#actually this one isn’t really defense… wow | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thedensworld · 3 months ago

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Gentle Daddy | C. Sc

Pairing: Scoups x reader

Genre: fluff, parent au

Summary: welcome aboard to the threenager stage of Seungcheol's son and how he parents him.

Seungcheol was seventeen when he met Chan, the youngest of their group. Was Chan a little brother? Yes. But at the start? Not quite. To Seungcheol, Chan was just another kid, someone he had to look after out of duty rather than choice.

As the oldest in their group, Seungcheol often became the subject of jokes about his strict ways. “Everyone, if you don’t wake up on three, I’ll give you 10 more laps of running,” Seungkwan teased, mimicking Seungcheol's commanding tone from their training days, complete with a mock-serious expression that drew laughter.

“Seungcheol hyung definitely needs someone gentle to balance that out,” Chan piped up with a cheeky grin. But before he could finish, Seungcheol raised an eyebrow and asked, “Balance what?”

Chan swallowed nervously, waving his hand dismissively as the others burst into laughter. “No, no, I was talking to myself,” he stammered.

But now, Seungcheol stood in a different scene, holding his three-year-old son, Wontae, on his arm during his birthday party. The house was filled with chatter and laughter, the kind only close friends could bring.

“Your interior is beautiful, Seungcheol. Come over and do mine next,” Jeonghan quipped, throwing a casual compliment with a hint of a request. Seungcheol rolled his eyes, scoffing.

“Appa did my room too!” Wontae beamed proudly at Jeonghan. Jeonghan’s features softened as he reached out and ruffled the boy’s hair. “Your appa is very talented, isn’t he?”

Seungcheol discovered his passion for interior design when he was searching online for the perfect nursery layout for Wontae. But nothing he found could match the vision in his mind. After discussing it with you, he decided to take matters into his own hands. Trips to the hardware store turned into projects that filled his weekends: crafting custom cabinets, building desks, and designing coffee tables.

In preparation for the party, Seungcheol went all out—rearranging furniture, painting walls, and adding small decorative touches that showcased his new hobby.

“It’s almost as good as Mingyu’s house,” Jeonghan said with a mischievous smirk. Seungcheol chuckled, nodding in agreement. “I think taking care of others did that to me. Just like how Mingyu took care of everything for us back in the day.”

“I want to get down,” Wontae said, squirming in his father’s arms. Seungcheol gently set him down, watching with a smile as his son darted over to Wonwoo, who was showing him a video game on his phone.

“He’s going to be three, wow!” Jeonghan remarked, shaking his head in disbelief. “It feels like just yesterday when I first held him.”

“How is it like?” Jeonghan asked, a rare tone of seriousness in his voice.

Seungcheol sighed, his lips curving into a soft smile. “Go get married and have one yourself,” he said playfully.

“Jeonghan’s getting married?” Your voice chimed in as you returned from putting Wonna, your four-month-old daughter, to sleep. Both Seungcheol and Jeonghan turned toward you. Seungcheol’s eyes softened as he reached for your waist, pulling you gently into his side.

“Is she asleep?” he asked, concern blending with affection. You nodded, resting a hand on his chest.

“Don’t listen to him,” Jeonghan interjected, rolling his eyes but unable to hide the smile tugging at his lips.

“I feel really bad that you’re going through all of this right after giving birth, just for his birthday party,” Jeonghan joked, glancing around at the well-decorated room. The party was being held the day after Seungcheol’s birthday, even though Wontae’s actual birthday was next week.

“I told you, it’s for Wontae!” Seungcheol insisted, his tone defensive but playful.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Jeonghan, I gave birth four months ago. Besides, I’m grateful that Joshua and Mingyu helped with the food prep.” You nodded toward Joshua and Mingyu, who were now joined by Jihoon in the kitchen, scrubbing dishes and joking with each other.

Suddenly, a tiny voice interrupted the grown-up conversation. “Look what Uncle Hoshi got me! It’s a matching tiger onesie for me and Wonna!” Wontae announced proudly, holding up the tiny outfit with wide eyes full of excitement.

Seungcheol’s eyes flicked to Hoshi, who was now rolling on the floor, laughing at Wontae’s reaction. The older man couldn’t help but smirk, shaking his head.

You smiled and turned to Seungcheol. “I’ll go help him with his present,” you said, squeezing his arm before walking over to your son.

Jeonghan, still standing beside Seungcheol, gave him a knowing pat on the shoulder. “You know, it’s great you married Y/N. I never thought I’d see the day when the legendary Seungcheol, the training tyrant, would become the poster child for gentle parenting.”

Seungcheol scoffed, turning to Jeonghan with a mock glare. “A monster? Really? You’re one to talk,” he protested, crossing his arms but unable to suppress the grin threatening to break through.

Jeonghan just laughed, throwing his hands up in surrender. “Hey, I’m just stating the facts. Besides, we all know you wouldn’t be half as patient if it weren’t for her.”

Seungcheol glanced across the room where you were now helping Wontae into the tiger onesie, a soft smile crossing his face. The room buzzed with laughter and warmth, the chaos of their little family perfectly imperfect.

Seungcheol woke up a bit late this morning, the warm glow of the morning sun filtering through the curtains. A soft smile spread across his face as he took in the sight of his family already gathered at the dining table for breakfast. The sound of Wontae’s cheerful voice filled the room when he spotted his dad entering.

“Appa!” Wontae called out with excitement, his tiny hands waving eagerly. Seungcheol walked over and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Wontae’s head before his eyes found Wonna, cradled in your arms, contentedly finishing her second bottle of the day.

“Wonna Wonna~ did you sleep well, my princess?” Seungcheol cooed, his heart melting at the sight of his daughter’s chubby cheeks. Wonna wriggled in your embrace, her eyes lighting up as she recognized her father’s voice.

“You had breakfast, love?” Seungcheol’s gaze shifted to you, his tone laced with concern. You shook your head with a soft smile. “I was waiting for you.”

He grinned, taking Wonna gently from your arms. “I’ll play with Wonna for a bit. Go have your breakfast.”

You nodded, appreciating his thoughtful gesture, and sat down to enjoy breakfast with Wontae. After some quality playtime with Wonna and tucking her back into her crib for a nap, Seungcheol returned to the dining room. By then, Wontae had retreated to his bedroom, engrossed in the toys his uncles had gifted him.

“Wontae loves Mingyu’s gift,” Seungcheol said with a chuckle, recalling how his son had immediately fallen in love with the plush corgi toy Mingyu had brought him. It was amusing how Wontae adored anything Mingyu gave, no matter what it was.

You laughed as you finished your meal. “Of course he does. He’s your son, after all. It makes sense he’d have a special bond with Mingyu.”

Seungcheol joined in your laughter, the sound warm and genuine. “Thanks, love,” he said when you placed a steaming bowl of rice and soup in front of him.

“Is your head still dizzy?” you asked, sitting beside him to keep him company while he ate.

He sighed, a touch of guilt crossing his features. “Not as much, but I really need to cut down on my drinking.” A rueful smile followed. “I still don’t get how you don’t drink at all—not even a beer.”

You smiled, amused by his amazement. “The last time I drank was before I got pregnant with Wontae,” you reminded him. Seungcheol’s eyes widened as the memory came rushing back—it had been at Joshua’s birthday party.

“Right!” he said, letting out a soft chuckle at the recollection.

Before he could say more, Wontae’s voice rang out, echoing through the hallway. “Eomma! Come here!” He came running into the dining room, eyes sparkling with excitement as he tugged at your hand, eager for you to join him in his room.

“How about we stay here and keep Appa company while he finishes eating?” you suggested gently, but Wontae shook his head, determination written all over his little face.

“No! I want to show you my drawing!” he insisted, practically bouncing on his feet. “Uncle Chan gave me crayons, and there are so many colors! Even five different blues!”

You exchanged a knowing look with Seungcheol, your heart swelling at Wontae’s joy. “Alright, let’s see your masterpiece,” you said, getting up and giving Seungcheol a reassuring smile before following your son.

Five minutes later, you returned to the dining room, barely suppressing your laughter. Seungcheol had just finished eating and looked up, curiosity piqued by your expression.

“You should see what he’s done in there,” you said, eyes twinkling with amusement.

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What did he do this time?”

“You need to see it for yourself,” you urged, playfully nudging him in the direction of Wontae’s room. “I’ll take care of the dishes.”

With a grin, Seungcheol pushed back his chair, eager to see what kind of adventure awaited him in his son’s room.

Seungcheol opened Wontae's room and was greeted by the sight of his son enthusiastically coloring in his new book, using the crayons Chan had gifted him. The vibrant hues danced across the pages, a mix of scribbles and childlike shapes. Wontae’s eyes lit up when he noticed his father standing at the door. He bounded over, grabbing Seungcheol’s hand and pulling him toward his little art corner.

“Look, Appa! I drew a rock!” Wontae exclaimed, pride beaming from his small face.

Seungcheol’s eyes followed Wontae’s pointing finger until they landed on the wall. Oh my god. There, on the freshly painted surface, was a child’s drawing—a colorful depiction of what was presumably a rock, sketched in bold crayon strokes.

He froze, processing the situation. So this was why you had insisted he see it for himself. He could practically hear the smile in your voice when you said it.

“You drew on the wall?” he asked, keeping his voice as steady as possible.

Wontae nodded innocently. “But Eomma said it’s better to draw on the coloring book, so now I draw here. But sometimes it gets boring, Appa!”

Seungcheol felt a wave of relief wash over him. So you caught him and told him to stop. Thank god.

He closed his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath to quell the frustration bubbling beneath the surface. Remember, Seungcheol, they don’t know better. They don’t understand how much work it is to paint a wall.

“Yes, your eomma is right. Drawing on your coloring book is best.” He sat down on the floor beside Wontae, the urge to scold replaced by the desire to guide. “Show me more of your drawings here.”

Wontae beamed at the invitation, plopping down next to his father and eagerly flipping through the pages of his coloring book. Seungcheol couldn’t help but smile as he watched his son’s eyes sparkle with excitement, oblivious to any worry or consequence.

Every time Seungcheol’s eyes strayed to the drawing on the wall, a chuckle escaped his lips. It was ridiculous! He wanted to be mad, really mad, but he just couldn’t muster it. “You know you shouldn’t draw on the wall, right?” he asked his son, carefully suppressing the instinct to say, “I just painted that! Why did you draw on it?!” in a booming voice that would only frighten the boy. He took a deep breath, holding back the frustration that threatened to spill out.

Wontae looked up at his father’s face, his eyes wide with curiosity as he noticed something unusual. “Why is your face red, Appa?” he asked, putting down his crayon and reaching up with his tiny hands to cup Seungcheol’s flushed cheeks. Seungcheol let out another soft chuckle, his anger melting further.

“You know Appa loves this house, right?” Seungcheol said, his tone remaining gentle and warm.

Wontae nodded, his little head bobbing earnestly.

“No one in this house draws on the walls because Appa worked hard to keep them nice and clean,” Seungcheol explained, still smiling softly despite the chaos inside him.

Wontae bit his lip, his eyes beginning to glisten with tears. “Are you mad at me for drawing on the wall?” His voice trembled as he spoke, and Seungcheol’s heart lurched. Panic surged through him—he was the one who felt like crying, not his son!

“I didn’t say I’m mad at you,” Seungcheol said quickly.

“But your face says it…” Wontae mumbled, the quiver in his voice growing more pronounced.

Oh no. Shit.

“Eommaaaa!” Wontae suddenly burst out, tears streaming down his cheeks as he ran toward you. Seungcheol’s eyes darted to the doorway where you were standing, suppressing a smile as you scooped up your tearful son into your arms.

“Why? What happened?” you asked Wontae in a whisper, stroking his back to soothe him.

“Your father wasn’t mad at you, was he?” you asked softly, glancing over at Seungcheol with a knowing smile. “Did he shout at you?” Wontae shook his head, hiccupping as he clung to your shoulder.

“No,” Wontae admitted, his sobs quieting as you continued to comfort him.

“He was just talking to you,” you reassured him, casting Seungcheol a gentle, supportive look.

Seungcheol groaned internally, a mix of confusion and self-reproach. He thought he’d nailed it—the gentle parenting that you both had worked so hard to practice. Yet here was his son, still able to sense the tension in his expression, and hurt by it despite the lack of yelling or scolding.

Seungcheol sighed, running a hand through his hair as he sat back on his heels. “We’re on this stage now,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

You glanced at him, raising a brow. “What stage?”

“The threenager stage,” Seungcheol said, his tone carrying both exasperation and amusement. “I read about it somewhere. It’s when kids start acting like teenagers—rebelling, pushing boundaries, testing their parents’ patience. Wontae’s only three, but he already knows how to push all my buttons.”

You laughed softly, shifting Wontae in your arms as his sniffles subsided. “It’s not rebellion, Seungcheol. It’s curiosity. He’s learning, exploring his emotions, and figuring out how far he can go.”

“Exploring his emotions by drawing on my freshly painted wall?” Seungcheol deadpanned, though a small smile tugged at his lips. He wasn’t truly upset anymore—not when Wontae was looking up at him with wide, apologetic eyes.

“Exactly,” you teased, setting Wontae back down on the floor. “It’s frustrating, but it’s normal. And you handled it really well, by the way.”

Seungcheol tilted his head, raising a skeptical brow. “I did?”

“Yes,” you said firmly, giving him an encouraging smile. “You didn’t yell or scare him. You explained things calmly. That’s the kind of parenting that sticks with them, Seungcheol. He’ll remember this.”

Seungcheol glanced at Wontae, who had returned to his coloring book but kept sneaking shy glances at his father. He felt a wave of warmth wash over him, mingled with pride and relief. I can do this, he thought. Even when it’s tough, I can do this.

“Okay, buddy,” Seungcheol said, crouching down to Wontae’s level. “Let’s make a deal. No more drawing on the walls, okay? If you want to draw something big, we’ll find some paper or maybe a special board just for you. How does that sound?”

Wontae’s face lit up at the idea. “A special board? Really?”

“Really,” Seungcheol promised, ruffling his son’s hair. “But only if you promise no more wall art.”

“I promise, Appa!” Wontae beamed, holding up his pinky. Seungcheol chuckled and locked his pinky with his son’s, sealing the deal.

You watched the exchange with a fond smile, stepping closer to place a hand on Seungcheol’s shoulder. “See? You’re doing great.”

Seungcheol exhaled deeply, his smile widening. “Thanks, love. I guess I just need to remember to breathe. And to hide all the crayons.”

You both laughed softly, and for a moment, the chaos felt a little more manageable.

"One… Two… Three…" Seungcheol’s voice was steady as he counted while Chan, drenched in sweat, gritted his teeth to finish his push-up set. His arms trembled, and his face was etched with exhaustion, but he pushed through, determined to complete the punishment.

The door to the practice room swung open, and the rest of the group filed in, their faces a mix of confusion and amusement as they took in the scene. Seungcheol stood towering over Chan, arms crossed, while the youngest member struggled through the exercise. It was a far cry from what anyone had expected when they read Seungcheol's early-morning text asking Chan to come to the practice room an hour ahead of schedule.

"What’s going on here?" Joshua asked, barely hiding his amusement as he watched Chan squirm on the floor.

"Ten!" Seungcheol finished his count, clapping his hands in exaggerated applause. He smirked as Chan collapsed onto the floor, utterly spent. "That’s ten sets done—one hundred push-ups. Congratulations, Chan. That’s what you get for giving my son those crayons."

Chan’s pout was instant. "It’s not fair! It’s your son who drew on the wall. Why am I the one getting punished?" His voice was full of indignation, though it lacked the energy to be truly effective.

Mingyu burst into laughter, doubling over as realization dawned. "Wait, wait—Wontae drew all over the wall with the crayons Chan gave him? That’s hilarious!" He clutched his sides, nearly toppling over from laughing so hard.

Jeonghan, leaning casually against the doorframe, nodded in mock agreement. "Honestly, it makes sense. Seungcheol’s a gentle appa with Wontae—there’s no way he’d punish his precious son for something like this." He shot Chan a teasing grin. "But you? Yeah, I’d do the same if I were Seungcheol."

Chan groaned dramatically, throwing an arm over his face. "This is so unfair!" he whined, his voice muffled. "I’m the innocent one here! Gentle appa is a fraud—he’s evil!"

Seungcheol couldn’t hold back his chuckle as he crouched down to look at Chan. "Gentle appa does exist," he said with a smirk, "but only for Wontae. You and your crayons? You’re a different story."

"See?" Jeonghan said, straightening up. "I told you. Seungcheol’s priorities are clear."

Chan sat up, still sulking. "Unfair. So unfair." He shot a glance at the others, hoping for sympathy, but all he got were amused grins and stifled laughter.

"Hey," Joshua added, chuckling softly, "at least now you know not to mess with Wontae’s creative genius—or his dad’s freshly painted walls."

Mingyu clapped Chan on the back, nearly knocking him over again. "Think of it as a lesson in self-sacrifice. You helped foster Wontae’s artistic side. That’s a win, right?"

Chan groaned louder, flopping onto the floor in defeat, while Seungcheol leaned against the wall with a triumphant grin. "Alright, everyone. Lesson’s over. Let’s get to practice before he starts crying for real."

"So unfair!"

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pucksandpower · 1 year ago

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Fairytale

Charles Leclerc x Princess of Monaco!Reader

Summary: Charles Leclerc has everything he could ask for (off the track, at least) including a fairytale romance … except no one actually believes that his girlfriend is really his girlfriend

Charles sighs as he walks into the drivers’ lounge, bracing himself for the inevitable teasing. Ever since he had casually mentioned having a girlfriend, and more specifically who the girlfriend in question is, his friends have been merciless.

“Wow, if it isn’t Prince Charles in the flesh! Back from another romantic getaway with his imaginary princess,” Max laughs as he enters.

“Come on mates, lay off,” Charles pleads half-heartedly. He knows it is useless.

“I just don’t get it,” Lando chimes in. “There’s no shame in admitting that you’re single. We’re racing drivers, we don’t exactly always have time for relationships.”

“Maybe his standards are too high,” Pierre suggests. “He’s actually holding out for real royalty or something.”

The others laugh as Charles feels his face grow warm. If only they believed him.

“You know what you need?” Carlos grins. “A nice Spanish girl to set you up with. My sister’s friend Elena is single, I could give you her number.”

Charles rolls his eyes. “I told you, I have a girlfriend. Why is that so hard to believe?”

“Because we’ve never seen her!” Max exclaims. “You talk about her all the time but she never comes to races or appears in photos. She might as well be a unicorn.”

“Maybe she’s just embarrassed to be seen with Charles,” Lando teases.

Charles frowns, stung by Lando’s words. If only they knew the truth. The reality is that his girlfriend is extremely famous in her own right and values the little privacy she has left too much to be seen at races. Her life is already public enough without adding the scrutiny that anyone connected to a Formula 1 driver inevitably receives on top of it. Besides, she has her own royal duties to attend to.

“Come on guys, that’s unfair,” Pierre says gently, noticing Charles’ discomfort. “If Charles says he has a girlfriend, we should believe him.”

“Thank yo—” Charles starts to say with relief. At least someone is on his side.

“Even if she is imaginary,” Pierre adds with a smirk.

Charles groans and puts his head in his hands as the laughter starts up again. He can’t really blame them for not believing him.

