#chaotic reader

inspired by this post @callmeoncette

The flashing cameras almost blinded you the second the two of you stepped out of the black SUV.

“Michael! Michael over here!”

“How long have you two been together?”

“Michael, is the relationship getting serious?”

“Y/N! Y/N!”

Michael’s hand tightened around yours immediately, thumb rubbing softly against your skin in that quiet way he always did whenever crowds got overwhelming.

“You okay?” he murmured softly.

You looked over at him in disbelief.

“Am I okay? Baby, are you okay? They yellin’ like zoo animals.”

Michael physically had to bite back a smile.

“Baby”

“No, because why are they barking at us?”

The interview host standing near the carpet entrance laughed awkwardly before quickly straightening up when Michael looked over.

Michael lowered his head slightly, curls falling near his face as he tried to compose himself.

“C’mon,” he whispered, gently guiding you forward.

The relationship had gone public barely three weeks ago, and the media had been losing their minds ever since.

Not because Michael Jackson had a girlfriend.

But because you were absolutely terrible at public relations.

You didn’t smile politely at rude questions.

You didn’t dodge disrespect.

And you definitely didn’t care about Hollywood etiquette.

Which explained why Michael’s publicist currently looked like she was five seconds away from cardiac arrest.

The interviewer smiled brightly as cameras zoomed in.

“It’s wonderful to have you both here tonight.”

“Thank you,” Michael answered sweetly.

You nodded. “Appreciate it.”

The interviewer turned toward Michael first.

“So Michael, your fans have been very curious about this relationship. It’s definitely surprised a lot of people.”

Michael smiled politely. Calm. Practiced.

“Well, I’m very happy,” he said gently. “She’s very special to me.”

Then the interviewer looked at you.

“And what’s it like dating the biggest star in the world?”

You shrugged.

“He steals my food.”

Michael looked scandalized.

“I do not steal your food.”

“Yes you do.”

“I ask for it.”

“You ask after it’s already halfway gone micheal.”

The interviewer laughed softly.

Michael covered part of his face, already embarrassed.

Then the interviewer made the mistake.

“So…” she started carefully, “there’s obviously been conversation online about your age and maturity level compared to Michael’s. Some people think you may not fully understand the pressure that comes with being with someone like him.”

Michael’s smile dropped instantly.

You felt his hand squeeze yours once.

Warning, begging even...

Please don’t.

“Uh,” Michael started softly, “I don’t really think...”

“And some critics,” the interviewer continued, “have questioned whether you’re prepared for this kind of public relationship.”

Michael inhaled slowly.

“Baby,” he whispered under his breath.

Too late.

You blinked at the woman.

“What kinda stupid-ass question is that?”

The entire audience and crew went silent.

Michael froze beside you.

The interviewer stared.

Cameras zoomed in on you so fast it was almost violent.

You frowned.

“No seriously. How are you qualified to have this job if that’s what you ask people?”

“baby” Michael whispered, horrified.

“I’m serious,” you continued. “Y’all get paid to be weird and disrespectful on television and then act shocked when somebody says something back.”

The interviewer looked absolutely stunned.

“Well, I...”

“And another thing,” you cut in. “Every interview this man does, somebody feels comfortable disrespecting him as long as they smile while doing it.”

Michael looked down at the floor, shoulders already shaking slightly.

“You ask rude questions, pry into his personal life, make slick comments, then try to hide behind professionalism when people call it out. It’s weird.”

The interviewer opened and closed her mouth for a second.

“And now suddenly I’m immature because I’m not sitting here pretending that question wasn’t rude?”

“Baby,” Michael mumbled weakly, “you can’t say that on television.”

“Yes I can.”

“No you can’t.”

“Yes I can and I will.”

“And honestly,” you continued, “half the interviews he does feel less like interviews and more like y’all trying to see how uncomfortable you can make him before he reacts.”

Michael physically turned away now, trying to hide the fact that he was laughing.

The interviewer awkwardly cleared her throat.

“S-So Michael… about the question I asked earlier...”

“What she said,” Michael answered immediately.

The interviewer stared at him in disbelief.

Michael finally looked back over at you with the brightest grin you’d seen all night.

--------

By the time the two of you finally made it inside the venue, the tension from the interview had completely shifted.

