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littlestl4mb · 2 days ago

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running errands with nerdy boyfriend luigi???? 😭

YURRRRR

to be honest, i think it would be luigi’s favorite thing to do with you. i think he’d really like the simplicity and domesticity of it. he doesn’t care much for going on fancy dinner dates, or going on expensive couple vacations together. no, those superficial milestone-markers that other couples like to boast, they don't do much for him. never have. instead, he finds happiness on a simple saturday morning in spring, when the air is still a little brisk but it’s teasing the approaching summer’s warmth. and most importantly, he’s on his way to see you.

he’s got the biggest grin on his face as he’s walking up to your door. most nights you two spend together. whether he’s at your place or you’re at his place (i think he has a preference for spending the night at your place though. your home smells like you; lavender and vanilla. and he loves your cozy bedroom. he might criticize the excessive amount of pillows on your bed but he secretly loves flopping down onto them and napping). but last night you spent the night separated because you went to hang out with some friends and didn’t get back home until late, and he wanted to work on some program he’s been developing. safe to say, he missed you a lot. and it’s no secret you missed him either.

when you open the door for him, he casually strolls in.

“hi, gigi,” you hum and press a sweet kiss to his cheek, your hands full of the laundry that you’re about to throw into the washing machine. he grins sheepishly and blushes. no matter how much you kiss him, it always makes him a little flustered still. he shuts the door behind him, and then moves to the living room. he sets his backpack down, and then pulls out a little notepad in a very routine manner. you’re bumbling around the apartment, trying to tidy it up before you head out for the day.

he starts writing a list of everything you usually do on saturdays together:

1. take car to car wash 2. get groceries for the week 3. drop box off at post office that y/n has procrastinated sending for the last 3 weeks. do NOT let her say “we can just do it next week” this time.

mid writing his list, he looks over at you and raises his eyebrows. “is there anything else we have to do today? or just the usual stuff?” he hums.

you pause and put your hand on your hip as you think about it.

“hmm. i don’t think…- oh yeah! i need to go to cvs and pick up some stuff too. ran out of face cream,” you nod your head. with a double click of his pen, he jots it down.

“okay, what all do we have on the list?” you inquire, joining him by his side to look over his shoulder.

“i think i’m fine on groceries this week. can always get ‘em later if i need them. you can cross that off” you point at the second item on the list, your hands lightly resting on his shoulders.

luigi guffaws, out of disbelief. though, he doesn’t say anything at first. instead, he stands up from the couch and turns the corner to the kitchen. the distinct rattling of the fridge door opening, followed by the thudding of the cabinet doors closing and opening is your answer to the question you didn’t ask.

you see his hand poke out from the kitchen door, a graceful wave of his fingers beckons you forward. you already know the look on his face without having to see him. when you enter the modest kitchen, he has the refrigerator door propped open. a wrinkle in his forehead forms from his eyebrows being raised out of such skepticism.

“yeah, you don’t need to go to the grocery store, baby? there’s like, 5 cans of diet coke in here and some… nasty old bananas.” he frowns as his hand gestures to the mostly empty space in the fridge.

“okay, fine, lu. we’ll go grocery shopping.” you huff. it’s an argument you’ve had one too many times already. one that you have never won, too. and well, you might not know everything, but you certainly know it’s no use arguing with an engineer. at least not about this.

“i’m driving” luigi deadpans while you two make your way out of your apartment. it’s no surprise, considering the fact that the man has been in the car with you one too many times where you’ve nearly totaled your car. there was the time you were driving into town, and a little puppy on the sidewalk caught your attention and you veered into another lane. that caused a slew of cars honk at you… oh, and there was the other time when you backed into a pole while parallel parking, which luckily only left a small scratch- but gave luigi a heart attack all the same.

yeah, so long as luigi could help it, you were the designated passenger princess.

“okay, fine. can we at least go get coffee first?” you pout up at him as he opens the passenger side door of his car for you.

“well, yeah. thought that was a given,” he says as closes the door and gets in on his side.

luigi also likes driving because he likes to compute the most simple and efficient route possible. he thinks of it as an equation. and you really don’t mind him being your personal chauffeur. where all you have to worry about is what songs you want to play next on the stereo.

when you guys get to the post office after washing your car and getting coffee, luigi is the one who carries the box in for you. so all you have to do is tell the clerk the address you’re sending the package to. he does that often: carrying your things for you. when you go to bookstores, he carries around the pile of books you want to purchase on top of his own. and the same thing will probably happen later when you go to cvs; he’ll carry your little skincare products and bottles of vitamins for you too.

after you’ve finished up at the post office, luigi tugs out his little notebook. he checks off the post office, which is under the crossed out ‘1. go to car wash’.

the next stop is indeed the pharmacy. luigi is doddling along your side, his eyes wide with curiosity as he looks over the multitude of face lotions. though, that doesn’t distract him from the topic at hand. he’s been prattling on about some substack article he read discussing AI today, and also a podcast that he listened to last night while he was up coding. most of the jargon he uses flies right over your head, but he does his best to explain it to you. and even though you still struggle to understand why it’s so important, you just like hearing him talk about something he’s so passionate about. you get a little smug smile on your face, and luigi quirks up an eyebrow and goes, “what?”

all you can do in response is shake your head and look away, trying to suppress your coy grin with a small, “nothing.”

“no, seriously. what are you smiling about? i know AI doesn’t make you this happy, baby,”

“you’re right, it doesn’t. but i like hearing you talk about it. it’s cute,” you’d shrug.

and luigi— really!— no matter how long you two’ve known each other, still gets bashful sometimes when you compliment him out of the blue. he’s got that nerd in him, after all.

and after you’ve finished at the pharmacy, you make your last stop for the day: target. you convince luigi to go there instead of the boring grocery store. much to luigi’s protest too— he knows it’s an excuse to mingle through aisles of things you don’t really need. ‘going to target instead of the actual grocery store decreases our percentage of efficiency so much, y/n’ he usually groans. but for him, he knows that argument is the losing one. something he’ll never win on because you’re stubborn. and you’re cute when you’re pouting and begging him too with those big rounded out eyes of yours. plus, he thinks it’s endearing when you bumble through aisles and pick up random things and show them off to him as if its the most fascinating thing in the world. and anyways, if you two are really on a tight schedule, he’ll pull out the boyfriend move of jokingly placing his hand on the scruff of your neck while directing you towards where you’re supposed to go.

but you two have all the time in the world today, so he pushes the cart for you as you guide him down the candle aisle

“gigi, what do you think of this one?” you ask as you push the dark red jar towards his face. the overtly ‘chai latte’ candle overwhelms his senses. with a scrunch of his nose and exaggerated cough, he shakes his head.

“god no. too much. plus, i like your lavender and vanilla one more. smells more like you.”

you hum in acknowledgment as you pull back the candle to smell again. maybe, he did have a point.

“mm fine. guess you’re right.” you pout out your bottom lip before setting the candle back down on the shelf.

and then you’re finally shuffling off to the grocery aisles, luigi pushing the cart alongside you. strolling through the aisles of food, you’ve managed to pick up a few things. a box of flavored instant oatmeal, some pasta for easy dinners, and a bag of chocolate for morale sit in the cart.

luigi’s eyes glance down at the items. his jaw is tense, his cheekbone hollowed out while the weight of his tongue pushes against the inside of his cheek. he’s unamused, if his facial expression is anything to go by.

“so when are you going to pick up actual food?” his question almost cuts like a knife. it’s not that he tries to sound so brute, but sometimes he just comes across that way when he’s being so direct. it’s the italian in him.

“what are you talking about? this is plenty fine, luigi.” you roll your eyes at him.

“what am i talking about? even the comp sci geeks i know eat more regular meals than you do. you need some actual nutrients. you eat like a canary.” he tuts. he juts his chin forwards and to the side as an indication for you to step out of the way.

speechless, you do. luigi proceeds down the aisle towards the produce section. contempt with your efforts so far, he helps himself to grabbing a bushel of broccoli, a bag of baby carrots too, and a few apples, yogurts, and protein bars to boot.

you roll your eyes at him, “yeah, well now it looks like i eat like a rabbit” you point to the baby carrots and broccoli. luigi snorts at that, and then nods in agreement.

“well you do look like a bunny. so it’s kind of fitting,” he quips, but his tone is more lighthearted and soft now.

your foot stomps in protest at his joke, “do not!”

“yeah, see? you even stomp like one when you’re angry,” he laughs, his grin only growing.

with a sigh of defeat, you shake your head and give him a “fine, whatever”.

and once luigi is content with the amount of groceries in the cart, he finally directs you two to the checkout. he pulls out his own card to pay for them, because he has that kind of sense and need to take care of you. plus, it only seems fair because he almost always comes over and snacks on whatever is in your fridge himself.

when you two finally get home after the few hours spent out and about, it’s a relief. he puts your things away for you in the fridge and pantry. he has a very specific categorization of how he does it- each corner of the fridge has it’s own category. he makes a simple dinner for you two afterwards (probably some pasta with roasted veggies).

the rest of the evening is spent on your couch while he works on his code and you read a book. your feet draped over his lap. for your own amusement, you knock your feet against his hands just to pester him. he always quips back with a “stop that.” oh, and every once in awhile you take a pause and sit up to leer over his shoulder and look at whatever he’s working on. he probably tries to teach you a little bit of code too, which usually goes south pretty quickly and both of you end up bursting into giggles <3333

#sorry this one feels like kinda a flop #i did my best #luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione imagine #nerdy bf luigi

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osarina · 8 hours ago

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ᡣ𐭩 I WISH I WAS YOUR GIRL

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: you don't know why dazai has suddenly become so standoffish with you the last week—there's something that everyone isn't telling you, but you can't even bring yourself to make that your biggest concern. you're just so at your limits with the back and forth with him that you can't concentrate on anything else. mishima is hosting a ball is this evening and you think that this is it: if things are going to happen between the two of you, it'll be tonight or it'll be never. you can't wait forever on someone who's just going to string you along the rest of his life. you won't.

(wordcount: 6.3k; fem!reader, sfw but a bit of tension, angsty)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: hihihihiiiiiii guys ^.^ happy friday. we've gotta angsty fic for tonight. i fear this one does not end happily but TRUST the universe does <33 but angst is necessary to move the plot forward. the price you pay for a happy ending is an angsty path there. specially dedicated to my beloved sophie who hates angst <33 happy birthday luvr

You are severely unhappy.

You finished getting dressed almost an hour ago, but you still haven’t left your room. You’re sitting at your vanity staring at yourself—you’ve changed your jewelry three times already, and you’re about to change it a fourth. It’s not that you’re not satisfied with how you look, it’s more that you’re just frustrated and fidgety.

More than that, you’re upset. Dazai hasn’t spoken to you in a week, and you don’t even know why. It has something to do with the incident that happened a week ago with the child called Kyusaku, but you’re not sure what because you don’t know what was real and what was concocted by the child’s ability after you were affected by it.

As much as Dazai likes to pretend to be aloof and unbothered, he’s easily worked up by small things, and he’s been upset with you before, but never like this. He’ll usually sulk where he knows you’ll see him and wait for you to ask him what’s wrong so he can use the opportunity to guilt you into watching a shitty movie or going out to buy him snacks.

But this? Radio silence. He came up to your apartment once when you weren’t here to do his laundry and was gone before you got back. You don’t even know where he’s been staying, because you went looking for him at the shipping container and he wasn’t there. You don’t know what happened. You guys were good, more than good—you really thought that maybe the two of you were making progress past this awkward more than friends, not lovers stage, but now it’s back to square one. Worse than square one, because at least at square one, he was still talking to you.

A low whistle comes from the entrance to your room and you raise your eyebrows as you look up in the mirror, catching sight of Chuuya leaning against the doorframe, head tilted to the side as he observes you. He’s already dressed up—out of his normal outfit and in a sleek black suit instead, he looks different without his hat, but you don’t even have it in you to make a teasing comment about it. You can’t help the disappointment that clogs your throat at the sight of him: you’d still been holding out hope that Dazai would show up.

“I forgot how nice you cleaned up,” Chuuya murmurs. “It’s been a minute since we attended an event together.”

You turn in your seat to face him, eyes roving over his form once before you say, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without your hat. I almost thought you might be balding beneath it.”

Chuuya instantly rolls his eyes as he pushes himself off the door frame to make his way over to you. You give him a simpering smile as you look up at him, but you can tell it doesn’t reach your eyes from the way he frowns at you. He reaches out to straighten the necklace you’re wearing and then holds a gloved hand out to help you up, ever the gentlemen.

Even though it’s unnecessary, you still take it and sigh as you rise to your feet, smoothing out your dress once you’re upright. You look up at him and ask, “I take it you’re the one escorting me tonight.”

“Don’t sound too pleased,” Chuuya replies dryly, holding out his arm for you. You sigh as you hold his bicep loosely, making your way to the elevator. “He still hasn’t talked to you?”

“Not once,” you answer bitterly. “I thought for sure he would get over whatever his problem is to be my escort tonight, but I guess not. I don’t even know what happened, Chuuya. I feel like people just aren’t telling me something.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, your gaze is cutting to the side to observe Chuuya’s reaction. He grimaces instantly and averts his gaze, and you take in a deep breath, realizing you hit it right on the nail. What the hell are they hiding from you? You know now isn’t the time to get into it, but you make a note in the back of your head to do some snooping as to what really happened during the incident last week.

“Interesting,” you say, just to let Chuuya know that he needs to work on his poker face. He catches the implication and sends you a scowl, but you only raise your eyebrows at him with a small smile, waiting for the elevator to come up to your apartment. “He’s not coming tonight at all then?”

“No, he’s coming,” Chuuya corrects absently and the smile on your face freezes.

“Is that so?” you ask tightly. “Who is he attending with then?”

Chuuya gives you a long, knowing look as the elevator gets to your floor, holding it open and waiting for you to step in before joining you. You’re tense as you wait for his answer, and you know he’s getting back for the balding comment with how long he’s taking to give you it.

