#usually I can stick to one but I am just slowly progressing through five at once

[mythrianalpha]

Shoutout to fever brain for giving me one of the funniest meet-cute-esque ideas. I think the context was Remus seeing a nervous Janus in Picani’s waiting room and trying to make him feel better, and Picani wondering why his next meeting hasn’t shown up despite being checked in. Totally works if ‘too incredulous to feel anxiety’ counts as a success, though I imagine most initial interactions with remus feel like getting hit with a frying pan.

“Everything alright out here?”

“We locked eyes and he saw the truth. He simply could not handle his own accursed swaglessness in the face of my fly vibes. That’s okay though; the true swag is all the branded shit we’re gonna steal from the mall at 5.”

“Did you just call me fucking swagless and invite me shoplifting?”

[spencers-renaissance]

my heart talks about nothing but you

Summary: Derek finds Spencer staring longingly at dancing newlyweds while on a case and once he gets to the bottom of why he's tasked with making a proposal to a man who knows it's coming special somehow. (He pulls it off.)

Tags: established relationship, hurt/comfort, minor angst, so much fluff, relationship discussions, proposal, vulnerable spencer, protective derek

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid 

Word Count: 2.5k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

(link to the prequel)

Derek watches curiously as Spencer stands, staring at the newlywed couple dancing slowly to the beat of Norah Jones’ The Nearness of You, surrounded by their friends and family looking fondly on. They’d accidentally crashed the wedding when visiting the venue to question the staff about a connection to their current case, but Spencer had forgotten all about the serial killer on the run as soon as he’d laid eyes on the dancing couple. 

He sticks out like a sore thumb, standing frozen in place, a little off to the side from the rest of the guests but not far away enough to be set apart as staff or… visiting FBI agents. Derek knows he just needs to go and tap him on the shoulder and he’ll snap out of it. They’ll head back to the station and continue working the case, never mentioning his distractedness again, but he isn’t really sure that’s what he wants to do. There’s something so beautifully tragic about Spencer’s expression as he watches the slow waltz across the mahogany dance floor that Derek can’t bring himself to interrupt. 

There’s something whirring through his pretty boy’s head, and he can’t quite figure out what it could possibly be. He doesn’t seem particularly enamoured with either the bride or groom — and Derek should certainly hope not, he wouldn’t be overly pleased if his sweet, devoted boyfriend developed a wandering eye — and the dance itself is nothing special, just two people in love swaying in step to a slow song. 

It must be something emotional then, something about the concept of a newlyweds’ first dance, but what sentiment could possibly be strong enough to allow Spencer to forget himself this much, to wander off in the middle of a case and waste precious minutes watching strangers have an intimate moment together? Derek hopes it’s something good, but with the amount of tragedy his boyfriend has a knack for collecting, he isn’t holding out much hope. 

Eventually, he brings himself to touch Spencer’s arm gently, causing him to whirl around and breathe a sigh of relief at the sight of Derek’s face. They head back to the police department and, as he predicted, they don’t talk about it.

⭐️

He can’t quite let it go, though. The next few days are spent with the image of Spencer watching dancing strangers almost forlornly haunting his brain as they finish working the case and fly home to Quantico. Once they’re back in their apartment, shut away from the rest of the world, he can’t help but broach the subject.

Mustering enough self-control to wait a little while longer, he waits until he’s made them a simple dinner of penne alla vodka and they’re sat at the kitchen table enjoying it to bring it up. They’re holding hands on top of the table as they always do — regardless of every one of their friends complaining about how sappy it is — and he gives it a gentle squeeze before clearing his throat and putting down his fork.

“Spencer,” he starts hesitantly, “when we were at that wedding checking out the venue’s staff… What had you so distracted? You were staring at the bride and groom like you were in a trance.”

He watches as Spencer freezes for a millisecond before resuming chewing as nonchalantly as possible. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Okay, so it’s going to be like that, Derek thinks a little cynically, but he tries not to lose hope as he takes a breath in before sighing it out. “Baby, if you don’t want to tell me for whatever reason, I’m not going to force you. But we both know that you do know what I’m talking about and I just want you to feel safe and comfortable enough to share it with me. We’ve been together going on five years now, pretty boy, we don’t keep secrets, not anymore.”

Spencer blinks rapidly as he stares down into his bowl of pasta and Derek rushes to the other side of the table as soon as he sees the tears in his eyes, taking Spencer’s hands in his. “That’s exactly it, Derek,” he says, crying quietly, “we’ve been together five years.”

Derek’s eyebrows knit together in confusion at that, tucking a beautiful chestnut strand of Spencer’s hair behind his ear before running his thumb under his eye, brushing his tears away. “Come on, sweetheart,” he says gently, picking Spencer up off his chair and moving them both to the sofa. Since the very beginning of their relationship, he’s always been able to calm Spencer down by picking him up and putting him in his lap; he’d told Derek once that it made him feel safe. “What’s all this about five years? Are you anxious about our anniversary?”

“No,” Spencer promises indignantly, shaking his head. “No, I— it’s just been making me think.”

“Uh, oh,” Derek teases gently, pressing his fingers into Spencer’s side, and it’s worth it when it makes him flash a brief, teary smile. 

“It’s been making me think about my parents, and how when I was really little I used to watch their wedding VHS on repeat. I’d sit on the living room carpet, face practically touching the TV, and watch my two favourite people promise to spend the rest of their lives together. I remember thinking how lucky I was that my parents were so in love. But then William pulled the rug out from beneath my rose-coloured view of the world and I came crashing back to reality.”

“And the dancing the other day reminded you of that time in your life?”

“Sort of,” Spencer answers awkwardly, clearly nervous to reveal the whole truth. Derek knows to just give him time, but he only has to wait a few moments for him to resume explaining. “I’ve been wondering whether I want to get married myself. When I was eleven and left dealing with my mother’s episodes all by myself, watching her cry for my father as she begged him to come to home, I promised myself that I would never put myself into a position where I could be hurt like that. I vowed never to marry anybody. But as… you know, we’ve been together and our relationship has progressed, I’ve found myself rethinking it all over again.”

Derek doesn’t cut in when the pause comes: he’ll know when Spencer’s finished, but he presses gentle kisses of reassurance to whatever he can reach, kissing his hand, his shoulder, his forearm, his ear. The soft pink blush blooming on Spencer’s neck makes the endeavour feel worthwhile. 

“When I was watching that couple dancing, Derek, I wanted it to be you and me. You’re not the man my father is and I’m not my father’s son, so fearing the outcome of my parents’ marriage is starting to feel more and more irrational. I know we can’t predict the future, but I know that right now I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

As soon as he’s done speaking, he buries his face in Derek’s neck, making himself as small as he possibly can against his bigger body. They’d had a few conversations about marriage over the years, but neither of them had considered it especially important so they’d usually just left it, but there were times that Derek longed to propose to Spencer, to make it official. He couldn’t stop worrying about what would happen if he got hurt — he needs to know Spencer would be treated as his next of kin, that everything he has would be Spencer’s. He’d always sensed, though, that with his boyfriend it was more than just a case of not seeing it as necessary or worth the enormous cost of a wedding, and he hadn’t wanted to prod him where he knew it was probably sore. 

“Dr Spencer Reid,” Derek teases, “are you proposing to me?”

“No, no,” Spencer laughs, withdrawing his face from Derek’s neck, blushing slightly. “You were the one who brought it up!”

“I’m only teasing, baby,” he chuckles, running a hand down the side of Spencer’s arm. “Listen, if you want to get married, we’ll get married, okay? It’s as simple as that. I can’t say I haven’t longed to make you my husband at different times over the years we’ve been together, and the idea of throwing the best wedding anybody’s ever been to very much appeals to me.” He grins up at Spencer’s shy expression. “Do you want to be, you know, proposed to?”

Spencer blushes properly at that, looking a little sheepish as he avoids Derek’s curious eyes. “Maybe….”

“I thought that might be the case.” Derek smiles fondly before swinging his boy over so he’s laying on the couch before following suit and positioning himself on top of him. “You better be prepared, Dr Reid, because I am going to blow this proposal out the water,” he promises, kissing him deeply as he winds his fingers in his hair.

“I don’t doubt it,” Spencer whispers, before kissing him again, pasta forgotten and cold on the kitchen table. 

⭐️

Derek lets a few months pass — although he bought them both rings the day after their conversation — before he finally proposes. He knows that anything special or flashy is off the table, because as soon as Spencer detected a hint of something out of the ordinary, he’d know it was coming. He’d also considered involving the team or his family, but eventually settled on it being just the two of them. An exclusive memory shared only between the two of them sounds pretty good to him. 

The first day they have off in September is warm and bright, and Spencer just smiles at Derek’s suggestion of a walk around their local park. They often take strolls around the city’s more nature-rich areas on their days of reprieve from their gruesome job, but it feels even more electric than normal when Spencer slides his palm against Derek’s and interlocks their fingers as soon as they lock the door behind them.

“I’m going out with the girls tonight,” Spencer tells him as they make their way out of the apartment building and into the golden sunshine, the autumnal season still early enough for its warmth to be felt against their skin. 

“Oh yeah?”

“Penelope’s bringing us to a show at her favourite drag club, and I’m quite excited, actually.”

“I’d like to see you in drag, baby,” Derek teases, swinging their hands between them. The streets of DC at 10am on a Tuesday aren’t all that busy, and they walk at a slower pace than normal, enjoying the lack of businessmen and executives jostling them in their hurry. Derek’s other hand fondles the velvet box in his pocket but he doesn’t feel nervous. Anticipation swirls in his stomach, but he’s had enough practice taming it with all his years as an FBI agent to not let it show. 

“You have seen me in drag, moron,” Spencer laughs, rolling his eyes. Derek will never tire of that sound. It still sends the same butterflies loose in his chest as it did the first time he heard it.

Years later, Derek won’t remember what he said in response to that, just that he managed to keep up a conversation the whole way to the park as he ran his fingers over the velvet box in his coat pocket, and Spencer never suspected a thing. 

He waits until they’re far enough into the park to have a little seclusion and privacy to stop walking, accidentally interrupting Spencer’s ramble about his most recent documentary as he pulls gently on their interlocked hands to get him to pause walking, too. Derek’s on one knee by the time he turns around, velvet box in his hand, and Spencer’s hands fly straight to cover his mouth in surprise. 

“Spencer, you are the love of my life. I didn’t think I’d ever settle down, I knew not to expect love, but then I met you. And I fell head over heels for you, baby. You’re everything I need for the rest of my days, and I don’t want to spend a single moment of the time I have left without you by my side. Now, although I know what you’re going to say, and this isn’t the most romantic surprise anyone’s ever pulled off: Dr Spencer Reid, will you do me the honour of agreeing to be my husband?”

“Oh my God,” Spencer says, tears streaming down his face, “Derek, yes, of course I will.”

He doesn’t waste another moment on his knees, springing up and wrapping his boy in a tight hug, before pulling back slightly, gripping Spencer’s face in his hands and kissing him gently. He’s never had a way with words, not like his future husband, so he tries to convey everything he doesn’t know how to say with the way he kisses him. 

When they pull away, he thinks he’s succeeded by the look on Spencer’s face. Derek takes his finger and slides the engagement ring on; a simple silver band with a line of deep-set diamonds running through its centre that fits him perfectly. He passes the box to Spencer who catches on and does the same to Derek, pushing the matching band onto his fourth finger. They stand there, in the middle of a park with their heads bent together, staring at their hands for an inordinate amount of time. 

“Soon it will be us slow dancing on a mahogany dance floor,” Derek murmurs, lifting his right hand to the nape of Spencer’s neck, winding his fingers around the small curly hairs there. 

“Can we use that Sinatra song for our first dance?” Spencer asks, and his eyes are so open and earnest, they take Derek’s breath away for a moment.

He huffs a laugh as he leans forward to rest his forehead against his fiancé’s. “Baby, I’d give you anything you asked for, you know that,” he promises, but really The Way You Look Tonight would be his first choice, too. Their first date had been at a late night café, and towards the end of the night the cover band playing in the corner had played the Sinatra classic. With a little persuasion, Derek had got Spencer out of his seat and they’d danced happily to the music, not caring that they were the only ones dancing. 

They’d danced to it countless times in the kitchen since, and it had slowly grown into their song as their relationship had bloomed. Really, using any other song would be a crime. 

“You’re lovely, with your smile so warm and your cheeks so soft,” Derek sings into Spencer’s ear as they continue their walk through the park, making him giggle happily. 

“There is nothing for me but to love you,” Spencer sings back, linking their hands again.

“And the way you look tonight,” they finish together, collapsing into laughter as their tuneless voices join together in an ugly harmony. 

“I do love you Spencer Reid,” Derek sighs, happiness filling him from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. 

“Not as much as I love you, Derek Morgan,” Spencer argues, pressing even closer to his fiancé’s side. 

As they tease one another lovingly, Derek realises that he can’t wait to have this argument for the rest of his life.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @strippersenseii @drinkingcroissants

[painted-crow]

Bird systems, trees, crystals, and glass

No, this isn't about yoga or anything. I'm cracking Algorithms to Live By open again for another Obscure Bird Metaphor!

The anon in the post right before this one got me thinking of a thing...

They were a burned Lion modeling Bird, talking about how they hate their system being poked at because (essentially) it's fragile and they're relying on it. I am therefore restraining myself from asking them about this 😂 but I wonder if their system is constructed differently from a healthy Bird's.

Trees

I gave this advice a while back about unburning Bird primary.

Basically: healthy systems have a structure. There’s a hierarchy of beliefs, or as I prefer to think of it, a tree--with very basic core concepts at the trunk: things like "human life is inherently valuable," which can be relied upon not to change a whole lot.

Other beliefs follow from those. If you start from "unnecessary suffering is bad," you can branch into a whole lot of other stuff.

Once you've built up your tree a bit, you just start going through the world and testing everything you hear for truth. A Bird primary does this pretty much unconsciously. They also might start running into conflicts and having to prioritize.

For example, they might hear someone say "suffering is bad! Therefore we should eradicate this genetic disease... by [horrible methods]!" and the Bird will (hopefully) go "no, that is eugenics, and it is Bad because human life is inherently valuable."

So why am I talking about this?

The problem is that things aren't always as obvious as that. The trunk of your system tree might be very solid, and so might the branches that build off of it! But once you start getting into sticks and twigs and leaves, you get more potential for them to cross over each other and need pruning.* So it's very important to have this structure, so that pruning one thing doesn't take down the whole tree.

*That's an actual thing with pruning trees, apparently. I like this metaphor.

When you have time to construct your system at peace, as with a full Bird primary who develops theirs as a kid, or as with someone who just picks up a Bird model because they like it or someone they care about uses it, you usually end up with some semblance of this structure. When your system building is in response to Burning, though...

Crystals and Glass

Stable system structure (say that five times fast) takes time and patience, and is probably incompatible with the "I am relying on this prototype to keep me Okay" of using it as a crutch while Burned.

Systems work by being tinkered with. They're always a work in progress. You can try to come up with one all at once, but it's almost certainly very brittle. (This isn't a judgment on you if you're doing this--it's just, yeah, what you're trying to do is hard and it probably breaks a lot.)

And! I have a new metaphor:

In the late 1970s and early ’80s, Scott Kirkpatrick considered himself a physicist, not a computer scientist. In particular, Kirkpatrick was interested in statistical physics, which uses randomness as a way to explain certain natural phenomena—for instance, the physics of annealing, the way that materials change state as they are heated and cooled. Perhaps the most interesting characteristic of annealing is that how quickly or slowly a material is cooled tends to have tremendous impact on its final structure. As Kirkpatrick explains:

"Growing a single crystal from a melt [is] done by careful annealing, first melting the substance, then lowering the temperature slowly, and spending a long time at temperatures in the vicinity of the freezing point. If this is not done, and the substance is allowed to get out of equilibrium, the resulting crystal will have many defects, or the substance may form a glass, with no crystalline order."

Quote taken from Algorithms to Live By, by Brian Christian and Tom Griffiths, in chapter nine, "Randomness"

The annealing process is an interesting one. I'll try to explain--it's like... sometimes, if you make all the obvious immediate right choices, you can railroad yourself into a solution that isn't optimal because you aren't seeing the bigger picture. You reach what's called a local maximum: you've found the best solution available... in the tiny corner you looked in. It's like trying to pack a suitcase without taking some things out and repositioning them to see if they fit better.

This is why healthy Birds really like to poke at even their core or core-adjacent beliefs sometimes. It's why you get nerds arguing over the trolley problem for funsies. It's why Kurt Vonnegut wrote a story that poked the question, "is there any situation in which sexual assault could be justified?" (I really hate that story, and if I were in his place I wouldn't have published it, but I understand why he wrote it.)

Needless to say, these discussions can be... provocative, and our Lion friends do not always appreciate them, for very understandable reasons--especially if we don't make it clear that we don't actually expect that the discussion will change our beliefs in the end. We just want to poke at things, because they're interesting, or because we want to know how far our internal rules can be stretched and still hold true, or just out of habit.

But Burned primaries modeling Bird are not only uncomfortable with those discussions, they can actually become unstable because of them. There's no room for the usual Bird annealing process. They don't have time to spend on melting their system crystal and lowering its temperature slowly, hanging out at melting point for a while to get it to form a stable structure. They need a solid now, so they're left with glass... and glass shatters.

...Ow.

So, what are you supposed to do in this situation? Can you make it better?

I think you can, to some degree.

Ideally, you'd unburn your actual primary, but that's difficult and might take a while--you need a temporary solution, which is why you're modeling Bird in the first place.

It's probably doable to pick out some stable core beliefs, so at least you have something if the rest of your system goes haywire.

Once you have a solid core to work from, it might help to poke a healthy Bird whose judgment you trust while you're building up your modeled system, especially if your tree is currently shedding branches, because they're really good at debugging stuff and will often offer to clone one of their tree branches to graft onto yours, so you can feel better and also grow lemons or something.

You might want to let them know you're having a rough time and this questioning isn't just for fun, so they don't get too far into the weeds (and let them know if they're stepping into uncomfortable territory if they do, because which topics are considered difficult is different for everyone).

Also bear in mind that you are potentially asking for emotional labor from them, depending on the topic; it might hit some of their more sensitive subjects, which they may still be willing to discuss but only when they're in a stable mood.

Alternatively, you can try leaning on a different crutch instead of, or in addition to, your model--like asking other people when you're stuck on something. This is the more direct form of the previous suggestion: instead of helping you build up your system to make decisions, you just ask for help when you need it. This is more like the "outsource your morality to someone else" tactic that's also popular with burned Lions.

Whatever you decide to do, remember to cut yourself some slack--you're speaking a foreign language here, primary-wise, and it's hard and stuff breaks and it's best if you try not to be too hard on yourself. Give yourself space and patience to recover. I'm rooting for you!

[ak8shi]

Kuroo + Iwaizumi: HQ boys as workout instructors series

Suga + Bokuto ver.

warnings: light swearing!!

Kuroo Tetsurou

Your friend somehow convinces you to go to a kickboxing class, bribing you with ice cream afterwards

You: …what do you mean I have to leave my bed

Honestly you’re scared because you’re out of shape and definitely nothing close to a regular at the gym

You arrive at the gym with your friend, and you enter the kickboxing room

There’s around 15 people in the class, but the instructor hasn’t arrive yet

You stretch with your friend, mentally preparing yourself to absolutely die LMAO

Around five minutes before the class begins, this tall guy walks in with a duffel bag

To put it simply, HE WAS BEAUTIFUL,, and you definitely weren’t the only one looking

As he puts his things down in the corner, you can see his back muscles flexing under his tight black shirt he just hits so different in all black I’m about to bark

He takes out his boxing tape, wrapping his hands in it, and then he introduces himself,,,

“Hi everyone, welcome to beginning kickboxing! My name is Kuroo, and I’m going to be helping everyone with drills throughout the class. Let me know if you need anything before we begin.”

Let’s be honest, Kuroo’s workout playlist BANGS,, he’s a big fan of Roddy Ricch, J.Cole, Nicki, Kendrick, Meg, and Travis

You, praying: can I not embarrass myself in front of this man thanks !

He puts the music on, instructing everyone through a warm-up from the front of the studio

Kuroo is such a great teacher, and he somehow makes it so fun and engaging, king shit!!

Ugh he has such great energy and gets everyone encouraged and pumped up, he’s also SO smiley and approachable

After the warm up, everyone slips on their gloves with ease, ofc,,, except for you

Dear god he’s about to start and you’re not ready

Your friend isn’t helping you, she wants you to ask for help LMAOOO

You finally suck it up and raise your hand, and he walks over to you

Kuroo: hey can I help you out with that?

You: WHY IS HE SO HOT?? AND RESPECTFUL????

He carefully helps you get the gloves onto your hands, making sure you’re comfy before jogging back up to the front of the classroom you blacked out for a few minutes

He takes everyone through the movements, starting basic with how to hit the bag, posture, and form

Kuroo eventually gives everyone drills to do, and he walks around the room to see if anyone needs assistance

You’re trying your best and really getting into it, until he walks around and gives you a cute smile and a thumbs up please how am I supposed to focus on not dying when you’re like this sir

Your friend is nudging you,,,

“dude he’s totally into you, I’ve taken classes with him before and he doesn’t do that to just anyone”

Your stomach is erupting in butterflies at her words or maybe you’re trying not to yak, but you’re trying not to get your hopes up

The class is coming to an end, and it somehow went by so fast?? Maybe because you spent half of it staring at Kuroo’s arms as he hits the punching bag

You are super sweaty but the workout was refreshing and you definitely want to try kickboxing again ,,, especially if Kuroo is the instructor

He gets the attention of the class after going through a cool-down routine

“Thank you so much for being amazing everyone! I hope to see some of you in my intermediate level classes, or just around the gym in general, don’t be a stranger!”