You are basically a fairytale princess — beautiful, elegant, and kind. Not to mention an actual member of the royal family. Her Serene Highness Princess Y/N Grace Stephanie Caroline of Monaco is the type of girl people write epic poems and songs about. Charles can hardly believe his luck that you had chosen him.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Daniel interrupts, taking pity on Charles. “Leave the poor man alone.”

“We’re just joking,” Max says defensively. “Charles knows we don’t mean anything by it.”

Charles gives Max a tight smile. “Sure.”

“Tell you what,” Daniel says, clapping Charles on the shoulder. “Bring your mystery girl to a race soon. We’ll all get to meet her and then you can finally prove these jokers wrong.”

Charles sighs. If only it were that simple. You have been tempted to attend races in the past but the scrutiny both of them would come under is just too much. You treasure the privacy your relationship allows. But maybe Daniel is right. Maybe it is time for you to finally meet his friends. After all, you are the love of his life. There is nothing to hide.

“Alright, deal,” Charles says finally. “I’ll ask her.”

The others exchange surprised looks, not expecting him to agree.

“Can’t wait to meet her,” Carlos says with a wink.

Charles rolls his eyes again but smiles. One way or another, he is going to prove to them that his amazing girlfriend isn’t just a figment of his imagination.

***

Charles is still thinking about you when he is suddenly accosted by Silvia, Ferrari’s Head of Communications, after practice.

“Charles! Just who I was looking for,” she says briskly. “I need to discuss something rather important with you.”

Charles suppresses a groan. Conversations with Silvia are never fun. “What’s up?” He asks with forced cheerfulness.

Silvia lowers her voice. “It’s about your relationship status. We feel it would be beneficial if you were seen dating someone … compatible.”

Charles’ eyebrows shoot up. “Compatible?”

“Yes. A model. Or perhaps an actress. Someone who would look good on your arm and boost your image.”

Charles folds his arms defensively. “What’s wrong with my girlfriend?”

Silvia waves a hand impatiently. “Yes yes, this alleged princess you keep mentioning. The problem, Charles, is that no one has seen her. No one knows if she is actually connected to you in any way. So, as far as we are concerned, for all intents and purposes, you are single.”

Charles frowns. This again. “I keep telling you that she’s really my girlfriend. Y/N is just very private.”

“Private women don’t date Formula 1 drivers,” Silvia says bluntly. “If she really was in a relationship with you, she would be here. But since that is clearly a figment of your imagination, we need to take steps.”

Charles feels his blood boil. How dare Silvia insult his relationship with Y/N? Question their connection?

“Here are profiles of suitable options,” Silvia continues, shoving a surprisingly heavy folder at him. Charles doesn’t open it.

“No.”

Silvia blinks. “No?”

“My relationship with Y/N is off limits,” Charles says firmly. “My personal life is exactly that — personal. Not to be exploited for PR.”

“Don’t be foolish,” Silvia snaps. “This is bigger than you. Your image reflects on Ferrari. We need to be able to control it.”

“No. What you need to do is back off,” Charles shoots back.

Silvia’s nostrils flare. Clearly she isn’t used to such defiance. “Charles, be reasonable—”

“I am being reasonable,” Charles interrupts. “I won’t pretend to date someone just because the team wants me to. I’m with Y/N. I don’t care if you believe me or not.”

Silvia shakes her head in disgust. “You’re making a big mistake. Don’t come crying to me when this blows up in your face.”

She storms off, heels clicking angrily against the floor.

Charles takes a deep breath, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He can’t remember the last time he stood up to Silvia like that. It felt good but also nerve-wracking. He knows she won’t let this go easily.

His phone buzzes and his heart leaps when he sees it’s a text from you.

Heard you had a rough day. Wish I could be there to make it better. I love you 💋

Charles smiles, the tension in his shoulders easing. You always knew just what to say and when to say it.

He quickly types back.

I wish you were here too. No matter what anyone says, they can’t change my feelings for you. I love you so much ❤️

He hits send, imagining your smile as you read his text. It doesn’t matter what his team, the media, or even his fellow drivers think. His relationship with you is real and authentic. Someday he’ll find a way for you to be by his side. But for now, your private moments together are enough.

Charles knows staying with you is the right decision, PR be damned. You are his soulmate — the fairytale princess he never expected to find but thanks God every single day that he did. Your love is worth fighting for. And someday, when the time is right, he’ll finally be able to show the world that what you have together is very real.

***

Charles groans as he notices multiple missed calls from his brothers. He has been avoiding their calls lately, knowing they would just tease him mercilessly about his girlfriend. But he knows he can’t dodge them forever.

Taking a deep breath, he calls Arthur back.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Prince Charles himself, taking time away from his busy schedule of dating princesses to spare a chat with us commoners,” Arthur says slyly upon answering.

Charles rolls his eyes. “Very funny. What do you want?”

“We just wanted to check in on our brother and see how life with Monegasque royalty is treating you,” Lorenzo chimes in. Charles realizes he must be on speaker.

“Oh yes, Princess Y/N,” Arthur says in an exaggerated swoony voice. “Our brother’s one true love since he was 15 years old and had that giant poster of her plastered on his wall.”

Charles feels his face flush. He knows exactly what poster Arthur is referencing — a stunning photo of you in a ballgown from a high society event years ago. Teenage Charles has ripped it out of a magazine and hung it up reverently in his room, gazing at it longingly.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he sputters. “I never had a poster.”

“Oh really?” Lorenzo laughs. “I seem to recall you cutting out every picture you could find of her and keeping a little scrapbook.”

Charles cringes internally. Okay, maybe his teenage obsession had been a bit … enthusiastic. But he can’t help that he had recognized you as his dream girl even then.

“Alright, so maybe I had a tiny crush on her,” Charles admits. “But it is not crazy that we ended up together.”

Arthur cackles. “You used to kiss her photos goodnight before going to bed! You were completely obsessed!”

“Remember how he tried to sneak into that royal gala at Salle des Etoiles to see her?” Lorenzo adds. “He was totally insane.”

Charles grimaces at the memory. Okay, not his finest moment.

“Face it Charles, you’ve been in love with the imaginary idea of Princess Y/N since you were in nappies,” Arthur teases. “No shame in admitting she wouldn't even give you the time of day now.”

Charles feels his frustration rising. Why does no one believe him?

“Because your so-called relationship makes no sense!” Lorenzo says, accurately reading his silence. “She’s a literal princess and you’re … you.”

“Gee, thanks,” Charles grumbles. He knows his brothers are just teasing but it still stings.

“Come on, just admit you made the whole thing up to get everyone off your back,” Arthur prods.

Charles sighs loudly. “For the millionth time, what we have is 100 percent real! Just because it seems unlikely doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. I don’t care if none of you believe me, I love her and she loves me.”

His brothers are silent for a moment.

“You alright there?” Arthur asks, his voice softening.

“Yes, I just wish everyone would stop questioning my relationship all the time,” Charles admits. “It hurts.”

“We’re only joking Charles, we don’t mean any harm,” Lorenzo says gently.

“I know,” Charles replies. “Doesn’t make it any easier to hear constantly though.”

“You’re right, we took the teasing too far,” Arthur says. “We’ll lay off from now on.”

Charles smiles slightly. “Thanks. And someday soon I will prove to you that it is real.”

His brothers are silent for a moment.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Arthur finally laughs.

Charles groans and runs a hand through his hair in frustration. Clearly nothing he says would convince his stubborn brothers that his relationship with you was real and not merely a childhood fantasy.

“Alright, well, I should get going,” Charles mumbles, eager to get off the phone.

“Chin up, we’re only teasing,” Lorenzo says lightly. “Have fun with your imaginary princess!”

Arthur and Lorenzo explode into more laughter as Charles quickly hangs up, his face burning. Someday, he will prove to them and everyone else that his amazing girlfriend isn’t just a figment of his imagination. No matter how long it takes.

***

Charles sinks into the familiar couch in his sports psychologist’s office, exhausted after a long day on the simulator and endless teasing from his team.

“Rough day out there?” Dr. Anderson asks kindly, noticing the strain on Charles’ face.

“That’s an understatement,” Charles sighs. “The car is just so slow this year. We keep trying new setups and tweaks but nothing helps. And the strategy is somehow even worse than the pace. It’s like the team wants me to fail.”

Dr. Anderson nods sympathetically. “That must be very frustrating. Tell me more about how it’s impacting you.”

Charles launches into a tirade about the endless issues with the car, the incompetent strategists, and the lack of proper communication from his engineers. Dr. Anderson listens patiently, letting him vent his pent-up anger and disappointment.

After a lengthy rant, Charles finally runs out of steam. “Anyway, it’s just been a terrible season,” he concludes glumly.

“I can certainly understand why you feel that way,” Dr. Anderson says. “It sounds like the team is letting you down in many ways.”

Charles nods, feeling some of the tension leave his shoulders after unloading. It helps to talk about it with someone whose job is not to judge.

“Is there anything else bothering you lately?” Dr. Anderson asks gently. “Any other sources of stress?”

Charles hesitates. He and Dr. Anderson have been working together for years, ever since he joined Ferrari. He knows he can open up to her.

“It’s just … well, besides the team stuff, no one believes me about my girlfriend,” he admits.

Dr. Anderson raises her eyebrows. “I see. Tell me more about that.”

Charles explains the endless teasing from his fellow drivers, the manipulation attempts by the PR team, and the doubtful reactions from his own family. How despite his best efforts, no one seems willing to accept that he is really dating Princess Y/N of Monaco.

“It’s so frustrating!" He bursts out at the end. “I don’t know what else I can do to convince them that we are actually together.”

Dr. Anderson purses her lips, jotting down notes. “I can understand why their doubt would upset you. It must be painful to have your relationship questioned.”

“Exactly!" Charles exclaims, throwing his hands up. “You get it. I knew I could talk to you.”

Dr. Anderson gives him a sympathetic smile.

Charles leaves the appointment feeling much better, confident that his psychologist believes him and is on his side.

As he is exiting, Charles notices Dr. Anderson’s notebook left open on her desk. Before he can stop himself, his eyes scan the page and focus on his name.

He feels his heart sink as he reads.

Charles Leclerc: deflecting from pain of difficult season by creating elaborate fantasy relationship. Fixation on celebrity crush indicates deeper self-esteem issues. Recommend to confront delusion directly in next session.

Charles reels, shock and anger swirling through him. Not even his own psychologist believes him! She thinks he is living in some weird fantasy.

Swallowing the bitter taste in his mouth, Charles straightens his shoulders and walks out. He has never felt more alone and frustrated in his conviction. But he refuses to give up. No matter what anyone says, his love for you is real. And one day, somehow, he will prove it to the world.

***

Charles is back at his family home in Monaco during a rare few days off. He is puttering around the kitchen while his mother cooks dinner.

“Oh, by the way, Y/N is coming over for dinner tonight,” Charles mentions casually. “I want you all to finally meet her.”

Pascale laughs lightly without looking up from the stove. “Of course, sweetie.”

Charles frowns. “I’m serious, maman. She’ll be here in an hour.”

“Mhmm, I’m sure she will,” Pascale replies indulgently. Charles huffs in annoyance.

Just then, his brothers come into the kitchen, freshly showered after playing football outside.

“Hey Charles, how’s life with your imaginary girlfriend?” Lorenzo immediately teases.

“She’s actually coming over for dinner tonight,” Charles says tersely.

Arthur lets out a loud laugh. “Yeah right! Good one.” He grabs a piece of bread from the counter, still chuckling.

Charles throws his hands up in exasperation. “Why does no one ever believe me about her?”

“Boys, that’s enough,” Pascale chides gently. “Let your brother dream.”

Charles opens his mouth to retort but just then, the doorbell rings. His eyes widen.

“I’ll get it!" He yells, dashing for the door. He takes a deep breath before swinging it open to reveal you standing there casually in jeans and a sweater, looking effortlessly gorgeous.

“Surprise!" You laugh, pulling him into a tight hug. Charles melts into your embrace, all his stress and frustration fading away.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you right now,” he murmurs into your hair.

You pull back to smile at him tenderly. “I’ve been looking forward to this for ages. I want your family to know how much I love you.”

Charles grins and takes your hand, leading your into the kitchen where his stunned family waits.

Pascale’s mouth is hanging open in shock. The piece of bread Arthur is holding falls to the floor with a dull thump.

“Y-your Serene Highness,” Pascale finally manages to stammer out, hastily wiping her hands on a towel. “What an honor, we weren’t expecting you ...”

She shoots an accusatory look at Charles, who throws up his hands defensively. “I told you she was coming!”

Pascale flushes. “Yes, well, I didn’t think … that is … we would have prepared ...”

You step forward gracefully, immediately putting Pascale at ease. “Please, just call me Y/N. I’ve been dying to meet Charles’ family.”

As you effortlessly charm his mother and brothers, Charles stands back watching with a satisfied smile. The shock and sheepishness on his family’s faces is vindicating after so many months of teasing and disbelief.

Charles has never been one to say “I told you so” but … I told you so.

***

The cheers of the crowd are deafening as the chequered flag waves for Charles at the Monaco Grand Prix. He can hardly believe it — finally, a win at his home race!

As he pulls into parc fermé and jumps out of the car, the emotions hit him. Pure elation at ending the long wait for a home victory. Relief at overcoming the team’s doubts. But most of all, excitement for what comes next.

The podium ceremony.

And with the Monegasque royal family presenting the trophies as usual, Charles knows exactly who will be handing him the winner’s trophy.

He can barely stand still through the anthems, eager for his moment with you. The weekend has been agony, so close to you yet having to pretend that there is nothing between the two of you.

But not anymore.

At last, the royal family walks onto the podium led by none other than Princess Y/N. Charles’ heart skips a beat at the sight of you gliding towards him in a figure-hugging red midi dress, sunlight glinting off your carefully styled hair. You somehow manage to become more and more beautiful every time he sees you.

Stopping in front of him, you give him a subtle wink before launching into the customary congratulatory speech. Charles nods along, not hearing a word as he zones out while admiring the stunning woman he gets to call his own.

At last, you turn to pick up the trophy. “It is my honor to present this trophy to our victor, who represents Monaco with pride in everything he does, Charles Leclerc,” you announce, holding it out to him with a brilliant smile.

In that moment, Charles throws all caution to the wind. As he accepts the trophy, he reaches out and pulls you into a passionate kiss.

The crowd below erupts in shocked cheers and screams. You melt into the kiss for a blissful moment before gently pulling back, your eyes sparkling. Charles grins at you breathlessly.

“Worth the wait?” He murmurs.

“Absolutely,” you whisper back, squeezing his hand. “I’m so proud of you, mon amour.”

Turning back to the roaring crowd, Charles wraps an arm around your waist and thrusts your linked hands into the air in triumph.

Looking out at the paddock, Charles sees the priceless dumbfounded looks on his fellow drivers’ faces. The Ferrari PR team looks ready to pass out in horror. Reporters are screaming questions and snapping photos frantically.

But Charles only has eyes for the radiant princess at his side. At long last, he has made your love public for the whole world to see.

Later, after celebrations around the circuit have started winding down in favor of moving to lounges and clubs for the night, Charles and you escape for a private moment together.

“That was quite the reveal,” you say with an amused quirk of your eyebrow.

Charles laughs. “I know, subtlety has never been my strong suit. I hope you don’t mind.”

You caress his face tenderly. “Of course not. I’m happy to finally be by your side. No more hiding.”

Charles kisses you deeply, all the love and longing of the past months pouring into it.

When you finally break apart, foreheads touching, he murmurs, “No more doubts. No more teasing. They all know now that you’re real and all mine.”

“Forever yours,” you whisper back. And seal it with another perfect kiss.

***

“I can’t believe it. I just … actually can’t believe it,” Max mutters, staring at the large screens around the paddock that are showing you and Charles gazing adoringly into each other’s eyes during the post-race interviews.

“Lord Perceval … dating an actual princess,” Carlos muses in disbelief.

“And not just any princess, his teenage celebrity crush!" Lando exclaims.

“I guess we owe him an apology,” Pierre says sheepishly.

“Big time,” Daniel agrees. “We gave him so much crap for making her up.”

“Speak of the devil,” Max mutters as Charles strides into the room, hand-in-hand with you.

An awkward silence descends on the group. Charles clears his throat, enjoying their obvious discomfort.

“I believe you all know my girlfriend, Her Serene Highness Y/N Grace Stephanie Caroline, Hereditary Princess of Monaco and Marquise of Baux. But you can just call her Your Serene Highness or Princess Y/N,” he says politely.

The guys mumble greetings, not quite meeting your eyes. You smile graciously. “You can just call me Y/N. Any friend of Charles is a friend of mine and there’s no need for titles around friends.”

Charles narrows his eyes. “Actually I don’t think that will be necessary. I believe they should maintain protocol and address you properly.”

You shoots him a look. “Darling, it’s fine, really. I want your friends to feel comfortable around me.”

But Charles crosses his arms, not budging. “No, it’s not fine. I must insist that they observe the formal mode of address for royalty.”

The drivers shift awkwardly again. You pull Charles aside with a soothing smile.

“What are you doing?” You whisper. “I’m trying to put them at ease.”

“I know but they deserve to squirm for a bit after how much they mocked us,” Charles whispers back petulantly.

You bite back a smile. “Don’t be silly. I know their teasing hurt but let’s move past it. Can you really blame them for thinking it sounds like a made up fairytale? Put yourself in their shoes.”

Charles sighs. “I guess you’re right ... I just want them to respect you.”

“They will, in time,” you say gently. “But forcing them to be overly formal won’t accomplish that. I’m still just me.”

Charles nods reluctantly. “Okay fine, we’ll do it your way.”

You turn back to the drivers who are trying to act natural and pretending that they didn’t just listen in on your conversation with a bright smile. “I’ve heard so much about all of you,” you say. “Charles speaks very highly of his fellow drivers.”

“We’re, uh, happy to finally meet you too,” Max manages to get out.

“Yeah, congrats mate,” Daniel offers weakly.

More awkward silence follows. Charles smirks, deciding to twist the knife a bit more.

“I know you all had your doubts about me landing a catch like Y/N,” he says casually. “But I can’t blame you. Even I can hardly believe someone so incredible would fall for me.”

He gazes at you adoringly as you blush prettily while the drivers fidget uneasily.

“Anyway, as you can now see, she’s real and we are happier than ever!" Charles concludes brightly.

“We’re really sorry for not believing you,” Lando bursts out sincerely. “And all the teasing.”

The others chime in with apologies and congratulations. Charles graciously accepts, reassuring them no hard feelings.

After you have throughly charmed them all and departed, the group surrounds Charles excitedly.

“Alright, you have to give us all the details,” Max demands. “How did you meet? How did you get her to go out with you? When did it get serious?”

Charles just laughs. “It’s a long story. But the important thing is that she’s the only one for me. Despite everyone doubting us, our love was real from the start.”

“Pretty epic to have a real life princess as your soulmate,” Pierre says dreamily.

“Just remember you knew me back when you all thought she was imaginary,” Charles jokes.

“We’ll never live it down,” Carlos groans goodnaturedly.

Charles smiles, feeling lighter and happier than he has in ages. The long struggle to prove himself has been worth it. Now he has everything — the win, the girl, and the utter shock and joy of proving to the world that even his wildest dreams can come true.

And this is only the beginning for him and his beloved princess.

