type to make a playlist for you, incorporating genres that he likes and what you like.

• if he misses you, he’ll play one of the playlists he’s made for you (or the ones that you made for him, please make him one too, he’d love that so much).

voltron masterlist

navigation

[msbarrows]

Kind of depends on whether I'm in the groove for typing or not. Like most of the time I do the majority of my typing with the pointer on right hand, pointer and middle on left, and occasional use of left thumb. Very rarely I'll also right middle and/or right thumb. If I need to do something like ctrl- or alt- something, the left pinkie (stretched sideways to ctrl) or left ring (tucked under to alt) comes into play.

Which is a completely bizarre way of typing, especially considering I took several years of touch typing in high school back in the 80s, it's just what my brain finds most comfortable to actually do, for whatever reason. I do sometimes wonder if it's at all related to doing mouse-based gaming for decades, with my right hand busy with the mouse (and mostly just using right pointer for the left mouse button) while I use pointer-middle-ring fingers of left hand for almost everything else (whether 1-2-3 or q-w-e based).

I often study at the public library and it’s horrifying how many people I see typing with 2 fingers. People my own age. People younger than me. Older people. So many who never learned 10-finger typing

So anyways

[not-alien-girl-v]

Fluffy Tate Langdon HCs

(part 2)

Warning: implications of smut but i keep it PG

Note: The way i didn’t make this Murder House Tate because it makes me too sad to think about :(

Ok maybe this is just a me thing bc I do this a lot but I think you guys would do a lot of stick and pokes together

Like yeah you’d have to talk him out of putting his name on your ass or something but it’s still such a cute little ritual to have matching little hearts on the sides of your fingers

He’d love to look at your little tattoos when you’re laying together, he’d just grab your hand and put your inked finger right beside his, gently tracing his pointer finger over yours and smiling softly

Even though you’re obviously his best friend, he definitely has other friends too, probably some other weirdos at school who hang with him at lunch sometimes

You just KNOW he’d love to show you off to them all the time. And all his friends would give him so much crap for being so in love with someone

But he doesn’t let it get to him too much. There’s pretty much nothing you could do to get him to stop loving you (except maybe cheat, he’s super jealous lol)

I read this thing somewhere that was like ‘treat men like dogs’ and I think it definitely applies here omg

Take him out on walks together, get him a little treat from the store, pet his head when he rests it on your lap when you sit on the couch

Getting inspiration from the song ‘My Pug’ by Nicole Dollanganger here

His mother and father both aren’t/weren’t the best parents to him, we know this, I’ll let you be the judge of if he has a daddy/mommy kink bc I don’t want to write smut rn

But if you take on sort of a loving parental role in your relationship, he’d fall in love so fast

He loves to say he protects you but let’s be real, he is just a scared little boy, and 9 times out of 10, it’s you protecting him

But play the victim sometimes, let him feel like a big strong man saving his damsel in distress

Did I mention that he gets like super jealous

Seriously have I mentioned that yet

Not even kidding, you saw that episode with the new guy who moved into the house

Tate has 2 types of jealousy: sad jealousy and pissed jealousy

His sad jealousy is probably when he’s already going through something and he sees you talking to another guy and suspects you like him more than you like himself

He won’t go and rage out, he’d just probably hide somewhere and cry alone

If you catch him doing this, wipe his tears away, kiss him softly and give him a tight hug, maybe remind him of how much you love him and how he’s the only one for you

But his angry jealousy

Oh boy

He mostly does this when it seems more obvious that you’re playing into his jealousy, like if you ever try to mess with him or purposefully make him jealous

He will harshly grab your wrist and pull you away from whoever you’re talking to. He’d drag you to the car and force you in, and start driving you to his house.

If he doesn’t do that, he’ll wait until the both of you get home to unleash his anger at you. Whether it be a screaming match or something else, he’s a little psycho sometimes

It’s only because he loves you and he doesn’t want you to leave. Sometimes he tries to hide all that from you but you can always see through it

[sukirichi]

Hello! Can you write one about Nanami where the reader is oblivious and they're really close to Gojo so he gets jealous often. Sometimes Gojo does things purposely to annoy him and one day he just lost his composure and accidentally admitted his feelings for you.

I hope u accept if you're not too busy. Thank you!!!

— a little push

— sometimes all nanami needs is a little push.

nanami kento x fem! reader

thank you for the request anon! i’m not sure if reader is oblivious enough but i hope you like it! there’s some thick pining here hur hur, i hope you like it! i never knew i needed an easily flustered and awkward nanami in my life also this is unedited as usual

check my bio for masterlist and my milestone event! (◕ᴗ◕✿)

“Do you mind?”

Nanami sighs, silently praying to the heavens you wouldn’t hear the way his heart is absolutely panicking and beating wildly right now. You’d randomly pushed him inside the teachers’ office the moment he got back to the institute at work, and now he’s doomed to hide his feelings while you look up at him with wide, innocent eyes, a shaky yet excited grin painted on your face.

“Sorry, sorry,” you wave your hands in front of you, although he can tell you’re not apologetic at all. Nanami clears his throat when you step backwards to give him space, unsure if he’s happy or sad about the distance. “I was just really excited to see you back.”

Your carefree, lighthearted voice, along with that little jump in your toes combined with your statement – you’re basically asking Nanami to shrivel up already.

The stoic man remains composed, though, only shifting to adjust his tie while he stares down at you. You’re still somewhat bouncing on your feet, teeth biting your lip – a habit you had when you want to say something but contemplating whether you should. Tilting away to hide the slight flush in his cheeks, Nanami sighs again, pretending to be tired.

The last thing he wants to admit that even though he is exhausted from work, is that you’d never bother him. In fact, having you bombard him like this makes him feel like he didn’t deal with special grade curse by himself all alone just an hour ago.

“If there’s something you want to say, I suggest you get it over with. I don’t want to stay overtime and wait until the blindfolded creep comes around.”

You giggle at his insult, hiding behind your cupped palms. Crap, Nanami looks away and focuses on the birds outside instead, suddenly finding them so interesting despite never paying attention to them before. Maybe that was the curse of crushes – it had people acting differently and in complete contrast with their behavior.

“About that,” you begin almost shyly now, and Nanami practically bursts when he sees you tapping both of your pointer fingers together, gaze tilted away from him.

It makes him wonder you’re nearly on the same skill to Gojo, yet still somehow look like a small, innocent being that makes him want to protect you from everything – even if you were more than capable of handling things yourself. Well, Nanami concludes to himself, maybe you’re really just that paradoxical that it makes sense why he can never think straight around you. Maybe he’s really not supposed to understand the complexity of his feelings when you were a phenomena to begin with already.

“You see…Satoru asked me out.”

Nanami stiffens at your statement for a split second before his head whips to you so fast. You’re observant – of course you are, you’re a jujutsu sorcerer – and you easily pick up in his sudden change of demeanor. Your brow raises at his abrupt reaction, to which Nanami conceals by flexing his neck and rolling his shoulders back.

“I am simply tired from work,” he haf-lies, “So, Satoru asked you out? Will you say yes?”

His words and tone are monotonous, almost bored even, but deep inside he’s so close to beating the crap out of his co-worker. Well, not really, Nanami isn’t a man of violence, but he’s jealous. Of course he is – he’s liked you ever since Principal Yaga hired you.

He’s never told Satoru about his little crush on you. He would be stupid to do such; Satoru would tease him to no end and maybe even be as childish to go as far as pushing him to you. Typical elementary shit, Nanami cringes to himself, watching as you look down at your feet with a pout. Now that confused him. He isn’t sure what your body language means at all, but patient as ever, Nanami only waits.

“Well,” you scratch your forehead, “I’m really flattered. I want to say yes because Satoru is a nice guy—”

“He is not. I do not respect him.”

You roll your eyes at the way his eyes darkens, “—but also I’m not sure if I should. I mean, Satoru doesn’t really date, you know? He’ll be with like one girl and be with another the next week. I just don’t want to…like, fall for that, I guess. Not that I won’t, because he’s totally not my type—”

“It’s just a yes or no,” Nanami cuts you off, his words coming out a lot harsher than he intends it to be. It’s not that he’s annoyed at your rambling, he actually finds it so adorable when you get so lost in your train of thoughts that your mind just travels from one place to another, and seeing how your eyes just leave farther from reality is something he’s always find such an attractive quirk, but not now – not when his infuriating co-worker is intending to mess with your feelings. “Do you want to go or not? Yes or no? It’s as simple as that.”

You blink back at him in surprise, mouth opening and closing like a fish. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that Nanami was a no-bullshit man who hit things right on the head, a huge contrast to your happy-go-lucky self, but he’s right.

It is that simple – and you’re complicating things all over again.