You start to pack up your things, everyone else besides your friend and Kuroo having left the room

Your friend suddenly: bye! It was so nice meeting you today sis! Text me when you get home!

SHE LEFT YOU I-

You’re confused for a second since she literally drove you to the gym, but before you can say anything someone is tapping your shoulder

You turn around,,,shaking in your boots,,,, Kuroo is standing there with his bag slung around his shoulder, wiping his face with a towel

He looks so good sweaty please

Him: hey, was this your first session? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in any of my classes… I definitely would’ve remembered you ;) we all know he practiced this in his head for the entirety of the class because he’s a DORK in actuality

Bro all you can do is squeak out a “yes”

He asks for your number, and offers to train you personally at the gym,, HOT

You walk out of the building a blushing mess, and then you see your friend sitting outside in her car LMAO

Her, as you get in the passenger seat: so,, did you secure the bag

You: WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME

Her: I did what I had to do get you a friend

Iwaizumi Hajime

So you’re a regular at the gym, but you haven’t really tried any of the classes offered through your membership

You sign up for a spin class that takes place every Wednesday morning, thinking it would be nice to get a workout in before work

It was not

You had to wake up at 5 am to eat something and get dressed for the class, and you find yourself dragging yourself into the locker rooms to put your things away

With sleep still evident in your features, you go to sit at one of the spin machines, resting your head on the handle waiting for impending doom

A guy walks in rocking an all-white and grey fit and puts his things down next to you, but you don’t really pay attention to him or make an effort to look at him properly

Everyone slowly trickles into the spin room, chatting amongst themselves and you’re not really sure how anyone is functioning this early

Then,, the dude next to you stands up and turns around, speaking into his head set

“Good morning everyone, welcome to intermediate spin, my name is Iwaizumi and I will be your instructor! Please be ready to go in five minutes,”

You didn’t even realize you sat next to the instructor seat lmao, and you’re stunned by how nice the man’s voice is!!! Not only did he have a nice voice, but you also overlooked him as an instructor because he was so young looking

So once everyone is ready to go, he hops onto the bike next to you

His playlist consists of Bad Bunny, electronic, and a lot of RnB the taste jumped out

As you start the machine and it shows the route that the bike is supposed to take, Iwa starts talking about the goal of the workout and the motivation its going to take to finish

We love a professional !!!

The class is hard; mostly because it’s your first time but you make it through thanks to Iwaizumi’s skilled teaching style, and the way he doesn’t leave anyone behind even if they are struggling

It also helped that he was next to you most of the session you could see every droplet of sweat on his beautiful face and tanned arms

You feel great after every session, feeling like you’re accomplishing something, and you get to see your little crush every Wednesday

It definitely makes it easier to get out of bed in the morning

You make small talk with Iwa since he’s right next to you, and slowly it progresses into a really nice friendship

You help him set-up and clean-up the room before and after class, and he brings you coffee in return (he knows your order by heart🥰)

Him: good morning

You: fuck off loser👹

Him: I brought you coffee

You: ☺️hey Iwa

He’s honestly so great at his job, and he tells you that he got into cycling because of the side-training he did for volleyball

One session near the end of the cycling classes, you were having a rough time and in a bad mood because of work, and Iwa lowkey helped you work through it within that one workout session and you felt so much better by the end of it how does he do it

You, dying: Iwa I can’t go on

Him: You fucking panini head who said you were allowed to stop

The forty year old soccer mom on the other side of him: Iwa I can’t go on

Him: You’re doing amazing sweetie! Don’t hurt yourself, you got this!😘

…t-that’s when you realize you have feelings for him, but you’re not really sure how to go about telling him

You stress over it for the next week, and in no time you find yourself walking into your last class with Iwa as your instructor sad girl hours

You had bought him a sweatband as a joke and embroidered his initials on it, and you were planning on giving it to him at the end of class

He greets you the same as usual, and then turns and thanks everyone for sticking with the class

The session is amazing of course, but you’re feeling such a mix of emotions as the seconds on your machine dwindle down to 0:00

A few people come up to Iwa to thank him, and you purposely pack up your things and stretch super slowly

Finally, you are the only two people left in the room

He finishes cleaning off the seats, and then he turns to you as you’re turning the machines off,

His steel eyes are boring into you, and he’s cracking his knuckles nervously

“h-hey, would you maybe want to go out with me sometime?”

NOT WHAT YOU WERE EXPECTING-

You blush,, but in the best way possible;

You reach over to pinch his rosy cheek, obviously saying yes

You reach into your bag and throw the sweatband at him

He catches it, laughing as he admires the stitchwork on it

Him, knowing you embroidered it yourself: omg aw did Helen Keller stitch this?😍

You: for personal reasons I will be revoking my agreement to go on any kind of date with you

Before you leave the gym with your fresh coffee, you give him a kiss on the cheek and he literally can not stop thinking about how crazy he is about you !!

[sugarydolli]

Orange Juice | [REPOST]

Title ~ Orange Juice

Word Count ~ 2k

Pairings ~ Leon x Chubby!reader

Warnings ~ Body shaming, Bullying

Okay but do y'all see my new icon like 🥰

Repost from my wattpad storie lulz lemme send link 🖇️ https://my.w.tt/KjSStSQYkbb

-

"Come on Y/N," junko smirked "hes never gonna like you if your fat, keep throwing it up." You pushed slightly on your stomach to trigger more vomit.

With Junko standing behind you, taunting you as your breakfast pushed passed your lips.

You could see Mukuro start gather tissue for you to wipe your mouth off with.

-

You sat in class one day as the teacher rambled about nothing you cared about. The sun ran over the curve of your cheeks and lit up your (E/C) eyes as you were deep in thought.

"What if I was smaller"

"Would I be prettier?"

"Would he notice me?"

Not even noticing that class was over until two particular known sisters made their way over to you.

Junko slapped her hand down on your desk taking you out of your thoughts. Her sinister smile was a clear warning of her intentions which were obvious to you.

You expected nothing but harsh words, more things to make you regret your weight. But she unexpectedly had other plans.

Junko came to you as if she wanted to help you. She said she could make you look pretty. In your desperate state of mind you accepted.

Ever since then her way of making "pretty" was meeting her outside of the bathroom every 2-3 hours, practically shoving you face into a toilet and forcing you to gag your meals.

-

"Hey Junko.." you said weakly, your stomach aching being the 5th week you skipped lunch. "Did you ever find out what type of girls Leon is into?"

She thought about it while she chewed her food. "Why of course I did, and you know what he told me?"

You were practically leaning over the table, dying to know what the baseball player told her. "He said and I quote, "tight waisted bimbos with huge tits" end quote."

It felt like a spear ran threw your heart as you sunk into deep thought. "I'm sure he'll like you for who you are rather than what your physical appearance is Y/N."

"You filthy liar! I told her exactly what he told me."

"But Junko I was right ther-"

"Shut up!"

The thoughts in your head shut you out from the twins bickering. Your mind festering on the idea of fitting into Leon's type.

The sadness you felt turned into determination. Thinking about how you can cut out a few more meals, and exercise even more times a day. Wearing extremely heavy hoodies in raging hot weather to shed.

You were determined by the end of this month you'd fit his standards.

"Junko,"

Standing up, you caught her attention before she shot another insult to Mukuro. "I think I'm ready now."

A large malicious smirk panned across her face, rising up from her seat. "Let's go."

-

You shoved two fingers down your throat, nearly missing your uvula. Not much at first shot out but as you progressed more and more came out as your throat burned.

Beginning to feel dizzy, you leaned against the bathroom stall. Not having the energy to continue the assault on your throat. Once you gained your composure you restarted, plunging fingering back into your throat. Murkuro held your hair back away from your face as Junko unbeknownst to you recorded your gagging.

You finished up rather quickly, wiping spit from the corner of your mouth. You rummaged through your backpack looking for your tooth brush.

You walked over to the sink ignoring a few girls who just walked in stares of confusion. The first thing you noticed was your cheeks, usually a soft looking round was now turning hallow.

Your body over all seemed to be getting slimmer over the past few weeks. So much so you'd start to get compliments and praised.

For once you've felt good about yourself, Confident.

...

Until, from an anonymous account you were exposed. Several videos of you forcing yourself to barf was posted on this account.

"This you?"

Mukuro texted you while you got dressed in your uniform. Sending the account.

As if the multiple videos weren't enough, pictures of your dazed expression began circulating. Tears threatened your eyes, you reported each video and picture one by one.

-/-

You went into school, head hung low as whispers and giggles could be heard around you.

You would look up to see several faces looking at you with disgust, some occasionally with pity.

Ultimately, you decided that you weren't gonna let this stop you from reaching your goal. Even if it was draining you.

Today being mile day in PE made you teensy bit woozy, but still you convinced yourself of the "benefits"

-

The long track taunted you, seeming like it stretched for miles. "You've never seen any interest in mile before, Y/N..are you sure." Your PE teacher placed a hand on your shoulder, giving you a understanding look.

You nodded gulping slowly before starting to sprint. At first it wasn't as bad (you told yourself) as you got about half way down the long course.

Your eyes were starting to get a bit heavy as you tried regulating your breath. The temperature only seemed to get hotter as you tried to block out the feelings.

"Was this a heat wave?" You asked your as you tried to push through. Darkness seemed to be clouding over your vision rather quickly.

And surely you passed out.

-

Condensation slid down your face making you wince. You blinked a few times before taking in the bright light on the ceiling.

You rose up quickly only to be pushed right back down. The school nurse, Mikan, giving a frighten shriek from your sudden movement.

"Please let me help you get up." Her worried tone, placing a hand on your back while you rose. "You passed out on the field." A quiver still in her voice.

Panic started to rise in your gut. "I..I did?" You didn't want to believe her words, seeing it more as an embarrassment than an health concern.

"A teacher carried you here with the help of a student." Mikan tried calming you down to prevent any other health problems.

Sadly her efforts wasted as you began to worry yourself on who the student was. Your nightmares only coming true when Leon suddenly walked through the door.

"Mikan is she alright? I heard talkin' and" Your eyes met sending a rush of pink to your cheeks. His pale blue orbs gazed into your F/C ones.

"Are you... alright?" Leon's gaze never leaving your eyes. Lips quivering to much for a verbal answer, you nodded.

Tears brimmed your eye line, you didn't want to met like this. This wasn't supposed to be this way. But his next words caught you off guard.

"Good. hate to see a pretty girl like yourself hurt." He followed up with a wink before sliding out of the office.

Awe casted on your face causing you jaw to open slightly. You were in shock, not even hearing Mikan rambling.

-

Once you were released from Mikan's office you headed to your locker. You managed to pick your jaw up off the floor but shock and awe still lingered.

You opened your locker open-mindedly. A small blush colored envelope fell out, you practically tore it open to see in somewhat messy handwriting:

A actual compliment..did I hit my head that hard? Am I in a coma?

Hey cutie ;), I'd call myself a hero for saving you today. How about you reward me with a little date later today?

- Leon

A squeal errupted from your mouth causing whoever around you a confused look. You were to caught up in your joy to even realize Junko and Mukuro making their way over.

A hand placed firmly onto your shoulder, turning you around to face them forcefully.

"Whaddya got there Y/N?"

Junko's tone too sweet for her own good, you held the letter up slowly in which she snatched it. "This has to be a fake." She said without looking.

Eyes widening, you look the letter back reading it over for any indications. The thought of this being some prank didn't even register to you.

"Well if you are going you know what you have to do" Her tone lowering to something darker. You have her a nod before once again walking to the dreadful bathroom.

You've grown tired of these plain walls as you stick a few fingers once again down your throat. Your senses activated causing you to hurl.

Junko chuckled, getting a sick sort of kick out your suffering. Mukuro narrowing her eyes at her sister, quickly sending a text to someone.

About five minutes later the sound of the bathroom door being slammed open caused you to rip your fingers out of your mouth.

Various shouts coming from behind the stall door as it was suddenly swung open. Leon stood in the frame with ishimaru not far behind.

The sudden appearance caught Junko off guard, almost dropping her phone. "Leon you can't just-" The short haired male turned his attention to the scene.

"Y/N...what are you doing?" Leon's face in confusion, you quickly wiped any remaining spittle off your chin before turning around completely.

Leon bent down, wiping your cheeks with his thumb. "I don't give a shit about your body, I like you just the way you are." He lifts you up, giving you a hug.

"Nothing, just a-" Junko was quick to cut you off. "A hard case of bulimia." Your hair fell down into your face, Junko continued to laugh.

She spoke in a bragging fashion as she told the two men of your dirty secret. Tears brimmed your lash line seeing Leon's eyebrows furrowed in disgust.

"And the funny part about it is...she it did all for you!" Leon's eyes widened, his mouth almost fell open as he quietly repeated her last few words.

"You told me that he likes small waisted girls and I-" a sob breaking your sentence, you fell down onto the bathroom floor sobbing uncontrollably. You felt hands gently pry your hands off your face.

Your usual small pink envelope fell right into your hands, causing a smile to stretch across your face.

You snuggle into his neck, now happy tears rolling down your cheeks.

- timeskip brought to you by the iconic cheez duo -

- about a month later

"You know, Princesses are usually found in castles. How'd I meet you here?"

Cheesy. You smirk to yourself before feeling large arms wrapped around you. Leon placed a kiss to your temple, filling spinning you around for a kiss to the lips.

"I guess the answer to your question would be, sometimes princesses get bored for waiting on their prince." Leon chuckled, sneaking in another kiss. "Well, it's not easy  finding the right princess."

His hand instinctively latched onto your as you two walked down the hall to your first period.

-

Leon doesn't like you cause of your skin, your weight, or your face. He likes you because of you.

-

Uhh I know the themes in this got like really fucking dark and usually I don't like to to talk about these topics cause all around this is supposed to be a happier book and shit like that but it was actually requested of me once before.

I thought it was time to get out of my comfort zone and address this. You all are beautiful no matter what you look like, your body doesn't define you!! Your beauty inside and out. And if anyone tells you otherwise me and cheez will beat the- I mean kindly slap them around with kindness.

Anyways I love you all and everyone around you should to! You don't have to fit into what someone wants you to for them to love you. If they really love you, they'd love you for you! Appearance doesn't matter in love!! ((Praying I'm saying the right things))

And it is okay if you do wanna change how look. Just use the reader as an example not to do, please don't hurt yourself or take the easy route. Please choose healthy and non harmful ways to improve on your already beautiful self.

I'm really not good at this so I hope this little message didn't offend, comfort is nawt my strong suit BUT I love you all tremendously and I'll always be here no matter what.

- Cheez it chan & Cheez <3

-

[terrm9]

CHAPTER 6 - Decision

"We are going to watch Sherlock," Ethan answered her curious question without even bothering to raise his eyes from the laptop.

Chiara tried to supress her surprised and pleased smile, but gave up eventually, tired of hiding her emotions. Something in her chest felt suddenly warm, Ethan's gesture screaming "I care for you" better than he could ever express it by his words.

Still, Chiara couldn't help but ask: "Why are we watching Sherlock now?"

"Because you are bored to death in this hospital and need to spend your evenings somehow and you told me that Sherlock was your favourite series," he responded matter of factly, shrugging.

"That doesn't explain why you are watching Sherlock with me."

"I liked the story as a kid. And I've seen the Cumberbatch guy in The Imitation Game, which I surpisingly liked, so I decided to give this a shot," he said, waving his hand towards the laptop's screen, where the first episode of Sherlock waited to be watched.

"I also wanted to keep you company," he added much more quietly, now looking at the tips of his shoes.

Chiara's smile spread even wider through her face and she reached for his hand. He tensed at the touch, but relaxed immediately and looked at her, smiling shyly at her, the kind of smile she's never seen, the one to make him look somehow younger. Without a word, she moved to the one side of the bed and patted the free side. Ethan put the laptop on the chair, adjusting everything so that they could see just right and, taking Chiara's clue, sat down on the bed next to her, hugging her petit frame with his arm. She put her head to the crook of his neck and with smile still on her face, poured her mind into the series she loved so much.

Almost five hours and three episodes later, they finished the first season and closed the laptop, deciding to watch the next one some other day.

"So? What do you think?" Chiara asked, sitting straighter on the bed and looking at Ethan.

"I guess I see why you like it so much. It might not be a complete waste of time," he grinned. "I liked that the humor they used wasn't stupid or rude, that you have to be at least a little bit clever to find it funny."

"What do you think about Sherlock, as a character?"

"He is genius, obviously, but he is also kind of an asshole," he answered and decided to elaborate at the questioning look Chiara gave him. "John is trying so hard to be a good friend to him, he cares about him, he sticks with him and Sherlock just keeps saying how he doesn't have anyone and doesn't need anyone and is using John when it's convenient for him. At the same time, everyone can see that he cares about John so much, but instead of telling him, he is an ass."

Chiara chuckled at his monologue and couldn't supress her need to point out: "Really? He actually reminds me of you a lot."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You know, his whole attitude. 'Alone is what I have. Alone protects me.' Deep down, Sherlock is such a pure soul and cares for others so much, but at the same time is so scared of being hurt or left alone, that he keeps choosing to be alone. And then John comes into his life and he just refuses to admit that he loves him because that would totally destroy his whole carefully built 'I don't need anyone in my life' attitude. Just like you."

Ethan was silent for a long time after her words. It made his heart sink, realizing how right she was once again.

Chiara, just like John Watson, stood by his side all this time, no matter how hard he was on her, how hard he pushed her away. She stayed and she kept helping him, she kept being the amazing friend he never deserved in the first place.

Ethan, just like Sherlock Holmes, instead of admiting how much he loved her, how much she meant to him, pushed her away every time she got too close. Instead of adoring her like she deserved to be adored, he made it impossibly hard to stick with him for her.

Yet, she never gave up on him. She didn't give up on him even when he gave up on himself.

But not anymore. He couldn't let her down anymore. He wanted, he needed to make things right after all those fails he's made.

He desperately wanted to tell her how wrong he was and how much he wanted to turn things right, but he noticed how Chiara yawned and how her eyes were barely open. He couldn't burden her with such words now, when she needed to sleep, needed her energy to recover. So instead, he said: "I am glad to see that your observational ability hasn't been harmed."

~

Despite being stuck in her hospital room, Chiara didn't feel lonely. Ethan would keep her company every evening, while her friends came to see her through the day. And if, by any chance, she didn't have anyone to talk to, she'd facetime her mum or her sister.

Things seemed to be taking the right turn for her after all. She was able to walk with the help of canes and even though it only lasted a few minutes a day, it filled her with hope that eventually, she could get back to her normal. Ethan insisted on some more blood tests, which she didn't mind, knowing that the worst diagnoses were already ruled out.

And yet, the cold feeling spreading slowly in her chest made all of her progress seem negligible. The cold feeling that came in every time she thought about Ethan Ramsey.

In the past weeks, their relationship has been better than she could've ever imagined. They laughed, watched Sherlock - which she could see he loved, even though he would never admit that, instead commenting it to be "not the worst thing ever produced". He kissed her forehead good night and held her hand every single evening. She'd tease him and he would scold her, just to laugh at her words seconds after. They were comfortable around each other and it all felt just right.

Chiara's been waiting. Every time he stepped into the room, she thought to herself 'This is it. We're finally talking about what we are'. And every time she was left disappointed, because no matter how much time they spent around each other, he'd never bring that up. He'd never talk about what they actually were.

And heck, if the only thing they could ever be was this; this open, honest, comfortable friendship, she would take it without a second thought. Because it made them both so very happy. Only she didn't know if they were friends. She swam in the sea of confusion and sadness and even anger, because Ethan wouldn't talk to her. And she was tired of pushing him to talk to her.

Therefore, she waited and waited and waited for the conversation that never came.

~

Three days before her presumed discharging, Chiara was rather surprised to see Dr. Hirata come into her room. Usually, it was Ethan with the news, blood tests results, progress checks and recovery plans.

"June? Is something wrong?" she asked, studying the unreadable face of the older doctor.

"I have your results from immunology," she answered directly.

"I thought those has already come few days ago."

"Yes and something in them caught my eye, so I ordered additional tests and they confirmed what I thought. Look, Chiara, this has nothing to do with the accident, but I think it would be unfair to keep this from you and I am aware of you studying your own file once you are back to work, so you'd eventually find out anyway. There's disfunction in your immune system that affects your fertility," she said slowly, pausing when she noticed Chiara's shocked face slowly turn into recognition.

"I guess you know what that means," she added.

Chiara nodded and whispered, more to herself than June: "It means that my body fights the sperm as something harmful. And there's nothing I can do? I could never get pregnant?"

"When the disfunction is caught early enough, there are chances for reversal, but it seems like you are suffering from this for quite a long time now. I am afraid there's nothing we could do anymore."

Chiara turned her head towards the large window, fixing her gaze on the tree outside of the room. She felt like throwing up and punching something at the same time. The lump in her throat grew bigger and bigger and now matter how hard she fought back the tears, they found their way down her cheeks.

"Do you want to talk?" June asked gently.

"I'd like to be alone," Chiara whispered in return, not needing to turn around to know, that Dr. Hirata would respect her decision.

