#and last time this was a problem it was because one apartment unit was using a space heater to keep their place astronomically hot

[likeabxrdinflight]

I let it go as long as possible in the hopes the issue would get resolved but honestly am I the only person in my apartment building that bothers to bitch at the landlord when the boilers aren't heating up enough...?

like I just get the sense that my neighbors just suck it up when there's problems like this and don't bother with it. and sometimes I agree, that's the best approach, but not with the heat. space heaters only do so much and when the heat is part of my stupidly expensive rent payments, like, I am not about to pay extra electricity to supplement what they should be providing me. so why do I feel like it's only me ever letting him know there's an issue....?

can't one of y'all do it instead I know I'm not the only white person in this building surely one of you is willing to be the karen sometimes. or has new york just beaten you down so much that you accept illegal temperatures?

[hausofwoo]

handy | choi san

pairing: choi san x afab reader

word count: 5K

summary: you move into a shitty apartment with a long list of maintenance issues. your landlord puts off sending someone to fix them, only making your frustrations grow. that is, until the maintenance man finally arrives and you discover that he's hot... and you find yourself making excuses for him to keep coming back.

warnings: 18+, minors do not interact, maintenance man!san, tenant!reader, reader is kind of a perv lol, unprotected piv (wrap it up!), oral (f receiving), san is a tease, fingering, hair pulling (m receiving), cumplay, kitchen counter sex!!!, he kinda throws u around hehehe, choking, dacryphilia, use of a petname (baby), lmk if i forgot anything!

author's note: umm.... hahaha um...... so this is lowkey based on a recent experience i had of my maintenance man coming to fix some shit in my apt and he strangely had SO much rizz and i was like wait a minute.... this could be a great fic idea LMAO thank u to @hausofmingi for being my beta-reader ily always ♡

when you signed your lease at your new apartment, you didn’t expect to sign up for a list of problems.

you desperately needed a new place to live, and with the measly budget you had for rent, all that was left available were slim pickings. so when you finally found a small 1 bedroom apartment that wasn’t double your desired price, you jumped at the opportunity. you applied for the place on the spot and were approved the same day. you didn’t really think anything of it, but when you finally got settled in and actually gave a good look at your newfound home… you were in for a fucking nightmare.

for starters, the window unit in the bedroom wouldn’t blow cool air. it’s right in the heat of the summer, so coming home after a long day only to sweat all night long was not cutting it for you. you put in a maintenance request through your tenant portal app the first day when you realized this.

another annoyance was the dishwasher. one of your biggest must-haves was to have an actual working one. maybe you were asking a bit much with your budget, but with the amount that you work, it was imperative. you were thrilled to see the dishwasher during the viewing, only to find a few days worth of dirty dishes later, that said dishwasher was rusty and moldy. literally unusable. so you put in another maintenance request.

last one, and maybe now you’re just getting picky because you’re pissed, but your shower water pressure sucked, and by the time you would finish a shower, the water would take forever to drain. another request sent.

all these maintenance requests and not a single one fixed. you started to wonder if the tenant portal app even worked, so you called your landlord, only to grapple with them on finding a time for them to fix it while you’re still home. you might want these things fixed asap, but you’re not willing to let a stranger in your space when you’re not there.

you started to fucking lose it. a few weeks with no cold air, shitty water pressure, and dishes piling up your sink, and not one thing being done about it. you call your landlord one more time, urging them to finally fix these issues, arguing that they should’ve been fixed before you even moved in. and with that last push, they finally caved and did their fucking job. they said they’re sending someone there first thing tomorrow.

so when you finally wake up and go about your day-off routine, you’re constantly watching the clock. when they said “first thing tomorrow,” did they mean “first thing tomorrow once the maintenance man feels like it”? because it’s already pushing noon and you’re getting impatient. it’s obnoxious; you’re not able to run any errands (let alone actually go out and enjoy your day off) and you’re just waiting around for some dude to actually do the job you’ve been asking for for weeks.

just as you find yourself dialing the landlord’s number, you hear a knock at your door. fucking FINALLY. you jump off your couch, mind spewing profanities out of frustration. you walk towards the door, ready to give this stupid maintenance man a piece of your mind. you swing open the door, and your heart drops.

the maintenance man stands before you, with a tight black tank that hugged his muscular build and dirty worn jeans. he has a tool belt strapped to his (surprisingly small?) waist and a heavy tool box gripped in his hand. he’s a little dirty, and his chest is shiny with sweat due to the humid outside air. his rugged exterior is a huge juxtaposition to his face, however, with sharp yet kind eyes and a sweet smile.

“you need some maintenance done?” he asks.

“oh, uh, yes,” you stumble, suddenly at a loss for words. “come on in.” you hold the door open, allowing him to walk through to your living room.

“so you’re having issues with your water pressure?” he says, looking around the apartment.

“yeah, that and a few other things,” you reply. “but the biggest thing is the window unit in my room. it doesn’t blow any cold air.”

“i can fix that,” he looks at you with a grin. “which one’s the bedroom?”

you walk him to your room, thanking god he can’t see the blush forming on your face. he walks in and places his tool box down, promptly inspecting the window unit.

“i’ll just let you do your thing,” you say, twiddling your thumbs. “i’ll be in the living room if you need me.”

he nods, and you go back to sit on your couch. you mindlessly scroll through your phone, all while spiraling in your head. did your landlord hire this guy from a fucking modeling agency? he has the build for handyman work, that is certain. however, his face is what’s really getting to you. he could be on the cover of vogue and you wouldn’t bat an eye. but there he is, working on a shitty a/c window unit in your room.

you suddenly become hyper aware of the appearance of your bedroom. what does he think about your decor? is he cringing at the plushies sat on your bed? what if you left a pair of underwear out? oh my god, did you leave your nightstand drawer open, with your vibrator out for the whole world to see?

“it looks like you’ll need a whole new window unit,” he says from your room, interrupting your swarming thoughts. “this one doesn’t even have heat, and you’ll need that for winter.”

“oh, yeah,” you say, getting up and standing in your bedroom doorway. “how long will it take to get a new one? this heat has been brutal.”

“i should be able to bring one tomorrow, if you’re available,” he says, turning back to look at you as he closes up the tool box.

“i’m available,” you say all too quick. dude. be cool. “i mean, yeah, i can try to get off work a little earlier, maybe at like 3?”

“works for me,” he smiles, standing up. “can i get your number?”

you can’t hide your blush this time, nodding at the insinuation, but knowing it was just to iron out arrangements. “here,” you say, opening your phone messages so he can send himself a text.

he types away and hands your phone back. “you need a new dishwasher too, right?”

“i do,” you confirm.

“i can try and get you one by tomorrow too,” he says. “i’m off duty by like 5, so hopefully i’ll have enough time. now the shower?”

you nod and lead him to your bathroom. he examines the shower head, and you watch your cat approach him from behind.

“oh my god,” he says, startled at your cat rubbing against his leg. “this little dude came out of nowhere!” he reaches down to pet him, all while he’s purring up a storm.

“wow, he really likes you,” you stand shocked. your cat is always so standoffish to strangers, usually hiding under your bed or couch. but he’s rubbing against your maintenance man’s legs like he’s best friends with him.

“cats tend to really like me, i don’t know why,” he chuckles, scratching at your cat’s head. “what’s his name?”

“leo,” you say.

“like the zodiac sign?” he looks up at you while still petting him.

“yeah, i wanted to name him after his own sign but he’s a cancer, soooo…” you trail off, awkwardly fiddling with your hands.

“i’m a cancer!” he lights up, looking back down at leo. “no wonder we get along.”

you smile, and then realize you’re staring again. “i’ll go back in here so you can work.”

after distracting yourself with your phone again for a bit, you look up and see the man starting to walk out the bathroom doorway, already with his things together.

“okay, it should be good now, but let me know tomorrow if there’s any issues,” he says. you nod to him and lead him to the front door. you open the door and he walks out, but turns to you before he leaves. “so, i’ll see you tomorrow?” he has a smile on his face, with a hint of something behind it that you can’t quite read.

“yeah, tomorrow,” you say.

after locking the door behind him, you slump onto the couch with a big sigh. that was somehow the most nerve-wracking thing you’ve ever experienced. you remember he texted himself on your phone, so you open your messages and see the unsaved number.

sent 12:28 pm this is san :)

you can feel heat rising to your cheeks. even a stupid smiley face in a text has got you kicking your feet. you text him back, telling him your name and a quick thank you.

dear lord. this man didn’t even do anything, but he will be the death of you.

you come home early the next day, even earlier than you mentioned. partly because you wanted to clean up your place a bit, but the other part to mentally prepare yourself for a hot man in your apartment again. you clean up your room, tidying up so it looks a tad better than it did the day prior. once you’re done, you find yourself fixing up your makeup, realizing you’re putting way too much effort into seeing a fucking handyman fix your a/c.

are you really doing this? intentionally getting dolled up for this?? haha never! right….?

you hear a knock at your door and jump up. you check yourself in the mirror one last time, fixing the gloss on your lips. you go to open the door to reveal san, standing in front of you again with a familiar sweet smile on his face. you smile back too eagerly.

“i got your window unit!” he says, nodding down to the large box in his hands.

“oh, come in, that must be heavy!” you say, ushering him into your living room.

“mind if i go in your room?” he asks.

“of course, please,” you say, opening your bedroom door and letting him set the box down. you attempt to subtly watch his arms flex as he drops it. oh my god he is so hot.

you retreat to the living room as usual, allowing him to work in peace. you work on some things on your laptop to pass the time, but the thought of this man working on your a/c, muscles protruding, sweat glistening… it’s all too much of a distraction. you decide to put your ear buds in, trying to drown out your own perverse thoughts. you finally are able to hone in on your work, catching up on the things you couldn’t finish during your shift today since you left early.

you don’t realize that san finished installing the window unit until you feel a hand on your shoulder, making you jump.

“oh!” you stammer, pulling an ear bud out. “sorry, what’s up?”

san has a smile creeping on his face. “my bad, i didn’t mean to scare you. i just wanted to let you know i finished putting in the unit.”

“that’s great, thank you so much,” you say, standing up. “did you get the dishwasher today too?”

“yeah i did,” he says, but then he checks his phone for the time. you realize it’s about to hit 5 pm, and he said he’s off by that time.

“you’re almost off, i forgot,” you say apologetically. “you can just come back another day?”

he checks his phone again, contemplating. “well… i mean i already have it in my truck, so i don’t mind working a little bit over my time.”

“you really don’t have to, san,” you plead.

“it’s okay,” he says. “i’ll be right back with it!”

he exits your apartment, giving you a moment to kick yourself. having a dishwasher that works would be so great right now, but you feel guilty for having him work past his time. another part of you wants him to go anyway, if it meant he would come back again.

you hear a loud noise outside your front door, so you open it to see san with the new dishwasher on a dolly. you hold the door open for him, allowing him to enter your apartment and bee-line to the kitchen. he props the dolly down to drop the box.

“i should be able to finish this in about an hour, is that okay?” he asks, already unboxing it.

“as long as you’re okay with working this late,” you shrug.

“i don’t mind at all,” he smiles, looking up at you.

“okay, i’ll just be in here,” you point behind you, gesturing to the living room.

“alright, dishwasher is done,” san says, walking into the living room with a broken down empty box in one hand and dolly in the other.

“thank you so much,” you smile.

“is there anything else you need then?” he inquires, quirking up an eyebrow.

a moment of silence washes over the room momentarily, with you wracking your brain trying to find a reason for him to stay longer. but you push that away, knowing he’s been working way too long past his scheduled time.

“no, i think that will do it,” you sigh, unintentionally sounding disappointed.

“well,” he mumbles, toying with the box in his hand. “well you have my number, so if you need anything, feel free to shoot me a text.”

you walk him to the door, thanking him. he stands out in the hallway, you looking at him out your front door.

“really though,” he insists. “if you need anything.” with one last sweet smile, he leaves.

so what does he mean by that? “anything.” maybe you’re delusional for thinking there’s a hidden meaning behind that statement. as in, you can text him if you want him to fuck your brains out, “anything?” definitely not, but your mind wanders at the thought of it; that he’d drop everything and book it back to your apartment, heaving and sweaty, ready to take what’s his. you’re actually fucking crazy.

and to make yourself even crazier, the next few days you find yourself itching to get another reason to have him come back. you check your kitchen sink’s water pressure, it’s fine. you test out the stove for the first time and it cooked your food perfectly, no gas smell. then you find something. one of your kitchen drawers won’t close completely. it’s something small, but enough to put in a maintenance request. for the first time since you moved in, you feel grateful you live in a shitty apartment.

you swing the door open, happy to see the cute grin san always gives you the moment he sees you.

“sooo… a drawer, huh?” he quips with a hint of a teasing tone.

“y-yeah, i tried to fix it but i don’t know what i’m doing wrong,” you defend, rubbing the back of your neck.

“i can fix that,” he says, passing into the kitchen, tool box in hand. you’re ready to retreat to your living room as usual, but san stops you. “you know, you don’t have to wait around in your living room for me to finish. i like having company.”

“oh,” you mumble, turning around. “i thought you might want privacy while you work.”

“no, it’s okay,” he says, opening his tool box to grab a few items. “if you wanted, you can hang around. i like learning about the tenants i’m working for.”

“okay,” you murmur. you open a kitchen cabinet to grab two mugs. “do you want some tea?”

“i would love some tea,” he says.

you put the kettle on the stove, heating up some water. you chat with san about work, how many units he has to visit in a day, about the interesting tenants he meets, how long he’s been doing this. once the kettle starts whistling, san is already finished fixing the drawer, placing it back into it’s assigned slot. you can’t help but feel disappointed that your time with him is almost up. you put the tea bags in the mugs of hot water, offering one to san.

“i know you’re done, but if you still want it,” you say, and he accepts the drink with a grin. you both sit at your kitchen table, continuing to chat. your cat leo enters the kitchen, going to straight to san’s legs to rub against him.

“there’s my boy,” san coos, scratching leo’s head.

“i still can’t get over how much he likes you,” you laugh. “he’s never this friendly, he’s only like this with me.”

“he seems friendly to me,” san says. “maybe he just has good taste in people.”

you chuckle, wondering in the back of your mind if he meant that about you too.

san checks his phone, realizing the time. he sets down his tea and stands. “i should probably get out of here, there’s another tenant waiting for me.”

“i didn’t mean to keep you—”

“no no,” san interrupts. “it’s okay. i really liked this. not a lot of people are this welcoming.”

“of course,” you reply, standing up with him. “i—i really liked this too.”

san smiles, biting a bit at his lip. you look at each other for a moment, feeling an intriguing tension in the air. he finally shakes head, going to grab his things to go. you walk him to your front door. you say another thank you, about to close the door.

“like i said,” he repeats, leaning against the door frame. “anything.”

you hadn’t seen san in over a week. it was driving you mad. you became addicted to his energy, to his warm greeting at your front door, to the lingering gazes you shared. you didn’t have any reason to see him again, and you needed to find another. so you did something you’re not entirely proud of… something that an actual crazy person would do. you loosened a bolt on a pipe under your kitchen sink, allowing water to trickle the smallest amount in the lower cabinet.

listen. you know it’s bizarre at this point, but you had to see him again. it’s not like anything would happen; he’d probably just fix it up, have another nice chat with you, and be on his way. is it so bad that you meddled with your sink just to see him?

when san arrives, he has that all-knowing grin on his face the moment you open the door.

“the sink now, hm?” he asks.

“yeah,” you chuckle anxiously. “the sink.”

he goes to the kitchen and inspects the pipes under the sink. you lean against the counter, hoping to god he doesn’t notice that the pipe didn’t magically get loose.

“ah i see,” he laughs to himself. “it’s just a loose bolt. easy fix.” he tightens it with his tools, quickly finishing.

“oh, haha,” you say, nerves bubbling in your stomach. “i guess i could’ve done that.”

“you know, it’s so interesting…” he trails off, standing up to face you, running a hand through his hair.

“what?” you ask.

“i’ve never had to do so much maintenance work for one tenant before,” he says, sly grin across his face. fuck. do you think he knows?

“and i swear, that bolt kinda looked like it was loosened by a wrench…” he trails off again, stepping closer to you. HE KNOWS.

“n-no, i would never,” you defend, feeling backed against the counter.

your eyes are locked on san, wandering over his built frame, over his sharp features. he’s inching closer and closer, and you feel your breath hitch. he catches your trailing eyes as if to ask for permission, and leans in to kiss you.

finally, the thing you’ve been wanting so bad from him, to feel his lips against yours. he cups your cheek with one hand, letting you melt into his touch. your lips part to allow his tongue to slide in, deepening the kiss with fervor. his form pushes against yours, pressing you against the kitchen counter. his hands begin to wander, grazing from the side of your face down to your waist. he holds you in a tight grip, pulling your hips forward to meet his. you can feel him harden in his jeans as he lets out a groan against your lips.

“you did this on purpose, hm?” san says, separating from your lips. he lifts you up and places you to sit on the kitchen counter in one swift motion. he kneels to the floor, grabbing at the waist of your pants. “just to see me?”

you nod emphatically, watching as he pulls down your pants and underwear. the cold air hits your core and you try to close your legs, but san pushes them back open to admire you. putting your legs over his shoulders, he runs his fingers against your folds, eyes drinking in the sight of you. you shudder at the feeling, knowing all too well that he’s already got you soaked.

“you like seeing me like this?” he whispers, looking up at you. “i bet you imagined me like this, between your legs.” when his fingertips graze over your clit, your body lets out a shake, and he knows he found what he wanted.

he attaches his mouth to your core and places a firm hold on your outer thighs. licking stripes up to your clit, each stroke of his tongue feels like heaven. he dips down to your hole, dragging your slick upwards. he moans at the taste of you, devouring at you with more passion. your hands grasp at his hair, relishing the stimulation.

he tugs his head back, looking as pussy-drunk as ever. “i imagined you like this too,” he moans, lips still hovering over you. you unintentionally tug at his hair, yearning for his mouth back on you. “i wanted you so bad the moment i saw you.”

he releases a hand off your thigh and snakes it back between your legs, teasing at your hole as he goes back to circle his tongue around your clit. he looks up at you as he slides his middle finger in, watching you crumble at the feeling. once he can tell you’re comfortable, he slides in another, slowly starting to pump them into you. you whimper at the feeling, walls contracting around his fingers.

your moans are uncontrollable, and he matches them, letting the vibrations enhance the stimulation. he curls his fingers into you, hitting that perfect spot. he can feel your core clenching more erratically, causing him to pick up the pace, but maintaining a steady rhythm. his tongue flicks at your clit just right, making you squeeze your eyes shut and tighten the grip on his hair.