When you give him an answer, Nanami has to muster all his energy to not deflate. He’s tired – but now his exhaustion and even the heartbreak comes crashing down all over him that he’s immediately weighed down and overwhelmed – so much so that all he wants is to go home.

“Yes, I want to go.”

It’s his day off.

Like everything else in his life, Nanami plans everything down to the last minute of his day. His day off consisted of him having the privilege to sleep in until 8am, then breakfast with coffee from that great café a five minute walk away from his apartment, then he’ll be reading books in his study for two hours. Comes after that is lunch, and he’ll brows through some TV shows, pick up his clothes from the dry cleaning, get that special limited edition dinner of his favorite sushi, read books again and call it a day.

Simple, peaceful, no hassle – it’s the perfect day to relax.

Except it isn’t.

Because it’s your day off too, and you’re out on a date with Satoru. He still remembers how happy you looked then upon accepting the white haired man’s invitation, your nimble fingers wrapped around his sleeve as you shyly asked him to come with you.

He doesn’t know why you had to bring him, but he doesn’t question it, nonetheless. Nanami wants to see how Satoru would react, if there could be any indication from the man behind his blindfold that he had ill intentions. Oddly enough, there didn’t seem to be any. Satoru only beamed and deflated into a chibi, enthusiastically nodding along with you while you planned your date together.

Nanami took it upon himself to leave.

With a silent scoff, Nanami placed his dinner down on the counter. Because it’s his day off – and mostly because he doesn’t feel like himself – Nanami went out to buy the limited edition sushi wearing a white shirt and some gray sweatpants, too forlorn and a little jealous to even bother dressing up.

It’s stupid, really. He’s been looking forward for this sushi for a long, long time, but now that he’s had it, he can’t even enjoy the taste. His mind keeps going back to you.

Were you having fun with Satoru? Were you enjoying your time? Was Satoru treating you well? What was Satoru’s intentions when it came with you? The last time Nanami checked, you and him got along really well and you’re mostly the one who whacks the taller man in the head upside down when he’s being stupid, almost like two peas in a pod, except you were the smarter one. He’d been so sure you’re nothing but friends and yet…it all lead to this.

Nanami pushes his sushi away. They no longer taste like anything, the texture like dried paper on his mouth. He wipes his lips with a napkin, staring longingly at well…nothing. His walls were plain and empty, and suddenly, Nanami can’t help but compare himself to Gojo.

You both planned to go to the local carnival. There’d be lots of foods and even parlor shops, ferris wheel rides and photo booths to create memories. Of course you and Satoru would go there; both of you enjoyed loud, bustling crowds, claiming there was something amazing about basking in the “lives of humans when ignorant of curses” while Nanami prefers his peace and silence.

Had you gone out on a date with him instead, Nanami can’t guarantee he’ll be any fun. He most definitely wouldn’t ask you to go to a carnival with him either. It was loud, cramped, crowded, and it’s too chaotic for him to ever enjoy your presence and enjoy it alone.

Nanami closes the sushi box, turns on the TV and lets is play on the background, a wet towel above his eyes to relax his tired eyes.

He hopes you’re having fun. He hopes Satoru is treating you well. Nanami just ignores the slight pain in his chest when he thinks of you, laughing and touching anyone but him, and he could picture it already. You’ve always been so open and welcoming to everyone, he knows you’ll have fun today, too.

That’s one of the things he finds most endearing about you – that your smile never fades and you never forget about the simple, little things in life to focus on to keep your sanity after facing curse after curse.

He’s fine, he tells himself. Satoru may be annoying, but he knows you could have fun with him, and you deserved to be happy more than anyone else.

Nanami is about to fall asleep on his couch when his phone vibrates on the coffee tables. Groaning, he flicks off the towel to his shoulders, grumbling about how Principal Yaga better be respecting his day off, but the last thing he expects to see is your contact name flashing on the screen. In the contact photo, you’re winking with a peace sign held above your head.

You look so utterly adorable Nanami just wants to kiss you. He remembers this photo was taken when Yuuji got bored and asked to play games on his phone. Upon finding that there was none – of course there was none – the strawberry-haired student opted for taking pictures of everyone instead. There’s one with Nobara growling, Megumi sipping his boba-tea with dead eyes as if he’s so done with the world, more than twenty pictures of Satoru flexing his muscles and posing like an idiot, and then there’s yours.

Nanami remembers staring at his phone for a solid minute, his gallery actually blessed with your face in it. The sun shines behind you on that photo and you’re absolutely shining. He thinks that’s when he truly fell in love.

And it just so happened the love of his life is calling, making his heart skip a beat because shouldn’t you be with Gojo? Why were you calling him? Did something wrong happen?

Nanami doesn’t waste another second before swiping the green icon, already standing up from the couch as he grabs his jacket. He had this weird inkling something is wrong, why else would you call him?

His theories are proven true when your voice comes out shaky. “H-hello?”

“Good evening,” he greets stiffly, brows furrowed as he listens in on the way you seem to be shuffling around. “Is there something wrong?”

“I, uhm,” he hears you sniffle through the other line, “Yeah, I guess there is…Satoru just texted he can’t come because Principal Yaga suddenly sent him to a mission overseas…and then I just realized that Satoru’s been summoned by the elders and he’s just refusing to show up, so now they cornered him, I guess… anyways, I’m talking too much and I don’t want to be a bother, but would you maybe…like to hang out with me?”

Nanami’s hand freezes on the doorknob. “Hang out…professionally?”

He immediately wants to smack himself in the forehead for that. Out of all things he could’ve said, he just had to utter something unintelligent. He hears you snicker in the background and Nanami’s ears redden. 

He quickly regains his composure with a clear of his throat, suddenly remembering that Satoru’s ditched you, so now you’re asking him instead. It kind of feels like he’s just a replacement, but Nanami buries this feeling down before it consumes him, wondering if he’s already regretting changing into better clothes because he actually agreed to go to a carnival with you.

Upon hearing your happy, “Okay! I’ll wait for you then!”, Nanami realizes that he doesn’t actually mind. Especially not with you.

The carnival is loud.

Nanami dreads the moment he steps out of his car, his body swallowed by the bustling crowd and defeaning music of banging drums and clashing instruments. There’s a hundred scents everywhere – smoke, fish, glazed apples – he doesn’t know where to begin or how to focus.

He nearly turns back to his hair, about to shoot you a text that maybe this is beyond him after all. His head begins to spin when he’s only pushed deeper into the crowd, people bumping into him with every single second and it’s so suffocating. It doesn’t make sense to him how anyone could possibly go on a date like this and enjoy it. He knows for sure this chaos won’t let him enjoy his date’s presence because he’s too busy trying to get away from it all.

Nanami staggers for a bit when a strong hand tugs him to the side. Soon, he finds himself pressed flush against you in a tight corner, your hips warm on his. “Hi,” you breathe out airily, lashes fanning and fluttering in that same manner that always made his heart do complete flips.

“Hello,” he greets back with a small bow out of faux respect, but really, he’s just keeping his head down because you look so beautiful in that moment he doesn’t even know where to look. You’re warm and soft next to his hard and stiff muscles, the scent of roses and vanilla mixing in with the street smoke and Nanami’s head grows dizzy, his hand around yours tightening for comfort. “Y/N…I do not prefer this crowd. Can I take you back home instead? You must be tired – I’ll prepare dinner for you.”

Nanami blinks back in surprise when he sees you nod, a slight grimace on your face, and you practically bury your face in his bicep as you groan, “It’s too noisy for me too. Let’s just hang out at your place.”

So you end up in his immaculately clean apartment, admiring and staring at the boring furniture. Nanami changes into more comfortable clothes and whips out something to cook, not wanting to feed you measly take out when you’re probably famished. He watches with side glances as you pick up a photo of him with his parents when he was younger, cooing and giggling at the baby version of him.

“Nanamin, you’re so cute!”

Nanami scoffs and turns back to the heated water in the bowl, arms hard as they cross against his chest covered with an apron. “Please do not call me cute. I am anything but.”

“No, you’re really cute,” you insist, but after seeing Nanami’s flustered frown, you eventually give up and give the poor man a break. Later, you wobble next to him, watching with curious eyes and a small smile as he adds the vegetables into the soup, moving expertly as he diced up the onions to the side. The sheer focus and attention on his daily tasks makes him falter, and he suddenly finds it so hard to function now.

“Why are you staring at me? Is there something so interesting about slicing up onions?”

“No, not really,” you say absentmindedly, the slight plop of the ingredients echoing. “It’s just – I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this way. Domestic, I mean, but it looks good on you,” you nod to yourself, and Nanami finds himself struggling to act as if your presence wasn’t making him go crazy while he proceeds to cook. “In fact, everything looks good on you, and I find you really interesting!”