Mostly because Michael could not stop laughing.

“You embarrassed me,” he whispered as the two of you walked through the hallway toward the backstage area.

You looked at him incredulously.

“I embarrassed you?”

“Yes,” he said immediately, still smiling. “You attacked that poor woman.”

“She attacked you first.”

Michael shook his head, curls bouncing slightly.

“You called her stupid on live television.”

“I said the question was stupid.”

“That is not better.”

You crossed your arms dramatically.

“Well maybe she should stop asking dumb questions then.”

Michael tried to stay serious for about three seconds before another laugh escaped him.

“There you go again,” he mumbled.

“Oh, don’t do that,” you said, pointing at him. “Don’t act so pleased with me now after sitting there acting all shocked.”

“I was shocked!”

“You were laughing!”

“I was trying not to!”

You narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously.

“You liked it.”

Michael immediately looked away.

Which told you everything.

Your mouth dropped open.

“Oh my God, you DID like it.”

“I did not say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Michael covered part of his face with one hand, already smiling again.

“You should’ve seen your publicist’s face,” you continued. “That lady looked like she was about to pass out.”

“She probably was.”

“Well maybe next time they’ll stop asking you weird questions.”

Michael slowed down slightly then.

The teasing expression on his face softened into something else, something softer.

Something genuine.

“You really don’t like when people disrespect me, huh?”

You looked at him like the answer should’ve been obvious.

“No. I don’t.”

For a second, Michael just stared at you.

Then he smiled again.

this time

Smaller

“…I like that.”

Gathering in Autumn was risky. 

Especially for Eris, who was currently looking at the 3 Illyiarn males across the table. 

“She’s been quiet.” 

Yes the informant that Azriel had in Autumn. 

Eris knew Azriel had people in each court. 

He did as well. 

But accoring to the 3 males this informant in particular had been quiet for days. 

Much like Eris’s own. 

That’s when Eris speaks.

“I know someone who can us information.” 

Rhys glances at him. 

“You have a contact here?” 

Eris raises his eyebrow. 

“It is my court after all, my father might be high lord but, loyalty doesn’t always sit with the current Lords.” 

Rhys nods. 

“They’re reliable as well. Usually.” 

Cassian huffs. 

“That doesn’t sound promising.”

Eris almost smiles. 

Before pushing up and out of his chair. 

Turning to Azriel. 

“I assume you know where the tavern is?” 

Azriel nods before the four men winnow out. 

The tavern is loud.

Messy.

Alive.

And wrong. 

Azriel feels it first.

His shadows slip out. 

Like they’ve found something.

And lost it again.

Eris scans the room.

Once.

Twice.

“She should be here.”

Azriel’s head tilts.

“She.”

“My contact.”

The tavern owner spots them.

And waves them over. 

“Haven’t seen your girl in days.”

Cassian blinks.

“His what?”

Eris doesn’t react.

“How long.”

“Three. Maybe four.”

Too long.

Azriel’s shadows visibly tighten. 

Eris only nodds and closes his eyes.

When he feels it the tug in his chest. 

His gaze flicks upward

At the same moment Azriel’s shadows surge.

“There,” Azriel says.

Movement.

Up the wall.

Fluid and effortless.

She drops onto the bar.

Grinning.

Already mid-trade.

“Pleasure doin’ business.”

The female looks up and makes eye contact with each male, before hoping down from the bar top. 

“Well,” she says, bright, “This is convenient.”

Gone.

Cassian blinks.

Hands cover Eris’s eyes.

“Guess who.”

Eris doesn’t move.

“Remove your hands.”

You laugh.

Lean in and press a quick kiss to his cheek.

“Missed you too.”

You step around him.

Like you’ve always been there.

Azriel steps forward.

“You’ve been quiet for days….”

You nod and turn to face the shadowsinger. 

“I was busy is all.” 

Rhys blinks at you, before recognition crosses his face. 

Your Azriels contact he’s seen you in Valaris from time to time. 

“How do you know Eris.” 

The question comes from Cassian. 

You pause.

Look at him.

Then Eris.

And light up.

“Oh,” you say.

“Oh this is fun.”

You hop up onto the table behind you. 