“s-san,” you let out. “i’m gonna cum.”

he detaches from you briefly, still finger fucking you. “cum for me, baby, i want to taste you.” he immediately latches back onto you, eating you like his life depends on it.

you feel a wave of pleasure wash over your body, feeling like chills. you’re shaking now, unable to control the sheer amount of bliss your body is experiencing. you moan out to san, coming undone on his tongue. he continues to work at you, allowing you to ride out the entirety of your orgasm.

he finally disconnects from you, pulling out his fingers coated in your essence. he licks them clean, looking up at you with the same look of desire. he stands up, promptly placing his lips on yours in a passionate kiss. you can taste yourself on his fucked-out lips, and it makes it that much hotter. you can hear him fumbling with his belt, and your hands reach down to help. you place your palm over his bulge, it twitching at the contact.

san separates from you, letting out a heavy sigh. he pulls himself out from his underwear, rubbing the tip at your spent pussy. he looks down and lets a string of his spit hit his throbbing cock, spreading it around the expanse of it with his hand. he angles himself into you, and slowly starts pushing in. you gasp at the size, him stretching you out much more than his fingers initially did. he takes it slow, acknowledging the whimpers leaving your lips.

once he’s fully inside, he groans. “god, you’re so fucking tight.”

he watches himself enter you as he starts rolling his hips into you. he places a hand on the back of your neck, pushing you towards him for a messy kiss. he starts to pick up his pace, earning a sharp hiss on his lips in between kisses.

“you feel so good,” he murmurs to you. “i knew you would feel good.”

you moan in response, completely unable to form any words. all you know is that the stretch of his cock is deliciously painful, and the sweet kisses he’s peppering over your neck gives you goosebumps all over. you can’t even believe this is happening right now, that your fantasy of fucking your maintenance man is coming true, and it feels even better than you imagined.

“you wanted this so bad,” san teases, continuing to piston into you. “for me to fuck you like this. you probably imagined it, touching yourself the moment i left.”

and he’s right, you found yourself needy and horny after every visit he made. you couldn’t stop yourself from grabbing your vibrator and pretending he was the one fucking you, not yourself. but the feeling of the real thing was much different, much more euphoric. to have his chest heaving in front of you, sweat beading on his temple, desperate energy emanating from his body, saying i want to have all of you.

suddenly, he lifts you from the kitchen counter, holding your thighs firmly with his cock still in you. something about the fact that he can completely hold you up, still bouncing you on him even… you feel like his little play toy that he’s throwing around. he takes you to the bedroom, dropping you down on your bed and landing on top of you.

he wastes no time in sliding back into you, desperate to continue feeling your tight walls around him. his body is hovering over yours, your legs tangled as he thrusts into you. he pecks around your neck, hand ghosting over your throat as if seeking permission. you place your hand over his, allowing him to choke you until you’re lost in a euphoric haze.

his thrusts become more intense and forceful, each stroke sending chills down your spine as his length reaches deeper inside you. you swear you’re shaking the whole bed, the headboard repeatedly slamming against the wall. you’re so clouded by pleasure that you barely even notice he’s fucking you so hard that he’s pushing a dent into the wall from your bed frame.

“i can fix that,” san whispers with a smile, not even bothering to stop.

you let out a chuckle, then press a soft kiss to his lips. his hips begin to slow, as though he’s really taking his time to melt into you, to feel every part of you. he then lifts up to hit a new angle inside you, gripping your waist and slamming your hips into his with powerful, deliberate motions. you move your hand to your clit, feeling your walls tighten around his throbbing cock. your vision blurs, tears starting to well up in your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure.

“you gonna cum for me?” san asks, sensing the irregular pulsing of your core. you nod up at him, eyebrows furrowed and lip caught between your teeth. “cum on my cock, baby, let me feel you.”

your orgasm builds to a peak and then cascades over you, sending you into a state of pure bliss. san is still fucking into you, extending your orgasm while still chasing his own. it’s not until his hips begin to falter that you feel him shoot ropes of his cum into you, filling you completely. his moans echo yours, his hips gradually slowing until he finally comes to a stop.

he pulls out of you, falling next to you on the bed. the room is filled with the sound of your heavy breathing as it gradually returns to a normal pace. you look at each other, smiling with a shared understanding of the unexpected moment you just experienced. he wraps his arm around you, drawing your head to his chest to where you can hear his heartbeat.

“sooo…” you chuckle softly, pointing at the dent in your wall. “you’re gonna fix that, right?”

san grins, pulling you closer. “i mean, i can, but then i’d have no reason to come back tomorrow.”

“now that i think of it,” you say, chuckling. “i think there’s probably a few more things that could be fixed…”

“anything you need,” he says. “anything.”

a/n: guys this was so fun to write, i hope u enjoyed it too!! something about san lately oml... plz leave feeback as i'm new to writing, and reblog to support me! it motivates me to write more!

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[justalildumpling]

chapter 2: the story of us

wc: 706

You noticed that Jaemin had finally moved out of his parent’s place that night.

That was a lie. You had already heard about it a couple of months ago as a passing remark from Jisung and Chenle. How weird it was for him to move into an apartment by himself rather than moving in with his now-fiancee ⎯ the fiancee who had been begging to move in together for the last few months which he had brushed off with the excuse of the housing market being too expensive to move out of his family home.

But here you were, standing outside the sliding glass doors of Jaemin’s apartment with a bottle of champagne in hand, exhaling deeply. 

Jisung shared a sympathetic gaze with you as he approached the intercom, “You know, it’s not too late to back out Y/N,” he placed the box of apple ciders on the ground, “I can drop you home if you want.”

You sighed, shaking your head, “Hyuck would kill me.” 

You nudged Jisung’s arm in reassurance, ushering him to call his unit number in which a loud voice crackled through the speaker shortly followed by the sliding of the doors. Your best friend pouted, furrowing his eyebrows at you as he picked up the box once again. 

“You’re not coming to his party just to see him again, are you?”

You couldn’t quite meet his eyes when you dismissed his question, merely pushing him into the elevator with a huff. Jisung chose to remain silent for the remainder of the walk to Jaemin’s place. Maybe he had sensed your growing nervousness towards the looming event or maybe because he had received all the confirmation he needed to prove his point. 

Jeno had opened the door for you, greeting you with a tipsy grin as he crushed you into his arms. It had been around a year since you’d last seen Jeno – even longer for the entirety of your high school friend group – but it was like nothing had changed.

You discovered that Mark still stuck to his beer cans at any drinking function just like how Donghyuck refused to end the night without a round of tequila shots. Chenle still brought his bottle of European whiskey and Renjun, much to his dismay, held the vomit bucket at all times.

It wasn’t like you were actively trying to avoid their occasional nights out. In fact, you recalled many times when your fingers hovered hesitantly over the keyboard, writing out and deleting your invitation to hang out that week. But one problem had always stunted your ability to press send, that problem being the fiance of this party.

Jaemin stood against the kitchen island with a glass of what you assumed to be a poorly ratioed vodka lemonade. A group of bright-eyed girls surrounded him, with one lovingly leaning into his figure which you recognised as Minju.

Despite the chorus of cheers and giggles that resonated from the circle, Jaemin held a rather blank look on his face, aimlessly swirling the contents of his drink around. 

Besides the broadening of his shoulders and the restyling of his hair, you realised too that not much about the Na Jaemin you knew had changed. He still kept to his close circle of friends at social gatherings, still unable to mix his drinks properly, and still able to pinpoint you in a crowd.

It was like time had paused for a moment as you met his gaze, your breath hitching and your grasp on the hem of your jacket getting tighter as Jeno called him over. Jaemin remained motionless for a few seconds before maneuvering around the drunken crowd to you.

“Long time no see Y/N.”

“Yeah, it’s been a while.”

A beat passed before you cast your attention to his beaming fiancee at the back, “Congratulations on the engagement Jaemin. I’m glad you’re happy.

Jaemin only nodded in response, taking his last sip of his drink before patting Jeno’s shoulder and made his way back to the kitchen.

Despite the seemingly uneventful interaction, you knew the odd ways of Na Jaemin – and maybe, just maybe, you had caught a glimpse of his frown as he took that last sip of his drink.

masterlist || previous | next

pairing: jaemin x reader

synopsis: after the messy end to your relations with jaemin, it seemed like you were the only one unable to move on from your past. but with a few slip ups in between the planning of his wedding, you realised that maybe he too stayed right where you’d left him

warnings: swearing, jokes about death, mentions of alcohol

note: damn i rlly made jisung anti jaemin in this fic fr😭

[lodeddiperactivate]

Falling out (timeskip with you and Rodrick)

A/N: Found this in my draft. Started writing it a while back with the intention of turning it into angst with you and Rodrick fighting over what happened but got lazy! Just gonna post this as a blurb/drabble, not planning to turn it into a full fic series anymore :/

You and Rodrick have been friends since highschool, and at some point, yeah it felt as if there was something between the two of you. However, neither one of you did anything about it for the sake of not ruining the friendship. Eventually, after graduation, you two went your separate ways. He became more focused with his music career, and you moved to New York to become a journalist. You thought that was the end of it until one day you got a call from your mom asking you to help Rodrick find an apartment in New York.

It had been 5 years since the last time you've seen each other at your highschool graduation, and you honestly believed that moving to another state will ensure that you won't ever get to see him again. The thing is you two started having a fallout when you heard rumors that he was dating Heather.

Your mom instructed you to meet Rodrick at a cafe near your apartment so that he can also tour any vacant units in your building. You protested at first but there's nothing you can really do as both your families remained close throughout the years. And now Rodrick is moving to New York because he got accepted as a Financial Analyst at some corporation, which is another surprise as you thought he had pursued music full-time.

~

As soon as you entered the cafe, you started looking for a table since you assumed he'd be late but to your surprise, he was already sat at a table by the window. He wore a light blue button down and some beige corduroy pants. His expression was vacant, as if the 5 years that went by had sucked his soul out of his body. He saw you and waved, and feigned a small smile as you walked towards him.

"Hey"

"Hey there, thank you for agreeing to meet with me," he said. He sounded so formal, you weren't really used to this new Rodrick.

"Not a problem, how have you been?"

"Fine, great. I got a job at this company and thought it would be a good opportunity for me to move here as well," he paused. "You look good."

"You too," you replied as both of you sat down. You were both testing the waters as to what topics should you talk about and which ones are off the table. After some silence, you decided to suggest that you both order.

"Oh I already ordered some chocolate chip pancakes for the table, and some orange juice," he smiled. Oh that smile! You missed it so much.

"I love chocolate chip pancakes,"

"I know," he looked at his hands in front of him, clasped together. "I remember."

"Uhm so my mom told me you were looking for an apartment?"

"Yes, I am!" He said as if snapping out of a trance. "I have all my documents with me." You smiled at him, and he smiled back and for some time, the two of you started to relax.

The pancakes arrived and you both ate for awhile until you decided to simply rip off the bandaid.

"So how are you and Heather?" He seemed surprise with the question but felt like he already had prepared an answer.

"We broke up actually. Second year in college. She said that I was holding her back," he trailed off.

"Oh I'm so sorry to hear that."

"No, it's fine, she was right. Loded Diper wasn't going anywhere and I was basically flunking every one of my major subjects."

"Loded Diper's no longer playing?"

"Well, we're on a hiatus, at least until I figure things out and I will figure it out," he beamed at you with a certain level of reassurance, much like his old self, you thought. You smiled back and proceeded to finish the rest of the food.

"We can start touring some units that are available in my building," you started as both of you walked back to your apartment building. "When will you be starting at your new company?"

"Err, tomorrow actually."

"What?! You won't be able to find an apartment and sign a lease in New York in less than 24 hours, you know!"

"Yes yes I know."

"Thank you," Rodrick looked at you and you looked at him. You missed him so much and you hoped that this will be your chance to get back to what you two were like before. He held your gaze as if he's searching yours for some sign that everything will be alright between you and him. You leaned closer and before you know it, he had let his forehead touch yours.

After some time, you lifted your head, "Okay okay, here's to hoping that the unit is still available in my building. I can guarantee the landlord that you're a good tenant and maybe that will speed up the process."

It didn't. In fact, even after touring some other apartments, you two were left with zero to nothing chances of signing a lease within the week. You were both exhausted so you've settled with him staying your apartment at least until he finds a place of his own.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA (idk if asshole is the right word or more creep idk) for keeping younger friends after high school?

Ok so I (F16) am autistic + struggle socially and my high school has like a unit to support people who are disabled or neurodivergent in some way, I spend most of my breaks and lunchtimes in the classrooms here and have been since I started here, and over that time I’ve made a lot of friends there but the issue is some of them are a few years younger than me

I’ve been friends with most of them for like 3 years now and I don’t think I specifically approached them or anything we just ended up meeting via spending time in the same place at lunch and made friends because we have similar interests/personalities, I didn’t see anything wrong with it but I’m starting to doubt that/I’ve seen people calling it weird (age gap friendships in general, not me specifically)

I have other friends outside of this group who are my age,both in school and who go to different schools, but then the group I mainly spend my lunches with is mostly people younger than me except my best friend S (f15, same year group in school though we just have like a few months apart) - started by me meeting my friend (m15, again same year just a few months) little sister let’s call her P (f14 + in the year group below me) and making pretty good friends with her and her best friend

It’s a British school so you start in y7 (age 11) and leave in y11 (age 16) so I’m leaving in a few months, friend group is me, S, P + her friend who are also in the year below me, 2 who are in year 9 and one who’s in year 8 (she’s 2010 I think and I’m 2008), let’s call her L

I know that sounds really weird and makes me sound like a creep but pretty much all of these I met when I myself was like 13 and they were 11/12, apart from L who started hanging out with P last year and sitting with us which caused me to make friends with her. For most of my time in school I haven’t seen a problem with this because they’re my friends and nothing more (I’ve been in love with someone for like 2 years now and she’s the same age as me soo) but I keep seeing like TikToks of people saying it makes you a pedo for having younger friends and i know it isn’t true but also I’m worried it’s creepy for me to have these friends even if it’s strictly platonic because idk I miss social cues a lot and I don’t know maybe having friends in a younger school year is weird

For the rest of school I’m just treating it as normal because I only have 3 months left, I’ve been friends with most of these mfs since 2021 and I’m not going to start being really distant to them now because that would be mean and they’re my friends who I care about but I feel like when I graduate it’s different and it’ll be weird for me to be friends with them as a college student when some of them will only be like year 9, we have a group chat and stuff but I feel like keeping touch with them would make me come off wrong but also cutting contact with them would be really mean

I’ve been bullied since I was in primary school I’m talking like year 3 and a lot of the people in my year group don’t like me even if I’ve basically never spoken to them (again this makes me come off wrong but it’s bc I’m “emo” aka im not emo I’m just quiet and somewhat alt and because I masked a lot less when we started hs so I was like. Harmless but weird/cringy 11 year old and even though I’ve changed a lot since then people still have that impression of me, i was also outed as bi in year 7 in a school full of homophobic people so there’s that) and so idk I feel like if people already don’t like me they’ll jump at anything to make me seem like I’m a bad person

Tl:dr I’m a 16 year old and my youngest friend is 13 but I feel like once I leave high school it’s no longer socially acceptable to have younger friends and that I’d be a creep to keep in contact, am I right That id be a creep for having young friends or am I just paranoid ?

[laylajeffany]

Intentions are Everything  |  Chaos Universe OneShot for @fridayd13th

Summary: Wednesday and Enid (age 22) reconnect on a rainy night after routine and the season of life they are in keep them apart. WC: 4k exactly (welcome to layla's <5k challenge) Rated: T (I’m at work it would absolutely end best in sex but a Clifford the Big Red Dog stuffie is looking at me in my supply closet and I feel judged.)

Note: As I’m experimenting with some new writing rules for myself to set myself to different standards and expectations for future projects (not even fanfiction); I’m weaponizing my competence and refusing to use my available contract hours assisting others who do not have withitness and follow-through. When I’m at work and not with the children on a break per required of my union contract, I’m locking myself in my supply closet to write! I'm too efficient! Everything is done through April! However, it’s simply not the correct setting to be working on my multi-chapter work; I need at least two hours at a time for that. These one-shots have to be prompted by someone else (I can’t have stewing on the content), under 5K, and I’m not allowed to work on them at home. I'll probably upload these to AO3 once I have a few of them complete.

The prompt "Wenclair/Domestic/Chaos Universe/Rainy Day" was from @fridayd13th - thank you so much for everything you’ve done to support my writing over the last year, and all the other fanfic authors you have impacted by your sharing, comments, and kindness. Thank you! & a Black Menagerie update is in the editing phase and will be up tomorrow sometime!

X

It wasn’t supposed to rain.

And not just because she already had outdoor plans, but there hadn’t been a drop forecasted (Wednesday had been checking obsessively). If there was a way to light the sky on fire, she surely would have…only to have that flame extinguished, immediately – like her carefully structured night out.

That was dramatic. (Wasn’t she always? And to think, Enid was the one at the theater that evening.) With a silent pivot, Wednesday adjusted course without hesitating, not wanting to waste a moment, even if it included one of the heaviest sighs she’d ever released. She couldn’t be taken down by reanimated corpses of bigots, genocidal maniacs, werewolf councils, Hydes, or the weather.

Life had gotten between herself and her fiancée over the last few months, and as she managed to be surprised by a late April rain, it showed. Between her endless lectures, bookwork, and mock trials, Network meetings and Enid’s grueling six-day-a-week performance schedule that only had her off on Mondays (Wednesday’s latest day at law school, naturally), their time together that didn’t involve one of them working on something was rare and precious. After a heated argument the week before, ended by the redhead who lived in the basement unit of their townhouse, Wednesday had stormed off to New Jersey. A train ride and taxi to her family’s home had her barreling into her mother’s study wet (it had been raining then too), upset, and in the foulest of moods.

It had taken Morticia quite some time to put together the fractured pieces of information her daughter was revealing and advise the same thing that the other wise woman in her life already had; Enid and Wednesday just needed to spend meaningful time together. When all of their hours in one another’s space were domestic routines and transitional time trying to catch each other up on the latest without being part of it, they were bound to spat.

Enid had been more than a little bit upset that Wednesday’s solution to their problem was running away and had hotly asked for the night apart when Morticia said that she thought it would be more practical for Lurch to drop her off than deal with the train again. At the notion of spending the night alone in her parents’ house settled in, Wednesday had a meltdown the likes of which they hadn’t seen from her in years. Morticia had slept with her when she finally convinced her to at least lay down, likely in fear that she was going to slip into a meditation and wind up in the wrong side of the ether because of her twisted energy.