“Y-you do?”

“Yes, of course!”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, assisting him silently with mixing the bowl even when he didn’t ask you to. Unaware that he’s now focused on you, watching you cook with him with you pressed up against his side, almost as if it’s right where you belong, Nanami feels the same with you. You also look good being this domestic with him, and he suddenly blurts out, “Would you like to stay with me? Like this?”

Your eyes slide over his in a slow fashion, slow enough that his brain hotwires at the fear maybe he’s said something wrong. But Nanami immediately swallows it down, huffing and turning away from you with that stoic expression again. “Forgive me. That was weird—”

“Why would it be weird?” you laughed to yourself before bumping your hips with his, “You’re the one who invited me here. Of course I want to stay.”

That’s…that’s not what he means.

Nanami is left staring openly at you while you help him set the table and you proceed to talk about how you didn’t really want to go to the carnival but Satoru insisted you’d have fun, so you went anyway even if you’d much prefer to be somewhere else. He’s barely listening, too distracted by the way your lips move and how you swing the house slippers on your big toe, your legs crossed on top of another and your figure slightly hunched across from him.

You look so comfortable and welcomed in his home that it puts him at ease too, not worried that he has to impress you anything because it’s you, and Nanami could actually be vulnerable enough to laugh with you over a bowl of vegetable soup.

It’s fine, he lies to himself again, it’s fine that you don’t know he likes you even if he tends to slip and be obvious sometimes. Because at least you’re with him in that moment, and he lies to himself again that it’s fine, that maybe next time he’ll tell you, but he doesn’t worry about. How could he worry about it when you’re snorting so loud over a lame joke he said that rice nearly came out your nose, and he’s so drunk over the sound of your bubbly laughter that something flutters deep within his belly?

When you help him wash the dishes and bask in the silence instead, comfortable over the lack of words and nothing but the sound of his faucet running and the slight rubbing of towels against dishes heard in the background, Nanami is unsure whether he’s glad that Satoru ditched you on your first date.

It doesn’t stop there.

Nanami only keeps falling in love with you more. He’s been doing a good job of keeping his feelings to himself because the last thing he wants is to have you stay away from him, but Satoru was really getting on his nerves.

He’s just come back from exorcising a curse when he sees you and Satoru play-wrestling in the field with the other students. Megumi is grumbling to himself in the corner, Yuuji is laughing and cheering on you to tackle down his sensei who’s currently going down in high-pitched laughter, Toge pumping his fists and screaming, “Salmon, salmon!”

It’s a chaotic sight – one that he usually doesn’t mind – until you finally pin Satoru down on the ground, your ass above his crotch. Satoru’s hands then come up to squeeze your ass and hips under the false pretense he’s struggling to push you off him, but Nanami knows better.

“Give up already!” you tease the other sorcerer who’s still wriggling underneath you, and Nanami sees it before it happens.

Satoru’s legs bend beneath you and he tries to pin you under him in quick movements, but Nanami is faster, his reflexes taking over. Before he realizes what he’s doing, Nanami tugs you and pulls you forward until you collide on his chest. He’s breathing hard, eyes narrowed at the arrogant smirk painted on Satoru’s features. Meanwhile, you’ve softened in Nanami’s grip, hands fisting his shirt that has him hardening up out of sheer protectiveness.

“Oh, Nanamin!” Satoru beams while wiping the dirt on his hands across his uniform, “Glad to see you here. You wanna join training too?”

“This is hardly training,” he retorts with a clenched jaw, “You’re harassing and disrespecting your fellow sorcerer because you can never keep your dirty hands to yourself,” before Satoru could defend himself, he’s already all over you, his hand tilting your chin side to side to check for any injuries. “Are you hurt anywhere? Did this bastard do anything else?”

“No, not really—”

“Why do you care so much, Nanamin?” Satoru teases, and the students all huddle to watch the commotion. Everyone can feel the tension rising, and Nanami only stiffens up further when he feels you lean closer to his warmth almost absentmindedly. “She and I were just playing around, no hard feelings, no foul play. We’re just having fun, right, Y/N?”

“She is not someone you can just have fun with, Satoru. You’ve already crossed the line when you ditched her on your first date, and you didn’t even bother texting or calling back when I drove her home. It’s disrespectful, and she deserves better than that.”

“Nanami—”

“I was busy,” Satoru sighs dramatically, “And if she deserves better than me, then who would it be? I can take care her of her, you know, she and I have been besties for like what, a year now? I’ll be good to her,” he smirks, and Nanami wants nothing more than to punch him square in the jaw. “Besides, it’s not like she’s dating anyone else. She’s single and ready to mingle—”

“Maybe she is, but I’m not,” Nanami deadpans, his harsh tone shocking everyone.

“Wh-what do you mean?” you squeak under him, and Nanami falls silent. He’s never thought of confessing to you, especially not this way, and Nobara is biting Yuuji’s jacket behind them to muffle her squeals. Panda is clapping his hands and whispers oh, here we go, followed by Toge’s salmon salmon.

It dawns on him now that everyone knows he likes you after all, and now that he’s confronted with the situation, he can’t run away from it. Not that Nanami plans on running away, for he is a man and his pride doesn’t allow him to evade situations like this.

He just wishes it could’ve gone out better.

“Forgive me if this makes you uncomfortable,” Nanami releases his grip on you, loosening his tie that makes him feel like he’s choking both on air and his words. Through his cool stature, he’s actually sweating inside his clothes, and it doesn’t help you’re patient with him too, head tilted to the side curiously and so horribly cutely he might combust. “But I have always been, and I still am, utterly in love with you.”

Nobara and Yuuji no longer hold back as they scream to themselves, the former slapping the latter in his back while Megumi only shakes his head, muttering “about time,” under his breath. Maki snickers to herself and Satoru is stunned, but it’s nothing compared to the way you shrink under his gaze for a moment.

He believes you’re going to run away from him because of his blatant confession; it wasn’t romantic at all, and the kids are still screaming too loudly for him to form coherent thoughts.

Nanami begins to form a deep bow, ready to apologize wholeheartedly and to politely ask you to forget this if you wish – he would respect your decision. But just as his gaze met the ground, he’s thrown off balance as you jump on him, soft glossy lips crashing into his.

The screams and cheers of everyone are suddenly drowned out when he feels your lips molding onto his, and he can feel you smiling happily, giggling while his hands tentatively run down your hips to hold you close. It’s unprofessional, displeasing, and downright horrendous to be kissing someone during work hours while the students are watching, especially because his clothes are crumpled from your eager touch and you’re on top of his chest, but Nanami absolutely doesn’t give a single fuck because he’s kissing you back fervently.

It’s what he’s always wanted – you’re the one he’s always wanted, and now that he has you in his hold, he’s not easily letting you go.

“See? I told you guys,” Satoru proudly puffs his chest up in the background, “All Nanamin needs is a little push.”

[harrypotterandthefandomaccount]

mornings like this

pairing: severus snape x fem!reader

request(s): hiya !! can i have a severus snape/female reader oneshot where him and the reader come home from work and just live a domestic life and they get up to all sorts of things. stuff like they do drawings of each other, baking together, reading books together and after that their day ends with them cuddling each other on the sofa/bed and telling them how happy they are with them. i just want some fluff for my favourite potions master,,, like absolutely tooth rotting sobbing into my pillow type fluff SJFSKSKFJSJ. i hope you're well and having a good day !!

warnings: just some cute ass fluff

note: so sorry this took so long @monster-energies , but I hope you enjoy this!!

severus loved mornings like this one, where he could see the outline of your body underneath the sheets, the soft glow of the sun peeking in through the windows, and your soft skin resting against the pillows as if they were clouds.

he simply loved watching you.

you both had come home from work the previous night, a bit drained from what your jobs asked of you, but looking forward to the weekend nonetheless. you had made an easy dinner as severus set the table, a small candle between the both of you and two glasses of wine beside your plates. after dinner, the dishes washed themselves and kisses were exchanged between you and your lover.

you both had laid on the couch - well, you laid atop severus - as he brushed your hair, talking about your days and the plans for the weekend. severus loved hearing you talk, almost as much as he loved feeling your fingers graze over his cheek once you noticed he had fallen into his thoughts.

he had leaned forward, catching your lips in a soft but passionate kiss, his thumb rubbing your cheek in a soothing manner. one kiss turned into two, and he made sure to lay his lips upon your cheeks, eyelids, nose - anywhere he could reach.

your soft giggles were the best thing he had heard all day.

soon enough, you awoke to his thumb rubbing your cheek once again and as your eyes opened, you let out a quiet laugh, "you have a serious staring problem." a yawn followed soon after.