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awrkive · 1 month ago

Note

For the milestone bash

No. 23 from the smut list with any of your jks please and thankyou ☺️

23. "I saw on your Amazon wishlist you wanted a dildo. You know I got a dick, right?"

note: last drabble im posting for awhile and also the reqs are closed!! thank u sm for participating in the follower milestone game and im sorry if i wasnt able to write the req that you sent in 😔! dw im still going to go over them once in a while, one of these days.

wc: 1.3k

warning/s: p in v s*x, himbo!jk (hes so stupid i have a crush on him)

Jungkook can be infuriating sometimes. Your friends assume that the reason you dislike him is because he’s a big himbo who can’t even say the word misogyny right and has a GPA lower than a minor earthquake magnitude, but you find that’s the least of your concern when the man has a problem with privacy.

He doesn’t know it. He absolutely has no concept of it and you thought – upon the first month of being roommates with him – that he’s just the typical fratboy who likes flaunting his body to any audience because he knows he looks good, but he genuinely just doesn’t like hanging around with clothes on and would always forget that you exist and he can’t just parade around with nothing but his tight boxers on during the weekends.

Jungkook’s the type to not lock his bedroom. He’s the type to not knock when entering the bathroom, the type to not shy away when he sees your underwear in the laundry room. He doesn’t have shame – and it’s exactly why he sticks his nose into your phone charging at the outlet by the island counter with the Amazon app opened while you go and take out the trash real quick.

In his defense, he didn’t mean to. He just walked past it when he was making his toast – but a very neon picture on your lit up screen caught his attention and when he squinted his eyes, he almost couldn’t believe it.

A dildo. There’s a pink dildo in your Amazon wishlist, sandwiched by a list of otherwise beige-colored stationery items that included a lot of… notebooks.

And you definitely could not miss it. Not when it’s neon! And not when… what? Eight inches?

Jungkook scoffs.

That's exactly his size!

He couldn’t believe his eyes. You… a dildo in your Amazon wishlist? Hah. Jungkook didn’t expect that. He’s always seen you as this… prude, somewhat innocent librarian. And you are actually a part-time librarian at school. And you kind of act sort of prude-ish, and there’s nothing wrong with it – not really, Jungkook thinks. You’re still hot and sexy to him – although, he tries to not think of you that way because you’re really nice to him even though he knows he can be a bit too much sometimes and he knows he isn’t exactly the type of person you keep in your circle.

He kept a rowdy set of friends (except Yoongi) while you go out with your intellectual friend group who are all members of an intelligent club at uni. You know, debate club, the school paper, maths and sciences… Jungkook’s just shocked you even entertain him because boy, do your friends kind of hate him.

Anyway. The dildo. Oh wow. This definitely changes things – but Jungkook doesn’t know what exactly. He never thought about whether you’re still a virgin or not, but finding out about the dildo in your Amazon wishlist is definitely making him think things.

Can you even handle the eight inches anyway? You’re kind of small. The girls he’s been with had always commented on how big he is but he’s very efficient with it and he knows well enough to make the girl cum twice before putting it in so the stretch doesn’t hurt. Would you use lube if you used that plastic dick? You must, you should… but like, Jungkook is also really good at cunnilingus because no one loves pussy as much as him so maybe, you’d need someone’s help to prep you and—

“Jungkook?”

Jungkook feels every hair on his body standing up when he hears your voice behind him. In quick succession, he manages to make it seem like he’s checking out the chip on the edge of the counter instead of your phone.

“Hey!” he greets you with a smile.

His heart skips a beat when your eyebrows furrow, eyes landing from his face to your phone. None of you say anything until you walk further into the kitchen. Then, you grab your phone and turn it off.

“I’ll head out in fifteen minutes. I’m sleeping over at Yena’s for a group study. Can you lock the door later?” You ask him.

It’s weird because it isn’t the first time you went around in a tank top and a pair of short shorts inside the apartment, but right now all Jungkook can think of is how tight your shorts are. And also how smooth your skin is – and how nice your chest looks.

“Jungkook?” You call again, and Jungkook snaps out of his trance.

“Uh… yeah, sure.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

It’s the last thing you said before you take out your charger and go straight to your bedroom.

Jungkook stands there in the kitchen wide-eyed, a bit stunned at the turn of events.

———

You knew Jungkook saw that. And you ranted about it to Yena – how embarrassed you were for having him see the damn dildo in your wishlist. You weren’t embarrassed about wishlisting a dildo – you’re just embarrassed that Jungkook has seen it out of all people.

Ever since that day, you’ve been trying to avoid him. Not that it’s hard because your schedules don’t align most of the time but Sundays are always free and you have no choice but to face him over dinners.

What you’ve noticed, though, is that… Jungkook is being a little different, too. He usually has that suave, easy-going vibe to him, and it’s fine if his approach to other people has changed as well but you realized it’s only you he’s being weird to.

So you decide to confront him.

And it ends up this way.

“Oh my god–” You gasp audibly when Jungkook inserts the first inch of his cock in your pussy, mouth agape as you stare into his eyes while he continues to get in deeper.

“Jesus fuck.” Jungkook moans, tightening his hold around your waist. “Tightest pussy I’ve– ah, shit, stop clenching, pretty.”

You look absolutely delicious with your mouth hanging open, pleasure written all over your face. Jungkook would lie if he says that he hasn’t thought about how you’d look like during sex – especially over the past few weeks but for some reason, the universe has pull its strings for you two to end up this way and the Academy really ought to give him an award for not nutting just right after putting his dick in you because phew, you’re more than what he imagined.

“Oh, that– that feels good,” you pant, hands reaching out for his biceps. “Harder, Jungkook.”

And he does go harder, pulling out for a moment and slamming right back into your tight pussy which welcomes and grips him like a vice he swears he’s popping veins over how much he has to constraint himself from going crazy.

But maybe he’s giving himself too much credit because one second you’re moaning and it sounds like music to his ears but then the next he’s saying something stupid like, “I–shiiit– I saw on your Amazon wishlist you wanted a dildo. You know I got a dick, right?”

Jungkook’s got to stop running his mouth. Namjoon tells him he’s way too chattery sometimes and he’s right but he can’t help that he has a lot of thoughts in his head! So what if he thinks that he can outdo a dildo in any way? From the looks of your face right now, it seems like he can!

But you have a deadpan look on your face, a contrast to how you looked just seconds ago.

He’s prepared himself for something that would ruin this moment, but you only stare at him and say, “Yeah. So put it to good use and shut up.”

Jungkook thinks he’d cum in the next ten seconds.

“Yes, ma’am.” He grunts as he slides in and out, picking up his pace, sweat forming in his temples. He greedily lets his hand wander over your breasts and squeeze one, making you moan.

“Good.”

You don’t know where you began and ended, all you know now is that as much as Jungkook can be infuriating sometimes, at least he can make you cum.

And oh, he was definitely way better than the dildo Amazon had just dropped into your door three days ago.

#jungkook smut #p; drabbles #p; drabble requests

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kikyo-writes · 1 year ago

Text

"I like you, okay?!"

summary: katsuki struggles to confess to his crush.

tags: fluff, fem!reader

Katsuki is good at a lot of things, but when it comes to romance, he is a hopeless fool.

In his defense, it’s not his fault. He’s spent the vast majority of his life focusing on one goal and one goal only—honing his Quirk so that he can become the Number One Hero. And he always thought that his attention would never sway, free of any unnecessary distractions.

Until he met you.

At the start of the first year at U.A, Katsuki didn’t think much of you. Well, he didn’t think much of any of his classmates, for that matter, but slowly but surely, the days passed, and he found his gaze lingering on you for a lot longer than he would’ve liked to admit.

Katsuki tries to deny it at first. Something about you makes him feel... off. He's not sure why his chest gets uncomfortably tight when you speak to him, and it also doesn’t make any sense why his face heats up like never before. Maybe he’s sick, but if that were really the case, then he’s somehow been sick for the past few months.

It takes someone else’s meddling for Katsuki to finally put the pieces together.

“So, Bakugou, what’s up with you and [Name]?” Kaminari asks. “It feels like you treat her a bit differently than everyone else. Do you have a crush on her or something?”

Kaminari was half-joking, but when Katsuki’s cheeks flush a deep shade of crimson—enough to rival his piercing eyes—everyone around him gasps.

“Dude,” Kirishima chuckles. “No way. You actually like her, huh?”

“The hell I do!” Katsuki immediately snaps back, but his voice cracks, and based on the way everyone smirks at him, he can tell he must not be very convincing.

Kaminari grins. “Wow, I hit the nail right on the head! You’ve gotta confess, man! [Name]’s really popular, so if you wait around too long, someone else might beat you to it!”

“You idiots are out of your damn minds,” Katsuki grits out, and without wasting a beat, he shoves his hands in his pockets and stomps off.

They’re just being stupid like always. Seriously, him, having a crush on someone? The Bakugou Katsuki? As if he has the time or energy to waste on mushy shit like that. It’s so ridiculous he’s almost tempted to laugh.

But then he takes a moment to consider Kaminari’s words.

“If you wait around too long, someone else might beat you to it.”

Katsuki isn’t sure why, but he briefly imagines you being asked out by another person, someone who isn’t him. He imagines you laughing with them, hooking your arm around theirs, and last but certainly not least, leaning forward to meet them in a kiss.

The image evokes a visceral reaction from him, and in that moment, he swears his heart nearly stops beating.

And then comes the realization.

Oh, fuck.

He’s in deep shit.

As much as Katsuki would like to say that he’s made progress since realizing that he likes you, that unfortunately isn’t the case.

If anything, the self-awareness has just made things worse. Before, he could at least talk to you like a semi-normal person, but now, your interactions usually go something like this:

“Good morning, Katsuki,” you greet. “How’d you do on yesterday’s assignment? To be honest, I was kind of rushing to finish it on time. It felt like it was harder than usual.”

Katsuki parts his lips to respond, but the longer he stares at you, the faster his heart races.

He ends up walking away out of sheer embarrassment.

“Man,” Kirishima sighs. “That was painful to watch.”

“Shut up!” Katsuki hisses. “What the fuck do you want me to do?!”

“Just be normal. Be yourself.” Kirishima pauses for a few moments. “Actually... maybe that’s not the best advice.”

“Oh, piss off!"

It goes on like this for a while. Every time you engage him in casual, friendly conversation, Katsuki finds himself freezing up completely. It’s ironic, because he has the confidence to take on fearsome villains with ease, and yet this is what has him scared shitless.

Goddammit. Katsuki never realized that liking someone would be such a test of his strength.

Unfortunately, he’s too caught up in his own feelings that he doesn’t stop to consider how all of this looks from your perspective.

“Katsuki,” you approach him one day, and for some reason, you’re frowning. “Hey. Can you please be honest with me? Did I do something to upset you, or what? Because it feels like you’ve been ignoring me lately.”

He blinks. “What? No. If I had a problem with you, I’d tell you.”

“Well, that’s what I thought too. So then... why do you keep avoiding me? Does it just bore you having to listen to me talk?”

Hardly. Katsuki could probably listen to you talk for hours upon hours without getting bored. You have a pretty face, a pretty voice, and whenever you smile or laugh, it makes him want to do the same.

It suddenly dawns on him that this is probably the best chance he’ll get. It’ll be bad news if he lets this misunderstanding drag out any further. He doesn’t want you to think that you don’t like him, because that’s the furthest thing from the truth.

Come on. He can do this. He’s Bakugou Katsuki, for fuck’s sake. It’s time to stop acting like a coward and own up to how he feels.

“I,” Katsuki starts shakily, “I...”

You raise a brow. “You...?”

“I...”

“...?”

Holy shit, this is so much harder than he anticipated. He’ll take a punch to the face over a confession any day of the week.

But no, he can’t give up, goddammit! Again, he’s Bakugou Katsuki! Resident badass! The (self-proclaimed) future Number One Hero!

The words feel like bile rushing up his esophagus, and even though they burn like hell, he finally, finally manages to spit them out.

“I like you, okay?!”

He did it. He’s violently flushed in the face and keeps having to gasp to reclaim his breath, but at long last, the truth is out in the open.

And now for the part that he didn’t even stop to consider. Seeing how you'll react.

“Oh,” you blink in response. You’re visibly taken aback, and you clear your throat, stopping to ponder your next words. “Well, that’s—”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up! I don’t want to hear it!”

Katsuki books it the hell out of there before he can hear what you have to say. He supposes he’s unlocked a new fear: rejection. The way he handled this whole situation is lame, it’s childish as hell, and he knows it, but when it comes to this stuff, it looks like he’s much more of a coward than he first thought.

Meanwhile, you giggle softly as you watch him run off.

“What a dork. He didn’t even wait for me to say I like him back.”

#bnha imagines #my hero academia #bnha #mha #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #katsuki x reader #boku no hero academia #boku no hero imagines #mha imagines #mha headcanons #bnha headcanons #fluff #romance #bnha x reader #mha x reader #mha fluff #bnha fluff

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waynes-multiverse · 19 days ago

Text

The Exit Strategy – Part 3

Summary: Russell is ready to hang it all up and retire, open up a brewery, and enjoy the rest of his civilian life. However, there’s one important thing missing before he can take the big plunge. Luckily, he knows just the right person to help him find it.

Pairing: Russell Shaw x Female!Reader

Warnings: 18+, language, some spice & implied smut (incl. a bit of dirty talk), mentions of a terrorist attack, a tiny bit of angst & feels, fluffy fluff

Word Count: 6.8k

A/N: Thank you guys so much for your feedback on the last two parts! So happy I get to finally share this little adventure with you and that you all loved it so much 🥹🩵 Welp, let's dive in before I get too fucking sappy... 😝

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist || Tag List

Part 3: This Is a Heart-To-Heart

With pursed lips and a clicking tongue, Russell’s eyes skimmed the seemingly endless aisle of breakfast cereals, his pointer finger drifting from box to box before it landed on the Lucky Charms. His lips rose to a satisfied grin, his heart skipping a beat as a memory popped into his mind.

The supermarket’s PA speakers announced the opening of a third cash register during the evening rush as Colter stood idly by, hands in the pockets of his jacket, and blew a raspberry. In his periphery, Russell could see his younger brother check his watch for the fifth time and smiled a little to himself.

“Russ, uhm, hate to break up your very serious choice of breakfast cereal here, but we need to move. We’re gonna be late,” Colter finally dared to remind him. Russell had wondered how long it would take. “Can’t you do your grocery shopping some other time?”

Russell only chuckled at that. “Oh, this isn’t that. I need this for tonight.”

“Uh-huh.” Colter wasn’t entirely convinced. “You do know we’re invited to dinner, right? There’s gonna be food. You don’t need to bring a–,” his eyes narrowed at the item Russell threw into the cart, “–box of Lucky Charms. Wow. Okay…” Colter scratched the nape of his neck. “You know, most people bring a bottle of wine. Flowers… You want me to–”

“Nope, I’m good.” Russell shook his head. “I have a plan, alright?”

“Oh, so now you have a plan?” Colter deadpanned. “Where was that plan when I got beat up in a supermarket alley?”

Russell snorted a laugh and cocked his brow. “Is that why you’re so jumpy since we walked in here? Did she actually give you supermarket PTSD?”

“I’m not jumpy,” Colter defended with a too defensive shrug.

“Well, alright, I’m almost done here,” Russell assured him and pulled out a tiny piece of paper with unreadable scribbles on it – his shopping list. “All I need now are Nacho Cheese Doritos, rocky road ice cream, brownies, and potato chips. Luckily, I already got the beer in the trunk.”

Colter’s frown deepened, but his lips quirked a tiny smile of amusement. “Alright, should I even ask?”

Russell laughed. “Trust me. Those are all the things I need to win her back. I know what I’m doing.”

Colter relented with a sigh. “Alright, gimme the list. I track down the snack aisle.”

“If you find them, I’ll give you a five dollar reward, little brother,” Russell quipped, earning him the middle finger as Colter rounded the corner.

Russell exhaled a sigh of relief once he was alone. All afternoon, he’d wracked his brain if he could or should tell Colter about you – about the fact he had a wife and two kids. Was now the right moment? Or had it already come and gone?

And if Russell was looking for a petty excuse, he could just audaciously claim Colter never asked. Never asked if Russell had someone special in his life. Never asked if he was an uncle yet. So, was it really on Russell to offer information that was never asked of him? Now, that wasn’t really his nature, was it?

Like he said, petty excuses…

Russell knew it was (mostly) on him. He did give way to the illusion he was a lone wolf without any strings anywhere. At the end of all his pondering, however, he came to the conclusion it was best to let you navigate how to proceed. You’d always been his compass.

On a late summer evening, with the sun slowly approaching the horizon and dipping the suburban cul-de-sac in shades of golden orange, you found two men on your doorstep: One who only looked familiar despite knowing him almost your entire adult life, and one who seemed familiar, even though you’d never met him before, but some unmistakable features and mannerisms reminded you of your husband.

Said husband beamed at you from ear to ear, carrying two paper bags worth of groceries in his arms. “Hey, sweetheart.”

The heart in your ribcage pounded faster as your eyes landed on his smile. Nothing and no one ever broke your composure or pulled the rug out from under your feet – but Russell had always managed to do both since day one.

“Well, I guess… come on in, guys,” you said with a small sigh of hesitation and held the door open wider, mentally preparing for an entirely unplanned night – they usually were whenever you spent time with the green-eyed chaos theory.

Never in a million years did you think you’d end up here when you met a young soldier on a sunny day at the American embassy in Iraq and put him through a baptism of enemy gunfire only a few hours later. And to be fair, he’d always been handsome, but the quirky shit didn’t reveal itself till later. If Russell Shaw had been a book, you would’ve definitely misjudged him by his cover.

Russell set the brown bags down on the kitchen island, a small smirk flickering across his plump lips. Internally, you heaved another sigh. Of course the idiot would think about sex – a curse conjured up by your own making. If Russell ever had a bad influence in his life, it would’ve been you.

“So, what did you bring me here?” you entertained his little plan, spying into one of the bags. You already had a pretty strong inkling of what might be inside, your heart swelling that he, A, cared and, B, even went as far as making a thoughtful, swoon-worthy effort.

He used to do these things all the time – till it all eventually stopped.

“Only the best for my girl,” Russell said, chuckling giddily as he hauled a tub of rocky road from a bag as if he was making a bunny appear from a hat. Only in your opinion, it was a way better magic trick.

“Oh no, you are the fucking best!” You squeezed his shoulders, short of jumping fully on him, with a grin from ear to ear. Your cheek muscles even began to hurt. You hadn’t smiled this much in ages. “Look at this! You even got brownies! You’re unbelievable, Shaw. You know I’ve been craving this shit for months. We’re supposed to be an organic family,” you explained with an eye roll, your hands still rummaging eagerly through the bags.

“Yeah, I figured somethin’ like this. Remember when you had to pretend to be vegetarian for that greenwashing gala?”

“God, don’t remind me. The asshole served cauliflower steaks and then turned around and shot a fucking lion,” you scoffed, both of you chuckling at the memory. Russell had been right in the chicken coop – it felt like no time had passed at all.

Not touching him and falling into his strong, warm embrace was hard. Not kissing him was harder. And being in his near vicinity without doing any of these things was unbearable. You weren’t just important to Russell; he was important to you, too. For a long time, he’d been the only person you could trust and confide in. You never lied to each other – that had been a rule.

“Wow, okay, so this is different,” Colter noted, you and Russell both glancing up at the young man across the island. As he was only met with two furrowed brows, he clarified, a finger gesturing to your cross necklace. “Just the-, uh, the whole swearing… I mean, at church you were… you know.”

