#cw assisted dying

[bharv]

Spent most of the evening discussing the passing of the assisted dying bill in the UK with close friends and family.

It’s impossibly knotty and emotional and I have mixed feelings but at the heart of it I cannot, and I don’t think you can, divide it from the reality of disability rights.

We are in a place where people’s rights are so closely linked to their ability to be productive under capitalism. Mental health support is in turmoil, care is chronically underfunded. How can we guarantee that this is always the choice of the individual? If they are facing a huge life change, they might be afraid and concerned about being a burden - but what if they’re not? What if when they start their care journey, there’s a different way of life to live, but they’ll never know if they bow to a pressure which I think WILL build in society with this bill.

My closest friend is a carer for her mum, and she is against it, and she worries for all of the people whose children aren’t that close to them whose lives will be in the hands of those who might make an economic choice over an ethical one, whether it’s what they want or what they’re pressured into choosing.

I get the right to die with dignity, I really do, and emotionally I support it. I get trying to protect families from being charged. But I just don’t know that we as a society can do this ethically, where we are, and I’m afraid for what this means as somebody with long term health conditions.

[qoldenskies]

i was going to make a post about how much it sucks that people act like f!leo is so old when he's like 40, which is not old like. at All, but then i thought about it and like... that's probably pretty old when it comes to the standards of the apocalypse, no? like the life expectancy was probably horrible there

[bluejaysfeathers]

Okay but fr I did used to terrify my chemistry teachers by asking them what various dangerous chemicals would hypothetically taste like if you were to eat/drink them (I wasn’t GONNA I just needed to Know) so like I get the impulse of “damn I wonder what Death tastes like”

at the euthanasia party everyone gets a sip of the forbidden lean

[heavyisthecrownif]

Intro

The Emperor is ill; the people of the capital whisper with varying degrees of concern or delight; he has completely fallen into the clutches of madness, as the most insidious tongues allege, the truth is, to their ignorance, considerably more urgent.

The Emperor, Airlar the Unifier, responsible for the greatest modifications to the constitution and State in the entire history of Ehyla, a living testimony to the existence of a civilization buried by the sands of time as well as oblivion, is irremediably, undeniably dying.

And so your life undergoes an absolute change overnight by nothing less than imperial decree. As the only one of your siblings of the right age, you are not only heading to a nest of conspiring vipers that you should never have dealt with, but every second, implicitly and explicitly, you are being judged and evaluated for a purpose that escapes your knowledge. Truth be told, at least it's not all bad; you have your very competent and loyal assistant at your side, and with your sister relatively close by, your experience shouldn't be so terrible...

Unless...

CW: This is a dark romance, and what this entails—things like possessiveness, stalking, manipulation, jealousy, and dependency will be seen in varying degrees in all routes. Sexism, transphobia, and homophobia will be briefly mentioned, as well as religious trauma, abuse of power, graphic violence, and optional explicit sexual scenes.

This list is subject to change as the game progresses.

HITC is only for an audience of +18.

Demo: Prologue: 11k last updated on 2/21/25

Since HITC is a wip all blog content is subject to possible changes in the future.

•Customize your Crown; personality, appearance, gender, pronouns, independent of the chosen gender, magic type, and where the foreign half of your bloodline comes from.

•Build friendships, romances and/or enmities with 5 diverse characters, all of selectable gender (with ace options).

•Find out why you are in demand in the capital and why you should study at the "Saint Elizsea Academy for Illustrious Young People" side by side with the cream of the crop of Ehylian society.

•Have a familiar! With options, so far, to choose from a wolf, a ferret, a raven, a snake, a crocodile, a deer and several types of dogs and cats.

Choose wisely! They all possess consciousness and at least a degree of magical attributes and some are...sassy.

•Shape the narrative with your decisions, every choice matters.

•The Crown: You! As the fourth child of a marriage between a former general promoted to king for his illustrious strategies against the rebellion against the fae and a foreign scholar, your outlook is, to say the least, peculiar. Not only are you the product of a marriage of love, with the confidence of genuinely and willingly counting on the support of your brothers and older sister again, but also, well known for their almost barbaric customs, your parents have the audacity to allow you to decide what to do with your own life, from coveting and collecting knowledge to learning the art of war or venturing into any of the five arts, you have a place nothing less than privileged, so far from being the firstborn and with an older brother more than capable and willing to take charge of the kingdom, your future is, to say the least, very promising, until an edict of the dying, and extremely capricious emperor demands that every young people of marriageable age who is not taking charge of the administration of their jurisdiction at the time, must go to be evaluated at The Academy in the heart of the capital, with your first brother discarded, your older sister engaged, your second brother in the borderlands doing pilgrim work and your younger siblings too young to attend that leaves you alone as an option.

•The one who left (RO): Asterion/Astrya Dellamort. With silky midnight waves and expressive eyes that evoke the memory of the moon in their hue and roundness, they possesses an astonishingly delicate and pretty face, for someone who has been classified with little variation as a rigid, cold, arrogant, difficult and even bitchy person throughout their young life, Azzy, the nickname with which you baptized their and, unbeknownst to you no soul is allowed to use without going through severe verbal reprimands and/or public humiliation, was, at least until the age of 13, your best friend, with their mother being a strong ally, and more importantly, a supporter of your parents, it is no wonder that you two were brought together to be playmates since before you could remember.

Truth be told, Azzy was never easy, despite knowing you all their life there is something about you that bothers they deeply, they can trust your reasons, your transparency, but they can't understand your affection, because as the only child of the Queen, Azzy they was much more exposed and at a much younger age to the cruel machinations of politics, so, with an almost supernatural ease they developed a capacity with words as bewitching as it is deadly, cruel if you will even, not that you have witnessed it first hand, of course, for many complaints, frowns and playful reluctance, you probably have the rare honor of knowing and living with the kindest version of Azzy, which in turn gives you the merit of being the person who knows they the most and the least, being a witness to they gentleness but mostly ignorant of their cruelty.

It's not until a tragic occasion, when your relationship breaks down, abruptly, suddenly, with the roughness of a wound that hasn't healed properly even five years later, that you wonder why Azzy decided to cut off all contact with you, but, unbeknownst to you, they despises and belittles anyone who tries to gain their favor by putting you down.

Tropes: Friends (with the possibility of a friendly rivalry...or not) to "rivals" to lovers/ Attachment issues, let's say Azzy is fine keeping their distance, (they're not) but if you come back into their life there's no turning back/ The ice king/queen's weak point/ Misunderstandings/ Forced proximity.

The one who takes care of you (RO): Kaihlan/Karonthe Agrapolli. Strictly speaking, Kai is your bodyguard, but over the years they has taken on far more than their fair share of responsibilities, and no matter how much you and your parents have asked them not to overexert themselves, the satisfied gleam in their amber eyes whenever they do something to make your life easier, along with their unbeatable stubbornness, means that you can count on Kai as your shadow more often than not.

As the eldest of your father's right-hand twins, Kai has been two things to you: a constant and a teacher. With their undeniable combat skills and their minds as quick as their feet, it is not only an honor to have them defend you, but also teach you.

Kai is loyal to you to the core; in order to ensure your happiness and safety, they is capable of acts that go against morality and even the laws of man and god.

Kai is probably the tallest person you've ever met, so tall that when you were younger and cheeky you asked them if they weren't part giant, they laughed but otherwise didn't answer the question. With sun-kissed skin glowing a shade reminiscent of honey almost as much as their eyes Kai is not only tall, they're broad and rough, with large scarred hands that extend all the way to they forearms you'd expect they to behave like a bull in a china shop, and they do in a way, but when you're around them, they seem incapable of anything but the most dedicated and delicate care. Both M!Kai and F!Kai have hair brushing their shoulders in a fluffy reddish-brown mess, with the back of their necks longer than the front and scattered freckles from spending so much time in the sun.

Tropes: Puppy love/They look like they could kill you and potentially will if you're not MC, but they're actually a cinnamon roll, long-term crush, himbo/bimbo, surface only, gentle giant, wolf in sheep's clothing.

The one who admires you (RO):???. You're not sure how, but you've somehow managed to get a hold of a stalker.

What you know so far is little and downright mediocre, they either have enough power or influence to bribe someone into getting their letters to you within the castle grounds, or more unlikely, they're stealthy enough to slip past Kai's ever-watchful eye, so all things considered, there's most likely magic involved, which brings you back to the first point, or they're rich enough to hire or own a wizard themselves or they're powerful enough to conjure their presence into your chambers without raising suspicion.

Tropes: Loved you from the moment they saw you/secret admirer/strangers to ???/would burn the world down for you.

The one who does not show up(RO): Secret route! You'll know when you meet them...maybe.

Tropes: Love-hate/they despise loving you/they want to live in your heart... literally/the love that was never meant to be/they are doomed. to love you? to exist without you? not even they know.

The one you impressed (RO): Elysse/Eylarion Kurayoi.

If there is one word to define Ely it is scandal, with their elastic golden curls bouncing with the sound of their thunderous laughter, they would not readily admit how much they love to impress, but the mischievous sparkle in their mahogany eyes says otherwise.

You know little to nothing about them other than the rumors that proclaim that they have no standards regarding who they share a bed with, but for some reason you intrigue them, if you were to ask them they would say little more than that they are curious that you are so different and little else.

They happens to be your roommate at the academy and as someone who for better or worse seems to be extremely transparent and understands how everyone who has an important name in the capital acts, it might be convenient to have them around, but be careful not to leave them too close to the warmth of your home because they might not want to leave.

Tropes: Master/Mistress of seduction until they flirt with someone they really like/ Bad reputation or justified prejudices?/ the capital's rebellious child/ The most beautiful at the ball/ The beauty and the beast

Feel free to ask me anything! And thanks for reading!

[sea-lanterns]

Okay,okayokayokau. I think I huave covid. Imagine Milf!Rich Beiguang being so locked in in their career that they had to hire a wet maid for their child because they can't really take maternity leave.

Just them getting another baby fever 🥵 (but this time for R) when they saw reader lovingly breastfeed their baby.

In no time R gets promotion from wet maid to their second wife and mother of their another child.

CW: Lactation, breast sucking, poly relationship, inappropriate workplace relationship, mentions of pregnancy

OOOOOH Nanny! Reader being a wet nurse is so creative. Cue Beidou choking on her beer when she sees you pull down your top, exposing your breasts to them for the first time as their baby latches onto a nipple hungrily. Ningguang is also trying very hard not to stare, but she occasionally peers up from her paperwork to watch as you dutifully nurse their child, a strange stirring in her pants that causes her to shift in her seat.

You look so…motherly, not to mention how your mammaries are swelled and beading with drops of milk. Both women have never seen such a sight, Beidou swallowing the saliva buildup in the back of her throat while Ningguang is wondering how you would look if you were actually pregnant. Both women find themselves talking about it late at night in their shared bed, unable to keep their lustful fantasies a secret anymore and wanting you to be more involved with them.

It’s only when you put Beidou and Ningguang’s infant to bed that your bosses finally make their move to seduce you. “Your breasts must be sore from feeding and pumping all day,” Ningguang hums, gently massaging a breast and watching in pleasure when a small damp spot forms. You gasp, embarrassed that you so easily lactated under her touch, before Beidou comes up to your front from nowhere. “Heh, you’ve been quite generous in assisting us with these first few months. Please, let my wife and I show you our thanks. It’s the least we could do.”

Ningguang distracts you with a kiss from behind your neck, while Beidou lifts your shirt up to reveal the prized breasts she’d been dying to taste. They quietly drag you out of the nursery to their bedroom, where Beidou pretty much faceplants into those aching tits of yours and Ningguang starts removing your pants, already imagining their second child growing within you 🩷

[lamardeuse]

Jeremy Corbyn is opposed to this bill. Diane Abbott is opposed to this bill. A lot of people on the left are opposed to this bill. The current Labour government is basically the Tories with a different name, refusing to increase taxes on the top 1% or pass any legislation or pursue any initiatives that will make the lives of working class people better. Instead they promise to go after "benefits cheats" and asylum seekers with the same demonizing language that Farage uses so no, not in any way, shape or form is Starmer's government left wing.

For those of us actually on the left, just because our morality may not come from religious belief doesn't mean you don't share common cause with "the left" (and there are absolutely left wing people with strong religious beliefs as well). It always blows my mind that people think there's a left wing bias in any mainstream media, including sources like the New York Times or the Guardian - they've had a neoliberal slant in the past but that old Overton window has been shifting them rightwards for a long time. You should always assume that anything written by a human has a bias, and that's just the way it is because we are human and we have biases - but know what that bias is and who they are serving with that bias. Know why they're promoting x or y or z or demonizing e f or g or remaining silent on a or b or c.

The people who want everyone to have bread and roses - and housing, food, water, dignity and human rights regardless of their age, race, national origin or ability - those people are not the ones who are pushing this bill. Ask yourself why.

[rebelfell]

Welcome to your appointment, @wolfqueenxxx we do so hope you find it to your liking!

18+, MDNI┃1.5k

cw: workplace romance, older!eddie (implied age gap), friends to lovers, modern au (real modern, as in like…last month)

Eddie wasn’t used to having you at his place yet.

He loved you being there, don’t get him wrong, he still just sort of couldn’t believe you were?

For so long he’d only gotten to see you for fleeting moments around the office, flitting about in your professional wear or appearing at his office door sheepishly holding up your laptop for him to fix.

You had steadily given up the pretense of needing his expertise in IT as your excuse to drop in, until you were appearing before him nearly on a daily basis. Sometimes twice, if he was lucky.

Whether you were just stopping by to chat, or to let him know when there were doughnuts in the communal kitchen, or to bring him a cup of coffee from the fresh pot you just made, the times when he got to see you and share a few words quickly became the brightest spots in his day.

And yes, in the beginning, he maybe might have (definitely) had the faintest inkling of a crush. 

How could he not, you know? Just look at you.

Still, he didn’t dare entertain the notion you had any intentions beyond pure friendship. He’d been around long enough by now to know the pretty, young administrative assistant wasn’t going to be making eyes at the prehistoric barely-rockstar turned corporate computer monkey.

He wasn’t that much older than you, but he’d always been a sort of crotchety and cranky sort. Older in spirit than in actual years. Except now his age was truly showing—extra creaks and clicks in his joints, deepening lines on his face, a dusting of salt and pepper in the scruff under his jaw.

Not to mention the streaks in his dark curls that flashed silver when they caught the light.

He really was thinking about dying it one of these days. He never expected to go so gray so fast.

He was barely forty for chrissake.

It didn’t matter, though. The very idea was a non-starter. You were just being friendly. End of.

The kind of friendly where you noticed the pens he liked and ordered them regularly; where you’d switched the coffee to one he recommended, and kept his favorite flavor of creamer stocked; where you brought in potted plants to put in his window because he had the nicest, biggest one in the office and didn’t utilize in the slightest.

And he in turn was friendly back. The kind of friendly where he had upgraded the RAM on your laptop just because you mentioned it was running a little slower than usual; where he only attended the Happy Hour gatherings you organized; where he set up an automatic back-up of all your files after one hard drive failure that nearly had you crying underneath the conference table.

Friendliness. That was all it was.

And that’s all it would ever be.

He loved it best, though, when you were watching the same show. That guaranteed at least a twenty minute convo of swapping theories and analysis, excitedly talking over one another you were so eager to share your thoughts.

Shows he might never have watched or maybe abandoned after one or two episodes, he found himself watching religiously just to be able to talk with you about it the next day. And the stuff he’d seen a million times felt fresh again seeing it through your eyes.

Then you started talking about the shows you were looking forward to coming back on.

You told him how pumped you were for White Lotus to start back up, but lamented that you’d let your Max subscription lapse, so you’d have to avoid spoilers until the season was over and you could binge it with a free trial or something. Eddie commiserated, telling you how he burned through Severance on an Apple TV trial and totally screwed himself over for season two.

He laughed. Said it was funny the way you both had what the other needed. At best, he thought a simple password exchange might be in order.

But you suggested a different sort of trade.

If he came over to your place on Thursday nights for Severance, you could come over to his on Sunday nights for White Lotus.

“It’s perfect, right?” you’d asked with your head tilted sweetly, so unaware what it did to him.

Eddie coughed and sputtered like he’d swallowed one of the thumbtacks on his desk.

You in his house? Him in yours? You seeing all his tour posters and records and the weird art pieces he’s collected over the years? Him getting to look at your books and your geode collection that he’s heard so much about? Meeting the pet he’s only ever seen in the framed photos on your desk?

He tried to at least act as though his head wasn’t full-on exploding at the thought.

“Yeah, definitely,” he said, voice cracking like he was going through a second puberty at 42.

From that point on, Thursday nights were reserved for emotional devastation while your Sundays were taken up by bemusement at rich people’s antics and giggling over increasingly silly imitations of Parker Posey’s southern accent.

The visits grew longer each time, both of you getting more comfortable in the other’s space. Often you traded off making dinner and bringing a bottle of wine or the makings for a cocktail to share. He quickly learned your preferences for food and drink, filing it away in his head.

You know, just in case he ever needed to know.

But as both the shows drew to an end, he found himself despising the modern model of television. What genius decided to cut whole seasons down to a measly eight or ten episodes, anyway? 

For months, he had gotten to spend at least one night a week with you (as it turned out the shows only overlapped for a total of four episodes) and now, what? He was supposed to give it all up?

Eddie sighed as the credits rolled for the White Lotus finale, and not just because the ending had left him slightly unsatisfied. Truth was, he’d only halfway been paying attention from the moment your eyes had begun to droop and he felt the weight of your head drop onto his shoulder.

His heart pounded and his body froze, his spine as straight as if someone had jammed a steel rod down the back of his shirt. Your head was close enough for him to smell your shampoo and he could feel the warmth of your body seeping through the cotton of his paper thin shirt.

For one brain splitting second, Eddie wondered if this was some kind of move you were making. At least he did until he heard your steady, rhythmic breathing and the soft rasp of you snoring.

You didn’t stir until he reached for the remote and tried to lower the volume as the post-season interview with the creator started playing. Oddly enough, the absence of noise rousing you faster.

“Oh, shit. Did I miss it?” you mumbled sleepily as you rubbed one of your still-closed eyes.

“Yeah, kind of,” Eddie chuckled, regretting how it made his shoulders shake, thinking how it might have made you move your head.

Thankfully, you didn’t. You kept it right where it was, not making any kind of shift to get up.

“Well, I guess that’s it,” he said as he clicked off the TV, his voice laced with disappointment.

Disappointment he let himself believe he saw mirrored in your eyes as you nodded and worried your bottom lip with your teeth. Was he crazy?