severus hummed, "is it wrong to admire my wife?"

you laid on your back, pointer finger running down his nose, "I guess not, no - but why when I sleep?"

he answered quietly, kissing the palm of your hand, "because you look like the most ethereal being to walk this earth."

with a blush, you pushed his face away gently as he laughed, "you're such a sap."

after putting on one of his dress shirts and a pair of shorts, the two of you made your way to the bathroom, brushing your teeth and getting ready for the day. severus stood beside you, admiring your features as you made faces at him in the mirror; after rinsing, he grasped onto your hips, giving you a quick kiss.

with a hum, you wrapped your arms around his neck, "eggs and toast?"

severus nodded, "fried?"

you scoffed, "of course - dippy are the best."

soon enough, the both of you were in the kitchen, bread already toasted as you stood over the stove, eggs being placed on toast. reaching over the stove into the cabinets, severus grabbed 'everything but the bagel' seasoning, sprinkling it on top of your eggs and toast.

severus leaned over the kitchen table, laying a kiss upon your cheek, "thank you for breakfast, my love."

you loved mornings like this.

there were some mornings where you barely ate, mostly paying attention to the potions professor. how his nose crooked just the right way, the way his hair still looked like bedhead, the way he tried to stifle a yawn, and among others. you simply loved looking at him, enamored with how stunning he was.

he'd notice your staring and say with a soft chuckle, "you have a serious staring problem."

you stuck your tongue out at him.

later on, throughout the day, you'd accomplish many word searches as severus would do crossword puzzles, silencing enveloping the two of you. your feet would lay upon his thighs, and you two would be stretched comfortably upon the couch. if you wanted, a fire would be going along with soft music playing on his record player. he'd give a flick of his wand and once the vinyl was finished, another would be playing soon after.

severus loved hearing you hum the songs that played, as he adored watching your tongue lay between your lips in concentration. your eyebrows furrowed as your eyes scanned the page, a soft "yes!" escaping you as you found a word.

when he'd focus on his crossword puzzle, you'd love to watch severus as a focused frown would form on his face. he'd place the eraser side of his pencil between his teeth, talking to himself as he replayed the hint in his head. every once in a while, he would lean down, using your legs as a table to fill in his word; you'd try not to laugh as he did this.

flipping through the newspaper - or even a book as you read throughout the day - you saw a recipe for mini apple pies. feet wiggling excitedly, you looked through the ingredients, noticing you had everything you needed, having gone shopping the night before coming home.

severus would hum as your smile grew bigger, "another recipe I'm assuming, sweetheart?"

you bit your lip as you looked at him, "but they're mini apple pies."

he'd look at you with side-eye, "do we need anything?"

you shook your head, "we have everything here."

rubbing a thumb soothingly over your leg, severus would lean back in his spot on the couch, "are we sharing?"

"depends on how they turn out."

while you two were no professional bakers, the tiny slices severus had cut the apples in to came out pretty good, fitting perfectly within the dough you placed in muffin pans. with careful precision, and trying to ignore severus poking your hips as you sliced the dough to lace the top of the pies, the apple pies were "pretty damn good."

you ended up not sharing with anyone.

flour hadn't gotten everywhere - shockingly - and even as severus stood behind you when you mixed the apples, sugar, and cinnamon together, the ingredients had stayed in the bowl (and in the kitchen). once they came out of the oven, two glasses of milk were sat on the table and you both cheer'd to your baking skills.

you decided to leave the dishes for sunday's problem; though, it didn't take much convincing from severus. he washed his hands alongside you, making sure the flour and sugar remains were off your arms and such. grabbing a washcloth, he'd grab your hands, drying them with such care and gentleness that a small smile worked its way upon your lips.

you loved afternoons like these.

severus always loved dragging his fingertips up and down your legs, feeling the goosebumps rise just from him. there was nothing inherently sexual about what he was doing, no, as he just loved feeling you under him.

he loved evenings like these.

soon enough, you two found yourselves in the shower, making sure to wash today's remains from your bodies, shampooing each other's hair, and washing one another. severus loved laying kisses upon your skin, smelling the body wash or shampoo on you.

once you felt a fluffy towel covering your body, you sometimes felt as if you never wanted to leave. severus's body would always be so warm after a hot shower, and as he always stood behind you, you couldn't help but be drawn to him. after searching through your drawers, a new pair of underwear would be put on and one of your husband's undershirts would go along with it.

severus groaned, "I'm going to have no clean clothes on Monday, darling dove."

your heart always soared whenever he called you that, "I'll wash it before then, you big baby."

and by you washing it, you meant he'll wash it before Monday.

laying in bed together, facing one another, the only light coming from the moon and soft light from a bedside lamp, severus felt so at peace, as did you. he'd once again rub his thumb over your cheek, tracing your lips as you'd smile softly at him. leaning over, a kiss would lay upon your lips, cheek - wherever he could reach.

"I love you," you'd say before he could pull away from you. "you make me the happiest person on this planet, and I hope I tell you that enough."

severus would have a light blush over his cheeks, resting his hand on your waist, nose brushing with yours, "and I love you, my darling dove. i will love you until the end of my days, always."

"as long as I'm right behind you."

severus loved nights like these.

[from-the-clouds]

A little college!Ken request here! What about him practicing some type of speech or something like that and anytime he does good you reward him ;)

oh hey this was a no-brainer!!!! pls enjoy.

pic courtesy of @televisionchronicles (my laptop is shit and can't upload gifs to my posts for some reason right now???)

Summary: An education. Kendall invites you over to his place 'to study'. A loose continuation of my college!Kendall fic you can read here.

Warnings: Smut (minors dni). Oral sex (male receiving). Kendall being a little subby (if you squint).

WC: 2.3k.

Kendall was quite a sight as you pulled away from him once more; his lips swollen, cheeks flushed, looking down at you. Through a haggard breath, you spoke. “Okay, that’s enough.”

He pouted, and you smiled slightly, bringing your forehead to his. “You said we were going to study together, and so far you’ve been very…..distracting…”

“I could argue it’s you doing the distracting,” he whispered, the feeling of his breath ghosting along your neck made you shiver. “Did you really think-” he began slowly kissing down the column of your throat, sloppily, “That we would actually study?” His fingers began fumbling with the buttons on your shirt.

Giggling, squirming away from him, his hands abandoned their work and instead found the curve of your waist, where he began to tickle you mercilessly. Shrieking in horror, you tried to wretch away from him but he was far too strong, and you were in a compromising position, laughing too hard to find the strength to stop him. “Kendall-” you managed through hysterics. He was unrelenting.

Even when you finally wriggled out from under his grip, he found your feet, when you kicked him away he found your neck again, until you writhed off the couch and fell on the floor with a thud. “Okay, okay! I surrender.”

He peered at you from over the cushions of the couch, then leaned forward, reaching out to trace his pointer finger down the bridge of your nose and swipe his thumb along your bottom lip. Your stomach fluttered, unable to identify the emotion currently swimming in his dark eyes. “Come back here,” he tugged on your sleeve, helping you right yourself to sit on the couch alongside him once more.

It had been two months since you met him, and you weren’t really sure what this was. In some ways - you didn’t really care, because you knew better than to get attached. But it was probably a little too late for that, because it had crossed the threshold of strictly casual fucking some time ago. Plus, you weren’t really one to walk all the way across campus in the cold and snow just for some dick. Well, maybe you would, if it was his dick, but unfortunately for the both of you, there was also definitely something else there.

For one thing, you didn’t know any fuck buddies who sometimes didn’t fuck, and instead would ask you over just to cuddle in bed and watch movies. Or fuck buddies who practically forced you to sleep over, because they didn’t ‘want you walking home alone this late.’ You had almost expected that you’d come over just to study with him. instead, you’d been accosted the second you entered his bedroom – which you still didn’t mind.

“You’re actually gonna make me study, aren’t you?” he groaned.

“Don’t you have, like, a huge presentation tomorrow for your marketing class?”

“Hmmmmm….maybe,” Kendall shrugged, nonchalantly.

“You said it was worth, like, half your grade.”

“Uh-huh,” his hand grazed up your thigh, sliding between them, grasping greedily. “Maybe….I have other…more important research to do,” he leaned in again, and you let him kiss you. He was persuasive, hard to resist, and he knew what he was doing and he was so-

You dragged your mouth away from his again. “Ken, won’t your parents be super pissed if you fail?”

Something very ugly flashed across his visage, but you didn’t miss it. There was quite a sadness to him, easy to notice even in the little time you’d spent together. It remained hidden, mostly, but it seeped out on occasion. Particularly, whenever he took phone calls from his father, in the way that his shoulders slumped, his body stiffened. He’d leave the room, close the door, whisper in hushed tones. When he returned to you, you felt it in the drag of his fingertips along your spine, he’d place one of your hands on his heart, clasping his own over it. It wasn’t your place to ask, so you didn’t.