“No one,” he finally says, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Chuuya barks out a laugh. “Jesus, you’re so embarrassing—get yourself together. Who the fuck would actually be his date? No one wants to get within ten feet of him.”

You give Chuuya a withering look and then reply primly, “I would.”

“The entire Mafia knows that,” Chuuya says dryly, making your face hot. “You make me sick.”

“Likewise,” you scoff and pointedly look away from him. After a few seconds pass, you ask, “Are you sure he’s not bringing anyone?”

Chuuya groans. “What would it even change if he does?” he asks, which does not settle your nerves at all. “You’re just going to work yourself up thinking about it.”

“It changes whether or not I’m going to have Akutagawa Ryuunosuke on standby to eliminate a potential threat to Dazai’s life,” you say with a sweet smile. “Assassins come in many forms, but most frequently in dates at big events. We shouldn’t take that risk with our most valuable executive, naturally.”

Chuuya’s jaw drops as he fully turns to look at you. “Sometimes, I wonder why you like that fucked up bastard so much, and it’s only very rarely that I’m reminded that you’re just as evil as he is.”

“I’m kidding,” you complain, waving him off. Although, now that the thought is in your head, it’s becoming increasingly more appealing. “I think.”

The elevator doors slide back open and Chuuya holds his arm out for you again. You take it, lifting your hand to wave at Hinata, an older man who's been working with the Port Mafia since longer than you’ve been alive. He ran with Hirotsu in the Black Lizards before he was hurt on a mission and put on desk duty—you stole him from Mori when you came back from Kyoto. On paper, he’s just your doorman, but he’s helped you a lot with mission planning the past year and a half; you honestly contribute half of your success to his experience.

“Good luck tonight, hime, Nakahara-san,” Hinata says as the two of you make your way out of the building.

You let out an exaggerated sigh and toss your head to the side to look back at him with a smile. “Hinata-san, you should come and be my date instead of this bum.”

“Why am I always catching strays from you?” Chuuya scowls, but you ignore him as you flutter your eyelashes at Hinata, who only laughs at you.

“I’m far too old for that to work on me, hime,” Hinata replies. “I’ll have the scout reports from Sapporo ready by the time you get back tonight.”

“My hero,” you sing. “Thank you.”

You wave at him one last time before leaving the building with Chuuya. As soon as you’re out of sight, your smile drops and Chuuya gives you a concerned look, stopping before the two of you can get in the car so he can turn to look at you head on.

“Do you think he’ll show up with someone to spite me?” you ask quietly.

You know Dazai—he doesn’t like feeling wounded, so when he does, he lashes out tenfold. He gets cruel and vicious, and because he’s Dazai, he knows exactly what to do to make people hurt more than he does. You don’t know what you did to upset him, but it has you on edge now because it will hurt if he shows up with someone else, knowing that you were waiting for him back at your apartment.

Chuuya says your name quietly, and because it’s not an immediate ‘no’, you know that he knows that Dazai might very well stoop that low to hurt you. You swallow thickly and look away—it’s fine. You’ll act unbothered, you have an appearance to keep up and that’s more important than anything. And anyway, it’ll hurt him even more when he doesn’t get the reaction he wants from you.

“Hey, look,” Chuuya says, forcing your attention back on him. “Dazai’s being a fucking dick, alright? But what else is new? You look beautiful—make him regret that you’re not coming in on his arm, yeah?”

You smile softly and look away before saying, “It’s unnerving when you’re sweet.”

You don’t have to look at Chuuya to know he’s rolling his eyes at you. You hear him open the car door for you and sigh as you look back over to him.

“C’mon,” he says. “Let’s go.”

———

As always, your entrance is something to marvel over. It never fails to be the highlight of the night, and it’s only more of a spectacle when you enter on the arm of Nakahara Chuuya.

Lingering looks in your direction, wary stares in his—you’re grateful that he came to escort you, because if you’d come alone, you would’ve swarmed with suitors as soon as you got down the steps. Chuuya is not quite as much of a deterrent as Dazai would’ve been, if only because Chuuya won’t actually kill someone in the middle of Mishima’s ball and nobody can ever be sure of what Dazai is capable of, but his presence and reputation will keep unwanted annoyances away for most of the night at least.

By the end of the night, they’ll get more desperate for a conversation, and only Dazai and Mori himself are capable of keeping them away from you at that point, unless Chuuya steps up his game, of course, but he has as much of an appearance to keep up as you do. You’re not looking forward to it—your eyes keep darting up to the ticking clock, knowing each passing second draws closer to suffering.

You didn’t even want to come tonight. You weren’t going to come, you’d gone to quite the lengths trying to fake being sick, and you thought you succeeded until Mori messaged you this morning telling you that you could either come to the event or go deal with Shikibu Murasaki’s little stunt in Sapporo that has your biggest weapon supplier backing out on your next shipment. Since he knew very well you didn’t want to deal with that, the only option was to come to the ball—someone must’ve ratted you out to him, but you don’t know who. You almost think it must’ve been Chuuya, because Dazai hasn’t spoken to you in over a week.

You still haven’t seen him, which you suppose is a good thing because if he was going to shove in your face that he came here with someone else, then he would’ve done it by now. You aren’t even sure if he’s here; you’ve tried to keep an eye out for him, positioning yourself in a way that your gaze can always stray to the edges of the room in hopes of catching sight of him, but you haven’t seen him at all in the three hours that you’ve been here.

You’re standing with Chuuya and two of Mishima’s daughters now. Noriko keeps trying to shift closer to you, lashes fluttering and lips curled up into a soft smile. Usually, you would entertain the girl—she’s pretty, and at the very least, makes for entertaining conversation, which is more than you can say for the rest of the Sun and Steel upper echelon, but you’re so occupied with Dazai that she can hardly hold your attention for more than a few seconds.

“I haven’t seen him at all tonight,” you say quietly when Mishima himself comes over to your small group, a stern expression on his face as he beckons his daughters over before giving both you and Chuuya an apologetic look. “Have you?”

“No,” Chuuya says, taking a sip of his champagne as he leans against the wall. “I know he said he was coming though.”

Your expression twists in annoyance as you take in a deep breath. Your glass is empty, and usually, there are people circling to keep them full—your old mentor always used to warn you not to fall for the trap. The hosts of events always like to liquor up the attendees; drunker you are, the looser your lips, and you’re usually quite careful to keep it to one drink and never finish your second.

Tonight, you are on your fifth. Dangerous work, because you’re still going to have to entertain people when they inevitably start coming up to you—which is any minute now, you can feel the lingering stares and you can see how people are creeping closer. But you’re just so bothered by everything with Dazai that every time you finish a glass, you’re seeking out the next to try to numb your nerves.

“You know something,” you accuse quietly, giving Chuuya a cold side-eye. He stiffens, but neither confirms nor denies, which is a confirmation in itself. “Why won’t you tell me?”

“I can’t,” Chuuya says tightly, and you raise your eyebrows because you expected him to say ‘it’s not for me to say’ like he usually does when he feels like you should hear something from someone else. He can’t, does that mean… “I just…”

“You can’t because you’ve been ordered not to,” you realize, face shifting in confusion. “Mori ordered you not to. What happened during the incident last week, Chuuya?”

The expression that crosses Chuuya’s face is haunted, and it makes your mouth dry, because what the hell happened and why is no one telling you the truth? You don’t even get the chance to badger him about it, because Noriko and Michiko are coming back over, both of them looking incredibly displeased by whatever their father said.

“He’s so annoying,” Noriko complains, immediately clinging to your arm and resting her head against your bicep dramatically. “You two are so lucky that you don’t have parents to helicopter you like he does.”

You and Chuuya immediately exchange a look at her words, and even Michiko cringes a little, but you otherwise don’t react beyond just trying to not roll your eyes. These girls are so out of touch with reality that it’s almost concerning, but they, more than anyone else at this event, have loose lips that you like to take advantage of.

“No,” you sigh lightly, “I only have Mori. Somehow, I feel that’s worse.”

Noriko giggles like you’ve said the funniest thing in the world, and you miss Dazai desperately. At least him being here would have Mishima’s daughters acting a little more subdued, would maybe even chase them off. You don’t like how they act around him because you know it used to bother him, but you’re not gonna complain when you could be benefiting from it if he wasn’t being an ass.

She starts to say something else, but before she can, Chuuya’s eyes shoot open as he looks at something behind you. You instantly straighten, turning your head to follow his gaze and your breath catches when it lands on just who you thought would draw that reaction from Chuuya.

Dazai.

He’s finally made his appearance, and you can’t draw your eyes away from him. He never gets dressed up for these events like you and Chuuya do, so he’s still wearing that same black three-piece suit he wears every day, just without the dark trench coat he usually wears over it. He’s leaning against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest and a cold expression on his face as he stares in your direction. He doesn’t meet your gaze, but he does stare at where Noriko is clinging to your arm, lip twitching in irritation; Noriko seems to notice too from the way she lets go of your arm and tries to casually shift away from you, an annoyed look on her face as she does.

You hear her let out a noise of disgust, side-eyeing in Dazai’s direction, and you raise your eyebrows at her pointedly. You know that it was directed toward Dazai’s sudden appearance, but you’re not about to sit here and let that slide, so you turn a cool look onto her in response. Noriko instantly looks down to the ground, an ashamed look crossing her face—not for the disparaging attitude toward Dazai, but for being obvious enough for you to notice it.

You feel a bit more tense now as you force your attention off of Dazai back to Chuuya, who exchanges a short look with you before pointedly glancing over to where one of Mishima’s newer executives, Ibuse Masuji is whispering with one of his colleagues, looking in your direction a bit too frequently for comfort. He’s going to come over and ask you for a dance soon, probably around the same time Michiko starts tugging Chuuya in the direction of the hardwood floor at the center of the room—Noriko won’t ask you now that Dazai is here.

Wonderful, you think to yourself bitterly. You don’t really want to deal with Ibuse tonight, but you suppose you’ll probably get better information from him than Noriko. Noriko likes to ramble about more general gossip—who’s sleeping with who, who’s mad at who, and all of that is useful to an extent when you need to figure out what’s going on with Sun and Steel internal politics, but Ibuse has loose lips about more meaningful matters, and you’ve heard some nerve-wracking rumors about the Red Chamber recently.

The things you do for the Port Mafia.

You straighten your necklace, gaze lifting to Chuuya again as you withhold a sigh. You can see Ibuse starting to make his way across the event hall in your direction, and Chuuya gives you a pitying smile that instantly freezes as his eyes pin to something behind you again. You also freeze, because you know it could only mean one thing.

Dazai is coming over.

You raise your eyebrows at him pointedly, wanting to know whether or not Dazai’s approach is a good or bad one—if he’s coming over to finally address you, or if he’s coming over so he can more blatantly ignore you. Each one is equally possible, and the way Chuuya grimaces and shrugs only makes your anxiety spike more.

But you get your answer as soon as he arrives.

You inhale sharply when you feel Dazai’s fingers brush over your hip as he comes to stand directly behind you. You can feel his chest brushing your back, his presence warm and looming directly behind you. With his sudden arrival, the conversation happening between Noriko and Michiko comes to an abrupt halt, and you can see Ibuse freeze mid-step from where he was drawing closer to you. The two girls avert their gaze to the ground, not acknowledging Dazai, and it irritates you, they’ve never hidden how unnerved Dazai makes them, and though you don’t think it bothers him anymore, you know very well it used to.

Your throat spasms when Dazai’s hand settles more firmly on your hip, and you turn your head slightly to the side to look up at him, breath catching when you find that his gaze is already lidded and focused on you, visible eye far too dark and tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Dance with me,” Dazai murmurs, only for you to hear.

“You want to dance?” you ask, a bit incredulously, trying not to be hyper-focused on how he’s touching you. You don’t know what has gotten into him, but it has your heart racing. “Dazai, what-”

“Dance with me.”

It’s not a request, you realize, taking in a sharp breath as his gaze becomes more intense. You can feel curious eyes on you from around the room; it’s to be expected, it’s you and Dazai. Of everyone here, the two of you always have the most eyes on you at all times, but it’s different now.

Dazai usually keeps to himself during events, he wanders up and down the length of the room, keeping to the edges to observe what’s happening unless he’s looking for information from someone. He really stays true to his moniker, a black wraith haunting the shadows and keeping everyone on edge. You can’t remember the last time he willingly stepped out of them to interact with people, much less engage in things like dancing.

“Okay,” you agree quietly, not even bothering to look back at your previous companions as Dazai’s hand slides from your hip to your lower back, guiding you to the hardwood floor where several other couples are already swaying along to the music being played by the quintet in the corner of the room. “What’s gotten into you?”

Dazai doesn’t answer your question, looking down at you from the corner of his eye for a moment before looking back ahead. He doesn’t have to search for a spot on the dance floor—as soon as people realize that’s where he’s headed, they’re quick to leave a wide berth for the two of you, no one wanting to get too close to the most infamous Port Mafia executive.

Your heart races as he leads you to the center of the hardwood floor. Though you can feel dozens of eyes pinned on the two of you, all you can focus on is him. You can hardly breathe when he turns to face you, one hand resting on your hip while he holds the other out for you to take. You swallow thickly as you place your hand into his. He entwines your fingers with his instead of the traditional palm-to-palm, and he pulls you toward him so that your chests are brushing. You’re so close to him that you catch the faint and familiar scent of smoke and iron and it makes you dizzy.

Distantly, you know that this probably isn’t smart. If people think that you and Dazai are together, it will only be harder for you to get information from them. They’ll be wary around you in fear of him, and you’re not even sure if your ability will be enough to counteract the anxiety he triggers in people. You shouldn’t be risking that just for a dance, but…

But you can never think straight when he’s around, even less when his skin is warm against yours, and the way he’s looking at you… His dark eye is heavy with so many emotions, too many for you to even place a single one—you’ve always been good at reading people, but never him, and now, more than ever, you wish you could. You want to know what he’s thinking. You want to know what he’s feeling. You want to know him, because as much as you claim you do, you know that he masks himself from you. You want to ask him again—what’s gotten into you? Why have you been avoiding me? But you think it’ll scare him off, so instead, you ask:

“When did you learn to dance? Today?”