She didn't know how long she's been staring at the leaveless branches of the huge tree, but she knew it was not long enough to calm the storm inside her whole body. Trying desperately to feel something else than this unknown dumbness, she got up of the bed and with the help of canes stumbled to the window.

Soft knock on the door interrupted her and she turned her head to see Ethan hesitating by the door frame.

"May I come in?"

He never asked her if he could come in. He simply came in and took his seat next to her.

"You know, don't you?" She asked, wiping the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand.

Ethan nodded and crossed the room, so that he could stand next to her. She was leaning on the canes heavily and her breath was slightly ragged and Ethan knew that she must've been in so much pain, but he couldn't bring himself to tell her to lie down, knowing that the physical pain could cloud her inner pain at least a little bit. He put his hand on her shoulder and with the voice so quiet and so soft, he said: "I am so very sorry, Chiara. I wish I could say something to make you feel better, but I know that that is not possible at the moment."

She shook her head, not looking at him anymore. For a long time, both of them kept quiet, looking out of the window, finding the right words. Or, in Chiara's case, finding any words.

After all, she managed: "I don't even have a serious relationship. It's not like I was planning to get pregnant anytime soon. But God, I could see having children somewhen in my life. I know that there are doctors, like you, that cannot imagine having kids because their work takes too much time. And I want to be a good doctor and change the world, but I always thought that at some point, I would stop being the full time doctor, I would end the time consuming career and I would become a mother. Mother and a regular doctor. Not the best one, not the richest one, not the most famous one. Just a normal doctor with normal life and a normal family."

At this point, Chiara was crying loudly, her knuckled white from the force she used to hold the canes. Ethan turned her around so that she would face him and hugged her tightly, letting her crash into him. He kept drawing soothing circles on her back while whispering: "Just cry, Chiara. Cry and scream, let it out. I am here. I am right here."

She cried loudly, letting the canes fall to the ground, grabbing Ethan's coat instead, holding onto it as if it could hold her whole weight. Lifting her gently, Ethan managed to get her back to her bed, kneeling beside her and holding her small hands between his own.

After long minutes, Chiara calmed down enough to get her breath back to normal and Ethan decided to use this as a opportunity to talk.

"The chances of you getting pregnant are low, but I know women with the same diagnosis and eventually, they got pregnant. The number of such cases is very low, but it is there."

"I think I've beaten the odds enough for one lifetime," Chiara smiled sadly.

"You would make wonderful mother and I'd like to believe that one day, you could have your own child. But there are always other options and I personally think that if there's someone, who would be an outstanding adoptive parent, it would be you."

He stroked her cheek slowly, wiping the new tears away while doing it. Chiara closed her eyes and leaned into his touch, finding the warmth of his body comforting enough to breathe normally.

~

After making sure that Chiara was sleeping soundly, Ethan decided to get some paperwork done back in his office. Three minutes after starting to work, he found himself staring at the ceiling, thinking about how much he wanted to tell her everything.

Every day, he wanted to express his feelings, to tell her how selfishly he wanted nothing more than to be with her. How, if they found out that their relationship could actuallt destroy her career, he was willing to leave Edenbrook instantly, so that they wouldn't be collegues anymore. Oh how he wished to kiss her senslessly, to take her hand and kiss the tips of her fingers anytime he wanted. How he longed to have her in his arms and call her his, his Chiara, his Dr. Ray, his, his, his.

He fought the urgent feeling to tell her, knowing that in two days, she'll be discharged and they would be able to talk in privacy of his or her apartment.

He already asked Naveen for two days off after her dismissal, planning to cook her lunch and finish watching Sherlock and then finally getting to the talk he promised her months ago.

On the other side of the hospital wing, Chiara woke up from yet another nightmare and, unable to fall back asleep, allowed the thoughts she's been avoiding so much, to come to the surface of her mind.

She knew what she needed to do and she knew that it was selfish to keep this discussion until the end of her hospital stay, knowing that she will spend another two weeks at home. Outside the hospital.

What she was going to do would break her, but it needed to be done. And the fact that she'd have two weeks to get herself back together, without seeing him, played just well for her.

~

Chiara was packing her stuff, waiting for the discharging papers, her stomach clenched at the knowledge of what was to come.

"There you go," Ethan walked in, wide smile on his face as he handed her the signed papers. Her heart broke at the sight of him.

"Thanks," she muttered, taking them.

"Is someone coming to get you?"

"Yes, Bryce will take me home. He is actually already waiting for me, so I guess I should get going."

"Right," he nodded, the idea of Chiara leaving with Bryce Lahela making him frown. "Look, I was thinking that maybe I could come to see you tomorrow and make you some lunch-"

"I think it's better if you don't, Ethan," she interrupted him.

"Oh?"

"Thank you. For staying with me while I was here. But I guess we both agree that it was way past the professional line and therefore this kind of interaction has to end."

"What are you implying, Chiara?" He asked, confusion and pain written all over his face.

"I cannot go on like this, Ethan. For these two weeks, we've been together every day. We talked so much about everything, but not once we've gotten to talking about us. And I get it. I know why it had to be that way. Because my recovery was far more important and you couldn't cause some kind of setback by telling me that we cannot be together. I understand, I really do," she took a deep breath before continuing. "I am not angry. But Lord, I am scared. Every time you walk into this room and look serious, I expect you to say it. To push me away. To leave. I just keep wondering if you'd leave me to go to Brazil again, or which country would need you this time? New Zealand? Thailand? Rwanda? And I wouldn't just get through it, because I care for you Ethan, I admire you, I respect you, for God's sake I love you. And even if there's no kind of romantic involvement ever planned for us, I'd still love you, as a friend, as a doctor, as a mentor, as the man you are."

The tears were shining in the corners of her eyes, but her voice was steady.

"But I need to love myself too. I need to care for myself. And I need to end things now, before you have a chance to push me away again, because that would crush me."

"Chiara, please," Ethan whispered, his hands shaking by his side. "Please, let us talk."

"We've had plenty of time to talk."

"I am sorry Chiara," his voice was cracking, his eyes full of plea.

"I am sorry, too. Thank you for your care, Dr. Ramsey," she said, grabbing her bag into one hand and the wooden cane into another, leaning on it as she walked away of the room.

"Stay safe, Chiara," he whispered, even though he knew she couldn't hear him, anymore.

He fell on the, now empty, bed, the bed he used to spend so many days and nights next to, watching her, talking to her. Hot tears were streaming down his face and he didn't bother to get rid of them, he didn't care if anyone could see him.

 You got what you deserved, Ramsey. She did the same thing you kept doing to her. She pushed you away before you could leave her and she was right. She deserves better than you. She deserves to be happy and nothing else but happy.

His own thoughts kept torturing him but he knew he deserved to be tortured. He deserved the pain he felt now, knowing that it was the pain he caused Chiara to feel.

He almost made things right. His plan almost worked and they were almost happy.

They were almost happy together. Happy with each other.

But almost is never enough.

[imagine-loki]

Coat hooks (5 + 1)

TITLE: Coat hooks CHAPTER NO./ONE-SHOT: ONE-SHOT AUTHOR: fanfictrashdump ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine one time, Loki hung you by the back of the shirt on a door peg to keep them from running head-first into trouble. Now he does it whenever you gets particularly annoying. RATING: T-M NOTES/WARNINGS: Um… I can only apologize for this. I saw this prompt and thought it would make a funny 5 + 1.

So, for your consideration–the five times Loki hung Lily from a hook for no goddamn reason and the one time he did it to be a hero. Each subsequent drabble is in reverse chronological order (so you go further into the past with each section). Some spicy language and a very cute friendship. Also, a speed-run, so there may be errors. 

=

“Come on! What’s the point in knowing all this hocus pocus if you don’t share it with anyone?” Lily argued for the twelfth time that hour.

Loki swallowed the string of expletives that were currently accumulating on his tongue. This newest member of their rag-tag team had a way of slipping under his skin and cause his blood pressure to rise with her antics. She was nice enough–didn’t presume of her abilities, carried her weight on missions, competent–but had adopted a certain familiarity with the whole group that made him uncomfortable. Her lack of hesitation in inundating him with questions about anything and everything concerning other realms coupled with the fact that she didn’t tend to cower under his withering gaze, as others might, was slowly but surely driving him up a wall.

With a groan, Loki turned on a dime to face her, forcing Lily to stumble backwards to prevent a collision. “Why, for the Norns’ sake, would I take the time to teach you something that took me hundreds of years to master? You’d die long before you made any significant progress!” His tone was matter-of-fact and entirely ignoring the fact that she already had some magical proclivities.

“Well, that’s because you didn’t have yourself as a teacher, so…” Her reply was easy as she shrugged off his concern.

Loki knew she was trying to appeal to his nature and flatter her way into getting some lessons. It annoyed him to think that it was sort of successful–the little, vain creature roosting inside his chest cooed at the praise and offered that it might not be the worst thing in the world to have her as an apprentice. The fact that her baby blue, doe-eyed gaze stared up innocently at him and prodded at whatever was left of his protective nature wasn’t helping matters, either.

“No.” He turned his attention to a handful of daggers on one of the lab worktables and the polishing rags.

Lily groaned, whining incoherently much like a toddler who wasn’t getting their way. “Come on! It’ll be fun!”

“I already told you no, Lillian.”

“Not my name, bro,” she snapped back, ignoring the telling smirk that informed her that he, in fact, knew that wasn’t her name. “You’re just worried I’ll be better than you.”

The rag in his grasp halted in its elegant slide down the blade. “What was that?” His tone was dangerous, but it barely registered on her expression, as per usual.

“I didn’t stutter,” she replied evenly, crossing her arms over her chest and cocking her hip. Loki stretched to his full height, crowding her form like a shadow. His narrowed eyes evaluated her stubborn features before they glanced shortly at the door. It was only then that she showed any sort of reaction. “No.” She stepped backwards, nearly falling as she tripped over her own two feet, Loki followed her with ease. “No. No, no, no…”

“Thor needs you down at the loading dock,” Bruce announced at the lab door a little while later. “Hey, Lily.” He frowned, doing a double-take at the scowling woman dangling a few feet off the floor while Loki silently polished daggers. “Wha–”

“Don’t ask.”

“Oh…kay,” he agreed, retreating before the situation could get any weirder.

=

Lily remained immobile, crouched behind a bit of shrubbery waiting for her moment to attack. The muscles in her thighs ached from remaining still in that position for so long, and she was mildly aware of the fact that she wasn’t breathing. All that faded to the background as she heard her target incoming. Just as they rounded the corner, she pounced, like spring snakes packed into a box.

“Boo!”

There was choked grunt of surprise, books and papers alike flying into the air and falling in an awkward mess around them, but the noise was mostly obscured by her raucous laughter.

“I got you! I finally got you!”

The wide grin slid off her face immediately at his darkened expression and she turned to run. Lily had barely made it ten paces before Loki’s arm closed around her waist.

“Whacha do this time?” Natasha asked looking up at the woman hanging from the metal coat rack by the communal kitchen.

“Well, I was–”

“Uh uh uh,” Loki tutted from the kitchen island, sipping at a mug of tea as he made notes in a beautiful leather journal.

Lily sighed, pouting. “I know what I did.”

=

The sizzling heat coursing through her veins was foreign to her easy-going nature. Rage rattled inside her ribcage until it caused her whole body to shudder with barely restrained venom. This was definitely not the plan she had made on how to spend her Wednesday afternoon. She had expected to be sitting on the grass at the park or sitting with Bruce as he gave a long-winded explanation about why particle physics should be a required course for all majors…

She hadn’t expected to be dangling helplessly off a door hook in a supply closet.

Nor had she thought that she would hang there in silence before being whipped face-to-face with a very confused Tony.

Stark pressed his lips together as hard as humanly possible. He was barely able to stop the snorting laugh that bubbled up his chest at the sight of her hissing in pain, as momentum had made her head had smack against the door. “Don’t tell me–,” he feigned watching her with rapt interest. “Door gremlin? Supply closet troll? Gatekeeper of the broom realm?”

“Get. Me. The. Fuck. Down.”

“Well, that’s not very nice, Lily-pad.” He pouted ridiculously, though it was interrupted by a laugh when she lunged for him, only to have the door gently swing away.

Damn Newtonian physics.

“Tony, I swear to everything you hold dear, I will–”

“You do know I’m still your boss, right?”

“TONY!”

Loki allowed the left corner of his mouth tilt up the slightest bit as he covertly watched Lily stomp her way through the hallway towards the common room. His eyes fixated back onto the book in his hands, making a spectacle of licking his middle finger to turn the page.

“I see you’ve been released from your prison,” he remarked casually just as she flitted by.

Lily stopped in her tracks, spine stiffening and fists clenching closed. “I was in there for three hours, Loki!”

“You shouldn’t have called me an evil smurf.” His grin stretched at the sound of her groan and he followed her path back down the corridor before she disappeared at the bend.

=

Loki burst into Lily’s room on a quiet morning. She was still in her casual attire, shorts and a t-shirt, and her smoke grey pixie cut locks sticking out in all directions. It took her a moment to land her eyes on the all-too-put-together demigod, wondering if he simply magicked himself dressed every morning and lucky he must be to be able to do that. She offered him a sleepy smile before sipping at more of her coffee.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Her small form bundled up into ball on the corner of her loveseat, conserving heat.

“I am meant to keep you distracted, but I can’t be bothered. So, come on,” he responded simply, gesturing with his head at the door.

Shrugging, she padded barefoot behind him until they reached his living quarters. He silently gestured her inside. As soon as the door closed behind them, Lily yelped at the pull around her waist and the sensation of her feet leaving the soft carpet below. The familiar sensation of weightlessness filled her as her feet brushed empty air and she gained a vantage point several feet above her height. To his credit, Loki always made sure that her shirt didn’t dig into her arms and neck or got damaged, but it was a little annoying that this had become his go-to response in having to deal with her.

“No useless protest? No pleading for freedom?” He asked curiously as he glanced up at her passive face.

She shrugged, a little awkwardly in her position. “I’ve had worse birthdays. And I have coffee.” She sipped from her cup as if to prove her point. “Do you mind getting me a blanket, though? It’s cold in here.”

Loki chuckled, flashing a genuine smile in her direction before he nodded. He summoned a thick, woolen blanket and wrapped it carefully around her form, laughing to himself at the absurdity of it all. Lily was so genuinely laid-back. He wondered whether her connection with flora imbued her with some sort of cosmic calm or if she simply wasn’t worried about anything that Loki might do. He also found it was hard to justify keeping her immobile on the hook when she had done nothing to deserve it.

He groaned at her friendly smile just as he had finished tucking her in. “Ugh, fine. You can sit with me, I guess.” Her feet met the ground a moment later.

“Score!” She shuffled, blanket and all and burrowed into one side of the sofa while he took the other. “Coffee?” She offered her mug from within the dense folds of the blanket.

“No. I’m alright, thank you.” As an afterthought, he added. “Happy birthday, Lillian.”

=

Loki had made a mistake.

Honestly, that was the reason he did not often contribute to conversations, either in the common room or during meetings. Everything he said was subject to a Midgardian lens and terrible misinterpretation. Well, he could have called it misinterpretation had it actually been so, but the resulting pity he was receiving was, nonetheless, ill-received.

“Have you really not gotten a hug in three years?” Lily asked, following him down the hallway to the library.

He rolled his eyes, barely resisting the urge to groan. “Yes, and I’ve yet to perish because of it. Imagine that.” He glanced over his shoulder to find Lily staring at him wistfully. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Sorry.” She broke contact, cutting her view elsewhere to blink away at tears that now clung to her eyelashes. “I just–well, I’d be sad if it were me. But, I guess you’re different. Of course you’re different.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, his attention seemingly diverted at the spines of several leather-bound tomes on the shelf. In reality, he was trying not to squirm under her evaluation. “Stop it.”

Lily had stepped away just a bit to reach for a separate stack of books.

Another moment passed and he turned in her direction right after he slammed the book onto the reading table. “Stop it or leave.”

“Sorry, I can’t help it!”

“I do not need your ridiculous pity or your sentiment or your tears. I don’t need you to care ab–”

“You’re lucky someone does,” she sassed under her breath.

Lily had barely any time to react before the god was crowding her. His fists had bunched the collar of her t-shirt and he had walked her backwards into a wall, all within the span of a few seconds. Loki expected her eyes to turn wide in fear, but she was just as even-keeled now as she had been while talking about her forest spies, earlier.

Somehow, that annoyed him more.

His arms trembled in an effort to contain himself, jaw clenched and the muscles jumping. He knew that if he remained in that position for any longer, something unfortunate was bound to happen. With a snarl, he lifted her easily onto a coat peg along the wall.

“I don’t need your presence or your misplaced sense of friendship,” he hissed, releasing her shirt.

“Good, ‘cause I don’t want to be around you, anyway!” She snapped and regretted it immediately.

Loki’s whole body had gone rigid, his scowl had fallen but for a second, but it was enough to tell her that was the exactly wrong thing to say. He had left before Lily managed to find her words again to try and cobble together an apology.

After a few minutes of struggle, Lily slipped out of her shirt and crumbled onto the ground. She pulled the garment off the hook and back onto her body. Just as she was headed towards the exit, however, she was surprised to find Loki doubling back. He stopped short of her, his eyes trailing downwards, instantly.

“I apologize for…” He trailed off, fidgeting in a way very much unlike him.

Lily swallowed against the lump in her throat. “Loki, I didn’t mean it.” He nodded silently.

“I know. But that makes it rather worse, doesn’t it?” His voice was barely above a whisper. “You knew it’d hurt.” He stuck his hands into the pockets of his trousers before he managed to glance back up. “Then again, I had the same intention, didn’t I?” He sighed. “I’m sorry.”

He had barely gotten the words out before her arms had tightened around him, his own stuck to his sides. A smile tugged at his lips as he managed to free one of his limbs to let it cling around her shoulders.

“Now I’ll have to start the timer all over again!”

“Shut up!” She mumbled back from somewhere against his chest.

=

Loki had barely managed to pull Lily out of the blast of flying debris of an exploding containment wall before it turned her into a colander. The easy mission to a supposedly abandoned bunker was not going according to plan. For starters, it was most definitely not abandoned. Secondly, they had sent the two worst-suited members of the team: one still very green, pun intended, and another with dubious understanding of the phrase kill only when strictly necessary.

Lily had shifted to her knees to peer down a narrow hallway, eyes trained on a group of HYDRA agents coming their way. She inhaled deeply, letting her body charge to ready herself to attack. Loki caught her movement, and had pulled her by the scruff of her suit and behind him.

“Hey, what gives!?” She hissed under her breath, smacking his hands off her form.

He scoffed. “What’s your grand plan, throw flowers at them? No. You are to sit this out. It’s too much of a risk.”

“I know how to fight, Loki.” She rolled her eyes when he returned her petulant gaze with one of his own. “Thor would let me fight. He doesn’t think he’s above me because he’s an Asgardian.”

“Yes, and he would shed pretty, pretty tears at your grave.”

Lily shoved him, though she had to ignore the fact that he barely budged when she did. “I earned my place on the team the same way you did. My powers may be different from yours–”

“Yes, you earned your place, but I also know your power comes from the forests and you get weakened the longer you are away from them. You already tired yourself getting us in here, so you’re going to be vulnerable against trivial little things like bullets and death.” He sassed back, rolling his eyes.

Another volley of gunfire had them crouching down. Lily peaked out from between her arms, spying the incoming form. Her hands extended purposefully, her veins all pulsing bright green before meter-long thorns flew through the air. Impaled, the agent slumped to the floor as Lily sagged, panting. She once more made to move into open space, forcing Loki to grab pull her back. This time around, she offered less resistance.

“Stand. Down!” He sounded like a hell-beast, lips snarling.

“I’m fighting with you, whether you like it or not! You’re not the boss of me!” She struggled in his iron grasp while he debated how to best keep her out of harm’s way.

This woman was proving to be a handful with an idiotic sense of bravery. When Steve had sent them off on mission, he didn’t think he would be doing as much babysitting as this. Loki wasn’t very bothered by the fate of a single human, but he was pretty sure there would be protest if he brought back a corpse rather than their new recruit.

A glint of silver along the wall caught his eye–a wire hook meant for anchoring cables. With barely a thought, he hoisted her by her suit and released her. The fabric caught on the hook and left her dangling.

“Stay.” He ordered, leaving no room for argument.

“Loki, don’t you fucking dare!” She swung for his body, but deftly swooped out of the way. “Put me down!”

When he circled back to rescue her, he flashed an impish grin made all the more manic by the blood speckling his face, only a small fraction of it his. “You’ve missed all the fun, pet.”

“I am not a child! You had no right to do this!” Her words barely held any heat. Loki could tell she was struggling to even remain awake after repeated bouts of using her ability.

“I meant no offense,” he defended, lowering her to the ground, “but you were exhausted. You still are.”

“I could’ve helped.”

“You could have died,” he riposted, frowning. He tilted her chin up with the flat of a bloodied blade, forcing her gaze upwards. “Let us leave that honor for something better than a petty raid, shall we?” Loki had eased his tone and offered her a sincere smile.

“Fine.” Lily pouted, staring straight down the hall they were to exit through. “Just… don’t ever do that again, OK? It’s humiliating.”

Loki chuckled, an expression of clear amusement on his face. “Oh, darling, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

[tae-cup]

Fragments of Lace and Ribbon | PJM

Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader

Summary: You don’t remember much, but you remember them...