Boot hitting a glass.

You don’t notice.

You lean forward

boop.

Right to Eris’s nose.

“What,” you say, mock offense, “fifty years and you say nothing?”

Cassian chokes.

Eris pinches the bridge of his nose.

“We agreed,” he says, controlled,

“to wait until it was necessary.”

You grin.

“Nah.”

Cassian laughs.

“You mentioned that,” you add.

“I never agreed, good try though, hun.”

You start pulling things from your pockets, muttering as you pull out each item. 

A ring.

“Guard. Wrongfully taken.”

A pouch.

“Overtaxed.”

You pause.

Tilt your head, and whistle.

Someone moves across the tavern.

Cassian leans in.

“…no way.”

You don’t turn.

Just hold your hand out.

“Summer. Tuesday. Noon. You know where.”

They nod.

“Yeah. Medicine.”

The trade happens so quickly.

They leave.

You watch them go.

“Medicine,” you echo.

A beat.

“Suuure.”

You turn back.

Already reaching into another pocket.

“As I was saying”

You pull out a folded parchment.

Flicking it toward Rhys without looking. 

“Spring Court.”

He unfolds it.

“…when did you get this?”

“Got it last week,” you mumble. 

Like you maybe shouldn’t have said that like that.

“…was going to drop it off.”

A small shrug.

“Got distracted.”

Azriel’s shadows go still.

“You went into the Spring Court.”

You glance at the shadowsinger.

“Mm.”

Cassian lets out a disbelieving laugh.

“She’s efficient,” Eris says flatly.

You glance at him.

The corner of your mouth twitches.

Just slightly.

Eris pinches the bridge of his nose again.

“You were meant to wait.”

You hop down.

Walk up to him.

“You needed it. I saw the paper work in your office.”

You wait just a beat, before continuing. 

“You’re welcome.”

Azriel steps forward.

“So you’re working for both courts.”

You look at him.

Really look.

Then laugh.

“Culdron no, I do what I please.”

Silence settles around the table. 

“And if my loyalty’s in question”

Your gaze flicks to Eris.

Your mouth moves before you think too hard about it

“I love to disappoint you.”

You smile slightly looking at each male, before settling on Eris.

“My loyalty is with my mate.”

Silence.

They all exhale. 

You blink once after saying it.

Like maybe you hadn’t meant to say it out loud quite like that.

But you don’t take it back.

Cassian looks at Rhys. 

“…I think she might be the most terrifying person in this tavern.”

“Incorrect,” you say immediately.

You point lazily toward the bartender.

“That male waters down his liquor.”

Before they could question you anymore another whistle goes out in the tavern. 

You perk up a bit before turning and looking up at the second floor, and nod. 

“Well gentleman, I have trading to do.” 

Just like that your moving quick, and swift. 

It’s not even 10 seconds later that they can see you and another patron exchanging words and goods above them. 

Eris huffs. 

“Well at least we know where our contact went.” 

They turn and leave the tavern, heading back to the palace that houses the Autumn courts high lord. 

Dinner in the Autumnn Court is… polished.

Controlled.

Every movement is measured.

Every word weighed.

Which is why when you walk in it throws the entire room off.

No longer in the leather and boots from the tavern. 

A dress of Autumn tones. Elegant, and effortless. 

Two of the smokehounds at your sides. 

Cassian chokes on his drink.

“…that’s the same person?” he mutters.

Azriel doesn’t answer.

He’s watching you.

Rhys is too.

But differently.

Calculating.

Eris doesn’t look surprised.

Of course he doesn’t.

“You’re late,” he says.

You smile.

“I was busy.”

A glance passes between you and eris, just long enough to be anything more than casual. 

The other heirs of Autumnns thrown sit at the table. 

Being told that Barron was in Summer, and that Eris was handling the treaty with the Nightcourt. 

You float from brother to brother on your way to your seat. 

Eris tracking your movements the whole way. 

Light conversation.

Easy smiles.

A hand on a shoulder here.

A quiet laugh there.

No one questions it.

Why would they?

You look like you belong.

One of them frowns before turning to you. 

“Strangest thing,” he mutters. “I had a vial earlier.”

Another scoffs.

“You lose everything.”

You tilt your head slightly, before taking your seat at the table.