“You’re a really good influence,” he said, leaning in. “Such a good girl, aren’t you?” His tone was near patronizing, but that wasn’t what made you shiver while his raspy voice was in your ear. No, he only called you that in bed, and he knew exactly what it did to you.

“Why don’t you practice your presentation for me?” you asked. “And if you do a good job….maybe you’ll be rewarded.”

Kendall didn’t need to be persuaded, giving you a devilish grin and standing up to rummage through his backpack for his laptop and a stack of index cards with his handwriting scribbled all over.

As he began, using a slideshow on his laptop and reading off his notes, you immediately zoned out. It wasn’t that he was bad at presenting, or that it was boring - even though it was, some analysis of IBM’s business model, an overview of their company - it was that he’d already gotten you riled up, and now you were having a hard time paying attention. Instead, you were focused on his hands, thumbing through index cards, his eyes flickering over at you every few moments, the way his lips moved.

Slinking off of the couch, you began to crawl towards him on your hands and knees.

“Sales skyrocketed after their release of- what are you doing?” Kendall looked at you from over the edge of his notes.

“Sorry, I just couldn’t see the graph very well, I needed a closer look,” you feigned interest at the slide displayed on his computer. “Please, keep going.”

Are you fucking with me? He didn’t even need to ask, you could see the question written all over his face. You absolutely were. But Kendall shook his head and continued, mentioning something about supercomputers and typewriters.

Slowly, you knelt in front of him, tilting your head back and running your palms up the fabric of his jeans. “Despite their many competitors-” Kendall stopped again, lowering his index cards and tilting his head, while you gazed back at him, sitting on your heels, doe-eyed and innocent. “What?”

“You know that part of being a good presenter means being able to avoid distractions,” you stated, matter-of-factly, squeezing his thighs and “And you’re not doing a very good job of that, are you?”

“Uh-huh,” he answered, skeptically.

“So, don’t mind me.”

Kendall sighed, then continued. “Despite their many competitors, their adaptability in the ever-changing tech industry-” he gasped when your hand grazed over him through his jeans. He was half-hard already.

You sat back on your heels, removing your hands from him. His eyes were dark now, clouded with lust, but neither of you spoke. “Are you going to keep going?” he asked.

“Are you?” you answered, pulling yourself up by his belt loops, pressing your chin to his lower belly to look up at him, into those pretty, half-lidded eyes. Kendall’s free hand lifted to graze his thumb over your lower lip, poking it into your mouth. You sucked on his digit, obediently, and he groaned, head falling backwards.

“This is fucking cruel,” he whined, hips pressing forward on their own accord.

“No, I want to help you,” your voice was low.

Kendall seemed to get it then, and sucked a sharp inhale through his teeth. All this week he’d been desperate, needy for you, and even though it was excruciating, he would do just about anything to have your hands on him again. Just to show him how willing you were, you swiftly unbuttoned his jeans and began to pull them down his legs, excruciatingly slow.

“I fucking hate you.”

“Doesn’t seem like it,” you murmured, palming him where he strained against his boxers.

“Fine,” he groaned, shaking his head. “Their adaptability in the ever-changing tech industry has secured them a major share of the market both in the United States, and abroad.”

Now, you had his boxers down around his ankles along with his pants, leaving him bare before you. Your mouth pressed hungrily along the insides of his thighs, to the base of where his cock hung, heavy and swollen and waiting for you.

And Kendall was being good, for now, gritting his teeth as he continued through his presentation, something about a dip in IBM’s sales during the 1980s, and early 1990s.

“After a series of reoganizations-fuck,” Your hand had finally wrapped around him, pumping him once before stopping. Clearing his throat, Kendall swallowed hard.

“They are still one of the most prominent computer manufacturers of all-” you took him in your mouth, as far as you could go, all at once. “Fuck, baby, so good-” You began to pull away, but Kendall stuttered as he continued. “I mean, uh, most- uh, the most prominent computer manufacturers of all time.”

You might have laughed, if it weren’t the fact you had his cock down your throat. Kendall kept talking, going into some analysis of their recent business endeavors, but you weren’t really listening to that anymore. Instead, you hollowed your cheeks and took him even deeper, working up a steady rhythm.

There was some sort of power in it all that you found more arousing than you’d been expecting. He was so desperate for it he would do anything, which meant he had to keep reading off of cards about possibly the most unsexy topic you’d ever heard. What he really wanted to do was tangle both hands in your hair and fuck your face, but you wouldn’t allow it. Instead, you relished every tiny gasp, whimper, tremble in his voice as he fought to finish the presentation.

His cock twitched in your mouth when you swirled your tongue around the tip, slowly, steadily working the rest of him with one of your hands, the opposite squeezing and cupping his balls. There was a slight press forward of his hips, you could tell it wasn’t intentional, he was struggling to hold back, to control himself. But he kept going.

“In conclu-” Kendall began, and you took him so deep you gagged, throat tightening. “Fuck, I can’t- you’ve got me so close,” you were surprised at his tone of voice, no longer deep and confident, now breathless and whiny, choked out around a moan. “Please, let me come.”

“You’re almost done Ken,” you didn’t stop working him with your hand. “Be a good boy for me, won’t you?”

His hazel irises had nearly disappeared, eclipsed by the dark of his blown-out pupils, eyes half closed. “Okay, okay.”

Truth be told, you’d gotten yourself so worked up just listening to how he responded to you, you wanted this just as badly as he did. At least you were both on the same page.

The last few sentences tumbled from his lips, strung together within stuttered breaths, barely intelligible. And you learned absolutely nothing from the presentation, except maybe a few more ways in which he liked being pleasured. When he finished speaking, you didn’t stop.

Instead, the cards he’d been reading off of fluttered delicately around you, landing like snowflakes around your knees, at his feet. Kendall let out a pained sound of relief, his hands met the back of your head and weaved into your hair, guiding your mouth purposefully up and down the length of him.

“Just like that, please,” he panted, a pathetic mess, and your own arousal that had begun to build some time ago clouded your vision, pooled between your thighs. At this point, you were praying he’d be able to take care of you later, because you’d never thought giving someone a blowjob would have you so worked up. But you didn’t dare think to stop, as you were trying to savor the pitiful noises Kendall was making.

When he finally came, his hoarse cries were intermingled with the sound of your name. His cock throbbed, finding his release down your throat, which worked thrice to swallow him down. It was him who pulled you away, and you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and looked up at him, where his chest heaved and his eyes glimmered.

“That was…fuck that was so good,” he said, pulling you to your feet. Your lips met briefly as he cupped your chin with his hand. “You’re just fucking unbelievable, you know that?”

You giggled, letting him kiss you again, his arm wrapping sturdily around your waist and maneuvering you towards the bed, where you surrendered to him, letting him lay you down against the pillows and lazily drag his lips along your neck.

“Did you bring anything to study?” he asked. In his touch there was no urgency, no destination, but you relished in the feeling of his body pressed against yours, his fingertips grazing over various parts of you absentmindedly. You were on fire.

“Uh, no,” you said softly, and he paused to look at you.

“What?”

“Well,” you shrugged. “I kind of figured…if I came over, we wouldn’t actually study, so I already did all my homework.”

“Right.” Kendall rolled his eyes, incredulous. “Uh-huh. You little brat.””

“No!” you held up your arms to defend yourself, to no avail, as he began to tickle you again, much more aggressively than the first time. Ragged breaths sucked between your teeth as you laughed uncontrollably. “Please! Please.”

Kendall managed to pin your hands above his head, leaving you very exposed beneath him. “Fine. But you’re going to pay for this, you understand?”

Using the only appendages available, you wrapped your legs around his waist. “Of course I understand.”

Kendall smirked, eyes clouding over with lust again as he leaned in to kiss you. “Good.”

[bensolosbluesaber]

Returning a Favor (Zemo x Reader fic)

TFATWS Ep. 4 Spoilers!!

Summary: When your old friend, Sam Wilson, needs your help in Riga you drop everything and go. You knew they broke Baron Helmut Zemo out of jail, but you didn't expect to bond with the villain. (AKA: I thought getting hit in the face by the Shield would at least leave a bruise. Here's how that would go down with a fourth person.)

CW: Blood, wounds, some creepy behavior (not from Zemo), a few Y/N inserts

No smut yet, just cute cuddles and taking care of each other. Maybe smut in the future though! Let me know if you want a Part 2 or added to a tag list for potential future fics! I think the reader can be any gender; I tried to write it that way and be inclusive, but please tell me if I messed up!