Genre: Choose your own adventure, amnesia au, fluff

Warnings: N/A

Rating: PG

Word Count: 3k Words

A/N: Forgive me for not having a dancing bone in my body

Header by the talented and amazing @dnrequests​

Timeline Place: 2

Other:

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

        The sweat rolled down your cheek, raced across your neck, and fell to the ground with the grace of a cheetah. Or perhaps a swan would be a better analogy here. Lisa, the choreographer, clapped her hands together, a tight lipped smile on her face. You hesitantly stepped off the raised platform. Jimin stepped around from it as well. 

“No, no, no, you guys need to be able to capture the emotions of this scene.” Lisa snapped, massaging the crease between her brows. 

“Listen, this scene is where, for the first time, the black swan trusts her lover enough to let herself fall. Yes, it’s a metaphor, yadah yadah, that doesn’t matter.” The woman sighed. “Come on, just get it together.” 

“I can’t help it, I’m nervous. You’re asking us to do a trust fall on stage. How do I know he’ll be there to catch me.” You whispered softly. 

“Is that not the point of a trust fall, Y/N?” Lisa snapped shut her notebook and shouldered her bag.

 “Class dismissed, don’t forget to stretch.” Then the teacher turned to you with a sour expression. “Really, Y/N, it’s not that bad.”

       You just dipped your head, not one to argue with the teacher. A warm hand landed on your shoulder and you jumped, having forgotten you were not alone. Also, Jimin was known for moving rather quietly. The other students were stretching and packing up. 

“Can you help me stretch?” He asked, his voice sweet and soft. Jimin was always soft. 

“Yeah, sure.” You quickly agreed, following him to an open space. He stretched out his legs in front of him and you pressed on his back. He groaned in relief. 

“That’s good, thanks.” He praised you, making your stomach flip for an unknown reason. You pressed a little harder and he released a long breath. 

        You were busy thinking about the routine in your head. You needed to leap onto the raised part of the stage, Jimin trailing behind, and fall backwards, trusting he’d be there. The problem? You didn’t trust him. It wasn’t that he was a bad dude or anything, you just didn’t really...understand him.  

“You can trust me, Y/N.” He said softly as you readjusted your position. His words pulled you from your thoughts. 

“I know.” you answered hesitantly. He seemed pleased with that and slowly stood up. You eased off his back. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N. Take care.” The man smiled sweetly and shouldered his bag, exiting the room. 

“5, 6, 7, 8,” Lisa clapped to the beat. Her shouts were drowned out as you focused on the routine. You knew your routine, you just hoped Jimin did as well. 

        You leapt onto the raised platform, the heat of the lights beating onto your sweaty forehead. A few wisps of hair curled onto your forehead. You did a pirouette and then sharply inhaled. You better be there. You thought to yourself as you pretended to lose balance. 

       You gracefully tipped backwards at the other end of the platform, only to yelp in surprise. The music cut and, in a daze, you slowly sat up. You had fallen. Well, not really. Jimin was uselessly holding onto your arm, just a few moments too late. 

     You blinked a few times, seeing his face peer into your peripheral. 

“Oh my god, are you okay? I’m so sorry.” He sputtered. “I’ll practice it more. I swear you won’t be dropped again!”

      Your eyes scanned his distraught expression and you decided to forgive him, though the seed of doubt had been planted. Lisa was calling for a water bottle and to turn down the lights, probably thinking you were a little out of it.

      In contrast, you were wide awake, alert, and aware of yourself. Could you trust him to catch you? The thought was swallowed and rested uncomfortably in the pit of your stomach. 

“It’s fine, Jimin, just practice.” You said lightly, standing up and dusting off your tights. “But seriously, work on it. It could cause some serious issues later.” You tried to say as nice as possible, but he got the message. 

         If you were injured, there was no way you could major in dance. It was like how when you seriously break a bone and it’s never quite the same. Your art required it to be the same. 

         The performing arts had always been your dream once you had gone to college and you were thankful for the scholarship considering your awful grades. A twinge of melancholy pricked at the back of your mind. Namjoon and you hadn’t exactly worked out once college forced you your separate ways. 

        It never would’ve worked anyway. You had long since gotten over him and you were friendly, but, like a broken bone, it would never quite be the same. You just tried to ignore the same flutter of excitement that Jimin gave you. But trust was important and right now, it just wasn’t there.

         Jimin was a nice boy, you had seen him around. He was always the one to hold open the door, help you carry things when your hands were full, and the first to check in if you seemed gloomy. 

        He was a perfect angel. So you just had to trust that he could execute. Lisa rushed over with a water bottle, but upon finding you standing upright and looking only a little startled, she calmed down significantly. 

“You guys should practice this move outside of class.” She instructed. “I’ll leave the keys in my office. Please just practice it, otherwise you’re going to give me a panic attack on stage.”

“Can’t we just...change it?” You suggested sheepishly. The woman looked appalled. 

“No way, Y/N.” She said firmly. “I know it’s tough, but this is a good challenge. Besides, this is the most important part of the show.” 

      She continued on her rant and you didn’t want to interrupt so you stood quietly, nodding to her points.

“So, you see why you need to do this?”

“Yes, ma’am.” You dipped your head, having tuned out long ago. 

      Her hand landed softly on her shoulder. Her face was gentle, kind. She understood your hesitation. 

“Hey, don’t worry about it. I wouldn’t have casted you if I didn’t think you could do it.” She said quietly and your pride swelled. With a proud smile, you watched her walk off to critique the others. 

“Wanna continue working?” Jimin’s soft voice said. You turned, having almost forgotten he was there. You nodded. 

“Yeah. Let’s get this thing down.”

         You collapsed to the wooden floor, exhausted and disappointed in your lack of progress. So far, you’d practiced the same thing about 20 times. 10 of those he was too early, you were, sadly for your bottom, dropped five times and you had only managed to execute it five more times.

        It wouldn’t be so worrying if those five times that worked were all together and at the end. Alas, they were spread out between your attempts and it felt like a guess and check sort of method. It was like you were gambling and Jimin was an elusive object, an uncertainty.

       You wanted it to work so bad, you had no idea what had gotten into him. He was usually so level headed, picking up moves faster than you could even imagine. And yet, you were starting to lose faith, beginning to check if he would be there in time when you ran it through. Here he was now, collapsed on the ground beside you. 

“I don’t know what’s going wrong.” He started after catching his breath.

         There was a long pause, his voice bouncing off the walls. Your eyes remained trained on the white concrete ceiling. After a taxing day at practice, you often found your mind numb and incapable of forming coherent sentences. As frustrated as you were with him, it wasn’t like you could force him to be on time like a puppet master. 

“Uh huh.” You drawled, taking a deep breath as you felt your adrenaline fading. 

        It was after dark, the fluorescent lights of the studio seeming just a little too bright. Your internal clock was fucked, especially considering the lack of windows. 

“You alright? I’m sorry I dropped you, I swear I’ll continue practicing.” 

“Continue practicing?” You sit up, running a hand through your sweaty hair. “Park Jimin, you’ve practiced a ton, with me and without me, we both know it.” 

      You took his silence as defeat. Jimin was the kind of person that worked until they dropped or their body gave in. He was a perfectionist, you could tell simply from observing him in class. So that got you thinking about...what if the issue laid within you? What if he was off because you were off? 

       There was also the possibility that you were messing with his timing by doing something off and he was worried about dropping you. You massaged the crease between your brows. 

“Jimin, I think the issue lies inside your head.” You said. Then you groaned at the implication. “I mean, I just think you’re psyching yourself out. You can trust me to keep time, just focus on yourself.” 

       Jimin sat up as well. You both faced the mirror. You saw your sweaty and disheveled reflection, wincing at how messy you looked. His hair was sticking to his forehead and slicked at the sides with glistening sweat. 

      Yeah, you both looked horrid, but together you made quite the picture. You smiled a little at the thought and maintained eye contact with yourself in the mirror. In your peripheral, you saw him glance at your reflection. 

“I know.” He said softly, steepling his fingers. He rested his elbows on his knees and remained looking in deep thought. “I don’t know, Y/N, I’m scared of letting you fall.” 

“Then don’t.” You answered quickly. 

      Then you sighed and your eyes flicked to his in the mirror. 

“I trust that you won’t let me fall. You don’t have anything to prove. Anyway, you’ve already dropped me like ten times...what harm can ten more do? As long as it’s not the performance, I’m fine with it.” 

      He nodded, rubbing at his forehead angrily. Jimin took in a shaky breath, feeling his eyes water a little. 

“Why am I like this?” He said miserably. You remained silent. 

“I don’t understand why I can’t just get it right. It’s not even that hard.” He whispered, his voice barely audible. The static of the room was suffocating, the air stale. 

“Sometimes perfection is in the imperfections.” You said softly. 

      Your hand left your side and instead reached out to rub his back. You felt the heaving of his chest and the stutters of his breath. 

        You closed your eyes for a moment, thinking back to your practice. Yeah, it had been hard, even annoying, not knowing if he would catch you, but there had been little moments you could appreciate. 

        The brush of his skin on yours, the soft and apologetic smiles, the laugh that rang like a sweet bell. You had a lot to be thankful for in this practice. You got to see how Jimin worked, the way his brain behaved. There must be something that wasn’t clicking. You both knew that he was capable, more than capable. 

           You opened your eyes, letting your gaze move to him. He was still pulling himself together. Now, you had seen, quite literally, blood, sweat, and tears, shed in this dance room. You shifted to your side slightly and gently tugged him into a hug. He didn’t resist. 

        You held him for what felt like ages. The warmth of his body flush up against yours made your temperature rise. The room felt like it was getting hotter, but you knew it was just that he was clutching onto you like you were his last hope. 

“Jimin, you’ve got to cut yourself some slack. Take it easy, okay love?” You said tenderly. “I’ll figure it out, just leave it to me.”

       You listened to the music again, and once again, you were thrown off. You were sure you had figured out the issue, but you needed to double check. Again, the question of why would this throw off such a seasoned dancer? Came to mind. But, everyone had their weakness. You wrote down a few notes and then called up Jimin. 

      He picked up on the first ring. 

“Yeah?”

“I think I may have figured out our small issue.”

“Oh?”

“Practice room A, 6:00 P.M.” 

“Great, see you then.”

       You paced, playing the music once more. Jimin sat on the wooden floor, his legs crossed and head tilted curiously. You paused the music that pulsed through the speakers. 

“Do you hear it?” You demanded.

        He just quirked an eyebrow, looking at you like you were a mad woman. And in his defense, it did look like that. 

      Your hair was a mess, strands flying in every direction, as you spoke to him. Your eyes were wide and alight, having figured out the issue. He slowly shook his head, watching your face turn to a scowl. 

“Okay, well, here’s the issue,” You sniffed, placing your hands on your hips. “The time signature.” 

      He didn’t seem convinced so you continued on. You waved your hands like mad and in all honesty, it had been a while since you slept. You had always had awful time management skills. 

“It’s in a 5/4 time signature, but your brain is trying to compensate by moving to what feels right; 4/4 or some multiple of two.” You explained. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice before.” You huffed, stopping your wild pacing to get a good look at his face. 

       The room was dimly lit after you burst in, complaining about the horrendous lighting first thing. He watched you, amused, but also his eyes alight with the epiphany. 

“Wow! You’re a genius, I have no idea why I didn’t notice before!” He leapt to his feet and scooped you into an unexpected hug. You refused to let your cheeks heat up, but your heart was beating like crazy. 

“Ah, it’s not a problem, you would’ve figured it out.” You said sheepishly. “You can...put me down now.” 

“Oh...right.” He awkwardly cleared his throat, setting you down. “I don’t know, Y/N, you’re smart and I had...other things on my mind that distracted me.” He said vaguely, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Do I want to know?”

“You’ll find out.” His angelic face morphed into a sinful grin. You playfully shoved him, resulting in his overexaggerated protests. 

“You’re such a dummy.” You chided, waltzing over to the ipod. “Now, let’s run it again.” 

         God, why were you sweating so much? Why were you so nervous? You had practiced the routines a million times, every step was memorized, every beat was ingrained in your very being.

         There was no way in hell you should be getting stage fright. The applause of the crowd gave you pause, your heart leaping into your throat as the overture began. Lisa appeared on stage, giving a few words. 

        The Black Swan was a new performance, a spin on the classics. 

Dressed in an inky black top with satin shorts, the swan makes her first appearance. In the kingdom of white swans, she is scorned, tossed aside. Her feathers are dirtied, her pride wounded.

 You spun, extending your hands, letting the movement flow from your fingertips to the ceiling. 

The swan comes across a large puddle of white clay one day, and in a desperate cry of anguish, slathers herself with the white clay, staining her feathers an angelic white, just like her peers. She’s considered beautiful, taken in by the villagers, who do not recognize it is her, and presented to the prince. 

You curtseyed as the prince made his solo entrance. 

The prince takes a liking to the white swan, yet every day leading up to the wedding, she must awake early and leave to cover herself in the clay. She can feel her facade crackling. 

One day, she sneaks away, days before the wedding, and runs into another black swan. 

Jimin appears on stage, leaping his way into the bushes and rolling in the metaphorical clay. He gingerly watches you.

 She drops her handful of clay, surprised to see another black swan. 

Day after day, long after the wedding, she returns to the puddle. And day after day, he greets her until she feels herself falling. The black swan is unsure of how to continue living her lie. 

The two get into a disagreement. He protests, claiming he would love her with all his heart, the color of her feathers does not bother him. She calls him a liar and runs away, unable to allow him to see her vulnerable. 

Again, the next day, they argue. The black swan cries, throwing herself into the clay to hide herself. He reaches out for her, she pulls away. 

      You ran around the raised platform, dread building. Yes, you were out of breath and running on fumes as the climax of the performance began, but you were more concerned about the trust fall. 

       Could you trust him? Your brain said no, your gut said yes. 

The man reassures her that she should love herself, she should let herself be like him, be with him. 

      The music crescendos, building and sweeping the audience up in its loving arms. The suspense continues to a dizzying climax, the strings falling down the scale as you spun onto the platform. 

      You listened to your gut, taking a deep breath, and tipping backwards.

 The swan falls into her lover’s arms, confessing herself, opening herself up to him.

      You stared up at him. The bright lights casted a shadow over his beautiful features, but you could feel the rise and fall of his chest. His sparkling eyes peered into yours.

The swan is no longer alone. The swan has been caught and she can finally breathe easy. The worst is over, now it’s time to let her true colors show. 

Want to try another path?

Go Back To The Beginning

[peppersonironi]

Batfam Whumptober Day Five

{Read on Ao3}

No.5: On the Run | Failed Escape | Rescue

Summary: Damian is sent to rescue Red Robin from a sting-gone-wrong, but finds Tim more than a little roughed up. Damian panics at the sight of his heavily wounded brother, and strains to keep him alive long enough for help to arrive.

A/N: I think this might be my favorite work this month! It took way longer than expected, and I'm sorry for that, but I hope it's worth it. It actually has angst this time!

Tw: Light blood and injury (not graphic) and some torture (not graphic I think?)

Damian blinked down seriously at the Gotham warehouse. It was highly guarded, with twenty-seven security cameras in, on, and around the premises. There were also over a dozen guards with heavy machine guns patrolling the perimeter. Whatever they were protecting was important. Unfortunately, Damian knew what it was.

“What have you gotten yourself into, Drake?” He muttered to himself.

The assignment that Red Robin had taken upon himself for the week was supposed to be simple: an out of town drug trafficking ring. The criminals were newcomers, so they’d be easy to take care of. In theory.

Instead, the cave had received a distress call from Tim twenty minutes ago. Batman was off-world with the League, Grayson was in Bludhaven, Cain was in Hong Kong, Todd was off doing whatever the h*** he did with the outlaws. The only ones on patrol that night besides Drake and Damian was Brown and Aunt Kate. But they were handling a robbery in progress across the city.

And so, Robin being the only vigilante in the near vicinity, Damian found himself causing the origin of Red Robin’s signal.

He was not having fun.

But Damian was determined to save his idiot of a brother by himself. Otherwise Thomas would have to be awakened from his ‘normal’ sleep schedule and sent out. Damian didn’t need help.

“Robin, how’s it looking?”

Damian startled at the sound of Gordon in his ear. “Fine, Oracle. The adversaries are heavily armed and have high security for foreigners, but nothing I am unable to handle.”

“Alright, Robin,” she answered cautiously, “but alert me immediately if that changes. The Signal can be up and out at a moment's notice.”

Damian scoffed as he pulled out his grappling hook and made his way to the roof of the warehouse. “Signal is not needed. And I hardly think he’d appreciate being awoken.”

“He’s well aware that he’s on standby for emergencies,” Oracle replied, “especially when Bats is out of town.”

Damian grunted as he took out a few guards standing by the entrance to the roof. “Can’t talk,” he replied, “I’m going in.”

*****

Damian crept around the warehouse silently, starting with the upstairs offices. He found countless damaging contracts, and paper files. Pictures, and evidence. He recorded it all and sent it to Oracle, but there was still no sign of Red Robin.

That is, until he reached the stairs leading down to the main warehouse.

When Damian reached the door at the bottom of the stairs, he paused. There was something off, but he couldn’t quite place it. He strained his ears, searching for some out of place sound. He found it.

A moment later, a scream cut through the air, causing the boy to stiffen. He knew that Scream.

Drake.

He slowly eased the door open, heart pounding, Damian slunk in the shadows, approaching the source of the moans, grunts, and sounds of pain. He made his way atop the ctreates, and flew up into the rafters. Then ran along the beam towards the center of the building.

What Damian saw next rooted him in his place.

“I’ll ask you one more time, brat!” Bronte Jones, the Boston drug king in charge of the Gotham branch, yelled straight at Drake.

Oh, Drake.

Damian gagged at the state of his brother. Timothy Drake was tied down to a metal chair, his cape ripped off and tossed to the side. The rest of his uniform was in equal disorder, ripped, burned, and bloody. The exposed parts of his skin were bruised, cut, or in some other way harmed.His mask was mostly left alone, probably due to the anti-tampering measures built into every mask and cowl.

Tim coughed, and spit blood to the side. “Nope.”

Bronte growled, before launching forward and punching Red Robin in the jaw. Hard. So hard that the chair rocked backwards, and one of the goons needed to hold it steady.

“You will tell me the identities of yourself, and the other Gotham vigilantes. You will tell me the best drug parts in this town. Or else you will die in this warehouse. Wouldn’t want your little clan dealing with that, now would you?”

Tim grinned. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Damian scowled. No, no, no! Don’t antagonize the kidnapper! It’s protocol!

But Drake didn’t hear Damian’s silent pleading. He only laughed.

Bronte didn’t seem to know what was so funny, so he continued on with his beating. A few punches later, and Damian found himself gripping the rafters. He should do something, he knew that, but he just. Couldn’t. Move. All he did was watch on in horror.

Bronte paused with his punches, taking a breath. “This clearly isn’t working,” he stated, “let’s kick it up a notch.

Jones walked over to a crate, atop which an array of tools lay on it. The man passed over newly quenched cigarettes - oh god, he’d use those on Drake, hadn’t he? The burns matched up - wrenches, knives, and garrotes. His hand landed on a batton that Damian recognised immediately.

“Oh no,” he whispered, his face going white.

Jones turned back to Red Robin, and shoved the baton into his ribs. Tim let out a scream at the sudden crackle of electricity that even Damian could hear from high up.

“How about we wait for the other bats to show up?” Bronte asked conversationally, still torturing Tim. “What do you think they’ll give to get one of their birds back?”

Tim laughed, though the sound came out more like a hacking cough. Blood leaked down his chin. “No one’s coming for me,” he said, “they’re all too busy. Or they hate me.”

Damian startled. What? No, that wasn’t true. He and Drake were past their hatred, weren’t they? Hadn’t he proven himself? Hadn’t he showed he cared?

Bronte growled, before signalling to his goons. “Fine, I guess there’s no reason to keep you alive then.”

Damian gasped. No, no this couldn’t happen! He glanced around, searching for something to aid his rescue attempt, there were too many men to handle on his own.

“Oracle, send Signal.” Damian muttered, knowing the microphone would pick his words up. He didn’t have time to listen for an answer though, it was time to act.

Robin leapt down from the heights of the warehouse, drawing his katana mid flip. He landed efficiently in front of Bronte Jones, glaring at the man who had dared to hurt his brother.

“Step away from Red Robin,” he said slowly, rising to his full height of five feet, two inches.

The man laughed. “You little brat. You’re outnumbered and outgunned.”

Damian tilted his head, radiating confidence that most definitely did not feel. “Very well,” he stated stiffly. “It is your funeral, as Nightwing says.”

A moment later, and he attacked. It was not as clean as he usually would, he was still fighting down panic, it was wild and desperate. But he still fought.

He downed four goons before he realised his current tactic wasn't working. He dodged a volley of bullets, he eyes falling upon Drake. The young man had slouched down in the chair, his eyes closed. Damian let out a curse in arabic. That idiot! He needed to stay awake!

Damian leapt forward, past the goons and Jones, past the table with horrid tools, past the downed bodies, and towards his brother. He threw down a smoke pellet to disguise his movements, and continued on his way. Once the area was completely covered, he attacked one more thug, intent on keeping up an illusion of his constant attacks.

Quickly, he made his way towards the out of commission vigilante, efficiently removing the rope bonds, and pulling him gently close. Damian could recognize broken ribs when he saw them.Once he was certain that Red Robin was secure at his side, he lifted up his grapple, and they rose swiftly out of the smoke. A moment later, along with a few more grapples, they were on an opposite roof.

Damian set his brother down, glancing behind for followers. The coast was clear.