Or did you not want this to be the end either?

“You know,” you started, twisting your fingers in your lap, “The Last of Us starts back in a couple weeks. Maybe we can keep it going?”

“We could…” he answered slowly and rubbed the flat side of his palm against his pant leg, trying to alleviate the sweat starting to accumulate. “Or…you could let me take you out on a real date?”

All the air in his apartment whooshed out, leaving nothing but a deafening silence in its wake. More sweat collected in the center of his palm and he swore you could see how his heart thumped.

“Is that you asking me out?” you asked, your even and nonchalant tone debilitatingly hard to read.

If you were horrified, if you felt totally violated, if you were extraordinarily creeped out—it was just about impossible for him to tell. If you were filing a report with HR in your head, he wouldn’t have the faintest idea until the pink slip hit his desk.

But he took some solace in the fact that you never lifted your head off his shoulder.

“Uh…yes,” he answered after a long pause. A long pause followed by an even longer one; a long and silent one from you during which Eddie debated defecting to the company’s Canadian office.

And then he heard it—the soft, yet unmistakable sound of you chuckling sweetly.

“About fuckin’ time, old man,” you murmured in your half-sleep, the hint of a smile curling up the corners of your mouth as you draped an arm over him and nestled fully into his embrace.

Eddie’s own arm slipped around your back, hand landing on your shoulder like he’s been dreaming of it doing since January. He pulled you into him, wrapping you up tightly and exhaling in relief.

Shit. He had to tweet Mike White now.

Thank you so much for visiting the spa, we hope your services were satisfactory 🌿

[pythonmoth]

cw: author is mexican. mention of mexican mafia and cartels. violence. military inaccuracies. a hostage situation. reader is unprofessional and insubordinate (nothing new). price plays favorites. brief mention of a boner (one sentence), nothing explicit nor serious. primary simon x f!reader. poly tf141.

wc: 4.3k

for @outfor-v because your support has been insane and it means a lot to me. thank you 💙

First | Last | Next

It’s been a couple of days since everybody’s been back, and only a few weeks since Simon saw you for the last time at your house. He’s surprised how much better you look; full cheeks, a healthy glow on them, and your eyes alert. With you on his right, Johnny on his left, he feels like he could take over the world. 

He will start with the mission, though. It takes a few days for Kate to get to base, and as soon as they all gather to greet her, her serious face makes everyone sit down. He’s known her for a long time, and Simon’s sure she will outlive every single person in this room, including Price himself. She never takes unnecessary risks but, when she does, Kate always makes it. It doesn’t matter if the team has to rescue her at some point, it’s as if it was part of her plan all along.

Inside of Price’s office, as Kate shuts the blinds, Garrick and Price mutter to each other, legs pressed together. Bickering, as always. To this day, Simon wonders why they even  broke up, if they’re very obviously gone for each other still. “Kyle, John, be quiet. I need to give you all the information because there will be no paperwork on this, and that means no info gets written down. Pay attention.”

“Yes, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am,” Garrick calls, his posture becoming mockingly impossibly straight. Simon sighs internally. Garrick and Price are a pain in his ass, but adding Kate… well. He’s sure she has them eating from the palm of her hand.

“Don’t you ma’am me.”

“Very well, Laswell. This is unlike you, coming to us like this for a secretive mission. What is it?” Price interrupts their little banter, eyes focused on her. “What happened?”

The atmosphere in the room changes as she starts talking. Years ago, they had to deal with Hassan, and the mexican narcos. It had been bad, corrupt and tiring, so Kate doesn’t dwell much on the past, but the way she meets Price’s eyes, Simon knows she remembers very well the day she was taken. Despite being taken hostage that day, Price told them she killed one of them herself, and snapped at him for apologizing. A fierce lady.

Price’s fingers curl on his knee but he nods at her, asking Kate to continue.

“Alejandro is asking for your help. The new faction of the cartel is taking control over the immigrants who cross the border, killing those who won’t go with them, and it’s stirring up problems for the Mexican Army and the Special Forces.” Kate stops for a moment, briefly meeting Price’s eyes again. “Because of the cartels crossfire, innocent citizens are dying. I don’t have much information on them, but Alejandro has people inside and has found information that links the leader to a few politicians, and Valeria’s old cartel as well.”

“Are you asking us to meddle in mexican politics?” Johnny questions, straightening up on the chair, his face twisting. Simon isn’t sure he’s liking this any better. “If anything goes wrong, videos of our severed heads will be rolling online, and not just from the narcos’ phones.”

“You never sent me your email, by the way.” Simon mumbles, a grin spreading under his mask when Johnny nudges his shoulder.

“No, no politics. Alejandro is requesting our help to capture the leader of the faction, and nothing else, just like what happened with Valeria back in the day. Whatever happens after that, it’s not our business.” Kate shakes her head, crossing her arms over her chest. “No paperwork, no assistance. Just your weapons and Alejandro’s team.”

It is true that it’s not the first time this team has done things under the radar, and it probably won’t be the last either. Just like Farah, Alejandro has been there for them over the years, so not only Simon knows they would do this for them and more, but also the rest of the team, bickering forgotten as Kate explains the situation.

Capture the leader alive, assist Los Vaqueros and get the hell out of there. It’s not gonna take long, if everything goes according to plan. And so, it’s Johnny who stands up first, nodding. “What are we waiting for? Let’s catch the fucker.”

“This could be messy,” Price hums, rubbing his thumb over his chin. “Not legal at all. We have no jurisdiction, and we won’t have any protection.”

“It’s what you do, John,” Kate huffs. “What’s another war crime? These are our friends. We can’t give them an army, but a couple hands is all they’re asking for.”

“Ready when you are, Kate,” you declare, your hands steady over the table. Simon’s chest puffs a little bit with pride at the determination in your voice. It’s comforting, knowing you aren’t hesitating even though you don’t know the full situation with Alejandro and the mission back in México. He’s a friend, and that’s enough.

It’s not that they didn’t want to tell you, it was just so long ago that they couldn’t be arsed to mention it in full detail anymore. Alejandro has been in contact from time to time so you do know him well —hell, Johnny had been pissed about it for a few weeks—, but the rest of it will have to wait for now.

“What’s the name of the cartel?” Price questions, moving to light up a cigar. Simon can tell his mind is starting to spin, to plan. “Who are we dealing with?”

“Las Sombras.”

Despite being forced to wait a full week while Kate gets everything in order for them to finally travel to México and aid Alejandro, they aren’t lazy at all. With the info of a group of innocent people being held hostages by terrorists a few states away, they all move quickly. 

Simon’s ears are as sharp as his eyes are, and he doesn’t miss the tension in Price’s tone when he orders you to stay back, and provide help from base. To nobody’s surprise, your eyebrows shoot up, your lips curling in anger but you still nod, taking his orders without much obvious reluctance. You turn your back on Price, moving to grab Simon’s arm to take him away, needing a moment. You drag him to his room, no words coming from you as your fingers reach for the skull mask sitting over his desk.

The first time that happened, was the night you got here. 

He had been wearing a black mask because he knew you were coming that night, and because it was something you two discussed a while ago when he was at your home. Seeing you again made him smile, removing the mask once you were alone in his room, and the hug he received from you… heaven on earth, really.

“Where is it?” you mumbled against his neck, your lips brushing just slightly against his skin. Your breath was warm, and it was making him sleepy in your arms.

“Hm?” Simon had hummed, his fingers running along your skin, caressing and feeling. He could feel your goosebumps, and he’d never been happier. He pulled you even closer, pretending like he didn’t understand what you wanted. Delaying the conversation was the only thing he could do.

“The mask.”

“What mask?”

“Simon.”

He sighed, sitting up from where he was laying with you to dig into the drawers. The balaclava was coarse to the touch, even more so after that day, even if he had washed it until the skull started to fall off —if he tried to bite it off, that’s his business—, but nothing could erase what he did. What they all did to you.

“Why? I can buy another one. A different one.”

“No. Just… let me.” With a shaky hand, you reached out for it. You were quiet for a moment, staring at the mask, weighting it, your thumbs brushing against the fibers. It was only after ten whole minutes, which Simon did count in his mind, that you looked up at him. “Okay. Come here.”

“What? No. You’re insane. You’re doing well. I can’t, and you shouldn’t.” He protested, shaking his head in disbelief, and your wobbly smile did little to reassure him, but when you got on your knees, sitting between his legs, he just froze. He was terrified. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m fine.” Despite your reassurance, Simon kept a gentle hand on your left hip, grounding you, and grounding himself, half-prepared for a fight, or for you to freak out.

Sitting very still, Simon didn’t look away from you as you gently slid down the skull balaclava over his face. Your hands shook, body recoiling slightly, but as soon as his eyes were visible again, you tried to find them, focusing on them. It was nerve cracking, staring at you in silence, expecting you to shoot him or kick his balls —and with zero plans on avoiding it. 

When you said nothing for whole ten heartbeats of his, he just couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “You’re safe, lovie. It’s me.” For a painful moment, you were radio silent, kneeling in front of him as if your thoughts were far, far away from inside the walls of his room. “Sweetheart? You with me?”

A deep huff left his chest as you tackled him to the bed, your body shaking, refusing to look at the balaclava, but also not letting go of his neck. That first night you slept right against him, the skull mask forgotten at some point of the night, tugged off just so he could feel your skin against his cheeks.

After that, everytime he has to do something, train the recruits, scold somebody, or just go to work out, you’re the one putting the mask on and then taking it off at night. He doesn’t bother questioning it, because he knows why you find it necessary; and in all honesty, if you said it would be better if he didn’t use a mask at all anymore, he would drop it. His face is plenty scary anyways.

Now with the skull balaclava resting over his face, he lifts it just enough to kiss your forehead, hoping it eases your nerves. “Stay in touch. We’re a team, it doesn’t matter if you have to stay back this time.”

“It matters. Price is doing this on purpose.”

“He is. But take it easy, he’s already pushing it by letting you be part of the mission from here, and you know it.” Meeting your eyes, he fears you’ll get mad at him, but you only nod, biting your tongue.

Watching you say goodbye to Garrick, full lips on lips and a soft smile, makes his heart give a warm tug —and squeeze with envy too. Johnny has it worse than him, though, getting a side hug and a little pat on his cheek. Simon’s aware of the lack of intent from Johnny’s part to fix things directly, including the times the sergeant has cried in front of him and not in front of you, but he can also see the improvement between the two of you. You’re less worried, less scared of him. Of them. And Johnny seems happier.

Price’s not so lucky, however. You barely knowledge his presence, but he takes it with grace, giving you a cheeky nod, before walking away with the rest of them. He finds it amusing, the way you never hesitate to jump on their faces, call them out; even before that day, he never knew peace when it came to you. Only when you were in his arms away from the battlefield did he know what true happiness was, and when Johnny joined right next to you… his little piece of heaven.

Right in his heart, he still burns with shame, regret, and disgust for himself —it’s forever rooted in his soul. Hell, Simon’s never been good taking orders, unless they came directly from Price, but that day his instinct, his heart, everything in him, was screaming, begging him to realize it was wrong. Now, he doesn’t know what to expect. It doesn’t matter if it’s been nearly a year since then, he will never forgive himself for screwing up, for becoming the reason for you to shut down into yourself from time to time. Still, that’s for him to carry and to deal with. You’re the one struggling with it.

Their orders were pretty much easy, if he’s honest. Shoot people with guns on sight, rescue the hostages, protect them, and take them back to base. It was easy. Soap’s not one to shy away from a good fighting, and he will put a bullet through anybody’s brain to do his job with no hesitation, especially if it’s to save people, but he wasn’t expecting the twist in their mission. The minute they got the hostages out, seven of them, he kept wondering why they were so… strangely quiet. Ghost clocked on it instantly as well, but they couldn’t be held back because more people could still come, so they moved quickly.

Sergeant Garrick behind them, keeping their backs secure, and the Capt’n up front making sure it was clear for them to move the refugees out to the van, Soap and Ghost moved quickly, keeping the group safe in the middle like a flock of sheep —just as jumpy as the real thing, too. With heavy steps, hesitant looks, and a whole lot of dragging bare feet along the rough floor, they manage to advance. It was easy. Until it wasn’t.

The first bullet went through his own arm. Everybody panicked, rushing to take cover, and Ghost was first thing next to him, his masked face turned to the refugees as he ordered them to stay down. The next bullet, not even a heartbeat later, made Ghost fall on his back, his helmet steaming. Soap didn’t miss where the shot was coming from this time. Right in the middle of the flock of sheep, one of them had a shit-eating grin plastered on their face, a pistol raised.

The L.T laying on the ground, Gaz and Price moving to take the rest away, Soap raised his gun and made an organic strainer right out of the refugee. No hesitation, his instinct roaring. He only came to his senses when Ghost groaned and stood up, grabbing his arm. Soap had forgotten he got shot as well, but that didn’t matter when he could breathe. Simon was okay.

It didn’t matter as they got to the vans, the refugees telling them what happened; a whole lot more talkative now. Apparently, the man had been with them when the shooting started, and pretended to be one of them to save his ass. That’s why they were so hesitant to speak, why they moved so slowly. Didn’t want to be caught in the middle and didn’t want to get killed if they opened their mouths.

That also didn’t matter when Gaz checked on both of them. The bullet went through his arm, but he was alright for the most part, and the adrenaline didn’t let him feel it, anyway. Simon, however, was fucking annoyed. He got shot because he was careless, because he focused on Johnny instead of the mission, and now they all had to go back to the base after not asking for your help, after the Capt’n didn’t let you come, and hurt.

“She’s gon’ have our heads.” Johnny sighs, staring as the refugees sleep, snoring their fear away. According to them, they’ve been prisoners for a month, so Johnny wasn’t sure when was the last time they slept. Didn’t really want to tell them much, however. “And I’m coming back with a fucked arm.”

“She’ll rip my bloody head off,” Price huffs from behind the wheel, eyes looking forward. Johnny can tell he’s already preparing himself, and they all know it’s not gonna be pretty. “Fucking hell.”

The fact that you could’ve genuinely helped them makes him feel extremely guilty. He’s one of the reasons why you can’t come with them, and he’s here, while you’re forced to stay back. And it’s slowly becoming part of himself, is the thing; he can’t go to sleep and expect a good night, because he’s haunted by it, the guilt chasing away his happy memories and replacing them with shame and regret. Johnny’s stained. Worthless.

“Could’ve been useful here. Another pair of eyes on them. That’s why we’re always together, John.” Gaz isn’t one bit happy, arms crossed and his gaze never fully leaving Johnny.

“Bite me, Kyle. You know damn well why she couldn’t come today.” 

“Well, if you’d told her that, maybe she would’ve understood.” Gaz snaps back, the rumbling in his chest painfully obvious. Johnny and Simon share a look, choosing to stay quiet during their lovers’ spat. “If you didn’t want her to be back yet, you should’ve ignored her petition. You’re the fucking Captain.”

“Yes, I am, Sergeant. Anything else you wanna add? Another decision you wanna question?”

“... No, sir.”

“Thought so.”

At first, it goes well. Simon helps the sleepy refugees out, the lasses guide them to the choppers, and Garrick and Price aren’t talking, but they’re not fighting anymore. Johnny’s next to him, ignoring the wound in his arm, but they’re both calmly walking to the clinic to get treated quickly. This spotless place gives him flashbacks of that day. The beeping of the machines bite at his brain, his eye twitching as the guilt floods him again, and again. It’s ridiculous, really, because he’s been here multiple times, half-dead and filled with grief from his lost mates… but nothing compares to that day. 

Spending time with you made a difference. Your kindness, your understanding, and the lack of anger from your part when you were alone with him helped a lot. Wave after wave of happiness made their way into his heart again, and he could see it again. Your love. 

Inside of Price’s office and with his back to you, Simon doesn’t see you coming down the hall, but he can hear hurried steps and he just knows. Could recognize your footsteps anywhere, even in his sleep. And so they all turn, Simon’s blonde eyelashes fluttering at the sight of you. Safe. 

There’s no love in your eyes this time, however, when your gaze falls on them. Bloody, ragged, Simon’s slightly fucked helmet in his hand, Johnny’s bandaged arm and Garrick’s angry expression in full display. “What the hell happened?” you demand, your entire body shifting to face Price, who’s taking his gear off from behind his desk, pointedly not staring at you. “Johnny— why didn’t you idiots ask for help? I was right here!”

“We tried to, but—” Garrick tries, bullshiting right through his teeth. Simon clenches his jaw, meeting his dark eyes. Wrong move.

“I tried connecting with all of you, and I got nothing but radio silence back, so don’t give me that bullshit.”

“Things go wrong,” Price huffs, the defensiveness rolling off of him. He turns his back on them, shouldering off his vest. “This went wrong, but we’re all fine. Soap’s alright, too.”

“You’re all in one piece, aye, but you know what?” With a single stride you’re standing in front of Price, your left hip sending his desk flying in the other direction. Instinctively, they all shift, turning to you and taking a step closer, except for Price, who’s staring down at you with a cold expression. “You could’ve been killed. We know how to operate together, and I could’ve been useful. I can’t just sit down on my arse and let you guys go out like that!”

“You’re more useful here.”

“Doing nothing? Don’t give me that,” you snap at Price. For a moment, Simon is scared Price is about to smack you down, but he only rubs his face, looking painfully old. “You don’t want me out there? Alright, but at least make use of me from here, goddamnit! I could’ve helped. The lasses were in position, just waiting to be called in, and what do you do? You go in blind!”

“They couldn’t have helped. One of the hostages—”

“I know that, one of them told me already!” Your voice is raising, your entire body shaking badly with anger. Simon can see the repressed emotions in your expression, the way you’re letting it all out on Price. He’s never seen you this angry before; maybe only when Johnny smacked your ass that one time years ago —pretty sure he still remembers the taste of your boots—. “Not because they were there themselves. What, we can’t go now? That’s what this is about?”

“What are you even talking about?” Price’s face twitches, offense clear in it.

“I think maybe we should…” Johnny tries to meddle, taking a step towards you, but that’s another wrong move. Your head turns just a bit, your eyes never fully leaving Price, and Johnny and Garrick take a step back at the same time, looking away. Simon, however, only stares, silent. —If his pants are a little tighter now, that’s his business—.

“Us. Women. What, you fucked up with me and now you can’t trust yourself not to fuck up again? Scared you’re gonna get a new reputation for that?”

“That has nothing to do with it, that’s absurd! What’s gotten into you? Since when do you believe I think such things?” Price jabs his finger in your forehead, forcing you to take a step back. Simon sees the mistake clear as day, the anger burning deep in your eyes, the cracking of your wrist when your right hand lifts.