If you know me in real life, no you don't:) I write most of my fics on @aurora521 and write on AO3 and fanfiction.net under the same name. Please don't come for me about finding Zemo attractive.

Hope you enjoy!

---

Returning a Favor

Meet me in Riga. -S

That was the text you received from Sam Wilson, your old military friend, yesterday. And now here you are, outside the Riga airport walking toward Sam in traditional undercover superhero attire- a baseball hat and sunglasses.

“Thanks for coming,” he greeted. “We have a little problem.”

“Is his name Baron Helmut Zemo by chance?” You asked, following him to a jet black sports car.

You were very aware of just what type of trouble Sam was getting himself into since you, a SWORD agent, still had access to all kinds of classified information.

“See for yourself,” Sam muttered, gesturing to the back door of the car and climbing in the driver's seat himself.

You hesitated for a moment, then opened the door and slid into the back. And yes, Zemo was there, lounging back with legs spread. He’s wearing a long coat with fur lining, a deep purple shirt, black pants, and shiny leather shoes. He nods to you and smirks ever so slightly. Bucky Barnes, who you had only heard about but recognized immediately, turns from his spot in the front seat and smiles at you.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Y/N,” he says.

“And I you,” you respond.

Sam pulls out of the parking lot with a screech of tires. The ride is mostly silent, Sam and Bucky bickering occasionally. That made you smile, knowing that as much as Bucky annoyed Sam, this was the type of relationship he craved. Zemo watched you the entire drive, sizing you up.

The home they’re staying at is obviously the Baron's. He’s comfortable there, leaning against the counters, rifling through cabinets, lounging on the couch.

“So what am I doing here?” You finally asked.

The three men interact easily, and either Sam or Bucky is always watching Zemo. There’s no real need for a fourth person to get involved, at least not in your mind.

“Someone needs to babysit the Baron,” Sam explained with an annoyed sigh.

Zemo shrugged with a smirk so innocent it’s sinister. He’s still wearing that ridiculous coat.

“The two Avengers can’t handle him?”

“I believe your friends find it challenging to be around me,” Zemo answered for Sam.

“You shot a man in the head yesterday!” Sam snapped. “You antagonize Bucky at every turn. Forgive us for needing a break from whatever is happening in your fucked up head.”

Zemo tilts his head as if agreeing with everything Sam had just said.

“Anyway,” Bucky interrupted. “We have a lead on Karli. You can sleep off some jet lag while we’re gone, but starting tonight it’s your turn to keep track of him.”

You settled into a small bedroom. The moment your head hit the pillow, you fell asleep. At home it’s nearly ten at night; here it’s midday.

The trio is back all too soon, heralded by a slam of a door, and you force yourself to wake up to adjust to the time change as rapidly and effectively as possible. As you open the door to the living room, Bucky is stalking toward Zemo. He grabs the teacup from Zemo’s hand and hurls it against the wall.

“You wanna see what someone can do with leverage?” Bucky growled, staring at Zemo with an unnerving glint in his eyes.

“Take it easy. Don’t engage him,” Sam jumped up and grabbed Bucky’s arm. “He’s just gonna extort you and do that stupid head tilt thing.”

Bucky’s face softened slightly. Zemo stops tilting his head.

“Let me make a call,” Sam says and walks away.

“You want some cherry blossom tea?” Zemo offers Bucky with a mocking tone.

“No. You go ahead,” Bucky hissed, and after a moment of staring, he followed Sam out of the room.

You had watched Zemo for that entire exchange, noticed the slightest flinch and hint of fear when Bucky had grabbed that cup. The moment the other two men are gone and Zemo thinks he’s alone, he pours himself another cup. His hand is steady, but he draws a sharp, unsteady breath.

You move out of the room, and Zemo looks up at you from his spot on the couch. Without a word, you walk into the kitchen, taking a roll of paper towels and carefully picking up the shattered glass.

“I can do that,” Zemo says, speaking directly to you for the first time.

His voice is calm, accent thick.

“It’s alright,” you answer, then gasp sharply as a piece slices your pointer finger from tip to palm. “Fuck.”

You set the bloody piece with the pile of glass and hold a paper towel to your hand. You used the other hand to wipe tea off the wall and floor before picking up the glass piled on a paper towel and placing it in the trash, carefully tucked in other garbage.

“Let me.”

Zemo’s voice behind you makes you jump. You eye him for a moment wondering if there is some ulterior motive, some way he could hurt you or hold you hostage. Nothing comes to mind, not with Sam and Bucky so close, so you hold out your bleeding hand. He clicks his tongue at the wound.

When he takes your hand in his, his fingers are soft and warm. He moves your wound under a faucet and lets water run, rinsing the blood down the sink. He squeezes the wound a bit, and you wince as it begins to bleed more.

“We bleed to clean our wounds. It is the body’s way of protecting itself,” he says and presses a towel to your finger as he shuts off the water. “Ironic isn’t it. The very thing meant to protect us from future danger, often kills us first.”

“I’m not here to debate the ethics of superheroes with you.”

“Hold that,” he lets go of your hand and opens another cabinet. “I know how I feel about enhanced humans. There is nothing for me to debate.”

Zemo takes your hand back in his. You watch his face as he works. He uses his mouth to remove the wrapping from a butterfly bandage. The bleeding has slowed, and he uses the bandage to pull your torn skin back together. The cut isn’t terrible, certainly not the worst injury you’ve ever had, but it will scar. He adds two more strips, then places an absorbent pad over it and wraps it all in gauze.

“When we get back, I’ll change that for you.”

“I’ll hope you don’t get killed then,” you offer with a grateful smile.

He doesn’t respond but gestures to you to join on the couch. You do, keeping what you feel is a safe distance between the two of you. Zemo hands you a cup of warm tea, but as you grab it, he doesn’t let go. Your undamaged fingers brush his for a long moment and he chuckles.

“Promise not to take after your friend James? I quite like this tea set.”

Your eyebrows knit together as he smiles at his own joke and finally surrenders the cup to you. That’s the last words you two exchange, and when Bucky and Sam return ready for the next part of the mission, they find the two of you sitting in silence sharing a pot of tea.

___

When the three men returned, Sam and Bucky held an unconscious Zemo between them. You jumped off the couch, the book you had been reading discarded, and let them lay Zemo down.

“What happened?”

“John Walker,” the two men answered in the same disgusted tone.

You leaned over Zemo, finally seeing the blood and bruise on his right temple.

“This one disappeared for a few minutes, shot Karli-”

“Didn’t kill her,” Sam interrupted, sounding relieved.

Much like Sam, you sympathized with Karli’s motives if not her methods. And much like Sam, you were glad she hadn’t died.

“Then Walker knocked him out with the shield,” Bucky finished.

There was no jab at Sam this time for which you were grateful.

“Which is the only useful thing he did,” Sam added. “Zemo destroyed the rest of the serum, so right now he’s above Walker in my book.”

You looked down at Zemo, blood had dripped down his face and neck, though most of it was dried now. His eyelids twitched as he slept.

“Are you two okay?” You asked as you walked toward the bathroom.

“Fine. We ditched Walker, but we’ll need to get out of here as soon as we figure out what to do with Karli,” Sam answered, collapsing on the couch with a heavy sigh.

You dampened a washcloth in the bathroom and on your way back to the living room, grabbed the first aid kit Zemo had used on you earlier.

“What are you doing? He’ll be fine,” Bucky muttered.

He was sitting next to Sam now.

“Returning a favor,” you answered as you knelt at Zemo’s side.

You dabbed at the drying blood with the cloth, wiping it off his cheek, out of his hair. Somehow the coat came out unscathed. Sam and Bucky were talking about something behind you, but you were entirely focused on the unconscious man.

Zemo had a handsome, aristocratic face, and he walked like royalty, like he was untouchable. This was evidence he wasn’t.

You moved to the actual wound next. The cloth was soft, unreasonably so. A large hand wrapped around your wrist, squeezing tightly. You inhale sharply and shift your gaze to Zemo’s hand then his eyes. When your eyes met his, he seemed to relax, releasing you and letting his hand fall at his side.

“Apologies,” he grunted, mouth twitching with pain.

“It’s alright,” you answer calmly, very aware that the other men had stopped talking and were fixated on a potential threat. “Turn your head please.”

You put a hand on his cheek and turned him to face you to get a better look at the wound that was still seeping slowly.

“The new Captain America might force me to reconsider my stance on superheroes. I would enjoy seeing Sam and James have a go at him,” Zemo said as you prod the wound.

You wiped the cut with antiseptic, and Zemo hissed a bit at that but said nothing. Then, just like he had done to you, you placed three butterfly bandages on the cut. It wasn’t deep, just long and jagged.

“You’re my new favorite,” he joked with a little grin.