“Red Robin?” Damian asked, leaning close. “Are you alright?” he cursed himself. Of course Drake wasn’t alright! Of all the times to act like Grayson, this was hardly it.

There was no response to his query, causing Damian to throw aside his self-flagellation.

“Drake?” Damian demanded more harshly. “Wake up! You are needed! You can’t die, that’s an order!” More silence. “Did you hear that? An order! From me! You hate me commanding you, so stick up for yourself!”

Damian breathed heavily, silently shaking. No, no no no! Drake couldn’t die!

“I…” Damian blinked, trying to figure out a course of action, but he couldn’t. He was frozen in place. mHe closed his eyes and breathed slowly through his nose, trying to calm himself.

“Dami?”

Damian gasped ever so slightly and looked down at the beaten and battered form of his brother. “Timothy? You’re alright?”

Timothy let out a light cough. “Seen better. Thanks for coming to get me.”

Damian couldn’t bring himself to make a sharp comeback. He just blinked down at his brother. He was awake. He was alive. He would be fine.

“Kay,” Drake said, “good talk. I’m gonna go to sleep now…”

Damian stiffened. “What? No! Timothy, you can’t!”

But the young man didn’t listen. Damian scrambled forward, grabbing his brother’s shoulders in an attempt to wake him as hard as he dared.

“Timothy?” Damian asked again, unable to strain the worry from his voice, “You can’t die. Father will be mad, and Grayson will stop functioning, and Todd will go on a rampage, and Brown will hide away, and Cain will strain herself to help everyone else while still falling apart, and Pennyworth won’t be able to live much longer with another heartbreak, he’s ancient as is. And Thomas won’t be able to handle it all either. And I…”

Damian paused, taking a shaky breath, before letting out a sentence that brought him both anguish and relief.

“Ahki, I don’t want you to die either!”

There were shouts from the surrounding buildings, feet hitting pavement, and Damian knew it was only a matter of time before they found them.

He reached over towards Timothy’s throat, searching for a heartbeat like he should have done from the beginning. He almost cried from relief when he felt the thrum. But it was weak. Too weak. He needed medical attention immediately, and not the kind at the cave. They needed Dr. Thompkins.

Damian stood up and searched the roof for something that could help them out of this situation. The tiniest part of him, who still thought like a league member, told him to run. To leave Timothy behind and run.

“No,” he told himself, “Timothy is stuck with me. We’re both getting out of this, or neither.”

The sounds of footsteps increased, thundering and shaking. They were closer, most likely from the stairwell leading to the roof both Robins now inhabited.

Damian drew his katana immediately and ran back to Red Robin, standing guard over his limp body. He would go down fighting, there was no other way he knew.

The tousling limbs and marching feet seemed to be all around him now - a part of him knew they weren’t really, that it was just his mind playing tricks. He took a breath, steadying himself.

“You and me, Timothy,” Damian spoke strongly, more to calm his own fear than anything else.

Just then the door to the roof slammed open, and in rushed three hulking thugs. Damian inhaled sharply - in fear, not that he’d ever admit it - and steadied his shaking hands.

But something was wrong. Instead of the goons rushing the pair of birds, they slumped to the ground. Behind them, standing in all his bright yellow glory, was The Signal. He had both escrima sticks drawn, and a grim smile on his face.

“Hey Robin,” he said, stepping over the bodies, “you called?”

*****

They made their way down to the street, able to carry between the two of them, and into the awaiting Batmobile. Thomas took the driver’s seat, Damian for once quiet about his ability to captain any moving vehicle, while the younger boy stayed with Timothy in the back.

The ride had been quiet, Duke not knowing what to say beyond the usual “what happened?” Damian shook when the question was asked, so Duke let it drop. An official report could be made later.

They made their way to Dr. Thompkins clinic, and came in the back way. She was already waiting - most likely due to Oracle calling ahead - and quickly ushered them into an awaiting room. Timothy, however, was brought someplace else.

Damian had resisted at first, panicking at the thought of his brother going anywhere out of sight, but Duke had pulled him back, easily disarming him and settling both of them on a bench. Damian had struggled and pulled and scratched and screamed in indignation, but Thomas hadn’t stopped holding on. Eventually, Damian’s anger gave way to huge, choking sobs. He hiccuped and curled his way into Duke’s chest, holding on for dear life. Duke just hummed and wrapped his arms around the terrified bird.

After a long, slow hour, Damian finally settled down into quiet whimpers. Duke continued to rub his back soothingly, but Damian couldn’t seem to fully calm down.

“He thought we wouldn’t come,” Damian choked out suddenly, and felt Duke steffen in surprise. “He said no one cared enough to save him. But I was right there, I watched them …”

Damian bit his lip to hold back another whimper, and Duke softened. “He was probably just saying that to get his captors to let him go,” Duke reasoned.

Damian hiccuped and shook his head, still tucked into Duke’s armored chest. “No, no he was right!”

Duke rubbed a little harder on his back. “No, he was-”

“I just stood there and watched!” Damian cried, “I came in and I saw what was happening, but I Could. Not. Move. I just … I  just watched.”

“Sounds to me like you froze,” Duke replied. “You’ve been doing this longer than I have Damian, you should know that everyone freezes at one point or another.”

Damian shook his head fervently, but didn’t reply. Couldn’t reply.

They remained silent for some time, every so often Duke offering soft reasurences that went unnoticed by Damian. Eventually, Leslie  came into the room.

“He’s stable,” she said when Duke looked over. Damian didn't have the energy to raise his head. “With some bed rest, he’ll be alright. You’re lucky you got to him when you did.”

Damian shuttered at the last word. No, he hadn’t been lucky. He’d been stupid, and weak. He shouldn’t have roze. He shouldn’t have-

Damian was jostled from his bout of self loathing when Duke stood up.

“Can we see him,” he asked.

Leslie nodded. “Follow me.”

*****

They settled down in the private room where Leslie had placed Timothy, but Damian couldn’t calm himself. He kept looking at his brother, bandaged, yes, but broken. He should have acted quicker.

Duke sat on the chair beside Tim’s bed, still carrying Damian. At another point, the boy would have profusely protested at such babying, but now he had no strength. Now, the most he could manage was tuck himself into Duke’s arms.

After a while, Duke rose, leaving Damian in the chair. He promised to return soon, just leaving long enough to call Babs and Steph & Kate, as well as grab something to eat. Maybe get some clothes as well.

“There’s that tea place near here you like, right?” Duke asked, and Damian mumbled his assent. “You’ll be alright?” he added right before leaving. “I won’t be gone forever. Try not to beat yourself up too much, okay?”

Damian straightened, trying to summon courage. “I …” he sank down, nodding tiredly.

Duke sighed softly and went out the door.

Damian sat staring at Drake for a long time. His brother didn’t move.

“Just wake up, ahki,” he sniffled.

*****

Tim was warm and comfortable. He felt the light fluffiness of pain meds blanket his senses, along with an actual blanket pulled all the way up to his shoulders. It felt warm and safe.

Wait - pain meds?

Tim blinked his eyes open, and briefly surveyed the room. It was one of the private ones in Leslie’s clinic, where they went when someone was seriously injured. Why was he here?

Oh.

The warehouse.

Tim mentally cringed at the flashes of memory that came with the realization. He’s delt with torture before, and honestly this time wasn’t the worst - fun fact: Ra’s Al Ghul lives up to the title “Demon’s Head - but he’d still gotten hurt. Thank goodness he’d sent out his distress signal and had gotten out. But he’d left Damian all alone to deal with the -

Damian.

Tim briefly panicked. Where was his brother? They’d gotten out, right? Maybe Duke had been woken up and provided back up, or Steph and Kate had-

A soft sniffle came from beside him.

Tim blinked and turned his head to find Damian tucked into a chair. He looked small, curled up like that. His hands gripped tightly at his Robin uniform. His eyes were unmasked and red, staring down at the floor. He sniffled again and rubbed at an eye.

“Just wake up, ahki.”

Oh.

It must have been bad.

Damian rarely cried.

But crying was good, in a way. He was alive, at least.

“Dami?” Tim croaked, finding his voice dry.

Damian jerked his face up, staring at Tim. His eyes were wide, and filled with relief. But also fear and … regret? Oh no, what had gone wrong?

“Dami,” he said again, a relieved smile on his face. “I knew you’d come.”

This had the opposite effect than expected. Damian’s eyes widened even more, and he scrambled backwards in his chair. “What?! No! You said-”

Tim sighed, “That was kind of stupid of me,” Tim cut in, “I thought if Bronte thought no one cared about me, then he’d just leave me behind long enough for one of you to grab me.”

Damian frowned. “But I still didn’t come fast enough. You were right. And when I got there I froze, Father would be so disappointed, I didn’t keep my head, and i-”

“Damian.” Tim interjected. “Come here.”

Damian pursed his lips, glancing at Tim’s injuries. But a moment later he complied, gingerly easing off of the chair and coming over towards the bed.

Tim held out his hand, and after a moment, Damian put his hand in his. Tim then pulled him closer, and rested the young boy's hand on his own chest. Right over the heart.

“Feel that?” he asked, and Damian nodded slightly. “I’m alive because of you okay? You came. I knew you would.”

Damian blinked back tears, and Tim was struck by just how young and vulnerable Damian looked. It wasn’t often the twelve year old let his walls down, and Tim felt guilty for bringing this on him. He seemed drained and exposed. Tim made a split second decision.

“Come on,” he said, scooching over as much as he could and patting the bed beside him.

“But-” Damian began, but Tim shushed him.

“I’m not taking no for an answer, Dami.”

Damian sighed and came back onto the bed. Tim pulled him closer, and the boy automatically curled into his side. Tim wrapped his arms around his brother and sighed into his hair.

“I’m alright, okay? And so are you. It’s alright now, Dami.”

Damian sighed, “Thank you, ahki.”

Tim smiled at the arabic word for brother. He liked it when they got along, no matter the circumstances. Tim bent down slightly and pressed a kiss to Damian’s head. The small boy let out a breath, and eased into soft snores. Good, he needed sleep.

Tim settled in and relaxed. A few minutes later Duke walked in in his Signal armor carrying a tray of drinks, the logo showing they were from a middleeastern tea place that Damian loved. He was followed by Kate and Steph, both in their respective uniforms.

“You guys alright?” Kate asked, walking past Duke and sitting on the chair.

Tim smiled softly. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Great,” Steph replied. “Then get some sleep.”

Tim laughed lightly, but he was warm and tired - which may have something to do with the pain killers Duke was not so subtly putting in - and had his little brother willingly snuggling him. He smiled again as the darkness washed over him.

They were alright.

Tagging: @starrystories2

[flickityfics]

Ch.10 A Day Without Zuko

a/n:Warning: smut

Hi, Gaang! The construction is going to take another six months but it's coming along nicely. I've met a lot of people and they're all use to me being around, they've helped me as well so it's been great knowing everyone and being a regular here. I learned things down here doing laundry, cooking and I'm always doing my training of course, gotta stay sharp you know! Katara, I'll never underestimate women ever again. I've seen first hand how hard it is for girls to be taken seriously or respected, its brutal and outrageous. Let me know how you  guys are doing by the way, its taking a long time to see you guys again and I wish I could be over there helping you but as long as I know you guys are okay, I don't mind staying longer to help out over here so just take care of yourselves .

-Sokka

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Suki its so hard being a girl. So many creepy guys hit on you or don't think you can do a job on your own, its annoying. Then they're the girls who starts fight with each other or looking at you with disgust and pure hate, you just can't win with anyone when I'm just trying to mind my own business here. Anyways I'm working different jobs here, still searching on how to turn back when I can, mostly stuck at the library with no answers and just crossing things off that don't make sense with my situation. I'll probably have to look into some spirits like you mentioned before. Oh and what could really help me is if you can tell me different parts of my body and what it does? Maybe even draw me a diagram as a reference please and thank you, so sorry for this uncomfortable favor. I'll keep my head up and keep trying to work this out. Hope you're doing fine on your side, write me whenever you have the time, take care.

-Sokka

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Sokka mailed off the letters deciding to use his free time before work to put up the posters he made earlier of Appa around Ba Sing Se. He just wanted to do his part in helping out the gaang however he could. It took about twenty-five minutes to get all the posters everywhere before taking a snack break. After a small meal he headed to his new job.

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

Sokka came into the Jasmine Dragon exhausted and ready to vent at Zuko but caught Iroh instead by himself in the kitchens.

"Hey uncle, where's Lee?" he asked curiously looking for the scarred teen.

"Ah, my nephew went on an errand getting new tea sets and tea." Iroh expertly lied.

Sokka couldn't help being suspicious since it was late to be getting stuff at this hour but he also didn't know how businesses do there whole delivery system so he'd just question Zuko later and see if their story matches up.

"Guess I'll just have to settle with talking your ear off old man." He grinned to the elder.

Iroh grinned back, "Well you know this old man is a big talker so go right ahead." He waited curiously knowing the young girls story will be interesting from the conversations he's overheard from her and his nephew.

"I just can't seem to find a job that I enjoy or liked to stick with. This is already my seventh job and I want a new one already but I'm limited to jobs because of stupid men not thinking I'm capable or not deeming the workplace fit for women. On the other hand I can't be too picky either because I have living expenses and don't want to come off as unreliable from switching jobs so much, I'd like to find my calling and enjoy a job I'm passionate about. I have skills but they can't be utilized because dumb men don't want to hear opinions from women. I know how to fish, somewhat fight, I'm good at planning, being a strategist, fast learner, strong, learning how to take charge and great with organizing and planning. I've just got all these good ideas and things to invent but no one wants to hear me out or to take me seriously." Sokka was frustrated with these types of problems, he realizes what a complete jerk he's been himself towards his sister and other girls but he's definitely gonna try being a better person seeing all the efforts they put in but don't get the same efforts back.

"What do you think uncle? Am I asking for too much?" He asked.

Iroh stroked his beard, "Let me get us some tea." He then left the young girls side to prepare the tea he had in mind.

Sokka could only lift his brow at the old man, watching impatiently as he took his sweet old time with the tea.

"Now it's not bad trying out different things to find what you're good or passionate about but I do see where it'll be difficult since most people are set in their ways and not wanting change. You are young and strong-willed, I believe you have the courage and strength within to make these changes possible no matter how slow the progress may be so long as you do not give up." Iroh really believed in his words about Miyuki, she was quite stubborn and willing to tell people off for any injustice she felt towards herself or others. It's why he's liked her so much near his nephew.

Sokka really thought about the uncle's wise words, it seemed so simple hearing it out like that. All it takes is small steps and he knew he wasn't one to give up....well, maybe only when things are really looking bad. In all honesty Sokka was sure he could keep up and handle being a girl a bit longer even though he'd really like his body back but he's gotta do what he can to live comfortably as is for now. It may not to be as freely as when he was a boy but he could handle putting some rude men and or women in there places if need be.

"Thanks for the pep talk geezer, that actually helps clear my mind, guess I just needed someone's perspective on stuff." He was happy talking with Zuko's uncle, it really helped him get things off his chest and feel heard. Normally these would be talks with Zuko but the jerk bender just had to be off on an errand.

"I'm gonna take off now, can you let Lee know I stopped by?" He asked.

"I'll let him know. I'm glad you drag him along places, thank you." Iroh was really grateful towards Miyuki always taking his nephew out, she brings more life into him he noticed.

Sokka waved off the old man as he left the tea shop. The sun was down and already the streets were lit. It was a nice, calming walk with the light buzz of late night activities. He really did enjoy the weather here in Ba Sing Se instead of being in layers, he had loose pants with a dark green tunic. As he kept walking he noticed off to the side a wanted poster that caught his eye, he walked over seeing a vaguely familiar mask but not really remembering, scanning the words he mumbled to himself, "Blue Spirit wanted blah blah may be a ghost? uh..Kidnapped Avatar, hmmm... feels like something I should know." The poster piqued his interest for a short while before he shrugged it off as no importance to him and went his merry way towards the inn.

Back at the inn Sokka felt like a nice hot bath would be perfect to relax at the end of the day. He went straight for the bathroom as he got back in his room, did some cleaning around the room as he waited for the tub to fill. He still felt awkward with his body but today he felt sure to do some more exploring.

The warmth of the water relaxed him to the bones, it felt like such bliss to feel the nice heat incase his whole body. He splashed around a bit making ripples in the water. This was the first time he took a bath with his eyes opened, he tried to avoid washing for two to three days and when he did it was only a quick rub down and rinse with eyes closed the entire time. But now? Now he watched himself as he slowly moved his hands on his new girlish thighs, he could feel hairs along the way, they were actually quite long, he knew Katara and Suki kept they're legs smooth but not how and now there's another embarrassing question to ask Suki later.

He tried again groping his chest just going for it, squeezing and moving them in all directions, it didn't really feel much to him still. He just kinda bounced them but couldn't feel anything sexual, he was sure if he had a girl in front of him and not his own body that it would be more exciting. Going a bit more down, he played with his soft little plump of a stomach, he definitely missed his flat stomach that he was working so hard on for nice abs. Eyes scanning further, he thought his feet were kinda cute not to say he checked out feet but he totally lucked out in cute feet as a girl.

                  --Warning: smut--

Now for the part he was anxious to explore more thoroughly. With a deep breath he ran his hand down feeling the dark course hairs covering his newly made vagina. He split the wet hairs just twirling them and rubbing between his fingers just curious at how they felt and looked. They felt much the same as his so no difference there...well besides the obvious missing usual protrusion. It was kind of fun playing with it and sorta felt good to. Closing his eyes he slipped a finger in his folds noticing it wasn't as wet as the other times he felt awkwardly aroused as Suki embarrassingly explained through letters. Sokka rubbed at the nub he felt and added pressure realizing the pleasure it caused, he pressed down harder rubbing slow circles. As he rubbed himself he could feel his wetness making the pleasure easier. After feeling the fun sensation for a bit he then lowered his fingers again feeling a dip into a small hole, it felt tight but once he tried to dip his finger in he flinched from the dry pain he felt. "Okay, that definitely didn't feel nice." It was actually quite scary he thought, he waited til his body relaxed once again before foregoing that area and sticking with the pleasure he got from the small bud up top. He didn't think of much besides building the pressure towards this nice pleasure he felt, it was like a nice slow yet intense build up to an amazing uncontained burst. He couldn't stop himself from speeding up his fingers and thrusting his hips slightly to catch that release, his fingers were aching with the pleasure that was sure to come. It felt completely different from his own body but totally awesome still. His hand was cramping, he could hear the splashes in the water but all he cared about was that sweet peak and nothing else, he was so close, so close.

"Ah, ah right there. " Sokka let out his moans as he felt his hips shake and hand move faster finally falling into an amazing orgasm. He had to catch his breath and remove his hand gently now feeling the unpleasant cramping. "Oh that was different but so so amazing." He tilted his head back enjoying how relaxed he felt and finishing up in the bath. He emptied the tub and rinsed once more getting out on slightly shaky legs.

                       --End smut--

He was back in his room relaxed and feeling good. He did feel kinda weird about the whole self pleasure with the new body of his but it was great once trying it. Before heading to bed, he did some light combinations of kicks and arm movements along with some breathing techniques he's learned form Zuko. He started doing them every night and morning as Zuko suggested, 'dang, that violent jerk is actually giving him good habits to learn from.' he realized. Everytime he tried to repeat how dangerous and horrible Zuko is it just gets overruled  by the Zuko he's been getting to know now. And that's how the tanned teen slept, with thoughts overflowing with prince Zuko.

[eirabach]

Backlash [5/5]

The last bit of Gordon + Used as Bait for @godsliltippy and @badthingshappenbingo and on ao3 here. I absolutely need to make these things more concise.

It's not -- it's not great. Not even a little bit. Not at all. But Gordon's -- Gordon's faced worse, hasn't he? He can still swim, blinded. Still move. Still walk and talk and feel and touch and kiss -- it's been worse.

Kinda.

"Alan?"

There's a noise, a echoey, scuffley, heavy sort of noise, like someone dragging anchor chains out of dry dock, and Gordon hasn't spent enough time on Three to know what it is, other than it's gotta be Alan. There's no one else here after all.

"Yeah?"

Alan sounds wrong too, all nasal and wet, and Gordon's blown his eardrum right out but he still recognises the misery behind the word. Still knows it's his job to fix it - even if it's his fault it’s there in the first place. Sorta. Maybe.

He’s pretty sure that Alan’s not all that pleased at having him cluttering up his ‘bird, half deaf and blinded and with a head that feels fit to burst. He’s just kinda hazy on how he got that way, if he’s honest. It's probably his own fault though. It usually is.

But there’s another nasty, throbbing ache that he does happen to know he didn’t come by honestly.

"I'm still mad about the elbow."

The clattering pauses, and Gordon strains his one goodish ear until he hears the little huff of breath that means his little brother’s turned his attention toward him, until he’s sure Alan’s words are stained more with irritation than sadness.

"Don't you have more important things to worry about?"

Yes. No. Deflect. Wind him up because Gordon’s good at that. Wind him up and maybe -- just maybe -- it won’t hurt so much to shake his head. "Spoken like a true child."

Alan scoffs. "Just because you spend all your free time mooning over Lady Penelope doesn't mean the rest of us are as hopeless as you."

Gordon fakes a cry of outrage, but the gasp that follows is real. Three’s moving, swaying beneath him, and when Alan speaks he sounds further away, deeper and more muffled and Gordon pitches his own voice higher, louder, an attempt to compensate for something he can’t quite name. The clattering and banging starts up again and God, but his head hurts.