The next morning, she’d had a long and overdue chat about romance with both her parents. They spoke from the heart – it was mushy and disgusting. Their own experiences made her want to bury her head in the sand. Yet - Wednesday had desperately needed to hear it. She and Enid were a far cry from the two of them. Though she might’ve possessed some Gomez-like traits every now and again, Wednesday was her own, unique breed and would love her own way, too. But, to her chagrin, hearing their perspective did help – and it put her plan into motion.

Enid wasn’t home when Wednesday arrived – she had a matinee that afternoon and then an evening show as well. With all her focus, Wednesday tidied up their apartment not only in proper order, but also made sure she’d put Enid’s favorite sheets on the bed, started the incense she liked the best, and ordered all her prized snacks for the week when she had groceries delivered. After a long talk with the couple downstairs, about recovering from a blow-out (they were more than familiar with that topic), Wednesday also committed herself to certain actions for the week ahead.

Unfortunately – the experimental medication she was on, after the sleepless night before, forced her to fall asleep when she laid in bed, trying to write a formal apology to her fiancée – afraid of forgetting something if she just tried to speak it all. It would still be from the heart, but scripted so she made sure to make every point.

That was how Enid woke her up with sweet, gentle kisses when she’d gotten home from her show, close to eleven. She had a fresh release of tears, and Wednesday’s notebook in her hand, stroking her cheeks and promising – she was forgiven, and that she was also sorry, for how she’d responded and reacted to everything.

In her grogginess, Wednesday made a promise – that she was going to give Enid a real date; she was going to honor her with something special, not routine, not a drive-by conversation. She wanted to give her a night that Enid could treasure.

And so, with two hours until her show released that Friday, Wednesday cooked, baked, transformed the attic space and prepared the environment with all the heart and ambiance-creating ability she had.

Locating her umbrella and stepping into black Wellies, she took the pink ones by the door into her hands and a jacket when she realized the temperature dipped as well. With a black and white striped snake over her shoulders tucked into her collar to stay dry, she made the familiar trek out of their Upper West Side apartment to Midtown – a journey she used to take when she was committed to making it to Enid’s show at least once a week.

How quickly things changed when novelty wore off. She hadn’t been to the theater in at last four months, she realized – vowing to change that, too.

One metro ride and a few blocks walked in the rain later, she stood outside the theater door, grateful the rain would keep most of the obsessive, obnoxious out-of-towners from lining up for autographs. Her snake poked his head out curiously when the door opened a few times, hoping for Enid, but it was always orchestra first, Wednesday reminded Augustus softly.

Thankfully, she didn’t have to wait long. Only three other cast members groaned at the rain before heading out themselves before Enid let out a full whine upon opening the door, then a completely delighted gasp. “Wednesday! Ohemgee, you did not have to come all the way here!”

“I didn’t want you caught in this beautiful weather without proper gear,” She said, passing Enid’s rainboots to her. She let out an excited squeak of appreciation, dipping back in and swapping her shoes, then accepting the rain jacket before positioning herself under Wednesday’s umbrella, wrapping an arm around her waist. Holding the handle and depositing a kiss to her lips, ignoring how she still had on her stage makeup and dreadful, bright red lipstick that probably transferred, Wednesday clarified, “There is an obvious change in plans from our rooftop dining experience in Brooklyn. But our evening is not ruined, simply altered.”

“Awe, well – that’s so sweet. I didn’t even know it had started to rain! I’m glad I don’t have to be super bummed out, either. Thanks for taking care of everything! Hey – how was the exam?”

“Grueling. Torture. It took me every available moment to finish. Naturally, I scored a hundred four,” Wednesday said with a little smirk as the sky emptied itself onto the city, hard raindrops rattling the waterproof covering above them as they moved to the subway station. “And the show?”

“The usual,” Enid shrugged. “Friday night crowds are notoriously off – though this one wasn’t so bad. I don’t know. It’s been almost seven months now – there’s rumblings about auditions the Crazy for You revival moving to the US, I’d for sure be auditioning for that – this role has me feeling a little...locked in. I’m not, like, over it – but I’d be up for something different.”

“Insert here a cheesy line about being crazy for you in any show you’re billed in. I also recognized on my way here – I haven’t come out to watch in so long. I’m genuinely sorry for the pacing of our time together and the inadequacies I’ve brought, Enid.”

“Oh, you do not need to apologize for that, Wednesday! This is my job, as much as it’s art. It’s not like I’m going to catch you in the courtroom on any kind of regular basis – that’d probably be sups inappropriate. Well – we know in the future that I’ll see you in the Supreme Court – but that’s like, you coming to opening night of me as a leading lady. It’s different. I don’t expect my partner at a weekly curtain call.”

“Still,” She said as they waited on the platform after taking the slippery stairs down, keeping her umbrella folded low to drip onto the already sopping tile, “I do like watching you perform. Even if this isn’t my favorite show – I’d like to see you soon. I’ll leave father and Em behind, though.”

Enid giggled. “I don’t mind their…enthusiastic reception to my stage presence,” Enid found careful words as the train arrived – packed, of course, for a Friday night on the 1 in Midtown. Finding a place to stand where they wouldn’t be absorbing too much liquid from others who’d been caught in the rainstorm unprepared, they took the short ride back uptown, making it home just as another couple was about to enter their shared foyer.

Emiliana and Josie were soaked to the bone, obviously caught in the storm, and in Emiliana’s case – thrilled about it. Josie looked a little less than enthusiastic and both Wednesday and Enid backed away when her wife tried to embrace them. “It’s their date night, too – leave them alone,” Josie warned, tugging her back by the shoulders with a sigh.

“Well, I do not think they are going to be dining on roofs, bien-aimée!” Emiliana argued, about to go in again when Josie popped the lock on the lower-level unit with a groan, wishing the girls a good night – whatever they ended up doing, before ushering Emiliana downstairs while she spoke rapidly in French about which movie she wanted to watch and why would she need a shower, she was already wet?

Unable to hide her smirk, Wednesday took off her boots, setting them on a rug while Enid popped the umbrella open to dry off (chancing her luck) and shrugged out of her coat, hanging both damp garments on a hook before locking the main door, then opening their own when they entered the kitchen.

Enid’s enhanced smell must’ve picked up right away what Wednesday had baked for her. She looked at her with a little gasp, a near twinkle in her eye. “You didn’t? You did! Oh, Wednesday!”

“Snickerdoodles are upstairs already,” She said quietly – hating the way that ridiculous word rolled off her tongue; but if they were Enid’s favorite, easy-to-prepare desert – of course. “As is everything else that I could prepare in advance, there are a few things I need to finish now. Everything you need for your favorite bath is out and ready for you.”

“Awe, not possible,” Enid said with a little pout. Wednesday crossed her arms, suspicious about that – Enid’s preferences had hardly changed since she was seventeen and they first started their innocent soaks together. “You won’t be in it!”

Almost snorting, she rolled her eyes and kissed Enid’s cheek. “I cannot be two places at once. Yet. I’m still working on that spell. Go on – I’ll meet you upstairs in thirty minutes.”

“Alright. Thank you, Wednesday.” She returned the sweet little kiss before shaking her head and planting a long one on her lips, despite the lipstick. Wednesday refused to cringe, merely returned it before Enid pulled away with a laugh, wiping the red off her with her thumb. “I frickin’ love you.” With that she winked and headed up the stairs of the narrow unit.

Putting the rest of her plan into motion, Wednesday poured her attention into finishing the meal that she’d started, heading up to the attic to light the candles with a wave of her hand to complete the ambiance she’d started to set up.

Bringing up the last of the food on a butler’s tray she’d stolen from home ages before, Wednesday glanced at the time, hearing the sound of a drain circling. Taking her place up near the small, circular window that was pattered in rain. She lifted the bow of her cello, starting to play a melody of their favorite songs.

Enid took a familiar place on the bench in front of the window, watching Wednesday with a look of love she could see out of the corner of her eye. Her snake traveled from Wednesday’s neck to Enid’s pink, loungewear covered shoulders, licking her cheek, making her smile.

Finally finishing, she stood up, taking Enid’s hands, kissing her fingers before tucking her at the low table of the attic in front of the futon. Plating her a favorite rare beef dish, Wednesday started the small record player on an entertainment unit before taking a seat beside her.

They ate with comfortable conversation flowing – Enid brought up the show she was interested in again, Wednesday asked her to describe the plot – and stared at her with hearts in her eyes as she animatedly detailed the storyline and the roles she’d want to play within it. As she stacked the dirty dishes, moving the tray to the stairs, Wednesday put the cookies on the table, then flushed a little as she began to remove materials out of a basket. Giving a shrug, she hoped that she was matching the energy the moment called for as she explained, “We were going to go to that gallery…but – I…maybe you want to make something to add to ours up here?”

She gestured to the various crafts that Enid had hung up above the futon – a few embroidery pieces she’d experimented with, paintings, collages…

Enid nodded brightly. “I’d love to make something with you.”

The next forty minutes were spent painting on a canvas, the two working together to come up with an inspired design – an interpretation of their snake in the springtime – Augustus looking at it and offering his feedback, requesting more pale pink cherry blossom petals all around him.

As they finished, Wednesday took the dirty brushes and palette along with the dishes, hurrying them down to the sink before returning with a bottle of wine and two glasses. Enid had moved to the cushions, her expression of dopy desire a bit contagious as Wednesday poured her a glass and took a seat. She indicated her own intentions by sitting as close to fiancée as possible, a stacking her legs on top of Enid’s thighs as she twisted into the corner of the couch – just a touch obnoxiously. Enid giggled before taking a sip, drawing an arm just above her knees. She pressed a kiss to Wednesday’s lips, letting out a sigh. “You probably feel like the need to reconcile was largely on you, given how you ran…but it wasn’t, Wednesday. I’ve been just as distracted, and every bit as much to blame for us not spending the time we need together, too.”

Augustus appeared from her collar again and Wednesday smiled at the snake with the gentle sort of parent-like love she’d had for him since the start. “Hey, buddy…do you think you could take yourself to your enclosure for a little while? There’ll be a pinky for you in the morning.”

He let out a small hiss and twisted down her arm, leaving the two in full privacy. Wednesday had another long drink of wine and made a hopeful suggestion. “I have two more exams next week, but then the summer term doesn’t begin until mid-May. Is there any time over the next few weeks that you’d be able to get away from the show for a few days?”

Enid laughed. “I haven’t used an understudy yet! Our swings would be thrilled – I’m sure I could take some time, for us.”

The way she said it made Wednesday chug the rest of the wine in her glass before taking Enid’s from her, sweetly, and placing both on the table. She adjusted her position, sitting fully on her lap. Enid’s arms fell around her waist, pulling her close for a kiss. Wednesday sighed into it, lazily dropping her arms around her shoulders, drawing herself closer, chests touching – even if they were just in comfortable sweatshirts – she loved the feeling. Enid let out a little sound of contentment as her tongue dipped into her mouth, pushing them even closer.

Enid pulled away with a sudden gasp – their teeth almost colliding as a bolt of lightning and crackle of thunder turned the nighttime rain shower into a thunderstorm. She giggled and groaned, sighing into Wednesday’s shoulder as Wednesday felt her heartrate skyrocket and decrease. Tangling her fingers into Enid’s hair, Wednesday just held her close, there, resting her head just on top of hers. “I love you,” She muttered quietly. “I’m really glad we spent tonight together, not just in routine, even if it wasn’t what we planned.”

“Me too,” Enid squeezed her middle, looking up with a sweet gaze. “I love you. I can’t believe how we let time get away from us. Hey – let me send a quick text to let my manager know I’m going to be out of the show – then I’m getting my laptop and my planner – we are so booking a trip for after your exams!”

Letting her go – even if she might’ve rather extended that time together physically, Wednesday figured she could get her fiancée all worked up and excited about time off together and then spend the time together in bed. Enid returned just moments later, her fingers flying across her keyboard as she gave herself a week off without asking – but expecting. Loving that for her self-confidence, Wednesday stretched out on the futon while she started to ramble excitedly, opening a glittery pink date book, actually blathering about what to fill in it. Her excited ramble went on for almost two straight minutes before she paused, mid-sentence, blushing as she glanced back at Wednesday. As she opened her mouth, Wednesday reminded her, “If you dare apologize for looking forward to spending time together…” She snapped her lips together and Wednesday smirked, putting her chin on Enid’s shoulder as she leaned over her. “There’s a full moon next week, too. We could maybe go somewhere that has a forest nearby if you’d like to wolf out. It’s been months, Enid. The Solstice was the last time…it just happened to be on a Monday, otherwise you probably would’ve taken your potion then, too.”

“You really want to spend time off chasing me through the trees?” Enid asked skeptically.

Dropping into a sit beside her, Wednesday took her hand into her own, letting her thumb rub a circle over the ring on her left. “I want to spend my time off with you. That’s all, Enid. I don’t care, particularly, what we do. I would like you to make sure you’re not disconnecting with the wolf part of you…we know the consequences of that. But if you don’t think you need to wolf out to stay connected, that’s fine, too.”

“Hm,” Enid laced the fingers that were playing with hers between them and kissed Wednesday’s cheek. “You know – we could really disconnect from the world, and only connect to each other – which always helps. Go to the Zypher property, be surrounded by mountains? We haven’t been in…what, two and a half years now?”

Liking the sound of that, Wednesday nuzzled her neck, also liking that it wouldn’t involve her traveling by plane, but the thought of being without running water and electricity for an entire week wasn’t quite what she wanted to deal with. Who would’ve thought – Wednesday Addams, a woman of the modern world?

“Or – we go to the Addams house in Jericho? We’d be able to bathe far more conveniently – but still have the woods.”

Enid chuckled into her lips with a kiss. “Fair, fair,” She spoke, pulling back. “Promise me you won’t get tangled up in a Network conspiracy while we’re there?”

With a single nod, Wednesday leaned in for another kiss. “I won’t even tell them we’re in town.”

“Well, that’s not nice. Aunt Larissa would ream you if we bumped into her at the store picking up stuff for dinner and hadn’t told her we were coming.”

“Grocery delivery,” Wednesday refuted.  Enid shot her a look. “We can have one dinner with them. One. I’m very serious. This is going to be our time, Enid. We…we need it. It’s going to be a long summer – I’m so close to done, and the last two semesters are going to be grueling. Remember, I will be hospitalized at some point because I’m going to be so in over my head and taking horrible care of myself and refusing to let you do it for me,” She sighed – wishing she’d never had that vision, years ago. “But until then – we have this time together. I want it to be meaningful – just us.” Thunder made the entire place rumble and Enid nodded, then let out a little sound of sympathy as a slithering snake hurried himself up the steps and into Wednesday’s lap, trembling. “It’s okay, buddy,” She whispered, kissing his cheek as she held him close, letting him circle back around her neck. “Well, just us and the boy.”

Enid acknowledged what she’d said before, “Meaningful. It sucks to think that a lot of the time we do have together isn’t meaningful – and I guess I didn’t really understand that until this all blew up,” She sighed. “It’s hard to think that just because you spend every night sleeping next to the love of your life, it can get routine, so fast. I hate that. I don’t want that for us.” She thumbed her planner. “Do you think – we could pen in some more date nights? This was really nice. Not just dinner because we both happen to be home…which; has been rare for us – but intentional dates. I think we need to make sure we have at least one a month? Once a week would be better – but until you’re finished with school, I think we should be a little more realistic -”

Wednesday tilted her head in a bit of good news. “Actually, we can. Every Monday. My evening course was moved to Tuesdays and Thursdays for the summer class.”

Letting out a little gasp, Enid tossed her arms around her fiancée. “That’s amazing! OhEmGee, this is perfect! Hey – how about we put our first Monday after vacation at that Brooklynn rooftop and gallery, hm? I mean, truthfully – I think I preferred this, just us doing our own thing up here -”

“Then, let’s plan to do our own thing up here,” Wednesday argued gently. “Why go out and force ourselves to do something that neither of us really want to do? Just because it’s what is expected of a couple on a date? You know I would always rather be in with you. We can make it special, so long as we intend to.” She sighed, shaking her head. “Of course. I’ve long ago learned, intentions are everything, didn’t I? I suppose I just never applied it to our long-term romance.”

Enid kissed each cheek, then the tip of her nose. “I do believe I have some intentions for how I’d like to close out this night.”

Wednesday dropped her hands to her hips. “Hm. Funny, so did I. What if our intentions don’t align?”

She gave a playful growl, then nipped her lip playfully, making Wednesday close her eyes and give a little groan. “Yeah,” Enid pulled away, “I’m pretty sure – we both want the same thing. Come on. GusGus, bedtime, buddy. This date night continues for another hour!”

“Oh, that’s all?” Wednesday teased, earning a playful push as she smirked, fully intending on making meaning out of every moment of the rest of their night together.

[el-warverine]

Wolverine: Weapon X (1991)

Wolverine: Weapon X is a MUST read if you want to get the full scope of Wolverine. This story details more than any other comic, exactly what kind of bullshit Logan was subjected to while being used for the Weapon X program.

The dehumanization of Logan during this comic is gut-wrenching for me, so i need to jabber about it. My favorite bit and some ramblin below.

Logan can hear and smell the wolves in the cage. The fuckers in lab coats know that he is receiving this stimuli, but have no idea why Logan isnt reacting, there isnt a single impulse to run or fight the wolves.

To Logan, the sounds and smell of wolves isnt a threat. Even when they knock him down, even when they bite.

He doesn't react until they are actually tearing him apart. Once the pain is too much, he fights back, and he roars.

"I dont think that's bloodlust, professor... I think it's pain."

"I'm enjoying this far too much."

The doctor claims Logan's roar is "relish" of the carnage, but really, he's just projecting. He is very fascinated by controlling this kind of power, and this is what he chose to do with it. He wants to portay this cruelty as some animalistic trait of Logan's, when really none of this horror would ever happen if he wasn't the one pulling the strings.

In Logan's mind, those animals were not disposable. These people rationalize their cruelty toward Logan by claiming he is not human he is an animal, when to him, humanity is not a prerequisite for respect or kindness. What caused this barbaric display was the very men sitting there watching it. When Wolverine was free, there was a time wolves were his family, his comfort.

So no, it's not "odd" that he wasn't afraid of those wolves. And no, it isn't pleasure in that roar. It's not just pain, either. It's grief.

This is how a fool can posess someone, violate their mind and body, control them, and still know less than he would if he just had a fucking chat with them. But the doctor doesn't want to learn anything from these experiments. He just wants to control Wolverine. Like a toddler wanting to drive a car, he doesn't even want to go anywhere he just wants to use the steering wheel.