A hard finger jabs into Price’s chest, your curved fingernail stabbing into his chest. “Don’t treat me like an idiot. If you didn’t want me back, you should’ve said so!”

At that point, Garrick steps away, leaving them there as he removes himself from the situation. Johnny follows right after him, meeting Simon’s eyes to urge him to leave as well. In the end, he also turns on his heels, and closes the door behind him. Your loud voice and Price’s raising tone ring in the air until he’s back in his room.

The music coming from his headphones bounce from one ear to the other, resonating in his brain now that he’s in his bed. Honestly, the last time he saw anybody go off on Price like that was so, so long ago, he doesn’t even think you were there to see it. Who knows, maybe his mind is playing tricks and you were that person too.

The soft pillows help his mind drift away, not wanting to think of you probably stabbing the captain as he just lays here, but… you wouldn’t. You two argue like real father and daughter, and he knows the care and love is just as real. Simon knows you’re pissed, and he knows its valid, but he also fully understands Price, even if he wouldn’t do the same. Hell, he wouldn’t have let you come back, but he can’t make that call, after all.

Simon’s eyes fall shut, Chad Kroeger’s voice filling the void of emotions settling in his stomach. Only his thumb moving against his stomach to the rhythm of the drums gives away that he’s awake, because he barely makes noise —unless he’s snoring. He’s one loud snorer. He’s proud of it. Good lungs.

He would’ve fallen asleep, if not for the dip in the bed that makes him open his eyes. Your face is a bit puffy, your hair slightly messy and curled from the tight bun you were wearing before, black hair tie now around your wrist. Simon’s hand lifts to your cheek on pure instinct, the momentary peace barely letting him think and process the fact that you’re leaning down. 

“Do you recall how long it must have been since any room held only you and me?

And every song that sings about it, says that we can't live without it. 

Now I know just what that really means”

Your lips feel soft on his, salty, and the sliding of your warm tongue on his is so slow, so perfect that the blood rushes to his chest, leaving him breathless. Simon wasn’t expecting anything like this, not when you were so busy fighting Price just a few minutes ago, but it’s… everything.

And it’s bloody perfect. 

Simon manages to breathe through it, deep fear of you pulling away from him eats at his heart, his brain screaming at him to hold you against him, to never let you leave, but his hands can only cup your cheek, hold your forearm. He’s on cloud nine, his heart pounding so forcefully against his chest that he’s half afraid he’ll break his ribcage.

But nothing, absolutely nothing matters when your arms wrap around his neck, both of you shifting until you’re on your back on his bed, headphones forgotten on the floor as he can only look at you. You’re messy, and there are tear streaks on your cheeks, but he can’t think of any day you’ve looked more beautiful than today.

“You could’ve died.”

That makes Simon take a shaky breath. He couldn’t care less if he died right now, if he got to hold you in his arms just a moment longer. Not planning on dying, he only nods his head softly, not wanting to remind you that that is literally your jobs. “I know.” 

“And I wasn’t there.”

“I’m back. And you’re here.”

“I should’ve been there. It’s stupid that I’m just…” You trail off, your fingers curling on his nape, fingernails brushing on his skin. Simon lifts an eyebrow, waiting for you to continue, knowing you’re not done yet. After a moment, your arms tighten around his neck, fingers lost in his hair and then your lips are on his again.

Simon wouldn’t mind dying like this.

-ˋˏ✄——————————————————

todo lo escrito anteriormente es ficción y de ninguna forma intenta aludir a algún tipo de organización de la vida real. es ficción y entretenimiento. ☝️🤓

buy me a coffee!

well! we've come so far. we have... six chapters left so don't be so happy yet. but hey, progress!! so exciting.

we're a little over 1k now, you guys. i can't thank you enough~ hope i can keep making fics we all enjoy. special shotout to @sheepispink because I wouldn't be here without her amazing sergeant reader series (and her friendship). best thing ever, forever thankful!

also, I hope it didnt come off as Laswell being into Gaz and Price 💔 she's just v cool!

the whole thing w the mexican mafia... ;) surely nothing bad will happen and nothing in this chapter is foreshadowing for anything!

taglist: @euphoricn @lilg101010 @enfppuff @carolchaotic @silas-fanfic-favs @nina-from-317 @an-ever-angry-bi @kittygonap @adventurerabby @defronix @iambuttwodaysold @blackhawkfanatic @malevolentghoul @thriving-n-jiving @literallegendicon @echo9821 @angel-bugz @ssc7514 @clickbait-official @hades--baby @blackhawkfanatic @sirbonesly @saki---chan @skeletonsucker @nnsissys @tessakate @honestlymassivetrash @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @rayrayyio @diseasedclitoris @alex1011sdzfgh @thebumbqueen @hyunjaebaby @jillvalentinesrealwife @sodavrr @kneelforloki @vioxsoo @l4vstrr @leon-thot-kennedy @t3a-bag @dotmistbird @littlezarp @eclipsedcherry @codeseven @babydoll-143 @viennakarma @exitingmusic @lockofspades

[gotta-winwin]

heat of july | b.sk

⭐ starring: boo seungkwan  💌 genre: comfort, fluff | wc: 1.6k 💬 preview: He loved everything about the countryside equally, except for you. He loved you much more than he loved anything else. 

cw/tw: small town romance, tangerine farmer!seungkwan with a love of poetry, loosely adapted from when life gives you tangerines, ex!vernon

🪽fic rating: pg  ☁️ masterlist & a/n: a little abstract, but as tiya (@gyubakeries ) put it: the simplicity of it made it feel more raw. at least, i hope. thank you so much for betaing and calming my fears, my love <3

now playing: forever by noah kahan 

this is an addition to my 500 followers event: click here to read the masterlist!

There was something tortuous about the heat of July. 

Seungkwan couldn’t pinpoint what it was exactly, but the scorch of the sun beating down his back as he tended to his tangerine farms made him feel like dying. Or giving up. Uprooting his life and moving to the big city like all his friends had. 

But there was just something about the tender craft of growing fruit and the feel of the countryside that Seungkwan loved. How his own hands could bring life into something and make it grow strong. How everyone seemed to know one another in this small corner of the world. Seungkwan romanticized the shit out of his hometown and he enjoyed the cinematic feel it gave him. 

He wrote verse upon verse of poetry dedicated to everything around him. The ocean breeze that always carried a hint of salt. His baby tangerines trees reaching for the sun. His rickety old rocking chair. His lover’s hair glinting in the afternoon light as she leaned against the porch railing. 

He loved everything about the countryside equally, except for you. He loved you much more than he loved anything else. 

You came to Seungkwan in a teal colored van, decorated with colorful bumper stickers, marks of rust and a fist-sized dent on the fender. 

“Hey, neighbour!” You had smiled at him as he stared at you, open-mouthed at the scene in front of him. It had been clear to him that you were from the city. “I love the farming aesthetic you’ve got here.” You wave a hand at his field and the tangerine saplings Seungkwan had planted with care, row by row. 

“Thanks.” He had replied dumbly, watching as you unloaded equally colorful suitcases from the trunk of your car. He walks down to assist and the smile on your face grows brighter. 

Seungkwan listens to you ramble on about your road trip from the big city to his hometown, and he could already hear himself composing his next poem. He didn’t have the verses just yet, but he knew it’d be something about the sun, and you. How your smile felt warmer on his face than any sun in the midst of July. 

You spent most of your time in the kitchen because of two things: the window sitting above the sinks face the sunrise and the window opposite those had a perfect view of Seungkwan’s tangerine farm. 

You saw him singing to his crops, now tall enough to reach his knees. They’ve sprouted baby leaves along the thin branches, and Seungkwan tended to them with care and gentleness. You watched him baby each plant like his own child. 

Occasionally, he’d glance up and catch you staring. A teasing smile would cross his face and he’d tip his hat in your direction. 

“You’re a great singer, Mr. Boo.” You’d tell him one afternoon in June, leaning out your window with your hair in the breeze. 

“Any song requests, ma’am?” A speck of dust on his left cheek catched your attention as he stood up to greet you. He gestured to his growing trees. “Good tunes always make them grow faster and stronger.” 

You raised an eyebrow. “And is that scientifically proven?” 

“Nah.” He smiled, eyes glancing down at his plants as if to share an inside joke with them. “It just does.” 

“Alright, then.” You played along. “Sing me something you think I’d like.” 

Seungkwan fixes you with a longing stare. “Alright, ma’am.” He hums a tune and although you can’t catch the exact lyrics, his voice flows through your ears like orange juice and honey. 

You watched him continue his work. You fall in love. 

Seungkwan likes how you seem to glow with the setting sun behind you. You’re both sprawled out on the picnic blanket in the middle of his tangerine grove, now taller than both of you but still thin and empty of fruit.

Seungkwan tells you it takes about 4-5 years for a tangerine tree to bear fruit. You tell him you’re patient enough for the wait. 

It’s silent as you stare at the lowering horizon and Seungkwan stares at you. 

“You give nice silence.” He mumbles against your ear, pulling you closer to his chest. 

You laugh, and it reverberates through his lungs. “Thank you. You do too.” 

He basks in your presence and the tangerine trees bloom around the two of you. Seungkwan falls in love. “Y/N.” 

You hum. “Yes?” 

“I think you should move in with me.” 

“You think?” 

Seungkwan laughs at your quip, kissing your forehead and nodding. “Yes. Move in with me.” 

“Okay.” 

Both of you ignore the fact that his question sounded more like a marriage proposal than a casual thing. Both of you knew this wasn’t one bit casual at all. 

The tangerines trees are high enough to cover the sun by the time another car rolls up on you and Seungkwan’s shared driveway. 

You know who it is before they step out of the driver’s seat. There’s an unmistakable bumper sticker that is the missing piece of the one still sitting on your car. 

“I’ll be right back.” You promise Seungkwan. You trust him enough to know he won’t hold it against you.

“I’ll be out in the field.” Seungkwan presses a kiss worth a thousand words against your lips and gets up to grab his farmer’s hat. He trusts you enough to let you go. 

He knows you’d be back. He just knows. 

“Vernon. Hi.” You step out of your shared house and greet your past lover on the wrap around porch. 

Vernon looks the same as he did three years ago. “Hey. Please come home.” He cuts straight to the chase and you appreciate him for it. 

“I can’t.”

Vernon scoffs. “Do not tell me you’re actually happy here. You hate the countryside– all the dirt and grime and labour. The distance from society. You only left because I pissed you off.” 

He was right. You had hated all those things, but it felt like a previous life now. “My fiance doesn’t let me touch the dirt, or the grime. He doesn’t make me do the labour. And the distance from society is not that bad when everyone you love also lives in the countryside.” 

You pretend you don’t see the color drain from Vernon’s face. 

“I’m sorry.” You tell him, because a bit of you is. “I like my life here.” 

“And what about what we had? You liked your life then too.” 

“I left and it took you three years to come looking for me.” You counter, and he grows quiet. 

“I’m sorry. Come back home, please.” 

You think about it for a second. You allow yourself to imagine what it’d be like going back to a life with your corporate job, cooking dinner every night, waiting for Vernon to come home from his busking gig with his friends. “I can’t–” You pause, and you voice out what you really want to say. “I don’t want to.” 

You watch Vernon get back into his car and drive off. You watch until you can no longer see his confused face in the rearview mirror. You know he used to love you like it was the simplest thing in the world. Like breathing. Yet you turn and you run to your lover. 

You find him surrounded by his tangerine trees, his hands in his pockets as he mumbles the next verse of whatever poem he was currently working on in his head. And in that moment, you knew you were always meant to love a poet. Be loved by one. 

He turns and you throw yourself at him. 

Seungkwan let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. “Hey there, pretty.” He kisses your ear as your arms wrap around him. He doesn’t speak about Vernon, but he knows. 

“I love you.” You say it because you need him to hear it. To know. 

“I know. I love you too.” 

He whispers the next line of poetry into your ear and you know you made the right choice. Seungkwan loves you like doing so was his vocation. And first loves were powerful, yes– Vernon had been your all and that vulnerability could never be replaced, yet, there was something damning about soulmates. Seungkwan sliced into your life like water, and that was a connection first love could never break.

The tangerine trees are in full bloom and yielding fruit as your four year anniversary of moving to the countryside rolls around. 

Seungkwan thanks whatever God is listening for bringing you into his life as he lays beside you, ears in tune with the rise and fall of your breath. He soaks it all in: the birds chirping outside, the warmth of your arm pressed against his, the faint twinge of tangerine still lingering on your lips. 

You look, decidedly, his. 

“You’re staring.” You comment, eyes opening to meet his. 

He hums, tracing drawings on your stomach languidly. “Just admiring.” 

You turn to look out the window, at the tangerine trees in full bloom. “Your grove was just a plot of dirt when we first met.” 

Seungkwan remembers. “It’s not just dirt anymore, is it?” 

“What was it that you told me?” You reach a hand to tousle his growing hair. “Love is for the hardworking, the tired and the calloused hands.” You open Seungkwan’s palms to face the air, admiring the rough hands of your farmer. “And that tangerine trees grow with love, patience and song.” 

Seungkwan nods. “I did say that.” 

“Forever a poet.” You muse. 

“I wasn’t really talking about tangerine trees, though.” Seungkwan smiles at your confused expression. “Relationships grow with love, patience and song too.” 

You knew then, you’d grow old and happy by the countryside, in the arms of your lover and surrounded by tangerines. For there is beauty in the simple things, and with Seungkwan, you could want nothing more. 

[cup1drul3z]

★ — Thats MY girl | CH 3

5ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ | ᴄᴇᴏ!ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

CW : Age gap if you squint, PLUS SIZED READER, power kink, cheating, modern au, new york, assistant reader, readers a little awkward but we love her anyway, sugar mommy, SMUT, fingering, cunninglings, strap, bondage, lingerie, angst

A/N : im watching twilight so its only a matter of time before i pick my vampire series back up guys

The ceiling is blank. Pale. A little cracked in the corner. You’ve counted the lines three times already. Maybe four.

The room is dark except for the faint orange glow from the streetlight outside the window, spilling across the sheets. It's warm. Too warm. You shift, careful not to wake him.

He’s breathing softly beside you. One arm tossed over your waist like it means something.

The sheets are pulled halfway up. Bare shoulders. Bare skin. You’re both naked beneath them, still tangled from something that should’ve made you feel better.

It didn’t.

You exhale through your nose, slow and quiet. You feel the ache in your hips, the soreness in your thighs, the damp still clinging faintly between them—and it should make you feel wanted. Claimed. Loved.

But all it makes you feel is hollow.

Your eyes trace the ceiling again.

You think of her.

Of Sevika.

The way she looked at you when she lit that cigarette. The way her voice dropped when she said your name. The way her mouth tasted like smoke and ruin and promises she wasn’t allowed to keep.

You remember her hands—strong, steady. Never unsure.

And then you think of Mel.

You think of the way Sevika walked back inside with someone who clearly knows her. Someone who gets to see the parts of her you don’t. Someone who doesn’t flinch, doesn’t walk away, doesn’t leave her standing alone on a balcony with nothing but a dying ember between her fingers.

You wonder if you were just something easy to reach for in the dark.

You blink at the ceiling again, and this time, your vision stings.

But you don’t cry.

You just lie there, still and silent, with a warm body curled beside you and the echo of someone else’s hands still burned into your skin.

The alarm never goes off.

You’re already awake.

You’d been staring at the shadows on the ceiling for an hour, maybe longer—watching them shift as the sun started to rise, turning everything soft and gray. There’s no real sound, just the occasional creak of the pipes, the muffled hum of early morning traffic outside your window.

He’s still asleep.

Curled into the sheets, one hand resting on the empty space you just left. His chest rises and falls in a slow rhythm, the same rhythm you’ve listened to for months. Safe. Familiar. Easy.

And somehow, it feels heavier than ever.

You move around the room quietly, slipping into your new mid lengthed plaid bodycon skirt and black blouse Caitlyn picked out. The fabric is soft. It fits right. You don’t have to tug or adjust or suck anything in. For once, it feels like it was made for you.

You clip your hair up, swipe on a little mascara.

Just enough to look awake.

Not enough to look like you’re trying too hard.

You pause at the edge of the bed, looking down at him.

His brow is slightly furrowed, even in sleep. His lips twitch like he’s mid-dream. Maybe about video games. Maybe about something else. You’ll never know.

He stirs when you grab your bag. “Mm—what time is it?”

“Early,” you whisper, pulling on your shoes by the door. “I’ve got a long day.”

He grunts in response, already sinking back into the mattress. No kiss goodbye. No real goodbye at all.

You shut the door behind you.

It clicks gently. Clean. Final.

The hallway outside smells like someone else’s toast. The light is brighter out here. You take a breath.

And you leave.

Because right now, the only thing worse than being around him—

—is staying.

The office hums with its usual morning rhythm—phones ringing, keys clacking, someone complaining about the coffee. But everything feels a little… dull. Like the world’s moving just half a second slower than usual.

You walk in quietly, head slightly lowered, adjusting the strap of your bag as you pass your desk. You catch a few glances—some subtle, some not. Whispers behind coffee cups. You don’t know if they’re about last night… or if you’re just paranoid enough to assume they are.

You sit down, open your email, try to look busy.

Then the message pings.

"My office. Now."

No name. No frills.

Just Sevika.

Your stomach flips.

You smooth the fabric of your plaid skirt, run your hands down your black blouse, and stand. The short sleeves feel suddenly too short. The buttons too tight. The hallway feels longer than it is.

You knock once on her office door.

“Come in.”

Her voice is calm. Controlled. Of course it is.

You open the door and step inside, closing it behind you.

Sevika’s at her desk, suit jacket draped over the back of her chair. Her black dress shirt is rolled at the sleeves again, exposing the ink on her forearms. She looks up at you with unreadable eyes.

“You left early last night,” she says, leaning back in her chair.

You nod once. “I wasn’t feeling well.”

Her eyes narrow slightly, like she knows that’s not the whole story—but she doesn’t push. Not yet.

“You look nice,” she adds after a beat, voice lower now. “New outfit?”

You nod again. “Thanks.”

The silence stretches. Too long.

And then she asks—soft, almost careful:

“Why’d you leave?”

You don’t sit.

You stay just inside the door, hands clasped in front of you like they might keep you steady. The weight in your chest has been there since last night, and now it’s pressing harder, heavier, louder.

“I saw you,” you say finally. “With Mel. On the balcony.”

Sevika raises a brow.

You swallow. “You came in together. You were close. And I just—”

You pause. It sounds stupid when you say it out loud. You feel stupid. But the words are already hanging there, between the two of you like smoke.

Her lips twitch.