"I am sure you can't possibly be referring to yourself there Alan Bartlett Underage Tracy?"

"Well I'm sure as hell not talking about John."

"You don't know that. He's a dark horse, out in space all alone -- could be up to anything."

'Have you met John?"

"He wears a super tight spacesuit."

"I'm not sure what you're trying to say but please, don't ."

"They say it's always the quiet ones."

"That's only because they haven't met you ."

"Poor souls."

There’s a final sort of slam sound, and Three launches herself forward with a shuddering, violent jolt. Unsecured and unsteady Gordon founders, his hands scrabbling for a grip on something anything as Alan yelps from -- from somewhere.

Oh God. Oh God, he can’t see . He can’t see and Alan -- Alan .

If anything happens to Alan, he’s fucked.

If anything happens to Alan, he won’t even know.

“Gords? Oh crap Gordy I’m sorry, that was a bit -- I was swapping over Four’s power cells -- get us some extra -- extra kick. Too much kick, maybe. I’m sorry. I should have warned you -- I should --” Gordon feels the neoprene of his gloves being tugged and pulled and then, then there are two warm hands wrapped around his own. Bigger than the last time he’d held them, rougher, but still, unmistakably --

“Allie,” the childhood nickname’s half choked out, two syllables almost two too many for his pounding head, his frantic heart. “This is shit .”

---

“This is shit.”

“There aren’t tow trucks out there, Scott.” Virgil, of course, remains infuriatingly soothing even now. It's the habit of a lifetime and Scott wonders, sometimes, if it would be acceptable to smack him. “There’s no-one coming to help. When you’re in trouble that far out, we’re it ."

“So that’s it then? We just sit and watch?”

The little red triangle that represents a solid 33% of Scott’s entire heart moves, achingly slowly, across the arc of space that now hangs in their living room. Above it John hovers, not down, not like he would be in any other family emergency, but still far above them all in Five. Still way, way too close, but Five can’t get there. Can't come to the rescue of the would-be rescuers. No one can.

“Believe me, Scott. I’ve run the figures, if there was any way --”

“Don’t give me the platitudes, John! I’m not some -- some weeping widow you can fob off. This is Gordon and Alan, and we can’t just leave them out there!”

Virgil and John exchange a look, and Virgil sighs. The likelihood of that smack is increasing by the second.

“Grandma’s certain the blindness is only temporary, and they’re making good progress Scott. They’ll be home within a fortnight, and then you’ll be wishing they hadn’t got back so quick."

Scott spins on the spot, fear making his finger shake as he jams it into his brother’s chest. “What the hell are you trying to say, Virgil?”

“I’m not trying to say --”

“No, spit it out. You think this is no big deal, do you?”

Virgil holds up his hands, eyes wide. “I never --”

“Because this is my call. I sent them out there, and if -- if anything else happens --”

“Scott. They’ll be okay. They will.”

Scott shakes his head, frantic. “And if they’re not? If Grandma’s wrong?”

“Don’t let her hear you say that."

“Virgil!” Scott crumples, collapsing onto the sofa with his head in his hands. “What if ."

---

Virgil doesn’t have an answer for Scott, but John does.

He’s run every conceivable outcome through every parameter he can think of, staying up on Five as a small, useless concession to the distance between older and younger, safe and wounded. It means he knows, now, what if.

He’s figured it all out; what if Alan runs out of fuel, what if Gordon’s concussion takes a turn for the worse, what if Three sustained damage or a freak meteorite hits her engine core. He’s considered them all in every teeny, tiny, detail. Knows the likelihood down to a millionth of a percentage point and it ought to help, hadn’t it? Knowing how utterly unlikely such things are.

It doesn’t.

Not when he knows what would come next. The self loathing, the recriminations, the horrible, baffling concept of Gordon, blinded. Hurt. Worse. Gordon, who has always seemed the most determined to live life to the fullest of all of them, and for whom life has always been almost brutally, unfairly cruel.

He’d adapt, of course, if Grandma’s wrong. He’s that way inclined.

The numbers suggest that the rest of them would not.

Perhaps he’s being unfair on Virgil, really. Perhaps Virgil knows as well as John does the way the guilt would eat at them from the inside out. Does. Is. The way it burns in the fingertips that pressed the button, chokes the throats of those who said “Go.” Perhaps that’s why he’s letting Scott snap and snarl at him, John wouldn’t know. He’s always left that sort of thing to Virgil after all, but it seems like the sort of thing that Virgil would do.

Distract.

Reassure.

Offer hope.

John’s decent enough at the first two -- it’s sort of his job after all -- but hope, hope rarely comes from the numbers and the numbers are where John puts his faith, sticks his certainty.

The numbers, he tells himself, don’t lie. Lying benefits no one. It’s just a sticking plaster, a minute or two of relief borrowed from the pain yet to come. He’s never really understood the point of it before.

But then he opens his comm, opens the line, opens his mouth, and John -- John understands, now.

Sightless eyes turn upward, a guess that doesn’t quite work, followed by a smile that’s far too broad turned bloodless and grey in the holographic light.

“Gordy. It’s John. You’re going to be okay.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

He has twelve days til the backlash.

[missvgj98]

Peace: a shikatema fanfic

Chapter One: Shikamaru

Since I was a kid, I was never the type to engage that much. I wasn’t adventurous or outgoing. I kept to myself and wrote stories as I watched the clouds go by. People never interested me. I didn’t mind going to school and talking to no one or even minded being the last pick for a game of dodge ball. Honestly, I would rather sleep more than anything.

           It always worried my parents so, they pushed me to play with their friends’ kid who was the same age as me. I met Choji. He was a… plump guy. Very friendly and had a big heart for butterflies. He’d always chased after them in attempt to get a hold of one, but it never worked out. When he’d get sad, I’d always treat him to his favorite BBQ chips and share a few good laughs. We were fast friends and soon enough he introduced me to his other friends.

           Choji was one who would get picked on a lot because of his weight. So, that would make it hard for him to make friends, but over the years, He eventually did have the luck of meeting some that excepted him for who he was…. Not the best choice at first, but still it was something.

           Naruto and Kiba were the loudest trouble-makers you could ever meet. I seriously thought they were insane and had a peanuts for a brains. The only reason you would find me late after school was because I was suffering the consequences of tagging along with them. But I can’t lie… I did have some great times with them.

           As we approached middle school, we met Neji and Saskue. I was grateful for them because for the longest time I was the father of the group. Neji and Saskue knew how to keep Naruto, Kiba, and at times, Choji in line.

           Neji and Saskue were both very intelligent but at times Naruto could bring them down a notch. I think his stupidity is at times contagious. Saskue had more of an anger issue more than anyone. Neji seemed almost perfect but, push his buttons right and you’ll get something out of him. For the most part he’s a bit like a stone wall.

           We’re an unlikely group, but I’m really happy to do life with them at least. We’ve gone through thick and thin. School fights (guess the two who started those), many detentions, festivals, Kiba’s breakups, supporting each other in sports: Saskue and Neji in Jujitsu (hence how they met), Naruto in Baseball, Kiba plays on the soccer team, and Choji…. After weeks of pestering him- respectfully! We convinced him to try sumo. AND IT’S NOT BECAUSE OF HIS WEIGHT!

           “Choji we’re not saying to go for it because you’re f-…..fluffly- I was going to say fluffy.” Naruto reassured. “We all just thought that you would be a good fit and a great talent for this sport.”

           “The guy even said He’d put you on the team easy.” Kiba contributed.

“No, you guys just think I’m fat!” Choji pouted.

“No-“Neji tried to console him but Choji’s cries over powered him.

           “Look Choji,” I said. “We’re in high school now. And if we want to get into K.U., sports look good our applications. We think Sumo is good for you because you got the proper build for it and out of everyone in this room, you’re the one with the greatest brute strength.”

“Really?”

           “Yeah… and you’re one hell of a bulldozer.” Saskue is speaking from experience.

           We all laughed and Choji finally joined the High School Sumo team. He loves it cause after every match they go to his favorite BBQ spot.

           As my first year of High school progressed it was time for me to the choose something. Which was a surprise for everyone cause I barley even run. I’m the Lazy-ass of the group. You can find me in the dorm room sleeping at any given time. School is a bit of a breeze from me since knowledge is my trump card. I carry an IQ over 200+ and have been invited to get into prestigious academic programs but turned them down. It’d be too troublesome in my book. And I like where I’m at right now.

My favorite teacher and personal mentor Asuma-sensei convinced me over a game of Shoji to take on Boxing. He’s the coach for the team and throughout the years of knowing me, he clams I could make it. I looked at him as if he was mental. I mean- sure my dad showed me some stuff throughout the years to stand-up for myself but, boxing…for real. I don’t know about all that.

           An incident that happened our second year of middle school is something he likes to use as backup to prove his point, always comes to mind.

           We (meaning the gang and I) were on our way home, taking our usual route before we have to split up, walking and munching on some onigiri from our favorite “Go-go” mini mart. And as we were on our way some guys from school had caught up and cornered us in a back ally. We had no idea what was going on until one of the kids spoke up and said:

           “Naruto you bastard, you better take back what you said!”

“ME! What did I say?” we all looked at him with a fierce look.

           “Guys, I promise I didn’t do anything.” He told us.

“Look, if this only pertains to Naruto. We’ll gladly be on our way.”

           “NEJI!” Naruto exclaimed.

“Nah, I think we’re good with pumbling all you assholes to the ground.”

           They all began cracking their knuckles with sinister laughs as they began approaching closer to us.

           Saskue and Neji assumed fighting positions. Naruto slowly grabbed a stick on the ground. Kiba pulled out Akamaru out of his book bag. Choji began to brace himself as I stood behind them simply standing. You could say I’m the eyes of the group in case something goes south.

           “Thanks a lot Naruto.” Saskue whispered.

“If I miss my piano lesson, your explaining this to my dad.” Neji hissed.

           “I don’t even know what that hell this kid is angry about guys! I swear!” Naruto said.

           With a shout they charged. It was four kids against us five. For a moment it was fair fight because I was just standing watch. Neji dodged one kid’s punches and then swiftly gave him an uppercut. Saskue caught the others foot in mid kick and knocked him on his butt by kicking his foot out from underneath him. Kiba sent Akamaru to charge and keep his attacker at bay as he went in with a running start to RKO the kid. Choji simply belly bumped the kid who charged up against him. And Naruto was having a hard time with his opponent as they were duking it out through various punches. The leader was getting more punches in than Naruto, but Naruto still could take it as he finally got the winning shot and knocked the kid off his feet.

           “Lets Go! Quick!” Naruto shouted.

And we were off. We ran out of the alley and made a break for it. Choji was a little behind so, I slowed down to his tempo. He was heaving as he then suddenly realized. “I think I dropped my inhaler back there.”

“Are you serious?” I said. We came to a halt.

“Hey guys! Choji dropped his inhaler. I’m gonna go get it!”

           The guys came back towards us.

“Don’t you think they’re still there?” Kiba asked.

“Well, you want Choji to die? It’s okay Shikamaru. We’ll stay with Choji.” Neji said.

“And I don’t think they’re still there. I saw one of them leave after us in the other direction.” Saskue said.

           “Alright.” So, with that I left and went to retrieve Choji’s inhaler. As I got back to the alley, I found his inhaler on the ground and picked it up. As I was about to leave, I found the Leader still there. I guess his friends left him. He looked at me as he held his chin in pain.

“What the hell do you want?” he shouted. “Come back for more?”

I lift my hands up to show peace. “I don’t mean any trouble. I just came-“

           “I don’t want your apology!”

“I did-“

           “And who needs those looser friends anyway! I just called for real backup! My brother’s coming to kick your ass.”

And not a second later a shadow overcame me. I slowly turned around to see a boy who looked a couple years older than me, with slicked back silver hair, red eyes, towering over me. I saw that he had the high school uniform on.

           “Is this the little shrimpy kid who kicked your butt, Hido? Wow! I can’t believe it.” He laughed.

I got nervous. Maybe I should’ve got Neji or Saskue to come with me. Dammit! What the hell am I going to do?

           “Look here kid, my names Hidan.” He crotched down to my level. “I don’t really appreciate anyone messing with my family. So, I want you to pay very close attention-“

           My eyes shifted to where his hand was reaching for. He had a knife in his coat pocket.

The guy looked as if her was only a year or two older than me- what the hell was he doing with a knife?

           At the sight of it I panicked and without a thought I went into a stance and gave a right hook to the center of his face. He was caught off guard and started falling backward so, to help him out I finished him with an uppercut with my left and ran as fast as I could.

           I never found myself in that type of situation before. Only in hypotheticals with my dad and even then, I wasn’t putting out full blows. Just pretend with my dad.

I ran as fast as I could back to the guys, not giving a single glance back no matter how many voices I heard shouting after me. The guys came back to my line of vision and as they saw me approach their faces looked frightened. I was about to call out but, then a hand grabbed my arm.

           “Hey, slow down there kid!”

I looked to see Asuma-Sensei. Where the heck did he come from?

           “Asuma?” I said. “Wh-“

“If you’re gonna fight, don’t do it next to my store.”

           That was the day I found out that after school Asuma-sensei ran/owned a convenient store. He allowed me to return Choji’s inhaler to him but, I had to go back and explain to Asuma what happened. I was the only one caught so, Naruto said to not rat them out. But Neji dragged him to his house to explain to his dad why he missed his piano lessons.

           When I returned to Asuma, he explained to me that I broke the kids nose and badly bruised his jaw with my punches. He only knew the other guys side of the story so, it looked like I was the attacker.

           “He was about to pull a knife on me so, I panicked.” I simply explained.

           We made it back to the incident and the kid was getting treated by one of Asuma’s workers.

“Is that so?” Asuma said. “Hidan!”

           The silver headed boy looked at him with an eyebrow raised.

“You got a weapon on you boy?”

           His eye filled with panic for just a split second, but he kept his cool as he covered himself up.

“No sir.” He said. “Look, I told you, my little brother called me saying he and his friends were getting jumped. So, I ran over here to help him. I get here and that little shit was still on a rampage and out of nowhere attacked me!”

           ‘Rampage’ was not the word to describe me. Asuma knew that. So, in a single movement he got the knife out of his pocket.

“You bring weapons to school?” Asuma questioned him.

           Instead of Hidan expressing an emotion of guilt, he starred at me with what felt like a murderous intent. I looked away quickly and asked Asuma if I could leave. But he was already making a call to the school’s deputy. When deputy came, he questioned us again and it all ended with Hidan and his little brother being put in the back of the cop car with handcuffs. Turns out they both had a pilling record on their heads. Soon after the deputy left another cop car pulled in. It was Saskue’s dad. He offered me a ride home but before I left Asuma said:

           “And before I forget. Nice right hook.” He smiled and waved as we drove away.

           He saw the whole thing.

So, my first year of high school I took on Boxing per-Asuma-sensei’s request. And… I don’t hate it. It’s a good stress reliever.

           As the year went on it was just me and the guys as usual. Doing our thing. Until… Ino.

           Ino was a girl I saw almost every single day since elementary school. I knew our parents knew of each other but, she had so many friends Choji and I never really mingled with her. Whenever I saw her outside of school it was a single “Hi” and “Bye”. I’d be lucky if I got one in school though.

           But the point is that whenever I saw her I knew that I liked looking at her and my friends could obviously tell. For the longest time they urged me to go and really talk to her but, I never took the shot. I was okay with just looking at her.

           I didn’t know much about romance and never thought about it ever but, when I saw her I tried to imagine what it would be like. She seemed nice…. That all I could get from her. The guys didn’t know much about her either- only that she was best friends with Sakura…. Who had a huge crush on Saskue. Sakura was an acquaintance of ours and was relatively nice but, she refused to let us know anything about Ino. She said something about paying respect to some stupid girl code. And Saskue refused to put anything on the line if it meant talking Sakura.

           Sakura and Ino were- for the longest time- and still are part of the ”Popular”s. Top of the social ladder and they liked their place there. So, going out with a guy like me or Naruto or Kiba or Choji meant Social suicide. Saskue and Neji made the cut because apparently their good looking but, don’t care for social status or people so they gave them the middle finger.

           But one day, after Biology class, Ino came to me. I was quite surprised she even knew my name when she approached me.

“I need your help, Shika- Shikamaru? Right?”

           “Yea.” I said.

“I’m failing this class and if I don’t pass, the teacher is threatening me with summer school. I heard you’re the top of our class so, do you think you could help me?”

           She asked me in a pretty straight forward way. No hair flip or puppy-dog eyes. She just simply asked. I could see the desperation in her eyes so, I agreed.

           She had already set days that’s she had free so that we could be able to meet up and study. Afterwards I met up with the guys at lunch and they claimed it was fate…. Well, Naruto and Kiba. Choji was happy for me and gave me a pat on the back. But Neji and Saskue simply nodded and told me to be careful. To them they took my liking towards Ino as quite a surprise. They said they didn’t see me with a girl like her but, weren’t gonna put up a fight with my choice.

           As time progressed and I tutored her. The time came to the mid-quarterly exam. She passed with flying colors and Thanked me. Nothing happened over our study dates. It was strictly Biology. But, at the end I got the courage to ask her to the Winter Festival but, she turned me down.

           I didn’t know that it got to me until my boxing match came up. I was up against some guy from Sound High. He was pretty good and in the beginning of the match he was landing a lot of good hits on me. But when the second round came in, he gave a nice jab that woke me up real good. After that I just lost it. I didn’t give him enough time to block or recover and I won the match with a KO.

           The day after, Kiba told me that I was the “Talk of the Town” saying that everyone was talking about my match last night. And a couple days later Ino and I had plans for a date.

           Our relationship happened suddenly, and I quickly got blinded by her. I only saw her and nothing else. I could care less about the popularity and all the people she had around her. I just wanted to know what she was about, her likes, interests, things that made her happy, or sad. Everything.

           I wasn’t one to show PDA at school and I made if very clear to her. She respected my boundaries and I respected hers. The only perk to all this (to Naruto and Kiba) was that we got into all the parties now. Choji used this opportunity to become more of a social butterfly. So, it was kind of a win-win situation because Neji and Saskue would sometimes attend those parties which made Sakura and a bunch of other girls happy.            

           Very quickly we were no longer losers. All in the span of our first year in high school. Choji went with the flow. Kiba loved it. Naruto was through the roof. Saskue could care less but, I do see the way he looks at Sakura at times. And Neji… I’m surprised he’s even still around.

           The beginning of Ino and I’s relationship was great. I had no problem. I didn’t really know how to do all this so, I was just following after her lead while also getting tips from the guys…. Which helped… more or less. Until one day, I asked Asuma.

“What do you see in Ino, Shikamaru?” He asked. “Why did you choose her?”

           I thought for a minute. “Well, I never really thought of girls until I saw her. I saw her and I thought she was beautiful. She was the first girl I ever saw that made me…pause.”

He nodded and then asked. “How did you feel when you kissed her for the first time?”

           “Pretty good.” I said.

He nodded. “Honestly, Shikamaru. I’m not surprised by your answers…. But, If you want my opinion. I don’t think Ino is a nice a choice… for you.”

           I stayed quiet.

“She’s a nice girl. All around personality with a face to match it. But if she’s the one you like- I can’t really tell you how to live your life. But I will I give you this advice: When you know you’re with the right person, it all just comes naturally. Without a second thought.”

________________________________________________________________

Thank you guys for being so patient! It was so hard to get this out on time with school getting in the way. I hope you like the first chapter. The second one will be out soon! Where you’ll see a little bit of Temari’s back story. And art too!

What do you think about ShikaIno? How did this chapter make you feel for the most part? I’d love feedback.

Chapter Two: Temari

-MissVGJ98

[phonecallwithsatan]

just look for my owl (three)

a.n. : I am in awe that there are TEN of you that follow me. I don’t even care if I get bullied for geeking out over ten followers. I’m so happy and glad you all enjoy what i’ve written. My lovelies, here is chapter three of this series. I think its getting interesting but im too scared to add mature stuff in here because i dont know how you all will react. Look at me, speaking to my ten followers. It’s a press conference at this point. Chap. four is soon to follow tonight so please keep out for that! This fic is a they/them reader, so  I will only refer to you as they/them. 3k words, fred weasley x y/n, enjoy!<3

Our beloved Fred Weasley falls for Ilvermorny student [y/n] [l/n]. He’s determined to get to them, but the only way he can is through post sent through the two. The only thing left for the pair is to just look for an owl.

Check out chapter two before you read this!

☾

It had been four days since that owl came in to deliver Fred Weasley’s Professor a parcel from [Y/n l/n]. 

It had been four days since Fred hadn’t stopped thinking about [y/n].

Luckily, no suspicions from his professor were brought up about the missing photo, and he was glad. The professor even came in during his quidditch practice to chat with the students cheerfully, even taking a few photos of the team as a whole and separately. 

Today was the 31st of October, and the Triwizard champions were chosen shortly after Fred began to dig into his food, irritated at the interruption that faced him.

Or maybe he should say the Quartet champions now that Harry was facing the tournament too.

Dinner wrapped up a bit after that, and the two twins carried on to their dorms surprisingly silent the whole way. Not causing any ruckus or speaking even.

Perhaps it was because they were disappointed at the selection of Harry even though he was younger than the two twins. They could have had a chance now that he was chosen, but Fred knew that it wasn’t about that.

He didn't know about his twin at the moment, normally he does, but Fred was in a hurry to get to his dorm and sleep, as he had no homework.

Everyday for these past four days, Fred has dreamed about [y/n]. Dreaming, thinking, pondering, it was all connected to them. Not a particular storyline, not at all, his dreams were more of the idea of a real-life physical them.