Throughout Wolverine's life after this, the same thing will happen to him over and over again. Governments, lovers, friends, all of them will use him, and in most instances with the last two, he will allow it. He will give them the opportunity to use him, and in exchange, he gets a place by their side for as long as they'll allow him to have it. Even when they dont necessarily make him happy, because happiness isn't really what he's after. Maybe he wants to be needed, part of a unit, indispensable. That isn't enough in the long term, either, though. If his constant introspective inner monologues paired with his sudden outbursts of asserting who he is are anything to go by, being understood is also something very important to him.

It's a tough ask to understand someone who has been alive for nearly 200 years and been to hell and back, even tougher when at least half that life has been dedicated to suffocating the parts of himself that humanity would look down upon. For some time Logan strives for ideals like honor to keep himself on the track of being a man first and foremost, he tries to fight for what's right and control the wilder parts of his personality to prove to himself he isnt an animal. With time, he starts to accept those things as well, though. Being called an "animal" happens to him regularly regardless of what he does, and he is very capable of taking it on the chin without holding a grudge despite what he's been subjected to due to that perspective. Maybe it's because deep down he knows that being the animal isn't the problem. It's being in the wrong cage.

Anyway, ouch, movin on. Read Weapon X it's good.

[light-yaers]

tangerine. | part one [carmen berzatto x reader]

Fic Masterpost | AO3

Carmen shows up at your diner after five years, and everything comes flooding back like it was only yesterday.

Warnings: swearing, angst, mature themes [discussions about drugs, workplace abuse, family problems]

Word count: 5.2k

PART ONE

“What is the point of this entire trip if you’re not going to tell me the restaurants in advance?” Sydney whittled off, trying to keep up with the storming legs of her partner. “Carmen, are you even listening to me, right now?”

“Of course, I’m listening,” he said, peering back at her as his legs kept up their pace. 

He slalomed through people on the sidewalk of 8th Street and St. Marks Place, with Syd close on his tail. She didn’t know these streets like he did. His prior positions in the city were prestigious, ranging from sous chef roles all over the damn city, before he finally made chef de cuisine at Union Square Cafe. As the time had passed, understanding came with it, but she still wouldn’t ever wrap her head around him leaving NY for The Beef. 

She knew Michael meant a lot to him, to the family, but dropping it all for a sandwich shop in Chicago would always be something she’d secretly question. Syd tried not to think about it too much; the fear of him leaving, or bailing, and the like; because at the end of the day she’d bled herself dry for this.

A restaurant. A place. Somewhere her dad used to love, and would love after the renovation. The Beef was gone, it was true, but in its place would be The Bear. The product of all of Carmen’s and her hard work. 

Syd sped up to a jog, until she finally wrapped her fingers around Carmen’s forearm. She tugged him back, and used it as an opportunity to catch her breath. “You’re not listening. I don’t even know where we’re fucking going, Carm.”

He gently tugged his arm from her grasp. “This is a last minute addition,” he said, before he placed his hands on his hips. “I just wanted to get it over with. Sorry for rushing.”

Sydney nodded at him, listening. “Okay. So, let me in, dude. Tell me about this place so I’m less confused, and you’re less… whatever the fuck this is,” she said, gesturing to his erratic behaviour. 

Carmen shuffled on the sidewalk, peering around at shop fronts, and the abundance of restaurants that lined up outside Tompkins Square Park. This was an area he knew like the back of his hand, but one he hadn’t visited since long before he’d left New York. 

“The first place I ever worked in the city. It’s not fine dining, or Michelin starred, or any of that shit,” he started, and despite the abrupt way Syd’s eyes widened from annoyance, she still let him continue. “The vibe of it, though,” he said, and chuckled the words out of his mouth in surprise. “Just, come on.” He gently placed a hand on Syd’s shoulder, leading her forward so they were on the same page. 

From the outside, Lucky Strike Diner didn’t look like anything special. It was a small unit, placed betwixt two taller apartment buildings, to the North of Tompkins Square Park. Syd looked up at it, grimacing slightly, but she tried to keep an open mind. She’d been around her fair share back alley barbeques and hidden gems to know you should never judge a book by its cover. 

When she glanced over to Carmen, he looked practically childlike. There was a glint in his eyes that she hadn’t seen since they’d first decided to bin off The Beef and bring in The Bear That wonder, that craving for something new, and excitement of something unknown. Nostalgia danced over every feature of his face, and she watched as he sucked in a sharp breath, before entering the diner. 

Inside, the decor was minimalist, but homely. Black and white photos lined the walls, pictures of families, of friends, of celebrations. Cream and red colours graced the walls, and the booths looked comforting and inviting. Despite the drab appearance outside, inside was bustling. Practically every table was full, and the old style bar was inviting. Through the kitchen window, sparks and fire shot up whenever something burned, or flambed, on the grill. 

This vibe, the one Carmen had mentioned; Sydney felt it all immediately. That warmth, like you were stepping into a family function instead of something elitist. Businessmen sat with their laptops, next to mothers with their babies, and grandfathers on their own. This was a place for everyone, and that was clear to see. 

As servers scattered over the busy restaurant floor, one of them stuck out to Sydney. You scuttled, slaloming through tables with ease, as you made your way to the host stand by the door. 

Saturday rushes were always hardcore, but you’d grown accustomed to them. You grabbed two menus before you even looked the two new customers in the eye, and let out a simple “Welcome to Lucky Strike Diner, table for two–?”

You stopped when your brain finally computed his face; a face you hadn’t seen in a long time. Carmen Berzatto was standing in your fucking restaurant. “Carmy.” His name slipped out easily, and along with it came a sickly feeling in your gut. 

He cleared his throat. “Table for two, yes. Please.”

You glanced at the second member of his party, quickly, and shot her a smile. You didn’t particularly have anything to smile about, but it wasn’t her fault that she’d just been planted into the middle of this inevitable shitstorm. That smile disappeared instantly, as soon as you looked back at Carmen.

“Great,” you said plainly. Even disappearing assholes like Carmen wouldn’t stop you from being professional and civil at work. You loved this place too much, had been here too long, to do that. “This way, please.” 

You steamed forward as you picked out a table in the corner, furthest away from the host stand. You didn’t want him in the middle of the room, where he could easily find you in the crowd of servers. Why he was here and what he was doing didn’t cross your mind until you seated them, dropping the menus down on their respective settings. 

Carmen scooted his chair in, and peered up at you. “It’s been a long time–”

“So, have you guys ever been here before?” you cut over him, and mostly looked at his partner. She shot you a clearly awkward smile, but nevertheless shook her head politely. Carmen stayed silent, and bit upon his tongue. “Okay, so I’ll lay down the lingo for you,” you said, as you quickly went through the menu with her. “You need anything, just wave one of us down and we’ll be happy to help, all good?” 

“Yeah, thank you,” Sydney said with a smile, before she looked over at Carmen. That smile quickly turned to a small frown. 

“Fantastic,” you said. “Can I get you guys some drinks to start?”

“Um, I’ll take the lemonade, thanks,” Sydney ordered, as she attempted to hold this entire interaction together by the skin of her teeth. 

“Great choice, it was made fresh this morning like always.” You turned to Carmen. “And for you, sir?” 

A vein had popped out on Carmen’s forehead very noticeably. It was one that Sydney knew well, when he was either under insane amounts of stress in the kitchen, or fighting against the urge to yell. Maybe both meant the same thing, but still– she could see from a mile off that this was not the way he’d wanted this reunion to go. 

“Surprise me,” he said, as he looked up and caught your eye. 

You clenched your jaw. “I’m no good at surprises, so I’ll just bring you some tap water until you decide,” you said, trying and failing to keep things light. “I’ll be back with those drinks in just a few minutes.” You went to leave quickly. 

“Hey, just–” Carmen reached out for you as fast as he could, but as his fingers grazed your wrist, you managed to snap your arm away from him just in time. He gave up when disappeared through the doors to the back, and dropped himself back into his chair. 

Sydney leant forward immediately. “Okay, dude. What the fuck was that?”

“It’s nothing,” Carmen said bluntly. 

Sydney started laughing breathily. “Yeah, sure, that was nothing. Don’t test me, Carm.”

“I– fuck,” he spluttered. “Just pick your fucking food, please.”

Sydney was a pro at telling Carmen to calm the fuck down, but this interaction had her stumped for a solution. “What do you recommend?” she said, switching her tune.

Carmen met her eye in some kind of silent apology. “Uhh, the eggs. The eggs are fantastic. And the french toast, that’s the restaurant’s best.” As the subject changed, Carmen delved into the menu alongside Syd. They talked about their menu ideas, and paralleled them with the dishes they saw here. 

Maybe bringing a diner styled meal to a (soon to be) Michelin menu wasn’t so much of a bad idea. It fit the theme. The homeliness, paired with the decadence of the chaos menu they’d been discussing priorly. 

In the back, you quickly punched in their drink order, before you slalomed through the kitchen. “Behind!” you yelled, as you made your way through each station. The chefs all shot you concerned looks, as it became apparent where you were heading. 

“Is today really a walk-in day?” One of them, Paulie, said as you raced by. He’d known you for years now, and knew when something was fucking wrong. 

“Yep!” you exclaimed back at him, tugging open the handle of the walk-in swiftly.

“What the fuck happened?” he boomed, but you slammed the door shut before you could muster up a reply. 

Inside, you breathed alongside the ingredients. The vegetables, the homemade sauces, the fresh smoked salmon. It was cold, but not too cold that you couldn’t stand it. The cool air made everything feel calm, like you had somehow been transported to some Icelandic lake in the summertime. The air was crisp, and noise was muffled through the door, like the solace you felt by locking yourself in the upstairs bathroom at a house party. 

Carmen Berzatto showing up out of the blue had been something you’d long stopped indulging in. He’d made himself clear, the last time you’d seen him, that he had no intention of continuing the working relationship or friendship you’d once had. It was only then that you realised how fast the time had gone. 

You were twenty when you met him, the same age as each other. Both of you tried to navigate life together as you stumbled and fell, and got yourselves up again. You were on par with each other, both in intelligence and maturity. Paulie had liked Carm as soon as he’d walked through the door for his interview, and pretty soon after being hired, he’d turned Lucky Strike around like it was no skin off his back.

He was a refreshing change for the life you’d found yourself in. He’d made this place great, and you’d taught each other some life lessons. You’d always known he was destined for more, and you’d always been the first person to sing his praises. 

Before his abrupt switch in personality, you’d thought fondly of your time here together. The same old grind of opening up the diner together in the morning. While he prepped for service in the kitchen, you did so on the restaurant floor. It was a collaborative effort, and without both of you together at that point in time, the diner would have gone under. That’s what made it sting even more, when you thought of your life now– you wouldn’t be in this position if he hadn’t come along. It was like rubbing extra salt in your already open wound. 

You sucked in a deep, cold breath, and let it out slowly. The cold invigorated your lungs, and gave you the strength to continue with your day. Lunch service was on the brink of its lull, anyway, but having him there, sat outside, with his fucking face that he used to look at you so fondly with, you could hardly stand it. 

A gentle knock sounded from the walk-in door, and you quickly wiped a few spots of sweat from your forehead. “Yeah!” you yelled. 

“Come on out, sweetheart,” Paulie urged you, and you hadn’t been able to refuse him for the time you’d been working at the diner– so that wasn’t going to start now. 

You pushed open the door and sealed it shut behind you, before you allowed yourself to peer up at him. He was a burly guy, but soft around the edges. You had no idea if he was in his forties or sixties, since he had one of those faces that were sort of stuck in time. He spoke like a character straight out of Taxi Driver. 

“What the hell happened, huh?” he asked gently, patting you on your shoulders sturdily. 

You sighed. “Carmen. He’s in the restaurant,” you said. 

“Carmy’s here?” Paulie exclaimed, as he frantically looked around the kitchen. “Guys, Carmy’s here!” he yelled. A few of the chefs, who’d been employed here for time, started muttering loudly. 

Paulie’s joy only made you feel worse, but you didn’t hold it against him. Carm had been a staple here all those years before, and had taught a lot of the guys all that they knew about their role. Literally. “Table twenty,” you said. “Knock yourselves out.”

Service stopped momentarily as Paulie and two other chefs made their way out to the restaurant. You stayed back, and peered through the kitchen window. Beyond the bar, you saw Paulie exclaim as Carmen stood up and shook his hand. They hugged like bears, and he introduced Sydney to them all. 

Paulie’s voice was one that carried, so it was impossible not to hear every note of their conversation from where you were. “We’ll whip you up your old favourites. You still like salmon?” Paulie went on, and Carmen nodded and smiled in appreciation the entire time. 

You composed yourself as best as you could, before you left the kitchen. You grabbed their drinks, already prepared, on the bar, and gently shoved yourself through to their table. 

“Aye, aye, aye– we have hungry people waiting, Paulie!” you said, allowing yourself to don a small smile as you gently set down their drinks. “Come on now, back to work, chefs!” 

Paulie squeezed Carmen’s shoulder, before he gestured to you. “She’s practically the boss around here now, Carmy. The big boss,” he said. Carmen gently met your eye, but you looked away as fast as you could. 

“Alright, alright. Big boss says three orders of french toast on the fly, chef,” you said, grinning as Paulie held up his hands defensively. 

“I’m going, I’m going,” he said, as he started treading back towards the kitchen. “Good to see you, Carmy!” he boomed. 

“You too, Paulie,” Carmen said, before he awkwardly sat back down and tucked himself in. 

You caught your breath again, as you cleared your throat. “So, it seems our chef has already picked your order for you. Can I get you guys anything else that he didn’t mention?”

“Uh, yeah,” Sydney said, pointing to the menu. “What is this exactly?”

You read the words just above her fingertip, and your gut dropped. Tangerine salade. You were torn between wanting to laugh maniacally, or leave and never return to the diner. Carmen’s eyes widened in realisation at Sydney’s request. 

“Oh, it’s–”

“It’s–”

You and Carmen stopped talking when you heard the other start. You’d both gone to explain the dish– if it could even be called a dish. You held your breath abruptly and took a small step back. Part of you wondered if he remembered the entire meaning, but you weren’t about to explain it all in great detail. Not when it didn’t feel as special anymore. 

“I’m sorry, you tell us. Please.” Carmen shut his mouth and sat back, as if he was on best behaviour. 

“It’s exactly what it says,” you said. “Tangerine salad. Two fresh tangerines, cut into slices like big oranges, instead of peeled and segmented.”

Sydney smiled, amused. “Where did that come from?” 

It came from Carmen. You had a habit of stealing fruit from the walk-in, when you realised you hadn’t eaten on a shift. Tangerines were always ordered, but hardly ever used, so there was always an abundance of them, destined to rot. 

Carmen caught you everytime, eating them like orange slices, just so they were quicker and easier to scoff down during a rush. The juice didn’t get on your hands as much, and you enjoyed the vibrant colour they produced over the white pith that covered their segments when peeled. Carmen had taken it upon himself to add a new item during a menu refresh in the early days. Tangerine salade was born, and neither you, nor Paulie, had ever thought to get rid of it. Even after all this time.

“Why did you call it that?” you asked Carmen, gobsmacked to see it on the menu for the first time, all those years before.

“Salad didn’t sound as good as salade,” he explained. 

“You chefs and your obsession with French words, huh?” you joked, as you rounded his station and dropped the menu down upon the pristine surface. “This is sweet, Carmy. Sweet, but unnecessary.”

“Not true,” he countered, bashing his shoulder into yours playfully. “Now that it’s on the menu, it’s got a button on the system. Whenever you need a tangerine just punch it through, and we’ll have two of ‘em, waiting for you when you get a moment to fucking breathe.” 

You felt Carmen’s stare on you at Sydney’s question, and forced yourself to suck in a breath and come back to reality. “Tangerine salad is our version of McDonalds apple slice bags. For the kids,” you lied, but nevertheless kept a smile stamped on your face. Carmen looked positively pale at your response. “They’re good fucking tangerines, though,” you added, and Sydney chuckled in surprise. 

“Okay, I need to try these tangerines,” she said. 

“One order of tangerine salade, on top of all the rest, sure.” You made a quick note on your order slip, even though you didn’t need to. It was just a way to avoid Carmen’s stare even further. 

For the rest of the lunch rush, you pretended like he wasn’t there. You did the rounds, topping up cups of coffee, and rushing fresh dishes and dirty plates to and from the kitchen. You stayed on top of admin when you got a spare moment at the host stand, and scrolled through invoices from suppliers. 

Without meaning to, you’d stayed at Lucky Strike Diner for seven years. It was life for you now. You lived a few blocks away, through the park, but having an apartment felt like a waste when you practically lived in the restaurant. 

You and Carmen had talked about so much, when you’d both been confined to these walls. What lay beyond for both of you. His dream to cook in top restaurants, and eventually build his own restaurant from the ground up. You didn’t really have any dreams, just the security and stability of a good life, and good people around you, but you indulged whenever he mentioned his own place. 

“Well, if you ever need a front of house manager, you know where to find me,” you joked, as you wiped down the bar at the end of the day. Carmen poked his head through the kitchen window. 

“Why don’t we do it, then?” he asked abruptly. You stopped wiping the surfaces, and turned around to face him. “Open our own restaurant.”

“Oh, man, I don’t know. Money, taxes, insurance, money,” you listed off, and he tossed a wet cloth at your face. You dodged it, and watched it crash onto one of the restaurant tables. “Hey!” You turned back, shooting him an amused grin. 

“You’re too much of a fucking realist,” he said, as he made his way out of the kitchen and into the restaurant. 

“And you’re too much of a fucking dreamer. These things take time, Carmy.”

“I know that,” he said, as he grabbed the cloth he’d thrown. He approached the bar, and leaned over it, bridging the gap between your faces. “We could still do it, though. Have our own place. Cook our own menu.”

You smiled at his words, and rearranged the napkin holders next to him. “Can’t do that when you’re about to join the big leagues,” you said, and Carmen slid off the bar. 

“You’re gonna fucking jinx it!” he wailed.

“It’s called manifesting!” you exclaimed. “You’re gonna get the fucking job, Carm.” He pulled out a chair from one of the tables and dropped into it melodramatically. 

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll see,” he muttered. “You think Paulie will still talk to me if I leave?”

You were the one to throw your cloth at him now, and it hit him square in his face with a slap sound. You smacked your hands over your mouth in surprise, before you tried and failed to stop chuckles from cascading out of your mouth. 

“I’m sorry–” you started, rounding the bar. 