He’s better than you thought he would be. He effortlessly spins you across the dancefloor. Each step is quick and precise—you’ve had training in this type of dancing, but you still struggle a little to keep up with him. Though, you think it’s less because of your own skill, and more because of who exactly your partner is.

“What makes you think I haven’t known how?” Dazai drawls, voice low and languid, dark eye glittering with amusement. His grip on your hand tightens just a little as he pulls you into a half-spin. He presses when you don’t immediately respond, “Hm?”

“Because you’re you,” you finally answer with a fleeting smile. “So? When did you learn?”

“Tonight,” he tells you. “I’ve been watching them.”

“Hah,” you say—of course he’s this good just through observation. Ever the mirror. “You better not embarrass me.”

“Like this?” he asks with a smile that puts you on edge, and you give him a dirty look when he purposely takes a wrong step, forcing you to overstep in order to not land on his foot. You’re careful to make it look casual—a wider turn rather than a misstep—but with the number of eyes currently on the two of you, you know very well that people probably caught it. His apology comes in the form of an airy, “Whoops,” that you know he doesn’t mean.

His lips curl up into a smug smile, and your breath catches when you feel his hand slide from your hip to your low back so he can pull your body flush to his for the next turn. Your throat spasms as you tilt your head back to look up at him, and again, there’s that unreadable look in his eye as his eyes rove over your face.

“Why?” you finally brave yourself to ask, voice quiet and too breathy for your liking. You don’t specify what the why is, and that’s intentional, this way he can pick what he wants to answer and won’t feel as cornered by the question.

His visible eye narrows for a moment, and then something akin to reluctance spreads across his face, and then resignation. You wonder if he’ll answer, hardly even able to breathe as you wait for him to speak. But after a few tense moments, disappointment hits you hard, because a teasing smile spreads across his lips and you know he’s going to evade the question.

Still, your heart races when Dazai dips you down, lowering his face so that his lips brush your ear as he says, “You looked like you were bracing yourself for a bullet with Ibuse getting ready to come over. Figured I’d rescue you.”

Though the music continues, Dazai doesn’t lift you from the dip. He does pull his face back so that he can look you in the eye. He’s so close to you that you can feel his warm breath fanning across your lips and it leaves you dizzy. The look in his eye now—you almost want to dare to believe you know what it is—it’s too close to the same emotion you feel whenever the two of you are curled up on the couch watching a movie. It’s too similar to longing, yearning, the desperate need for more, the desire to be yours just as badly as you want to be his, but you don’t want to get your hopes up when you know he can crush them in an instant.

His gaze drops down to your lips and then drags back up to your face, and you know he won’t kiss you, not in front of all of the eyes currently pinned on the two of you. Not in front of Mori. It’s nice to imagine though.

“Is that really why?” you breathe out, eyes searching his for an answer.

Something new crosses his face—it’s sharp and it’s angry, something that promises violence, not toward you, but toward the one who provoked it. His gaze cuts to the side briefly in the direction of where Ibuse Masuji is still standing frozen in the middle of the event hall, staring at the two of you, and then he looks back down at you, lips tilted up into a wry smile.

“Partially,” he says, but doesn’t give you the chance to question any further, finally pulling you up from the dip to fall in line with the last steps of the dance.

He turns you so that your back is pressed to his chest, palm cupping the back of your hand, fingers interlaced. His free hand slides around to your abdomen, holding your body flush to his. The music slows as the song comes to an end, but Dazai doesn’t release you. You turn your head to the side and tilt your head back to look up at him, inhaling when you find that he’s already looking at you, dark hair hanging in his lidded eye as he watches you.

“Are you… coming home tonight?” you finally ask, voice soft and hesitant.

“I’ll think about it,” he says, but his eye is glittering playfully, so you know that he’ll be home waiting for you by the time you get done at the event. He always manages to leave early—no one has the nerve to try to stop him. He dips his head a bit lower, lips ghosting your ear as he says, “You should thank me, you won’t have to worry about anyone else bothering you tonight.”

He finally lets go of you, your arms fall limp to your side and your breath is a bit too shaky for comfort. He tosses a wink in your direction before shoving his hands in his pockets and making his way back toward the outskirts of the room.

And he’s right—for the rest of the night, not a single person dared to approach you.

———

Even though you’re fairly certain Dazai will be there waiting for you, you still hold your breath as the elevator doors slide open to your apartment. Your feet are aching, you hardly got a chance to sit once during the night and you’re ready to curl up on the couch and watch a movie.

As you step into your apartment, you can’t help the way your heart drops when you don’t immediately see him, and you especially can’t help the relief that spreads through you when you realize he’s lounging on the couch, out of sight from the angle you entered at. At once, you can breathe again—you’ve missed him the past week, more than you ever could’ve imagined.

“Hi,” you say quietly, coming to stand at the foot of the couch.

Dazai shed his black waistcoat, his shirt is untucked and his tie is loose around his neck, head resting on the far armrest as he looks up at you with a lazy grin that lights your nerves on fire.

“Hi,” he echoes. “I picked a movie.”

“A good one I hope,” you tell him with a small smile. “Let me go get changed.”

You turn on your heel to make your way up the steps to your bedroom, but before you can get to the staircase, Dazai speaks up again, “Can you even reach the clip?”

You hesitate as you glance at him over your shoulder. You technically can, but… “No,” you reply, and then lie, “Chuuya helped me get it on.”

Dazai’s lips flatten, but he does push himself to his feet to follow you up the stairs. You spare a glance behind you, catching the hard expression on his face as he stares at your back. You raise your eyebrows at him and it instantly washes away, replaced with a teasing smile as he raises his right back at you. You squint at him, but shake your head as you reach the top of the stairs, stepping into your room.

When Dazai steps in after you, you swear the temperature in the room rises.

You turn to look at him, and he tilts his head to the side idly, dark eye dancing with amusement as he slowly approaches you. He looks a mess with how his shirt is untucked and his tie is loosely hanging around his neck, hair tousled from laying back on the couch—he looks a mess, and you’ve never wanted him more.

You’re sick of the back and forth with him—it’s been a year and a half of it and you’re tired—you want to be his, you want him to be yours. Every time you think Dazai might finally make the first move, he ends up taking fifty steps backward for whatever reason. You don’t want to push it because you have a feeling it will only make him even more standoffish. Tonight has been more progress than you’ve made in a while—if you and him are going to happen, it’ll be now or it’ll never happen. Your pride won’t allow you to chase and pine for any longer.

He comes to stand directly in front of you and you think he wants you to turn around, but just when you’re about to, he gives you a sharp smile that instantly has you on edge, and then he lowers himself to his knees in front of you. Your lips part in shock, heart beat stuttering in your chest.

“We should get these off first, right?” he hums, reaching down for the clasp of your heel, knowing damn well the effect he’s having on you from the smug expression on his face. Although you can’t help but notice that his eye is darker than usual, pupil blown wide as he undos the clasp and slides your heel off.

“Right,” you agree breathily, lashes fluttering when you feel the pads of his fingers press against your ankle as he places your foot back down on the ground before shifting to do the same for the other one.

This time, his throat bobs nervously and his fingers fumble over the clasp. When he finally gets the clasp off, he looks up at you through his lashes as he slides your heel off, but he doesn’t rise to his feet right away once he sets your foot down. Your fingers twitch at your side to reach out and brush them against his face, but you refrain, if only barely.

After what feels like an eternity, Dazai finally rises to his feet, and he’s standing all too close to you. You can feel the heat of his body, you have to tilt your head up to look at him and when you do, you can feel his breath against your lips.

“Turn,” he murmurs.

You swallow thickly as you do as he asks, and your breath audibly catches when you feel his fingers brush the nape of your neck as he shifts your hair out of the way. You expect him to tease you, but you realize his breathing is almost as unsteady as yours is, you can feel each puff against the back of your neck and it has your hair on end. Your lashes flutter as Dazai slowly unzips your dress, the cool air of your room stark in contrast to the line of fire left behind with each brush of his fingers against your spine.

When he gets the zipper all the way down, he doesn’t move away, hands settling on your hips as he hovers behind you. You think your heart might race right out of your chest, head foggy and unsteady on your feet.

For a few long moments, neither of you speak.

And then, you make a terrible mistake.

“Why have you been avoiding me the past week?” you ask quietly, desperate for some sort of answer as to what happened between the two of you that made him go cold on you like this. His grip on your hips tightens, and you instantly want to eat your words. “Dazai?”

He doesn’t even deign you with a response.

Your heart is lodged in your throat when you feel his hands drop from your hips and his presence leaving from behind you. You’re cold, your body is, your heart is, and now you really are unsteady without his hands to ground you. You whip around to face him, knees wobbly as you call after him again, but you don’t chase after him—not this time. Bitterly, you think you’ve spent the last year and a half chasing after him and all you ever get in return is him running away.

You watch him disappear down the steps, frozen in place because how did one question ruin everything. For the first time in weeks, you thought you were actually making progress with him and just like that, it’s back to square one. You feel like you don’t breathe until you hear the elevator arrive on your floor, signalling that he’s left.

“Shit,” you breathe out shakily, sitting back on your bed and burying your face in your hands. You can feel all of the champagne you drank earlier in the night threatening to come up and your head feels light. You fumble for your phone, clicking on a familiar contact and gasping his name as soon as he answers the call, “Chuuya?”

“Yo,” you hear him ask, concerned. “You good? Aren’t you with-”

“Can you come over?” you push out before he has the chance to say his name. “I just-I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep waiting. I can’t-”

“I’m coming,” Chuuya tells you when your words cut out into a sob. God, you can’t remember the last time you cried like this. Your whole body aches as you pull your knees to your chest and rock yourself back and forth trying to calm yourself down. “I’ll be there in five. I’m coming.”

You told yourself before that it was tonight or never, and you’re done waiting for him. No matter how badly it hurts to force yourself to move on—you’re done.

You have to be, for your own sake.

#dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu x you #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you

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xeansicemane · 2 days ago

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"So, Rose, run me through the dossier again?" I asked the AI assistant, re-checking my coat's onboard systems.

"Not sure what we're looking at here, seems like some ex-cop got into a supersoldier serum and yadda yadda yadda" the computer added the sounds of flipping pages for effect "and early reports say he's fully broken with reality, just doing violence to whoever he thinks he needs to, been tearing through the beach - Irons Brigade is another thirty minutes out, but Tidewater is already on scene"

"Is it going well?"

"No local feeds yet"

"Huh" I muttered to myself, shrugging my coat on, the reactive components all reading nominal. I took a deep breath, untensing my shoulders as I felt the autonomous trailer rumbling along the road, thank goodness for light traffic.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"Rose you're reading my brainwave patterns you tell me" I answered not unkindly, this was an old routine between us as well as half the users of the system.

"You know you don't have to keep kayfabe if you don't want to - just a concerned citizen laying the law down can be the play"

I grimaced performatively at the mention of law. "Oh come /on/. I love the game - nah, he's on my turf and he didn't pay his dues. Let folks see how much I do for them, that's enough."

"You really love the PR work, don't you?" The flat robotic voice took on an edge of amusement

I stood, rolled my shoulders, and grabbed the handles that would facilitate my dramatic entry. "Like Presentation and Decoration says - ain't no reason to do this if we're not doing it with style."

The truck was driving down a city street, close to where the carnage was happening - the onboard AI had found a location that would allow the truck to block all obvious lines of sight on its' passenger side. The effect? Truck drives by, I suddenly appear as it passes. The mechanism? Frankly it was a waste of an inertial buffer field emitter but I thought it looked too cool not to do.

I cracked my neck, cursed the heavens that everyone else cleared for combat work was out of town for MAGfest, and turned, the truck turning off into a side road to reveal three burning cars and a heavily damaged pharmacy.

"Fuckers really got a hard-on for corner pharmacies don't they" I mumbled, the headset I was wearing keeping me connected to Rose and allowing an internal livestream - not a lot of the org was watching but it really wasn't for everyone.

"Truth, Justice, the American Way, and overpriced soda is how the saying goes down there, I think?"

I took off at a sustainable jog, scanning the wreckage and following the trail of broken paving concrete.

"Hrrrm" Rose said, something of concern in her voice "Looks like he had or has a weapon - parking meter is my guess."

"And he was just roid-rage pounding it into the ground, lovely." I said, keeping my breath even as I kept the jog up.

"Hey! Fuck you!!!" A concerned citizen said as they sprinted in the other direction. Okay I was close.

I heard something crash, something break, and gunfire.

I picked up the pace, transitioning into a skating motion, keeping a thin layer of solid oxygen between me and the ground - easier to find than water and the leidenfrost effect keeps you up wonderfully.

"Hey! Kick that guys' ass!" Another citizen yelled, camera out. I smiled, winked and pushed on to the beach, slowing into a run again.

The scene did not instill confidence. There was a man with his back turned to me, shoulders, hips and long muscles all bulging in the worst way I could imagine, veins glowing red. I surmised this was my target.

"So what happened to not littering?" I asked, high school theater stint yet again coming to my aid - one really must project when issuing a challenge.

He snapped around and stared at me like he was about to eat me. Several bullet holes were visible, none were slowing him down as he whipped up the parking meter to point at me.

"You. I knew you'd come, freak" He was seething, spitting even with those words. My headset had finished compiling data - his body suggested his metabolism was running too hot for purely biological processes - joy of joys he was paracausal, great.

I snorted loudly, mics were good these days but presentation needed work. "Whatever. You're on Korps turf. My turf in particular. Mayhem, damage and destruction is my gig around here. Scram and find some where else to lay a claim".

