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sixosix · 11 months ago

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STAY, TOO | AETHER

desc you were afraid that aether would break your heart, but that all flew out the window the moment he got sick and demanded only you take care of him

notes wc 2.8k, FLUFF FLUFF bit of angst with reader’s mindset but happy ending i swear on my asia server genshin acc + this draft had been in my docs since 10/15/2023. its a miracle that i decided to pick up on it again and actually finish it !!!!!!! enjoy fellow aether kissers

Evenings were always eerily silent; because of that, your thoughts were loud. Not in the way that screamed—no, it was much worse. It was his voice that whispered, that made you shiver and reach out for something that never existed.

You didn’t know if you were dreaming or if you were awake and letting your mind wander away to a familiar face. Your mind always ended up back to him, no matter how much you tried to stray away. No matter who you talked to, he haunted you. Who you kissed, his face flashed in your mind. You wanted to curse his name out—it was his fault you were like this. It was his fault for deciding to come into this world and rid yourself of your defenses, left helpless to his whims.

“Um, Y/N?” A hand moved to your shoulder.

You jumped out of your seat, heart racing as his grinning face dissipated from your mind. You turned and breathed a sigh of relief. “What are you doing here, Sucrose?”

“It’s past midnight,” Sucrose murmured, her expression nervous, but apparently, she was too worried to leave you be. “I saw light from your window and thought you fell asleep…”

You didn’t even know if you were—everything before felt like a distant blur. Your eyes darted back to your desk, and then your face paled at the sight of a grinning face staring back at you. How long had you been mindlessly doodling Aether’s face? You quickly snatched them away from Sucrose’s view.

“I—I’m fine. Sorry, I did fall asleep.”

Sucrose’s bottom lip jutted out. “This has been happening for too long now. You’re not fine.”

What were you supposed to say to that? You were so hopelessly infatuated with someone who was ruining your life and possibly your job with Mr. Albedo. That would be a fast way to get yourself fired.

Sucrose sat on the chair beside you, her expression determined. “We’re friends, aren’t we? Can you at least tell me what’s going on?”

“It’s nothing that serious, Sucrose,” you stammered. Hopefully, the candles were dim enough to hide how flustered you were. It was more embarrassing than serious, really.

“Is it the Traveler?” She knew how to strike hard for someone with such an innocent face.

When had it not been the Traveler, honestly?

“Ugh…” That was a yes for her, apparently.

Sucrose smiled in relief. Her eyes darted around your face, studying you. “What’s wrong? Was he affecting you that much?”

“Yes. Disturbingly so. Like, seriously, it’s disturbing me.”

Sucrose’s eyes sparkled with wonder. “How?”

“It feels like swallowing a crystalfly whole and feeling it flutter around my stomach whenever I even think of him.”

Sucrose’s face turned serious. “What have you been doing to the crystalfies we’ve been collecting?”

“Never mind,” you muttered. “I’m fine, Sucrose. I promise, okay?”

You weren’t. Sucrose must’ve thought the same, too, because Lisa barged into your office the next day.

“What else are you expecting? For him to notice your wallowing and say something about it?”

Lisa’s sweet, melodious voice sounded torturous now when she was poking at all the things you were desperately trying to keep hidden. You sink against your seat, feeling a lot like a scolded kid, caught red-handed skipping chores—skipping responsibilities, hoping to stay oblivious for a bit longer.

“He already said something,” you grumbled, finding it difficult to meet the mage’s sharp eyes.

For someone who sounded as gentle as a mother to her only child, Lisa’s disappointment made you feel a lot more shameful than if she were to chide you in the middle of Mondstadt’s streets.

“A week after we met. He told me he likes me,” you continued.

Lisa’s jaw dropped, a funny expression you’ve never seen on her before. “A week after you met? Let me get this right—”

You groaned, “Lisa, trust me, I know—”

“—Our dear Traveler confessed to you ages ago. When was it when Aether helped us with Stormterror? He’s in Fontaine now!” Lisa looked a little frazzled, her eyes wild. You were expecting her to chide you some more until you saw how her entire expression was sparkling. This felt foreboding, somehow. “He keeps visiting to see you! After all these years of you foolishly rejecting him—”

“I didn’t reject him!”

Lisa hummed thoughtfully. “Oh, but isn’t that exactly what you’re doing?”

You were not rejecting Aether. You didn’t outright tell him you’re not interested because you are. He had been haunting your thoughts since you first laid eyes on him, returning from battle, cold breath billowing from his mouth, a pixie by his side, his hair aglow gold, Festering Desire in hand—and, oh, you desired him. It reached a point where Albedo himself had to ask if you wanted a check-up from how much you were burning with want.

Aether had grinned at you so brightly, and you damn near melted on the spot, even in the unrelentingly bitter weather of Dragonspine.

You found yourself liking him for more than his quite literally alien nature, his out-of-this-world body, and his abilities that had your hands itching to reach for a pen and paper to write down everything about him and figure out what the hell he was. Instead, you started falling for him as just Aether. His boyish smile, his witty jabs, his glimpses of personality.