And then she laughs.

It’s low and sharp and not entirely cruel—but close.

“Seriously?” she says, folding her arms across her chest. “Aren’t you the one cheating on your boyfriend?”

Your face burns. “That’s—That’s not the point.”

“No?” she tilts her head, still smirking. “Because from where I’m sitting, you’re the one sneaking out of someone else’s bed to crawl into mine.”

You flinch.

“I asked you a question,” you say, voice smaller now, tighter. “Answer it.”

The smirk fades, just a little.

Sevika leans forward, resting her elbows on the desk, eyes steady on yours. “Yeah,” she says. “Mel and I slept together. A few times. It was a long time ago.”

You blink.

“She’s not into complications,” Sevika adds. “And I’m not into pretending.”

You nod slowly, unsure what you expected.

But then her gaze sharpens again, voice cool and matter-of-fact:

“And nothing would ever happen between us again—not with you around.”

That lands differently.

You feel it in your gut.

Because it’s not a compliment. Not really. It’s a fact. A statement. You’ve changed something. Shifted a dynamic that used to be casual, clean.

Now it’s messy.

Now it’s you.

You’re not sure whether to feel wanted or warned.

Sevika sits back, waiting—watching you unravel without ever touching you.

And you suddenly don’t know where to go next.

You’re still standing there, blinking, your heart thudding so loud it drowns out the hum of the air conditioning. Sevika hasn’t looked away—not once—and it’s unbearable. Not because she’s mocking you anymore, but because she isn’t.

She’s watching you like she’s waiting for your next move.

And then—

The office door slams open.

“Sevika—!”

A man in a rumpled suit storms in, breathless and wild-eyed. His tie is crooked, his tablet clutched tight in one hand. You recognize him vaguely—Ronan, one of the higher-up corporate advisors. Usually polished, always annoyingly self-important. Right now? Disheveled. Panicked.

Sevika doesn’t flinch. Her jaw tightens, but she doesn’t take her eyes off you for another two seconds before turning her full attention on him.

“This better be good,” she says, already shifting into a different version of herself—cool, sharp, efficient.

“It’s the international account,” Ronan blurts. “Someone from the Singapore division leaked the quarterly numbers. Press has it. Analysts are already speculating a crash. We need you upstairs—now.”

You blink.

“Fuck,” Sevika mutters, standing abruptly and grabbing her blazer off the back of the chair.

Ronan looks at you like he just realized you exist. Then quickly pretends he didn’t.

“You—wait outside,” Sevika tells you as she shrugs on the blazer. “We’re not done.”

But she doesn’t say it like a threat this time.

She says it like a promise.

Then she’s out the door, Ronan scrambling to keep up with her, shouting something about press embargoes and legal teams.

You’re left alone in the office, her chair still warm, the tension still clinging to the air like static.

And suddenly, you’re not sure what she meant by we’re not done.

You’re not sure if it’s about the job.

Or about you.

You’ve been staring at the same half-written sentence for an hour.

I think we’ve been growing apart.

You delete it. Rewrite it.

You didn’t do anything wrong, I just—

Delete.

It’s not you, it’s—

You actually gag.

Your cursor blinks on the blank page, cruel and steady. Your hand tightens around the pen. There’s a second version scrawled in your notebook, then crossed out. Another started on your phone. And still—nothing feels right.

He didn’t hit you. He didn’t scream. He didn’t cheat.

But he also didn’t see you. Not the real you. Not the one who’s been unraveling piece by piece every time Sevika looks at you like she knows you better than anyone else ever has.

You close your eyes and lean back in your chair, the ache in your chest louder than the clack of keyboards around the floor. You fold the paper in half, then in half again. Then unfold it. Stare at it. Fold it again.

You don’t notice the footsteps until a voice cuts through your thoughts:

“Damn. You look like you were hit by a train”

You jolt, eyes snapping up.

Jinx leans on your desk, two lollipops sticking out of her mouth like fangs, one eyebrow cocked. Mel stands beside her, arms crossed, looking slightly more composed—but her expression softens when she sees your face.

“Everything okay?” she asks gently.

You nod too quickly. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just… working.”

Jinx leans in, stealing a glance at the crumpled letter before you can shove it away. “Oooooh, is that a break-up letter?”

You flush. “It’s nothing.”

“Dramatic nothing,” she grins. “Ten bucks says you’re dumping that Game Boy boyfriend of yours.”

“Jinx,” Mel warns, but she’s already circling behind your desk.

“We came to give you an update,” Mel says, redirecting. “Sevika’s still upstairs with the legal team. Press is calling it a ‘leak,’ but it looks like it was internal sabotage.”

Your stomach twists.

“She okay?”

Mel tilts her head. “Define ‘okay.’ She hasn’t killed anyone. Yet. But she’s in full damage-control mode. Probably won’t be back down until after lunch.”

“She asked about you, though,” Jinx pipes in, wiggling her brows. “Not in a weird way—okay maybe a little—but still.”

You look away, lips pressing together.

Mel eyes the paper again, then you.

“You don’t have to rush into anything,” she says softly. “But if you’re already writing letters…”

She lets the sentence hang.

Unspoken, but heavy.

The office is dark when you wake.

Not pitch black—but that soft, eerie kind of dark where everything looks dipped in deep blue, shadows long and slow-moving. For a moment, you don’t even remember falling asleep. Your neck aches. Your blouse is rumpled. The faint smell of leather and cologne clings to the air.

You shift and realize you’re on a couch.

Not yours.

This one is firmer, smoother, expensive.

Your fingers twitch against the material, and that’s when it hits you—

Sevika’s couch.

You sit up slowly, blinking the sleep from your eyes. The light from the city filters in through the wide windows behind the desk. Her desk. You glance around, disoriented.

You’re in her office.

But she’s not here.

Her chair is empty.

The room is still, too still. The digital clock on the wall blinks 2:17 a.m. The hum of the building has dropped to that late-night hush where the AC cycles feel like thunder and every tiny creak makes your heart skip.

You rub your eyes, trying to remember.

The last thing you recall was staring at your half-written break-up letter… then Jinx, then Mel… and then—

Nothing.

You must’ve passed out.

But Sevika must have—

She moved you. Carried you? Laid you here?

You blink at the thought.

The throw blanket draped over your legs is the same dark gray one she sometimes tosses across her lap during long calls. It smells like her.

You sit there for a moment, eyes scanning the room. Her jacket is gone. So is her phone. But her ashtray’s still on the desk—fresh, a cigarette half-burned and smoldered out on the edge.

She was here.

You exhale slowly.

And you wonder why it feels lonelier now than it did before you fell asleep.

You step out of Sevika’s office, the hallway dim and empty, the air cold in a way that makes you hug the throw blanket tighter around your shoulders. The building is silent. No hum of conversation. No tapping keyboards. Just the occasional creak of old infrastructure and the glow of emergency lights lining the floor.

Your desk is still there, frozen in time.

The half-folded break-up letter.

Your cold coffee cup.

And your phone—right where you left it, screen dark.

You pick it up.

No missed calls.

No texts.

Not even a where are you?

Your stomach turns.

You scroll to his contact. Your thumb hovers for a moment.

Then you call.

It rings. Once. Twice. Four times. Straight to voicemail.

You stare at the screen, then lift the phone to your ear as the beep sounds.

Your voice comes out quieter than you expect.

“Hey. I’m okay.”

You pause.

“I crashed at the office. Long day. You didn’t… check in. But I guess you figured I’d be fine.”

Your throat tightens, and you clear it quietly.

“I’ll be home in the morning. Just—don’t wait up.”

You end the call before your voice can crack.

The phone screen goes black again.

And the silence presses back in.

You sit at your desk for a while, blanket still wrapped around your shoulders like armor, phone resting cold in your hand.

You check the time again. 2:39 a.m.

You could go home—but it doesn’t feel like home.

Not tonight.

The idea of slipping into bed next to him, pretending things are fine… it makes your skin itch.

You open your phone, thumb hovering over a browser tab.

Cheap motels near me.

The results pop up: sterile lobbies, coin-operated vending machines, scratchy lighting that never quite goes out.

You rub your face with both hands.

You could just stay here. No one would know. You could curl back up on that couch and let yourself disappear for a little longer. No pretending. No lying. Just silence.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the soft ding of the elevator.

You don’t move.

You just listen as the footsteps approach—slow, heavy, tired.

And then she appears.

Sevika steps into the hallway, blazer draped over one shoulder, sleeves rolled halfway up her forearms, shirt half-untucked. Her hair is messy—hands-through-it-too-many-times messy. She looks like she hasn’t sat down in hours.

She stops the second she sees you.

Dead in her tracks.

You stare at each other under the hum of the emergency lights, two worn-out souls caught in the wreckage of a long day.

“…You’re still here,” she says, voice lower than usual. Rough around the edges.

You nod slowly.

“I didn’t know where else to go.”

Sevika blinks, like that answer hits somewhere deeper than she expected.

She shifts the blazer on her shoulder, jaw tense.

Neither of you speak for a moment. The weight of her exhaustion—and yours—hangs thick in the air.

“You could’ve called,” she says quietly, stepping forward. “I would’ve answered.”

You believe her.

And somehow, that hurts even more than if you didn’t.

You watch Sevika approach slowly, the heels of her boots barely making a sound against the polished floor. She stops in front of your desk, eyes sweeping over you—still wrapped in her throw blanket, hair mussed from sleep, makeup smudged beneath tired eyes.

She doesn’t comment on any of it.

Just rests a hand on the edge of your desk, her posture relaxed but heavy with exhaustion.

“You didn’t even go home,” she says softly.

You shake your head. “Didn’t feel like it.”

Sevika breathes out through her nose, like she understands too well.

“Press is gonna have a field day tomorrow,” she mutters, more to herself than to you. “But I needed to get out of there. Too many suits. Not enough oxygen.”

You manage the smallest smile. “And yet, here you are. Back at the office.”

“Yeah,” she sighs, dragging a hand down her face. “I left my keys. But I was on my way to that twenty-four-hour ramen place by the bridge.”

Your brows lift. “At this hour?”

She shrugs. “Best time to go. No line, no tourists, just you and your bowl.”

You look at her, half-curious. “You eat ramen when you’re stressed?”

“I eat ramen when I’m alive.”

You huff a tired laugh.

Then, after a pause, her eyes soften just a touch.

“Come with me.”

Your heart skips.

“What?”

“Ramen,” she says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You look like you need hot broth and no questions.”

You blink at her, still bundled in a blanket and emotional whiplash, but something about the offer—the simplicity of it, the warmth under the words—hits deep.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Yeah. Okay.”

She nods once, then jerks her chin toward her office.

“Get your stuff. I’ll drive.”

And just like that, for the first time in what feels like days, you feel the tightness in your chest ease—just a little.

 The ramen shop is tucked between a shuttered nail salon and a 24-hour laundromat, its red paper lanterns swaying lazily in the night breeze.

Inside, it’s warm. Quiet. The kind of place where the radio plays lo-fi jazz and no one talks louder than necessary. A man in the corner is asleep against his bowl. The chef doesn’t even blink when Sevika walks in with you trailing behind.

You both slide into a booth by the window.

Neither of you speak for a moment.

She pulls off her blazer and tosses it beside her, rolling her sleeves higher as she leans forward and flips open the menu. You don’t bother. You just order what she does when the chef looks over.

“You’ve really done this before,” you murmur, watching her tear open a napkin.

Sevika smirks faintly. “This place has saved my ass more times than I can count.”

Your hands are wrapped around your glass of water, fingers cold, eyes still heavy with sleep you didn’t get enough of.

She notices.

“You didn’t have to come with me,” she says after a moment.

You shrug. “I didn’t want to go home.”

A silence falls between you, but it’s not uncomfortable. It just is.

Steam starts to rise from the open kitchen. You can smell the broth before you see it.

“So,” Sevika says, eyes fixed on her water, “what were you writing earlier?”

You hesitate. “A letter.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“A break-up letter,” you clarify. “For my boyfriend.”

Sevika leans back slightly, lips parting like she might say something cocky—but nothing comes.

Instead, she just says, “Did you finish it?”

You shake your head. “I fell asleep.”

She nods slowly, then looks away.

Your food arrives, placed in front of you with the quiet respect of a late-night chef who’s seen too much and asks too little.

You both start to eat.

The broth is hot and rich. The noodles perfect.

You let it soothe the ache in your chest.

After a few minutes, she speaks again—quietly.

“I’ve had people I didn’t know how to leave, too.”

You look up.

She’s not looking at you, just stirring her noodles, jaw tight.

“Even when I knew I wasn’t happy. Even when I knew they weren’t what I needed.”

Her voice is calm, but there’s something raw underneath it.

“You stay,” she adds, “because it’s easier than starting over. Until it isn’t.”

You don’t say anything.

You just stare at her, bowl half-full, something loosening in your chest.

And for the first time in days, you feel like someone sees you.

You don’t even realize how long you’ve been sitting in Sevika’s car until the sun starts to rise—soft and pink on the horizon, the kind of light that makes the world feel like it’s been forgiven for something.

Sevika parks in front of your building and puts the car in park, engine still rumbling beneath your feet. Neither of you speak for a moment. You just sit there, half-drained, half-overstimulated, the smell of broth still clinging to your clothes and the weight of unsaid things heavier than the bag in your lap.

“I’ll let HR know,” she says, her voice a little rough from exhaustion. “You’ve got the day off.”

You turn to her. “Sevika, I can—”

She cuts you off with a look. Not stern. Not cold. Just final.

“Go rest,” she murmurs. “You look like you haven’t in a while.”

You nod. Quiet. Small.

And for once, you don’t argue.

Your bed feels strange when you crawl into it—too soft, too empty, too yours in a way that doesn’t feel right anymore.

You leave the curtains open.

Let the morning light spill across the blankets.

You’re still wearing the same blouse from yesterday. You don’t care.

You fall asleep within minutes.

And that’s when the dreams start.

They’re not nightmares.

They’re not even memories.

They’re moments.

Flashes.

Sevika’s hand brushing the back of your neck.

The smell of her cologne lingering on your pillow.

The sound of her voice—low, gravelly, almost tender—murmuring something you can’t quite make out.

You dream of sitting beside her in her office, your knees just barely touching, her fingers curled around a mug while she watches you like you’re a puzzle she wants to figure out.

You wake up.

Then fall asleep again.

And this time, she’s behind you, her hand resting on your waist in bed. No words. Just warmth.

It doesn’t feel like lust.

It feels like comfort. Like danger dressed in safety. Like someone who could ruin you and still have the decency to carry you home.

You wake again.

Then sleep.

Again.

And again.

And every time?

She’s there.

You wake with your throat raw and your body aching all over.

At first, you think it’s the dreams again—that floaty, heavy-headed feeling that’s clung to you all morning. But then the wave of heat crashes over your back, followed by a bone-deep chill that makes you curl further into the blankets.

Your skin’s clammy.

Your head pounds.

And your nose is so stuffed you can barely breathe.

You groan, eyes blinking open slowly. The soft light from the window spills across your bed, warm and quiet—and the space beside you is cold. Empty.

You reach for your phone, but your hand brushes something else instead.

A note.

It’s scribbled on a folded napkin, His handwriting is rushed.

“Gone to hang with Miles. Be back later. If you need anything, just order food or whatever. <3”

You stare at the note for a long second, then let it drop to the floor beside the bed.

Your head lolls back against the pillow.

Of course he left.

Of course he didn’t notice the sweat soaking your shirt or the flush across your cheeks or the fact that you were tossing and turning all night with a fever that left your mouth dry and your joints aching.

You try to sit up and instantly regret it.

The room spins slightly. Your sinuses throb. Your stomach turns.

You cough once, sharp and painful, and it leaves your chest tight like your lungs aren’t working quite right.

You manage to shuffle to the bathroom, running the cold water, splashing it on your face. The girl in the mirror looks pale. Tired. Worn down.

You reach for your toothbrush and gag on the effort.

You lean over the sink, forehead pressed to your forearm, breathing shallow.

Something’s wrong.

This isn’t just a little cold.

And you’re alone.

Again.

You’re curled up on the bathroom floor now, your cheek pressed against the cold tile. The fever’s making your skin feel like it’s on fire, but your hands are ice. Every breath comes shallow and slow, like your lungs are full of sand.

You reach for your phone again with trembling fingers.

You dial him.

It rings.

And rings.

Then his voicemail picks up.

You don’t bother leaving a message.

You try again.

Voicemail.

Again.

Nothing.

Your chest tightens—not just from the congestion, but from something deeper. Something bitter. You’re sick. You’re scared. You asked for one thing.

You blink back tears and scroll to the next name.

Caitlyn.

She picks up on the third ring.

“Hey! I was just about to text you—wait, are you okay? You sound—”

“I think I need to go to the hospital,” you croak out, voice barely above a whisper. “I—I feel really dizzy, and my chest hurts when I breathe.”

There’s a pause. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

“Not answering,” you mumble, eyes squeezed shut.

She curses under her breath. “Shit, I’m like two hours out, I’m visiting my aunt—but I can try to call—”

You don’t say anything.

You don’t have to.

Caitlyn sighs gently, and you can hear her shifting on the other end, voice softening.

“I know you don’t want to. But you need help now. Call her.”

You’re quiet for a beat. Then another.

“Y/N,” she says firmly. “Call Sevika.”

You hang up without arguing.

Your fingers hover over her name in your contacts.

Your heart pounds in your ears.

Then you tap it.

The line rings.

Once.

Twice.

“Yeah?”

Her voice is groggy—like she just woke up. Low. Rough. But clear.

You close your eyes, trying to summon whatever pride you have left.

“Hi,” you whisper. “I… I’m really sorry to bother you, but… I think I need to go to the ER.”

A pause.

Her tone changes instantly.

“Where are you?”

You sniffle. “At home. I tried calling my boyfriend, but—he didn’t answer.”

Another pause.

“Okay,” she says, already moving, you can hear it in the rustle of clothes, the slam of a drawer. “I’m coming. Stay on the phone with me, yeah?”

You nod, even though she can’t see it.

“Yeah.”

And for the first time in hours, something in you exhales.

Because someone’s actually coming.

Sevika pounds on the door harder this time. “Open up.”

Nothing.

Her jaw tightens.

She tries the knob—it’s unlocked.

She steps inside.

It’s too quiet.

The air is heavy, like it hasn’t moved in hours. The curtains are drawn, and the only light comes from the flicker of the TV left on, playing some low-volume show neither of them had been watching.

“Y/N?”

No answer.

The apartment isn’t trashed, but it’s off. There’s a used tissue on the couch, a water bottle untouched on the coffee table, a hoodie draped over the back of a chair like someone stripped it off in a rush.