Carmen slid the cloth off his face. “You’re fucking funny,” he said sarcastically. 

“I’m sorry, Carmy, really,” you said through chuckles, as you dropped yourself into the chair opposite him. You took the cloth from his hands, and gently squeezed his hand in apology. 

A comfortable silence, one that you’d grown accustomed to over the past eight months, descended upon the two of you. All you could hear was the playful pounding of your hearts and the soft way he breathed. It was a relaxing sound. 

“You’re gonna get it,” you said again, and Carmen only had eyes for you then. “And when you do, I can’t wait to go and eat the best meal of my fucking life.”

Carmen smiled. He’d always been shy, always quiet, unless he was in the kitchen. “My brother has a restaurant, back in Chicago. When I finished culinary school, I really thought he’d let me join him, you know? It could be a family restaurant. We could run it together, or something,” he said. You hooked onto his every word. “But, he told me no. Said he didn’t want me anywhere near it, and– I don’t know. I think that’s why I came here.”

You bit your lip, inhaling his words. “Family will always be our harshest critics,” you said.

Carmen scoffed, rubbing his tired eyes with his hands. “You can fucking say that again.”

“You know, my sister lives in Chicago,” you said. 

Carmen leant forward. “Really?”

You hummed. “Has for a few years now. My mom didn’t like it when she told us she was moving, but.” You shrugged. “That’s just because my mom has never lived anywhere else than here.”

“Yeah, my own wasn’t thrilled about me coming to New York, either,” Carmen said, before he huffed in dark amusement. “It’s funny. She hates us, my brother and sister and I, when we’re around, when we complain, when we do anything– but she also hates it when we all wanna get the fuck out because of it.”

You smiled at him softly, in understanding. “They fuck you up, don’t they?”

Carmen flicked his gaze over your features. “You don’t seem fucked up to me,” he said gently. 

“Give it time,” you said. Smiles slowly appeared on both of your faces, until laughter trickled from your mouths like drops from a tap. “One day you’ll realise just how messed up I am,” you joked. 

“Is that a challenge?” Carmen questioned. 

You scoffed, and raised your hands up defensively. “Fuck no. I don’t want to tempt fate when it comes to how fucked up chefs can be.”

Carmen pointed at you abruptly, sternly, but there was amusement all over his face. “That is an untrue stereotype,” he said. “Not all of us snort coke.”

“All?” you asked.

“Well.” He leaned closer to you, stretching his arms across the table. “Not me.” 

You regarded him softly. You hardly got the chance to do this during service; just look at him. Hold his gaze, feel him close. You would never admit it, but having Carmen around was a constant over the past months that comforted you. You liked having him near, liked seeing him practically everyday, and it was clear that you got on enough to talk bullshit with each other. 

When you got home that evening, way past midnight, you opened up your laptop and went to the Union Square Cafe website. You hovered your mouse over the reservations tab, thinking something crazy. 

Carmen hadn’t heard back from the restaurant yet, but he’d only applied as the CDC there a number of days before. You knew he was going to get it, and felt it deep within your soul. That feeling is what lead you to book yourself a solo dinner, for the first available date you could possibly find– a years’ time.

You knew that, by the time that year was up and you were sitting at your table, Carmen would be in the kitchen, cooking your meal. You didn’t tell him about it either, but kept it to yourself for the remainder of his time at the diner. 

You’d been right, when within a month, he’d gone through a rigorous interview process and landed the position and USC. Paulie had faked being mad, but it was clear to see the immense admiration he had for the young Carmen Berzatto. When his last shift approached, you had secretly arranged a goodbye celebration. At the end of a long Saturday, as you and Carmen shut up the diner and headed out, you were ambushed by the servers and chefs as you tread through the park. 

Drinks and laughs were shared at your apartment across the way. It was the most you’d seen Carmen socialise in the time you’d known him, but he didn’t look uncomfortable once. He knew he had a support system behind him from the diner– and from you, predominantly. When the moon shone down onto your building, you found yourself out on your fire escape with a beer bottle in your hand. You looked up at the stars, and only looked away when someone shuffled out of the window and sat next to you. 

Carmen crossed his legs next to you, and gulped down his own beer contentedly. You turned to him and smiled fully, overly excited for him to start his new endeavour. 

He huffed at you softly. “You didn’t have to do this, you know,” he said. 

“I know,” you replied. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t want to.”

Carmen shuffled awkwardly next to you. “I know, I know, it’s just–”

“For once, you need to be okay with being the centre of attention, okay? Deal with it.” You hit back, and laughed when you saw the way his eyes widened at your tenacity. “We’re so excited for you, Carm.”

Carmen nodded, and allowed himself to accept all of your praise, just this once. “I’m excited, too,” he whispered. “I can’t believe I got it.”

“I can,” you said. “If you don’t get some type of chef award in the next year then I’ll be surprised.” 

Carmen laughed. “Chef award?”

“You know, like ‘Best New Chef On The Block’, or ‘Shyest Chef In The Business’, or–”

“Enough, enough,” he let out, chuckling. You weren’t done yet, however. 

“Or the James Beard award.” 

He scoffed. “Bullshit.”

“It’s called mani–”

“Manifesting!” Carmen finished your sentence for you, imitating your past words. You leaned against the wall in awe at his playfulness. 

“So, you do listen to me sometimes, huh?”

“I guess I do,” he said, and shot you a knowing smile. You held his gaze when he gave it to you, because it was somewhat of a rare thing. 

Maybe you’d always been too out there for Carmen, but he’d learned to live alongside you despite it. You were glad about that. You enjoyed his company more than you’d ever say to his face, and despite being so happy for him to leave the diner, part of you was aching at the thought of his absence. 

You flicked your gaze over his face, taking in his features. He had a strong nose, and the kind of cheekbones that they talked about in women’s magazines. His eyes, though– God, his eyes– they were so blue that they looked artificial in some lights. Like the kind of blue food colouring you put in cake icing. Alarming, but also impossible to shy away from when he was properly looking at you. 

He swallowed, and his Adam’s apple shifted in his throat. “I’m gonna miss you,” he said, almost croaking out the words. Your heart melted. Your brows furrowed softly. Your chest compressed. You let out a shaking breath through your nose. 

“I’m gonna miss you, too, Carmy,” you let out. It felt like the best and worst kind of goodbye. 

You hadn’t thought about that day in years. The last time you had, it was after your reservation at USC the year after. Coincidentally, that was the last time you’d seen Carmen Berzatto too, until he showed up at the diner and plummeted you back to those thoughts from those previous years. 

As the lunch rush died down, you wiped the bar down from lack of what else to do. In the corner, Carmen and Sydney were finishing up their meal. Sydney had made an abundance of notes in a small notebook, while Carmen talked in hushed tones and spilled all the old diner secrets. With his hands clasped on the table before him, used napkin to his left, plates practically licked clean, he turned himself around to glance around the restaurant. 

You sucked in a sharp breath when his eyes hit yours. You almost froze, but remembered yourself as much as you could. You tensed, and looked away first quickly. You smacked your hands down on the counter when you looked to the kitchen, and caught Paulie’s eyes. “I’m going for a smoke!” you announced, before you slipped off your apron quickly. 

“Those things will kill you!” Paulie exclaimed back, his voice booming across the restaurant floor. 

“Maybe that’s the point,” you muttered to yourself, as you headed towards the back door of the diner. You slipped a cigarette between your lips on the way.

Carmen’s gaze followed you as you disappeared through the door. Sydney saw it all as she sat opposite him, and had the strangest urge to give him guidance. 

“So, shall we get outta here?” she asked. Carmen’s attention was still on the door. 

“Uh, yeah,” he said, but his mind was still elsewhere. “Just– give me one second,” he said, as he stood up from the table. He started towards the door, and Sydney grabbed his wrist abruptly. Carmen froze, and looked down at her. 

“Don’t push her,” Sydney said suddenly. “I don’t know what shit you guys have going on, but I’m good at reading faces. Just don’t push her too hard, Carm.” 

Carmen regarded her thoughtfully. He nodded. Then, he was gone.

PART TWO

[qqueenofhades]

For the last two nights, I have been locked in a deadly battle against the sadistic smoke alarm in my bedroom. I have emerged victorious, but it has been a close-run and deeply humiliating thing. Let me take you on a stupid, stupid journey.

Flashback: The night before last, I am woken out of a dead sleep at 5am by the persistently and maddeningly consistent chirp of a low-battery smoke alarm. You know the one: [Thirty seconds of blissful silence] CHIRP. [Thirty seconds of confused but slightly less blissful silence] CHIRP. [Thirty seconds of hopeful silence that maybe it's done n -- ] CHIRP.

Anyway. I tried to ignore it for a bit. This did not work. I hoped it would go away. This also did not work. I finally get out of bed and angrily lumber around the apartment, stick my head out the front door, etc, looking for the source. Finally, I seize upon the hallway smoke alarm and vengefully remove the battery, deciding that if I therefore die in a fire in the next three hours, this is a worthwhile sacrifice. (Sidenote that will become important later: The bedroom smoke alarm is located less than a foot from the hallway smoke alarm. Did I walk right past it? Multiple times? Apparently so.)

Falsely confident that I have solved the problem, I get back in bed. Surely this is now totally --

CHIRP.

I contemplate homicide. I think the noise is surely coming from one of my neighbors' units and wonder why they are so stupid as not to know that there is a frigging alarm going off constantly and disturbing my sleep and probably theirs. I figure that while I might be going crazy and hearing things which are not there, it's probably the case that someone else can hear it too. Finally, I appear to be vindicated in this assumption when the infernal cheeping finally stops and I am able to fall soundly back to sleep for another three hours. When I wake up, it remains quiet. All day, in fact!

Ha! I think. Problem solved.

I am incorrect.

Last night: I get ready for bed. I get in bed, I am awake for a bit, and then lo, it starts again, at literally midnight. Thirty seconds [CHIRP]. Thirty seconds [CHIRP]. Thirty seconds, [CHIRP].

I don't know why it wants to make me suffer in this way. We have established that for whatever reason it decided to hold its fire over the last entire day, it was nothing whatsoever to do with anything I did. I don't know why it decided to resume at LITERALLY MIDNIGHT instead of, you know, any other hour where I would be better equipped to discover the source of this nocturnal demonic howling, but I suspect this is my penance. I once more attempt to ignore it. Turn up the white noise machine and put in the earplugs. Remind myself that I have started meditating lately, maybe I can use that!

It does not work.

I attempt to figure out whether it is coming from the next door neighbors or the upstairs neighbors. GET UP AND TURN IT OFF, I think in great vexation. Nope. Still nothing. It keeps going. I contemplate the folly of all human existence.

Finally, once more driven to extremes, I get up and AGAIN lumber all the way around the apartment, like an angry sleep-deprived zombie, to try and fail to discover the source of this infernal bellowing. As most of you know, I am about to start my fourth graduate degree. Habitually and fondly, I consider myself somewhat smarter than the average potted plant. This however continues to avail me nothing. I compose angry emails in my head to the maintenance department, which said they had fixed a similar problem and then didn't. WHY ARE MY NEIGHBORS SO DUMB, I wonder. THAT IS CLEARLY IN THEIR UNIT AND THEY SHOULD TURN IT OFF.

I get back in bed. I take a sleeping pill. Either that works or the cacophony mysteriously subsides for a while, because I get to sleep for about four hours and have weird, smoke-alarm-inflected dreams. I wake up again this morning. It is still beeping. How bad, I think, could it really be if I burned this place down?

Finally, I give up. I get up. I turn off the white noise machine and take out the earplugs. Wow, I think. This noise truly is so loud. Is it possibly in my apartment after all? I remember that like a true Luddite, my preferred superpower would be to smash all noise-making machines. Yes, I am approximately ninety years old in almost every way. Let's not dwell on it.

I light upon the bedroom smoke detector. I narrow my eyes.

I spring forth and disembowel the culprit of its battery.

At last! For the first time in forty-eight hours! Blessed silence falls upon my abode! I stare at the cursed machine. The inside of the battery compartment reads CAUTION: ALARM IS NONFUNCTIONAL WITH BATTERY REMOVED.

"YES," I bellow, in my angry and confused sleep-deprived caveman haze. "YES, THAT IS PRESENTLY MY EXACT INTENTION."

Silence. Finally. Except for the sound of another alarm chirping somewhere in the distance, as it has done for several weeks now, but quietly enough that I can mostly tune it out. I will purchase a new battery when I am out today, but etc etc if I die in a fire in the next three hours, you may assume the sadistic smoke alarm has taught me its final lesson.

So. There you go. There is no moral to this story except a) the call was indeed coming from inside the house, b) Share O My Toils, Tumblr; and c) sometimes it is indeed you. The angry groggy moron lumbering around at the dead of night and attempting to break things in a vain effort to shut them up, wondering why their neighbors won't get up and turn it off instead, is sometimes just you.

Tonight, at last, I will sleep in peace. Until I once more become Frodo of the Shire, One Who Has Seen The Eye (of the demonically possessed smoke detector).

[haveihitanerve]

Everyone, I require your original six avengers headcannons. They can be sweet, they can be angsty, they can be gay, they can be platonic (i would prefer them sweet and platonic but really whatever floats your boat) but they must include the og six avengers

I shall begin

Some original six avengers headcanons-

Tony steals everyones clothes. Steve gets annoyed by it because ‘clothes are so goddamn expensive nowadays Stark!!! Stop stealing my shirts you have your own!” nat is amused by it but gets violent when Tony insists he should get to keep it because he ‘wears it better’ clint gets very good at wearing certain clothes to get tony to wear them and tries to see how insane he can get before tony stops taking his clothes, but so far tony has not let up. Thor sees it as amusing and offers him certain garments that go well together. Bruce sees it as an honor and likes being included so he specially buys nice clothes to entice tony to keep taking his

Steve cannot sleep until hes checked that everyone else is asleep or at least safe(if they're like not at the tower or smth), which is a little bit of a problem when he lives with Tony freaking Sleep is for the weak Stark, but it does also mean Steve forces tony to sleep more so thats a plus

Thor forgets his own strength sometimes and after the first shattered wall Tony reinforced everything for him, and thor got so excited that he can use his normal strength, except as a prank tony actually underenforced a wall and the look on thor's face when it broke in half after he lightly tapped it will forever be a meme with them

They have monthly meetings that are supposed to be like ‘mission report’ meetings but really its just a catch up and gossip session

Clint, nat, and tony have a ‘human club’ and they specifically exclude the other three because they are technically not humans, and its literally just them going to spas together or grabbing a drink as a unit, and its literally only still alive because its so fun to hear steve argue that “Im human!!!!” also, just to antagonize him further they admitted Bruce into the ‘club’ and steve almost broke a table in outrage. Bruce was amused, thor was cackling and steve was near tears.

None of them ask tony to improve or build something for them, they just put a prototype or blueprints or make very very not subtle hints until he is fully captivated by the idea and does it for them and then shoves the item/items/thing into their arms when hes done and tony knows hes being used but most of the time they are actually good ideas and he cant not build them plus he likes doing stuff for them

Nat taught all of them ballet

They play darts almost every night merely because clint is an absolute unit at it (of course) and tony is convinced every time that he’ll somehow beat him

They feel comfortable sharing their trauma with each other

 Its a tradition at least once a year to get shawarma together no matter where they are they all get together to go to the same place every time

Clint is the only one in their group who actually knows how to cook so he cooks for them like once a month and then they attempt to bake him a cake or something but it usually ends with a last minute run to the store and the oven exploded (tony does succeed at making icing only to write on the store made cake “sorry we’re such a headache #human club 4ever”)

They are unironically all each others favorite heroes. 

Tony made them all these indestructible wallets that are small and compact and they each individual printed out the same picture of the six of them and keep it in their wallets to look at when they're apart

The language joke died out among the other avengers but they still use it all the time. Even steve even though its aimed at him

When tony passes out after working himself into the ground he’s still tense and wound up even while asleep, unless one of the others is the one to find him and carry him to bed, then he relaxes. 

They are all Morgans god fathers/mother

Clint did make nat his eldests godmother but tony and steve are his second oldests godfathers even though they didn't know he existed but now that they do they spoil him

Thor and bruce are nathaniel's godfathers

Steve is afraid of spiders. Imagine with that what you will. 

Tony is afraid of cockroaches

Clint is afraid of clowns

Thor is afraid of cats

Natasha is not afraid of anything(yes she is- broccoli)

Steve got tony a box of cockroaches, tony put fake spiders in the fridge, clint gifted thor a cat for christmas, and they all dressed as clowns for a mission once

To mock thor tony once made everyone a cape but the god was actually psyched to see them wear capes too and honestly the capes were amazing because tony made them and clint still uses his sometimes

Clint is honestly the funniest in the group and will roast the shit out of all of them at the drop of a hat

He and tony once got into a yo mama contest that lasted two weeks(no clear winner but the others will claim the other won when one of them is pissing them off)

Steve will casually hold up his hand and steal mjolnir from thor just to be a little bitch

They each celebrate the others birthdays but they cant do it normally nah they have to go extra, especially for people outside the og six like- its visions birthday? Hey tony do you have some rocket boosters? Yeah? Okay clint talk to the news we’re gonna lift a city and have a massive party for vision on it, but no threat of a meteor this time.

[linkemon]

Home (Zuko x Reader)

Friendly reminder that English is not my first language. You can check my Masterlists both in English and Polish here. Consider supporting me on Ko-fi. You can also check out my commissions if you’re interested.

Other oneshots can be found here.

"ʜᴇ ʟᴏᴏᴋᴇᴅ ᴀᴛ [ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ]. ʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴢᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ ʜᴀᴅ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴡʀᴏɴɢ ꜱᴏ ꜰᴀʀ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ʜᴏᴜꜱᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ ꜱʜᴀᴘᴇꜱ, ᴄᴏʟᴏᴜʀꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱᴍᴇʟʟꜱ ʙᴜᴛ ʙʏ ʜᴇʀ. ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ʜᴇʀ, ɴᴏɴᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ɪᴍᴀɢᴇꜱ ꜰʟᴀꜱʜɪɴɢ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ʜɪꜱ ʜᴇᴀᴅ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴇxɪꜱᴛ."

— I'd like a refill of jasmine tea. — Iroh was happily lounging on the couch.

Zuko sighed. His uncle looked almost healthy. He could make the brew himself. However, he willingly took advantage of the privileges of a sick person. The boy was forced to jump around him and serve him. He adjusted the pillows, listened to the nagging and also prepared drinks. The latter took the most time. Iroh was an expert and as a result, he was not satisfied with the first drink he came across. Usually [Reader] saved the situation. As a healer, she knew these things. In addition, she quickly became the favourite of the Dragon of the West.