"Fuck off-" he screamed as he tore the leg off a lifeguard station and threw it at me, I caught another syllable as he was starting a slur but the noise of the structure coming apart covered it.

One of the fun things about being able to fuck with temperature is I could fuck with air pressure, enough air pressure and I could fuck with wind. Enough wind and I could redirect a thrown chunk of wood.

I was already approaching him, skating was a no-go on sand but I could manage a sprint when needed. My target was behind him and to the right, the crumpled form of Tidewater. He was a good kid, in his 20s, mixed up with the wrong crowd but a good heart.

A few carefully timed freezing blasts locked the berserker's joints for just long enough for me to scoop up Tidewater and keep the sprint, dropping a few dozen square meter patch of slick water ice without looking back.

"Hey, kid, you doing okay?"

He didn't answer, I slowed, controlled my breathing, and layed my hand against his back, turning just enough for my visor to get a scan of his neck. Nothing. Couldn't feel a heartbeat and sensors were showing zero electrical activity. I dropped to a knee and laid him on the ground.

"Okay okay okay fuck okay, just gotta cool him off for the medics to get to and"

"Jötunn" Just one word, my name spoken soft and human, from Rose.

I'd carefully not been looking at the chest - caved in. Caught the parking meter dead center of his sternum. His entire cardiopulmonary system had to be pulp.

"Okay. Shit. Rose shut that down. Access permissions 298 stroke midnight stroke ocean" I said, getting back to my feet, shivering stopping halfway through. I didn't like doing this, blackboxing a single emotion wasn't possible but the neuro folks had worked out how to temporarily induce a depersonalized state - I still felt grief over the the loss of this on again off again rival, but it was a million miles away. I could focus. I could ugly cry back at base. My coat caught something, a rock thrown hard enough to break ribs if the carbon substrait hadn't solidified in response to the force.

I turned, he was ten yards away in a dead sprint.

Cryokinesis is often considered pyrokinesis's under-performing cousin. I couldn't reduce a tank to a puddle of slag or melt through a pair of handcuffs at will. The techs back at base would rib me by asking me to cool their drinks.

But I want you to ask yourself, what happens if you rapidly condense the air? Cool it off enough it becomes a liquid. 11 liters of air suddenly becoming one-thousandth the volume.

Now imagine I can do that to 100,000 liters of air.

I can't melt a tank, but if I have the mind to I can reduce the internal atmosphere to a functional vacuum.

The sound was almost exactly like an explosion going off half a meter behind him. It was, just going the other way. The implosion ripped him off his feet while the ice around my ankles dug into the ground kept me in place.

He was still trying to get back on his feet when the first refrigerator sized brick of ice hit him. The second knocked him back down, the third dissuaded further attempts, and the fourth was for show. I stepped closer, focusing on pulling energy out of the ice block on top of him, shaping it into a single mass. I could feel his heat right until I couldn't. Liquid oxygen and nitrogen was running down the sides of the mass, the water condensation forming a cloud suitable to hide me.

"That was for Tidewater, ass. Rose, blockers off. We need a wake back at base." I felt the pain hit me, my chest tightening. I turned and stalked off, towards the extraction point. I heard sirens and I didn't care, the news showed a grief-stricken baddie and I didn't care.

You pretend to be a small-time villain. At most, you annoy the local supers, but your crimes never hurt anyone. To you it's all good fun. Things change when a truly sadistic supervillain invades your turf and murders a few of the supers. No one has seen the extent of your true powers until now.

#xeans' writing

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digi-diareis · 3 days ago

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Teen MC snapping at Caleb

Context: Yk how when you're teenagers, guys think the only way to flirt with the person they like is by teasing them? Well, imagine if Caleb had an era like this until it went too far and mc finally snapped at him.

Beware: this is gonna be SO BAD. im not a writer at all and english isn't my first language either. its just that i've had this scenario in my head for a few days now and i needed it out of my system. Also, I decided to use they/them pronouns for mc. So its more inclusive that way and also bcs even I personally don't always refer to my mc as she/her. So yeah, for the bitches, bros and non binary hoes.

Imagine this, Caleb and you bantering like usual on your way home but you're having an off day which makes it easier for you to get pissed off and fed up with all the teasing. Unfortunately, Caleb doesn't notice this and keeps teasing you until you just snap.

So mc, exasperated, scoffs at him and turns around to leave with their arms folded across their chest and eyebrows scrunched so hard they almost look like a unibrow.

"I'm done talking you. Go find someone else to pick on, Caleb. I'm not in the mood."

Sensing the sudden shift of mood, Caleb is speechless for a bit and left floundering, looking for the right words to say. He thought this was just your usual banter so why were you suddenly taking the jokes seriously? Hell, he can't let you stay in a bad mood for the entire day because that means he's getting the silent treatment and he'd rather die (well not really but he almost feels like it) than have you completely ignore his entire existence. Again.

He approaches you slowly, using a gentle voice to not alarm you the same way one would with a hissing kitten.

"Pipsqueak? Did I say something wrong? I'm sorry... Tell me what it was and I promise I won't say it again. Don't be mad anymore, we don't want you to develop any more wrinkles, do we?"

And oh, the way you stiffened up, very much reminiscent of a stray cat on full alarm against anybody trying to steal its food. Caleb gulps, knowing somewhere along the lines, he triggered a tripwire and a bomb's about to blow.

"Uhm! You know what, nevermind me! How about we go buy your favorite snack? Oh, what a coincidence your favorite stall is right around the corner-"

You turn around with a glare that makes him immediately shut up, looking like you're about to rip him a new one.

"WRINKLES?! First, you make fun of my height. Calling me pipsqueak around everyone and never shutting your damn mouth about how not a day has passed where I was taller than you. Then you start being weirdly aggressive towards my other guy friends, which by the way, what the fuck? Now most of them won't even talk to me anymore! What is your problem?! And now, you're calling me OLD and UGLY?!"

"I-I never said -"

"Shut your damn mouth and listen to me, Caleb! You have been getting on my nerves lately! I've been trying to convince myself that this is all just friendly banter but sometimes, you go too far that I don't even know if I can still laugh it off! We used to be best friends but now, its so easy for you to make fun of me. I don't know what I ever did to deserve this but oh my god, if you hate me this much then just stop hanging around me!"

Mc is heaving by the end of their entire speech, extremely worked up and upset that they're red in the face. They had been bottling this up for the past few weeks so letting it out almost felt cathartic.

Caleb is stuck in place, throat dry and mouth open but words won't come out. Was that how it's been like for you? Had he taken the jokes too far recently? Maybe it was wrong to listen to the other guys in his class who said that teens tend to fall for guys who act terrible, the bad boy stereotype is popular nowadays.

He looks down, feeling guilty and pathetic that he ended up making you feel like you hated him when you were the person who embodied everything he loved. You made him feel like flying and falling, all at the same time. So how could he hurt you like this? He had to make things right before it was too late.

"I'm sorry. Its all my fault. I shouldn't have said all those hurtful things to you, even if it was a joke or not. At the end of the day, they hurt you and that's not right. Please believe me when I say that I could never hate being around you. That couldn't be more wrong, not when all I ever want to do is be by your side. So please don't tell me to stop hanging around you, just thinking about it feels like my chest is being squeezed that it hurts. I promise I won't make the same mistakes again, so please forgive me?"

He's nervous, fiddling with his hands while he looks you in the eye. He reminds you of a wet puppy under the rain, begging you to bring him home with you. You knew the moment he pulled those puppy dog eyes that you would eventually lose, you could never say no to him. Not when you were kids and not now.

You sigh, shoulders slumping and the frown gone from your face. Now you just look tired, which only makes him more worried, maybe you're tired of him? No, that can't be. What would happen to him if you decide he's not worth keeping around anymore? He just might stop functioning all together.

You turn your back and start walking home, he feels his heart drop thinking this is it. You're leaving him behind– that is until you turn your head to the side, side eyeing him with a blush on your face.

"What're you standing there for, I thought you were going to buy me my favorite snack? Don't get the wrong idea, I'm not forgiving you just yet. Not until I've had my fill."

After that day, Caleb completely changes. Or maybe its more accurate to say he reverted back to how he used to be when you guys were kids. Doting, attentive and extremely supportive. He still banters with you from time to time but he never goes out of his way to start one. Although, there is one thing that doesn't change and that's how over protective he still is, he's still acting like a guard dog and being threatening towards all the guys in your class but at this point, you're just happy to have your best friend back again.

And just like that, Caleb's popularity spikes in your class because suddenly, every girl wants a guy who comes at their beck and call and attends to their needs. No more bad boy persona for them, they just want someone who worships the ground they walk on the same way Caleb does for you.

#lads caleb #love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #caleb x reader #l&ds caleb #l&ds imagine #love & deepspace #love & deepsace x reader #i #caleb x mc #caleb x you #they/them mc

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animamii · 2 days ago

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Hit Different | Eren Jaeger

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ Eren meets his match when Ymir's cousin crashes into his life. Classic playboy meets maneater. ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

𖹭.ᐟ modern aot verse! college au!

.・゜✧﹒☁﹒✧゜・．.・゜✧﹒☁﹒✧゜・．.・゜✧﹒☁﹒✧゜・．.・

Eren sat there on the couch in his garage, legs spread out as his brows were furrowed deep in thought. Arm slung over the worn-out edge of the armrest, blunt ashes falling to the cold cement floor. He stopped smoking inside of his house when you said you didn't like the smell of tobacco, didn't like the way it stuck to your hair. That was months ago, but he still kept the habit. Or tried to. He told himself it wasn’t because of you, that it was just better this way. But he would almost catch himself saying your name when Connie tried to spark up in the living room.

"Don't light that shit up in here y/n doesn't like that shit—" His eyes would go wide, stopping himself midsentence, lowering his raised hand as a confused Connie moves the lighter away from the tip of his dutch.

Now he's sitting here, irritated as hell with thoughts of you. It hits different. The silence. Wondering what the hell you were doing right now. Wondering if you were with somebody else. Eren takes another slow drag, the cherry at the tip of his blunt glowing in the dim light of the garage. He exhales through his nose, jaw tightening as the smoke curls around him, dissolving into the cold night air. His leg bounces, restless, and he hates that he's thinking about you again. Hates that the silence only makes him wonder more.

He tells himself he doesn't care. That it's none of his business if you're out, if you're with someone else. But the thought sticks, stubborn and unwanted like gum to his shoe. He could just text you. Just ask what you’re doing. Maybe something casual—Where you at? or You good? Something that wouldn't make it so obvious that you're in his head. But his phone stays face down on the armrest, screen dark, and his fingers twitch with the urge to reach for it anyway.

His jaw clenches as he swipes his tongue over his teeth, eyes narrowing at nothing in particular. It's fine. He’s fine. He doesn’t need to know. It’s not like you owe him anything. Then his mind wanders to thoughts of you under someone else. Makes his other hand ball up into a fist, has his chest tighten for a second as his jaw feels tension. He hates how even just the thought has him sick to his stomach.

The garage door is cracked open just enough for the night breeze to slip through, and Eren finds himself staring at the empty street beyond it. It would be so easy to get in his car, drive to wherever you are, just to see for himself. Just to make sure. His fingers tighten around the blunt as he exhales sharply. He needs to get a grip. Needs to stop thinking about you like this. How did he even start thinking about you like this?

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡♡˚

8 months ago

Eren had never really been one for romantic attachments. He simply preferred the hit it and quit it, no strings attached life. In short, he was just a slut. Everyone knew that. Everyone was fine with it. Except the occasional girl who would think they knew what they were getting themselves into but fall into the sinkhole of charm that was Eren Jaeger.

"Yo, Jaeger!" Ymir bursts into Eren's place, plopping herself onto the couch across from Eren, who was laying with a blunt lazily between his lips, preoccupied with his game of Rainbow Six. Flicking through the operators before he goes with his main, Kali.

"W'ssup Ymir?" His eyes flit to her for a second, greeting muffled as he tries to keep the lit blunt balanced, tiny tufts of smoke leaving his mouth with each word.

"Nothin' much. Just got back from helping my cousin move into her place. Girl has so much shit, my back is fuckin' aching from carrying her dresser. I know I'm a masc lesbian but fuck, I'm still a damn girl," Ymir rubs her aching back as she sits up, watching Eren snipe yet another person. "I need some damn indo to help with this back pain."

"Cousin?" Although Eren and Ymir were close, Eren felt like he knew jack shit about her. He didn't even think she had actual parents. In his mind she just spawned onto the earth with no attachments.

"Yeah. My cousin on my pop's side," Ymir leans forward to grab the blunt dangling from Eren's lip, which he side eyes but allows, "We used to be hella close growing up as kids til she moved up north. But she just moved back for school. Got into some fashion design program or some shit." She takes a fat puff, coughing a bit as she leans back into the couch once more.

Eren hums, barely paying attention as he respawned in-game, fingers moving lazily over the controller. “Fashion design, huh? Sounds high maintenance.” In his mind he was envisioning a bubbly, ditzy girl who could barely form a coherent sentence without using the word 'like'.

Ymir snorts, shifting to get more comfortable on the couch, blunt between her thumb and index finger as her other hand rests behind her head. “Please, she’d eat you alive, Jaeger.”

That caught his attention. His brows lift slightly as he glances at Ymir out of the corner of his eye. Taking the blunt back for another hit, the ember at the tip of his blunt glows a fiery red as he took another slow drag, letting the smoke sit in his lungs before exhaling through his nose. His free hand runs through his already-messy hair before he leans back, posture relaxed but interest piqued.

“That so?” He drawls, as if the idea of someone getting the best of him was comical. It was utterly laughable.

Ymir smirks knowingly. “Yeah. She’s not like those girls that throw themselves at you.” She reaches over to grab the blunt from his fingers again, taking a slow inhale before flicking the ashes onto the dirtied rolling tray that sits on Eren's beat up coffee table. “She’s a fuckin' problem.”