“Oh?” you ask softly. “What kind of vial?”

He shrugs.

“Nothing important.”

You smile, one that almost shows concern.

“Then I’m sure it’ll turn up.”

You move on before he can think too hard about it.

Cassian is staring now.

Really staring.

“…she’s doing something.” It’s muttered low enough that only Rhys and Azriel hear it. 

Azriel’s shadows drift lazily after you.

Watching.

Tracking.

Rhys notices the pattern second.

Each brother you speak to something shifts.

A weight added.

A weight removed.

And none of them notice.

Not one.

The youngest brother at the table leans back in his chair.

“I’m heading into town after dinner,” he says casually.

Your gaze flicks toward him for half a second.

Then you smile.

“Of course you are.”

Conversation continues, treaties, borders, trade routes. 

It’s not long after that the youngest leaves. The other 2 brothers followed shortly after. 

Something about needing air. 

You wait.

A breath.

Two.

Then reach for your napkin.

Not a napkin.

Cloth.

You tear a small strip free.

Cassian leans forward immediately.

“Oh no.”

You ignore him.

Already scribbling quickly across the fabric.

Azriel’s shadows curl closer.

Trying to read it.

You fold it before they can.

Then whistle softly.

One of the Shadow hounds lifts its head from the corner of the room.

Trotting toward you immediately.

You crouch.

Tie the strip carefully to its collar.

“Go on.”

The hound takes off without hesitation.

Gone down the hall in seconds.

Silence settles behind it.

Cassian looks between you and the doorway.

Then to Eris, then back to you.

“…you’re using his brothers as delivery routes?”

“My love,” Eris says, voice already exhausted, “you have to stop putting things on my brothers simply to bring items into town.”

You straighten slowly.

“We talked about this.”

“We did,” he agrees.

A moment passes before you speak “I disagreed.”

Cassian breaks first.

Laughing into his drink.

Rhys watches you carefully now.

Not amused anymore.

But curious and calculating.

Azriel finally speaks.

“I found a pouch in an alley in the Summer Court last week.”

You don’t react immediately.

“Oh.”

Your head lifts slightly.

“Gold?” you ask. “Purple sparkles?”

Azriel nods once.

You point at him immediately.

“Can you get that to Ivy for me?”

Your smile slips for half a second before it’s back. 

“Her kids need it.”

Too quick.

Like you don’t want questions after that part.

Silence settles again.

Different this time.

Rhys leans back slowly.

“…you’re running routes in each court.”

You shrug lightly.

“I’m solving problems.”

A pause.

“Someone should.”

Across the table Eris watches you quietly.

Like he’s trying very hard not to look as fond as he does.

And failing a little.

Dinner drags on a little longer after that.

Not awkward.

Just…careful.

Rhys is thinking too hard.

Azriel’s shadows keep drifting toward you.

Cassian has stopped pretending he isn’t entertained.

You finish your drink.

Standing up smoothly.

“Well,” you say lightly, “This has been enlightening.”

Cassian snorts.

“For us maybe.”

You grin at him.

Then start toward the door.

Eris’s gaze follows immediately.

“You’re leaving.”

“I’m busy.”

“Shocking,” Cassian mutters.

You make it three whole steps before stopping.

“Oh.”

You snap your fingers.

Everyone looks at you again.

You point lazily toward Azriel.

“Those documents you wanted?”

Azriel straightens slightly.

“At the townhouse.”

Silence.

You glance toward Eris your smile widening just a fraction.

“And you.”

Eris already looks tired.

“Yes, love.”

You fight a grin and fail.

“I have a surprise for you.”

Cassian immediately starts choking on air.

You continue like nothing happened.

“So you might want to wrap this up.”

A wink.

“Wouldn’t want to miss it.”

Then you turn and walk out.

No rush.

No hesitation.

Like you already know nobody’s going to stop you.

The door shuts behind you.

Silence lingers for exactly two seconds, before Eris is up and moving after you. 

Leaving the three Illayrins at the table. 

“…that,” Cassian says slowly, “was not a document tone.”

Rhys exhales through his nose.

“…no,” he agrees

Azriel’s shadows shift suddenly.

Curl tighter around his shoulders.