And then she sees the bathroom light.

Her boots hit the tile fast.

“Y/N—”

She freezes in the doorway.

You’re on the floor, barely conscious—half-curled, skin flushed with fever, lips parted as if even breathing is something your body has to remember to do.

Sevika drops to her knees beside you, hands already reaching to check your forehead, your pulse. You’re burning up. Clammy. Dehydrated.

Her chest tightens.

She presses her palm to your cheek, firm but gentle. “Hey. Hey. You with me?”

You murmur something unintelligible—half her name, maybe. Then your head lolls.

Her jaw clenches.

She stands quickly, scooping you into her arms like you weigh nothing. You’re limp against her chest, burning like a match in her hands.

She doesn’t waste time with blankets or apologies. She moves.

As she carries you out, her eyes catch the napkin note on the nightstand.

Her eyes narrow.

Gone to hang with Miles.

That’s all it says.

She breathes out through her nose, long and slow, trying to stop the red crawling up the back of her neck.

He knew you were sick.

He had to.

You weren’t well last night. Anyone who gave a shit would’ve seen that.

And he still left.

No calls.

No check-ins.

Just some half-assed scribble and a warm body-shaped hole next to yours in bed.

Sevika looks down at you, head tucked under her chin, your breath shallow against her collarbone.

Her stomach turns.

This is too familiar. Carrying someone out of their own apartment, feeling the fire of fever through thin clothes, holding back everything she wants to say because the other person can’t hear it.

But this time?

This time she’s not going to be quiet.

Not if he shows up.

Not if he tries to explain it away.

Not when you could’ve died choking on your own fever, alone on a bathroom floor, waiting for someone who didn’t even think to call.

She adjusts her grip on you, tighter, more protective.

“You’re okay,” she mutters, voice rough. “I’ve got you now.”

And she means it.

More than she probably should.

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[unconventional-lawnchair]

Invisible: Hermione x Reader {Blurb}

WolfStar!Slytherin!werewolf!Reader x Hermione

Masterlist

Summary: Reader is a bit of a punk like Sirius, with Remus's insecurities. She doesn't believe she deserves a girl like Hermione. No real plot just Angst straight into fluff

Cw: Use of {Y/N}, reader is a bit of a mess, insults, Hermione hit the reader a few times (please reach out if I missed something}

Wc- 2199

{Y/N} Lupin had never been invisible. Even on days you tried to be, the whispers and eyes still followed you through the halls. See, you were a bit too much like your father, Sirius. You styled like him. Every weekend, his old leather jacket, hair dyed a deep jet black, nails to match. Minnie would say you had the attitude, more in for a thrill then the consequence. Snape would say your grades were like his as well, just enough to pass and just engaged enough to not be called out. Not that you didn't relish in the attention and laughs you got when a teacher tried to reprimand you, and a very Sirius-like comment or two later, the classroom was full of snickering juveniles and you had one more detention on your record. A record, your father, for the life of him, couldn't tell you what it was for. He got an amazing job as an Auror straight out of school despite it all. If that wouldn't usually keep people a good distance away from you, you had the mind of your dad. Methodical and exact, Remus gifted you a weapon no one could quite match. Well.. until you met her.

Hermione Granger.

You see, nothing good could come of a troublemaker, unless they were a Gryffindor. If your reputation wasn't enough, your rule of kiss and tell would be. You were quite popular with the girls and guys of your year. You knew what they wanted and you entertained it. You understood who you were, a Slytherin, a delinquent, someone so bad yet irresistible. No one stayed later than a week or two, you never blamed them. When they got to know you, when they knew you weren't some fantasy written heart throb, their interest was lost. 

You liked to pretend it didn't hurt. It was good fun now and again, but every time someone stopped coming around you were reminded just what it was. Just the perfect amount of hurt and vulnerability for the next one when they came round. Your coping mechanism was the same thing hurting you, and you became cruel about it. 

You spent most of your days with Theodore Nott, a boy with much the same reputation. Complaining to each other just to fill the silence. If your parents knew you associated with the boy, there would be a riot. A Death Eater’s son, someone you trusted more with the secrets of your heart than your own father.

“So Snape says I have to stay in this Hogsmeade trip to study. Roped some poor third year into helping me.” You groaned and Theodore snickered at this. “Has the toad even seen your grades?”

“Bloody doubt it.” You huffed and took a drag of your cigarette. “Just hope it's not some brat, you know? Odd I have to study with someone younger.” You mumbled and handed the stick over to Nott, but it was intercepted by a pale delicate hand. 

Some girl, maybe only 14 years old, snatched the bud from your hand and dropped it on the cobbled floor. Stepping on it with a huff. She turned to you with a vicious smile. “How very kind of you for being early. Names Granger. Hermione Granger.” She held her hand out and you looked her up and down in annoyance. 

“Don't tell me you're the person who is supposed to assist me.” You scoffed and she smiled brightly. Clearly there was some hidden malice there. You were shocked a Gryffindor of all houses had chosen to throw away her weekend to 'help’ you. 

You huffed and took her hand, shaking it firm before she walked past you. You apologized to Theodore and began to follow her. 

That's how the unlikely dynamic began. That day you did everything in your power to get under her skin, and she yours. You would flirt with her, make crude jokes, ignore the work at any cost. She would badger you with questions you were sure the little lion didn't even know herself.

Your goal was to get her to leave you alone. But she refused.

Every time you were forced to detention study, there she was. It was like torture. You wanted to curse Snape’s very existence, but also thank him on your hands and knees for the opportunity. In normal circumstances, you would never have been able to even talk to Granger. She was so wrapped up in Harry -the chosen one- Potter and Ron -just stop whining- Weasley, you didn't even think about her much. 

That was your downfall, of course. You don't think of yourself as someone to fall, especially for an underclassman, but Merlin she was magnetic. Just enough sass and spunk, a bit of a smart ass but it left you wanting more. You tested the water a few times, but when Summer came around and you were sent home to your dads, you didn't send a letter, neither did she.

You and Hermione’s relationship was purely for studying. You knew there were people in your life that were made for certain times, and Hermione was made for quiet library rendezvous. For whispered flirts and cheeky comments between paragraphs. For daunting questions and electric praise. You just wished you could spend all year between those book pages, knee to knee, pretending nothing outside the library mattered. That you both weren’t helplessly over your heads.

That summer was hell, it felt like you were going through withdrawals. It's likely what it was, considering you wouldn't dream of bringing a smoke into your home. Sirius had a nose for that sort of thing. Though it seemed in your current state all you could think of was the fluffy haired girl. Even when you met some muggles to party with over the summer, even when you met up with some of your wix friends, you had fun but kept thinking about her beautiful eyes. It didn't help that you spent almost every weekend and full moon at the Potter’s, and your aunt Lily behaved so much like Hermione it terrified you. Especially since you were no James Potter.

It was pathetic, you decided. When the next school year came around, you did everything in your power to avoid her. Even getting good grades. Then, like some sick twisted joke, the Yule ball came. Everyone was pairing up and you didn't have the heart to stomach being around Hermione. You knew she wasn't someone to gloat or ramble on about the more feminine things in life, but even if it was just a passing comment you knew you wouldn't be able to take it. Knowing who was going to be whisking her off her feet all night, staring into her playful eyes, getting to see the caged bird fly, when you refused to beg for the key. You knew you weren't worth such a luxury. Hermione Granger was made for people like Krum, a famous Quidditch star, or a boy like Harry Potter, the boy who lived. Even Ron Weasley, a pureblood with a huge family with no real baggage. One that would allow her wings to spread and give her the freedom in her life. 

You caught yourself, thinking with such longing for her was vexing. You never found yourself thinking about forever. Not with anyone, until you met her. What good could you do for her? All you could truly offer was your father’s family’s blood money, your horrid reputation, and your werewolf blood. You knew how the world saw you, considering your father just quit last year because he was one.

When the night came, you and Theodore decided to go together. Most of the night was spent dancing with people who came alone, or each other, even drinking spiked juice when the weird sisters started up. Your eyes locked with Hermione’s, on complete accident. Your breath hitched when you saw her blissful smile turn to a look of hurt and disconnection. Your face fell, whatever joke Nott was on about with the girls you were with went silent on your ears. 

“Hey, man, I need some air.” You muttered to him, still holding Hermione’s eyes. Nott waved you off and you finally broke eye contact and hurried out of the hall.

You grabbed your suit’s coat on the way out. You were wearing a muggle suit, just a white button up, a green vest, black tie, and of course the black coat. You rushed to fix the coat around your sides as you began to turn down the hall. Getting as far away from them as possible.

“Don't you dare!” You heard a shout from behind you. You turned sharply on your heel at the familiar voice. You had never heard it so painful. You locked eyes with Hermione and she stalked toward you. You took a sharp breath and got ready for the first conversation you would have with her from the entire year. “What is your problem!?” She yelled at you.

“Hm? What's wrong, otter?” You played coy and pushed your hair back. You gave her your best smile, but from the look in her eyes you could tell it wasn't working. She scoffed at you and threw her gloves at your chest.

“You,,, You selfish git! I knew I should have listened to everyone! You're nothing but a scoundrel!” She shouted at you, in between shoves to your chest that got weaker as tears filled her eyes. You were stunned, jaw slack and trying to figure out just what to say in this moment.

You eventually grabbed her wrists and cooed at her to take a breath. It broke your heart to see her like this. “Come on now, you know I hate seeing pretty girls cry.” You mused and she huffed. “Don't call me that.”

“What? Otter or Pretty girl?” You asked and she huffed. 

“Both! You don't get to after what you've done!” Her shouts filled the empty hall. You grimaced and sighed. 

“Listen-”

“No! You listen to me!” She shouted over you and you quickly nodded. “I have spent my time at Hogwarts thinking I was invisible. I did my best, I got top grades, and the second people began to notice they acted like I was some kind of disease! Like I was just some arrogant cocky Muggle born who didn't deserve to be here.”

“You do-”

“It’s my turn Lupin!” She cut you off again and you nodded, putting her gloves in your pocket and leaning forward to try and dry her eyes. She leaned into your hands and it calmed her instantly. “I felt so out of place. I felt like I was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Then I met you,” She whispered and stepped forward. Her arms wrapped around your middle and she hid her face in your suit. “When I talked, you listened. When I asked you answered. You sought me out.. You made me feel like you wanted me around. Like I was special.”

You looked down at her in surprise.

“You were the first person to show me what that felt like. Everyone warned me that you were just a cruel flirt. And I guess they were right. I don't know what I thought, I see the girls you've had before, All pretty and done up, so bold and confident. I didn't even get the luxury to say I lost you like they have. Because I never had you. You never wanted me. You're cruel, {Y/N} Lupin.” She sniffled.

Your eyes were wide and you quickly wrapped your arms around her. Pulling her close into your chest you allowed yourself to press your nose to her hair. You let her cry in frustration in your arms. Not stopping her when she would occasionally hit your side with her closed fist. 

“Say something.” She begged pathetically, sniffling into your chest.

“... I have been torturing myself for months, thinking I wasn't worth your time, Hermione.” You admitted, voice dripping in shame. She scoffed and you pulled some of her hair behind her ear.

“Rubbish.”

“It's true.” You cooed in a playful tone. Pressing your chin to her head. “I was so wrapped up in the idea that you didn't want me back, Otter.”

Her sniffles slowly died out, she pulled back and looked you in the eye. You grabbed her cheeks again and leaned in closer. Your lips were a few inches from each other. You could feel her breath brush your lips. “You wanted me?”

“I want you.” You corrected and leaned in closer. She closed her eyes and her breath hitched. You stared at her, admiring her in the moonlight. You usually hated the moon and what it did to your family, but right now, you couldn't think of a better color for her. Your thumb traced her cupid’s bow and she huffed. “I am still mad at you, Lupin. So I’ll give you a choice.” She whined up at you and you smirked.

“Yes, pretty girl?”

“Kiss me or walk me back.”

You laughed and moved closer, your eyes lidding. “That’s a big gamble you're making there.” You breathe and she only smirks. “I like my odds.”

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

To Love You (Platonic Yandere!Child x Monster! Reader)

Chapter 2: The men in his life

[part 0, 1, here]

CW: femme bodied GN Reader, vulgar language, mentions of abuse, infidelity, unintentional manipulation

Stepping out of the shower felt no different than stepping into it. The wetness was felt, as the water was absorbed into their skin, but just as they could not feel the cold outside, they could not take comfort in the warmth of a shower.

Their home was.. quaint. (Reader) had to learn the concept of an apartment from their newly adopted son (the disgust they felt when they looked out at the building and believed the family lived in a hotel was visible on their face), and although they had their reservations, it wasn't nearly as pathetic as they assumed it would be. They had lived in poverty before, in a space larger than this, however there was electricity and heating; there was more fresh food than (Reader) knew was possible of storing, there were plants and plenty of clothes. Everything was very advanced, and it seemed as though life was much easier to live than before (even if they needed assistance with activating the shower).

Leaving faint footprints on the fake wooden floor, (Reader) saw family portraits both hung up and in standing frames on random shelving. Avery sleepily teetered over towards the monster, instinctively reaching out to grab their hand.

"I... did a truly terrible job of recreating her."

"Hm?"

"I look nothing like your mother."

Avery's hand flexed open for a millisecond before squeezing tighter. His face was scrunched in confusion, like his inability to process his own emotions was upsetting him. "I'm okay with that."

I'm sure you are. (Reader) glanced from Luanne to the man smiling next to her. But will he?

"What is your father's name?"

"Michael."

(Reader) picked up the drowsy child. His hair still smelled like the woods. "Is he a good man?"

The boy sagged, melting into his new "mother's" arms. "I mean, yeah? Mom yells at him a lot though.."

His room was decorated with comic book posters and action figures on every surface. The bed felt luxurious to the monster, and the blanket was expertly made, with intricate characters dyed into the fabric. They would later learn that it was a mass produced comforter, but at that moment it made them wonder who bought such an obviously expensive bed set for a child. If it was the mother, then why? She seemed to despise her son. And if it was the father, then that seemed to be a sign of good luck for (Reader). A kind and loving husband would probably be more welcoming to a previously hostile wife if "she" suddenly became equally as kind and loving.

Avery's tired eyes became unfocused as (Reader) tucked him in.

"Will you still be here when I wake up?"

(Reader) thought of Luanne. Her slightly crinkled skin under her eyes in the photos on the walls. The bright red lipstick on the bathroom counter and the perfume bottle in the medicine cabinet that reeked like her jacket and the skin she owned as (Reader) tore open her body.

"Yes." They were beginning to feel that they were just as confused as Avery.

This family was just a cover. And this family would eventually be nothing more than a meal.

But despite that, they still sat on his bed until the child fell asleep.

(Reader) almost went to investigate their own bed, when the front door opened very softly and slowly. Someone was sneaking in. They calmly changed direction in the hall, silently entering the living room to meet their new husband, who was quietly attempting to remove his shoes.

The monster watched him, his awkward movements as his heart loudly beat in his white collared shirt, and they felt a sense of unease. This was, clearly, Michael. It was the same man from the photographs. So why was he tiptoeing into his own home?

Michael took a shaky breath, calming his anxious heart, when he turned around and saw his wife, nearly experiencing a heart attack.

"Jesus, Luanne! Why're you just standing there?" His tone was accusatory despite the warm smile he had on his face. "I'm sorry I'm late, I got held up by that prick Donnie. Made me stay late to fix some fuck up that the new kid made.."

As he, loudly, approached the monster posing as his wife, they could smell him; and suddenly everything made sense.

He didn't even blink as he stared into his wife's eyes. There was no flicker of discomfort, recognition in his expression.. Michael couldn't tell that there was something off about Luanne.

His shirt smelled like chemicals and fruit and plastic and alcohol.

He leaned in to kiss (Reader).

They were used to kissing humans.

They never once enjoyed it.

But it was something they had to do.

To blend in.

However, when Michael opened his mouth it wasn't just cheap wine (Reader) could smell. It was slightly acidic. And they reared their head away in disgust.

Of course a man like this wouldn't have ever noticed that his wife was abusing his son.

"Your breath smells like another woman's cunt." They still expected Michael to finally notice that they weren't his wife, but even after hearing their voice it didn't seem to phase him.

"..Not this again." He abruptly spun away. "I just got home after a long day, can you not act like a crazy bitch for five fucking minutes?!"

He tossed his keys onto the little table by the front door as aggressively as he could without "throwing" them.

"I work so hard for you and Avery, and all you do is complain. How is that fair to me? You promised you wouldn't bring this up again, and yet here you are-"

"Avery and I were in an accident today." (Reader) cut him off. They didn't really want any sympathy from him, they just didn't want to listen to his pathetic moaning.

Their words seemed to shock him out of his tirade. "What? Is he okay?"

"Yes. However, I have a concussion.. the amb-u-lance doctors said that it was normal to experience some mild memory loss." They hoped their face appeared sincere. "I'm sorry. I thought I smelled something.."

Michael didn't seem to notice that his wife's speech had changed drastically. He reached out in a sympathetic manner, cupping their face with his hand.

"If it's that bad, why didn't they take you to a hospital?"

Ah.

"They suggested I go if my confusion worsens or if I developed any new symptoms."

He sighed through a grimace. "Well.. I'm glad you're alright."

(Reader) contemplated eating him.

"I see you've already showered.. why don't you go to bed, I'll be there in a second?"

You disgust me.

"I'm going to lay down with Avery. I'm still a little shaken up after the accident."

"How did it-?" Michael sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. We can talk in the morning."

He reached out again to hold (Reader), and it felt like mold growing on their skin when he planted a kiss on their forehead. His grip was tight on their shoulders, as if to prove that he could kiss them whenever he felt like it and they had no choice.

No; Luanne had no choice.

(Reader) flashed him a smile. He only smiled back.

What a prick.

They silently left the cheating bastard and returned to Avery's bedroom, where they could hear from his breathing that he had woken up and was doing his best to pretend to sleep. "May I lay down for a while?"

He didn't respond but scooted over to make room on his twin sized bed. The child was so small that it didn't cause much cramping to lie beside him.

"Avery?" It was plain curiosity. But a curiosity that was not appropriate when taking to a child. "Why didn't your father stop Luanne?"

Avery opened his large baby like eyes, staring up at (Reader's) unblinking ones. "What do you mean?"

"Did he ever ask you about your bruises?"

"Yes." He answered automatically before pausing, trying to recall a time when his dad may have noticed how mean his mom could be, and realizing that there was none. Every argument they ever had was about them. They were never about him. "No."