Eren lets out a short laugh, eyes still trained on the screen, but the way his leg bounces slightly betrayed how much she had his attention now. “A problem, huh?”

Ymir rolls her eyes, exhaling deeply. “Don’t do that.” She already knows what's going on in Eren's head. She can already see that conniving look on his face. Like a bad ass kid plotting.

“Do what?”

“Make it sound like a challenge,” she scoffs, watching as the smirk tugged at his lips. Aaaaand there it was, that conniving look.

His fingers twitched slightly against the controller, but he shrugs, feigning indifference. “You make it sound like I couldn’t handle her.” But the tone in his voice was anything but indifferent.

Ymir lets out a sharp laugh, shaking her head. “Handle her?” She stretches her arms behind her head, amused. “Jaeger, she’d ruin you.”

That made him pause, just for a second. He tilts his head toward Ymir now, fully interested. “How so?”

“She’s just like you,” Ymir says simply with a casual shrug of her shoulders, blowing out a fat swirling cloud of smoke before handing the blunt back to him. “Except worse.”

Eren raises a brow, taking a slow hit before exhaling toward the ceiling. “Worse?”

“Oh yeah.” Ymir’s grin was almost cruel. “She’s got a new guy every other week. Doesn’t do relationships, doesn’t do feelings. The second she gets bored? You’re out. No explanations. No second chances. Sound familiar?”

His fingers momentarily stilled over the controller. “Lemme get this straight,” he says after a beat, bringing the blunt back to his lips. “She’s a maneater?”

“That’s an understatement,” Ymir mutters, rolling her neck. “She’d chew you up and spit you out, Jaeger. And I’d pay good money to see it.”

Eren exhales sharply, shaking his head, but the smirk that tugs at the corner of his lips gives him away. He wasn’t used to hearing about a girl like this. Someone who played the same game he did, who knew how to keep things casual and clean.

But the way Ymir spoke about you… the certainty in her voice, the absolute conviction that you were the one who would wreck him and not the other way around—it irked him. Because no one ever got the best of Eren Jaeger. No one.

“She ever try to sink her teeth into you?” he asks, mostly just to push Ymir’s buttons.

Ymir lets out a barking laugh, smacking her knee. “Fuck no. I'm one of the few lucky ones. She actually respects me.” Then her grin widens. “Which is more than I can say for you, by the way.”

Eren clicks his tongue, rolling his eyes as he gives Ymir a dubious smile, but he couldn’t shake the way his mind was suddenly fixated on you. For the first time in a long time, it wasn’t about how fast he could get someone into bed. It was about how long he could last before you decided he was disposable. And for some reason, he really wanted to find out.

Eren exhales a thin stream of smoke, tapping ash onto the makeshift ashtray as he gives Ymir a sideways glance. “You talk about her like she’s some kind of myth.”

Ymir snorts, kicking her feet up on the edge of the coffee table. “She might as well be. Every dude she’s been with thinks they’re gonna be the one to change her, to get her to stay. And every single one of them ends up ghosted, wondering what the fuck just happened.”

Eren smirks, tilting his head slightly. “Sounds like they’re just weak pussies.” He can't imagine any self-respecting guy to be groveling at a girl's feet.

Ymir lets out another laugh. “Nah, they’re just dumb. She makes them feel like they’re special, lets them think they’re running the show. But the second she’s bored? She moves the fuck on, no hesitation.” She takes the blunt from him again, flicking the accumulated ash onto the coffee table by accident when she misses the ashtray. “Shit’s actually impressive.”

Eren leans back against the couch, stretching his arms over his head, pensive smirk still in place. “So, what? You’re warning me?”

“I’m telling you not to waste your time,” Ymir says casually, leaning forward. “You think you’re hot shit because girls let you do whatever you want, but she ain’t like that. She’ll let you hit, sure—if she even finds you interesting enough—but she won’t think about you after. You won’t be special, Jaeger.”

That had something curling hot and stubborn in his chest, something he wasn’t used to feeling. Not special? Eren Jaeger was always special. He didn’t say anything, just grabbed the blunt back from Ymir and took a slow drag, eyes narrowing at the screen in front of him, pretending her words didn’t get under his skin.

Ymir watches him, and when he stays silent, she grins knowingly. “Ohhh shit,” she drags out. “You’re actually interested, aren’t you?”

Eren exhales a faux laugh through his nose, jaw tightening. “Relax. I’m just curious.” But Ymir already knows you have your claws sunk into him, even before he met you. That's just the type of hold you had on boys.

“Curious, my ass,” Ymir cackles. “This is gonna be fucking hilarious. I cannot wait to see you get humbled.”

Eren scoffs, shaking his head, but Ymir’s words stick to him like gum on pavement. He hated how much this was getting under his skin, how much he already wanted to see for himself. Because if there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was someone thinking they had him figured out. And right now? It sounded like you were the one to beat.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ

Music lowly plays from the tiny Bluetooth speaker on the white dresser, bass thrumming low as you stand in front of the full-length mirror that sat in the corner of Ymir and Historia's room, applying a final coat of lip gloss, rubbing your lips together to blend your lipliner just right. The dim amber-yellow light of the bedroom reflects the shimmer against your lips, and you press them together with a satisfied smirk, blowing a kiss to yourself.

Behind you, Historia sprawls on the bed, one knee bent, her phone resting against her thigh. She scrolls lazily, barely sparing you a glance until something about your outfit catches her attention. She looks up briefly, eyes flicking over your outfit before raising a brow. “You’re actually trying tonight?”

You turn, placing a hand on your hip as you pose for her, making those cunty faces you two see on Rupaul's Drag Race. “This is minimal effort, babe. I'm going easy tonight.”

Historia rolls her eyes but smiles, propping herself up on her elbows. “Yeah, yeah. You just like making it look easy.”

You grab your pair of hoop earrings from the nightstand, sliding them on as you check your reflection again. Tight, flattering, just the right amount of skin—tonight is going to be fun. “Speaking of looking easy, what about you? You’re not pulling up in that sweater, right?”

Historia huffs dramatically, tossing a pillow at you. “I’ll change later. Ymir is taking forever in the bathroom, and I am not getting dressed in front of her just so she can talk shit about every outfit I try on the entire time.”

You snicker, knowing she’s not wrong. Ymir has a talent for running her mouth, and Historia—despite her sharp tongue—usually ends up the easiest target. Blame the innate sweetness that she harbors. Something you don't really have.

As if on cue, Ymir’s voice calls from the echoing hallway. “y/n, you better not be corrupting my girlfriend again!"

You turn to Historia with a grin. “As if she needs my help.” Historia flips you off before sitting all the way up, long blonde hair cascading down her back.

“Who’s gonna be at this party tonight? Anybody interesting?” You ask, turning back to the mirror as you adjust your top with a shift and a squeeze.

“Dunno. Sasha said she’d be there, and Connie’s probably already pregaming," Historia swings her short legs off the bed.

“And the guys?” You ask, voice laced with mild interest. Might as well peruse the menu before you get to the restaurant. Maybe choose who you want to sink your teeth into before you arrive, make things easier.

“Why? You got your eye on someone?” Historia raises an eyebrow, curious as to what your chaotic ass would have planned for tonight. You and Historia have been out together countless times, and each outing has its own insane story.

“I’m just asking," shrugging your shoulders, you walk over, plopping onto the bed beside her.

“I guess it depends on what you mean by ‘interesting.’ Jean will probably be there. You know how he is—loves the attention but gets all soft when a girl actually plays back," She explains to you. You've met some of Ymir and Historia's friends, become slightly acquainted.

You hum in acknowledgment. “Reiner, probably? Bert too. I think they were talking about it last night,” you continue, running through the other friends you had met in passing.

Historia tilts her head, looking down at you as you stare up at the ceiling. “What about Eren?” She knows exactly why she's bringing him up. Little freakin' instigator.

At that, you pause, blinking once before snorting. “Eren Jaeger?”

She nods, her cerulean eyes still focused on you and your reaction to the boy. “Yeah. You two have never met, right?”

You shake your head. “Nope. Ymir’s mentioned him before, though. Total playboy, right?” You had only been in town for a couple of weeks, and it seemed like every other conversation was 'Eren this, Eren that". It was annoying, really. Ymir's friends acted like he was some kind of God.

Historia smirks. “Yeah, textbook.”

Your lips curl at the corner. “Hmm.” You don’t say anything else, but you can feel Historia watching you closely.

“What?” she finally asks, nudging your arm.

You stretch your body before standing up from the bed with a slow, lazy smile. “Nothing. Just wondering what kind of playboy we’re talking about here.” You've dealt with more than a handful of so called 'playboys' and they've all crumbled before you. Reduced to groveling messes. Snot nosed, teary eyed, on their knees begging pathetic puddles of men.

Historia rolls her eyes, but she's smiling something mischievous. “Don’t even try it. Ymir already said you’d destroy him.”

Your smirk widens, that's exactly what you wanna do. “Then maybe it’ll be fun to prove her right.”

Before Historia can respond, Ymir strolls into the room, towel draped over her defined shoulders, damp strands of chocolate brown hair sticking to her forehead. She takes one look at you, then at Historia, and groans, throwing her head back.

“Oh, hell no,” she says, rubbing a hand down her grimaced face. “What are you two talking about? And why do I feel like it’s something that’ll piss me off?”

Historia smiles, tilting her head innocently. “We were just talking about the party.”

Ymir narrows her eyes before turning to you. “Uh-huh. And why do I get the feeling that you’re plotting something?”

You shrug with a toothy grin, smoothing out your top as you turn back to the mirror. “I don’t plot, Miri, you know that. I just go with the flow.”

Ymir scoffs, rolling her eyes as she sits down on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, and that ‘flow’ usually leaves a trail of broken hearts and emotionally scarred men in its wake.”

You laugh, tossing a menacing wink at her. “Not my fault they can’t keep up.”

Historia snorts, and Ymir groans again, rubbing at her temples. “Alright, for real. What’s the topic of the night? Who are you planning on destroying this time?”

You turn back to them, leaning casually against the dresser. “We were just talking about Eren Jaeger.” Your tongue presses against your cheek as your lips curl into a conniving smile.

Ymir stops mid-motion, eyes locking onto yours, and grimaces. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

You raise a brow, your lips slightly parting in feigned innocence and confusion. “What?”

Ymir throws her hands up. “Nope. No. I refuse to let this happen.”

Historia leans back against the bed frame, amused. “You say that like you can stop it.”

Ymir groans, looking between you and Historia. “Listen, I know my cousin. And I know Jaeger. You two? That’s a goddamn collision waiting to happen.”

You smirk, crossing your arms. “Sounds fun.”

Ymir points at you, eyes sharp. “No, sounds like a mess. He’s the worst kind of playboy—thinks he’s untouchable, gets what he wants, then bounces. And you?” She gestures vaguely yet dramatically at you. “You’re the female version of that. The only difference is that you don’t even let them think they had you in the first place.”

You tap a manicured finger against your lips, feigning deep thought. “So, what you’re saying is… I’m better at it?” A devilish smile forms on your glossed lips, perfect brows rising in satisfaction.

Historia cackles, and Ymir grabs a pillow off the bed, throwing it at you. “I’m serious, dumbass! Eren’s the type who doesn’t get played, and you—” She shakes her head, eyes shut. “You’re gonna ruin his fucking ego.”

You shrug, catching the pillow and tossing it onto the bed. “And? Sounds like a him problem.”

Ymir drags a hand down her face. “I don’t got the energy for this.”

Historia grins. “Oh, I do. This is gonna be hilarious.” If there was popcorn she would definitely be eating it right now.

You laugh, stretching before grabbing your phone from the dresser. “Well, guess we’ll just have to see for ourselves, won’t we?”

Ymir groans one last time, muttering something about needing a drink already, while Historia smirks knowingly. The three of you are just about ready to head out when chaos strikes—in true you and Ymir fashion. It starts with a missing sneaker.

“Where the fuck is my shoe?” you mutter, crouching near the bed, tossing aside a hoodie, a hairbrush, and what looks like a half-eaten granola bar (probably Ymir’s). “I literally just had them both here.”

Historia, standing by the door with her arms crossed, sighs. “Ymir probably kicked it under the bed or something.”

“Excuse me?” Ymir squints, sitting on the dresser with her arms draped over her knees. “Why do I get blamed automatically?”

“Because you’re always the reason,” Historia deadpans, icy blue eyes lidded.

“Valid,” Ymir admits with a sensible nod, but then tilts her head. “Still not my fault.”

You blink at her before getting down on your hands and knees, blindly reaching under the bed. “I swear to God, if I find some weird ass shit down here, I’m gonna kill both of you.”

“I told you not to look under there,” Historia says, completely unhelpful. All she wants right now is to be downing vodka cranberries and dancing to Saweetie. She might even pretend to be straight so guys will pay her to kiss Ymir like at the last party they went to.

Your fingers graze something soft and cold and squishy, and you scream. Ymir howls with laughter as you jerk back so fast you nearly smack your head on the nightstand. “WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!”

Historia wheezes, clutching her stomach as she leans against the doorframe. “Oh my god, I forgot about that!”

“Forgot about what?!” you snap, eyes wide and chest heaving, with your hands raised up as if they were contaminated. Which they probably were with the rest of the stuff Ymir hid under her bed.

Ymir can barely get words out between gasps of laughter. “Bro, it’s the ice pack! The one Historia left down there weeks ago when she fucked up her knee!”

Historia nods furiously, laughing so hard she has to brace herself against the wall. “I— I was icing it while watching TV and then it just… stayed there.”

You stare at both of them, disgusted. “You two are feral. Ymir, I understand. But you, Historia?”

Ymir wipes a tear from her eye, finally catching her breath. If she laughed any harder, she'd be having an asthma attack. “Oh, man. You’re so fucking dramatic.”

You shake your head, completely over it, and reach back under, finally finding your missing sneaker. “If I die from some unknown bacteria because of you two, my ghost is haunting this place.”