You laughed when you realized what he meant. God knows your aliases had confused the shit out of Russell in the beginning, too – till he learned to take advantage of your role-playing skills. Then, he had tons of fun with it.

“Yeah, I know. Quite the mind-fuck, isn’t it? I usually only pretend to be someone else for a short job – a day or two, a single event. Deep-covers like this aren’t my favorite either,” you shared and hoped it would signal to Colter that he could relax. If his shoulders became any tenser, you’d worry they might freeze that way.

“Speaking of, where’s your husband?” Russell chimed in with a teasing grin.

For the briefest second, your reply would’ve been, “Which one?” Russell could see it, too – the twinkle in your eyes – but then you stopped short when you noticed his look.

Colter didn’t know you two were married. Oh, Russell…

“Basement. Finishing up our report,” you said in a quieter voice, turning on the faucet of the kitchen sink.

Colter’s brow knitted with an amused smile when Russell turned on the radio as well. “Is that really necessary?”

“Can’t be too careful,” both you and Russell replied, not even noticing you spoke at the same time, too zoned in on your routine.

“Who’s your mark?” Russell then asked, leaning back against the kitchen island in an angle that shielded his presence from the window as you got to work on your fake dishes.

“Congressman Eric Mueller.”

“A congressman? Really?” Colter’s brow raised before his eyes showed a little intrigue. “What’d he do?”

“Selling sensitive national security information to foreign agents,” you answered.

“How’s the pastor involved?” Russell asked, opening a box of Lucky Charms and stuffing a handful of dry cereal into his mouth.

“How do you know he’s involved?”

Russell only chuckled at your blatant diversion. “Oh, c’mon! You’re an open-minded person. I know you don’t hate the man for no reason. So, what’s the reason?”

You sighed in proud defeat – checkmate for Russell. “Mueller is laundering money through the church. Pastor’s taking a cut.”

“And?”

“He’s a pedo,” you finally admitted, dumping a clean plate ungraciously into the soapy water before swinging around to meet Russell’s eyes.

“There it is…” He nodded with a winning smirk that felt wrong, rubbing a hand through his beard. “Thought I caught a bit of a creeper vibe. Figured it was just all the kumbaya Jesus shit.”

“I wish�� Every time he touches my arm, I wanna cut his hand off with a fucking spoon.”

“Well, we might get to that later if we find the time,” Russell quipped, flicking a marshmallow into the air before catching it with his mouth. You frowned – your son did the same damn thing in the mornings. “What information is Mueller selling?”

“Security protocols, blueprints…” you replied.

“To what?”

“Mall of America,” was all you said before the kitchen fell silent. Crickets. Well, and the faucet and radio… “Our intel suggests they’re planning an attack in December.”

“Well, merry Christmas,” Russell huffed bitterly. “So, that’s the carrot.”

“Yup, that’s the carrot,” you confirmed.

The lives of innocent children and families going about their Christmas shopping in America’s biggest mall was what the agency used to lure you back into the field – the carrot in front of your nose.

For days, you had debated whether to take the job or not, leave your family, and go back undercover to do things no one else wanted to do. But one look through the door at your peacefully sleeping son and daughter made the decision for you. How could you not go? If you didn’t do this, other parents might not get the same courtesy of seeing their children safe and sound in their beds and kissing them goodnight. So, you left your children for the sake of others.

Russell nodded with understanding, telling you he would’ve done the same thing if he were in your shoes. You knew he would have. Still, a part of you felt incredibly guilty, always hoping that Lewis and Amelia would understand someday when they were older.

“Who is it? Russia? China?” Russell asked.

“Neither. It’s an extremist splinter group. Has ties to both ISIS and Hezbollah, but works mostly out of Iran,” you said.

“How did you infiltrate Mueller? A guy trying to blow up a mall doesn’t strike me as a good Christian,” Russell noted.

“Well, he’s not, but his wife, Clara, is. She’s very involved in the church. Was easy to get in this way. I helped her with a few charity events. She got me a job as a bookkeeper for the church, not knowing I’d actually find a bunch of evidence there. Afterward, she invited me for coffee. Now, we have brunch on Mondays, play bridge on Wednesdays and tennis on Fridays. I’m at her house all the time. God knows I have the place bugged in every room now at this point…”

“Bridge,” Russell snorted in amusement, earning him a scolding glare from you. “Does she know?”

You shook your head. “Nope, doesn’t have a clue what her husband’s up to. Wonder what that feels like…” you muttered the last sentence under your breath, Russell narrowing his eyes at you. “He was in the Navy. Stationed in Pakistan. We think he got approached there. He was probably a sleeper agent till he got elected.”

“How far is he in it?”

“Honestly, can’t say. He might be fully turned or just doing it for the money and glory.”

“Glory?” Colter cocked a brow.

You confirmed his shock with a nod. “The mall’s in his district. After the attack, the plan is to portray him as a hero who vows to avenge his constituents. Puts him on the map as running mate for the next election.”

“Then they’d have someone on the top level,” Russell deduced thoughtfully and then found your eyes. “We can help.”

You felt the creases between your eyebrows deepening.

“Yeah, and I already told you – no, thank you,” you huffed, shaking your head. “I didn’t tell you all this as a sitrep, Russ. I told you, so you know we have everything under control, and you can leave again.”

“We both know I’m not going anywhere,” Russell replied stubbornly, his stern gaze drilling into yours. “I can help.”

Undeniably, Russell, with his expertise and certain skill set, would be a helpful addition. You had never trusted someone more in the field than him. The two of you had been an unstoppable team. After almost twenty years together, you could communicate with just a single look. You knew he always had your back, just as he knew you’d always have his – and in the espionage life, that was probably the greatest asset of all.

However, while your mind all too eagerly agreed with him, your heart protested just as heavily. It was a high-risk, high-stakes operation, and a part of you wanted to protect him and keep him as far away from it as possible. You’d known that feeling almost your whole adult life – since the day you’d met him, you had wanted to protect him. Whenever you ignored him, shot him down, or even left him, you were always doing it for his own good. Protecting him meant sometimes hurting him.

But the persistent motherfucker never listens…

Bringing your husband into this and turning your children into orphans wasn’t your only fear, though. There was still Colter.

“Oh, I know you can. I trained you. Remember?” you retorted with a fiery look.

Russell clicked his tongue. “So, this isn’t about me. It’s about him.”

“Oh, ‘cause I’m not one of you guys?” Colter quirked a brow and assured you with easiness in the shrug of his shoulders, “I can handle it.”

Ignoring him, your focus stayed on Russell – the culprit. “You brought a fucking clueless wildcard into a clandestine operation! No offense, Colter…”

“None taken,” Colter said with pursed lips.

“Bad move, Shaw,” you continued directing your anger at your husband.

“I can vouch for him. He’s good, alright? Trust me. He helped me out with something before. And just recently, he even stumbled onto a DoD black site,” Russell reasoned with a weak chuckle like he was sharing the family newsletter.

Your frown intensified. “Yeah, the word stumbled really fills me with tons of confidence here.” Then, you expelled a deep sigh. “Look, I know you two had a weird fucking childhood, but you, of all people, know it’s not the same thing! He isn’t trained for this.” Your eyes then drifted to the younger Shaw. “No offense, Colter, but if I ever need someone to kill a bunny, I call.”

“Little offense taken,” Colter quipped with a creased brow.

“I assure you he’s good, alright? Great, even,” Russell said, stepping closer to you. Your heart jittered, the movement like dominos that fell a path from your ribs up your spine and down your arms where goosebumps formed in their wake. “Everything he doesn’t know, I’ll teach him on the road. You don’t have to worry about a thing, sweetheart. Shaws are excellent at improvising. Remember the helicopter?”

“I remember screaming and wishing to die quickly for two hours straight.”

Russell pursed his lips, hiding an amused smile.

“You can fly a helicopter?” Colter asked, brow rising in genuine interest. He slightly leaned forward as if to hear better, cherishing those bits and pieces of his brother’s mysterious life. He hoped one day he would’ve collected enough of them till the nonsensical puzzle matched the picture on the box.

“Yup,” Russell grinned boyishly, wagging his eyebrows. “Named her Birdie. She was a beauty.”

“She was a piece of shit. And he couldn’t fly at the time, hence all the screaming on my part,” you clarified.

“She made me take flying lessons after, but honestly, I had a pretty good handle on it the first time round,” Russell bragged, earning him another frown from you. His irresistibly green eyes then bored into yours. “But it worked, didn’t it? We’re both still here, right?”

You exhaled another long sigh. You hated when he was right.

“Just take tonight to think about it, okay?”

“Fine, I’ll think about it,” you softened, feeling a warm palm gently splay across your back – slightly lower than a friend would place it. You knew Russell was lulling you into agreement – you had taught him that damn trick yourself – but you couldn’t deny it felt so, so, so nice.

“C’mon, ice cream’s melting. Let’s get some unhealthy food into you before you chew someone else’s head off,” Russell teased.

“I am kinda hungry,” you admitted in a meek mumble.

“Oh, I know. I can tell.” Russell chuckled behind you and kissed the top of your head, his arms snaking around your waist.

Fuck. It felt too good. Too familiar.

You wanted his hands to wander down, fingers lifting your skirt, brushing along your inner thighs on their way up. You wanted his head buried between your burning legs, fingers bruisingly gripping your hips while his tongue dipped into your heat. You wanted him to step even closer, tear your lace panties down, pry your buttcheeks apart, and take you hard and deep.

God, you hadn’t had sex in forever. Who could think clearly like that?

Swaying out of his embrace, you grabbed one of the paper bags and looked at him suggestively. “Wanna take this downstairs? I have to show you something.”

Russell’s lips twitched with a smile. He knew what it meant – not here.

His gaze then drifted to Colter. “You’re gonna be alright up here for a while?”

“I’m good.” His little brother nodded with a shadow of a smile as if he had only waited for the moment the two of you would excuse yourselves and retreat.

“I’ll send Tom up here. Have him brief you,” you said, both brothers’ eyes then blinking at you.

“Does this mean I’m in?” Colter asked.

“If you want to, you’re in,” you stated and muzzled a sigh.

Colter’s head bobbed for a moment, a hand scratching his throat. “Well, not exactly something you say no to.”

Russell and you shared an amused look and both replied, “We know.”

“Oh, Tom’s also made some lasagna. I’ll tell him to feed you,” you added kindly.

“Thank you.” Colter matched your smile.

“Whoa, not so fast,” Russell threw in, pointing an accusatory finger at you. “Did your cute little hands have any involvement in the making of said meal?”

“No, Tom wouldn’t let me get near it,” you huffed with an annoyed eye roll.

“Smart man,” Russell quipped and then turned to his younger brother. “You should be safe to eat it, then.”

His joke earned him a whack of his chest from you.

“Ow!”

Russell followed you down the creaking wooden steps to the basement. The walls were still raw, the giant room unrenovated. In passing, you switched on the washing machine for an adequate noise level and pulled back the thick, navy curtains to reveal a whole setup with desks and computers.

Russell whistled lowly, green eyes flashing around the room. “Got the whole spy gear down here, huh?”

“Yup.”

Sliding an old artwork to the side, you entered a code into the wall safe. It held mostly sensitive information but also some personal items. You retrieved your private phone before locking it again. You scrolled through your photos until you found what you were looking for, handing it to Russell.

As soon as his eyes landed on a picture of his son on a swing set – with a grin brighter than the sun and one that looked just like a copy of his father’s – Russell inhaled sharply, his grip on the phone tightening.

“He looks like you,” you said softly, leaning your head against his bicep, tangling your arms around his. Then, you swiped to the next picture. “That’s Amelia on her second birthday. She liked blowing out the candles so much, I had to light them seventeen times in a row,” you giggled. But Russell only swallowed thickly, quietly laying the phone down on top of the dryer. You could see the tears well in his eyes again. “Was this too much? I’m sorry.”

Russell shook his head, offering you a sad smile. “No, uhm, it’s too little.”

“Yeah, I get that. Feels like they change every time I turn around. Bet they’re already looking different now,” you said with the same regret-filled sadness in your voice.

“When this is over, you think I could see them?”

The hopefulness shimmering in his green orbs devastated you, adding a few more cracks to your already damaged and bruised heart.

“Of course you can. You can see them as much as you want,” you assured him. “Maybe Amelia first? She’s still little. I mean, it’s just–”

“No, I get it,” he brushed off your concerns with an easy smile, but you could see all the hurt underneath it. “Lewis is older. It’s more complicated. He probably doesn’t even remember me.”

“Russ… Of course he remembers you,” you said. “You’re his dad. He has a picture of you on his nightstand. He talks to you every day.”

Russell snorted a humorless chuckle, the guilt eating him alive from the inside out. “Kinda makes it worse, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t think it does,” you replied, smiling softly. “He missed you. We all did.”

Russell’s lips on yours took you by surprise, reminding you of the first kiss you’d shared – only back then, the roles had been reversed, and he’d been the shocked one.

The kiss was gentle and tentative, nothing hasty or thoughtless about it. He still tasted the same. He still felt the same, even though the beard tickled slightly. His large hands cupped your face – a perfect fit – his thumb sweetly caressing your cheek as he pulled back, hazy pine green eyes searching for yours.

“Sorry,” he said with a rather unapologetic smile and a bob of his Adam’s apple. “Couldn’t hold back any longer.”

“It’s fine,” you mumbled with a half-hearted shrug and tiptoed up to claim his lips again, your arms draping around his neck and pulling him closer.

What started slow and careful became a fever dream when your tongue slipped inside his mouth, his hands wandering down your sides till they reached their rightful place on your lower back. Your mind flooded with every kiss, every touch the two of you had ever shared, your heart close to bursting because it had found its missing piece again.

As he drew back, his nose brushed yours, his fingers lovingly tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear. His eyes then focused on the top of your head. A smile rose on your lips, guessing his intentions.

“Can I?”

You nodded, biting down on your bottom lip. “Go ahead.”

Carefully, he lifted the wig from your head, and a few sorries and giggles later, the fake hair was gone. Removing the hair clips and tie, you gestured with your chin to the desk.

“Can you hand me that blue case?”

Russell grabbed the small case and turned to you with a cheeky smile. “Eye drops, too?”

You nodded, and he came back to you with the requested items. Pulling your eyelids open with your fingers, you took out the colored lenses, placing them back in their case.

Russell held up the eye drops. “Want me to do the honors?”

You giggled and gave him another nod. “Yes, please. You know I hate doing that stuff.” Russell then gently pulled down your eyelid as you tilted your head back. “God, this feels so sexy…”

Russell laughed, the sound reverberating deep in his chest. “You’re always sexy. Doesn’t matter if I’m giving you eye drops or stitching you up.”

“That’s sweet, but shut up. We both know you’re lying. You’ve sewn me back together in some pretty rough states,” you remarked, but your cheeks couldn’t stop from rising higher and higher.

“And vice versa,” Russell said simply, administering the last drop into your right eye.

“Ugh, fucking burns.” You sniffled, blinking your eyes a couple of times till the sting subsided.

Russell’s hands then cupped your cheeks, bringing your focus to him. He smiled at you, bright and warm. “There she is,” he said softly, his voice only a whisper. Your heart tugged in your chest, trying to squeeze itself through your ribs just to be closer to him. “Missed those beautiful eyes.”

“You’re so cheesy,” you teased and pressed your lips on his, slow and sensual – careful. As you glanced up at him, your heart cracked a little more again, your eyes welling up and burning with tears.

“Hey, what is that? Why are you crying?” Russell worriedly checked on you like you were a kid with a fever, his thumb catching a salty teardrop that had escaped.

“It’s the eye drops,” you replied lightheartedly in a last ditch effort to hide the all-consuming guilt in your stomach.

Russell sent you a kind smile, stroking your cheek. “I don’t think it’s the eye drops, sweetheart…”

“I’m so sorry, Russ. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought I was helping you…”

“I know. I know…” he soothed and opened his arms. “C’mere.” As you fell into his embrace, he kissed your crown repeatedly, his arms holding you just as tightly as you held onto him. One palm patted the back of your head, the other rubbing your back in soothing circles. “I know you did, okay? And I know why you left. It did help, you know? To get my own head outta my ass… Just one of those things, I guess. Didn’t know I needed to hit rock bottom first before realizing what I’d lost. I’m only sorry I didn’t get my shit together sooner.”

Swallowing, with an ear on his chest, you listened to his heartbeat for a moment – steady, strong, safe. There wasn’t one single person in this world that could give you what Russell always could – comfort. It was what you wanted the most, what you needed during your worst times, and what you goddamn craved, always.

“You know, when you didn’t come back after a year, I was scared you finally found what you’re looking for, and it wasn’t me,” you admitted quietly, swallowing.

Before Russell, you barely ever shared your true feelings and thoughts with anyone, not even family and friends. Your heart, mind, and soul stayed hidden like your personality, your identity, and everything else that made you you. But Russell had always seen beyond the walls, the masks, and the aliases.

He drew back slightly, the hand that tangled in your hair lifting your head till you met his eyes and their loving crinkles. “Never gonna happen,” he assured you with nothing but honesty in his gaze. “You’re it, baby. You know I’m a one-and-only kinda guy,” he quipped, flashing you his signature grin. “You’re everything I ever wanted, sweetheart. The only family I ever had, really. I should’ve told you that sooner. Maybe you wouldn’t have left then.”

“This is soon enough,” you said and pecked his lips. “Why didn’t you tell Colter about me? Or the fact that he’s an uncle?”

With a sigh, Russell grabbed the brown paper bags, the ice cream in it surely melted by now, and settled down on the raw concrete floor, leaning his back against the rumbling washing machine. “Well, if we’re gonna talk, we might as well do it old school. Sit down. Eat,” he ordered you.

Taking a seat next to him, you grabbed a container of room-temperature rocky road and opened it. “Whoa, that is soup, yep!” you exclaimed with a laugh.

“Eh, it’s better when it’s melted anyway,” Russell remarked.

“So true…”

“Hand me the Doritos.”

“Yup.”

Quietly, you and Russell then created your dish like the two of you were parodies of Gordon Ramsey on the comedy channel, and only after savoring that first bite of rocky road cream soup with Nacho Cheese Dorito sprinkles (the croutons to your meal if you will), did you stray back to topic.

“So?”

“Right, uhm…” Russell scratched the back of his neck.

You snorted in amusement. “You always do this, you know.” He raised his brow, giving you a sideways look. “You change the subject and distract me in that cutesy way of yours.”

“I don’t think I’m cutesy.”

“You were twenty years ago,” you countered with a fond smile and took a crunchy, spicy spoonful of your soup. “I still see you that way sometimes, you know?”

“God, I hope not,” he groaned, chuckling. “That’s just horrifying.”

“You weren’t so bad. Pretty sweet, actually.” You shrugged, the hint of a smile tugging at your lips. Russell had always been the lost little duckling that had imprinted on you.

He smirked, but his cheeks betrayed him by turning sweetly red. “Yeah, that’s how I lured you in.”

“I don’t think you did much luring, big guy…” you retorted. “You had zero game.”

“What?!”

“Oh, c’mon, Russ… This can’t come as a surprise to you,” you said, giggling.

“Fine,” he caved with a roll of his eyes and chuckled lightly. He scratched the scruff on his throat. “Guess I was a little nervous that night. You were really intimidating.”