“My shadows confirm,” he says evenly,

“she put the papers on your desk.”

Rhys stills before Azriel continues.

“…in the townhouse.”

Cassian lets out a disbelieving laugh.

“Wait, hold on”

He points toward the door Eris and you just disappeared through.

“You’re telling me she made it into the townhouse between bartering in the tavern and terrorizing Eris’s brothers at dinner?”

Azriel nods once.

Rhys almost pales.

“Az,” he says carefully, “for the love of the Mother tell me she’s your contact here in Autumnn.”

Another nod.

“Didn’t realize she was his mate though.”

Cassian leans back in his chair slowly.

“…that feels like very important information.”

Rhys is already standing.

“So she’s your missing informant,” he says to Azriel.

“And Eris’s reliable contact,” Cassian adds.

“And she just walked through my wards,” Rhys finishes. “…and left something behind.”

Azriel’s shadows stir restlessly.

“She wanted us to know.”

Rhys nods once, before glancing at the door Eris had disappeared through. 

“And he let her.” 

Decision already made.

“Then let’s go see what she left us.”

Cassian stands with a groan.

“And figure out how she got in.”

The townhouse is silent when they arrive.

Still.

Untouched.

Rhys checks the wards first.

Instinct.

Everything is intact.

That makes it worse.

Cassian notices the shift in Rhys’s expression immediately.

“…that bad?”

“You cannot winnow into the townhouse,” Rhys says quietly.

Azriel moves toward the study.

Fast.

Focused.

The others follow.

The door opens.

And there—

on Rhys’s desk—

sits a neat stack of papers.

Like they’ve always belonged there.

Azriel reaches them first.

Shadows brushing over the stack carefully.

“They’re real.”

Rhys steps closer.

Flips the first page—

then stops.

There’s a small scrap tucked beneath it.

Cassian leans over immediately.

“Oh no.”

Rhys pulls the note free slowly.

Reads it once.

Then silently hands it to Cassian.

My bad, wrong desk ;) 

Cassian makes a strangled noise.

“She knew.”

“She wanted us to know,” Azriel corrects quietly.

Rhys looks around the study slowly.

“She walked into my house,” he murmurs.

“Left what we needed.”

Another glance toward the note.

“And corrected herself.”

Cassian exhales a laugh.

Half impressed.

Half terrified.

“I liked her more when she was just robbing people.”

Rhys’s mouth twitches slightly.

“You liked her more when you understood her.”

Azriel says nothing.

Just stares at the desk.

At the untouched wards.

At the papers she wanted them to find. 

Deep breath. Think of the TikTok. Think of the trend. Think of the chaos this man deserves.

“I… I can’t pay the rent this month.”

His head snaps up so fast the glasses fly off. “What?”

You push your bottom lip out, trying to look devastated instead of on the verge of laughing. “I can’t pay it. Money’s tight and I didn’t want to stress you out but… yeah.”

Bucky sits up slowly, eyes narrowing with suspicious concentration, like he’s assessing a hostage negotiation. “Sweetheart, what do you mean you can’t pay it? What happened? Did something get messed up with your paycheck? Did your bank freeze your account? Are you in overdraft? Are you okay?”

He’s already reaching for his wallet like he’s going to solve it with brute financial force.

God, Bucky Barnes — super soldier, battle survivor, ex-assassin — is about fifteen seconds from trying to fight your bank in the street.

You fight a smile. “It’s just… I don’t think I can cover it this month.”

He blinks. “But you never cover it.”

Silence.

You bite the inside of your cheek.

Bucky’s gears turn. You see it happen. The confusion. The slow dawning logic. The realization that not once in your entire relationship have you paid rent. Not because you couldn’t, you have a full-time job, but because Bucky practically tackled you away from the bill the first time you tried.

“Wait a damn minute.” His eyes narrow. “Are you messing with me?”

You shake your head dramatically, voice trembling. “No… really, Bucky, I can’t—”

“Baby,” he interrupts, pinching the bridge of his nose while a smile pulls at his lips, “you have never paid the rent. Not once. I literally hide the login so you can’t. What do you mean you can’t pay it?”

You crack. The laugh bursts out of you so hard you fold over the arm of the couch. Bucky stares for two seconds before he groans and throws his head back.