[y/n] in his jumper, [y/n] in Hogwarts robes, their hand in his under the table during dinner at the great hall, how they would say his name in any context. His thoughts were severely occupied with them and Fred was okay with that.

These ideas followed their way through the portrait hole, into the Gryffindor common room, and up the stairs to the boys dorm. 

He had yet to wash himself off after his long day, so Fred went off to the left side of the dorm to access his trunk at the end of his bed. He takes out a simple orange towel and closes the chest up. He then takes off his sweater vest only to place it on his bedspread.

Walking over to his bedside table, Fred decides to let [y/n] take a dip into his daydreams as he looks in his drawer for the photo of them.

No, thinks Fred. No, no, no, no, no, cascading words now fill Fred’s brain as he panics about the fact that his polaroid was missing.

The polaroid of [y/n] was now missing from Fred’s bedside table, confused as to how exactly he misplaced something so golden.

His whole dresser was obviously rummaged through. There were a few sickles missing along with an extra jar of ink and- his stash of Fizzing Whizzbees and Jelly Slugs. He genuinely frowned at the candy more than anything else, but then he remembered about the photo that was missing- stolen now.

Fred whipped his head back to see who was in the boys’ shared dorm, and the only person he saw was his twin chatting with a visiting fifth year student. 

Now completely turned, Fred walks to the front of his bed and pulls out his trunk, wondering if he had left it in there by accident, but it was no luck.

“George,” started Fred with his back to his twin.

George turned to his brother. 

“What is it, Fred?” He asked with confusion. He noticed the drawer hanging on by a thread off the rest of the table and decided to completely disregard his conversation at that point. “I’ll catch you later.” 

As the friend walks out of the boys’ dormitories, Fred begins to explain what had happened, hand motions waving around. They usually appear when there is something wrong.

“Someone rummaged through my stuff,” Fred motions to his dresser, “did you let anyone else come in here and mistake it for yours?” 

George looked at his twin with furrowed brows until his face lightened up a bit from the clarity. 

“Yeah, actually. Cedric Diggory from Hufflepuff was in here and he asked me for some ink.”

“George, what the hell.” Fred was beyond confused as to what, first of all, Cedric Diggory, one of the Triwizard champions, was doing in the Gryffindor common room. Why he was needing ink in the middle of the day and why his drawer. “You let him go through it? Half of my items are missing.” Fred was furious at how irresponsible his brother was at the moment.

“He was desperate and I felt bad.” A simple response from a boy with little to no empathy when it came to using a twelve-year-old student as a lab rat for their inventions. A particular unnamed candy that is still a work in progress gave her severe diarrhea for weeks straight.

“George, he stole money, candy, and t- What is wrong with you?” He cut himself quick before he could expose [y/n] to his brother. He was mad at him and now was not the time to gush about them.

“It’s fine, we’ll talk to him tomorrow.” George laughs at his twin for being unmanageable, but Fred is unamused.

“Piss off.” Fred takes his towel and goes town to the bathrooms, bringing a change of clothes with him.

☾

Fred was a bit after hours for students, but he couldn't wait to get the bath located in the prefect's bathroom.

Yes, Fred had snuck in there, but that's because the boys’ dormitory bathroom was disgustingly filled with too many boys in one perimeter. So with this in mind, Fred knew exactly where to go to relax from the fuming that happened between himself and his brother.

Fred dropped his towel by the edge of the water and took off his shoes. Setting them neatly by the towel, he began to work on his shirt. He loosened his tie but not all the way so the loop in it would stay. He began to unbutton his shirt, hands working a bit slower than normal. He did not come here often, nor was he a prefect, so he took his time.

He looked up from his hands and Fred looked at the mermaid mural on the stained glass, thinking of [y/n], the beauty remarkable from either photo. Not that Fred was comparing physical features from the mermaid and from [y/n], he was rather just acknowledging how both were, to put it literally, breathtaking. 

The colors from it shaded his body in colors of pinks and blues, diluting a bit now that the white shirt was shrugged off his body. The color was not as vibrant now, but his light skin and freckles that were splattered all over his chest created a new palette of shades.

He dropped his shirt on top of his other items and he undid his belt, leaving it on the belt loops of his pants as he takes them off as well, folding them up unlike his shirt and dropping them on his pile of clothes. All he had left were his boxers, and they were soon added to the tower of items on his right side.

He stepped into the water while simultaneously checking for any other visitors. It was a bit late for that, though, considering that he was completely exposed at that point. 

The moonlight shone through the glass, some areas of the floor painted colors with the light. The water was flowing from a few taps and bubbles were flying everywhere. Fred shifted a bit from his old placement in the giant pool so his arms were now propped on the edge.

Now with the photo in the hands of a certain someone he considered a snake, even though they were in Hufflepuff, Fred needed to confront Cedric for not only his money, his candy, and his ink without consent, Fred needed to confront him about [y/n]. What kind of a freak just steals a photo? 

Oh, thought Fred. 

What if, somehow, Cedric gets a hold of [y/n]? Impossible, he reassured himself. Cedric doesn't even know their name. He knows nothing. He's a loathsome rat who steals money, candy, ink, and photos. 

Smiling to himself for coming up with that description, Fred quickly goes down the same road again.

What if, somehow, [y/n] likes him, instead? What if- His mind was filled with ‘what-ifs’ and ‘somehows’ that clouded his brain. Cedric shouldn't have been running through his mind regardless. There’s just no possibility where [y/n] would even meet him.

He was consumed with someone who did not know he existed Fred was jealous that someone else was in possession of that photograph.

The only way to eliminate Cedric was to get to [y/n] first, and he knew his plan from the moment he saw their photo.

He was going to catch his professor at the owlery in the castle, and sneak his own letter in there. This way, both parcels would miraculously be carried over the Atlantic ocean.

His professor wouldn't notice and hopefully [y/n] wouldn't be too freaked out.

The tap finished spewing water and the room went silent except for a few drips coming from one of the spouts. Fred estimated his time and decided to waste none of it, so he dunked his head underwater out of impulse and came back up with his hair sticking to his forehead. 

He needed to write.

☾

Fred was now back in his common room sitting on a couch with his parchment spread out over his legs and couch, and his wet hair slowly dripping on it, making the ink smear a bit. He had crumpled up at least five different drafts of a few sentences while sitting there.

He was wearing grey pants and a gryffindor jumper, keeping him warm on the first day of November. It was about one at night and he could hear his brother, Ron Weasley, snoring from the upstairs dorms.

He dug up a few polaroids he had taken with his brother at the beginning of the year to drop in the parcel. Fred had decided to make this out to his mother, Molly Weasley, hence the photos would have been for her. Molly wanted photos taken with their new camera and photos of their new brooms for Quidditch being put to use properlly.

Normally, Fred didn't really use muggle instruments, but he did have a shared camera with his twin, George. Luckily, a shop in Hogsmeade sold refills for it.

And they would have, Fred and George ended up taking photos of themselves during Quidditch practice, making sure to hide the camera from teachers and spectators so it wouldn't be taken away. Snape would make it his life goal to snatch it away from them when really it did no harm.  They took photos of their jerseys, the field, a few separates, a few with the team, and two separate ones of the twins. They were planning to give them to their mum, but these photos would be put to use differently.

It was a brilliant plan in his eyes. [y/n] would surely respond to his so-called mistake, right? Hopefully they would send a letter back, and maybe a few polaroids for himself to keep. It’s brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.

Fred began his sixth attempt at writing out a letter to his own [y/n].

Mum,

We miss the burrow. And you and dad, of course. 

As promised, the photos. We think you’ll really enjoy these, since you probably miss our ravishing looks.

There’s not much to write about, mum. Ginny is okay, Ron is alright, and George is asleep somewhere right now. Otherwise, they would have scribbled something on here.

Fred

It was too short but he couldn’t think of anything else to write to his mum. She had written to Ginny a few days prior so he had given all viable information to Ginny’s response letter.

He reacted quickly to the water that dripped off his hair and snatched the parchment before it could bleed and combine with the ink. The script was perfect, absolutely incomparable to his other drafts.

Time moved fast and it was now two in the morning. Fred took his parchment and placed it neatly in the parcel. He took his stack of polaroids and placed them in the parcel.

Almost forgetting, Fred searched through the polaroids and found the two individual snapshots of the twins in their uniforms. Molly constantly mixed the two up when they wore their quidditch uniforms, always forgetting who was #5 and who was #6. Their own mother. It severely got worse every year.

From totally forgetting to absolutely forgetting, Fred forgot that this letter wasn’t even going to reach his mother. He had already marked up the photos though, that was just an afterthought.

He looked at the photo of himself and his twin standing in front of the center field, astonished as to how clear it was. He could see his features perfectly unlike the photo he previously had of [y/n] that was blurry but nonetheless readable.

Shoving the photos back into the parcel, he wrapped it up nicely and carefully wrote the address of the burrow on it.

His plan was slowly coming into action, and Fred was just excited to see it play out.

☾

Fred had ended up spilling everything to his twin the day he planned to sneak his letter along with McGonagall’s.

“So you have no clue who [y/n] is, and you’re providing photos of you and your friends to this person, might I add again, who you don’t know? Fred, this is ridiculous.” George was talking to his twin in the corridor right before the owlery as they were both waiting for the professor to return with a response letter. Fred had been holding onto the parcel for a few days now, and yesterday, he saw that familiar brown owl arrive again.

McGonagall greeted the owl mid-class and took the letter in hand to place it safely in her desk. The owl remained on the window perch for the rest of class.

Fred wasn’t able to see who sent it, but he knew that owl all too well to be mistaken for someone else owling his Professor.

Just as Fred was about to respond to his brothers snarky question, they heard footsteps down the hall and they began to walk up to the owlery.

They had decided to distract McGonagall with a familiar owl, Hedwig. Harry had been complaining how she had been squawking too much for normal. Harry wouldn’t mind, though, because he never had to know that his owl was involved in a hopelessly romantic ploy.

Fred and George were now in the owlery next to Hedwig, feeding her snacks they had brought for compensation. It was only fair to her that she got something in response. A few strange squawks escaped her beak.

“Good morning Mr. and Mr. Weasley. Are you writing someone?” McGonagall was an expert at knowing who was who just off the back of their heads. Granted, she could probably tell the two apart without them turning around. 

“Just paying a visit to Hedwig here, professor. We need to get going soon.” George glanced at Hedwig mid-sentence and gave the professor a small smile.

Their plan was failing terribly. McGonagall was getting her owl ready for the journey by winding the ribbon around its leg to hold the letter more in place. 

Normally, Fred and George would just place a note in Errol's beak, but since it was a longer distance they would have to find a way to tie it around the owls leg.

Luckily, Hedwig served as an amazing distraction as she began to choke and squawk on the snacks they were giving her. It was a time of crisis but the twins had to act fast.

McGonagall turned to the twins and quickly discarded her owl to help them. She pushed them aside and began to aid the choking owl, George began to laugh a at the visual of an owl choking, but quickly put it away as he got a scolding look from McGonagall, who was now shaking the owl. 

Fred used this distraction to run over and tie his letter to the owls leg, attaching his and his professors letter to the owl. The animal began to flap its wings, confused as to why an unknown ginger was picking at his feet, but Fred was too busy to yell at it.

By attaching his letter to McGonagall’s owl, Fred didn't need to get authorization from someone to send it. He also did not have to get it searched, as he was sneaking it through.

He turned to see George motioning him to hurry, laughing at the same time because his professor was still talking to the bird, trying to get it to stop choking. 

Fred was able to tie the letters successfully and shooed the owl quickly, noticing how the two letters weighed it him down a little, making Fred laugh too. He didn’y understand how he pulled it off, but he was happy it worked- somewhat. The owl was steadily flapping it’s wings but Fred could see that it wasn’t used to that type of weight on its feet.

He speed walked back to his professor who was oblivious as to what happened behind her back. The twins were wrong for laughing at the McGonagall who wanted to just help them deal with the animal cruelty they put on Hegwig, but it was a visual they would never forget. And truly, it was a little funny and dramatic.

Fred wondered again how the hell his absurd plan worked, but he was glad that he was able to send out the parcel, and avoid murdering his friends owl with food.

“There, girl. You’re alright. You spit out.” McGonagall consoled the owl by patting her head. She turned to the twins and scolded them for being so irresponsible with someone else's owl.

“Potter doesn’t know, does he?” She asked.

The two twins looked at eachother and ran off laughing, leaving McGonagall clueless to everything that just happened. 

Soon after that, Fred realized that he had just created the beginning of something new in his life. Something that he had yet to receive not in person, but rather in a form of a letter.

All he had left to do was look for that Brown owl.

[shoutosun]

Glue Sticks & Super-Moves

Chapter 2: Tea Time and Muffins

Pairing: Kirishima/Midoriya

WC: 2175

Genre: Fluff, Slow Burn, Quirkless Midoriya Izuku, Pro-Hero Kirishima Eijirou, Post-Canon

How kindergarten-teacher Midoriya Izuku and pro-hero Kirishima Eijirou fall in love.

Originally posted on AO3

It always felt a little strange coming back to UA.

None of it felt smaller; the halls were still grand, and the doors still loomed over his frame, but it certainly felt odd, walking the halls as an adult.

Izuku had visited UA many times before, though he mostly kept to the teacher’s dorms. He usually came to see Hitoshi or Eri, and by extension, Shouta and Hizashi.

The only other person he ever visited was Principal Nedzu.

“Ah, Izuku! Welcome!” Nedzu said, flashing him a bright smile. “It is always a pleasure to meet with my former students, and this is no exception! It has been far too long since we last had the chance to chat!”

Izuku gave his former principal a polite bow. “Good to see you again, Nedzu. Sorry I couldn’t come by sooner.”

He walked into the office, taking it all in. Not much had changed in the last three years—the walls were still white, there was a plant in the back corner, and a large bookshelf to his left—though a few more pictures were on the wall than he last remembered. One was of All Might and Lemillion two years ago, both of them beaming for the camera. Izuku tried not to let his eyes linger for too long.

(While he was more than happy with his chosen career path, occasionally, the heartbreak he felt on the rooftop all those years ago would flit through him. His heart would clench uncomfortably in his chest, the pain only soothed by the memories of glitter, sock puppets, and laughter.)

“Would you like some tea?”

Izuku tore his gaze from the photo and sat in the chair across from the principal’s desk.

“Yes, please,” He said, taking the offered cup. It was his favorite kind.

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, relishing in the sweet warmth of their tea. While he sipped his drink, Izuku spotted a miniature snowglobe on the desk. It was one he was very familiar with, having bought it for Nedzu on his first (and only) trip to see his dad in the United States. He had spent almost an hour debating the pros and cons of various souvenirs before his mother finally forced him to settle on the small trinket. Seeing it displayed so proudly brought a soft smile to his face.

Izuku took one more sip of his tea before placing it down and asking, “So, Principal, what would you like to discuss with me? I assume you’d like a copy of my lesson plans for Eri’s internship?” He pulled out a few folders from his bag.

“That would be wonderful,” Nedzu said. “I do appreciate how you are always so prepared!” He took the folders from Izuku and started to flip through them, occasionally taking a drink. “Have you considered whether you will be taking Eri for a work-study? I understand it’s a bit early, but I thought you might have some thoughts,” He said, not looking away from the notes.

Izuku hummed in thought. He had considered it, but he wasn’t sure if it was the best move. Eri hadn’t yet decided what branch of education she wanted to go into, so it might be best for her to be a bit more well-rounded. He could always advise her on his personal time.

He said as much to Nedzu, who nodded in understanding.

“I see,” Nedzu said, placing his teacup down and looking at Izuku. “I quite enjoyed my time teaching you in your high school years; do you think Eri might benefit from something like that? I am aware that she does not possess the same… analytical mindset that you do, but perhaps a shift in perspective would be good for her?”

“Hmm, I’m not so sure.” Izuku looked out the window behind Nedzu. “You and I both know that Eri adores you, sir, but I think it might be better for her to get more experience outside of UA.”

“Oh?”

Izuku nods, continuing, “I'm sure you know this already, but Eri had a very... well, a very sheltered childhood. After she was rescued from the Shie Hassaikai, she had to reintegrate into society slowly. Even now, she sometimes struggles with reaching out to her peers.” He sighs. “She does just fine at home; she loves her family to bits—including most of Class 1-A, as well as Togata. But if we want Eri to continue progressing, then we should help her out of her comfort zone—which has undoubtedly become the halls of UA.”

Nedzu temples his paws. “Very astute, Izuku!” He makes a note before continuing, “Glad to see we are on the same page. You never cease to impress me with your observations!”

“Thank you, sir!” Izuku chuckled.

Nedzu pulled a board out from his desk. “Well then, with business out of the way, how about a game of chess?”

“Only if you’re prepared to lose!”

Nedzu flashed him a feral grin. “Oh, we’ll see about that.”

“Okay, Eri, that’s the last of the basic classroom procedures,” Izuku said, clasping his hands in front of him. “Any questions?”

Eri shook her head. “Nope! I wrote it all down in my notebook; I’ll be just fine, Uncle Deku!”

“It’s Midoriya-sensei when we’re at school,” Izuku said, raising an eyebrow at the girl, “but I’m glad you’ve got it all down.”

Today was the beginning of Eri’s internship with him, and Izuku felt great. Eri was super enthusiastic about everything—even the most tedious and nitpicky policies—which made his life a whole lot easier. He was worried that she might be a bit bored at first, but she powered through, and now they got to focus on the fun part.

“All right, Eri, the kids should start arriving in a bit, so why don't you help me finish setting up the classroom, and then you can wait outside the door to greet the kids?” Izuku grabbed a few worksheets and handed them to Eri, nodding towards the tables. “Hara-sensei should be here in a few minutes as well. She texted me to say she was running behind.” Izuku stifled a laugh and dramatically whispered, “Don’t let her fool you; she’ll probably stroll in holding coffee and a cinnamon roll; it’s just how she is.”

Eri giggled. “ Does she ever bring you any, Uncle—I mean, Midoriya-sensei?”

Izuku rolled his eyes playfully. “Me? Only sometimes. She’s nice though and good at her job, so it’s not a big deal.” He shrugs, diverting his attention to the whiteboard, updating a few things.

Hara-sensei, or as Izuku knew her, Emiko, was a pleasant woman. She got along well with the kids; they loved to goof off with her at recess. (Sometimes, Izuku wondered if she wasn't actually a five-year-old herself.) She had been Izuku’s assistant teacher since he started working at Mimba Private Elementary School, and her help had been invaluable. She was actually only a few months younger than Izuku, but she preferred the assistant position. He had tried to get her to apply for promotion once, only to be met with a firm rejection, and glitter flicked in his face. ("Are you trying to get rid of me?") He hasn't suggested it since.

“I’m going to wait by the door now!” Eri called over her shoulder.

Izuku turned, replying with a quick, “Alrighty!”

Emiko strolled in about two minutes later, holding an iced coffee and—to Izuku’s surprise—three chocolate chip muffins.

“Well, would you look at that! My assistant actually brought me a treat?” Izuku teased.

Emiko laughed, setting her things down on her desk. She had long blue hair tied in two braids and was wearing a long-sleeved yellow button-up under a pair of overalls. (Mimba Elementary was famous for its lax dress code, students and teachers alike.)

“I even brought one for your intern!” Emiko chirped. “I hope she likes chocolate. They ran out of blueberry before I got there.” She picked off a piece of the muffin, popping it in her mouth.

Izuku grabbed one, peeling off the wrapper before taking a big bite. He hummed in delight.

“Are those from Sato’s?” Eri asked, peeking her head in the door.

Emiko grinned proudly, holding one out to the other girl, who raced over to grab it. “You betcha! My cousin works there, so I get a family discount!” She said, shooting a wink at Eri.

“Better eat that quick; the students will be here any minute now!” Izuku poked at Eri’s stuffed cheek.

Eri gobbled up the rest of her muffin in record time before sprinting back to the door.

Emiko turned to Izuku. “Do you want to stand outside with Eri today, or should I? She doesn’t really know me yet, so I wasn’t sure if she’d be more comfortable sticking with you for now.” She finished picking at her muffin, throwing the wrapper in the garbage.

“I’ll stay with her for today, but she can go with you tomorrow. I want to push her out of her comfort zone as much as I can while she’s here.” His lips upturned into a playful smile. “Plus, if you keep buttering her up with food, I’m sure you’ll be besties by the end of the week.” He chuckled, popping another bit of muffin in his mouth.

A teasing grin quickly overtook his assistant's face. “By the way,” Emiko whispered, “have you asked you-know-who out yet?”

Izuku felt his face flush red. “What?!” He squeaked. “Absolutely not! We both know I can’t do that!” He waved his hands in front of his face frantically.

Emiko raised an eyebrow at her co-worker. “Do I know that? Because I can’t come up with a single reason why it would be a bad idea.” She leveled him with an unimpressed stare.

“Um, how about the fact that he’s a literal pro-hero and I’m a kindergarten teacher?” Izuku suggested, bewildered at his assistant’s lack of understanding. “He’s way out of my league! There’s no way he would be interested in me!”

“I just don’t see the harm in asking!” Emiko exclaimed. “You never know until you try, Izuku! If he turns you down, then so what? You move on with your life, and nothing bad happens! It’s really not that complicated!” She huffed, crossing her arms.

Izuku sighed, running a hand down his face. “Look, Emiko. I appreciate the sentiment but, we have quite a few mutual friends, actually. So I don’t want to make it weird for anyone if they find out.”