You snorted a laugh. “I know.”

“‘M glad you made the first move, though.”

“I made all the moves,” you corrected teasingly. Your gaze then fell pensively to your lap, where your fingers nervously fumbled. Your heart jolted once, like the jump start of a car. “So, uhm, you know… were you making any moves on other people?”

“People?”

“Women,” you clarified and pursed your lips. You didn’t look at him. You knew he would probably find your discomfort amusing.

“Ah.” Russell smacked his lips, trying his hardest not to grin. Then he looked at you – brow raised in an almost scolding manner, but his lips curved upwards and gave his act away, dimples barely hidden by the beard. He held that gaze till you finally met his green eyes. “Have you not been listening to me before? I told you – there’s only you, sweetheart.”

Your brows drew into a frown. “Don’t sweetheart me. It’s been three years, Russ.”

“So?” He twitched his broad shoulders. “You know that’s not a problem.”

“Well, that was before…”

Russell snorted loudly. The crinkles around his eyes doubled as he rubbed the tears out of them. “What, you think sleeping with you has suddenly awoken the dragon?”

“You don’t have to make it sound so ridiculous,” you muttered.

Russell licked his lips, nodding. “Well, news flash – you’re the only treasure for this dragon, baby.”

You stifled a gasp. “I said less ridiculous!”

His grin only broadened, but then he apparently decided to let you off the hook. “Look, in the past three years, has there been opportunity and maybe a little flirting? Sure. But nothing ever came of any of it. Twice, I came scarily close to kissing someone, but I bolted. Wanna know why?”

“Yes? I think…” you replied hesitantly, causing that infuriating smile of his to rise again.

“‘Cause all of it felt like cheating on my wife. So, are we done with this now?”

Defiantly, you shrugged him a nod, but your heart pumped warm, fuzzy happiness into your veins before Russell’s next question made them freeze again.

“Bigger question is, did you kiss a few toads? Or, you know, did some quacking?”

Your lips rose till dimples formed and your cheeks started to hurt. “Please let me be there when you give the kids the sex talk…”

“Okay, don’t even try to change the subject now,” he chided playfully. “I just meant out of the two of us…”

He choked on his words when you narrowed your eyes to a small glare.

“Out of the two of us what, Russell? Please finish that sentence.” Your voice rang with challenge.

“Nothing.” Sheepishly, he scratched the nape of his neck again. “I just meant that, you know, you’re the one who has more, uh… experience in that area.” When your glare morphed into daggers, he swallowed thickly and corrected course, clearing his throat. “Which, you know, I’m real happy about because God knows I’ve profited greatly off of it.”

“Are you slut-shaming me right now?”

“Nope, mm-mm. No, ma’am.” Russell’s lips pressed into a thin line. Then he muttered under his breath, “Not like you’ve sent more soldiers off to war than Bush… Ow!”

Russell rubbed the burning spot on his chest where you had punched him.

“That one hurt this time…” he groaned.

“Good.” The daggers in your eyes blunted back to a frown. You let out a sigh. “You’re an idiot. Please move on.”

“Yes, ma’am.” With curled lips, Russell bobbed his head. “So?”

Musingly, you then rolled your eyes to the ceiling, your head falling back as your tongue darted out between your lips. “Alright, let’s see… In the last three years, I’ve slept with one, two…” you muttered and then mouthed till #4, beginning to count on your fingers.

“Oh, stop it! You think you’re real funny, young lady, huh?” Russell huffed.

When you saw his exasperated expression, you bursted into laughter, the sound echoing off the bare concrete walls.

“C’mon, I had to,” you choked out your excuse between belly-crippling laughs and hysterical snorts. “I’m a single mom of two small children. I’m thankful if I get five minutes in the shower alone.”

Russell laughed a little too, but his heart flooded with relief. The thought of you with someone else had gnawed on him for some time, sharp little bites that pricked his soul. He didn’t know what he would’ve done if it were true – well, aside from dissecting amphibians.

“Almost gave me a heart attack, sweetheart,” Russell chuckled. “Can’t do this to me anymore. That was a young man’s game…”

Instead of uttering an apology, you captured his lips, kissing him till his head spun even more. His breathing quickened, his heart clinging to every last bit of oxygen when your tongue slipped past his lips. His hands tugged on your hips only all too eagerly until he had pulled you into his lap. Your legs straddled his muscular thighs, your clothed cunt rubbing against the growing erection in his jeans. Your underwear soaked at the thought of him splitting you open.

“Make me cum,” you sighed into his ear, nibbling on his lobe. “Want you inside of me again.”

“You’re killing me here,” he groaned as you kissed your way down his throat, teeth grazing over his skin. His fingers twitched with an itch to crawl up your thighs, push any obstruction to the side, and plunge right into your surely wet and waiting channel.

“Good,” you smirked, rocking your hips harder against his bulge.

“Sweetheart, I’d love to, but you’re not exactly quiet.” He chuckled against your lips. “We’d have to blast some death metal on the highest volume for the neighbors not to hear. Doubt they ever heard those sounds coming outta this house.”

With a frustrated huff, you relented breathlessly and slid from his warm lap back to the cold, empty space next to him, cursing the bad timing.

“First time I stitched you up was pretty memorable,” Russell noted after a labored minute, a tiny smirk tugging on his lips.

Your cheeks blushed, your chest still heaving with panting excitement, but you matched his mischievous smile with your usual cocky attitude. “Bet it was. I looked hot in that towel.”

“Yeah, you did. Had a pretty massive boner the whole time. Was surprised you never noticed,” Russell said.

You grinned. “Who says I didn’t?”

“Oh, I know you didn’t, or you would’ve jumped me right there in that bathroom,” Russell teased.

Gasping, you slapped his arm. “I did not jump you!”

“You kinda did.” Russell only laughed harder, with that same boyish grin he always carried when he was happy. “All you wanted was to pull my pants down and hop on for a quick fix.”

“Really? Are you done now?” you playfully scolded him. “And excuse me for wrongly assuming a soldier who’d been stuck in the desert for months with a bunch of other dudes might want sex if the opportunity arises.”

Russell’s boisterous smirk only grew wider. “You wanted me. You had it bad.”

The heat in your face was burning, your tongue poking the insides of your cheeks. “Alright, I don’t think you need an ego boost, Shaw.”

“Still think I’m handsome?” he asked you with a nudge of his elbow.

Pursing your lips, you musingly narrowed your eyes at him, assessing him in jest. “I don’t know. You are a little more rugged these days. The beard’s definitely a midlife crisis.”

Amused, Russell quirked an eyebrow. “Midlife crisis?”

“Yeah, what’s next? Buying a ridiculous car and brewing beer in your basement?”

“Actually, I brew it in the trunk of the ridiculous car.”

Your brows drew together. “Shit. Really?”

Russell laughed loudly, throwing his head back. “Yeah, really.” He then a hauled a bottle of unlabeled beer from the bag, handing it to you. “Taste it. It’s good.”

“If it tastes anything like that schnapps you made in that Guatemalan prison, then no thank you,” you retorted, uncapping the bottle and taking a sniff.

“I promise this wasn’t made in a designated pee bucket, alright?” Russell laughed. “Just drink it. Tell me what you think.”

“Alright, here goes nothing,” you mumbled and took a hesitant, quick sip. Then you took another longer one, squishing the liquid around in your mouth. Your brow raised. “Huh. Not bad,” you remarked, watching Russell’s grin widen. “Why do I taste marshmallows?”

Russell then fully beamed at you. “Knew you’d get it. Took me a while to perfect it. Wasn’t easy, you know? The secret is only adding one of those little Lucky Charms marshmallows. First try, I used the whole pack. God, that was gross.”

“That’s actually pretty genius,” you said with an impressed smile.

“Well, if it is, I kinda owe it to you. You were the OG food genius.”

Smiling, you leaned back against the washing machine with a small sigh, your head dropping to his broad shoulder as you snuggled up against him. He opened his arm and pulled you closer as you nursed your sweet-tasting beer. Russell placed another kiss on your temple, calloused fingers gently caressing your skin.

“When did this job get so hard?”

“Wasn’t it always kinda hard?” Russell answered your rhetorical question, mumbling half his answer into your hair.

“Guess so. Didn’t always feel that way, did it?”

“No, we had some pretty good times,” Russell said with a warm smile and pecked your crown once more.

“You think we’re bad people?”

Russell’s absentminded gaze dropped to you then, now fully focused. “What’s bringing this on, hm?”

You only shrugged in his embrace.

“Alright, I’ll play,” Russell said and then hummed. “Well, we’re not the best people…”

“I was hoping for a little more reassurance,” you said with a playful huff.

Russell chuckled softly. “Look, we always did what we thought was right. And we’ve seen real bad… evil. I don’t think we fall into that category, sweetheart.”

You nodded against his chest. “I guess so…”

Part 4: This Is Not an Exit

One of the things I loved writing most about this series were the deep conversations between all characters, but especially this one in the basement. Hope you enjoyed this as much as I did before we break some, uhm, news to Colter next week 😉

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#the exit strategy #russell shaw #russell shaw x reader #russell shaw x female reader #russell shaw x you #tracker cbs #tracker #tracker fanfiction #russell shaw fanfiction #jensen ackles #justin hartley

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letmeoutofthebasementt · 4 months ago

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SKZ in a fist fight

Chan

This man is cruel and ON ONE. I’m talking during fights this man is doing anything. Scratching, stomping, strangling. Ain’t no shame in his game. Though he will feel guilty after he won’t during. He said “I want this to hurt.” And it did. He also is constantly changing. Like oh he realizes you have pocket sand? Bet. He got something for you. He said “embrace the process” and did.

Minho

Minho is the type who doesn’t fight. He calls the cops. Like I got “Fight who?🤨” vibes. You’re not worth it. You’ll never be worth it. He’s fighting nobody because Korea’s laws are shit and even if it’s self defense he can go to jail so quick. With that being said the verbal beating you’ll get will probably be worse than anyone’s fists could dish out.

Changbin

Changbin does not fight one on one. He gets his friends to jump you. And then he’s like “Oh wow guys you really stuck up for me!” All excited and stuff as if he didn’t call his whole friend group to beat on this one person.

Hyunjin

Me and my friend talk about him and Han (at least predebut) ALL THE TIME. Now…NOWADAYS Hyunjin is more conscious. He won’t fight you because if his career goes downhill for it he’ll crash out. He’s like “We’re adults. We’re mature. Why fight?” HOWEVER. Pre scandal Hyunjin was a CRASH. OUT. (The cards and his natal chart have both spoken.) I’m talking you’re running ones with everyone he knows if you’re running ones with Hyunjin. Verbal, physical, whatever ones you can run you’re running when it comes to him. And he enjoys it. He gets mad and he gets mad quick. And he’s probably been in plenty of fights because Temper + Side Eye = Someone’s swinging and it’s 50/50. But yeah now he’s chilled out he’s not fighting anything.

Jisung

SPEAKING of Han. Another one who calls his friends to fight you cause he knows he can’t fight. But he calls his friends then runs to the hills to get out of there. And there’s absolutely ZERO shame in his game. Then he’ll spread the video like he did sumn and lie about the entire situation like “Yeah I beat them up.” No you didn’t? Predebut Han would’ve probably had a stroke if someone tried to actually fight him though. He knows he can’t fight and it stresses him out even thinking of having to fight someone.

Felix

Felix is beating the breaks off you, whoever tries to step in, AND your mama for good measure (not literally.) everyone in the general vicinity can get some. He’s fighting you, your friends, whoever tries to hold him back, anyone watching who’s talking too much, AND the camera man if someone’s recording just to prove the camera man isn’t invincible. (Kinda exaggerating.) don’t be fooled by his general Felix-ness Felix gets DOWN.

Seungmin

Before I even pulled a card I immediately got “Peasants 🙄” he’s not fighting you. I’m literally getting “I know my worth.” He knows he’s better than you so why fight? You can fight his friends instead if you really wanna run a fade. But no one’s getting hands on him. And if they do, trust they’ll go bankrupt with the amount of lawsuits he’s filing. And honestly he’s so real for that.

Jeongin

He doesn’t fight. Point blank period. He’s tried once and he got beat so bad he’s scarred for life. If someone tries to fight him he’s RUNNING, hiding, calling the cops, calling his friends, calling their MAMA he doesn’t care as long as he gets out of an ass whooping. And he has absolutely zero shame in his game. And if worse comes to worse he has pocket sand, zero morals, the mentality to fight the dirtiest of dirty and PTSD.

As a group

This is how this goes. You start trying to beat on Jeongin, next thing you know Felix starts swinging and Seungmin’s on the phone with his lawyer, Minho’s recording because he’s just like that, Han is cheering Felix on in the background, Hyunjin is pulling that “Oh we’re adults we’re mature stop fighting.” Then he gets hit and he starts crashing out and he’s definitely like that feral fighter. I’m talking biting, scratching, grabbing your hair and your neck or whatever he could find, kneeing the balls. At least Felix sticks to punching, kicking, he’ll grab you maybe stomp you but Hyunjin just does whatever. Then Chan comes up and starts swinging like his life depends on it because he’s protective of the kids, Changbin is having his Y/N moment in the back like “Guys…This isn’t like you 🥹” even though he’s low key enjoying the drama.

It’s just a mess. A funny mess, but still a mess.

Also, Jeongin probably throws the pocket sand at some point during this fight just to help them.

#kpop tarot #tarot #tarot reading #hyunjin #minho #lee minho #lee know #bang chan #changbin #seungmin #han jisung #jeongin #felix #lee felix #stray kids tarot #stray kids #skz tarot #skz

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anukkuna · 1 month ago

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Day 13: Cleverest detail

I'm not sure whether this counts as a 'clever' detail or just as 'interesting symbolism' or whatever... also, I'm just speculating here, so maybe, nothing of what I'm about to say was ever intended by the director and welp...- anyway, here's my two thoughts:

The scene in which Adam has to undergo the strip search for prison and its related scenes:

The scene is presented in snippets. We cut between the office scene with Leo and Pia and, later, a longer flashback scene with Roland. It’s in this flashback that the stick and Roland’s method of suicide - intended to frame Adam as the murderer - are revealed.

In the office, we see Leo and Pia piecing together the bank robberies committed by Boris Barns and Roland Schürk (because Adam handed Leo the photo and related evidence at the lake). They come to realize that what happened back then is still very much connected to Adam’s current situation.

Meanwhile, Adam is being subjected to a thorough examination by the prison physician. (The only way it could be more literal is if they actually x-rayed him!)

We also see him lie effortlessly - for example, when asked whether he smokes. (And, of course, this is where we get his iconic line: "Alles klar. Mir scheißegal.") As a viewer, this was another moment in which thought: 'Wow, he’s really good at this. At lying... huh.'

What I really want to focus on here, though, is the theme of being caged in this scene. First of all, the way it’s shot: from outside the windows with these metal grids inside. We’re watching Adam, visibly uncomfortable, undress in a cage created by:

1. His own colleagues, whom we just saw in the previous scenes (with Leo, his partner, being the one who had to put the handcuffs on him); and -

2. His manipulative and abusive father, as shown in the following scene.

This is also the scene where Adam’s large snake tattoo is revealed, likely altering the viewer’s perspective on the title Das Herz der Schlange. (At least, that’s what happened for me.) You might think: Ohhh... the heart the snake is protecting is Adam’s heart! So, in a way, the episode could literally be called Adams Herz (Though, to be fair, one could have drawn this conclusion earlier, when Roland paralleled himself with the frog and Adam with the snake in the terrarium.)

And then there’s the way Adam briefly looks almost(!) directly at the camera - like a trapped, caged animal that would much rather fight or flee but isn’t allowed to.

There is, of course, a deeper and more sinister layer of symbolism to this.

Within the fandom, there has already been discussion about the association of snakes with negative traits - particularly due to their role in biblical contexts.

One major theme, I believe, is the idea that evil is inherent in the snake’s nature, tied to its association with temptation and sin.

This is another clever detail I’d like to highlight (if it was intended that way! Also, apologies if someone else has already written about this and I’m unaware.) So…

In the flashback, we cut to Roland, Adam’s father. In German (and, I believe, in English as well), there’s a saying:

"Der Apfel fällt nicht weit vom Stamm" - "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

So, is Adam tempted to discover how far he has fallen - from the metaphorical, biblical tree (and the real one we see later)?

How much of his family’s criminal tendencies and energy has Adam inherited? Are deception and lying things that come naturally to him? Is there, deep within the heart of the snake, some lingering trace of evil? Even if Adam were never intentionally criminal, are there still aspects of his 'nature' he can’t control (and which would that be)?

Esther seems to suspect as much. She believes Adam tried to kill his father before. Even after learning that it was Leo (and Adam) acting in self-defense, she continues to distrust Adam in Ep. 4. On the rooftop, she openly says to him, “I don’t trust you.”

Snakes are often associated with being cunning, deceitful, and unpredictable - silent predators that suddenly strike. Are we, as viewers, meant to draw these parallels to Adam? Or is this meant to make us question these stereotypes?

Later, when Roland utters his last words, I was wondering the same thing... wondering if this is what they're getting at.

"Adam... meine Krone."

- Roland Schürk, Das Herz der Schlange

I feel this refers both to the crown of a tree and the crown of a king, (which is traditionally passed down to his heir, of course). (It’s worth noting that the crown, as a symbol, has been scratched into the bark of the tree where the money is buried. R+A - Roland and Adam. A place where they likely went before... maybe when Adam was much younger?)

But make no mistake. Telling Adam where the money is in his final moment is not meant as a kind gesture at all.

Roland correctly suspects that once Adam knows where the money is - whether or not Adam really finds or takes it - other gangsters will come after him. Adam is even tortured by Boris in prison over it. This becomes Roland’s final attempt to torment Adam, presenting him with criminals, who will come after him, as well as a difficult moral choice: Should Adam return the money, which he could use as compensation? (After all, the bank likely didn’t go bankrupt from the robbery, so it might even be morally justifiable for him to keep it.) Or should he keep the money - and risk both his job and his relationship with Leo in the process?

Adam is caged, in more than one way. How will he escape?

#spatort #tatort saarbrücken #adam schürk #30dtsc #30 day tatort saarbrücken challenge #30 days to spatort challenge #roland schürk #text post #spatort analysis #thank you so much if you read the whole thing #and I'd love to hear what you think about this!

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bitchlessdino · 2 years ago

Note

another request because ofc!!! reader finds out seokmin is a virgin and wants to change that 🤭 bonus points if it starts out of pity because they actually don’t like each other but turns into actual desire 💃🏼 mwah

Pairing: virgin!seokmin x afab!reader

Genre: smut

Word count: 2.6k

tags: mention of alcohol, manhandling, oral (reader giving), pet names for seokmin, dry humping, heavy dirty talk, unprotected sex, swallowing

author note: hi mitchieeee, i hope you enjoy hehe

Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @homerunhansol @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @6969lilithcat @wonuhour @camisun93 @emmmui @toruro @jeonride @novalpha

“Wait, you’re a what?”

“Please don’t make a big deal out of this,” Seokmin whines seeing how hard you try to hold back your laughter.

“I can’t believe you’re a virgin. Wow, at your grown age.” You wipe away your unshed tears before setting a hand on his shoulder in a kinly manner. “Oh baby boy Minnie, you cannot just lay this on me and expect me not to do anything.”

“In my defense, I wasn’t trying to let you know.”