The prince headed towards the kitchen. He hoped he would find the tray soon. The little temple was truly beautiful but there was a happy mess everywhere. Some rooms were used for drying herbs, others were converted into granaries and others into sick rooms. During the war, this must have been of particular importance. Currently, the only people who visited here were those from the villages below the hill. And now he and his injured uncle too.

[Reader] found them unconscious in the nearby forest. A chance encounter with a unit of Earth Kingdom soldiers ended in disaster. The boy's cuts and bruises healed quickly but he had strained his fire magic. The first day he woke up, he felt a strange emptiness. He couldn't do anything. There was no question of searching for the Avatar in this state. Only three days ago he managed to create a flame large enough to burn the wood in the fireplace. The healer, like Iroh, claimed that the condition of his tired soul was responsible for his illness. So, to heal it, he did all sorts of things. Starting with weeding the garden, sorting medicines and ending with cleaning up after Aiiro. The big, blue peacock gave him the most problems. The extremely proud animal did not like to move. He had to push it as hard as he could to get it to move. Sometimes it even snapped its beak but it never hurt him. After feeding, he felt like hitting it with a broom but he always remembered that it was that thing that had brought him to the temple, so he refrained.

Zuko took the tea leaves, the kettle and the clay cups. He put it all on the tray and headed back towards the living room. However, a familiar voice caught his attention:

— I'll say it one last time. They are my guests. You have no right to demand that I hand them over! — [Reader] was standing at the entrance to the temple.

— Consider this, even if we leave them alone according to the law, they can still convict you of treason. I say this as a friend.

The prince looked at the man behind the door. Slightly worn, green clothes and a straw hat marked the farmer. He must have come from Hefei. There were no other settlements nearby large enough to farm.

— Is this a threat? — The girl clenched her fist. — My family has been serving people for generations. We don't ask who they are, we just treat them. My grandmother delivered your mother, my mother delivered you and I delivered your children...

— That's different! They murdered innocent people! Our entire nation suffers because of them! — Hate burned in the man's eyes.

Zuko knew that look well. Almost everyone looked at him that way. The Earth Nation, the Water Nation, the Fire Nation after they were banished, the Avatar, his sister and most of all, his father. Everyone wanted him gone. He missed his mother. He had the feeling that apart from his uncle, she was the only one who truly loved him. And now he met [Reader] and for the first time in a long time he felt that someone had truly dismissed his mistakes. She looked at him, believing that he had changed, even though she knew how much evil he had done in the past. It was like a warm ray of sunshine after a long winter. That's why he froze with his tray, listening for the answer. He was scared. However, it was not that if he was extradited, he should run away. He was afraid of rejection. A girl standing a few steps away gave him hope. He didn't want to lose her.

— Go away! — The healer pointed to the stairs.

— Pack your bags!

— Are they coming for us? What a pity. I didn't have time to finish my tea. - The general put down his cup sadly.

Zuko was used to his uncle's calmness but [Reader's] composure told him something was wrong.

— Why aren't you packing? — he asked, leading Aiiro out.

— Because I'm not going anywhere. — The girl calmly handed him the saddle.

The prince froze as he reached for the item.

— You're not serious, are you?

— My family has lived here for generations. It is my house. We even survived the Fire Nation War. I will stay here like everyone before me.

The healer passed the boy and began to saddle the peacock. The bird sensed anxiety. He began to pace impatiently in place.

— It's stupid!

— Do you think years of tradition are stupid?

— Yes! If there's a chance you'll die from it, then yes!

Zuko grabbed the strap of his bag. He squeezed it as tight as he could.

— You can heal people anywhere — he added. — I think your ancestors would have wanted you to do this, even if not in this temple.

— I won't be able to help. There are all the plants and books here and…— Her voice broke. — Here's everything I know, Zuko. I grew up here. How do I leave it? — Tears welled up in her eyes.

— I know what it's like to leave home — he took a deep breath — but it will get better with time.

The moment of exile flashed before his eyes. When his father declared him a traitor, he lost his home. Since then, he has been desperately trying to get it back. Every step in recent years was supposed to bring him closer to his goal. His search for the Avatar brought him to this place. So did he have the right to ask her to leave? If he could turn back time, would he oppose the general? Would he agree to Agni Kai with his father? He wasn't sure. Yet he tried to force someone to voluntarily abandon their home.

He looked over the white marble columns. Over a dozen or so days, he managed to like the atmosphere of this place. The scents of lemon trees and flowers surrounded him. There were many little creatures living in the garden. He saw frogs, butterflies and birds. Even snails, although they destroyed crops. [Reader] didn't have the heart to kill them. Fat koi fish swam lazily in the pond. He felt at peace as he crossed the bridge over them. He felt like the last time he felt this feeling was when he and his mother were feeding the ducks. He was a little boy then. The times when they formed a family together with Azula and their father seemed very distant.

And now he had the impression that he was on vacation on the Amber Island again and like a child he didn't have to worry about anything. The curtains on the temple terrace fluttered slightly. He sat in the shade on soft pillows. A healer was sitting opposite him in the sun. Iroh poured tea for everyone while explaining the rules of pai sho. He set up the board, chattering happily. Zuko paid no attention to the ongoing conversation. He smelled fresh laundry. It was hanging on a string a little further away. His nose also told him that another batch of herbs was drying nearby. He took a sip of the warm drink. It had a mild, chamomile aftertaste. He bit into the cereal cookie, enjoying the crunch of the dried fruit. He glanced at [Reader] and saw Ursa for a moment. However, the impression quickly dissipated. He laughed at his uncle's weak joke as he moved his pawn. He knew he was losing because he wasn't focusing on the rules. He should be annoyed. After all, he was wasting his time and Aang was still enjoying his freedom. Still, this moment seemed too beautiful to care. The undisturbed idyll was stuck in his head. For some reason, he remembered this ordinary afternoon the best. He felt that it would come back to him again.

It was difficult for him to leave this place. It was hard for him to admit it to himself. Waking up at dawn on a cold morning, breakfasts with freshly brewed tea, hand-dug vegetables for dinner, afternoon walks in the shade of trees, afternoon teas with games, dinners by the warm fireplace and nightly reading of books — all this would now become just a memory. He knew he would leave this place one day, so why did it hurt inside like he was thirteen again?

— Zuko, get in, we don't have time! — The general grabbed Aiiro's reins.

Is it really about the place? This question occupied his mind.

He looked at [Reader]. He realized that he had been wrong so far. This house was not created by shapes, colours and smells but by her. Without her, none of the images flashing through his head would exist.

The boy threw all his supplies out of the bag and handed it to the girl.

— What are you...

— Take all the seeds and books you can fit in here. We will hold them until your return! — The flame flared up above the prince's fingertips.

— Better late than never! — Iroh, pleased, pointed to his nephew's fire.

Was this the balance they talked about so much? Now had his soul finally found a good reason to release the embers?

He created a wall of fire. It burned as brightly as when he fought Azula. He felt strangely calm. There was no nervous, battle fever about it. It was replaced by composure mixed with the belief that what he was doing was right.

Zuko looked up. That night, the starry sky was decorated with hundreds of constellations. The moon lit the way and the dense summer beneath them. Aiiro flapped his powerful wings, creating strong gusts of air. Uncle's loud snoring could be heard from the saddle.

— Zuko. — The girl's quiet voice woke him from his thoughts.

— You're not sleeping yet? — he sighed.

— I could not fall asleep. — She moved closer.

Up there it was hard to hear what others were saying. The wind effectively drowned out the words.

— Me neither — he admitted.

He knew it would be a long time before he forgot about the hill temple. The envious inhabitants of Hefei used his fire in anger. They burned everything that could be destroyed. From the peacock's back he saw first a burning glow and then thick, gray smoke. Ash danced in the cool air along with shreds of pages from ancient books.

— Thank you. — [Reader] wrapped the blanket tighter around herself.

— What for? For burning down your house? — There was regret in his voice.

— You know very well that you didn't burn it.

The prince knew that what she was saying was true. And yet he didn't realize how much he needed to hear it from her.

— If I had stayed there, who knows…— She looked behind her. — Maybe I wouldn't be here anymore.

— I couldn't leave you there because…— The unspoken words hung between them.

He was afraid of another loss. That was the truth. He managed to trust someone and didn't want to face the pain again.

The healer spread her arms. He tentatively snuggled into her. She still smelled of flowers and herbs. Her hair tickled his face. For the first time in years, he allowed himself to cry. He didn't know why he was crying anymore. Was it from longing for a temple or a palace? Was it for family and a future that could never exist or for [Reader] who could be dead? Was he crying for himself or for others? It didn't matter. He sobbed like a little child, who deep inside he still was. In the cool air, hundreds of meters above the ground, the firebender found warmth.

[queenshelby]

Yes! Mr Murphy (Rewritten)

PART FOUR: THE ESSAY

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Angst, Age Gap, Teacher x Student, Mentions of Depression, Anxiety 

PLEASE COMMENT AND ENGAGE!

PLEASE NOTE THAT I HAVE REWRITTEN THIS STORY AND PART TWO CAN BE FOUND HERE (rewritten).

A week had passed and you had settled back into drama school without any problem whatsoever which, to you and your best friend Emma, was a surprise.

You had told Emma everything. You told her about the night you spent with Cillian three weeks ago, you told her about who he was and you told her exactly how you felt about this man being your lecturer now. It bothered you and you desperately wanted to quit, feeling torn about the attraction you still felt towards him while being with James.

Luckily for you, however, Emma was the voice of reason. Like always, she supported you, retained your secrets and reminded you that it would just be for four months and then he would move on and so would you. The semester would be over by the end of November. It was your final one and you would probably not see him again after that.

“Don’t forget that you are on a scholarship. You need this and, no doubt, this class will help you with your acting skills” is what Emma reminded you of and, since you were grateful for the place you were in these days, you agreed with her. She was right. You needed this in order to leave your past behind as, just like Emma, you went through the so called “foster system” in the US which was nothing short of horrific.

Both, Emma and you immigrated to the United States without a family to support you. You arrived as refugees at the same processing centre when you were just ten years old, making you both unsuitable for adoption which was largely due to the fact that most families approved for adoption wanted babies or toddlers under the age of three.

As such, you both moved from one foster home to another and the last of them was the worst for you. Your so-called foster parents were strict and any time you did not obey to their rules, you were punished for it. Food was withheld from you and, on occasion, you were even beaten to the point where your skin turned blue. During this time, you had been to hospital five times and no matter how often you complained, nothing changed until you ran away.

You had nowhere to stay for a while and then, when you turned sixteen, you moved out into a home designed for girls like you. It was a home for young women who went through abuse and this was exactly where, after several years, you reunited with Emma.

The facility provided excellent care for anyone who needed it but, on occasion, you felt somewhat worthless and ashamed about having lived there. Thus, you eventually took not one, but three jobs while furthering your studies at night through a state-run school. You moved out shortly after that and the college you went through helped you and Emma to apply for a scholarship abroad.

Together with eight other students in the state, you received some funding to attend different universities and schools across Europe, for which the ones based in Dublin became your choice.

Unlike London, Dublin was affordable for you both. You were now sharing a tiny studio apartment, and the money you received alongside your scholarship helped a lot.

You were an excellent dancer and, because of it, you now only had to have one rather than three jobs to support yourself, making your life relatively easy in comparison to your past.

In accordance to James and Lorraine however, who were rich and entitled, you still worked too hard. You had nothing in common with them and, even though James had been dating you for years, he always criticised you and your life choices.

He criticised you for having run away from your foster-home. He criticised you for working forty hours per week and he criticised you for saving money almost religiously.

On occasion, he also criticized your looks and the fact that you dressed too plainly. Your clothes were largely second hand, a mix of denim, sneakers, and plain coloured shirts. You owned two dresses, both black and wearing make-up was a rarity for you and you were told by your boyfriend that you should be making more of an effort for him.

But then, why should you? He never made an effort for you and being with him made you wonder whether you could ever leave your past behind. He had no idea how good his life had been while the memories of your past kept haunting you, playing with your mind.

You reflected on your past quite often. It was what kept you grounded even when you were around people like James and Lorraine. But speaking about this pain was something you struggled to do ever since you opened up to James about your upbringing. It was almost like he was embarrassed by you because if it and this hurt more than the bruises you sustained all those years ago.

Unfortunately for you though, reflecting on your past was something you were required to do as part of your first essay in PRAC300. You had to write about yourself, in a creative kind of way, drawing parallels between any painful events you encountered and a fictional character you were reading about. You had to write about how you felt in the midst of a difficult situation and then describe how you would show your emotions about such events in front of others.

Why this was relevant to your acting skills you did not know, but you wrote down what you thought anyway without putting much effort into your work. You made something up and when you submitted the paper to Cillian, you also chose to ask him about the curriculum for this unit moving forward. Again, you were playing with the idea of quitting now, but you weren’t quite sure how.  

Until such day, you had largely ignored him and he had ignored you. In class, he pretended that you did not exist and rarely ever called you out to answer any questions. Without your knowledge though, this was his very own defence mechanism. It was his way of coping while he adjusted to the fact that he was meant to be teaching you now and by asking him about the essay and upcoming unit content, you took him off guard.

**

In addition to your questions about the curriculum though, today was also the day where, even if this particular essay was not in play, you could no longer have ignored him as, just last night, photos of him on a date with a fellow actress emerged on Twitter.

Of course, you took no interest in Twitter, but other disappointed students like Lorraine shared this information with you before class. The actresses’ name was Sophie O’Callum and she was currently filming in Dublin. Sophie was in her late thirties which, to you, seemed like an appropriate age for Cillian. She was blonde, skinny and incredibly good looking, creating a fair bit of jealously amongst your peers and this emerging jealousy quickly became evident to you during class.

Usurpingly, after hearing the news, Lorraine was rather upset about the date. She was now trying it on hard with your fellow lecturer and this, in itself, became amusing when Cillian shut her down.

It was obvious to you that he was annoyed by her and whilst you felt sorry for her, you also secretly enjoyed the fact that he retained his professionalism in class especially when Lorraine made advances towards him.

But, that’s not to say that you were not a little jealous too about Cillian’s date with an equally famous actress and you did not know why. You only ever slept with Cillian once and the fact that he was seeing someone else should not have bothered you. But did it. It upset you and, thus, when you finally walked into his office after class to ask him about the essay and unit content, you had to put on an act. You had to pretend that you did not care about his date and, for all you knew, he probably bought it.

***

“Hey Y/N, how can I help you?” Cillian asked after you walked into his office before shutting the door behind you.

“You look like you had a big night” you observed while watching him rub his eyes for the millionth time that day. He did this all throughout class and now he did it again, right in front of you.  

“What makes you say that?” he wondered.

“You look a bit dusty” you pointed out with a giggle in order to lighten the mood.

“I may have had a few too many pints, but don’t tell the dean, alright?” Cillian teased, knowing that you would not say a word to the school’s principal.  

“As if I would” you pointed out nonetheless before bringing up his date. “Although, you do realise that the pictures of you and Sophie O’Callum are all over the internet, right? You both looked drunk and knackered” you laughed but Cillian simply furrowed his eyebrows.

“Seriously?” he asked after picking up his phone and googling himself.

“Don’t you follow yourself on socials?” you wondered as you watched what he was doing.

“I don’t have social media” Cillian chuckled before telling you that he was too old for it, which was a comment that amused it.

“Oh please” you laughed which was when he quickly and somewhat unexpectedly addressed the rumours he was reading.

“Just for the record though, this was not a date. We went out for drinks and then we went our separate ways” he pointed out and, whilst you secretly felt relieved about what he was saying, you put on your acting hat and furrowed your eyebrows.

“And you are telling me this why?” you asked as if you were not interested in what he had to say and Cillian bought it and snapped out of it.

“Good question” he said before asking why you were in here to see him.

“I have a question about the essay which I handed in earlier today” you said before carrying on. “How are my emotions relevant to this class?” you asked and, before you could point out to him that you felt uncomfortable with the essay topic, Cillian began to explain.

“Well, learning how to act starts with learning about emotions and how to display them on screen or on stage. Often actors can draw from their own experiences and…” he said just before you interrupted him.

“But this stuff is personal” you blurted out to which Cillian simply shrug his shoulders.

“It’s part of the curriculum Y/N. I didn’t write those essay templates. I don’t even get to grade them” he informed you, causing you to sigh.

“But you will read them?” you wondered.

“Yes. I will read them and then pass them on for grading, with my comments…” Cillian began to explain and you interrupted him again.

“Fuck” you spat. “We slept with each other and I don’t want you to know about my past and my fucking emotions” you told him and, to your surprise, Cillian reacted in a gentle kind of way.

“Y/N, I won’t judge you for whatever happened to you in the past. What you write in your essay is confidential and whether we slept with each other or not is irrelevant. We both agreed to put this one-night stand behind us and that is what I am doing, alright?” he said and this was all you needed to hear before storming out of his office.

Three days later…

Three days had passed and, like most Mondays, you arrived at school early that morning. You had just been for a run, showered and sat down with your lunchbox, which is when you saw Cillian walk into the lecture hall with a cup of coffee in his hand.

He was surprised to see you there and, after putting down his mug, he approached you.

“Y/N,” he murmured almost nervously.

“Cillian. Good Morning” you smiled and, after engaging in a little small talk, he addressed the elephant in the room.

“After class, could we, maybe, talk about your essay submission please” was what he said and your heart immediately skipped a beat.

“Yes. Sure. I will see you at your office then? What time works for you?” was your response and, within seconds, you locked in a time while, the truth was, that you had no idea about what you were going to tell him. What was it that he needed to hear from you, you wondered? The truth? You weren’t going to give him that. He was better off failing you and get the professor to give you a bad grade.

So clearly, this was not going to go anywhere and, just as you were sitting in Cillian’s class again, you reflected on all the pain you felt when thinking back at when you were a young teenager.

It was this kind of pain you did not want him to know about so you sat there, awkwardly, like a pathetic loser, raising your hand, answering questions, to make up the credits that you would need after he failed your essay.

You put on act and, luckily for you, he never called you out that day. He left you be, sitting quietly at the back of the class room and then, without giving it any thought whatsoever, you were the first one out the door after a two-hour session, wanting to avoid him at all cost.

Yes, you needed to go and see him at his office. But you had no intention to actually do so, at least not now while your heart was racing and anxiety took over your anxious brain. You had no idea what to tell him and simply wanted to be left alone right now.

“Will I see you in ten?” Cillian reminded you nonetheless in passing as the students behind you were all hanging back, chatting and joking with the others. Lorraine, in particular, attempted to put on an act of her own, flirting with Cillian again.