Historia, still snickering, straightens up. “Noted. Now can we go? I need some Grey Goose in my system pronto.”

You dust yourself off and slip your shoe on. “Yeah, yeah, let’s go before I change my mind.”

Ymir hops off the dresser, slinging an arm around Historia’s shoulder. “Finally. I need a fucking drink.” With that, the three of you head out the door—completely unaware that tonight is about to be the beginning of something more dramatic than a damn Shakespeare play.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ

“Bro, hurry the fuck up!” Connie yells from the living room, mouth probably full of chips if the muffled sound of his voice is anything to go by. “You take longer to get ready than my sister.”

“Shut up, Connie,” Eren calls back, dragging a comb through his hair one last time. He’s not even trying that hard—just the usual: white tee, black jeans, and a flannel he doesn't care all that much about just in case his overly drunk ass misplaces it. Simple. Easy. Still, something feels off, like he’s overthinking tonight. And Eren Jaeger never overthinks.

He steps back from the mirror, eyes scanning himself once more. Sharp jaw, messy hair that still somehow looks good, green eyes that’ve gotten him out of more trouble than he cares to admit. Yeah. Still got it. He grabs his phone from the bathroom counter, ignoring the flood of unread texts sitting in his inbox—three different girls, all wanting to know if they’d “run into him” tonight. His thumb hovers over one of their names for a second before he snorts to himself and shoves the phone in his back pocket. Not in the mood.

He’s not really sure what he’s in the mood for. Lately, all of it’s been feeling… boring. Same faces, same lines, same routine. A couple of drinks, a little flirting, and by the end of the night, they’re tangled up in his sheets. No attachments. No feelings. Easy. It’s supposed to be easy. But for some reason, Eren can’t shake this weird, restless feeling creeping under his skin tonight.

He walks into the living room, where Connie and Jean are already half a bottle deep into Eren’s liquor stash like they pay rent here or something. Connie’s stretched across the couch, feet shamelessly on the coffee table, while Jean flips through a playlist on his phone, back slightly hunched, sitting on top of one of the kitchen counters.

Jean glances up before doing a double take. “You’re still wearing that flannel?” Jean raises a brow. “Thought you’d retired it after that blonde last month—what was her name again?”

Eren rolls his eyes, snatching a bottle of Hennessy off the table. “Mind your business.”

Connie chortles. “Man, you are off tonight. Usually, you’re already texting some poor girl by now, setting up your after party plans.”

“Yeah, what gives?” Jean adds, leaning back against the cupboards. “Having an identity crisis or somethin'?”

Eren ignores both of them, twisting the cap off the bottle and taking a swig. The burn slides smooth down his throat, but it doesn’t do much to quiet his thoughts. He doesn’t know why he’s on edge tonight—he’s been to a thousand of these. Same people, same drinks, same easy hookups. Girls who know what they’re getting into with him and guys who pretend not to care that Eren always seems to be the center of the room. But tonight? Tonight feels different.

Maybe it’s because Ymir mentioned that her cousin would be there—you—the so-called female version of him. He leers at the memory of Ymir's warning. The way she said you’d ruin him like it was an undeniable fact. Like it was already written in the stars. Like it was already decided. Please. No one ruins Eren Jaeger.

Connie’s voice cuts through again. “Ohhh wait.” His eyes narrow playfully. “This got something to do with Ymir’s cousin? What’s her name again?” Eren doesn't answer, just stays quiet. Connie grins. “y/n, right? Yeah, I heard bout her. She’s bad.”

Eren’s jaw flexes again, his grip tightening slightly around his phone. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Connie raises a brow, sparking up a blunt that he seemingly pulled out of thin air. “Means she's bad, bro. As in hot. As in way outta your league.” Connie takes a hit, pulling it back to see if it's burning just right before passing it to Eren, who takes it without glancing.

Eren scoffs, smoke curling from his lips. “No one’s outta my league.” He says it with the confidence of a man who’s never heard the word ‘no’ in a way that actually mattered. Since birth Eren had been one cocky son of a bitch, and for good reason too.

“Yeah? She might be.” Connie smirks, pouring himself another shot. "Heard she's already got a roster and she's barely been here a couple weeks."

Eren leans forward, resting his elbows on the kitchen counter, blunt dangling between his fingers. “So?”

“So,” Connie says, shrugging as knocks back the Hennessy like its water, “I’m just saying—she’s like you. Probably already got some dude lined up for tonight and won’t give a shit about whatever game you think you’re running.”

Eren’s tongue presses against his cheek, brows furrow and his gaze darkening. He doesn't like the way that sounds. Doesn’t like the idea of you brushing him off—of anyone brushing him off.

“She’s just another girl,” Eren mutters, more to himself than to Connie. “They all play hard to get till they aren’t.”

Connie laughs. “Yeah? Well, good luck with that.”

Eren takes another drag, holding the smoke in his lungs like he’s locking in a decision. On the outside, he’s calm, collected, the usual brand of cocky. But inside? Oh, he’s already made up his mind. If you’re really as untouchable as they say, there’s only one thing to do. Find out for himself.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ

The bass shakes the walls, vibrating through the floorboards and straight into the bones of anyone standing too close to the speakers. Red plastic cups litter the countertops some half full some tipped over. The air is thick with the sting of liquor, the stench of sweat, and the occasional hint of weed. Floors sticky as they get covered in track marks.

Eren spots you the second you walk in. He doesn’t mean to. It’s not like he was waiting for you or anything. But the second the door swings open and you step inside, it’s like the party shifts. Like you shift the air just by being here.

And fuck, do you look good. Your hair is tousled, lips glossed, and that skimpy outfit—shit. Eren’s eyes flicker down for a split second, a slow smirk tugging at his lips as he takes in the way it clings to you just right. Top hugging your tits just right and skirt shifting with each step. He doesn’t even have to try to picture it bunched up around your hips. The thought just plants itself in his head like it belongs there. He exhales through his nose, rolling his jaw. He’s seen beautiful before. Had them in his bed, in his car, against bathroom sinks at parties just like this one. But there’s something different about this. About you.

And then? You fucking ignore him.

You and Historia weave through the crowd like you own the place with your arms interlinked, Ymir following close behind, and you don’t even spare him a glance. No knowing smirk, no subtle check-over, nothing. You just flick your hair over your shoulder and move straight for the kitchen, where a handful of people are already pouring drinks.

Eren’s smirk twitches. Oh. This is gonna be fun.

He watches as some guy—Jean, of all people—gravitates toward you, already pulling that smooth nice guy act. Eren doesn’t even have to hear the conversation to know exactly what’s happening. Jean leans in just a little, eyes dipping to your lips between words, smiling like he’s got a shot. And then you laugh—head tilted back just enough to make it look effortless. Eren’s fingers tighten around his cup.

Connie, now posted up against the wall beside him, follows his gaze and grins, letting out a low whistle. “Daaaamn,” he drawls out the single syllable just for the dramatics. “Jean’s already on that? Tough break, bro.”

Eren scoffs, tipping his drink back and swallowing slow like he wants the liquor to burn his throat on purpose. “Not my break to be tough.”

“Sure.” Connie sneers, stretching the word out like he’s not buying a damn thing. “So it’s not pissing you off that he’s—”

“I don’t give a fuck what he’s doing.” The words snap out faster than intended.

Connie raises a brow, like he’s just caught onto something real interesting. “Yeah? Then why do you look like you wanna knock his ass out?”

Eren doesn’t answer. Doesn’t need to. Instead, he pushes off the wall, weaving through the party with that lazy, self-assured stride that’s gotten him anything he’s ever wanted. People move out of his way without him even trying, girls trailing their eyes over him as he passes. But his focus? Locked. Jean is still talking, still smiling like he has a chance—until Eren’s presence shifts the entire energy of the space. Jean notices first. Then you do. And finally—you meet his eyes.

Eren doesn’t look away. He doesn’t break that charged stare, doesn’t let you see anything but that knowing smirk playing at his lips. You knew this was coming. You had to. The way your own lips curve at the edges tells him everything. He expects you to turn, to give him your full attention. After all, you're such a lucky girl to be graced with the presence of Eren Jaeger.

But no. You let out a soft snort, flipping your hair as you continue your conversation with Jean. Eren’s smirk falters for half a second. Oh, so that’s how you wanna play it? His grip tightens around his cup, but then—he laughs. A deep, low chuckle that rumbles through his chest as he tilts his head, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek. You think you can just brush him off like that? Like he’s nobody?

Alright, sweetheart. Let’s see how long you last.

Eren leans back against the counter, swirling the liquor in his cup as he watches you, waiting for the moment you’ll crack and finally look at him. He’s patient—cocky, but patient. Girls always fold first. But you? You don’t even glance his way. Instead, you tilt your head at Jean, lashes fluttering just enough to make the poor guy swallow hard.

“You were saying?” you prompt, voice smooth as silk. Eyes looking up at him so steadfast, making him feel like the only boy in the world.

Jean blinks, briefly thrown off before he collects himself. “Uh—yeah. I was saying—you should totally let me take you out sometime.” He leans against the counter, confidence settling back into his stance. “No pressure. Just two good lookin' people getting food together. Maybe some drinks.”

You hum, pretending to consider it. “Sounds more like a date.”

Jean grins. “It can be. Or it can just be a good time. Your call.”

Eren scoffs under his breath, barely audible over the thrum of music. This guy. Jean thinks he’s smooth. Thinks he can keep your attention just because he’s playing nice. Cute.

You smirk, tipping your cup toward Jean. “I like the idea of a good time.”

Jean raises a brow. “Yeah?” Eren can just hear the excitement in his voice, the undertone of him surprised that you'd even consider it.

“Mhmm,” you sip, eyes flickering over him as you size him up and down. “And you’ve been looking real good tonight, Jean.” You can't deny that Jean is attractive. Six foot something, muscular but not too much. Stubble highlighting his sharp jawline.

Jean’s brows lift slightly, like he wasn’t expecting that. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” You lean in a little, lowering your voice like you’re telling a secret. “Been hitting the gym, haven’t you?” Your breath is warm against his ear, subtle but effective. Jean tenses, then exhales through his nose, like he’s trying to play it cool.

Jean then chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck to calm his nervousness. “Maybe a little.”

“It’s working,” your voice is soft and sweet, masking your devilish intentions. A sly hand creeps up his arm, gently squeezing his bicep. Jean subconsciously flexes it, an obvious attempt to impress you.

Jean’s ears go a little pink, and Eren rolls his eyes. Jesus. This is painful. You’re just playing with the guy, toying with him like a cat with a string, and he’s eating it up. His fingers tighten around the rim of his cup. Pathetic. Jean’s lapping it up, oblivious to the fact that he’s just another name on your list, just another temporary distraction. And maybe that’s what really pisses Eren off.

Eren bites the inside of his cheek, swirling the liquor in his cup with a slow flick of his wrist. The ice rattles against the plastic, but his focus is razor sharp on you. On the way your fingers graze Jean’s forearm, the way your lips curve at something he says—something that wasn’t even funny. The sudden tug on his wrist rips his attention away.

"Eren," a voice purrs, dragging his name out like a slow sip of honey. He barely has time to register who it is before soft hands pull him away from the counter, dragging him into the depths of the party. He exhales sharply. Of course. One of the girls from Mikasa's sorority, Louise. She’s all over him before he even gets a word out, pressing against his side like she belongs there. “Where the hell have you been, Jaeger? Too good to say hi now?”

Eren scoffs, eyes flickering toward the kitchen one last time, but you’re still wrapped up in Jean, still laughing at whatever dumb thing he’s saying, still not sparing Eren a single glance. Fine. He lets Louise pull him toward the hallway, weaving through sweaty bodies and the fog of cheap liquor and weed. Her grip is possessive, like she thinks she can stake some kind of claim over him just because they fucked once. They stop near the base of the stairs, away from the worst of the party but still close enough that the music pulses through the walls.

“I was starting to think you were avoiding me,” Louise hums, pressing a manicured hand to his chest, almond shaped nails scraping lightly over the fabric of his shirt as she tilts her chin up, batting her false lashes. Eren notices the inner corner of her strip lash lifting up a bit, making her look wonky, but he doesn't care enough to say anything.

Eren’s smirk is lazy, practiced. “Should I be?”

Her lips part slightly, caught between intrigue and challenge. “I don’t know. You tell me.” Flashing him a smile, she tilts her head to the side, blue eyes trying to pierce through the emotional wall Eren currently had up.

Eren exhales through his nose, tipping his head back slightly, bored. She’s doing that thing—the same thing every girl does when they want to get a second round with him. Soft touches, sultry looks, a voice dipped in sugar and suggestion. It’s textbook.

It would be so easy. He could take her upstairs, let her kill the frustration building in his chest, let her drag him under and replace the image of you and Jean still talking. Laughing. Touching. But when he looks down at Louise—he doesn’t see you. Doesn’t feel anything.

His jaw tightens, body burning with frustrations that you're the irritating source of. “Not happening.”

Louise blinks dumbfounded, jaw going slack. “What?”

Eren steps back, shaking her hand off his chest. “I’m good. Go find someone else.”

Her lips part, the briefest flicker of shock crossing her face before it hardens into something sharper. Annoyance, maybe. Embarrassment. Either way, she doesn’t like it. “You’re serious?”

Eren just shrugs, rolling his shoulders as he shoves his hands into his pockets, already feeling like this conversation is a complete waste of his precious time. “Dead serious.”

She scoffs, crossing her arms, agitation showing in her posture as one leg steps out, her hip pointed. “You really think you’re all that, huh?”

He just shrugs. Doesn’t deny it. Pursing his lips and swirling his solo cup of henny and coke, waiting for her to catch the damn hint and kick rocks.

“Whatever,” she huffs, rolling her eyes. “Your loss.” She flips her hair and stalks off, disappearing into the party with a dramatic sway of her hips.