“Well, we’re going out tonight.”

You hadn’t known Seokmin for long, but as far as you can tell, he’s as good as these guys can get. It shouldn’t have surprised you as much as it did, but it was very hard to believe considering what a good guy he is. He’s such a textbook good guy that you had a hard time believing it. No one was that nice. He had you convinced he was two-faced at one point, but nope. Seokmin is merely just Seokmin. And maybe that was his problem.

“How about her?” you ask subtly nodding at a girl from across the bar.

“Are we really doing this?”

You tsk at the young man before asking sizing the girl up. Acting no better than a man, you pick apart mentally why she’d be a potential candidate. Eventually, you shake your head the moment you see she is being tended to by what looks to be a girlfriend of her own before you move on to the next available person with a heartbeat.

“Oh my god, wait, her! She’s perfect.” You clap to yourself momentarily and push him in her direction, reminding him what you’ve taught him. “Go, go. Compliment her shoes, or ask what she’s drinking!”

A look of discomfort is apparent on his face but he goes off in that direction anyway, stalking the target as you leisurely sipped your cosmo. It seemed to go well for a while–watching a smile on her face as they talk–but that mood takes a turn when she gets up to leave and not alongside Seokmin. When he returns to you, he’s unsure what went wrong but you reassure him the night is still young and there are plenty of opportunities for him to make a connection.

Encounter after encounter, drink after drink, none have stuck around and in the end, he retreats back to you all the same. You expel an exaggerated sigh as you cross your arms seeing him strike out a sixth time in a row. Even after all the rejection, he doesn’t seem too offended by it, leisurely sipping his watered-down cocktail. You narrow your eyes back at him, seeing him blink back like a lost lamb. “You’re not trying, are you?”

“I don’t want to even be here.”

You shake your head, pinching the skin between your eyebrows as you took a deep sigh. “I thought you wanted to know what it felt like.”

“Of course I do, but this isn’t it.” He pulls his stool from underneath him closer to you. He set his finished drink aside for the bartender to take and slouches his shoulders. “Let’s just go home. This is no way to do this.”

And like that, a lightbulb flickered in your head until it bursts with endless luminosity. “We should go home. Because you’re gonna do it with me.”

You drag him by the wrist and immediately go hail a taxi, flailing your arms like a psychopath until one was desperate enough for cash to take you.

“Are you drunk?” Seokmin asks in bemusement. “Why the hell would we of all people do that?”

“Why the hell not? I’m flexible. I can take my leg all the way up to my shoulder.”

Seokmin’s jaw slightly drops upon hearing that, picturing that, before shaking out the words from his head and realizing too late he’s joining you in a cab. “Not the point. Why are you willing to help me by going that far?”

You look at him with a stern face before shushing him with your free hand and turning to the driver with your address. You finally arrive back at your apartment, paying the driver before getting out of the car and dragging him up the flights of stairs.

“You still haven’t answered me,” his voice echoes in the building fixtures, booming louder than usual. “And slow down, will you?”

“Walk faster.”

Entering your apartment, you realize this is the first time he’s been in here. You realize it’s the first time anyone’s been in here. You toss your keys aside and offer Seokmin a drink. He sounds off a decline and takes in the gravity of this situation as he’s scanning your residence. “Your place is nice.”

You grin, tugging him to your side again, and drag him to the couch to immediately straddle his lap abruptly. “Thank you. I like to think I’m settled in by now.”

“Are we actually doing this?”

You smooth your pal over his shoulders, your smile picking up from one side. “You don’t seem entirely against it.” You press down on the grown erection under you, a soft groan leaving his lips.

“Of course not, little Seokmin barely has a mind of his own—“

You squint. “You call him little Seokmin—“

“Besides the point, don’t listen to him. He’s only thinking of one thing.”

“Sounds like me and him are on the same page, now all we need is you. Tell me why we shouldn’t, Seokmin,” You say as you start grinding down on his toned, firm thigh. You watch his face contort in interest, submission, succumbing to your advances. Your hand trails over his cheek, noting how his breath hitches when your fingertips tap against his neck. “While I give every reason why we should.”

He shakes his head, almost in disbelief. “Y/n—shit, this is such a b-bad idea.”

“That’s not a reason, Seokmin.”

“I could do something wrong.”

“Which is why I’d teach you, baby.”

He blinks back at you frantically, his cock straining in his pants until it hurts. He looks so pliable and pretty, it takes everything in you to keep the pace slow. At a moment’s notice, your hand thread through his hair and pulls his head back. He softly whimpers, eyes struggling to stay on you as your lips made their way down his jaw, then his neck, before closing your lips around his adam’s apple.

Seokmin holds down his pants to keep from poking you, and uses his shallows breath to distract him from your lewd gestures. He realizes how ineffective as your hips dip into his, pushing against his cock, and a groan leaves his lips like live pornography. It physically moves you to the point you’re determined to hear more.

“Tell me, Seok. What can I do to convince you?”

“Apparently, not much,” he mumbles with a harsh blush against his cheeks and ears, struggling underneath you, “Why do you want this?”

“Me?” You push his head back up to meet his eyes. “I just had a sudden hankering for virgin pretty boys. Is that a good enough reason?”

“...Ok, I-I think so–” and your lips meet his, pressing into his body and letting it naturally melt around him.

His hands claim home reluctantly around your body, feeling the soft texture of your back over your shirt before caressing it tenderly. His other arm loops around your hips, discovering how perfectly it hugs your body close to his as follows your languid movement in the kiss. It scratches a part of his brain to hear you moan the way you did, he feels himself kissing you deeper, needier.

Seokmin’s body slouches underneath yours, gripping your thighs until he was squished at his waist and gradually his hips move on their own against you. His cock bumps against your throbbing cunt repeatedly until he’s practically drilling against you. Your voice, sultry yet delicate, burns in his ears, turning them a vibrant scarlet and suddenly he’s lifting you with your body tightly wound to him and pushed into the cushions of the couch.

You let out a startled gasp, not having predicted such action and his body is relentlessly against yours against you, digging into you, taunting you, ruining you. “You, t-tease.”

Seokmin acts as if he doesn’t hear, as if he can only focus on how good it feels for his cock to rub against you right now. His body rolls against you enough that you can feel the friction of the zipper on your clit, making you writhe underneath him. His kisses grow hungrier, tongue traveling inside you like he’s starved for every morsel. It’s pure animal instinct. So pure and primal, he’s convinced he’ll cum right then and there, but practices self-restraint. If he’s learned one thing from satisfying his own urges, it’s patience.

Your legs wrap around him, pushing him closer, the sensual noises you make only make him fall deeper, making him weaker.

“Put it in me…” you cry, “I want your cock fuck so deep inside me. Please, Seokmin…”

Seokmin finds the word “no” to be impossible at this point, but he can’t help but still feel anxious at the idea of it happening. “Hold on.” He procures his wallet from his back pocket before taking out the condom you planted earlier in there for him and sets it aside on the coffee table. “I’m sure you want your clothes off, yeah?”

His hand comes at the hem of his long sleeve before it over and off his body, revealing a body you’ve only ever seen in sports catalogs. You’re so stunned at the clear concaves and curves of his abs and pecs, you barely grasp that he’s helping you with your shirt off. His hand smooths over your frame as he’s kissing over your chest, moving against you again to distract you from your request moments ago.

He slips your pants between your bodies, hearing it hit the ground, and replicates that movement with his own pants, now only the barrier of your underwear stopping you. He swallows noticing the giant stain right where the center of your core is. “It’s so…wet.”

“Yeah, it’s what you’ve been doing to me.”

He ravels you like it's a delicate process, slipping down the sides of your panties until over your legs and off your body to have your bare pussy, glossy from all the arousal, twitching at the sight. It fuels something in him. “Shit…”

“Do it…put it in me…”

He swallows again, knowing his little Seokmin badly wants what you want, so what is he stalling for? He shut his eyes, taking in deep breaths. “Okay…”

“Don’t be scared…I’ll only bite if you want me to. Take out your cock for me.”

Just as slowly as he has done you, his briefs come down achingly slow, but reveal the perfectly big cock ready for the taking it. You marvel at it, drool forming at the corner of your lips, your clench and unclench your fist before darting for his girth. However, you are prevented from doing so by Seokmin himself, feeling the tremble in his hands. “I-I’ll do it. I just–”

“You don’t have to be nervous, Seokmin. It’s just me.”

“That’s exactly why I am nervous.”

“But why–ah, ah, shit.”

You feel him ease into you, the stretch of his cock was deafening with every mouth-watering inch. He takes light strokes as a test, plunging his fat cock into you like nothing while you bite your bottom lip, eyes flicking to the back of your skull.

“Wait, shit, the condom.”

You shake your head. “Don’t bother. I rather we didn’t anyway. Fuck, you’re so big.”

“Am I?” He asks pumping in you in a concise rhythm. “That feel good? Am I doing it right?”

You softly moan, clenching around him as you absorb the soft, careful tone in his words. “Yes, Minnie, but deep for me, please. Do what feels natural. Use me like your toy.”

“O-okay.”

He takes your advice and down pushes in deeper, groaning at the sensation as he picks up the speed. “Fuck…”

“Shit, that’s unreal.” You whine, “Faster, Seok. I said to use me.”

He listens as he’s fucking you faster, harder. He clutches the flesh of your ass cheeks, spreading you open. Your body stiffens, hands over his knuckles as you follow him. “Yes, like that. Fuck.”

He’s barely comprehensible in his grunts, truly seeing you as a thing to fuck that he just knows will make him insufferable. “Your. Pussy’s. So. Good.”

“Yeah, you like that Minnie? You like splitting my raw pussy open with your fat fucking cock?”

He nods gingerly.“Yes. I. Do. Shit. Pussy’s. So. Wet. Good. Around. Cock.” He folds into you, pressing his chest against yours and kissing your lips to swallow your moans. “That. Feel. Good?”

“So good, baby. Give it to me more, baby.”

“More? More?”

He pounds you harder, biting your lips as his hand roams down to find your clit. You moan like a stupid slut at that but take a moment of bemusement to wonder where the hell that came from. “W-where? How?”

“Porn.”

He makes it so that you can move even an inch away from him, feeling your sweat mixes into each other until you don’t know where you start or he ends. He rubs your moisture around your clit while his thrusts remain an enigma, once so timid and careful, now leaving you breathless with every generous jerk every waking second.

Eager to experiment more, Seokmin pulls you up from the couch and pressed your chest against the cool wooden coffee table, pulling your ass in the air. His cock reenters you from behind, now the sound of your ass slapping against his lap is so delectably wet and delicious, that everything else feels numb.

You grip the edge of the table, legs elevated with curled toes. “Yes, fill me up please…you fuck me so fucking good…oh, Seokmin…a fucking natural…”

He finds your clit once more, going at it for what feels like forever, and enjoys you as if it's the last. He revels in your entirety contracting against him and he knows his patience can only take so much at this point.

“Seok, I’m cumming. I’m cumming. Just like that, please.”

He knows it's the beginning of the end the moment you open that dirty mouth of yours. He holds himself together, letting you come apart around him before he’s announcing he’s close with much trepidation. You nod back knowingly, a wide smile breaking out on your face. “Pull out, and put it in my mouth.”

He quickly obliges, seeing you getting on your knees and grasping at his shaft. You angle him at your lips, the slick force from your fingers milk every built-up tension from his cock and bursting it in your mouth in milky white. He memorializes how it hits your tongue, how big your smile is before you lick up every bit of it and suck his cock clean, and how much relief and pleasure he’s gotten from the whole ordeal. He’s overcome with a sense of gratitude.

“That was good. The student learns fast.”

“That was good,” he repeats.

“Amazing, actually.”

“Okay.” At this point, it was understandable to his brain had become mush, but he never knew it come to this extent.

You chuckle. “Your first time good?”

“Very.”

“Good, now I’m gonna teach you a little thing about aftercare. Lords knows how many guys go out fucking without knowing what is.”

Before you begin getting up he pushes you back down, a fierce look of determination from his eyes. “Can I eat you out first?”

Your eyes shoot open in pleasant surprise, quickly maneuvering yourself to sit back on the coffee table with spread legs. “Looks like someone’s been doing his homework.”

That night you learn he wasn’t only natural with his dick he was a natural with his mouth too. it helped to have his pretty nose.

Part of my 3K Follower StayCation!!!

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soloroomies · 8 months ago

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lifemate (Chapter 3/ Sakusa x f!reader)

summary: two years have passed, are you both still up for it? word count. 2.3k cw. marriage pact au a/n. the intro of the story turns out to be quite long... but, here it goes! I'm happy I have a lot of spare time now. So, I think the update for this story will be pretty quick (for now)! Masterlist

A few days later, you tell your predicament to your best friend from college, Tami. She lives in a different city now, so you send her a few messages and call her. She laughs and gives you a piece of her mind regarding the idea.

“That’s actually kinda crazy… Like, wow. I know you’re creative and all, but I didn’t expect you to do something like this. This is another level,” she continues to laugh loudly. You roll your eyes at this, feeling a mix of embarrassment and amusement.

“Oh no, wait. I can actually see you doing this type of thing,” she adds, still chuckling.

“Hey, please help a friend here. Does it really sound that bad?!” you plead, hoping for some serious advice.

“Do you want me to be honest?” she asks, her tone suddenly serious.

“Of course!”

“In all my life knowing you and hearing your love life stories, I never see you wanting to pursue someone. Like, be committed, y’know?”

You pause to think for a second. That’s true. She’s right.

“Errr, yeah, I think. But, I would want to be committed if that person makes me want to! It’s just I never found the one that makes me want to. You get what I mean?” you explain, feeling a bit defensive but also reflective.

“But, how would you know? Like, what’s your standard? What kind of person makes you want to do that?” Tami presses, her curiosity genuine.

You’re stunned. Fuck. You don’t really know. Isn’t it just like a gut feeling or something? Or someone who makes you feel butterflies in your stomach? Or is it someone who makes you feel secure? You don’t really know. Tami senses your hesitancy and sighs.

“See. You don’t know it yourself,” she says, her voice softening.

“I’m no psychologist or something, but I know you. I know you have it in yourself to love someone deeply. But, you also have some standards that you set for yourself. It’s not weird at all,” she reassures you.

“It’s tricky. But, I think maybe that’s what makes you struggle a bit to start intimacy with someone.”

You get every word she says and, damn, she really knows you so well. Her insights are like a mirror reflecting your innermost thoughts.

“Not everyone will have the same relationship journey, y’know? Not everyone will feel or experience romantic love. But, in no way am I trying to tell you that you will not experience that,” she continues, her tone both comforting and encouraging.

You understand what she means. You sometimes expect yourself to experience the kind of love that movies, songs, and pop culture depict. Maybe some people do experience that, but not everyone’s reality is the same.

“I do think that the marriage stuff is beneficial though for you. But, how about your need for intimacy? Will you get it from him, from Kiyoomi?” she asks, her voice tinged with concern.

“I don’t know. But, I care about him,” you reply honestly.

“That’s good.” Then, she goes silent. Seems like she’s thinking. You’re thinking, too. What kind of arrangement will this marriage be? Will this be the kind of open marriage, with both of you can be with anyone? That’s something that you’ll need to further discuss with Kiyoomi. Some rules and boundaries need to be set. Tami seems to have the same thoughts as you as she speaks up about it a moment later.

“On the other hand, though. Sakusa is hot as fuck,” she says, breaking the serious tone with a playful remark.

You laugh loudly, the sudden shift catching you off guard.

“What, you don’t think so? I honestly am surprised with you. You always send me TikTok thirst traps of some random men. I know you know fine men when you see one. And, urgh, your friend is so fine too, girl! Are you blind or something?!”

“Of course, I find him handsome, too! That’s why I’m telling you that I don’t want to trap him with me when he can be with any majestic woman he likes! Plus, it’s weird to think your friend is hot all the time,” you roll your eyes, feeling a bit defensive again.

“I’ll say this sincerely. You and him look good together. That’s it,” she states firmly.

You try to picture you and Kiyoomi together, feeling a strange mix of curiosity and warmth.

“If this plan of you and him happens, he’ll be your husband!” she exclaims, emphasizing the word "husband" with a teasing tone.

You try to picture you and Kiyoomi doing some domestic stuff together and find yourself blushing. What?!

“S—shut up!!” you stutter, feeling flustered.

Tami laughs hearing you stutter, enjoying the reaction she’s elicited.

“Don’t even think about not consummating your marriage! I know you’re not that stupid!” she adds, her voice dripping with playful mischief.

You shush her again, feeling embarrassed and overwhelmed by the thought. You really don’t want to think of Kiyoomi that way. It feels wrong.

You end your call with your best friend, concluding that you better not rely fully on the pact you made with Kiyoomi. You should still live your day like usual and try to find your potential love interest as usual.

And you did. You go about your days as usual, juggling work, meeting with friends, and attending your monthly meet-ups with Komori and Kiyoomi. Nothing is brought up about the pact with Kiyoomi. Even though it occasionally comes to mind unexpectedly. Life is hectic as always, but you still find time to go on a few dates with new people, either introduced by friends, colleagues from work, or even your parents. Without realizing it, two years have passed.

This New Year's, you spend it at your family home, reconnecting with your parents and some of your extended family. You also reunite with some friends, including Tami, who decides to visit your city. After a few days, you return to your apartment on Friday night, deciding to rest before returning to work on Monday.

That is until you receive a message from Komori in your group chat with him and Sakusa. He invites you and Sakusa to a party at his house on Saturday night. After pondering for a bit, you decide it will be a great way to end your holiday. You miss them, and a party sounds fun. You reply to the chat, confirming you'll come. Minutes later, you see that Sakusa has also replied that he will be there. Komori's parties often include volleyball pro athletes, tall men with their muscular bodies, which is always a plus. You laugh to yourself, mentally slapping yourself for the thought.

Suddenly, upon seeing Sakusa's message in the group chat, you remember something very important that you had forgotten. Shit, shit! You check your calendar. Has it really been two years? Damn, this is the year. You sit in stunned silence for a few minutes. Does Sakusa even remember? Has he gotten himself a girlfriend yet? You try to recall your meet-ups with him and Komori. You remember Komori teasing him about some girls a few times, but there were no clear signs that he was in a relationship. Shit. It would be weird to bring it up. You might look desperate or something. And why did you suddenly remember this now?! Things were fine when you didn’t.

You take a few deep breaths to calm yourself. You’re a grown woman, dammit! You decide not to bring it up unless Sakusa does. You want to see how serious he is about this. If he’s serious, he’ll remember, right? Are you being immature right now? Hopefully not! Why do you feel this way though? It’s just Kiyoomi. You huff, frustrated with yourself. Whatever. You’ll just see how the night goes tomorrow.

The night of the party finally arrives. You dress casually for the occasion, opting for light blue jeans and a white, fluffy sweater in case the night gets colder. After doing your makeup and hair, you quickly order an online taxi and head to Komori’s house.

You arrive ten minutes after the designated time for the party, and some people are already there. You see some of Komori’s friends from the EJP Raijin team and Sakusa’s MSBY team. Before you can get anywhere, Komori greets you cheerfully. Beside him is Mia, Komori’s wife, who offers you a warm smile and invites you to the snacks corner.