“Yes, I will see you then” you confirmed nervously before you quickly made your way to the ladies room.

The lady’s lavatory followed a dull theme of light green. It was dated and made you feel a little nauseous.

You were nervous about meeting with Cillian about your essay and thus splashed some cold water on to your face before taking deep breaths. Then, when you looked into the mirror you saw the ghost of a girl who had died a long time ago.

Your face was gaunt and all your features were sunken in. Your eyes, once your best feature, were the only things that seemed to stand out now, as if you were just that, all vacant and lifeless. There was nothing else to look at. You were already disappearing and realised that you were all bones and baggage now, made up of shadows and secrets and nothing, nothing at all.

Then, you recalled what your dance coach had said to you just recently, telling you that you were one of the best dancers in class, but you lacked emotion. You lacked expression and you certainly lacked happiness. It was obvious to him, which is why he suggested an acting class to you. But perhaps acting skills were not what you needed. Perhaps you simply needed some happiness in your life, but felt as though you were not entitled to it.

Then you remembered, that, just a few weeks ago, you did feel alive and happy for one night only and this was the night you had spent with Cillian.

It was strange, exciting and sensual and certainly felt different to when you were with James who did not help the way you felt within your own body. You were insecure and, at least in your mind, there was nothing special about you.

Being with James was like a bad habit, just like smoking. You kept him around and went back to him simply for the fact that he provided something to you which you were familiar with. He provided structure, security and you adored his family.

But he did not excite you. Life did not excite you. It never did. It was painful to be who you were and, thus, you wanted to break every mirror in the bathroom. Every time you saw yourself you saw the sad little girl you used to be and still were, caught in this viscous cycle of negative thoughts. You were afraid to take risks because it had been enshrined in to you throughout foster care that taking risks was wrong. You lacked your very own family and love and often wondered whether your life would change one day.

Then, eventually, you locked yourself into a stall to get away from your reflection. You knew that you were nearing another mental breakdown any minute now and began to scream, quietly, but loud enough for others to hear.

It was quarter past ten now and you had been there, inside the lavatory stall, for fifteen minutes. You put your head in your hands, your fingernails digging into your face, wanting to scream but not having the nerve to do it.

Traumatising thoughts about your past visited you just like bad dreams did at night. You were losing your mind or maybe you have lost it already.

Some time passed, but you could not tell how much. You just let yourself slip away from reality for a bit but then, suddenly, the sound of the restroom door swishing open made you jump, startling you out of your mad, mad thoughts. A familiar pair of brown leather shoes came to stop outside of your stall.

"Y/N? Are you alright?" were the words you heard next and, suddenly, time slowed. Your skin burned and your voice was shaky when you spoke.

"Please go. You are not meant to be in here" you said although you were not even sure if you really wanted him to, but you said it anyways.

"But I am in here now and I am not leaving. Lorraine said that you have been in the lavatory for over half an hour. So, please come out before I tare the door open and embarrass myself in front of the entire school” Cillian chuckled, but with great concern in his voice. He knew that you were simply hiding in there and he was clearly worried about you and your wellbeing.

“Fuck. Seriously?” you stammered as you got up slowly and opened the stall door.

“Yes! Seriously Y/N! Clearly, you are avoiding me and I thought that we talked about everything that we needed to talk about. But, I supppose I was wrong as, first, you submit this ridiculous paper to me and now you are hiding from me…’ Cillian then said quietly as he was facing away from you in what you presumed to be an effort to give you some privacy, but his eyes then met yours when you looked in the reflection of the mirror.

You saw yourself too, standing in front of him with tears in your eyes.

“Y/N, fuck, are you okay? Did something happen? Should I call the student counsellor?” Cillian then asked anxiously when he noticed your tears and you tried to hold his gaze, but his eyes were too intense so you looked down at the tiled floor.

"God no, please. I just had a moment. I am okay” you stammered quickly but Cillian looked sceptical.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he then asked politely but you shook your head.

“I think I embarrassed myself enough already” you then told him but his eyebrows furrowed quickly.

“You are afraid of your own emotions and I get that. Most people are. But you know what I have learned throughout many years of acting?” Cillian said quietly again but, this time, with a warm and gentle smile.

“What?” you asked, wondering where he was going with this.

“That accepting and dealing with your emotions is an integral part of life. Unless you do that, you are not going to be happy and you most certainly will struggle with the line of work you chose. So, if you need to talk with someone about the way you feel, then talk to me. I am here to listen and what happened between us doesn’t matter, alright? I am not the kind of person who sees things superficially and, I don’t know why, but I do care about you. I want you to be okay” Cillian then explained while gently rubbing his palms over your upper arms and you were glad for his words and the way he spoke them, in a gentle and caring way.

“Thank you, Cillian” you cried before taking a deep breath. “Can I redo my paper?” you then asked. You still did not want to talk with him about your past just yet and hoped that he would accept your offer in lieu of an explanation as to why you were so anxious right now.

“I was hoping that you would and I want you to know that, when you do, I will not judge you or think any less of you for what you write” Cillian reassured you and, after you gave him a quick nod and wiped away your tears, he walked towards the door of the lavatory and held it open for you.

“Can you redo the paper by Wednesday? I need to pass it on to the unit co-ordinator” Cillian then said with a slight chuckle and unbothered by the fact that he just came walking out of the ladies’ bathroom with you.

“I can. And I am sorry for my slobby work” you then said and Cillian smiled. God, he was so beautiful and you stared shamelessly at him. He should not have become a lecturer at school full of young female students. Temptation was going to come knocking at his door, hordes of twenty something year olds begging to be noticed, to be loved, to be fucked. It was insanity and, just like Lorraine and some others, you wanted him and that was another form of madness.

 A few days later…

 Eventually, Wednesday came about and, when it did, your first stop was at Cillian’s office. You had promised to hand in your revised paper by nine and so you did.

This time, your effort was six pages long and included a large spiel about the foster care system in the US and how it shaped you from an emotional perspective.

It also included an array of emotions you believed many others like you felt when dealing with every-day life and you drew an analysis about them to the character you read about.

It was a paper which you had prepared with great care and thought and, in the end, the references to pieces of literature within your writing impressed Cillian so much so that, on Thursday evening, he sent you a message on the school’s online portal.

“I am impressed. This was certainly worth the wait” he said with an emoji on the end and his message certainly made you laugh.  

“I am glad, because it wasn’t easy to write knowing that you would be the one reading it” you responded quickly after you saw Cillian’s message pop up as a notification on your phone at around 10 o’clock that night and, the fact that he wrote to you that late made you wondered whether he was thinking about you.

Clearly, he had read the paper on Wednesday morning already before making his notes on it and sending it to the unit co-ordinator, so why did he only message you now? There must have been a reason for it, right?

Unbeknownst to you, there was most certainly a reason behind this message. Cillian had, indeed, been thinking about you and the truth was that he was taken by what you wrote in your essay.

He saw the care you took in writing down your every thought and your very own emotions and, whilst he could sense that you were hurt by the system, he did not consider you to be weak. To the contrary, he considered you to be much stronger than you thought yourself you were. You took matters into your own hands after the system had failed you. Unlike James, Cillian was impressed by your courage and soon realised why it was you who had been chosen for the scholarship.

You were determined and, whilst you struggled to come to terms with your feelings about what happened to you, you were emotionally intelligent. You knew what you needed to do and you knew about the bad influences in your life. You just had to act upon your desires, follow your goals and leave your pain and restraints in past.

As such, Cillian had nothing to add to your paper and thought about it every night since. There was something about you which intrigued him even more now and his thoughts about you were not just sexual anymore. His interest in you was on a different kind of level now and the feelings he was starting to have for you bothered him, causing him to supress his very own emotions.

He had to put on an act of his own, pretending that he was not interested in you but, every time he had a pint with his best mate Dermont, Cillian’s true feelings surfaced as, suddenly, the conversations they shared were about you.

Even though Cillian assured him that he had forgotten all about your short lived fling, Dermont did not believe him as his friend spoke about you with a lot of admiration.

In addition to that, Dermont also knew that Cillian was not the type of guy who would engage in one-night stands and then never think about them again. He must have liked you if he took you home, to his house that night. And he most certainly had not forgotten about you now that you were his student as every conversation about his work was also about you, your talent and the way you interacted with him.  

A few days later…

Eventually, Friday came around and it was another day where you had a lecture in PRAC300 before commencing your on-stage experience for which you were each given an on-stage character role and a script to read.

The roles were allocated randomly and when you were assigned the role of a mother who had recently lost her child, you could not help but sigh. It was not a role you were confident to act out and, yet, you knew that you had no choice. You had to take the role just as the other students had to take theirs. This included James who, also, ended up with a role that he was unhappy about but, unlike you, he spoke about it in Cillian’s class.

“Cillian, man, I think there is a mistake” he said in an arrogant way. “This role should be given to a girl” James determined, causing Cillian to furrow his eyebrows.

“Why?” Cillian asked, seeing that James had been drawn for the role of a character named Tina.

“Because Tina is a girl. I am playing a fucking girl” James laughed but Cillian did not think that his comment was funny and neither did you.

“Not exactly James. The role is non-binary” Cillian explained before telling him that this was an acting class. “It is important for you to step out of your comfort zone” Cillian furthermore said before pointing out that two female students in the class are portraying male characters as well.

“Now, if I can get everyone to schedule a time with me for the next week so that we can go through your role, one on one, that would be fantastic. I intend to allocate half an hour to each student” Cillian said and, of course, Lorraine and some of the other female students were quick to snap up the first available spots, leaving them with next to no time to prepare.

Luckily for Lorraine, she was portraying a young female teacher who was in love with her student. It was a role based on a book you had read quite recently and the fact that she got this role was rather amusing to you. She had an interest in Cillian and it was basically a matter of roles in reverse, if only Cillian had known.

When it was finally your turn to book in a time with Cillian however, you realised that your work schedule clashed with his remaining availabilities and it was at this point that he made an exception for you which was something that got you talking.

“I give dance classes from 3 o’clock to 6 o’clock each day and I cannot get out of them. It pays the bills and I am teaching ten teens for their upcoming dance competition in Cork so I have no idea what to do” you told him after the last student left the room and, sure enough, he remembered your passion for dancing.

“You teach dance? I did not know that. Are you enjoying it?” Cillian asked surprised and you nodded.

“Yes. I love it” you told him while he looked at his calendar.

“Alright, so how about 7 o’clock on Thursday then? It is after hours but I could come in and see you here” Cillian offered and you were surprised by his suggestion.

“Is that not too late for you?” you wondered, knowing that he had children as well.  

“Well, generally speaking, Thursdays and Fridays are good for me. My ex has the kids those days and, even if they were to come over, they are old enough to look after themselves for an hour or two” Cillian responded before telling you that they often do their own thing now that they are older, meeting up with friends after school and playing games at the local arcade.

“So, where do you teach dancing?” Cillian then wanted to know, being more chatty than usual.

“At the Dublin School of Dance. I teach contemporary dance and ballet” you told Cillian who, again furrowed his eyebrows.

“My daughter goes to that school twice a week” Cillian told you before showing you a photograph of her which he took during her last class.

“No way! I think I have met your daughter then” you said while Cillian was sliding through the photographs and you could immediately see the resembles of him in his daughter. They had the same pale freckled skin and light-coloured hair.

“Really?” he asked with great surprise and a hint of concern.

“Yes. She is in Miriam Mill’s class, isn’t she?” you asked and Cillian nodded before telling you that Miriam was leaving soon. She had an offer from another Dance School in London which she took.

“She is leaving, yes. But, your daughter will get another pretty awesome teacher soon, so don’t you worry” you then teased and Cillian furrowed his eyebrows quickly.

“Really? Is that new teacher good?” he asked without realising that you were going to be his daughter’s new teacher.

“She is the best” you joked before telling him that you would be taking on the classes for her age group in a couple of weeks.  

“Talking about awkwardness” Cillian then said with concern, seeing that this may become a little weird but, to you, it meant nothing. If anything, you were looking forward to meeting Cillian’s daughter properly and preparing her for the dance competitions.  

“Yeah, I mean, you could enrol her into another dance school if you like” you said nonetheless but he chuckled.

“And explain this to my ex how?” Cillian asked while cocking an eyebrow.

“Well, you could tell her that you slept with the ballet teacher who also happens to be your student at drama school. I am sure that would make quite a story” you joked and Cillian quickly reminded you to be discreet.

“Y/N, please…” he said while you laughed.

“God, relax Cillian. I am going to make sure that she has fun and excels with her routine for the finals. There is no bad blood between us and, like I said, nothing ever happened right? It was just sex, a one off, that is it. No one will ever know about it. My lips are sealed” you promised him and Cillian gave you a reluctant nod.

“Yes, it was just sex” he repeated quietly after ensuring that there was no one around. “So, Thursday, 7 o’clock then?” he then asked and you confirmed.

“Yes, 7 o’clock is great. Thank you. But I must go now. I am already late for training. Thanks Cillian” you said before grabbing your things and walking through the door.

To be continued… Please comment and engage. I love getting comments and predictions pretty please! Tag List

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[konigsprinzessin]

donnerkeil. part five, yandere!könig x reader

hey! sorry about the hiatus. not proofread. love you all.

mentally, he cursed you for not letting him in. he didn't care. why the hell would he? he would be too focused on you anyways. admittingly, he would've scoped out your apartment to find any thing he might wanna bring with him as a little memory of you. if he were to find your bra or panties casted aside on your bedroom floor he would try his hardest to conceal them within his palm.

his eyes got wide and almost frantically told you that your messy flat was no problem. he wish you would jump in and invite him anyways. he watched you fidget on your phone, asking again from his phone number.

which he gave you and then texting you right after. a few more minutes passed with you far too excited asking when he was free and asking könig questions about his policework.

policework? that's right. he kept his answers light responding with "its confidential". earning cute little laughs from your mouth. you wrapped up the conversation a bit worried that you were wasting his time. "i don't know what the word is english but im responsible for the entire unit and go to most calls because i'm...." he paused, trying to word in in english. he shook his head and spoke very fast in his native language "uh, i'm the top? i don't know how to say this." he laughed nervously. unbeknownst to you, both of these things were lies. his english was that of a native speaker's, hell, his english was probably better than yours. and that "police work" of his wasn't exactly as innocent and naive as he put it, the call about teenagers graffitiing buildings nor the call about the cat stuck under the family car were true. simple lies that made him look like a hero. someone to trust. how doesn't someone trust a giant that helps everyone. it tugged at your heart strings when he told you about an elderly woman that fell victim to an online dating scam- that one got you annoyed in particular, feeling enraged on behalf of some older woman that didn't exist nor did he save from wire fraud. he made all of it up to gain your trust. he wanted you to believe he was the local police chief with no hard crimes such as murder or rape to deal with. you admired this. the first outsider you meet is an older, native austrian working with the police helping and saving people.

that was charm. charming to you.

"well, if you give me a few hours i would be able to meet up tonight for drinks, im sure theres a bar nearby." you laughed as you handed his black cased phone back to him. you thought the suave was radiating off you, asking him out so calmly without fidgeting or shaking. you'd be thinking about him all day.

könig didn't want to wait. he wanted to push you back in the door where you'd fall on your ass and struggle to get up to defend yourself. even if you kicked and shoved you would be no match for his taller and bulkier frame. you were short and petite, without a weapon you were a frail mouse with no defense. even if locks were on the doors, he had a bobby pin laying about. he made a mental note of the locks and if needed, how he could make his way in.

not now. and not tonight. he would have to give it a few weeks for the chemistry to brew and bake until you felt comfortable with him. he knew his physique in itself was intimidating- which he loved to use to his own advantage.

"yes, of couse! although i have to be in the office early tomorrow so i can not be out until 3 or 4 in the morning." he had training at that time. if he wasn't asleep by midnight he would be an agitated mess at the gym. he had recently acquired a handful of new recruits that he would need to train this week. all the paperwork had been filled and finished last week so now the physical workouts called. he was curious to see how many would dropout within this week- maybe he would tell you that to fit along with his policeman job like an average civilian not a colonel from what some believed to be a terrorist group.

you hummed in response. "new recruits i have to train, i am curious to see how many will leave in the following weeks." he exhaled. knowing his time was running out and he would need to leave your doorstep. last thing he needed to do was give you the creeps and make you worried. you smiled at his comment, letting out a small chuckle.

"i hope they all stay, you seem to be a good trainer." you closed your eyes, crows feet appearing around your temporarily closed eyes. "you have a lot of muscle. that's something to be proud of, i can barely move my boxes around."

"ah, thank you, (y/n), i know for some it can be hard to stay focused and work out every day. it takes viel bestimmung oder ausdauer" he laughed, apologizing for not knowing the words in english. secretly, he hoped you would know but another part of him hoped not. he was cruel and calculated, he would keep you locked away and speak only in german and watch as you become more and more confused, frustrated and scared with the language barrier. just that thought made his heart pound a little faster. he didn't want to torture you- rather scare you into obedience and submission. as long he didn't physically hurt you then there was no harm in what he intended on doing. he reminded himself that and repeated it again to keep his head on straight. "and i can help you with the boxes, i don't want you to hurt yourself."

your eyes brightened at this idea. a godsend, you thought. you dreaded those boxes stuffed in the corner of your room. it was quite the eye soar and bothered you. the boys that lived above you were nice enough to help you move all of your stuff in, besides the heavier things like the entire refrigerator or microwave which you surely weren't able to install nor the heavier boxes filled with a myriad of trinkets.

"i didn't feel like brining half of the stuff in the boxes and coming back downstairs. it would take me too long." you sighed, scratching the side of your cheek. "i also have to install the microwave and fridge and i still have to call the maintenance guys." you half laughed partly out of embarrassment, still smiling nonetheless.

könig laughed at how flustered you looked with your cheeks turning into a bright pink. it reminded him of rose flowers. "i don't mind doing all of that right now for you, (y/n). only if you have time." with this he realized that you literally just have moved in. how could you not have these things set up by now? he was going to take you before any of the locals realized that you were settled down and lived there.