Emiko looked confused. “Wait, you two know each other? I mean, everyone knows Red Riot, obviously, but he knows you too?

“Well, not exactly. I know a handful of his old classmates from UA, and my best friend’s boyfriend is his best friend, or well, one of them anyway. I’ve never actually met Red Riot before, but we have similar social circles. Not that I’ve been, like, avoiding him or anything! I would never do that! And we both see him here at school anyway so—”

“Izuku. Chill,” Emiko laughed.

His mouth clicked shut, blushing again. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine, just calm down, okay? I get it might make things a little bit weird if he turns you down, but you honestly don’t have a whole lot to lose in this situation. Plus, his kid isn't even in your class! That makes it like, a million times easier to avoid him if it doesn't go well. So just go for it!” Emiko punched his arm before shaking out her hand. “I always forget you’re more muscular than you look.” She pouted.

Izuku breathed out a small laugh. “Thanks, Emiko. I’ll—I’ll think about it, I guess.”

“That’s all I can really ask of you." She gave him a bright smile. "Now go help Eri! She’s gonna be drowning in kids if you don’t!”

“Alright, alright! I’m going!” He waved Emiko off, walking over to Eri.

Little did Izuku know, his new intern had heard every word of his conversation.

And though she may not be a hero student, she was determined to save Izuku from his rapidly failing love life. And she knew just who to ask for help.

“Midoriya-sensei, is it alright if I text my dad real quick? It’ll be just a second!” She plastered on her sweetest smile, one that always got Uncle Deku to agree to whatever she had planned.

“Sure, but make it fast, okay? I’m gonna need your help getting the kids seated and ready for the day,” He said, quickly turning his attention back to the steady stream of kids arriving.

“Thank you!”

Eri pulled out her phone, scrolling through her contacts until she found who she was looking for. She drafted a text as fast as she could before sending it and stuffing her phone back in her dress pocket.

“All done, Midoriya-sensei!” The girl chimed. “What do you need me to do next?”

In his office, Principal Nedzu received a very intriguing message.

“Why, yes, Eri. I do believe that can be arranged!” Nedzu smiled to himself.

[notfckincool]

DIRTY GIRL

Ch 8 - Blood lust

Ana embarks on a casual, and obviously filthy affair with Negan, accidentally falling for the man, knowing he will never love her. Angst and kinkyfuckery.

WARNINGS: It's Negan so expect swearing, violence, sexual content throughout. I'll add specific chapter warnings as it progresses. 

Chapter 8 - Blood Lust

Negan x Ana (OC)

Ana has worked her way up the rankings of the Saviors to be one of Negan's top guys. They get horny in the truck on the way home after punishing a rebellious community.

Warnings: firstly, questionable dark immature humour. (This is not a serious smut. I wanted their relationship to have developed into a playful friends with benefits/humorous fuck buddy scenario.) Usual =swearing, dirty talk, wanking, oral

"Not cool. NOT. FUCKING. COOL....

This insurgency...rebellion...uprising... ...whatever the fuck you want to call it, will NOT be fucking tolerated...

You. Fucking. Know this...... EVERYONE is very clear on the fucking rules, and there are no exceptions... NO. EXCEPTIONS.

Lucille is thirsty...and my dirty girl insists on having her way...Punishment will be swift and severe...... This is the way it has to be, people.....THIS is the New World Order and this is the ONLY WAY."

***

Panting and pumped with adrenaline, they turn to each other. Lucille poised at his side, soaked and stained with her latest victim, Ana clutching her dagger, dripping and glistening red in the evening light. The remains of the rebels twitch at their feet as blood pools around their boots. The sobbing in the background becomes white noise as she locks eyes with him. She idolises him and his commitment to the cause, believes in him completely. She fought for him. She killed for him. 

He brushes a blood smear from her cheek with a smirk. She watches hypnotised, as drips of claret snake their way slowly and seductively down over prominent cheekbones, collecting in the bristles of his beard. His eyes wander across her face. Touching her again, this time slowly, his thumb deliberately lingers on her skin, traces along her jaw and lips, which part as he brushes them. Her head tilts to capture the bottom of his thumb between her teeth. Biting, holding him there. 

Oblivious to their surroundings he moves in close, his large gloved hand grasping at her neck and jaw forcing her chin upwards. His gaze intense, his eyes dark and hooded, he lowers his lips to hers, hovering just out of reach. "Hmmmm" he bites on his lip as he holds her there, then abruptly turns away towards the kneeling residents. 

"Well I think that went pretty fuckin well......" 

He swings Lucille, taunting them with a grin as he swaggers passed them.

"Mistakes were made....." 

swing 

"People were punished...." 

swing 

"Lessons were learned....." 

swing 

"Damn! I am in a great fuckin mood." 

Swinging Lucille in a full circle then flicking her at the survivors, blood splatters their faces as they cower before him. Amused, he leans back laughing 

"Yep, my dirty girl is very happy, AND very satisfied..... Speaking of..." 

He turns and smirks in Ana's direction

".....I am feeling EXTREMELY turned on right now, so, I'm going home to fuck this beautiful woman.... "

He turns dramatically in Simon's direction. 

"Simon we're done here, let's wrap this shit up." 

Looking down at the floor and stamps in the mess. He points his finger down towards his feet and grimaces. 

"Ya might wanna clean this shit up before leaving" 

He shakes his boot and turns to walk away, calling over his shoulder 

"Ya'll have a pleasant fuckin evening, I'll be back in a week" 

Turning on his heels he grabs Ana by the hand and strides towards the truck. Opening the passenger door, he helps her in, giving her ass a sharp slap as she climbs in. 

"That fucking ass of yours" he growls "can't wait to get you home."

He slams the door shut, eyeing her through the windscreen with a filthy smirk as he walks around the front of the truck and climbs in the drivers side. 

"We don't have to wait until we get home" she smiles, leaning in towards him placing a hand on his thigh. He looks over at her, shaking his head and starts the engine. 

"Girl, I am horny as fuck right now, but I can't do what I want to do to you in this truck...." 

He groans and let's his tongue poke out between his teeth, chuckling and adjusting himself before pulling away. 

"....Let's get the fuck outta here." 

She edges in closer to him.

"I may have a few ideas of my own" she smiles, squeezing his thigh "but..I want you to tell me.Tell me what you want to do with me." She smirks

Glancing down at her hand he looks over her body before grinning and turning his attention back to the road. 

"You're all bloody and dirty.....he growls "so, I'm gonna start by ripping off those clothes"

"I like bloody and dirty." She purrs looking up at him her eyes darkening, her hand wandering further up his thigh 

"Not gonna lie princess, watching you tonight, seeing you shut that shit down...badass....and this..." glances at her and gestures to her blood soaked clothing, then back at the road "...... it is hot as fuck. I am getting hard just looking at you, but....I need to get you home..... I'm gonna need to soap you up in a nice hot shower for all the kissing and licking and biting that I'm fucking thinking about.., and then... im gonna bend you over...." he pauses, waiting for her reaction

" mhm, and then.." she shifts in her seat, pressing her thighs together tracing her finger over the swelling under his jeans

"..and then..." his eyes firmly focused on the road, a smile on his lips

" ...then princess, I'm gonna fuck you deep and hard, make you cum over and over until you're begging for me to stop, but I wont..." 

He raises his eyebrows and licks his bottom lip before continuing

"...I wont stop, and I'm gonna keep fucking you all night until you can't take no more.... How's that sound princess?" He grins to himself

She squirms in her chair.

"That sounds fucking great, there's just one problem." 

"What's that?" he chuckles. 

"I cant wait. I want you right now." She rubs her hand over his length "Also, if you insist on calling me Princess, I'll start behaving like one"

"Is that so? Well you are going to have to learn a little patience....Princess" 

She palms his growing erection, leans into his ear.

"I can't. I need you. I need this cock right now."

 "Fuck, Princess. I need to fuckin concentrate on driving, you gonna get us killed," He flashes her a grin "So impatient, you dirty fuckin girl."  

"I like you bloody and dirty. I want to sit in your lap and ride that big cock" She squeezes him 

"Ana. For fucks sake" he grips the steering wheel. 

"I can't help it. This is what you do to me. I'm your needy little princess." she teases, rubbing him more firmly "Im not gonna stop until I get what I want, you know that right. I wont stop. I'll keep teasing until you can't take no more" she grips his cock through his jeans "I want you to fuck me now." She pouts "Please fuck me. We can carry on when we get home." She smiles and starts to unbuckle his belt. 

"Princess, stop" he warns with a shake of his head

"Make me" she teases and bites at his ear lobe. 

"Jesus fuckin fuck. You're fuckin insane." He pulls over chuckling and turns off the engine "Luckily for you I'm in a great mood."

He grabs her onto his lap playfully spanking her hard. 

"Princess, you are so spoilt... I fuckin spoil you.... C'mere you spoilt brat" she giggles and pretends to struggle

"Ow...ooh...wait my knife...its sticking...let me just..." he rolls his eyes as she unstraps the holster and tosses it to the passenger seat. They shuffle and bump in the confined space

"Fuck! This won't do. I need this seat back" he reaches around the seat and attempts to move it "Fuck it doesn't.... what the fuck? These trucks are really not built with a quick fuck on the way home in mind" he laughs

"Stop fucking around and fuck me already" she grins unfastening her jeans 

"Wait.......I can't fuckin move" he chuckles as she tries to straddle him 

"Shit! Fuck! Ow! The steering wheel's sticking in my back" she moves awkwardly onto him and rocks on his lap "Ow, you're so hard. Wait, is that a gun in your pocket?" she jokes

"It actually fucking is" he laughs. He removes it and places it on the seat. 

Opening his jeans she slides her hand in, he attempts to get in hers, shaking his head with a smile 

"I can't get in, can you just lift your ass." 

She lifts herself up accidentally pressing the horn.

"Fuck!" they both laugh. "This is a fuckin disaster. You sure you dont just want to go home and fuck where it's comfortable." He tugs at her jeans "Nope. I can't. Just move your leg that way a bit." 

"This isn't going quite the way I imagined" she laughs. Nuzzling into his neck she settles across his lap. "Seems a shame to waste this" she runs a finger down his length. "How about I just wank you off?" She strokes the tip 

"Wank me off?" He cracks out laughing "Did you just fucking say that?"

"Yeah, you know" she chuckles "the ole five knuckle shuffle"

"Wow....Fucks sake" he laughs rubbing his head "We are something else. Yeah, why not? Go for it, princess, Five knuckle shuffle it is" he chuckles as he relaxes back into his seat, and closes his eyes as she wraps her hand around him.

"If you like I could suck it for you too" she smiles

"Yes, I would fucking love that" he grins, his eyes still shut. He moves his hips a little as she strokes him

"Yeah, that's it." He bites his lip " I want to feel your lips on me princess, feel my cock sliding into your mouth" 

" um...yeah... not to spoil the mood but we're being watched" 

"I don't give a fuck" he groans "I'm talking dirty to you here, no distractions please" he smiles, his eyes still closed. "Continue...don't fuckin stop" 

She stops. He grumbles and opens his eyes to see a walker clawing at the drivers window.

"Oh" His eyes grow wide, his eyebrows raised as he looks out the window. 

"Fuck him, he can watch if he wants" he chuckles dismissively before settling back into his seat. "Now were we? Oh yeah, you were wanking me off and just about to suck my dick" he laughs.

Adjusting her position she pulls up his shirt kissing at his chest, trailing her lips over his stomach, lowering herself slowly. She licks at his tip, circling with her tongue, taking him slowly in her mouth. Theres a sudden bang at the window. She jolts up, hitting the horn again. 

"Fucks sake" 

More oglers have gathered outside the truck and there's movement in the trees.

"Oh crap" he sighs begrudgingly. "Ok. That's it. I'm calling it. Told ya we shoulda gone straight home" 

He laughs, lifting her off his lap and back onto her seat, and tucks himself away. 

"To be continued" he chuckles starting up the vehicle "Let's get the fuck outta here. Seatbelt on princess. Safety first"  

He smiles warmly at her before pulling back out onto the road and heading back to the Sanctuary. 

 MASTERLIST

@chloejanedecker1 @negan-love @bychrissi @nayghtynegan

[gentlethorns]

1-31

JKJFLKJGDKLS did you mean. 1 through 31?? like. all of them?? LMFAOOOOOO okay but i’m sticking them under a readmore bc that is gonna be SO long

1. what is a genre you love reading but will probably never write? mysteries/crime. i love the technique and expertise it takes to expertly lay out and set up a plot twist, but i don’t think i could ever do it aptly myself.

2. which writer has had the greatest stylistic influence on your writing? probably stephen king, if we’re talking fiction, but even then i don’t think he’s influenced me a ton - my writing voice is pretty distinctive (or so i’ve been told). as far as poetry, i think reading @candiedspit‘s work has really caused me to stretch my expectations of where words can go and what they can do.

3. has a specific song/lyric ever inspired a work of art for you? absolutely! i’m super inspired by music, bc music is really important to me as a means of emotional expression. back in sophomore year of high school i was working on a story where all the chapters were inspired by songs from folie a deux by fall out boy. it didn’t pan out and i never finished it, but i still think the concept was neat.

4. a writer whose personal lifestyle really speaks to you? lmfao not to talk about him again, but stephen king’s lifestyle really appeals to me. his writing is widely known and renowned, but he just chills at home and watches the red sox games and takes pictures of his corgi and keeps turning out stories. that literally sounds like paradise to me.

5. do you write both prose and poetry? which do you prefer? i do write both! and i can’t say i honestly prefer one over the other - my interest bounces between them and waxes and wanes, but i don’t consistently indulge one more than the other, i don’t think. last year i went through a huge fiction phase in october and cranked out eight or nine different short stories/flash pieces, and then in november/december i went through a poetry phase and wrote multiple poems a day for a long stretch of time. it just depends on my mood and my mindset and what i need from writing (a kind of escape vs. emotional expression/release).

6. do you read both prose and poetry? which do you prefer? i do read both, and again, i don’t think i have a preference. i definitely read fiction more, i think, but like writing, it kind of depends what i need at the time.

7. which language do you write in? which do you want to write in someday? i write in english, since it’s the only language i know. i’d like to learn spanish at some point, but i don’t know if i could ever write in spanish - i’m so firmly married to english grammar and structure that i don’t know if i could ever exercise the same control and mastery over spanish that i could english.

8. share a quote or verse that has been on your mind lately. “you said i killed you - haunt me, then!” from wuthering heights.

9. a writer/poet whose life you find interesting. *sigh*. stephen king. i’ve read his memoir/writing workshop book (”on writing”) and his success story always fascinates me. i just can’t imagine living in a shitty one-bedroom apartment with your wife and two kids and working days at an industrial laundromat and spending nights writing on a shitty wobbly desk in the laundry room, and you get your first manuscript accepted for publication, and eventually the paperback rights go up and you think you might get $60,000 if you’re really lucky, and then one day while your wife and kids are visiting the in-laws you get a call from your agent telling you that the paperback rights for your book sold for $400,000 and 200K of it is yours. that’s just literally. unfathomable to me lmfao.

10. what do you feel about the idea of someone unearthing your unseen or discarded drafts someday, long after your death? what about your personal journal? it’s really hard for me to imagine that happening, i think bc i tend to see myself as really like. insignificant or unimportant in the grand scheme of things, so i can’t imagine any part of me lasting beyond my life. also, it’s very hard for me to imagine someone i don’t know personally reading my work, probably because my work (especially a personal journal) is a window into me, and i have a hard time even letting people i trust see into that window sometimes, much less a stranger.

11. do you prefer to write in silence or listen to something? what do you listen to? i definitely prefer music in the background, although i can work in silence. i tend to gravitate to music that goes with the scene i’m writing, if i’m writing fiction (often i work music into my fiction, so if there’s a song playing in the scene, i’ll listen to that song), and if i’m writing poetry i tend to just listen to laid-back music (unless i’m writing from a place of grief or sadness, in which case i listen to sad music lmfao). i do also love writing when it’s storming outside and just listening to the rain and the thunder as i write.

12. has an image ever impacted your artistic lens/inspired your work? absolutely! less often than music, but visuals can inspire me on occasion. i once wrote a poem based on this image. i just couldn’t get it out of my head, so i decided to figure out what it was saying to me.

13. how would you describe the experience of writing itself? as in putting the words to paper, not planning or moodboards etc. do you agree with the common idea that the satisfaction lies in reading your work after you are done with it, rather than the process of writing itself? i think the process can be arduous sometimes, and other times it can be incredible. sometimes i write very slowly and haltingly, sometimes i write at a normal pace and it feels like the work it is (bc i am trying to write professionally), but sometimes the magic tap in the mind turns on and it starts flowing. that being said, i don’t necessarily agree that the satisfaction lies only in reading your work rather than also in the process. there’s a certain fulfillment in watching everything come together and knowing it’s going to be good.

14. how often do you write? it varies. i would like to write more often than i do, now that i have a full-time school schedule and work part time friday-sunday, but i think i still get a decent amount of writing done, when i can actually sit down and motivate myself to get the words out.

15. how disciplined are you about your writing? not very, in the creative sense - as discussed above, i don’t write as often as i should/would like to, and don’t hold myself to much of a schedule. however, as far as the business side of it (submitting to magazines/contests), i’m pretty disciplined, and i’m usually pretty good about keeping all my “good” pieces in circulation at a couple of places at a time.

16. what was your last long-lasting spurt of motivation? maybe last night? i worked on a couple of pieces and then submitted a few groups of poems to some magazines. i also did some decent work on thursday while i was in my campus starbucks waiting for my zoom class to start.

17. have you ever been professionally published? are you trying to be? i have been professionally published! i got my first acceptance back in 2018, and now i’ve had poetry published multiple times and fiction published twice. i’m still trying to publish more of my work, but i think i’ve had a decent start.

18. do you read literary magazines? not regularly, although i entered a fiction contest for into the void last year, and since it came with a year-long subscription, i’ve been browsing the fiction there periodically. into the void tends to publish good short/flash fiction, so anytime i feel like reading some new stories, i head there.

19. a lesser known writer you adore? idk if she’s necessarily “lesser-known,” but i loved ally carter’s gallagher girl series when i was younger. the first four books were immaculate (although i do remember that the last two books seemed almost unnecessary, and the ultimate end of the series was anticlimactic).

20. do you write short stories? do you read them? i write and read them! up until october of last year i could never figure out how to write a short story and effectively resolve a conflict in 5000 words or less, but then suddenly (like. literally overnight), a switch flipped in my head and i could do it. as far as reading them, i don’t read a ton anymore bc of my busy schedule ( :( ), so sometimes if i’m in the mood to read i’ll opt for a short story online or a book of short stories instead of a full-length novel.

21. do you prefer to involve yourself with literary history and movements or are you more focused on the writing itself? any favourite literary movements? i’m typically more focused on the writing itself, although i do love to learn about the horror boom from the 50s-80s (if that counts as a literary movement lmfao). i also do particularly love work from the era of deconstructionism, which i think took place in like. the 40s-60s, if i’m not mistaken. i enjoy that era bc of its symbolism and abstract nature - a lot of the work leaves the reader to draw their own conclusions.

22. are you working on anything right now? not particularly? i have a few works in progress that i tinker with now and then, but i’m not seriously working on anything in particular.

23. how did you get started with writing? i honestly don’t even remember. i remember the first time i realized that i really liked writing and had fun doing it (in fourth grade, for a school competition), but i know that even before then i was writing stories and poems.

24. do you have any “writer friends”? most of my mutuals are writer friends! but i don’t have any irl. i almost made one in my math class last semester, but we lost contact when our university shut down in march.

25. what is your earliest work you can remember? the earliest work i can remember is when i was really young (maybe like. five or six?). it was about our dog being pregnant (which she was at the time) and able to talk (which she was not).

26. have you found your writer’s voice yet? does your work have a distinct tone? absolutely. i’m very confident in my style and the distinctiveness of my voice - it’s been there pretty much since i first started writing. i’ve improved since then, honed my voice and made it more sophisticated and effective, but at the core, it’s still me, like it always has been.

27. do your works share themes/are commonly about certain topics? or are your subjects all over the place? in poetry, i think i tend to write about grief or loss of some sort or another often, bc it’s something i tend to feel often - either that or a false bravado (but ig that’s more of a tonal device). as far as fiction, i like to write about religion gone wrong (false religion, religion as a front for personal gain and corruption, religion gone too deep into obsession and mania, etc.), and i like smart underdog-type characters that fight and have a lot of grit to them.

28. what does writing mean to you? to me, writing is catharsis, a bloodletting. this particularly applies to poetry, but it also applies to fiction. poetry shows you the things you’re regurgitating up-front, but fiction does it slyly, in a mirror or through a distorting lens. regardless, both stand to offer release and healing.

29. in an alternate universe, imagine you had not found writing. what do you think would be your fixation otherwise? honestly, i’m not sure. probably acting or theater. something creative, for sure.

30. do you feel defined by your work? maybe a little, but not to a large or limiting extent. like, in a new class, my interesting fact about myself will probably always be “i’m a writer and i’ve been published a few times,” but i think that i’m a well-rounded person and that once people get to know me, my writing is just a part of me, not my whole identity.

31. have you ever written/considered writing under a pen name? if you would be okay saying, why? no, i don’t think i have. while a pen name can be a good tool, depending on your goals and what you’re writing, i have a Thing about getting credit where i’m due credit lmfao. i don’t think i’ll ever use a pen name bc if i know something i do is good, i want my name on it.