“Oh my god,” he mutters. “It’s one of those stupid trends, isn’t it?”

You wheeze. “Yes.”

He drops to his knees in front of you like a man betrayed. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“You should’ve seen your face.”

“No, you should’ve seen my life flash before my eyes.” He pokes your thigh. “You can’t pay the rent… sweetheart, you don’t even know how much the rent is.”

“I know the general area.”

“You once asked me if it was more or less than a car payment.”

“It could be!”

He scoffs and kisses your knee. “Not ours.”

You grin and brush his hair back. “I thought you’d laugh.”

“I thought I’d have a stroke,” he mutters, though his mouth twitches. “Why would you say it like that? Why lead with the dramatic pause? Why walk in like you were about to confess to a crime?”

“Commitment to the bit.”

“Commitment to my early death.”

You laugh again, sliding off the couch so you're kneeling in front of him. You cup his cheeks. “I’m sorry, Buck.”

“You’re not.”

“No,” you admit. “But it was so funny.”

He tries to glower. It fails. You can see the fondness seep through. It always does.

“You know,” he says, looping his arms around your waist and tugging you closer until you’re sitting on his thigh, “if you really wanted to prank me, you could’ve told me something believable. Like you spent too much on skincare or you forgot to pay a parking ticket.”

You shrug. “Those didn’t have the same emotional punch.”

“I’ll give you emotional punch,” he huffs, biting lightly at your shoulder. “I swear, doll, I almost went into soldier mode. I was about to storm your workplace and demand answers.”

“Oh, I know,” you tease. “That’s why I did it.”

His grin widens. “You like seeing me go feral on your behalf?”

“I like knowing you’d fight Chase Bank for me.”

“I’d fight anybody for you.” He kisses you softly, thumb brushing your jaw. “But next time you wanna try a trend, start with one that doesn’t take years off my life.”

You hum. “No promises.”

He groans. “I knew it.”

You straddle him fully now, arms draped over his shoulders. “C’mon, Buck. Admit it. It was a little funny.”

He pretends to think. “Maybe a little.”

“Like… medium funny.”

“A touch above medium,” he allows.

“Almost hilarious.”

“Don’t push it.”

You kiss him then, slow and warm and domestic in the quiet of your living room. His hands slide under your shirt without thinking, palms settling on the small of your back.

When you pull back, he’s smiling at you the way he always does — like you’re the one miracle in a world that’s never given him enough softness.

“You know,” he murmurs, “you don’t ever have to worry about that stuff. Even in a joke.”

You nod. “I know. That’s why the joke works.”

He rolls his eyes and pulls you in until you’re tucked against his chest. “I should’ve known. My girl doesn’t pay rent. She pays in chaos.”

“And snuggles.”

“Those too.” His hand rubs circles on your back. “You owe me extra tonight. For pain and suffering.”

You grin into his neck. “Deal.”

“And no more trends until I recover.”

“I’ll give you a week.”

“A month.”

“Buck—”

He kisses you quiet. “A week.”

You melt against him. “Fine. A week.”

He sighs with exaggerated relief. “Thank god.”

You smile. Bucky squeezes you tighter.

Domestic. Ridiculous. Yours.

Unfiltered, playful, mischievous—with a penchant for getting into trouble just for the fun of it.

An orange cat in human form.

And it drove him insane.

But what was worse?

It also fascinated him.

From the very first week, you had made it your personal mission to test his limits.

You frequently showed up late to meetings, claiming you got “distracted by something shiny.”

You napped in the most inconvenient places—on top of file cabinets, across the teachers’ lounge couch, even once on top of Aizawa’s desk (which had earned you the deadliest glare of his life).

You stole his coffee. Regularly.

You pounced onto his shoulders from above, just to “see if his reaction time was as fast as everyone said.”

(It was. But he still nearly had a heart attack that day.)

And yet—

Despite your absolute disregard for personal space and normal social conventions, you were a damn good teacher.

Your students adored you, your battle tactics were sharp and effective, and you had a natural talent for handling even the most rowdy kids (cough Bakugo cough).

And somehow—despite all your antics—Aizawa found himself growing used to your presence.