You laughed and walked to the kitchen for some ice. There were no packs, so you grabbed a bag of frozen peas, wrapped them in a towel and set it gently on Zemo’s temple.

“I can’t have you dying when I need this changed tonight,” you said, holding up a finger.

When you turned around, Sam and Bucky had both stretched out on the couch. They both wore annoyed expressions that Zemo got a whole couch and they got one to share. Bucky bumped Sam’s foot with his own, much to your amusement and Sam’s annoyance. He kicked his partner back, and you decided not to interrupt their little couples spat. Instead, you move to sit on the ground.

Zemo grabbed your wrist again, this time gently. He tucked his legs up, folding them into a V, and motioned you to share his couch. And you did, sitting in the same spot you had earlier, this time near his feet still clad in shiny black leather shoes.

“Hey, you two,” Sam called. “What’s this cozy little couch situation going on here?”

“You two could have a cozy little couch situation too if you’d just talk to each other,” Zemo shot back.

He didn’t even look at Sam, just held the frozen vegetables to his face, eyes closed.

“Y/N?” Zemo asked after a moment. “Can you get me an Advil? Or better yet, some sort of alcoholic beverage?”

“I’m not your servant, Zemo,” you sighed but stood and poured him a glass of some expensive alcohol from a bottle with Sokovian writing.

He sipped it, setting it on his chest between sips as he lounged on the couch with you. Bucky was watching you out the corner of his eye, and you were watching Zemo. Every few sips he would grimace, his lips pressing together and chest catching. Then he’d relax, exhale softly and shift the peas back into place. Eventually you picked up your book and began to read again.

Sam left the room to take a phone call a few hours later and came back shaking.

“Karli threatened Sarah, my nephews. I have to meet with her. Alone.”

“I’m coming with you,” Bucky jumped in, already on his feet. “Walker will be there, and you can’t handle the Super Soldiers and Captain Propaganda on your own.”

Zemo was either asleep or doing a good job pretending beside you. The pea bag had been returned to the freezer. He’d discarded his coat and was now wearing only his black pants and a deep purple shirt with shoulder holsters.

“You got him?” Sam pointed to the sleeping man.

“That’s what I’m here for,” you answered, setting the book aside and watching them prepare to leave.

Both men donned their costumes, Sam strapping his wings on, Bucky ripping the sleeve off of yet another jacket so his metal arm could move freely.

“Call me- us if you need backup,” you shouted after them, knowing full well they would do no such thing.

“If we aren’t back in two hours, take his ass back to jail,” Bucky called back.

Baron Zemo woke up the minute the door slammed shut, which made you doubt he’d been sleeping at all.

“And now it is only us,” he said in that thick Sokovian accent. “I will cook us something for dinner.”

He moved into the kitchen, boiling a pot of water while you watched. You perched yourself on the counter near him as he searched through cabinets. When he noticed you, he paused and chuckled before returning to the cooking. You watched in silence, keeping a close eye on him when he picked up a knife and began chopping tomatoes from a can.

He handed you a bowl of thin noodles with a thick red sauce. It smelled delicious.

“A traditional and simple Sokovian dish, a comfort food you might say,” he explained and joined you on the counter. “I made enough for Sam and James. Call me an optimist.”

Zemo didn’t talk much, you realized, as you enjoyed the food in silence. It was delicious, a bit like pasta. Suddenly, the back door clicked open. You glance around nervously, realizing just how wrong this felt.

“They shouldn’t be back yet,” you say quietly. “And they wouldn’t come in the back.”

“My old associates must have found me,” Zemo jumps off the table, and you notice the same nervousness as when Bucky threw the cup. He cannot know about James or Sam.”

You can hear a single person strolling toward the kitchen in heavy boots.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Zemo whispered, and before you could even process the words, he was standing between your legs and pressing his lips to yours.

His movements are slow and careful, trying not to be invasive as he moves his hands to your back, sliding one up to the back of your head. You wrap an arm around his waist and slide the other hand up the front of his purple shirt, splaying your fingers across his chest. His lips are soft and warm as they move against yours. His hand keeps you from pulling away, not that you’d want to.

“I heard you were back in Riga,” a new voice chuckled. “I had to see for myself.”

Zemo pulls back, feigning surprise, but kept an arm protectively around you.

“And as you have undoubtedly noticed, I am quite busy,” he replied. “Perhaps you could come back tomorrow? I’d prefer not to discuss our business in front of…”

Zemo nods to you. You were staring at the man who you recognized from work files. He was a former Shield agent. When Shield fell, he used the chaos for his own advantage, working for neither Shield nor Hydra and killing anyone who stood in his way. You suspected, but couldn’t be sure, that some of your best friends had been killed by him. Fortunately, you had enough self-control not to shoot him. His mere presence made you tense and uncomfortable.

“Of course, Baron,” he grinned and look at you in a way that made you shift closer to Zemo. “I’ll see you tomorrow, noon. The usual place.”

He gave the two of you one last look and left with a wink to Zemo. Even when the other man had gone, Zemo’s hands were still holding you against him.

“We will have to be gone before noon tomorrow,” he said looking down at you.

For some reason, you were both still wrapped around each other.

“You know who he is?” Zemo said, a statement masquerading as a question. “I am sorry.”

Your face was only inches from him, and you could smell his cologne. Zemo used the hand on your head to pull you against his shoulder. You set your head there, face turned into his neck, and inhaled deeply. And there he sat and you stood, hugging tightly for no real reason except that no one else was there.

Zemo pressed a soft kiss to your head, and rather than protest you let his lips linger. Finally, his head fell on your shoulder. After a moment, he slid you off the counter, took your hand, and led you back to the couch. Without asking, the two of you settled together on the couch, so close your sides pressed against each other. He pulled a gun out of his shoulder holster, and you froze until he set it down on the table, smirking a little.

“I don’t make a habit of shooting people I’ve just kissed,” he chuckled and raised an arm for you to lean against him.

You raised an eyebrow at him, surprised at the forwardness. You shouldn’t be, after all, he had just kissed you and held you on the counter of his kitchen. Helmut Zemo made no sense to you, but in the end, you curled against him. He shifted to lay on his back, head propped on the pillows he was laying on earlier while you tucked yourself beside him, head on his chest.

Zemo wrapped an arm around you. You put a hand on his chest, fingering the purple shirt. He was warm and soft, and you had to remind yourself that you could not fall asleep while you are supposed to be watching him.

“Why are we doing this?” You whisper. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why are you?” Zemo turns his head toward you.

“I haven’t had someone to do this with in a long time,” you answer slowly, cautiously, knowing full well this was a man who could turn on you on an instant or hold onto information until the moment it was advantageous to him.

“Neither have I,” He replied. “German prisons don’t allow much physical contact. Besides, I hope that with enough time perhaps I may kiss you again.”

You tilted your head up to see a grin tugging at the side of his lips, lips that had been on yours a few minutes ago.

“Maybe with enough time,” you answer and brush a lose strand of hair out of his eyes, letting your hand trail over the bruise on his face.

He caged your hand in his, bringing your joined hands back to his chest and holding them there. You felt the rise and fall of his breaths and it soothed you. When they grew deep and steady and the tension seemed to fall from his body, you realized he was truly asleep, not faking like earlier. Soon and against your better judgment, you were dozing off in his arms tossing a leg over his so your limbs tangled together.

Your last thought before you fell asleep was how warm and comfortable you felt with Helmut Zemo, and how completely ludicrous such a thought was.

It wasn’t long before the door opening woke you, still secure in Zemo’s arms. You tried to move, sit up so Sam and Bucky wouldn’t see this little arrangement. You failed. Bucky came in first, stopping in his tracks as he saw the scene on the couch.

“What are you doing? Keep walk- what?” Sam ran right into Bucky’s back then froze.

Their eyes were wide as they stared. Zemo shifted awake beneath you, and you could imagine the smirk on his face. Bucky’s metal fist clenched, and Sam, ever the peacemaker grabbed his arm and opted for a more amicable approach.

“One of you better start talking.”

[collecting-stories]

Jolly Rancher - JJ Maybank

Request: Hey! Do you think you could do an imagine where the reader is Sarah’s twin and all the pogues are at a party or on the boat and her blood sugar drops really low (she has type one diabetes) and her pump keeps beeping. She is mid passing out, not feeling good and rafe has her Insulin so little bit of big brother rafe worried about his little sister and JJ and her not being together yet but he was super worried about her (like all of the pogues tbh). Thanks xxxx I really love your writing 🥺 every time you post something it makes my day

A/N: I did moderate research for this because the only person I actually know with diabetes is a cousin I don’t speak to. 