(Reader) wondered why they were probing their son. Maybe, deep down the know what they were doing: driving a wedge between them so (Reader) could eat the boy's father without regret. Yet, it didn't feel that way. They wanted to know. They were curious.

"I am not a human."

"..I know."

"My sense of smell is much greater than yours. As is my hearing."

"Really?"

They pulled Avery into a hug, whispering "I can hear your father's heart from the kitchen."

Instead of fear, this revelation seemed to excite the boy. "Really?!" He theatrically whispered back.

"I can smell.. a raccoon outside, climbing a tree."

A small gasp before a "You are a hero!" squeaked out of Avery.

"Avery." Their voice turned serious. "I can smell another woman on your father."

His breathing hitched. "What does that mean?"

".. Your mother was a very bad person for what she did to you. And your father.. he should have noticed what was happening."

Silence thickened between the two. The concept that his father failed him settled into Avery's tiny, six year old brain. Everything felt very complicated, and it was wearing him down. He felt more exhaustion than he felt in a very long time. "Will you protect me?"

(Reader's) mouth moved before the thought formed in their mind. "Yes."

After a very loud, one sided argument about the trashed vehicle, the monster was taking their new boy to school via the city bus. They understood that a motorized carriage must have been expensive, but their survival felt more important. On top of the irritation from an unnecessary "conversation" with their "husband", it stressed out Avery, who appeared to be distant with his father.

The city bus stunk of piss. It was disgusting, but Avery seemed impressed.

"Mom, there's my school!" He jabbed the window, pointing at a very large building,

"Is this a private institution?"

"Inst- insti- tush- ...no, it's a regular school?"

His face lit up with pride when his mom complimented his school, "It's impressive."

That is what they said, however, after exiting the bus and entering the school grounds, there was a very stern looking man glaring at (Reader) from the steps. He was about Michael's age, shaved bald sporting thick framed glasses and was smartly dressed. Upon seeing his frightening stare, they gently squeezed Avery's hand to catch his attention. "Do I know that man?"

"Yeah, that's Mr. Knight.." Avery sounded very quiet. "He's the counselor. He came over for a visit a few weeks ago."

"Why?"

"I don't know?" He lied.

The serious man's face completely changed when Avery drew near, cracking into a large, lopsided and toothy smile. "Good morning, Mr. Avery! How ya doin?" His voice was impressively deep, but (Reader) was more impressed by the fact that they had just realized there were children and teachers of all races entering the same building. They allowed themselves to smile widely, feeling a moment that was close to satisfaction: having been so many people, it was like joy and revenge all at once to be in the future.

But their smile fell when they looked back at the counselor, and recognized the emotion plastered on his form.

He saw (Reader's) smile, and he could tell that it was different.

He was not like Michael, who was so blind to his wife that he did not notice the change; this man saw their smile, and felt the fear, disgust, confusion, and discomfort that humans felt when they saw a fake human.

The uncanny valley.

Mr. Knight visibly shuttered before returning to his previous anger. "Good morning, Mrs. Jones." He spat out the name like it was vinegar. "I see you're personally escorting your son today."

(Reader) focused on keeping their face neutral.

Avery responded before the creature could. "We got into an accident. The car is getting fixed, so we took the bus."

Worry filled his dark eyes, returning his attention to Avery. "An accident? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, but Mom hit her head."

The sympathy he expressed was so plainly fake that it felt spiteful. "Well. Hopefully your injury wasn't too severe?"

(Reader) smiled again.

It made perfect sense. This man hated Luanne, Avery's real mother. But that woman was dead.

"I'm feeling much better now, thank you."

He involuntarily shivered at their voice. Even though he had no way of knowing that the mother was actually an ancient boogeyman forgotten by time, he clearly could feel it.

And while they respected that there seemed to be one adult who cared for Avery, they recognized that Mr. Knight would potentially be a headache for them in the near future.

[moonstruckme]

Now that your requests are open I need more ceo Sirius content PLEASE 🙏🙏🙏🙏

Thanks for requesting! You didn't ask for smut but it's what popped into my head lol, hope this is okay

cw: smut mdni, semi-public sex

ceo!Sirius x fem!reader ♡ 636 words

“Baby.” Sirius’ voice is low and smooth. Compelling. “Let me see you, dollface.” 

You struggle to pick your head up from where it’s dropped off the edge of his desk, finding your boyfriend watching you from his plush chair. 

“There’s my girl.” He grins, eyes glinting with humor at your flushed face. His hand strokes up and down your thigh, a soothing touch that’s completely at odds with the mess of slick between your legs. 

It doesn’t seem particularly fair to you how casual he looks. Sirius is relaxing in his chair like he’s sitting in a meeting, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and hair tied in a loose bun like he might’ve just pulled it back to have his lunch. Meanwhile, you’re spread half naked on his desk, seeping wetness onto the varnished wood. 

His fingers dip into you, the heel of his hand rubbing against your clit, and you make a choked sound. 

“Breathe,” Sirius reminds you. 

You roll your hips in search of more, but he stops you with a firm hand, pressing down just below your navel. 

“Easy, sweetness. We’ve got all afternoon, remember? Don’t want to tire you out too early.” 

“Sirius.” Your voice comes out breathy, teetering on the edge of a whine. “Come here.” 

He hums and curls his fingers inside you. You make a sound like you’re dying. You might be. “That wasn’t very polite, was it?” 

“Please.” 

He gives up the act easily, standing and bending with his fingers still inside you to lock his lips with yours. The way he kisses you says enough about how much he’s been exercising his patience, too. Greedy passes of his tongue along the inside of your mouth. Deep, long kisses punctuated by little nips. You meet him all the way, half sitting up on the desk to be closer to him even as the butt of his palm works ceaselessly into your clit. 

You’re the first to break the kiss when there’s a knock on the door. 

“Sir?” 

Sirius sighs, but his fingers don’t so much as stutter inside you. He raises his voice to be heard through the door. “I thought I told you not to bother me, Len,” he says, a slight bite of annoyance in his tone. 

“I know, I’m sorry. But Mrs. Burke’s assistant called, she wants to move her meeting to three today.” 

Your chest starts to burn, and you realize you’ve been holding your breath. You keep a hand pressed over your mouth, terrified of letting out some small sound that could give you away. As if on cue, Sirius’ fingers curl inside you again. Your thighs start to tremble.

“What happened to two tomorrow?” 

“She’s had to cut her trip short and will be leaving tonight. Three’s her last availability.” 

Sirius frowns, glancing at the clock on the opposite wall. That means he has to have you out of here and have his office cleaned up in an hour. His eyes meet yours, flashing with challenge in a way that has your shaking worsening. He smiles, wolfish. 

“You can let her know that’ll be fine,” he says. “Thanks, Len.” 

He waits a few seconds for Len to go from the door, then takes your chin in his hand. “What’d we say about breathing, doll?” 

You finally let the air escape you. Sirius watches amusedly, fingers still moving in and out of you at an indolent pace. 

“Should I go?” you ask once you catch your breath.

Dark eyebrows flick upwards. “No,” he says, sounding almost surprised. “Didn’t you hear Len? My meeting’s not until three.” He bends close to your face, a lock of hair that’s escaped his bun brushing your cheek. “I reckon we can get at least two good ones out of you before then, don’t you think?”

[harrywavycurly]

What about Harry getting all flustered in the Lonely series? He’s always saving and reassuring us but what’s a time when he’d need us to relax him?🥺❤️

Hiii lovey!!! I agree he does seem to be really good at reassuring you so it’ll be nice to see you calming him down in a moment of panic for him, so I hope this is what you’re looking for!💖

-find all things Lonely here✨

CW: Language

A/N: Harry just wants to enjoy a lunch date with you before your Miami trip but things don’t go the way he wants, enjoy some protective Harry with a healthy dash of you being sweet and fluffy with him✨

“He’s so much prettier in person.”

“God I know.”

“What do you think he smells like?”

You just smile to yourself as you walk past the group of girls on your way to take a seat at your usual table that’s tucked away in the corner near the window of the cafe down the street of your old house. You slip off your sunglasses and place them in your purse before hanging it on the edge of your chair, you take a quick glance over to the counter area to check on Harry to see if he needs your assistance and you can’t help but let out a soft sigh when you see him because even after all these years he still somehow manages to give you butterflies whenever you spot him across a crowded room.

He’s standing against the wall with one hand tucked into the front pocket of his well fitting jeans and the other holding his phone, trying to be out of the way of people picking up their orders but also trying his best to not be that noticeable but the black short sleeve button up he opted to wear this morning isn’t helping due to it allowing his most recognizable tattoos to be on display. Along with the fact that he just has one of those faces that even with his sunglasses on people could point out in a crowded room especially when he smiles like he is at you right now, making his signature dimples appear. You return the smile and even shoot him a playful wink before you look away and turn your attention towards your wedding binder your wedding planner gave you that has all the little details in it for your big day, you flip it to the page that is all about your bachelorette trip so you can go over the checklist one more time.

“Oh my god.” You look up when you hear a sudden gasp coming from next to you and when you’re met with a pair of wide eyes you just give the girl a warm smile and sit up a bit so you can give her your full attention. “I know you.” She blurts and you know she regrets saying it the moment the words come out of her mouth based on how pink her cheeks get.

“Hi there.” You watch her try to gather her thoughts so you just reach your hand out and gently place your hand on her arm. “I love your shirt.” You tell her as you look at her Love On Tour shirt that looks like she tye dyed herself before you remove your hand from her arm trying to help her relax a bit and when she smiles at you before looking down at her shirt you know it seems to have worked a bit.

“Oh thank you uh-are you uhm here with Harry?” You just smile and nod as your eyes flicker behind her to the man himself who you know is watching the scene that’s happening at the table intensely. “Congrats on the uhm-uh engagement.” Her voice is shaky as she starts to mess with the bracelets on her wrists and you just give her another smile and reach both hands out to grab hers.

“Thank you that’s so sweet of you.” You give her hands a little squeeze before letting them go. “What’s your name?” You ask as you quickly look behind her to see Harry’s status and you feel a bit anxious when you see him at the counter grabbing your order meaning he was going to be heading this way any minute.

“Stephanie.” She answers with a nervous smile and you just nod.

“Well Stephanie I can tell Harry you said hello if you’d like?” You ask and then your eyes catch a glimpse of someone walking up behind her and you look at them with a raised brow and they just nod making you grin as you look back at Stephanie. “Or Stephanie you can tell him yourself?” You watch her face go from one of confusion to pure shock as Harry’s tattooed arm comes into her view when he reaches over to hand you your iced coffee.

“Hello Stephanie.” His voice saying her name makes her cheeks go a deep shade of pink as she slowly turns around and faces him as he slides his sunglasses up into his hair so he can look down at her. “S’lovely to meet you.” He says with a smile as you quickly reach for the bag that has both of your sandwiches in it and his iced latte so his hands are free to give her a hug.

“You’re Harry Styles.” She mumbles into his chest when his arms wrap around her and he just chuckles in response, you take your seat and just watch the two of them as you take a sip of your coffee.

“Oh love the shirt.” He says when he pulls away from the hug.

“She-she said that too.” Stephanie stutters as she looks at you just as you take a bite of your sandwich making Harry laugh as you place a hand over your mouth and just try your best to smile and nod.

“Hungry sweetheart? Can’t even wait for me? That’s a bit rude innit?” He teases and Stephanie just giggles making Harry smile because he always loves when someone laughs at his jokes even when they are just silly teasing ones like this. “Well it was a pleasure meeting you love, have a good rest of your day okay?” With that Harry gives her one more quick hug before she says a quick thank you and she’s off rushing over to her friends.

“She was cute.” You say after you swallow your bite of sandwich as Harry takes his seat across from you. “What?” You ask when you hear Harry let out a sigh but he just shakes his head as he takes his sunglasses off and tucks them into his shirt before he reaches over to grab one of your hands.

“Nothing baby.” You tilt your head and give him a questioning look as he brings your hand up to his lips. “I love you.” Is all he says before you feel him place a few kisses to your knuckles.

“I love you too.” He just smiles as he lets you take your hand out of his so you can grab his sandwich out of the bag and hand it to him.

Harry normally doesn’t mind meeting fans, he loves them and he knows it takes a lot to actually come up to him and say hello so he never tries to make anyone feel uncomfortable but there are times when he would like to be left alone. Those times are often when he’s out with other people, like his family, friends or for instance right now when he’s just trying to have lunch with you, his fiancé before you leave him for a whole week for your bachelorette trip in Miami. He knows that talking to Stephanie is going to make others feel more comfortable coming up to him to say hello and honestly he’d prefer that over what he sees happening over your shoulder. For Harry it’s the recordings and all the random photos that get snapped of you he doesn’t like, he never has enjoyed the idea that people just have videos and pictures of you on their phones all because you know him or now because you’re engaged to him.

“Harry?” You reaching over and grabbing his hand breaks him out of his thoughts causing him to slightly shake his head before he looks across the table at you, you’re looking at him with a raised eyebrow and a slight frown on your face. Harry gives your hand a firm squeeze but the smile he gives you to try to make you think he’s fine just makes you glare at him in response because you can read him like a book by now, you know something is bothering him and it’s been bothering him since he sat down across from you twenty minutes ago.

“Sorry sweetheart what did you say?” He asks as he glances down at the table and sees the checklist for your trip and he has to rub his lips together to hide the frown that was threatening to take over his face when he catches the time of your flight tomorrow morning.

You let out a huff and slide your hand out of his so you can close your binder and slide it off to the side, you fold your arms on top of the table and stare at Harry and he does good for a solid ten seconds and then he slips up, you catch his eyes glance over your shoulder in the same direction Stephanie walked off in. You quickly act as if you’re looking in your purse that’s hanging on your chair so you can try to see what’s caught his attention, you catch the same group of girls you walked by earlier sitting at their table all with their eyes glued to their phones that all seem to be pointed in your direction.

“Is that what’s bothering you?” You ask with a raised brow when you turn your attention back to him and away from the table of girls.

“I just wanted this to be a nice lunch and-”

“Are you saying it hasn’t been nice?” Harry playfully glares at you in response to your teasing question making you smile as you reach over and hold your hand out for him. “It’s just a few teenage girls Harry it’s not a big deal.” And as if on queue you catch something in your peripheral vision out the window making you turn your head to see what’s going on outside and the moment you do you’re met with a young girl waving at you who is standing next to a man holding a professional camera aimed towards Harry.

“It never stays just a few fans it always turns into more.” Is all Harry says when you look away from the window and back to him as he reaches down and grabs the hand that you were holding out for him. “If we leave now we can still probably walk to that little shop down the street that sells those god awful sour candies you love so we can get you some for your trip.” You know he’s going over all the exit strategies in his head as he talks, as you watch his eyes glance from your face to the window and then to the table of fans behind you.

“They aren’t god awful you just have horrible-”

“We need to go.” The tone of Harry’s voice is what tells you to just nod and let go of his hand so you can start to grab your things, it’s not one he uses with you often because it’s deep but laced with a hint of almost anger that you know is not directed at you. “Now. Please love.” He tries to be softer this time when he notices you taking a little too long to get your stuff and he even gives you a smile as he stands up and leans over to grab your wedding planning binder for you, tucking it under his arm while you throw your purse over your shoulder before standing up. You glance out the window and see a few more cameras aimed at the two of you and now a small group of fans has gathered around the entrance of the cafe as well.

“Hey look at me.” You reach for his hand and interlock your fingers with his and give it a nice firm squeeze as he locks eyes with you. “I’m right here and I’m fine.” You reassure him with a smile and while normally you aren’t the biggest fan of kissing in public at this moment in time you know what Harry needs to help calm him down so you don’t hesitate to reach your free hand up place it on his cheek as you lean in and give his lips a quick peck.

“Thank you.” He mumbles before he steals a second kiss before you can fully pull away from him making you giggle as you drop your hand from his face. “Remember the rules sweetheart?” You roll your eyes as you grab your sunglasses out of your bag and slide them back on your face.

“Don’t talk to them..just keep walking and don’t touch them and they won’t touch you…just like at a haunted house.”

“Perfect it’s like you’ve done this before or something.”

“Only once or twice but one time I did tell a photographer to fu-”

“Yeah let’s not have any repeats of Vegas okay?”

“Fine but I’m warning you now if they call my ring ugly I’m going to say something.” Harry just laughs and shakes his head as he looks down at you while you finish off your iced coffee before tossing it in the trash.

“Ready baby?” You just nod and feel him give your hand one last squeeze before he lets it go, he quickly puts on his sunglasses and leads you to the entrance of the cafe giving the table of fans a smile as he walks by earning a few gasps and one loud squeal making you just smile because you get it, he is indeed squeal and gasp worthy. Harry hands you the wedding binder so that once you’re outside he will be able to pull you close to his side with one arm and keep the other free just in case someone tries to get too close for his liking.

“Bet you five bucks they ask the reunion at the wedding question.” You joke trying your best to lighten the mood while you can because you know the moment he pushes open the cafe door Harry is going to switch over into the protective side of himself that you’ve seen quite a bit of ever since the first time you got caught in a swarm of cameras and fans with him years ago.

“Damn you always have to beat me don’t you? I was just about to say that” You just shrug making him chuckle as he gives you one last once over as if he’s making sure you have everything and you’re actually ready to go.

“Snooze you lose Styles now let’s go get me some candy.” Harry nods as he leans down and places a quick kiss to your cheek making you smile as you tighten your hold on the binder in your hands as Harry gently pushes open the cafe door, him walking out first with you right behind him. He is quick to wrap an arm around your shoulders pulling you into his side allowing him to put distance between you and the group of men with cameras and the few fans that have gathered outside.

“Harry! How’s the wedding planning going?”

“Is it true Niall’s the best man?”

“Can we see the ring?”

“Who’s on the guest list? Will we get a One Direction reunion for the wedding?”

You try not to laugh as you feel Harry’s grip on you tighten the moment the question gets hurled at the two of you as you make your way down the sidewalk towards the little shop. Harry on the other hand keeps a tight lipped smile on his face as he keeps his eyes focused on the people surrounding the two of you, but luckily no one seems to be getting too close or shouting rude things. That all changes in what feels like a matter of seconds when you feel a hand on your back giving you a slight pat but before you can even turn your head to see who it is that needs your attention Harry is sliding his arm from your shoulders down to your waist and you feel his hand gently give your hip a little nudge and in one smooth motion you’re standing directly in front of him.

“Watch the hell out.” You internally flinch at the harshness of Harry’s voice as you feel his hand on your hip give you a firm squeeze, his way of letting you know he’s got you. He has his chest practically flush with your back while his head is turned to look at the man who thought it was okay to tap you on the back, and if you turned your head to look at Harry you’d see his nostrils a bit flared along with slightly flushed cheeks letting you know he’s angry. “Bloody prick.” He snaps at the man who is just a mere foot away from the two of you with his camera in his hand.