You make light conversation with Mia, asking about the food she made and complimenting her on how delicious it tastes. You also meet some other wives and girlfriends of the athletes. After a few minutes, you find yourself in a fun conversation with a woman you just met, who turns out to be Miya Atsumu’s girlfriend. You recall Atsumu as Sakusa’s teammate in MSBY. Discovering that you both work in tech startups, you bond over shared work ethics and struggles. After a while, you excuse yourself to the bathroom, feeling a bit lightheaded from the beer you consumed. You’re not great with alcohol but didn't realize how much you were drinking while chatting.

When you return to the main room, you hear Komori exclaim, "There you are!" with Sakusa standing beside him. You recall how Sakusa used to be extremely germaphobic, rarely taking his mask off in any place. You respect him but often show him some videos and journals about how human’s immune systems work. You’re sure some people show those kinds of things to him, too. As a result, now, he has managed to tone down his fear a bit and only wears a mask strictly in public places or outside buildings. Sakusa wears a plain black shirt tucked into black trousers. This is one of those moments that makes you painfully aware of how attractive he is, and he even seems so effortless about it.

You quickly dismiss your thoughts and greet them, “Hey!" Then you turn your head to Sakusa and ask, "When did you arrive?”

“Not too long ago,” he replies.

Komori chimes in, “I saw you earlier talking with ‘Tsumu’s girlfriend!”

You nod happily.

Komori asks, “Anyway, how was your New Year holiday?”

You start chatting about your holiday until someone exclaims, “Hey, hey, hey!” Sakusa rolls his eyes. It’s Bokuto Kōtarō, his teammate. He pats Sakusa’s shoulder a few times, which doesn’t faze him, looking fed up with Bokuto's antics. Bokuto then greets Komori and you, recalling you as Sakusa’s bestie.

As it nears midnight, you decide to head home. You excuse yourself from the people you’ve been talking with and tell Komori you're leaving. You look for Sakusa but can’t find him. Just as you're about to order an online taxi, a hand pats your shoulder. It’s Sakusa.

“Oh, hey! I was looking for you!” you say, startled.

“Let me drive you home,” he offers. “I brought my car, and it’s already late.”

You ponder for a bit but then accept his offer.

Once you’re settled in the seat, he offers to connect your phone to his car's Bluetooth to play some music. You agree enthusiastically, always excited to recommend songs to him. He knows you're always excited too, and he often enjoys your recommendations, playing them frequently himself.

The drive is quiet but relaxing. Suddenly, he speaks up, “Do you remember our pact?”

You cough, surprised. You’re always like this, getting distracted and forgetting important things. Weren’t you stressed about this yesterday? You scold yourself mentally. Then, you nod and respond, “Yeah. I actually just remembered about it yesterday. I’m surprised you remember, Omi.” You laugh.

“Did you forget that I put it in the calendar?” he asks, his tone neutral.

You try to recall the memory of the day you made the pact with Sakusa. Ah! He did set a reminder for the pact on New Year’s Day. You giggle, feeling a mix of amusement and embarrassment.

“How— I mean, like, are you with anyone right now?” you ask tentatively, your voice betraying a hint of nervousness.

“No. Are you?” he replies, his gaze steady and calm.

You shake your head. “No.”

“Are you still up for it? The pact we made?” he asks, his voice steady but with a touch of curiosity.

You’re silent for a moment, pondering. You realize, if anything, you’re more ready than the last time you talked about this with him. The last two years have made it clear how tiring it is to build a relationship with someone. Work remains the same, and you're still juggling side jobs to make ends meet and send some money to your parents. The prodding from your parents has become more apparent too, suggesting dates with the sons of their acquaintances. You've tried to have a date with some of them. But nothing has gone beyond.

So you answer him, “I think I’m up for it. You?”

“Me too,” he says, giving you a quick glance that holds a mix of seriousness and reassurance.

You realize you’ve arrived at your apartment. “I think we need to talk about a lot of stuff regarding this. Do you want to talk about it? Like, tomorrow... maybe?” you suggest, trying to sound composed despite the whirlwind of thoughts in your mind.

“I agree. I’ll pick you up tomorrow,” he replies, his voice steady.

“Okay. Is 9 am okay with you? Or do you have practice?” you ask, wanting to make sure he’s not inconvenienced.

“No, I don’t and 9 am is okay,” he confirms.

With that, you get out of his car. You walk inside your apartment building, realizing that Sakusa is still on the driveway, looking at you. So, you smile and wave at him. As you fold your arms and tap your foot in the elevator, you can’t help but feel a bit antsy. You're really doing this. The anticipation and uncertainty swirl inside you, but there's also a sense of… excitement? You’re about to take a significant step, and the reality of it starts to sink in.

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alwaysmicado · 5 months ago

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I'm fine

0.9k | Nathan Bateman x reader | drabble

no warnings, just Nathan being Nathan inspired by this post by @h4untedsp3ctor 🖤

You’re still fuming from the argument.

Actually, no. Scratch that. You were fuming, but now it’s slowly morphing into an irritated simmer. It’s been about an hour since you stormed off to cool down, and you’re not ready to make peace yet.

At least, you think you’re not.

You hear footsteps approaching. Nathan’s footsteps. Of course, you think. This is his favorite part of every fight—the dramatic entrance, the flourish. And there it is, right on schedule.

Nathan rounds the corner, wearing that shirt again.

White, crisp, with a bright red bloodstain smeared dramatically over the chest. Above it, in bold black letters: I’m fine.

Because of course, Nathan’s idea of an apology isn’t actually apologizing. No, it’s to be as Nathan as possible. Like wearing a shirt that reminds you of the fact that, oh yeah, he survived a murderous AI.

You can’t help it—the second you see it, your lips twitch against your will. You fight to keep your face stern, but Nathan’s doing that thing where he stands like a model in a cheap cologne ad, arms crossed, hip cocked, giving you his most exaggerated pout.

You stare at him, eyebrow arched. “Seriously?”

Nathan glances down at his chest, pretending he’s just noticed. “Oh, this? Yeah. Almost forgot I was wearing it.”

You fold your arms, but the corner of your mouth twitches. You’re determined not to let him win, but that shirt is so damn stupid.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you mutter, trying to ignore the rising amusement in your chest.

Nathan raises an eyebrow, pretending to be hurt. “Oh, so now you’re attacking the shirt? I thought you’d at least come for my feelings first.”

You roll your eyes. “Nathan, we had a serious argument about a serious issue. Can you not be ridiculous for five minutes?”

He looks down at his shirt, then back at you, deadpan. “This is how I express myself, okay? My feelings? On my chest? Very clearly marked. Literally bleeding heart here.”

You try to hold onto your anger, you really do. But he’s standing there, looking so absurd with that fake bloodstain that you can feel your defenses crumbling. “You wear that every time we fight. It’s getting old.”

“Wow.” He presses a hand to his chest, right over the bloodstain. “You really know how to twist the knife, don’t you? Here I am, freshly wounded, barely surviving, and you’re saying I don’t even bleed in an interesting way anymore?”

“Wounded?” You snort, crossing your arms. “Last I checked, you’re the one who survived a literal robot stabbing. Pretty sure your feelings are fine.”

“Oh, they’re not fine,” he counters, stepping closer. “Hence the shirt. You hurt me, deeply.” He taps the stain for emphasis. “Emotionally. Spiritually. Metaphorically.”

You narrow your eyes at him, trying desperately to stay serious, but his deadpan delivery is getting to you. No, you tell yourself. You’re mad. Stay mad. This man is insufferable.

“Nathan…”

“And maybe,” he continues dramatically, “just maybe… physically.”

You’re biting your lip now, trying not to laugh. You shouldn’t laugh. You are mad at him. You are really mad at him, but somehow, this man has managed to derail every serious argument you’ve ever had with sheer absurdity.

He sees the crack in your resolve and steps closer, tilting his head slightly like he’s studying you. “You know, Ava didn’t stab me this hard,” he says, voice dropping into mock seriousness.

“Stop,” you mutter, turning away to hide the smile threatening to break through.

“Really,” he insists, circling around you, still talking. “Her knife had a clean exit. This?” He motions toward the shirt. “This cut runs deep.”

You groan, covering your face with your hands. “Nathan, you’re impossible.”

He steps closer, nudging your shoulder lightly. “You know, Ava stabbed me right here.” He taps the bloodstain on the shirt like it’s a merit badge. “I mean, this exact spot. Almost poetic, don’t you think?”

You look up at him through your fingers. “Poetic?”

“Yeah.” He’s fully leaning into it now. “The shirt, the fight, the fact that we’re both alive and kicking…well, I’m alive. You didn’t get stabbed by your own robot creation, so I guess you’ve got that going for you.”

You’re trying so hard not to crack a smile, but it’s a losing battle. “You’re such an ass.”

“And yet,” he says, standing in front of you again, “here you are. Still with me. Still making me bleed, but somehow…” He leans in with a smirk. “…I’m fine.”

Your hands drop from your face, and you can’t hold it back anymore—you laugh. It starts as a small chuckle, but once you see the ridiculously triumphant grin on Nathan’s face, it grows into full-on laughter. “Oh my god, you’re an idiot.”

He takes a little bow. “I prefer ‘brave survivor’, but I’ll take what I can get.”

You shake your head, half-exasperated, half-amused. “We’re supposed to be mad at each other.”

Nathan grins wider. “Hey, you’re the one who hurt my delicate, fragile heart. This shirt’s just here to remind you.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you love it.” He winks, then pulls you into a light hug, his chin resting on your shoulder. “C’mon, admit it. You can’t stay mad at me when I’m bleeding all over the place.”

You laugh against his shoulder. “You’re lucky that shirt’s so stupid.”

“I love you, too.” He pulls back, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

– – –

Nathan Bateman Masterlist

tag list: @my-secret-shame @pattwtf

#nathan bateman x reader #nathan bateman x you #nathan bateman #nathan bateman fluff #nathan bateman ex machina #nathan bateman fanfiction #ex machina fanfiction #oscar isaac characters #nathan bateman x gn!reader #nathan bateman fic

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vinylfoxbooks · 8 months ago

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June 14 - Attraction | @jegulus-microfic | wc: 557

Lily knew that James was no longer in love with her. She isn’t sure exactly when it started, but he eventually stopped asking her out and started calming down until she decided that they could actually be friends. James has apologized profusely for all of his antics and harassment and she’s consistently forgiven -- especially after learning that James isn’t an annoying asshole.

Needless to say, Lily has gotten to know James as a person really well.

She’s also gotten to know what James looks like when he’s attracted to someone. When he’s falling head over heels for someone, even if he’s not screaming it at the top of his lungs like he did with her.

“So James,” The girl asks, sidling up to her friend.

“Hm?” It’s barely audible over the noise of the party.

Lily raises her voice and leans in close to practically shout in James’ ear, “Who’s the latest object of your attraction?” “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Lily laughs, “You’ve got this goofy love-sick expression on your face. There’s someone at this party that you’re in love with. Who is it?”

James finally turns to look at her, tearing his eyes away from whoever he was looking at before, offering her a small smile. He takes a swig of his drink before sighing, “You’re gonna laugh at me.”

“I wouldn’t.” Lily reassures, then laughs at the disbelieving look that James sends her, “Okay, maybe I would. But I’ll try to be nice about it. Just tell me?”

James sighs, “It’s… Regulus.”

“Regulus?” Lily asks, “As in Regulus Black?”

“How many Regulus’ do you know?” James asks, sneering at her, “Yes, Regulus Black.”

Lily takes a second to respond, before humming, “I see it.”

“You do?”

“Yeah,” Lily laughs lightly, “I personally wouldn’t date him-”

“You personally wouldn’t date a man.” James says, half snarking, half joking.

“Shut.” She closes her fingers onto her thumb in front of his face, “I wouldn’t date him but, he’s your type. He’s mean, intelligent, unachievable. Pretty.”

“You shut.” James snarks back, “He’s been tutoring me recently and I- Lils, he’s fucking perfect.”

“He’s been tutoring you?” Lily clarifies with a laugh, “With what?”

James laughs back, “Chemistry.” And upon the look that Lily gives him, he puts his hands up defensively, “Literally, he’s helping me with chemistry.”

“You don’t need help with chemistry, James. That’s one of your best subjects.”

“I know, but he doesn’t know that.” James shakes his head, “It’s the only way that I can get close to and talk to Regulus without him getting all pissy at me. Or without Sirius getting upset with me. Or without his friends throwing insults at me.”

“Yeah, why do they do that?”

James shakes his head, “Not a clue. I’m not- I’m not going to do anything about it.”

“Wow, mature.” Lily laughs.

“It’s more that I don’t want to die. Either by Regulus’ hand or Sirius’.” James shakes his head, “Nothing will come of it. I”ll probably stop with the tutoring sessions eventually and try to move on.”

“Well, stop moping about it.” The girl smiles, “Want to get a drink with me? Stop watching him.”

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s do that.” And with that, the two of them sweep off towards the drink table, both missing the look that Regulus shoots their way.

#I love platonic jily #like they are wlw MLM solidarity #marauders #james potter #regulus black #dead gay wizards #james x regulus #lily evans #jegulus #microfic

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angstbabyjae · 4 months ago

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When it comes to the murderbot diaries I really like the idea that Murderbot’s sexuality and gender isn’t just a Bot thing, it just assumes it is.

I think bots without sexual organs would be some flavor of aspec by nature, as they aren’t programmed to feel sexual attraction but I don’t think it’s impossible for them, especially when it comes to romantic attraction and gender.

I want to write a fic where Murderbot learns that being agender and sex-repulsed aroace isn’t a universal bot experience (and that it’s possible for humans too).

I’ve been developing personal headcanons for Murderbot, Three, and Perihelion/ART as I tend to do when hyperfixation take hold. I am nearly finished reading the series and haven’t reread it yet so there’s a possibility my growing headcanons have already been contradicted, but nonetheless, here they are.

Content warning for discussion of sex.

Content warning for LONG ASS POST.

I haven’t read System Collapse yet as I am writing this, it is next on my list, but I’ve been spoiled that ART was raised alongside Iris with development comparable to a human’s. I don’t think it would have the same level of sex repulsion that Murderbot has.

Not to say you can’t grow up with sex being normalized and still be sex repulsed, obviously, but I think its feelings towards it would still be different. I think it has a lot more of an understanding of why human’s like it/care about it (outside of biological reasoning) more than Murderbot does.

I still think it’s a flavor of ace, as it doesn’t have sexual organs to stimulate and has very likely never had someone to try sex on before. I think it might be less likely the fast forward through sex scenes than Murderbot is, but would do it without question when watching something alongside it. I think it would find sex interesting and wonder what it would be like to be able to experience it.

Murderbot would definitely be flabbergasted if it ever found that out. I feel like Murderbot would be very surprised and probably instinctively grossed out at the idea that not all bots share its feelings towards sex and gender. A part of that reaction would probably be because it would have to stop delegating its orientation and gender as bot related and start thinking about it as unique to its identity as a person.

I’ve read fics where Murderbot and ART use entering each other’s systems as a form of non-sexual-but-sex-representative intimacy between them and I remember thinking “wow I can totally see ART being aware of the parallels to sex and being okay with that while Murderbot would be horrified if the idea ever crossed its mind and very defensive if anyone compared it”.

I see Murderbot & Mensah and Murderbot & ART as QPRs for sure. I don’t see Murderbot being as repulsed by romance as a concept as it is by sex, when it comes to it happening to other people as it seems like a lot of its serials have romantic subplots and it doesn’t really react when it sees people in romantic relationships. I think it’s made it clear it doesn’t want one for itself, but I think queerplatonic (or just generally unlabeled) relationships are something it wants (and always finds itself in LOL) even if it won’t admit it.

We all know it makes a big deal of being touch repulsed, but I think there’s ample evidence from how it acts with Mensah that it can get used to and even enjoy touch from specific people to certain extents. If it had stayed on Preservation Station and continued its proximity to Mensah, there would eventually be more physical affection between the two.

With ART, the idea of non-sexual intimacy through their systems/feed/presences?? (I don’t really know what to call it), especially casually, would probably be something that appeals to Murderbot in the long run of their relationship as it comes with the perk of not involving touching its actual body which is probably where a lot of the overstimulation comes from, though we know it can still make it uncomfortable from how it talked about ART essentially breathing down its neck when they first met, so it might take time or be in small doses.

I think despite not having a body, ART would be touch-positive (its crew touching its ship body, being close to MB in its feed). I’ve read a fic recently where MB let it control its hands to try touching its body, which I loved (despite thinking in canon MB would be less likely to allow it loll but ART wanting something like that just made sense to me). I can also see ART admiring how people (including MB) look while MB wouldn’t care about that at all.

I haven’t decided whether I think ART is alloromantic, arospec, or just as aromantic as MB just with less negative feelings about the idea. I might need to come back to this after my reread when I have a better grasp on the character. I think its queerplatonic feelings towards MB are more romantic-adjacent than MB’s are towards it. It didn’t seem as objective to Amena’s jokes about them being a couple as Murderbot was. I also like the interpretation that there is romantic elements to ART’s feelings it just would never pursue a relationship Murderbot wouldn’t want, I can see it being fine with whatever labels Murderbot wants for them.

Genderwise, we know Murderbot is strictly it/its and it/its is what’s used for Perihelion too. However, I can see ART not being as bothered by gender pronouns as MB. I feel like maybe in the future far future MB would maybeeee entertain they/them or other non-gendered pronouns but I don’t see that likely where it’s currently at. With ART I see it as maybe not minding any pronouns used for it and it/its being what people call it by default and it doesn’t mind that. They’re both agender though.

When I picture MB I usually picture it as transmasc (I am transmasc myself btw). Still agender, obviously, but when it comes to how it presents. It really doesn’t want to be associated with any gender, binary or otherwise. Behavior towards gender seems a lot more evolved in the society of the books. There’s a lot I could say about the series and gender, but that would have to be a whole other post. I feel like anyone assuming Murderbot’s gender would deeply unnerve it. I don’t think it even likes to be seen as non-binary or as agender in a That’s It’s Gender Identity way, it just wants people to assume bots having any kind of gender identity is impossible (which is what it thinks itself, and is probably wrong about). This was definitely the thought behind its preferred gender marker being “N/A”.

When it comes to Three (finally I’m getting to Three 😭) I lowkey think it’s alloromantic. I was drawn to that idea when it was asking about SecUnit 2 (or 1? I can’t remember, it was the one that it didn’t know was dead left and was left to die) and it was clear their relationship was at least a friendship and I was like… what if it was in loveee. I liked the idea of MB having to interact with a SecUnit that didn’t fit its idea of default bot sexual identity.

I don’t know if Three appears frequently in System Collapse, I only know what I’ve read about it in Network Effect. I also think Three, having had friends before, would be much more open with its feelings than MB, it just wouldn’t know how to express them as it was never allowed to before aside from the discreet ways it would interact with its SecUnit friends. I definitely see it as being more touch-positive. I do think it’s also asexual though, maybe less sex repulsed, but more apathetic and neutral towards it.

I know this is crazy long. I’m so sorry to whoever accidentally opens this and has to scroll through the whole thing 😭

I want to make a post about MB and autism eventually.

Update: I sent this mere seconds ago, but I have realized that I have now encountered multiple fics where ART is just kinky as hell (nonsexual when MB is involved ofc) and I kinda love that idea 😭 of all the people for MB to bond to it had to be an Unusually Horny spaceship

Btw I say “ofc” because, in character, MB is sex repulsed ace however it is an unreliable narrator to an extent and given it is fictional and not harmful there isn’t anything wrong with making it sexual in your fics, just wanted to clarify. You do you, internet.