Outer Banks Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

In hindsight, taking the Druthers out in the bay for a party after sunset wasn’t exactly the best idea you and Sarah had ever come up with. And yeah, technically, taking the boat out would have been totally fine and acceptable but none of you had considered bringing anything but alcohol with you. Six pogues (two honorary) on a yacht in the middle of the bay with just alcohol and weed. It was a bad combination in any version of the world but especially in this one, where you’d been pregaming white claw because you were finally, finally, gonna tell JJ how you felt about him.

The crush had been a saga ongoing since you had first discovered JJ Maybank, which coincided with discovering that boys, while terrible, were incredibly attractive. And sometimes...not too terrible. John B had started working for your family the summer before highschool and at the same time JJ started to pop up. Around the Druthers when John B was cleaning the boat, in a neighbor’s yard mowing the grass or cleaning the pool. And then at the Island Club. By then you’d started hanging out with Kiara and her friends and JJ wasn’t just some cute guy who was friends with John B.  

“Honey,” Kiara laughed, reaching for the can of Naturdays in your hand, “I think you need to slow down.”  

“I’m fine.” You promised, knee jerking rapidly as you gulped the rest of the drink down before Kiara could take it from you.  

You weren’t a heavy drinker. The last time you’d gotten drunk was in ninth grade, at a house party on the cut with Kiara. You’d guzzled down one too many Pabst trying to act cool in front of JJ and had ended up in the hospital in diabetic shock. Once everyone was sure you weren’t going to die, your father had laid into you about how irresponsible you were and how you had acted like a child. It was embarrassing, mostly because you were still saddled to a hospital bed and your friends were standing in the hallway, well within ear shot of Ward.  

After that, you stayed away from anything more than two drinks at a party and you always kept your insulin with you. Except, apparently, for tonight. You’d gotten yourself worked up over confessing your feelings to JJ and the possibility of rejection that you were well on the way to drunk. And your insulin was in your backpack, in Rafe’s truck.  

“You’re not fine.” Kiara laughed, “you’re like, buzzing.”

“Buzzing,” you offered her a dopey smile as you leaned forward, whirling your pointer finger around as you made buzzing noises and tried to poke her.  

“What the hell?” She swatted your hand away, “are you sure you’re okay?”

The commotion was enough to get Sarah’s attention and she turned away from John B to look over at the two of you. “You’re like vibrating babe,” Sarah said, “you’re really jittery.”

“Fine, I’m fine...I’m all good.” You promised, bracing your hand on Sarah’s shoulder as you went to stand up. You missed your footing, tripping over the air and hitting the deck before either Kiara or Sarah could catch you.  

“Oh my god!” Kiara got down on her knees next to you and helped you sit up, leaning partially against her. She pushed your shirt up so that she could check your pump and noticed realized it had been going off. “Hey, do you have like...something to boost her blood sugar? I think it’s dropping really low, I can’t really read this?”

“It’s definitely low.” You replied, hands shaking as you checked your pump, “yeah...too much...too much alcohol.”

“Where’s your insulin?” Sarah asked, crouching down so she could try to meet your eyes, “hey, look at me, where’s your insulin?”  

You hummed, a little too long before finally looking at Sarah, “uh, Rafe’s...shit, Rafe’s truck.”

“Are you kidding me? Fuck!” Sarah cursed, getting up to grab her phone so she could call him, “John B, can you take us back?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he nodded, heading for the ladder.  

“Here!” JJ pushed through Pope and Kiara, spilling the contents of his backpack onto the deck beside you. Amongst a change of clothes, some pilfered pens, his wallet, house keys, weed, a stick of deodorant, and a travel toothbrush, was a bag of jolly ranchers. He grabbed a green one out and unwrapped it, holding it out to you, “here, it’ll make you feel better.”

“You have a bag of jolly ranchers in your backpack?” Kiara asked incredulously.

“Of course,” JJ replied, “if her sugar drops she said one jolly rancher usually does the trick.”  

It was a stupid thing to smile about, especially since you were currently using Kiara to hold yourself up and sucking on green apple jolly rancher, but you couldn’t help it. You had mentioned that ages ago, the first time you went out with the pogues after your drunken night turned ER visit, as you sat on the dock next to JJ. You had doubted he’d even cared and been embarrassed afterward for just rambling on about yourself but he remembered.

“You remembered,” you said as JJ sat beside you, letting you lean on his shoulder as the yacht headed back to the dock.  

Sarah had gotten a hold of Rafe quicker than she expected. He was already talking when he answered the phone, telling her that he was on the way back from Topper’s. According to Rafe he turned his truck immediately, that was what he told you later, when you were feeling more like yourself again. That he’d realized your backpack was still sitting on the passenger seat and he did a u-turn right there in the middle of the street. You weren’t sure that was totally true, your older brother’s pension for dramatics and your family’s obsession with treating you like a baby.  

Usually, it felt stifling but right now you were feeling pretty shitty about yourself. The jolly rancher did exactly what it was supposed to, boosting your blood sugar enough that you were beginning to feel better.  

“What were thinking?” Rafe called the minute he boarded the Druthers, “you know alcohol makes your blood sugar drop!”

“I know, I know!” You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. You’d moved from the floor to the couch, JJ leaving your side the minute your brother ran up the jetty. “I’m not a kid Rafe,” you muttered, grabbing your backpack from him.

“Really? Cause you left your bag in my truck and you’re out here drinking your ass off.” He snapped.  

“She’s okay,” Sarah urged.

“What if she wasn’t?”

“I am! And I’m right here!” You huffed, “Rafe, thank you and I know you were worried but I’m okay.”  

Rafe sighed, running a hand through his hair, “I’m not trying to be dad here...but you can’t take risks like that, you know better.”  

“I’m fine!” You slung your backpack over your shoulder and pushed passed Rafe, climbing down the ladder to the jetty. You’d apologize later, for now you were irritable and embarrassed and you just wanted to be back in your room, locked in where no one could see you and remind you how horrible this entire night was. The only decent thing that had happened was JJ but the more you let yourself psychoanalyze everything that happened the more you were positive that the pogues just saw you as a kid too. Like you couldn’t take care of yourself. Like you hadn’t been for the last ten years, since you were diagnosed.  

The Druthers said docked but you couldn’t tell from your bedroom window if everyone had gone home or if they were still hanging out and partying. You thought about texting Sarah but she would just tell you to come back down to the dock and stop pouting in your bedroom. You did your usual checks, to make sure your blood sugar had gone back up, and changed into comfier clothes. Even scrubbing off your makeup...you’d let this shitty feeling die before you saw anyone again.  

Or at least, that was the plan. As you were sitting in bed though, a knock at your window startled you. Not just a tap but a full-on knock. You climbed out of bed and went to the window, laughing when you saw JJ standing on the small balcony off your room.  

“What are you doing here?” You mouthed, reaching for the lock so you could open the window.

He pointed to his ear and then shrugged his shoulders, “I can’t hear you.”

You rolled your eyes as you pushed the window open and sat on the sill, “What are you doing here JJ?” You were trying your best to calm your racing heart, the last thing you needed was to go into cardiac arrest in front of him too.

“You left the party.”

“Not exactly in a partying mood...I was being stupid tonight.”

He sat down on the windowsill beside you, facing out toward the backyard but turning to look at you, “hey, I’m stupid every night.”

“You know what I mean,” you laughed, “I’m so careful...I haven’t had a night that bad in a long time.”

“Why weren’t you? Careful, tonight, I mean.” He asked.  

“It’s stupid.” You put your hands on your knees and looked away from him. You’d hyped yourself up to crashing lows and now he wanted you to tell him why? “You should go back to the party.”

“Not really in the mood...can you believe it?” He laughed like it was nothing but you could hear the heaviness in his voice.

“Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault...I just meant. If you’re up here, I don’t really feel like hanging out down there.”

You bit down on your bottom lip and looked over at him, feeling just the slightest catch in your throat. For a second you thought this night was going to get even worse and you’d throw up...but instead you just started talking, words falling out with no control, “I pregamed with Sarah before we even got on the Druthers cause I told her I was gonna tell you tonight that I liked you but I was so nervous that you would tell me you didn’t wanna date me so I just kept drinking...” you said. You realized a moment later what the implication was, “not that its on you that my sugars dropped...or like, not that you have to say you like me just cause I almost passed out.”

“What if I do like you though?”  

“You do?” You asked, shifting more toward him, “seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously...why do you think I came all the way up here? Or carry around jolly ranchers? I like you...I’d do anything for you.” He replied.  

You couldn’t stop the smile on your face as you leaned closer to him, “oh well, now it’s definitely your fault.”  

He laughed, “let me make it up to you.”  

You nodded, standing up and climbing back through the window before holding your hand out for him. JJ was quick to his feet, taking your hand and pushing the window closed as he followed you further into your room.