“Harry come on-”

“What makes you think you can just touch her?” There’s no kindness in his voice and he really doesn’t mean to cut you off but Harry just can’t let this go, not when the man hasn’t even tried to say sorry or really anything at all. You can practically feel the anger radiating off of him when you feel his hand leave your hip so he can fully turn around to face the man. “Better yet what makes you think it’s okay to fucking touch her and not even say sorry?” You look around and see a few phones out, no doubt recording the whole situation so you quickly turn around and place your hand on Harry’s back making him turn his head to look at you.

“It’s okay it was an accident and won’t happen again.” You explain as you look from Harry to the man standing in front of him and you know based on the wide eyed expression on the man’s face you’re lucky to just get a nod in response, looking to be in a state of shock. “So let’s just all maybe take a few steps back please.” You suggest as you look around and watch as almost everyone around the two of you take some small steps backwards giving you and Harry a bit of breathing room.

“That’s not good enough.” You’re thankful that your sunglasses block your eye roll from Harry because you know he wouldn’t appreciate your sass right now but you know that the man standing in front of the two of you is in no way in the right mental state to say much of anything right now. “He needs to say sorry.” He adds as he finally looks down at you and you take this moment to place a hand on his cheek.

“Baby.” Harry lets out a sigh and leans into your touch as the petname leaves your lips and it’s as if all the anger and frustration he was feeling just seconds beforehand is slowly but surely fading away as you run your thumb over his cheek. Now normally you save calling him anything other than Harry for special occasions but sometimes you have to bring out the big guns to get him to focus on what you’re about to say.

“Please let’s just go.” Harry just nods and it’s as if he forgets the two of you are standing on a sidewalk outside of one of your favorite cafes as he turns his head so his lips land on the inside of your palm before he brings one of his hands up and wraps it around your wrist.

“Okay sweetheart.” He leans down and places a kiss to your forehead before he brings your hand down from his face and turns around so he can lead you further down the street towards the shop you wanted to get your candy from. “I’ll call for the car while you shop for your sweets does that sound good love?” You just smile as he brings your hand up to his lips giving the top of it a little peck.

“Fine but don’t think I forgot you owe me five bucks.” Harry just laughs as he drops your hand so he can once again wrap his arm around your shoulders and pull you into his side.

You look around and feel relief wash over you when it seems most of the crowd has stayed near the cafe and only a few photographers have followed the two of you but at a much more bearable distance. You know for the rest of the day Harry isn’t going to let you get more than an arms length away from him and that’s if he’s being generous, he was already feeling clingy due to the fact he’s about to be away from you for a week but this is just going to make him take it up a notch. So you aren’t at all shocked when you feel him rest his chin on your shoulder as one of his arms wrap around your waist from behind while you pick out the candy you want for your flight, your wedding binder securely tucked under his other arm so your hands are free. It also doesn’t come as a surprise when you feel his hands practically pull you into his lap the moment the car door closes and the two of you are headed home, his face buried in the crook of your neck while his arms wrap around your middle holding onto you as if he’s worried you might slip away if he loosens his grip.

“It’s okay.” You whisper softly as you run a hand through his hair while moving just a bit so you can get into a more comfortable position, with your legs straddling his thighs. “I’m okay.” You reassure him before placing a kiss to the side of his head, you hear him let out a deep sigh as he tries to pull you even closer to him making your chest flush with his and you know in this moment he just needs to feel as close to you as he can so you allow him to squish you a bit.

“Do you remember when we first got photographed together?” You ask as you continue to run your hand through his hair, you take him giving your middle a small squeeze as your queue to continue. “I don’t remember what we were doing exactly I just remember you were holding my backpack and of course I’ll never forget what they called me it was-”

“Unnamed college girl.” You laugh as Harry finishes your sentence for you as he sits up making your hand fall to the back of his neck. “I picked you up from class because I was on a break from tour and I’m a proper gentleman so I carried your backpack but you were wearing a jumper with your university’s name on it and I wanted to hold your hand but you were being mean and told me no because it would start dating rumors.” You watch him give you the fakest pout he can muster as he looks down at you making you playfully roll your eyes.

“I’m sorry I’m always just so mean to you aren’t I?” Harry nods but you see him struggling to keep up his fake pout as you lean in and place a kiss to his cheek.

“Leaving me for a whole week is the meanest thing you’ve ever done.” You want to laugh but you hold it in as you lean over and give his other cheek a kiss. “You’re gonna be spending all this time with Niall while I’m just sat at home missing you.” He adds with a bit more of a whine to his voice.

“We’ve gone longer without seeing each other Harry.” You remind him but he just rolls his eyes at you making you quirk a brow at him. “What? It’s true we’ve gone months-”

“That was before I realized I was in love with you and now I can’t-no I won’t ever go months without seeing you ever again that just can’t happen I won’t-”

“Hey.” Your voice is soft and just a little above a whisper as you bring your hands up to cup his face, you can feel his heart beating faster while his hold on you tightens and his eyes are staring into yours with an intensity that lets you know he’s on the verge on a small panic attack. “I’m right here.” You run your thumbs over his cheeks as you feel him let out a few deep breaths trying to calm himself down.

“I hate this.” He closes his eyes as he rests his forehead against yours. “I already miss you and you haven’t even left yet.” He feels silly for saying it but he knows you’ll understand, you always do.

The thing you’ve learned about Harry over the years is that when he loves someone he doesn’t know how to not give all of himself to them. People sometimes say he comes off a little too strongly but you know it’s because for so long he never knew where he was going to be in a day or a week so he just now has a habit of telling people how he feels the moment he feels it so he doesn’t run the risk of never having the moment to say it again, and for some that can just come off as a bit much. But not to you, you live for those moments even back when the love he had for you was strictly platonic it was still nice to hear how much he cared for you but now when he stops what he’s doing to just stare at you and tells you he loves you it makes your heart feel like it’s on fire in the best way.

“One time I cried in the bathroom of my apartment because you were leaving in two days.” You admit making Harry open his eyes and lean back so he can look at you with your hands still on his face. “I just knew it was going to suck because you were headed off to Live On Tour and you were just so busy and I didn’t know when I was going to be able to squeeze myself into your schedule so I full on panic cried in the bathroom while you were still sitting in my living room eating my leftover pizza.” Harry can’t help but give you a look and you know that when he opens his mouth he is going to try to apologize for all the times he’s ever had to leave you during the last ten years so you just shake your head and give him a smile. “I think that just means we must really like each other or something.” You joke as you lean in and place a kiss to his lips making him smile when you pull away.

“I love you.” You smile before he leans in for another kiss while your hands go from his face down to the back of his head pulling him closer to you.

“I love you too.” You respond as you finally pull away making Harry let out a sigh of content as you feel the car come to a stop. Harry turns to look out the window and smiles when he sees the front gate opening up leading up to the driveway of the house the two of you share. “I still can’t believe we are gate people.” Harry laughs as he loosens his hold on you so you can reach over and grab your purse making sure to put both his and your sunglasses inside since they got tossed to the seat next to you the moment the two of you got into the car.

“Baby we have to be gate people or else anyone could just be in front of our house.”

“As if they don’t just stand outside the gate?”

“The gate is a safety measure sweetheart.” You just let out a huff as you slide off Harry’s lap and into the seat next to him, Harry just chuckles at your dramatics because he knows the real reason you make a fuss about the gate is because you always forget your gate opener so you have to enter the code which you also always forget resulting in Harry either coming out and opening it for you or him texting you the code if he’s not home. “Speaking of safety measures who’s on security in Miami?” Harry asks as the passenger door opens and he slides out and holds his hand out for you to take so he can help you out of the car.

“Niall.” Harry rolls his eyes as you hand him the binder instead of giving him your hand as you climb out of the car.

“Niall? No love I mean who is your security while you’re there?” You stop walking and place a hand on your hip as Harry makes his way up the front steps towards the front door. “Baby? Did you-why are..you looking at me like that?” He’s at the top of the steps looking at you, binder in one hand and the bag from the candy shop along with the house key in his other.

“Harry we’ve been over this already.” You watch his eyebrows furrow in confusion making you glare at him from the bottom step. “I’m taking Preston and Niall has the rest handled with his team.” You watch it all hit him that he has in fact heard this information before as you finally join him at the top of the steps.

“You think Preston is enough?” He asks as he unlocks the front door allowing you to enter first, you shoot him a look as you slide your shoes off and head for the stairs.

“Of course he’s enough. He’s Preston.” You answer as you drop your purse onto the couch before heading up the stairs. “But I am so telling him you asked me that.” You threaten making Harry’s eyes go a bit wide as he drops his keys on the table by the front door, you just laugh to yourself when you look over your shoulder and see him staring at you from the bottom of the stairs.

“Always so mean to me.”

[bisexualiteaa]

Angel Baby

Toshinori Yagi X F!Reader (fluff!)

Synopsis: Reader is a teaching assistant who works alongside Toshinori, little did he know, that your feelings for him were a little more than just the professional kind.

CW: mutual pining, AFAB, reader has hair, reader has an angel/biblically accurate angel type quirk, fluff, all the fluff, teacher x teacher assistant trope, no spoilers, use of Y/N L/N but not often, potential spelling/grammar issues

AN: Writer’s block has had the most AWFUL grip on me for so long oh my gosh 😭 please forgive me if this is trash, mha has been my latest hyperfixation and I’ve been dying to get SOMETHING out of my drafts so I hope this is any good, please enjoy! 🥺🫶

He never fully knew how to explain the way that he felt about you, it was too complicated, too taboo. Was it admiration? For the way that no matter how dire the situation, you always found a way to lighten it with your humor. Was it longing? Longing for the youthfulness you radiate that he once had himself, but now feels so long gone due to his injury and loss of One For All. Was it sympathy? For the fact that someone like you who was so young, so radiant, so full of potential was stuck as his teaching assistant rather than out there, working the streets and earning a name for yourself as an amazing pro hero. He had no doubt that if you had the chance, you’d become the number one hero in no time. Your attitude certainly made you perfect for the job. That bright, unwavering smile, that confident voice that promised safety and warmth so long as you were around. Was it nostalgia he was feeling perhaps? Because the more he thinks of it, the more your traits and qualities, as not only a person but as a teacher and a hero, remind him an awful lot of himself. Especially back when he was the symbol of peace. Hardworking, dedicated, selfless, ready to drop whatever it was you were doing to help someone in nothing short of a moment’s notice. Even the students looked forward to seeing you enter a room, watching them all light up with excitement as you would offer a kind “Good morning!” Or “Hello everyone!” When you would walk in, followed by that stunning smile and a polite wave. Hell, even Aizawa wasn’t such a grump when you were around, a small smile stretching to the corners of his mouth when you would walk in.

After a while however, and after talking over such hypothetical feelings in pure hypotheticals with Midnight, it hit him; his admiration, his longing, the warmth and familiarity you bring.

Was it love?

Could that explain it all? The fluttering in his heart that he gets when you beam that gorgeous smile up at him after complimenting him. That tightness in his chest when your perfume lingers by his nose when you stand close to him. The excitement he gets when he sees you bring him a bento box of food you’d cooked the night prior specially to share with him because he often forgets his own lunch. The way he walks onto campus with a brighter smile than even that of his signature All Might smile, looking forward to seeing you and working with you. Perhaps it even explained the way he’d get a little sad or disappointed when he doesn’t see you or you’re substituting or working alongside another teacher for the day. You two had great chemistry together, something that hadn’t gone unnoticed by the students and faculty, always noting that shared equally large passion for hero work and inspiring the students to be the best they could possibly be. It’s what made your classes together so fun. Even a few of the teachers started to pick up on the extra pep in his step since you’d started working at the academy. Oh no, was that it? Was this the explanation for it all? Everything was pointing to that being the answer.

Could anyone truly blame him for feeling this way though…?

No, it would be wildly inappropriate of him to make any advance on you. He had to be at the very least double your age, not to mention he was a coworker, a *superior* even! It would be creepy, unbecoming and just down right rude of him to stoop to that low of a level. He’s seen plenty of other staff harass you, listened to you express your disinterest and annoyance when they would try to hit on you or stare for too long. Even a few bold students have gone out of their way to throw disrespectful and flirtatious comments your way, he didn’t want to be another nuisance added to the list. Yet as the days carry on, he’s noticed that it’s only become harder and harder for him to keep these feelings and this realization at bay. However in that time, the line between your acts of kindness and the possibility of them meaning more began to blur. After all, he was the only one you’d bring lunch to or bake for, he was the only one you’d share the privacy of your lunch hour or dinner time with. You went out of your way to remember his birthday, brought him gifts for holidays, memorized his favorite meals and drinks, you’d even partake in a cup of tea with him when he appeared to be lonely. Perhaps he was looking too much into it, after all who’s to say that maybe you did that because you were simply just that kind. Yet something about it all felt strangely intimate. Was he overthinking it? Gosh, what was a man to do? He couldn’t rely on speaking to fellow teachers about it, especially not Midnight anymore, because now she never stops pestering him wanting to know who it is. He knew that if he were to say, that would only land him in even more trouble, and heaven forbid he ask any of the students, he would never hear the end of it from them either.

It was one evening after school when it all changed, he’d never forget that day for as long as he’d live. It was a Friday evening, the last day of school before spring break was to commence. Wind blew through the air, giving it a pleasant coolness to counter the harsh rays of the sun that was just beginning to set against the horizon. The cherry blossom trees around campus were in full bloom, their petals falling any and every which way the wind could possibly carry them, littering every sidewalk and staircase with their beautiful pink color. It was as he was walking out of the school that he saw you sitting on a bench, almost looking as if you had been waiting for someone. You gave a bright smile as he came into your view, waving to him as he drew nearer. “Toshi!” You called out to him, making a smile immediately stretch to his lips as he came over to see you. He truly had no idea the sun could paint you with an even more ethereal glow than you already had about yourself. The wind billowing through your hair, cherry blossom petals falling all around you as you smiled so sweetly up at him. He swore his heart stopped in that very moment, gazing upon you like you were the finest work of art. “Don’t tell me you were waiting for me” he asked, the sides of his lips upturned slightly as he rested one of his hands in his pocket with a bag slung over his opposite shoulder. “And if I was?” You asked playfully, making him chuckle. “Then hopefully I didn’t keep you long. If I’d have known you were waiting, I would have finished grading a lot sooner” he answered, placing his free hand on the back of his neck with an apologetic look on his face, making you chuckle. “Only you would decide to work when we should be celebrating some much needed time off, Toshi” you joked with a giggle, make a heat rise to his cheeks at your observation but at the absolutely *adorable* sound of your giggling. He’s heard you laugh before, never had he heard you giggle. Now he was finding himself wanting to do anything to hear it again. Crap, he was definitely down bad. He rubbed the back of his neck giving a flustered chuckle as you stood up. “I was thinking maybe we could grab dinner together! Don’t think I didn’t notice that you skipped lunch today” you said, peering up at him with almost a motherly look, your hands on your hips as you looked up at him, making him chuckle a little. It was a cute look on you. He never wanted you to fuss over him, never wanting to add anymore stress to your already full plate, but he couldn’t help but feel warm knowing that for once, someone had his best interest in mind. “Your observation skills never fails to surprise me. Can’t sneak anything past you, can I?” he asked making you giggle again, swearing that it was music to his ears. “No sir you can’t, got eyes everywhere” you joked, making him laugh at your response. With the way you could spot the students misbehaving behind you, or seeing something even he couldn’t see, he almost believed you. “Well, what’dya say?” You asked kindly, looking up at him expectantly and with excitement, waiting for him to answer.

As if he could ever bring himself to say no to you.

The walk to and from the restaurant was a blur, he remembers talking about small, very trivial things as you both walked together, but where the memory really begins is when you guide him up to the roof of a building. “This is my little hideaway! Sometimes I sit here and watch the sunset after a long day or just come here and enjoy a good meal and the fresh air. Has the best view the city’s got to offer” you said and he could concur, seeing you stand there with a thin translucent bag of bento boxes in hand, the breeze once again blowing through your hair as the sun now painted the sky a bright reddish orange. In that moment he couldn’t help but bring out his phone to take a picture, he’d been needing to update your contact with a profile picture. Nothing was more fitting than this very moment, little did he know he’d thank himself in the future for taking that picture. “Beautiful…” he said breathlessly, looking upon you with such awe, as if he couldn’t believe that you were standing before him just now. Little did you know, he wasn’t talking about the view. You giggled once more before grabbing a blanket from your bag to sit down on. “Isn’t it? You’re lucky, I’ve never brought anyone up here. You’re the first person I’ve ever shared this quaint little spot with” you said happily as you looked up at him, watching him blush at your remark. Did you truly think him that special? Drat, there goes that pounding in his chest again and that feeling in his stomach. “Come! Sit and eat while it’s still hot” you urged, patting the ground next to you as you pulled everything out of the plastic bag, setting it all out for you both to enjoy. He was quick to join you, turning towards you as you gave a hum of delight and a cute little happy dance at the taste of your food. He couldn’t help but laugh as your cheeks were full, a slight flush rising to your cheeks as you realized you’d been caught in the moment before swallowing. “So good you could hardly wait for me to join” he commented, teasing you a little as you continued to eat instead of waiting for him like you usually do. “I was hungry!!“ you defended, making him give a whole-hearted, boisterous laugh. One that bubbled through him, making his eyes close and the small creases next to his eyes and at the corners of his mouth appear. It was genuine, one born of pure happiness, and you couldn’t help but sit and smile sweetly as you watched him in that moment. It had been so long since last you’d seen him happy like that, and your heart raced knowing you were the cause.

Ugh, could you be anymore down bad?