And then he confessed to you—you, no one but one of Albedo’s assistants—and said he likes you, and you just couldn’t bring yourself to say anything at the time. You thought of him leaving one day, and then you just couldn’t say the yes that was chanting in your brain.

To no one’s surprise, he did leave. Not to that extent yet, but away from Mondsadt. Even in Liyue, Inazuma, Sumeru, and Fontaine, he invaded your thoughts as if cursing you for not saying what you were thinking. You could only wish he thought of you just as much as you did to him. Maybe he’d end up hating you, and not loving him would be easier.

“Are you kidding?” If it were so easy, you would’ve already jumped in his arms and kissed him breathlessly. “He’s—he’s not like us. He doesn’t belong here. He’d leave, eventually. Just like he always does with the other worlds.”

“Is that what’s stopping you?”

“That’s reason enough to be stopping me,” you said sharply. “He’s got millions of worlds to flirt with as he pleases, and this is my only one. Who knows if Aether is the type to even visit?”

Lisa crossed her arms. “Maybe you should ask. Communication is key.”

“Even if that was the case, I can’t handle it. I already miss him enough while he’s still in Teyvat—I don’t know how I could live with myself if I let him into my heart, and he’s a world away.”

“You’ve already let him in your heart,” Lisa said softly. “Just talk to him, alright? I’m not the only one worried about you when you drive yourself to a corner like this—especially over a boy!”

“I’m perfectly alright,” you said, ignoring Lisa’s amused smile. “I’m not losing my mind. Especially over a boy.”

You definitely were losing your mind. That boy was Aether; how could you not?

“I think it’s adorable,” Lisa cooed, cupping her cheeks and sighing dreamily. “He’s still waiting patiently. Who knew the Traveler would be so willing to wait for love?”

You wished that it wasn’t like that.

“Y/N! Are you here?”

Crap. Did you fall asleep in your office again? Might as well stop paying rent if this was going to be a recurring thing.

Once again, by routine at this point, you threw your notes that had Aether’s face inked by the edges. Memory be damned, You couldn’t let anyone see how detailed your drawings of Aether are.

“Y/N?” The voice rang out again, and it sounded more familiar now.

You went to open the door and frowned. “Lisa? It’s so early—did something happen?”

Lisa smiled in greeting, so beautifully devious with what she was about to say: “Our Honorary Knight is back in town!”

“Did you come all the way here just to tell me that?” Were people just seeing you as one of Aether’s admirers?

“Of course not,” Lisa chuckled, patting your head. How did she look so good this early in the morning? “He’s sick and needs someone to look after him.”

You wanted to close the door. You wanted to crawl back to your desk and go to sleep, but she had that look in her eye—one that told you that you had something to do with where she was going. And you did not like where this was going.

“So?” Dammit. You really wanted to see Aether again.

“Why, who else better to take care than his dearest alchemist?”

“Albedo is everyone’s alchemist. Sucrose is everyone’s dearest alchemist.”

Lisa shushed you. Why was she so invested in this? “No, no, his. Not everyone’s.”

You felt your face burn at the thought of being his dearest alchemist. Or anything his. “Absolutely not! Wasn’t he in Fontaine just yesterday?”

“Why don’t you go ask him that yourself?”

You scowled. You weren’t agreeable in the mornings. “How did you even know about this?”

Lisa smirked, poking your nose. “Because he asked for you, specifically.”

You laughed dryly—good one.

“I won’t let you do anything you wouldn’t want,” Lisa said seriously, “but would you change your mind if I told you that it’s Aether that wants you?”

And so you ended up in Aether’s teapot, which was hanging around Jean’s office for safety. Jean only smiled knowingly when you knocked on the door and zipped straight to the teapot. You were only doing this on the off-chance that Lisa was telling the truth and that Aether demanded he didn’t want anyone else but you checking up on him.

His teapot was familiar. You had been here a few times, but you didn’t have your own room. That was too embarrassing to ask, no matter how much Aether suggested it.

“Y/N!” Aether lit up the moment you entered the room.

“Aether,” you greeted, and as much as you wanted to hide it, a smile bloomed on your lips. It was hard not to smile when Aether was looking at you like that.

He looked like a mess, with strands of hair spread all over his pillows. His blanket was only up to his hips, showing that he was out of his usual look, and wore a simple white shirt. You were grateful for that shirt; you didn’t want to end up helping Aether strip because he definitely would have suggested that.

“I’m sick,” Aether whined. “Tend to me.”

You would’ve doubted his fever, but it was worryingly hot when you reached out to check his forehead’s temperature.

Immediately, your suspicions fly out the window. Aether was burning, and you were the only one in the same room (teapot?) who should take care of him. The Honorary Knight was reduced to a fever.

You cupped his cheek and watched as Aether pressed his face closer. “Does your head hurt?”

“Yes.”

You tore your hand off. “I’ll make something to ease the pain.”