Eren exhales, rolling his tongue over his teeth with a tchht before turning back toward the kitchen. And when he does—you’re looking right at him. Not with jealousy. Not with anger. Just amusement. Like you knew this would happen all along. Eren smirks, shaking his head slightly as he lifts up his drink to his pink lips. He takes a slow sip, holding your gaze over the rim of his cup.

You hold eye contact for a small second before you turn your attention back to Jean. He's actually such a sweetheart you're genuinely enjoying the conversation. Which was... refreshing. You don't remember when the last time you had such an interesting conversation with a person of the opposite sex. One that didn't consist of hook ups or how 'fuckin' hot' you looked.

Jean was in the middle of a passionate tangent about Sailor Moon being able to solo Goku if they were to go one on one. It was cute to see such a straight browed guy defend a shoujo protagonist against the poster boy for shonens.

“I know, I know. Everyone always goes ‘But Goku’s a Super Saiyan, blah blah blah,’ right? But Sailor Moon—she’s got that moon power, bro. You know how powerful the moon is? No one knows the moon’s potential. It’s like, this massive source of energy.” He takes a few more gulps of his drink, making that little ahh' sound before he continues, “And Goku’s just a dude, right? Yeah, he’s got all this strength, but Sailor Moon? She’s literally a magical being. She can manipulate the power of the moon—and that’s not even the best part. She’s got that Silver Crystal, man. That thing can destroy entire universes. If Goku’s even trying to throw a Kamehameha at her, she can just use that to, like, wipe him out before he even finishes charging it.”

Jean huffs out a breath, swaying slightly as he sets his drink down. All that Jameson was going straight through him. “Shit—I gotta take a piss.” He flashes you an easy grin, thumb pointing over his shoulder toward the hallway. “Don’t go anywhere, yeah?”

You let out a tiny laugh of air, smiling as he gives you a flushed boyish grin. “No promises.”

Jean chuckles, rolling his eyes playfully before he disappears into the crowded party. You shake your head, turning back toward the counter, scrolling through your phone like you’re not hyperaware of the gaze burning into the side of your face. Then, before you can even process it—he’s there. A slow, lazy presence stepping into your space like he belongs there. You don’t look up, don’t acknowledge him, but you hear the way he exhales, the entitlement practically dripping from his voice.

"You done playing yet?" It’s smooth, teasing, but there’s an edge underneath. Like he's nagging like an impatient child.

You hum, taking another sip from your drink, still not looking at him as you half watch people's instagram stories. “Playing what?”

Eren chuckles, trying to cover the bratty scoff that somehow leaves his breath. You can hear the way he shifts, arms crossing, the way he fixes his stance. "You tell me."

Finally, you glance up, tilting your head as your squinted eyes flick over him. Jaw tight, bottom lip catching in his teeth, biceps flexing under his shirt like he doesn’t even realize it. Oh, he’s pissed. Amused, but still pissed. Your lips part, a retort on your tongue—

"y/n, we gotta go. Like right now." Ymir’s voice slices through the tension like a blade. You blink, turning just in time to see her hoisting Historia up by the waist, the blonde giggling into her shoulder. "Before Christina Aguillera here falls off another table and gets a concussion," Ymir grumbles, adjusting her grip as Historia hiccups dramatically. You sigh, downing the rest of your drink before setting the cup down. Eren is still looking at you, now frowning like a child whose ice cream just fell off the cone.

You smirk, letting your eyes trail over him one last time before pushing off the counter. “Night, Jaeger.”

Eren exhales sharply as he watches you leave. That was his shot. He should’ve said something—should’ve done something. But no. You slipped away. He licks his lips, tongue pressing against his cheek as he tips his head back, exhaling through his nose.

Next time, sweetheart.

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pyract0 · 2 days ago

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Random thoughts with MHA men!

☁︎Lowkey just a heap of stupid ideas I had for different characters I thought were funny/ cute. Might extend on a few of these into longer fics if I find the time :) ☁︎Going back to finishing some requests after this! Sometimes read and can't process what I just read so might take a while to finish them all! Feel free to request but might be a bit slow at the moment, but I'll get through them when I can! ☁︎Not really any warnings other than swearing (Tried to keep it to a minimum but habit when I can't think of a fitting word)! Gn/ unspecified reader :))

╰┈➤ Katsuki Bakugo who follows a strict routine he set for himself to get the most out of the day, in bed by exactly 8:30. Yet he coincidently always happens to be awake when you try to sneak in and cuddle under the covers with him. Gets annoyed at you for "interfering" with his schedule, but he never lets himself fall asleep if he knows your planning to visit, even if at ridiculous hours of the night. ╰┈➤ Shoto Todoroki who lacks certain aspects of understanding when it comes to social cues, specifically the idea of personal space after you start dating. Will stand behind you breathing down your neck just wanting to be near you, not realising how odd it appears to anyone passing by. Similarly, will practically sit ON you instead of beside you, squeezing between you and anyone/anything so he can sit right beside you.

╰┈➤ Izuku Midoriya who often forgets or simply doesn't realise when his habit of rambling starts, sometimes scaring the shit out of you when he suddenly breaks the silence. Will need you to sometimes cover his mouth when out in public before he says something that would accidently make any sane person uncomfortable. Talked about murder out of context at least a few times and got y'all kicked out of somewhere </3

╰┈➤ Tenya Iida who understands the concept of money and it's overall value, but frankly doesn't care when it comes to you. Buys you awfully expensive items that reminds him of you/ thinks you'll like, hiding just how much he actually spent so you don't reject it (you know, you just don't have the heart to tell him.) Will gift you like it's only something small and beat himself up for not getting you something better (It cost more than what you make in 3 months). Prides himself on responsibility but it all falls out the window when about his decisions around you.

╰┈➤ Eijiro Kirishima who shows you off like some sort of deity, constantly praising anything and everything you do. Accidently degrades himself while praising you, saying how he doesn't deserve you (he's literally an angel :(( ). Will do anything for you, if you ask him or not, choosing to show just how much he loves you through his actions not just words. Tells you he loves you at least 5 times a day <3

╰┈➤ Neito Monoma who respects you even if you're in class 1a, never speaking poorly of you even when shitting on your class. Stops whenever you're nearby and starts acting all sweet like he wasn't badmouthing each of your classmates to their faces minutes prior. Another one who worships your every movement and the ground you walk on, but instead of degrading himself puts everyone else but the both of you down. (My favourite little menace)

╰┈➤ Hitoshi Shinsou who without fail whenever you're alone hands you some random ass cat inspired thing that reminded him of you. First it was a small succulent pot, next some really doped out looking cat plushie, then a little keychain of a black cat with a witches hat.. it just kept going. Gets you wondering how he manages to keep finding these objects, and how he always manages to have one when you see each other unplanned (He has a little hidden pocket where he stores the little strange trinkets) ╰┈➤ Rody Soul who sometimes activates his quirk, summoning Pino, at the most random hours of night. Will get woken up by your sudden screams, thinking you had a nightmare only for it to have been Pino scaring the shit out of you by sitting on your chest in the middle of the night and scrutinizing your very being (lovingly). Has been forced as a result to spend the next day begging for forgiveness for Pino's actions (He had a dream of you and she was just admiring you with the same level of affection as him, just hers a bit more creepy..)

╰┈➤ Mirio togata who even after years of practice with his quirk, happens to forget what activating it in normal clothes does. Has tried to phase through the ground to surprise you with his sudden appearance just to end up flashing you, both of you now sitting in embarrassment while your struggling to breathe through your laughter. Apologises before joining you in going along with your everyday life (It will happen again)

╰┈➤ Tamaki Amajiki who uses you as a form of protection, not from physical danger but from people trying to communicate with you both. Will hold your hand in his and stand right against your back, head often against yours or on your shoulder while he lets you talk for him as well as yourself. As soon as you finish, will drag you away to a more secluded area and embrace you with more confidence as a way of showing his appreciation for never complaining about his shying away from socialising.

╰┈➤ Giulio Gandini who chooses to not wear his eyepatch when you're both alone, trusting you in his most vulnerable form. Who is able to use his robotic eye as a camera, recording your interactions to preserve the memory. Often pulls up these moments on the screen of his prosthetic arm when you're apart, watching through them when he misses you. Moves certain ones to a USB and prints out photos to give you (some in lockets, some just as a copy to frame) leaving you confused on how he managed to get them. (I love him so much :(( lowkey the main reason I liked the 4th movie sm)

╰┈➤ Touya Todoroki/ Dabi who will only let you help when it comes to dyeing his hair (aka forces you when the black is washing out to help fix it up). Will sit on a random chair he dragged in or the edge of the bathtub while you touch up his roots, probably moves constantly unless you hold his head in place. Gets you to join him in the shower to help wash through it, being a little shit about it and smudging the dye on you so it'll stain.

╰┈➤ Tomura Shigaraki who refuses to touch you with all 5 of his fingers, even after he's confident in his abilities to control his quirk. Will always have a finger lifted from your body while he holds you in his embrace, wearing artist gloves when sleeping beside you just to be safe. Holds your hand constantly when alone like the touch starved person he is but never has a proper grasp, loosely intertwining your fingers while he leaves his pinkie away from your hand.

╰┈➤ Shota Aizawa who similar to his son has a habit of handing you random stuff when he returns home, though his are more concerning. If you had a nickel for every time he came home to hand you a kitten he found in an alley, you would have two but it was very strange it happened twice. Came home after his long shift one night and handed you a cat like it was just another causal Wednesday. So anyways you guys have 2 cats now :))

╰┈➤ Keigo Takami who likes to use his feathers to tickle you at the least expected times, often resulting in a fresh bruise the next day. Will each and every time forget you like to swing when his feathers are tickling at your sides, with your first or leg accidently colliding with some part of his body. One time was his face, another his calf, or the time you accidently hit him where the sun don't shine. He learnt to move back after that one..

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cassandra-collin · 3 days ago

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I have facial dysmorphia, and I’ve booked an appointment with a psychologist for it. I’m going to do what’s called EMDR therapy.

I don’t really like going to psychologists, but my facial dysmorphia was so severe that I started having suicid@l thoughts and would spend more than three hours a day just looking at myself in the mirror, doing nothing else with my days.

I know that one of my mom’s friends once told her I was beautiful, and the son of her friend also said I had no reason to feel insecure (in a positive way). I’ve been catcalled before, and I also heard a man say, "This girl is pretty," (in french) when he saw me, talking to his friends. Even when I went out yesterday, some men stared at me (I didn’t see them, it’s my mom who told me). But every time, I just tell myself, “They were probably talking about someone else,” “They were just looking at the road,” or “They were probably only looking at my body.” (I think men focus more on my body, like the man who asked me if I did dance.)

I think people don’t realize how hard this is, especially when you don’t receive much external validation outside of social media and a few men on the street. I feel like I’ve been heavily influenced by beauty standards, and I also think some of it might come from childhood trauma.

When I was little, an ex-best friend told me I was fat (there’s nothing wrong with being fat as long as there are no health issues related to it, but it was said as if it was something bad). In middle school, I constantly compared myself to other girls, telling myself they were always thinner and cuter than me. Now I wear an XXS, and I have no issues with my body—only with how I perceive my face.

I even realized that I was telling myself harmful things that were the exact same phrases some people said to me in the past, people who were really mean to me.

When a haircut doesn’t suit me (like the bangs I got recently, which I only posted once on my Tumblr before deleting it), or when my hair is just all over the place, I react much more negatively than someone who doesn’t have facial dysmorphia.

I also have a pretty androgynous face (and an androgynous voice as well), so that adds another layer to it.

And when I see a pretty girl who says she feels ugly (and you can tell she’s being sincere when she says it), and people comment under her video saying she’s just saying that to get compliments because, to them, a beautiful person can't be that insecure, it just annoys me.

Sometimes I find my face pretty and cute, but most of the time, I think it’s too big, too androgynous, too I don’t know… And the thing I notice the most is the expression lines on my face that have become a bit more pronounced (which you can't really see or don’t see at all in my photos because of the lighting, even if it's not done on purpose).

When I post pictures of myself online, I usually ask my mom if the photos look like me because I don’t really know what I look like and I don't want to come across as a "fake." It would make me feel guilty if they didn’t look like me. The only things I allow myself to modify on my face are my pimples and slightly my dark circles (it’s like using a little concealer).

After that, I edit my photos to make them more "aesthetic" (lighting). That’s it. If I don’t look like my photos, I delete them right away and don’t post them.

I also wear glasses, so I don’t really see my "real" face (except in videos and photos), but I plan to get contact lenses. I hope that when my bangs grow back, my facial dysmorphia will lessen as well (because I felt good or better with the haircut I had before, even though I still had facial dysmorphia).

I’m healing now, even though it’s tough, and I have a lot of trauma˖⁺‧₊˚ꨄ︎

(I’m writing all of this to share my experience with facial dysmorphia and to express how serious it can be. Writing about it also helps me calm down, even though I haven’t shared everything.)

Does anyone else look in the mirror long enough and examine your features to the point where you start to get physically nauseous? Just me? Ok

#facial dysmorphia #face dysmorphia #body dysmorphia #body image issues #girblogger #girlblogging #this is a girlblog #hell is a teenage girl

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thezombieprostitute · 2 days ago

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Pity

I just gotta get this scene out of my head because it keeps bugging me but then never goes anywhere! May or may not be related to a Trick or Treat I wrote.

Arranged Marriage AU

Warnings: Size shaming. Please let me know if I missed any.

You hated these parties. Having to play dress up for the sake of your parents' reputation and status. Really it just opened you up to the barbs and snipes of everyone else in the upper echelons.

Rumor had it the Drysdales were looking for a good match for their son. You pitied the poor girl who got that roped into that. The Drysdales were notoriously difficult to live with, royalty or not. You know you don't stand a chance of catching the Ransom's eye, or his mother's.

But maybe you can get a good match with one of the other rich, eligible bachelors. Goodness knows Fowler has an appreciation for girls of your...figure. If you were truly desperate you could try for Hansen, though every time he's hit on you before left a bad taste in your mouth.