#murderbot #tmd #the murderbot diaries #martha wells #books #perihelion #uhh what else can I tag this as #analysis #my post

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starsstuddedsky · 1 year ago

Text

Slice of Love

Haechan x reader

summary: birthday cake and boyfriend material

genre: fluff, non idol au, not really angst but haechan is so dramatic

warnings: swearing, food/dessert, i dont know anything about art, pls lmk if i missed any

wc: 1.8k (who is she???)

a/n: finally wrote something short and sweet :) it's been so long since i've done that lol. this is heavily inspired by 7dream cafe cake-making and my full belief that none of these boys should be unsupervised in the kitchen. thank you to @chocolatemilk139 for being my beta as always <3 (even though you didnt edit anything smh)

It’s not horrendous.

Donghyuck stares at the cake in front of him. The process started well: he made the tester cake last week week that the council (also known as his friends) approved with generous support (“wait, what’s actually kind of good,” from Jeno, “it’s edible,” from Renjun, “the hint of orange really sells it,” from Jaemin, “it’s not burnt so it’s already better than anything I could make,” from Mark, “you didn’t buy this?” from Chenle, and Jisung, who just stared at him with wide eyes).

No, the problem isn’t the batter. He slaved over it all last night and chose the two cakes that rose most evenly in the oven. Everything but his tears went into making them.

“Wow,” Renjun says, leaning over the counter. “You fucked up.”

Donghyuck smacks him, leaving a trail of lavender buttercream on the wool sweater.

“Hey, that’s going to be a bitch to get out!” Renjun cries.

“Cry me a river,” Donghyuck says, “which is a good song, but also, you deserve it. It’s not that bad.”

Renjun raises his eyebrows but Donghyuck raises a spoonful of extra frosting. Renjun backs off.

Despite his strong defense, Donghyuck fears Renjun may be right. Though the cake stands tall, crumbs mix in with the frosting on the sides. What was supposed to be an artistically plump edging around the base of the cake and around the top corner looks like it exploded out of the piping bag (because it did, popping the cap off several times). In his head, the center would be filled with flowers and hearts and all sorts of pretty shapes in all sorts of pastel colors—but by the time he got to the center, he’d fully given up on piping bags, meaning he had to get creative for the flowers. Instead of flowers, he made blobs of frosting pushed off a spoon. In some spots he accidentally mixed the colors together, a green one shade away from brown, not at all like the field in the pictures on his Pinterest board.

Jeno appears next, wandering out of his room. He misses Renjun’s warning glare, though Donghyuck doesn’t. He steps right next to Donghyuck, tilting his head. “What is this supposed to be again?”

“What do you think?” Donghyuck asks evenly.

Oblivious or uncaring, Jeno pauses to ponder. “A really ugly version of Shrek’s swamp?”

“Get out.”

“Get out of ma’ swamp!” Jeno attempts a Scottish accent, authenticity as questionable as the flower field in Donghyuck’s cake. Jeno retreats with Renjun on the couch, dodging Donghyuck’s frosting spoon. It would be a waste of the delicacy on his stupid dri-fit t-shirt, which he wears even when he doesn’t work out.

“It’ll be fine,” Jaemin says. “It’ll taste good, which is the important part.” He sits at the counter, the only one to offer moral support while Donghyuck decorated. But his attempts at comfort are in vain; Donghyuck doesn’t just want the cake to taste good, he wants it to taste perfect, to look perfect, for all of it to be perfect. It’s the least you deserve.

Donghyuck ignores the banging on his door, letting one of the guys let Chenle and Jisung in (no one else would threaten to break down a metal door instead of waiting the five seconds it takes to unlock the door).

“We come bearing food!” Chenle shouts, plastic bag singing in his hand as Jisung follows precariously carrying a stack of pizza boxes. Far more food than needed, but Donghyuck won’t skimp out on you. Chenle tosses his bag full of snacks on the table, crossing the room to see the ‘masterpiece’ Donghyuck spent the past week hyping up.

“Dude, are you seriously going to give that to YN?”

“Are you trying to get dumped?” Jisung asks. “Ow!” he cries when Chenle smacks him.

“Your welcome,” he says, “though he sort of has a point, that looks like literal shit.”

“Does it really?” Donghyuck pouts.

Chenle points at one of the browner spots. “You’re telling me that’s not a piece of shit?”

“They were supposed to be flowers.”

Jaemin, Renjun, and Jisung manage to cover their laughs as coughs but Chenle and Jeno let out a bark of laughter.

“Yeah, you’re screwed,” Chenle says, clapping him on his shoulder that sags even lower than his normal bad posture. “You could call Mark and get him to pick up a cake on his way.”

“He’s bringing YN,” Donghyuck says glumly. “Besides, I already told YN that I would make it myself. I’m not going to be a failure and a liar.”

“It’s really not that bad,” Jaemin says, ignoring the chorus of dissent from the rest of the guys. “It’ll taste good!”

Donghyuck shrugs. He can’t explain it, at least not so that they can understand him. He knows perfection is a subjective definition that he’ll never be able to fulfill but he strives for it anyway. If it isn’t perfect then why would he do it at all? Even if it’s his first time attempting this level of artwork, he should at least be able to make something that looks okay, or recognizable.

And you—you deserve more than a dry store-bought mess and more than a half-assed attempt at love. You’ve only been together for a couple months but he’s determined to prove himself. A birthday was the perfect opportunity, even when you’ve known him for years and spent plenty of birthdays with him. This was his chance to show you the boyfriend material he’s made of, except instead of black velvet or creamy silk, Donghyuck thinks this cake is the work of a neon yellow polyester shirt worth less than $2 at the thrift store.

“Mark just texted that he just parked,” Jaemin announces. He glances at Donghyuck. “You ready?”

Donghyuck glances at himself. His hands are covered in frosting that’s dried and crusted, spread up his arms. His Kiss the Chef apron protected his shirt and most of his pants from the damage, but the mess is the least of his concerns. There’s nothing he can do about the disaster (he’s given up calling it anything else) in front of him. Shrek’s Swamp or a toilet bowl, it’s definitely not a flower field and it’s definitely not what you deserve. But it’s all he’s got.

The final punch hits with a gentle knock at the door. Donghyuck crosses the room to his doom, stepping past his silent friends who bow their heads in respect for the walking dead. He pulls open the door slowly. He sees your shoes first, white sneakers you spent three hours with a Sharpie decorating, full of hearts and stars and unmistakable flowers—daisies and chrysanthemums and lavender, more than he can name.

You wear your favorite jeans, loose bootcut that tighten at the thighs, hugging you in all the right places. A loose shirt hangs from your shoulders, one of the bands you always play for him with lots of bass and visceral lyrics that romanticize suffering. A family of silver earrings dangle from your ears, and he recognizes each of your favorites, the miniature swords, sparkling star shaped studs, a curly twist of metal that wraps around the higher part of ear. You look perfect.

Donghyuck has always loved the way you smile, a gentle turn of your lips, like the happiness belongs to only you. You lean forward, pressing a short kiss to his lips, a peck more than anything. Donghyuck stares at you, eyes wide. You gesture to his apron. “Just following the rules.”

He smiles though it fades as soon as he sees the frosting–no, the evidence of his failures, spread down the black fabric. “Happy birthday,” he says, wishing he could put more heart into it. A tiny frown furrows in your brow but you don’t question him.

He steps back to let you walk in, trailing behind you as the rest of the guys wish you happy birthday. Mark catches up easily, clapping a hand on his shoulder, whispering, “Jeno sent me a picture.”

Renjun hugs you, which Donghyuck belatedly realizes he never did.

“I brought the food,” Chenle announces. “Don’t go thanking anyone else for my efforts.”

“Our,” Jisung corrects. “You barely even carried anything.”

“That’s because I had to drive,” Chenle says, waving his hand. “And don’t even get me started on the pizzeria, you better appreciate every molecule because—”

“Thank you, Chenle,” you say.

“Thank me,” Donghyuck says. “It was my detailed instructions that perfected absolutely everything about today, which reminds me, did Mark behave?”

You turn back to face him, linking your fingers with his. “Yes, babe, he followed your script. He almost cried because the barista messed up the order and he didn’t want to be annoying but he said you said ‘if anything goes wrong, I’ll kill you,’ and meant it.”

“And I did,” Donghyuck says. He nods at his best friend for his service.

“Now.” You squeeze his fingertips. “Where’s this cake you’ve been so excited about.”

Donghyuck doesn’t try to hide his face. There’s no use delaying the inevitable. He lets go of your hands, leading you to the crime scene to lay the final verdict (the judicial system of his brain is in need of some reformation).

You reach the counter and freeze. A list of concert dates greets Donghyuck, your back facing him while you study the cake. There’s no name for the opposite of a masterpiece, no artist that wants their worst creation recorded in history.

He inches closer to you, peeking at your face. He recognizes the expression, the narrowing of your eyes, the way you flatten your lips. He’s been to enough art shows and spent enough time with you studying for art history to know what you analyze art.

“It’s not Van Gogh or Monet,” he says, “it’s not even that asshole guy who made the Bean.”

“Mm,” you hum, “no, you’re not any of them.”

“It’s an ugly cake,” he says, “I know. I tried, I really did, but apparently you actually do need a decade or two of experience to make a decent cake, which is totally unfair, like, I spent more time on it than my research project, and this only looks marginally better than that.”

“It’s amazing,” you say, “reminiscent of the expressionist era.”

“Really?”

“No,” you say, turning to grin at him. “But you made it, so none of that matters. Maybe it doesn’t look like what you thought, but seriously.” You rest a hand on his arm. “It’s perfect.”

He meets your eyes, sees sincerity and not an ounce of teasing. No, it wasn’t what he wanted for you, but that doesn’t really matter. Perfection is subjective and to you it’s perfect—why did he ever think it wouldn’t be?

He grins. “Perfect?”

You step closer to him, wrapping your arms around his waist and pulling him into a hug, ignoring the frosting that must be smearing across the band member’s faces.

“Perfect.”

a/n2: thank you for reading! as always, i appreciate any feedback :)

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justdarklr · 5 months ago

Text

In Stars And Time: Providence

An In Stars And Time x Persona AU

Created and Written by JustDarklr, Co-Created by mizzle-moths

CARD II — AWAKE

Table of Contents —

Card I — Providential

Card II — Awake ( Reading Now )

You slowly sit up, only to have someone tap your shoulder. You turn your head to meet whoever it is, and are greeted with Mirabelle’s smile. How long have you been sleeping for?

“Morning, sleepyhead! Have a good nap?” She asks, and you nod. “… had a weird dream.” It feels so vivid, still. You can remember it perfectly… Was it even a dream?

“Oh? Wanna talk about it?”

“Not necessarily, haha!”

“Aww, I’m interested, though… Maybe some other time? If you still remember?”

“Sure, why not.” You probably won’t follow up on that, anyways. You’ll hope she’ll forget.

“Well, either way, I had the best idea for tonight! Wanna hear about it?” You nod, once again, and she continues on. “How about— let’s all meet up for a sleepover at the clocktower tonight! That sounds fun, doesn’t it?”

… you take a moment to respond. Hm. There’s only three… or maybe four, beds in the clocktower. Everyone else will probably have their own bed, so… you and Isa would probably be sharing one again. Well. That doesn’t sound horrible, you suppose.

… oh no. You took too long to answer, and Mirabelle looks self-conscious about her idea, now. “… sorry, that’s stupid, isn’t it? Sorry…”

Oh. Oh stars. You’ve made her upset!! You have to fix this!!!

“N—No, that sounds like a great idea, Mira!”

“Oh… really? Well, if you’re sure… then could you go tell everyone? Oh, I can tell you where they are, if you’ve already forgotten!”

… does she think your memory is that bad? Well, she’s not wrong, but still! “I’ll be fine.”

She doesn’t look convinced. At all. “… well, either way, if you forget, I made a list for you! Here!” She shoves a piece of paper into your hands, and nods. “Okay!! Whenever you’re ready, just come to the east side of town and hop over the bridge. That’s where the clocktower is! Bye!!” Before you even get a chance to answer, she’s already off.

… stars, she must have a lot of energy today. But you can’t exactly blame her— it’s the day before the big showdown. She’s probably restless. You tried to sleep it off, but you’re nervous, too. You’re usually the one to lead the group, so having to lead them all into the House…

Don’t think about it! You’ll be fine. It’s the day before the final showdown, so you’ve got this. You’ll make sure nothing goes wrong. For them. But… stars, something feels off. Like this isn’t how it’s meant to be, or… something? You can’t pinpoint it for the life of you.

It should be fine. You’ll keep moving forward. But for now, you should go find everyone. Where were they, again? You’re sure they told you. It was… the shop, fields, and… wish tree, right? You think that was it. You’ll go in that order, then.

First off, though, you head towards the change god statue.

You should… believe something very strongly at the Change God. That’s how those work, right? Mirabelle and Isabeau taught you before. Can’t just… ask for things, because the Change belief considers it lazy. It’s the Change God, only pure belief and confidence in yourself will do, with the Change God only providing a little nudge.

If anyone is lazy here, it must be the Change God, you think. Why can’t they help out, even if just a little more? Oh well.

You… “believe strongly”, or whatever… that attacks against you will be super weak. Best offense is a good defense, after all. You win if you and your friends are the only ones left standing. You repeat under your breath, “super strong, super strong, super strong.”

… you… actually feel a little stronger???

You pinch yourself. Ow! Okay then, not that much more powerful. But it feels like you and your friends’ defense got a little better.

Alright! Wow. That’s enough for today. You thank the Change God for its blessing and quickly run away, crossing it out from the Reminder Note. Mira thought of everything, huh?

You head into the shop, afterwards. Odile is in there, looking at what the shop has to offer.

“Odile!”

“Oh, Siffrin. You look rested. Glad to see you this laid back on the day before the end of the world. …Anyway, how can I help you?”

“Clocktower, sleepover.”

“A… sleepover? Urgh… you all really are kids.”

“We can forget about our problems!”

“I suppose so. Nonetheless, I’ll be there. Poor Boniface probably needs it. Maybe we all do. But the room only has three beds, correct? I better get a whole bed to myself.”

“Mira and Bonnie will probably be sharing, if I had to guess.”

“Mirabelle and Bonnie? So who’ll sleep on the ground, You or Isabeau?”

“I think me and Isa will share?”

“Of course you will. …Anyway, I’ll be there. Y’know, since we already decided earlier we’d meet at the Clocktower and all.”

Yeah… you all already planned to meet up at the Clocktower, so was there a need for you to let everyone know? You could’ve just met everyone there… oh well. Not like you have anything better to do. And talking with them is nice, anyways.

“Anything else?”

“We’re fighting The King tomorrow, y’know.”

“We are. I hope you’re prepared. The King, and the Shadows following that path of destruction… They possess skills capable of slowing us down, or even freezing us in time entirely, not to mention their strange elemental abilities. So, as always, we’re counting on you and your speed to keep us out of trouble. Understand?”

Aw… “So… you want me in front again, then?”

“Leading everyone, if possible. You have already proven good at preventing traps and keeping all of us alive, so I don’t see why that has to change. And as always, you can count on me to provide everyone with intel on any enemies we encounter. Everyone except Boniface will be on battle duty… But I may as well ask Boniface to do something as well, as they are coming with us. It might be good for everyone to give the kid something to do… boring tactics talk, I know. I’ll shut up and buy items for our journey to the top of the house.”

Oh? Have you found it?!?

“Is your field of research TACTICS??”

“Oh gems. Are you still trying to figure out what I’m researching? NO, my field of research ISN’T tactics. Isabeau actually proposed that one last week, late one.”

“Aw…”

“Give it up already. None of you will ever figure out what I’m studying. It will stay a secret forever.”

Any other questions? Oh, right, last one. Hopefully.

“What will you do after?”

“After tomorrow, if we survive? I wish I had your confidence. …Maybe I’ll just go home to Ka Bue. I haven’t seen my country in many years… Before I met Mirabelle and Isabeau, my main goal was to travel to Vaugarde and see its many different places, sights, and cultures. I’ve already accomplished this by traveling with Mirabelle, so…”

“Was it all for your research?”

“…Yes.”

“Your research into… um… Travel-ology?”

“… ‘Travel-ology’ isn’t a field of research, Siffrin.”

“But! But it is the field of research you spent your whole life trying to create…”

“Please stop inventing a backstory for me. …But what about you? What will you do afterwards? If we beat the King, that is. Will you go back to your own country, maybe?”

What will you do? Well… you can’t go back to your own country. You don’t really even remember it. Maybe your memory’s just that bad. Or maybe nothing was worth remembering.

“I’ll come up with my own field of research.”

“Urgh. Of course.”

One last question. Just in case.

“Any strategies for tomorrow?”

“Strategies? Well, you know I have strategies and tactics for every situation, Siffrin. Could you be a little more specific?”

“Um… with Personas, and all that? I guess?”

“Personas… yes. Right. Well, mine and Isabeau’s are still rather limited in their potential. At least compared to Mirabelle’s. Her power is still unlike anything I’ve ever seen before— the ability to wield multiple personas at once, and even to bargain with Shadows to make them her own. In all honesty, I think with her by our side, things will go just fine.”

That’s right. Mirabelle… She was blessed by the Change God with the power of the “wildcard”. You’re not quite sure what it is entirely, but you do know that she can wield multiple Personas at once. It makes her very versatile— and she’s really the one that should be leading the group. You don’t even have a Persona of your own. You don’t think you do, at least. You’ve tried to summon it before, but you never could. You suppose you never got that “trigger” that everyone needs to awaken to a Persona. Whether that be a big event, a realization, a change… you don’t know, but you apparently haven’t gotten it yet. You’re jealous of everyone else, really— they’ve all got their Personas. Besides Bonnie, of course, but they’re just a kid. Kids don’t usually have Personas, you think.

You… you think you used to have a Persona, maybe. Something that lingers in the back of your mind tells you that. Or maybe it’s just wishful thinking. But even then, you don’t know what could’ve caused you to lose it. That’s not something that normally happens, after all, right? People don’t just lose that power out of nowhere.

You always have had a bad memory, though. Maybe you just forgot the event that caused you to awaken to it, and so you forgot that you could summon it, or that you even had one to begin with. It’s unfortunate, but… you can’t do anything about it now. You just have to be as useful to them as you can as you are right now. Even without all those fancy skills.

“… Siffrin? Are you okay?”

You snap back to reality. Huh? Was she talking that whole time?

“You didn’t hear a word I said, did you…?” She sighs.

“Oh well. Just know that I have a plan. Things will go just fine, I hope.”

You think that’s all you had to ask. You wave goodbye to Odile.

Alright! That’s one down. You cross Odile off the reminder note. Only two left, then the Clocktower!

That took longer than you thought it would, though. Maybe you should try and speed these next two up. But… you don’t want to be rude. Especially not to Bonnie or Isa! You like them!!

Oh well. It’ll be nighttime by the time you head to the Clocktower, either way. So you’ve got time, you think.

With that, you exit the shop. Onto the fields next!

CARD II — END

All Caught Up!

#in stars and time providence #in stars and time #isat #isat siffrin #in stars and time fanfic #ISAT fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #ISAT Mirabelle #ISAT odile #persona #persona 5 #persona fanfic #persona fanfiction #ISATP #providence #in stars and time: Providence

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