"well, i certainly do." you opened the door a bit wider for him. you sat the bread basket down on a high table adorned with your housekeys, a dish filled with rocks and photo of who he assumed was your family back home. he watched you slip off your flats, grab the basket and walk into what he guessed was your kitched. he also followed suit with his shoes not trying to be rude or give you any hint that he was off. you met him no longer than two hours ago and he was alone with you in your fucking house. gently, he placed both of his shoes side by side thinking how stupid you were. imagine, if he was malicious or had a gun? you would be robbed and dead by now. yet, you were a caring little thing. too innocent for this world. too innocent for him. all he had to do was rush you and choke you until you were unconscious and figure out a way to get out. he began to seriously contemplate thing noting the door behind him and the slightly open windows letting a draft in with open blinds as he made he way behind you.

there you stood, back to him with your hands on your hips. the refrigerator was laid horizontally on the wooden floor. granted, it was a small apartment but it could fit two people. it was most definitely built for students. the microwave laid door up on the kitchen countertop. könig found solace in how normal this all was, like he was an old friend using his muscle to help you move in or a couple just moving into a new apartment. he enjoyed the ladder more than the former by a longshot.

"im thinking the fridge goes here." you motioned to an empty spot in the kitchenette next to a plus, undoubtedly where the old tenants had it. könig watched you slide around with your white ankle socks on. he was jolting every few minutes with a primal instinct to cover your mouth and threaten to kill you if you didn't comply. he would never hurt you, just empty threats to keep you from running or screaming...or both. könig's mind went blank responding with nods and hums as you talked about where the fucking microwave should go. you should go, go with him to his place on the other side of the city. he only came back into reality when you struggled to pick up the metal microwave, which was too heavy for your little bones to carry. he thought how stupid he must've looked...how creepy he must've looked as you picked the metal up with him solely staring at you.

[magicfootballstuff]

Shirt Swap - part 2 (ella toone x reader)

Summary: Your long distance relationship with Ella faces its biggest test yet as one of you has to crush the other’s Champions League dreams.

Read part 1 here.

———

Your return to Manchester is a strange one. You’ve been back several times since your transfer last summer, most recently to spend Christmas with Ella and her family, but every other visit has been for leisure.

This time, you step off the plane into the bleak Manchester drizzle surrounded by your Lyon teammates and know you’re here to get a job done.

It doesn’t stop you from having a little bit of leisure time though. You drop your things off at the hotel and then the whole team gets on a bus to Old Trafford for the final training session before the match tomorrow, but after that you have the evening free to spend how you wish. Most of your teammates are going out to explore Manchester, some of them even ask you if you’ll show them around your old home, but you have to decline. You have more important things to do.

You meet Ella at your favourite restaurant in Manchester, the same place you had your first date over two years ago, and your face breaks open into a huge smile when you see Ella already sitting at a table near the bar, out of her usual trackies and glammed up for your date.

“You look gorgeous,” you say, leaning down to kiss Ella before sitting down opposite her.

“So do you,” she says, eyeing you up and down. “Wow, babe. Remind me why we decided to go for dinner and not just skip to the fun stuff?”

“Because…” you roll your eyes at Ella, though a tiny part of your brain agrees, especially after seeing her in that dress, “it’s been ages since we went on a proper date. I miss hanging out with you.”

“We wouldn’t have this problem if you’d stayed at United,” Ella teases you.

“Yeah, but then neither of us would win the Champions League this year,” you grin back.

“Oi!” Ella complains, with a pout that is just too cute.

“Sorry, let’s make a deal,” you say, as you reach for the menu. “No more football talk. I want to hear about what’s been going on with you.”

“Deal.”

———

The no football talk rule lasts about five minutes, because both of your lives are so heavily wrapped up in football that it comes up inevitably, but there’s an unspoken agreement to not mention the game last week or the second leg coming up tomorrow. Instead you talk about your teammates, funny stories from training, and everything except the fact that one of you is going to crush the other’s dream tomorrow.

It’s nice to spend time with Ella like old times, but you appreciate it more, knowing that moments like this are rare. You stay even after you’ve finished eating, talking about everything while playing footsie under the table like giddy teenagers on a first date.

“So, can I convince you to come home with me?” Ella asks, swinging your joined hands between you as you finally walk away from the restaurant.

Home. You live in Lyon but Manchester, and specifically the flat you used to share with Ella, still feels like your home. Wherever Ella is will always be where your heart really is.

“We have a curfew,” you grimace apologetically. “I’m supposed to be back at the team hotel soon. Big game tomorrow, and all that.”

Ella is disappointed, but you know she understands and would do the same if the situations were reversed.

“But I’ve already spoken to the coach and she’s happy for me to fly back a day later than the rest of the team,” you explain. “The day after tomorrow I’m all yours and I don’t know about you, but I don’t plan on leaving your bed for anything less than an emergency.”

“You’re a real charmer,” says Ella, pulling you closer to her by your joined hands and tilting her head to give you a slow and sweet kiss. “See you tomorrow, I guess.”

“Not if I see you first,” you grin against Ella’s mouth, giving her one final kiss before you reluctantly pull apart.

———

The coach starts you on the bench. You’re frustrated by the decision, you always are when you’re not starting and this one especially stings, but you know the game plan and that you’ll get your chance to come on in the second half, so you obediently don your bib and find a seat amongst the other substitutes to watch the match.

It’s always hard to watch from the bench, knowing that the game is out of your control, but you get to take in the game as a whole much better than you would be able to from the pitch. Unlike the United team that seemed full of nerves last week, this United seem to be thriving off the twenty thousand home fans that have shown up on a cold weeknight to cheer on their team. Though Lyon have a two goal advantage from the first leg, United seem determined to overcome that and you bounce your knee nervously as you watch helplessly from the dugout.

You watch Ella in particular. You know this is her favourite place, that she more than most will be fuelled by this atmosphere and while you’re off the pitch, not directly playing against her, you can really appreciate how good she is.

She shows the entire stadium how good she is twenty-five minutes into the game, when she catches the ball on the break, drives it through the high line of Lyon’s defence, and sends it soaring into the top corner from outside the box.

It’s one of the best goals you’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing live and for Ella, you’re delighted that she’s scored such an incredible goal in an iconic stadium in the biggest competition in club football. But for yourself and your team, you wish she could have scored that goal against anybody else.

The game is a lot tenser now that the aggregate goal difference is down to just one. All it takes is another goal, another moment of magic, and United will be back level with the momentum and the fans in their favour. You wish more than ever before that you could be on the pitch to help your team, barely able to watch helplessly from the sidelines.

Unfortunately for Lyon, Ella is having the game of her life. You’re warming up on the side of the pitch during the second half, ready to go on in a few minutes when you see Ella hit the ball cleanly over the line of defenders and Leah Galton is too fast for all of them, running onto the ball and tapping it past the keeper for United’s second of the night.

It’s not supposed to be going like this. You knew tonight wouldn’t be a walkover but in all your preparation for the game, Lyon didn’t account for the Old Trafford atmosphere lighting a fire in the hearts of each and every Manchester United player on the pitch.

Now more than ever, you need to get on the pitch to make your mark. The coach understands this too because as the game restarts, she beckons you over and starts talking you through the change in tactics needed to overcome this little blip as you take off your tracksuit and slide your shin pads into your socks.

When the substitution finally takes place and you jog onto the pitch, you’re met with boos from the United fans who aren’t happy to see you back on their turf in different colours to before. It’s not unexpected, but you know that you have to channel it to the right place, letting it fuel your desire to win instead of being a distraction.

With eighty minutes on the clock, you get the ball out on the wing not too far from the corner of the box. In a split second you evaluate the positions of the opposing United players and weigh up your options.

You’d probably win a footrace down the line. The defender has been on the pitch for eighty minutes, your fresh legs have only done ten. If you can make it past them, you could cross the ball in from the wing and hope it finds one of your teammates in the box.

The defender is expecting you to do that, you can tell from her body position. So you feint as if going to make that move, then duck back when the defender moves and cut in behind, propelling yourself and the ball into empty space in the box.

But then there’s a hand on your back, you stumble over the ball and slide belly first across the grass.

The shrill tone of the referee’s whistle is immediately drowned out by the boos of the crowd as you’re helped to your feet by one of your teammates.

With less than ten minutes to go, you’ve just won your team a penalty.

The United players aren’t happy, of course they’re not. As you brush the grass off your shorts, you see a ring of red around the referee as they complain, the players only backing off when the ref shows two yellow cards, one to the defender who pushed you, and one to another player for dissent.

You assume that Wendie will take the penalty - she’s the captain, the first choice for penalties, and currently holding the ball, but she instead places the ball into your hands, maybe sensing the significance of your return to your old club.

“You won it, it’s yours,” she tells you. “Don’t miss.”

You ignore the watchful gaze of all your old teammates as you walk up to the spot and carefully place the ball on the grass. The jeers of the Manchester United fans, who are always willing to make a lot of noise but especially eager to boo one of their former players, almost drowns out the referee as she gives you the usual pre-penalty instructions. You line yourself up, take a few steps backwards, and let out a huge exhalation as you finally look up, where Mary is jumping up and down between the goalposts and waving her arms around in an attempt to distract you.

The situation is so familiar. You remember training sessions before cup matches with United where Marc would have each of you take penalty after penalty, just in case. You’ve scored past Mary before. Why should twenty thousands jeering spectators change that.

You run up to the ball and take your shot.

Mary dives the way you expect her to. And you slot the ball into the opposite corner.

You let out all your emotions in a yell that will probably leave you with a sore throat tomorrow, punching the air as your teammates run over to you and jump on you in celebration.

Less than ten minutes to go and you might just have scored the winning goal.

The momentum has shifted. You were energised before, but the goal has livened up some of your teammates who were starting to flag too. The United fans boo every time you get the ball, maybe not realising that the sound just spurs you on and makes you want to win even more.

The only potential obstacle is Ella, but you force yourself to stay free of that distraction. For these last few minutes, she’s just another player. The one thing that does unite you is your passion. Ella is exactly the same in that respect, she lets every emotion show on the football pitch.

You’re sure she must be shattered - everybody else who has been playing since the beginning of the match is visibly tiring but she commits to everything like it’s still the first ten minutes instead of the last. As the seconds dwindle, you get increasingly anxious that Ella is going to pull another miracle shot out of nowhere to take the game to extra time. All you can do is put your head down and work just as hard.

After what feels like an eternity, the final whistle blows and Lyon are through, thanks to your penalty. Your teammates want to celebrate with you but your first thought is of Ella, and once you’ve escaped the bundle of bodies that surround you, you look for your girlfriend.

Your eyes find her straight away, lying on her back on the grass with her knees bent and one of her arms across her eyes. She looks exhausted, having given it her all for ninety minutes with no final reward, and you don’t know what you can say or do to make this any easier on her.

Reaching the quarter finals in their first year in the competition is an achievement. More than that, beating a team with Lyon’s track record tonight, even if the aggregate score goes against them, is something they should be extremely proud of. But you can’t say any of that to Ella without is coming across as patronising.

“Ella?”

She lifts the arm from across her face and sits up when she realises it’s you. Ella isn’t crying, but her eyes are glassy and her jaw is clenched from the effort of trying not to. You squat down beside her on the grass.

“I’m sorry,” you say to Ella, wrapping your arms around her neck as she buries her face into your shoulder.

“Don’t apologise,” Ella replies. “We knew this would happen to one of us. I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you.”

“Just promise me one thing,” says Ella, pulling back from the embrace to look directly at you.

“Anything.”

She smiles through her own pain, and says, “Go and win the whole damn thing.”

You grin back at her, overwhelmed with affection for the girl who is still your number one supporter, even in a moment of such personal difficulty.

“I’ll try.”

———

When you manage to keep your promise and go on to win the Champions League a couple of months later, your first title and Lyon’s ninth, Ella’s face is the only one out of the fifty thousand fans in the stadium that matters. You look for her when the final whistle blows and she’s crying with happiness, which sets your own tears off right as you get bundled into a pile of bodies on the turf as your teammates all celebrate.

The photo of you and Ella kissing over the advertising board, Champions League medal hanging around your neck, goes viral on social media the next day.

[bitchfitch]

Everyone knew that the world had ended ages ago and the rot was just taking it's sweet time to set in. The Bright God was dead and decaying with all of its power drifting through life like the sea snow foretelling a whale fall. The boon of its corpse granted the common person magic and power previously held captive by the Bright God's faithfully earthborn hosts.

It was all the sort of thing taught in school, though the fact the world was over was only ever mentioned as a foot note when telling the story of the last of the Bright God's Queens and her slaughter of their deity and how that effected global politics. Because "over" on the divine time scale was a very large unit of measurement on the scale of mortal humans. Fascinating stuff really.

So was how the Old Hosts had this thing happen to them. This thing where as their bodies were infected by the holy parasite they slowly forgot their personhood. Their names went first, then their ability to think of themselves, then their memories then their personality. Piece by piece they were consumed until all that was left was a mouthpiece for the Bright God to use until their body fell apart. Only for the process to begin over again with their next of kin.

Horrible way to go, one of the worst anyone could come up with. Good thing the Bright God was dead, right? Sure the world was a ceramic plate in free fall, but for the hosts, it was good.

It's not like the Bright God had a bunch of siblings who were supposed to be returning to the world they helped build to begin the process of breaking it down again. That's a joke. Of course that's a thing that is an on going problem.

An on going problem that wasn't anyone specific's problem until it was.

The first symptom, the forgetting your name thing, cropped up during a chat with a stunning pre-med at the bar. She'd asked for a name to put to the face, but it just wasn't there. There was no feeling of it being on the tip of the tongue, or like it was removed from the collection of relevant memories, but rather that it had never existed in the first place.

The second one, the loss of self, had happened in the days since and now it has gotten so bad that- well, you can see the problems right? No one told you this story.

[helly-watermelonsmellinfellon]

Housed For Now!

[New]

AS OF DECEMBER 20TH, 2023, WE HAVE BEEN INFORMED THAT OUR NEW LANDLADY WANTS US OUT WHEN OUR LEASE ENDS IN FENBRUARY. EDIT Dec 27th 2023: We just learned that she's adding an electric garage door to the garage. Her ex-husband is working on it with an electrician friend of his and I overheard them. She doesn't intend to move in, she wants to add the small ass garage onto the lease and thinks it's worth adding another $1K+ dollars to the rent.

[Old]

Dave just doesn't get how finances work. Because he's so unhelpful and doesn't fucking listen when people speak, he's whining about how after getting paid, mom has nothing left for the month. "But we don't have to spend $230 on the storage unit anymore!" "That went into other bills, Dave!" He thinks that cuz we don't have that one issue holding us down, we're going to be able to handle everything else easily and have money left over for whatever he wants to waste it on. Because mom has had to pay one bill and let another slide as a result every month. It's how she's had to handle our financial problems this entire time. And people all over have to do things like this, it isn't a new tactic.

Mom finally paid off the bank after Dave bounced her account several times last year. She's been paying $100+ a month for ages to get that handled. That should make things a little easier now.

The car insurance has increased by several dozen dollars so it's over $150 a month now. (EDIT: Dec, 2023: It was increased again.)

Her phone and Bethy's phone have to be kept on because of her schooling and we need a functioning phone number or else we'll be in big trouble in many ways. $100+ just for 2 phones. Dave is in charge of his own damn phone.

She has to handle her Discover and Capital One cards since she's had to use them to save our asses a few times. She NEEDS to pay them off so her credit score doesn't tank, and many places won't give you a chance if your credit is low. She's got monthly payments for those around $100+ in total.

The P.O. Box price has increased. Almost $50 now. (EDIT: Dec, 2023: We had canceled it since we finally got a place to live, and now we'll need to get a new one. I'm so tired.)

Dish Network has been on pause or almost 2 years cuz she can't cancel it before the full year she paid is used up or the fee is astronomical. They keep suspiciously unpausing it and trying to lob thousands in fees at us. (EDIT: Aug, 2023: Mom finally got it taken care of by going to the Better Business Bureau with dozens of emails of proof for her case and they came down hard on Dish Network. So we're fine on that front now.)

Then we have gas for a minivan, that Dave should be paying for, but isn't. A mostly full tank is around $80 every 4-5 days. Gas is average rn. So over $400 monthly in gas. (EDIT Dec, 2023: $20 gets 4 1/2 Gallons right now. It is hell.)

We need the part for the van which is $800+. The van is just so old that finding parts for something considered an antique now is damn near impossible, and not having the money up front makes it worse. (EDIT: Dec, 2023: The van is dead and despite how the alternator was replaced and the battery and starter are fine, there's no vehicle.)

She has to pay for her medication cuz we have shit medical. She's already going without many of them but some health problems, like Asthma, can't be ignored so the inhalers are prioritized. (EDIT Aug, 2023: Our medical changed out of nowhere at the beginning of the year and all of our doctors no longer take it. No doctors take it, in fact, so our attempts to get better help have to start all over again.)

Bethy needs school supplies regularly.

But Dave just thinks that she should have all this extra money left over at the end of paying everything off. Many of these things come out instantly on the 1st of each month btw. She has to then work through what is left for the bills that aren't instantly paid off. He thinks if he works with his friend for 3 weeks, he'll have enough money for an apartment, completely ignoring that he'd only have about $1800 for a full month of work with no breaks. The cheapest 2-bedroom in Delaware requires almost all of that, which is why we're waiting on housing which charges based on your monthly income. Even if he handled the monthly rent of $1400-$1700 for a 2-bedroom, mom still has all this stuff to worry about... and then gas, water, electric, sewage, etc... Dave doesn't listen. In public housing, those things are included. Outside it, they are separate expenses.

Other Posts About Life:

[1] [2][3] [4] [5]

~.O.~

[Ko-Fi]

[GoFundMe]

[Venmo]

[CashApp: $Flame818]

[Amazon Food List]

[Amazon Christmas List]

[Meal Train]

[Patreon]

[NEW Dec, 2023]

I was right to keep on my toes about this. Dave does not read or pay attention and he just rushes into things without thinking. He's made every excuse possible to defend this lady saying she'll see how clean the house is a let us stay, but when she made a point to say she's thinking of moving in here, she isn't looking for a ruined house. She already has the reason for why she wants us out and she put it in writing, and it's because she claims to want to live here now. She doesn't need any other reason; she owns the property and that is good enough.

So, we have to be out by mid-February, which means more moving. And we just have no money and nowhere to go.

[NEWER Mar, 2024]

We need food, heat, hot water, etc... and Dave's getting scammed by a blackmailer that he's now given over $3K to... His dumbass was cheating, as he always does, and within a few conversations felt safe enough to tell this bitch all his personal business, as well as everything about his kids and grandkids. And now, cuz he offended her, she did a search on him and found his family and is how holding them over his head to Apple gift cards.

Yet he stomps in the house every day demanding to know if anyone 'gave us money'. And then got mad when mom finally snapped at him with, "No, actually Helen has gotten any commissions this month, so there's nothing in the PayPal." All cuz Dave doesn't want to admit that I've brought $16K in just through commissions alone.