Before you can walk towards some of the potential matches you're broken out of your thoughts by a tittering of ladies hanging around Ransom Drysdale.

He saunters up to you, "I can't say I'm surprised to see you're still single. What surprises me is that they managed to find a designer who could make a dress that...fits you so well." The girls around him laugh at his cruel joke.

"I pity you," you shake your head.

Ransom stops laughing, "what was that?"

"I pity you," you repeat with a shrug. You're certain his glare would wither anyone else but he greatly overestimates the effect of his words. "You have so much power, money, and privilege. You're obviously very handsome. And yet, you still need to put others down to make yourself feel better. I pity you."

His face turns beet red and the ladies around him take a small step back. He turns around and storms off making the ladies glare at you for cutting their opportunity short.

You shrug your shoulders. He insulted you, you responded. It's not your fault he's a baby who can only dish out the insults and not take them. You kinda pity them, too.

Imagine your surprise, a week later, when you're invited to the Drysdale Manor.

Tagging: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @irishhappiness; @kmc1989; @lokislady82; @ronearoundblindly; @thiquefunlover63

#ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale and plus size!reader #ransom drysdale x female!reader #ransom drysdale x f!reader #arranged marriage

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see-arcane · 22 hours ago

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Re: Carmilla, Episode 5, A Wonderful Likeness:

Goodness gracious an ancient portrait that looks exactly like Carmilla? Wow~~~

Carmilla, sweating in vampire: Let's Go Outside Right Now This Minute.

Laura: But don't you want to learn about this lovely lookalike from 1698? It says here she's Countess Mircalla Karnstein! That name is from mamma's side of the family <3

Carmilla: Ha ha wow that's so neat :) Are there any ;) other ;) Karnsteins alive that you know of?

Laura: No--

Carmilla: Cooldidn'tthinksoanywaylet'sstepoutintothismoonlight :)))

I liked the little smooch sound effect. It was just nice.

“Darling, darling,” awww “I live in you;" awwwwwww "and you would die for me, I love you so.” aww--what was that last part?

Carmilla: I love you so~ <3

Carmilla is confirmed to drink 1) Hot chocolate and 2) Wine. Bela Lugosi LIED. Or else his Dracula was simply abstaining for sobriety reasons. Good on him.

@re-dracula is spoiling us. Especially with Méabh de Brún's inflections in this. She sounds simultaneously amorous towards Laura and then purely mocking when speaking of others, chiefly Laura's father and the doctor.

Just listen to how she reads the lines, “I’m sure he is. I know how kind you all are; but, dear child, I am quite well again."

It really sells the 'actually incredibly old and powerful monster woman' vibe, and how this whole thing is a long game of playacting to stay under the castle's roof. 100/10 stars, very stealth-haughty

#I am thinking Thoughts with this one #carmilla #laura #re: carmilla

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sheepispink · 1 day ago

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Is this a Date? ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི lt ghost x baker!reader, part of the Sweet as Sugar Series

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི Summary: after your past hesitance, Simon asks you out on more of a silly date than a romantic one. Nonetheless, he begins to realise just how much you two really feel for eachother

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི a/n: fair warning that all the arcade games in this are based of the ones i go to, which are british obvs, so accurate? yes. particularly fun? probably not. Also i said chips but i know some of yall will call it fries. chips is the british word thanks for coming to my ted talk <3

PREV NEXT

———

Finally, Simon would be taking you out properly, just like he’d been trying to hype himself up to do for nearly three weeks. He gave you some time since you confessed your anxious thoughts to him, but you’re already feeling a lot better, practically radiating like the sun.

”Are you busy this week?” He considered texting you the question, but he was sitting in the cafe with you again and he just couldn’t wait any longer, half tempted to drag you out with him today.

You’re sitting opposite him in the empty shop, the closed sign bumping against the door. “Hmm.. don’t think so. My parents are taking over to give me a break.” He watches you eye the biscuit tin you leave out for him no matter how many times he insists that he doesn't always eat them, and passes you a bourbon. Your lips quirk up, a soft grin as you take a large bite into the chocolate biscuit, crumbs on your lips.

”A break huh? Well, if you haven't planned anything yet then why don't we go out?” You perk up instantly at that, a light clang of the teaspoon you just dropped on the table echoing out as the possibilities run through your head. Sure, you went to the farm and the winter festival with him, but actually going out? ..Is this a date?

“Where would we go?”

Before you know it, it’s Thursday and he’s wrapped you up in his jacket, the one he knows you love. Since you seemed to have such a great time at the festival, he figures he’d play it safe this time and take you to everyone’s favourite destination— the arcade. His decision is right, of course, confirmed by your eyes brightening as you step out of his car and he has to convince you to let him lock the car first before you start dragging him inside.

“Oooh! Let’s do the shooting!” You exclaim, pulling him along to the little booth and he picks up the fake gun, eyeing it with slight distaste. It’s not close to a real gun in the slightest, but he pushes that thought away as you grab the gun and pull a playful pose, pretending to look through the scope. “Alright, alright.” He places the coins into the slots, watching as the zombies start to approach.

Turning his brain off becomes increasingly easier with you, especially as you aren't afraid to express yourself or act the slightest bit silly, yelling at him to get the ones approaching you on the right. “Simon! I’m gonna die!” You squeal, still pretending your very best to act like a proper fighter as you dramatically move the gun around to aim at all the approaching enemies. “Got your back, love.” He mutters, already forgetting that these games are practically light work compared to anything he’s ever done before, his eyes locked onto the screen as he destroys anything coming your way. By the end of it, you’ve got your hands in the air as you cheer and even he’s grinning wide as possible.

What he didnt expect for you to call out to a random stranger, the woman’s head turning to your voice. “Excuse me, can you take a picture of us?” He has no time to argue, you’re already pulling the fake gun up to your face like some kind of secret agent all while he can hold it across his chest like he does on missions. The woman smiles and returns your phone, only for you to drag him away before he can say anything else.

The pair of you continue through the arcade, him even laughing when you fail to keep up with the dance game you insisted you were brilliant at. It’s not your fault he sneakily picked the hard mode to watch you scramble to get all the notes, but he won't admit that. Next, you drag him over to the air hockey table, a mischievous look on your face as you begin to rack up points like they’re nothing (only because you screamed “Ow!” and he immediately dropped his pusher). “That’s cheating.” You watch his eyes narrow and his stern voice comes through, and you immediately panic like a deer in headlights, eyes so wide you don't notice him pushing the puck straight into your goal. “Hey!”

This time he pulls you along, leading you to a new side of the arcade since it recently got refurbished and towards a booth that has a target behind the barrier. Curious, you raise an eyebrow before looking at the sign above. “Try beating me now.” Damnit, you know he’s smirking behind that mask and you’d be damned because watching him hurl every axe to the centre of that target had to be the definition of attractive. Unlike you, where the axe bounced off the target altogether whilst he tried his best not to stifle his laugh. It really was quite comical, the way you huffed under your breath as it continued to miss, only grazing the edge before bouncing off again. “I-it’s not funny!” He’s had to turn away from how hard he’s laughing right now, and you’re half tempted to give him a fake punch for that though you know he’d only just laugh harder. “Sorry, i’m sorry, i’ll teach you.”

He steps behind you, his hands curving over yours to help fix your lousy form into one that will definitely produce some better results. Well, at least it sticks this time.. on the edge of the target that is. “Simon!” You exclaim as he bursts out laughing again, thankful for his mask as his face is practically burning hot now. “Okay, okay—“ He adjusts you again, helping you tilt your arm back enough and aim it at the centre. Slowly stepping back, he signalls you to throw it. Your brows furrow as you concentrate, arm going a little further back before you throw it forward and it finally hits directly on the bullseye. “I did it! Look—“ You cheer, instantly spinning around to throw your arms tight around his middle as if it was something you’ve done a million times before, like it was something you’d have done for years. The touch immediately fries his harshly trained nerves, the muscles in his stomach tensing as he looks down at the sight of you squeezing him as hard as you possibly can— he can't say his stomach did not flip at least a little. You seem to notice, eyes quickly glancing up at him. Though, before you can stammer out an apology, he scoffs and pinches your cheeks. “Took you long enough.”

———

Exhausted from your escapades, he takes you to a diner. Well it’s barely anything like actual American diners but they make good burgers, so who can complain? You order your usual, and when Simon sees you eye the milkshake options for too long you end up with a tall glass of it in front of you. Meanwhile, he decides to go for something new for once, figuring the description was exaggerating, before he ends up with a giant hunk of a burger before him. “Oh.” The sight has you giggling far too much.

“Those two idiots knocked out right on me. You’d think they’re kids coming back from playcare the way they fall asleep anywhere.” He huffs, describing to you the less gruesome details of his recent deployment.

“Hmm.. Soap is the one with the mohawk right? And Gaz… the one who wears a cap all the time?” You ask, snickering from his story and he nods along, confirming your questions.

“Soap looks lively— well by what I've seen anyway. You said Gaz got his name for being quiet huh? I bet he’s one of those types who randomly have the best quips?”

Simon smiles behind the mask, intrigued by your new captivation about his teammates. Sure, he’s used to talking with you about whatever, just as he is with others. But he never really talked about himself much, at least not more than a few opinions on what he liked— he was far more interested in whatever you’d say. He just never considered you’d be so interested in what he’d say too. You’ve asked before, and he never paid much attention, but now you’re even remembering things from past conversations and expressing intrigue in his life. He might need to step outside to breathe properly again.

”Yeah, he’s definitely that type. Johnny barely wins an argument with him around; I think Cap’ even has a hard time defending himself.” You giggle again, stealing some of the ketchup from his plate with a swipe of your chip. “Do you see them all the time?”

“Yeah. Practically have our rooms right beside each other. We watch the football games in the common room.” He rolls his eyes when you coo at him, saying “aww” and smiling wide at him like he’s a kid who made his first friend or something. You really are an exception huh? He can’t even get all that mad at you when you look at him with curiosity swirling in your eyes.

“Why don't you come down with them sometime? You can bring them to the bakery.” You hum, licking the ketchup off your lip as you chomp down on your last bite of the burger. For some reason, he thought you were joking— would you really entertain a bunch of random men just for the sake of them being his friends? It didn't make sense; you didn't even know them, nor had you met more than one either. ”Pretty sure Johnny would eat all your pastries, love. It’s not worth it.”

“Well, I guess I'll just have to make extra that day then. I’m serious, y’know? Bring them around at your usual time, I'll have tea and the pastries ready.” Now that was unexpected; you were actually willing to give up some of your time to welcome his teammates, ones that he’s never even introduced you to before. Wait— did you think he was rude for not introducing you before?

”I did plan to introduce you at some point— they’re just… busy.” Wow, he actually fumbled his words for once, at this rate his chest will falter as well with the rate you keep surprising him with your genuineness. “Huh? I know, I just thought it’d be nice for them to relax a bit, have something sweet.” You hum, sipping your milkshake he bought for you, before passing the glass over to him and for some reason he doesn't hesitate, slipping your straw beneath his mask as he takes a sip himself.

He ignores the taste of your lipgloss that lingers.

—————

He drives you home soon after, walking you all the way up to your apartment door. You start slipping off your shoes, the time already growing late since you had only gotten to the arcade at five o'clock. He stands awkwardly in the doorway, knowing he should probably say his goodbyes and leave now— because he’s not yours, and you're not his.

Yet.

Your head turns, a brow raised at him curiously. “Won't you come in?” His words clog in his throat, wondering if he should accept the offer. Surely you’d be heading to sleep soon enough anyways, wouldn’t it only be an inconvenience to keep you up any longer? He’s conflicted, wanting to leave you be but ever since the last time he was here, he’s thought about your home more than he’s yearned for a second of rest, which is very often.

“It’ll be late if you drive all the way back to base now. You can just crash on my couch again.” Your hand finds his sleeve, pulling him inside before he can utter a sound against you, and closing the door behind him. “Thanks for today by the way. ..Do you wanna get brunch tomorrow too?”

He thought dating was meant to be taken slow, something that’d develop over weeks and dates were planned apart. Well, that’s how everyone said it worked. Now here you were, not even parting for him and asking for more of his time. Trying to hide the swelling of his pupils is impossible and he has to bend down to undo the laces on his shoes just to try. “Is that even a question? Of course.”

He stands once more, but you’re looking at him with lovestruck eyes, affection pouring out of every crevice as you grin and hug him again for the second time that day. “I knew you wouldn't say no. I’ll make us some tea after I get changed.” Your eyes crinkle again sparkling with something you don't even attempt to hide before you step on your tiptoes, pressing a kiss to his cheek where the mask doesn't quite cover.

Oh, so that’s what that look was—cheekiness, huh? Especially when you run away after that, scurrying into the bathroom as you snicker to himself. He looks up into the mirror in the hallway, realising his eyes have been struck wide.

————

You wander into the kitchen to start brewing the kettle, dressed in your favourite pajamas already whilst he heads to the bathroom to freshen up. He stares into your mirror, lingers of black paint still clinging onto his lashes. Should he take off his mask? It’s not like you haven't seen him sipping from his drink before, or even that time he fell asleep on the couch without pulling it down again. His fingers linger on the fabric, hesitating as his heart churns with the need to drop everything right now for you. His brain screams at him to act rationally but his gut tells him to take it slow, else he scares you off altogether. He sighs, conflicted, before a flash of light appears in the corner of his eye. Your phone had been left behind on the windowsill, a notification lighting it up. He picks it up so he can hand it back to you, only for it to flash again, the lock screen the picture of the two of you posing with your fake guns, your hand doing bunny ears behind his head. His own sits in his other hand, the picture of you with his stupidly oversized burger held up to your mischievous face flashing to life.

Maybe not today. But he’d definitely get you back for the surprise kiss, stepping out of the bathroom to sneak up behind you as you grab the milk from the fridge.

————-

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