When you were both done with your food, you pulled out a small box wrapped in a red and white checkered cloth, tied with twine and into a beautiful bow on top. “Hope you have room for dessert!” You mused holding the wrapped up box out to him, his large hands cupping yours for a moment before taking it from you, leaving you both to blush for a moment before you smiled sweetly. “I hope you like it. It’s been a long time since last I baked but…guess you could say I’ve recently been inspired to pick it back up again” you admitted, that flush to your cheeks climbing up to your ears and making your face a little hot. “So if it sucks, don’t make fun of me too hard” you added with a chuckle, watching him open it up to see a slice of matcha cake with cream and freshly sliced strawberries in between the layers. It was so perfect he almost didn’t want to touch it. “You made this?” He asked, his tone astounded as he looked to you. “If it’s good, yes! If not, I got it from the convenience store up the street” you replied with a grin, making him laugh at your response. “It looks wonderful, I’m sure it’s delicious” he said before grabbing a fork to take a bite of it, and his assumptions were absolutely right. It was like a forkful of heaven. It was soft, fluffy and sweet, the strawberries keeping it from being too heavy, and it was cold, so it was perfect for the warmer temperature outside. “You’re amazing…” he replied so genuinely, making you smile excitedly before a flush came to his cheeks once more as he realized just exactly what he had said. “A-At baking! You’re an amazing baker!” he stuttered out, trying to “finish” his sentence despite meaning what he’d said, but he didn’t want to come off too strong. Your sweet laughter rang in his ears at his not-so-smooth recovery, but it still made butterflies settle in your stomach nonetheless. “Thank you” you replied kindly. “You’re amazing too, Toshi” you admitted fully, confidently even as you looked at him with a soft smile, making his brows raise slightly in surprise. “Thank you, for coming and sharing the evening with me. I’m…I’m really glad you came” you added, fidgeting with the long skirt of your dress. “I don’t know about you but…I really needed this” you finished, your tone for once sounding unsure, nervous even, nothing like the normally chipper and confident tone you always carry. “Me too” he replied in an empathetic tone, making you give a small smile his way before leaning your head against his shoulder.

Internally, he was panicking. What was he to do in this moment?

His heart was slamming against his sternum so harshly, so loudly he couldn’t help but wonder if you were able to hear it. Then you spoke, breaking him from his rampant thoughts. “Toshi?” You asked softly, his name sounding so sweet as it fell from your lips. “Yes?” He asked in reply. “Can I tell you something?” You asked, making him turn his head a little to look at you. “Of course, anything” he replied wholeheartedly, and it was true. He was your confidant just as much as you were his, always there to listen, offer you guidance and any help that he could. “I think I’ve fallen in love” you said, making his heart race even faster. “Oh! Well that’s wonderful, why say that like it’s such a bad thing?” He asked, trying to put up a happy front to hide the worry that was eating away at him deep inside. The worry that perhaps someone else had caught your eye, that someone else was the lucky one to hold your heart. “It’s not! It’s lovely but it’s rather…complicated” you continued, dancing around the truth for as long as you could, trying to work up the nerve to speak on your feelings. “How so?” He asked, earning a sigh from you that you hadn’t realized you’d been holding in as you toyed with your skirt again. “Because it’s a coworker…technically a superior even” you said, making him worry his bottom lip between his teeth in anxiousness, wondering who it could have been. The only people you really surrounded yourself with was him, Aizawa, Hizashi and Nemuri. Could it be one of them? “I see how that may make things complicated” he added, contemplating whether he should ask his next inquiry or not, scared of what the answer could be. It would make his whole day to hear you tell him it was he who captured your heart, that it was him you were in love with. Yet it would shatter him all the same if you were to tell him someone else was the lucky person to hold your affections. It was quite the conflicting position to be in. “May I ask who?” He asked respectfully but cautiously, making you give him a breathy chuckle in response as you looked up at him. “Is it not obvious?” You asked with a playful grin stretching across your lips, making him look at you confused. “Well you only really surround yourself with the same four people. Am I correct to assume it’s someone out of us?” He asked, making you shake your head yes. “Is it Hizashi?” he asked once more, making you shake your head no, as he began to list the names of the teachers. “Nemuri?” He continued, watching you shake your head no once again and his heart began thumping with anticipation and anxiousness. “Aizawa?” He asked, making you shake your head no in response as you smiled up at him, hoping he would soon connect the dots himself. His eyes widened for a moment, and that feeling in the pit of his stomach let up, a buzzing jittery feeling beginning to consume him instead. Excitement, happiness. Thrill. “It’s you, Toshi” you answered so matter-of-factly, as if he should have known it all this time. Was he dreaming? There was no way you were actually in love with him, were you?

“Me?” He asked, sounding absolutely taken back at this new found information. “You sound so surprised about it, I thought it was pretty obvious. Aizawa and Nemuri dog on me all the time for it, I’m surprised they haven’t told you” you said with a soft, breathy giggle, making a flush rise to his cheeks that he hadn’t figured it out sooner and to hear that the others seemed to know about it before he did. So all this time, his suspicions were right. “I…” he started to say, not really knowing what he was going to follow it up with, he was rather speechless at the moment. What was he supposed to say? It had been so long since he’d taken his own heart into consideration, let alone since he’d stopped to ponder the thought of someone else doing so. “I never really stopped to think about it, I guess” Liar. You couldn’t help but chuckle a little at his blissful ignorance. “You never once stopped to think about the fact that I only bring lunch for *you?* That I spend most of my time with *you?* That you’re the only one who knows me so well?” You asked with a small grin, but your smile faltered a little upon seeing his face. “But…why me? Why not someone younger like the others? Someone more able?” He asked, genuinely seeming self conscious about this. “I’m…I’m hardly even a hero anymore” he answered, bringing a hand to his side where his injury was, making you turn to him. “Toshi…” you spoke softly. “That’s not true” you answered, bringing your hand to his. “You wanna know why? You wanna know what I see?” You asked with a smile, getting up and offering him a hand to stand up with you.

You held his hands as you walked backwards. “I look at you and I see a man that’s so passionate about what he does. Whether it’s teaching, or training, or hero work” you started, looking him in the eyes as you said every word. “I look at you and all time stops, my heart races…” you added, still slowly inching your way backwards until you were standing at the edge of the roof top, a smile on your face as the wind blew through your hair. You looked so ethereal like this. “You make me feel so happy Toshi, so free” you continued with a bright smile. “Like I could just…float on air!” You said before falling backwards off the roof, leaving him mortified. In that moment, he knew exactly what his successor felt the day he first met him, the way his body moved without a single thought, jumping after you without a care of if he would survive or not. You smiled up at him as he grabbed you, falling with you. “Are you crazy??” He asked, making you laugh. “Maybe a little, but just trust me!” You replied, making him look at you like you were mad as you both plummeted towards the ground. “What in the world were you thinking??“ he asked. “That you felt the same way if you jumped after me” you finally answered, watching his eyes widen as wings unfurled from your back, encircling around you both. In all the time he’d known you, he’d never seen your quirk before, you’d never spoken of it, but it all made sense. That glow about you, the way you were so incredibly warm and welcoming to be around, how nothing gets past you, it all made so much sense. You were an angel in every sense of the word. “You claim you’re not a hero anymore Toshi, but you were so ready to throw your life on the line just to save me. You’re someone I look up to every day, someone who inspires me, someone who makes me feel safe and happy. So I’d say you’re still a hero, and you’ll always be the best in my book, not as All Might, but as Toshinori. Because that’s the man I fell in love with” you confessed with a wide, genuine smile as you brought yourself safely to the ground with him in tow. He couldn’t believe you’d go through such lengths to show him how much you cared. But he had to admit, as crazy as it was, it was effective, because despite the adrenaline racing through his body, his heart felt full.

As your wings unraveled around you both, he looked at you with absolute wonder. Your wings were beautiful, you looked like the very definition of a hero. Someone who radiated peace, safety and warmth. You were breathtaking like this. Your smile lighting up your face like you hadn’t just fallen from the top of a ten story building, your radiant energy giving you almost a buzzing glow of pure happiness. He felt like a beggar standing before a goddess. What had he done to deserve this? To deserve you? He’d never know that answer, but he felt like the luckiest man in the world sharing this intimate scene with you now. He couldn’t help but wonder, was this what other people saw in him when he was in his prime? Was this how others felt when he arrived? When he would save them?

In that moment, he felt as his body once again moved before he could even think, only this time it was a bit different. He didn’t move in the way a hero jumping into action would. No, he moved in the way that someone in love moves, showing you how he felt in a way that words could never properly convey. After all, why describe the way he was feeling when he could show it to you? Before you knew it, his hands came to your hips, pulling you to him and into an electric kiss. You could barely contain your excitement, looping your arms around his neck as he dipped you, kissing you like it was the last thing he would ever get to do.

You smiled as you gazed up at him, a soft giggle escaping you like that of a school girl sharing her first kiss with her high school crush. “What?” He asked with a similar smile, a flush covering his cheeks as he looked upon you so fondly, for once paying no mind to the world around him. All that mattered in this moment was that he finally had you. His heart felt as if it may leap from his chest as he looked at you, seeing you give him that stunning smile and hearing you laugh as you stood there in his arms. “Nothing, I’m just…so happy” you answered, looking up at him with such love in your gaze, such wonder. What did he do to deserve this? To deserve you? “Oh yeah?” He asked, making you giggle once more as your one hand now rested against his chest, your eyes flitting between his and his lips. “How could I not be? I’ve had the most wonderful evening, and the most handsome man I’ve ever met is standing before me” You replied with a wide smile. “The only thing that could possibly make it any more perfect, would be if he was to kiss me again” you finished playfully, making him chuckle. “What kind of hero would I be to rob you of that wish?” He asked as he leaned in to kiss you once more, a giggle escaping you as he kissed you, feeling one of his hands coming up to cup your cheek as he held you close.

And that is his favorite memory of all time.

[daisynik7]

hello it's me again not sure if it's alright to request one more (literally just ignore this if not) and its also not y2k but i'd like to request work song by hozier for nanami especially "no grave can hold my body down, i'd crawl home to her" angst with a happy ending during/post shibuya (no dying please) and reader is also a healer like shoko

thank you so much and congrats again 🫶🏼

Work Song

No grave can hold my body down, I’ll crawl home to her

Pairing: Nanami x f!reader

Word Count: ~1.6k

cw: mentions of d*ath, bl*od, burn injuries, canon-divergent, set in the canon-universe during the Shibuya Incident Arc, MAJOR spoilers up to Shibuya Arc, angst, hurt/comfort, established relationship, happy ending

Summary: You’re a healer working with Shoko inside the medical tent at Shibuya Station while Nanami, your boyfriend, is in the line of fire for the battle ahead. After an especially life-threatening attack, Nanami, on the brink, runs into an old friend, who helps guide him back home. 

Author’s Note: @75songs thank you so much for sending in another request for the y2k karaoke party, always appreciate your love and support! I ADORE this song and have honestly always thought it was perfect for Nanami. I am an anime only and am not caught up with season 2 yet, so I didn’t want to read too much into what exactly happens during this arc, so some of the details may be inaccurate, just a heads up. This one got me in my feelings. I will forever hold a grudge against Gege for what they did to Nanami. Anyways, likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated! Thanks so much for reading! Divider by @/saradika.

October 31st. Maybe in another timeline, another reality, you and Nanami would be celebrating Halloween tonight, passing colorful candies and decadent chocolates to kids going door-to-door across the neighborhood. You’d force him to dress up in a silly costume, one that matches yours, despite his reluctance at first. Deep down, you know he likes this; domestic bliss, especially with you. The idea that the two of you could live a peaceful life together, away from the dangerous world of curses and Jujutsu sorcery. You discuss it constantly, dream about it, strive for it. A few more years, he says, and he’ll retire. There’s still more work to be done, people to be saved. 

You’re inside the medical tent beside Shoko, helping her set up the cots, anticipating injured sorcerers to arrive soon with the battle underway. Masamichi Yaga, Jujutsu High’s principal, stands guard outside, determined to keep the medical team, especially Shoko, safe from any posing threats. There’s no way to know what’s happening until people start arriving, in need of medical attention. You’re a healer too, but not nearly as skilled as Shoko, your mentor. Still, she encourages you to join them tonight, needing all the help they can get. 

“Are you feeling okay?” she asks, setting up the last bed. Observant as ever, she notices your quiet demeanor.

You nod, giving her a weak, unconvincing smile. “Yeah.”

“Nanami is going to be fine,” she assures you, sensing the root of your anxiety. “When this is all done, the two of you should take a vacation together.”

Relaxing a bit, you reply, “We already have our trip to Malaysia planned in a few months.”

She smiles kindly. “There you go. Something to look forward to.”

Her words ease some of the tension, but there’s dread settling in the pit of your stomach, and it won’t go away until you see Nanami again in one piece. 

The waiting game finally ends as soon as the first wounded sorcerer shows up in the tent, initiating nonstop chaos. You assist Shoko diligently, making sure everything is prepared for her to perform her Reverse Cursed Technique for those who need it, and patching up those who don’t, with less severe injuries. You’re constantly on the lookout to see a familiar face, trying to get an update on what’s happening out there. None comes, until you see Kiyotaka Ijichi limping towards the entrance, blood spread across his shirt. You and Shoko rush towards him, carrying him over your shoulders, leading him to an empty cot, gently laying him down. 

Shoko, showing panic on her face for the first time all night, inspects him carefully. “Ijichi, can you hear me?” She’s always had a soft spot for him, often telling you how endearing she finds him, always a nervous wreck in front of her. Seeing him like this is surely jarring, even for her, who’s as tough as nails. 

He nods weakly, mumbling something incoherent, blood sputtering from his mouth. You remove the shattered glasses from his eyes, wiping his lips with gauze. Shoko starts to work on him, directing you to check on the other patients. Before you can follow orders, you feel his weak grip on your wrist. You turn to face him, focused on his lips as he quietly utters, “Nanami.”

Your ears perk up at the mention of your boyfriend’s name, leaning in closer to hear the rest of what he has to say, taking his time through labored breaths. “He…saved…me…” 

You do your best to keep your composure, nodding at him silently, blinking away the tears welling in your eyes. Unsure how to respond, you leave them, going to the other side of the tent to check on the remaining sorcerers. 

With everyone else in stable condition, you take a minute outside the tent to sob into your hands, praying that Nanami is still alive. Unaware of your surroundings, you’re startled when Yaga approaches, his large figure sitting beside you. “You alright?”

You wipe away your sniffles on your sleeve. “Just…nervous.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, sighing. “Yeah, I get it. But Nanami is one of our strongest sorcerers. I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

Again, more words of comfort, but not enough to ease the nervous flutter in your belly. Yaga recognizes this and adds, “Nanami would fight through the fires of hell instead of letting himself die. Not because he wants to live for himself. But because he wants to live for you.”

You face him now, processing his statement. He chuckles, lifting his sunglasses to meet your gaze. “That man has never been so smitten in his life. He’d crawl out his grave just to be with you, I guarantee it.”

~~~

The last thing Nanami remembers is desperately wishing he was in Malaysia with you instead of at Shibuya Station right now. He wakes up, sitting in one of the seats on the platform. It’s eerily quiet with no one in sight. The distinct sounds of trains on the rails or the hustle and bustle of people moving along is strangely absent, and it occurs to Nanami that this may be a dream. 

He's sure of it when he feels a nudge to his side, turning to face Yu Haibara sitting next to him. There’s a warm smile on his boyish face, dressed in his Jujutsu High uniform, exactly as he was many years ago when Nanami last saw him, alive and well. The same bright, earnest eyes he remembers vividly of his best friend. He swallows hard, an uneasy feeling surrounding him. Is he seeing a ghost? Or is this the afterlife?

Haibara laughs, and Nanami is snapped out of his reverie and taken immediately back to 2006, when he first met his friend during orientation. He can’t help but grin, happy to see him still so lively. “Well, aren’t you going to greet your old friend, Nanami?”

Nanami does, hugging him, astonished to feel him in his arms almost like a real person. Almost. “What are you doing here?”

“Just came to visit you, that’s all.”

Nanami lets him go, studying him carefully, looking for any signs of decay. When he spots none, he asks him, “Am I dead?”

Haibara shakes his head. “Not quite. But you’re pretty damn close.”

“I am?”

“Yeah. So you better hurry and get home quick.” Haibara points towards the railings, now illuminated at one end by a blinding flash of light. “Yuji’s waiting for you.”

“Itadori? How do you know – “

Haibara then says your name with a big smile. “Yeah, I know her too. They’re all waiting for you, Nanami. You don’t want to keep them waiting any longer, do you?”

It takes a while for Nanami to get up, and when he does, he’s off balance, legs wobbly, body unsteady. Haibara helps him, offering his shoulder, the two of them walking slowly towards the light. “I really like her, you know. Your girlfriend.”

“You do?” Nanami asks, hobbling beside him. 

“Yeah. She’s really nice, really pretty, and she eats a lot, especially with you,” he chuckles. “You know how much I like that.”

“Yeah I do.”

“And I’m a good judge of character, so I think she’s perfect for you. If that means anything,” he says, proudly.

“It does. It means a lot.” They’re near the edge of the platform now and Nanami will have to hop down to reach the end of the tunnel. 

“Are you going to marry her soon?” Haibara asks, pausing just before the edge. 

Nanami nods, grinning. “I’m planning to propose during our vacation in Malaysia.” 

“Good. Good.”

He’s tempted to stay longer, wanting a few more moments with his friend, but he knows that time is ticking. He hugs him again, squeezing him tight. “Take care, Haibara.”

“You too, Nanami. I’ll be looking out for you.”

His chest constricts, jumping off the platform, landing roughly on the railings, blinking away the tears in his eyes. It’s sweltering now, the light emitting an intense heat from within. He gives Haibara one last glance, cherishing the happy expression on his face as he waves goodbye to him before walking into the light.

Seconds later, Nanami wakes up with a gasp of breath, vision blurred, a droning pounding beating against his ear drums. It soon fades and only Yuji’s panicked voice yelling from behind him is heard. He’s being dragged by the armpits, away from the battle. Smoke radiates from his entire form, and he can barely move. In fact, he can barely feel anything at all. 

They reach the medical tent, Itadori yelling for help the whole way. Yaga is the first to reach them, his usual calm demeanor wavering at the sight of Nanami, body half-burned from the explosion. They carrying him delicately inside, resting him on the only empty cot left. He wants to close his eyes; he’s so exhausted, and sleep is the only thing to bring him peace right now. That, or you. 

As if his prayers were heard, you appear at his side, truly a vision, even while you sob for him, holding his mangled hand in yours, begging for him to stay with you. He can die happy now, seeing your face, knowing that you’re here, alive, heart beating, surviving. Can he do the same? Can he survive this? All he knows is that he’s trying with every fiber he has left in his being. He won’t leave you, not like this. Not without experiencing life on the outside with you. 

It’s in this moment that he vows to endure. Even if he has to crawl out of his grave to do it, he’s determined to be with you again. 

~~~ 

November 1st. Maybe in another timeline, another reality, Nanami is gone. Not in this one, though. Instead, you sit beside him, healed and in one piece thanks to Shoko, fingers laced with his, careful not to squeeze too tightly. Yuji and Ino are at his other side, talking animatedly about how amazing Nanami was the entire fight, and all he can do is lay there, smiling. Happy to be alive. Happy to be with you.