To the way your ears twitched when you were listening intently. To the way your tail flicked when you were irritated. To the way you always tried to get a reaction out of him, even when he refused to give you the satisfaction.

And then, one day—

He realized he had a problem.

Because he liked it.

It was late one evening, long after most of the staff had gone home.

Aizawa had been grading papers, exhaustion creeping into his bones, when he heard the softest footfalls outside his office.

No one else would have noticed them.

But Aizawa knew exactly who it was before you even poked your head inside.

“Still working?” you mused, stepping in without an invitation, tail swaying lazily behind you.

Aizawa sighed. “Obviously.”

You hummed, moving closer, perching yourself on the edge of his desk—a habit he had long given up trying to correct.

“You know,” you mused, eyes glinting in the dim light, “you’re always telling me I should take my job more seriously. But when was the last time you actually took a break?”

Aizawa didn’t respond.

Because the answer was too damn long ago.

Your lips curled slightly, as if you could read his thoughts.

Then—before he could react—you reached out, plucked his red pen from his hand, and tossed it across the room.

Aizawa stared at you.

“…Did you just—”

“Yep.”

“…Why?”

“Because you’re done for the night.”

His eye twitched. “I still have work to do.”

“Nope.” You grinned, tail flicking playfully. “Work is done. I have officially declared it.”

Aizawa exhaled heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t have time for your games, Y/N.”

But you weren’t backing down.

Instead, you tilted your head, ears twitching slightly, and for the first time since you had met, your voice was softer.

“I mean it, Shota,” you murmured. “You do too much. Just… take a break. Just this once.”

Something in his chest tightened.

Because no one ever told him to slow down.

No one ever took the time to worry about him.

But you?

You had been paying attention this whole time.

And that was the moment he knew.

That he was completely and utterly doomed.

Ko-fi / Masterlist

'Relentless...' the word hadn't left you alone since you'd woken up this morning. Like most mornings, you found yourself warm in Jack's arms, the smell of rum on his lips as he kissed you awake.

With the shared blanket tucked into your side, Jack hummed one of the hearty tunes from last night into your neck. Murmuring, you allowed yourself to bask there for a few moments until you were fully awake.

The swaying of the Black Pearl was something you loved. Even in rough seas, you're the first one soundly asleep. And yet, unease wrangled itself in your stomach. Coiling and uncoiling it went, alerting you.

Seconds passed before you wiggled your body away from Jack, and he let you get up with a sigh.

You were about to say something when a thunderous noise broke out on deck.

"Always so bloody loud," he grumbled, voice gruff from sleep.

The air was crisp from the cold. A heavy fog set around the Pearl. Unnecesarily heavy it was, but you heeded it no mind. Too occupied in your own thoughts to comprehend the lurking dangers.

"Maybe the right one to use is ... unrelenting..." You thought out loud.

Until you heard a pained cry and the reason for your wariness became so utterly clear.

Dark clouds swirled above you, swords clashed and you pulled your sword from its scabbard.

"How the 'ell did they find us, aye?" You heard from your right, Jack said as he adjusted his hat.

With that unanswered question hanging in the air, your body took over with the knowledge of engagement. Left, right, block, parry. On and on.

Until you paused mid fight with the soldier.

Your brows furrowing. Arms coming to cross over your chest as you pondered. This happened from time to time. You forgetting where exactly you were to get lost within your mind. But you were always safe. It was as if luck was on your side...

And Luck had just diverted a shiny sharp dagger from embedding itself in you.

With a loud clash, you felt a familiar presence. One blade put you in danger, but another, the dagger of luck, saved you from a death blow.

"What is it, love?" Jack said slightly out of breath. Unbothered by the fact that he saved your life by an inch.

"Well... is it relentless?"

"What is-", Jack was stopped mid-sentence and kicked the running soldier. "Bloody hell," he sneered.

"Fuckin' hurt that did."

Mind lost to your whirling brain, you couldn't help your thoughts.

"Or is the proper word unrelenting? You know-" your attention turned to Jack. Now fully facing him, Jack had a bloody nose and a split right across his eyebrow.

He cut you off, already knowing Gibbs' had ensured the crew's victory.

Quite literally grabbing you and sweeping you off your feet he mumbled, "well, whatever the correct word is; that's what my love is for you."