“You can ease it right now. By kissing it away.”

“Aether,” you sighed. Unbelievable. How did he still have enough energy for this while positively rotting on his bed? “Take this seriously. I haven’t seen you this sick— Actually, this is the first time I’ve ever seen you sick. How did this even happen?”

“Stayed too long underwater,” he said.

Aether? Getting sick from swimming? You made a face, which Aether laughed softly at.

“No, seriously. It was an emergency commission. Even when I had to resurface, it was pouring. Someone was making the Hydro Dragon cry hard yesterday.” Aether’s face scrunched as he looked up at you with round eyes. “I was so cold.”

Although it sounded absurd that Aether would get a fever from that, you suppose that having to stay drenched for a long time would affect even someone like him. You couldn’t even imagine having to shiver your way back to Mondstadt after being thoroughly drenched the whole day.

You pulled the blanket further up Aether’s chest. Even if you suspected he was lying, he was trembling underneath the covers.

“Alright.” You’ll believe him because right now, it is a fact that Aether is undoubtedly sick.

You were well aware that he was and sounded like he was dying, but he looked cute, flushed, and staring at you expectantly. It felt nice to be needed by someone like him—made him feel less like a faraway dream.

You cleared your throat and looked away; you knew you looked flustered. “Have you eaten yet?”

“Why? Will you cook for me?” he asked.

You knew how to cook, but for someone who had traveled regions and tasted all kinds of foods, you would probably disappoint. Still, it wasn’t time for a competition with other chefs in Liyue or Fontaine. Aether needed food to fill his stomach.

“Any suggestions?” You hoped for nothing unfamiliar and crazy. You loved Aether, but having to fetch ingredients from oceans away was too much.

“Make it with love,” Aether said cheekily because he was a bastard who didn’t have any mercy on your heart.

And so you left the room and ignored Aether, laughing and coughing as he called after you. You had to leave either way—your chest was almost as warm as Aether’s forehead.

You decided to make a Radish Veggie Soup. You hoped Aether wasn’t too picky about his vegetables. The water was comfortably cold, enough to make you search around his cupboards for towels to soak it into. As you waited for the water to boil, you decided to check up on Aether again.

He was still lying there, but with his eyes closed now. You felt terrible seeing someone you witnessed defeat dragons battling a fever. You drew closer and placed the towel on his head. He didn’t flinch at the stark change of temperature, but he did react instantly, his warm hand clasping your wrist.

“Stay,” Aether rasped.

You bit your lip, your heart sinking. Was he dreaming about his sister? You always worried when he was feeling down because of their separation.

But then his eyes opened, and he stared right at you. “Y/N,” he said, “please stay.”

“I can’t.”

“Just this once.” Aether’s voice sounded so quiet, so unsure of himself.

You really couldn’t. You had a Radish Veggie Soup to attend to.

“I’m staying,” Aether said, and you had a feeling he wasn’t talking about the bed. “I’m staying here for you.”

You frowned. “Don’t lie to make me feel better right now. That would hurt more when you have to leave.”

Aether’s face softened impossibly. “I’m not lying. I’m telling you the truth—I’m not leaving Teyvat. Even if I find my sister, I’m staying.”

Seriously? Just like that? “What made you change your mind?”

You couldn’t tell if Aether was blushing or if it was his fever. “How could I leave Teyvat when I see how cute you look taking care of me?”

You threw a pillow to his face.

He swerved away and laughed brightly. “I’m joking! I’m joking—drop that pillow, please. I’m kidding. Well, sort of.”

His face was once again attempted to get assaulted by another pillow. Aether grinned as he blocked it off with an arm.

“For someone so sick, you seem awfully lively,” you said, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“You breathe life into me; what can I say?”

You groaned. You couldn’t deal with this today—you needed at least three business days to process this and find another reason to reject him. Yet, as you moved to get some fresh air (anything to get Aether’s stupid face out of your view), a hand abruptly reached for your wrist.

Aether’s face was close to yours in a blink of an eye. His breath was hot on your face. “I’m serious,” he said, “so if— if you feel the same way, the least you can do is stay, too.”

“I— You—” You gaped at him. That sounded like it could be a proposal. Who would’ve thought—the Outlander, the Traveler, begging for you to stay?

Aether’s gaze flicked to your lips.

“Don’t kiss me,” you said in warning. “Are you an idiot? You’re sick!”

“That’s fine. I get to take care of you when you do,” Aether said.

Your face paled. “No! I have a job, Aether—”

Aether frowned. “And I have a world to save, but that can wait. We’re busy.”

You pushed his face away, his laugh smothered by your palm. “No, we are not. I’m busy making food for your sorry ass, away from you.”

Aether’s face crumpled. “Do you actually not want to kiss?”

Not when he’s sick and snotty, yeah.

Instead, you leaned in to kiss his forehead to make up for it. It was brief and faint, but Aether looked satisfied, smiling softly when you pulled away. It would do for now.

“I’m staying,” you said. “So long as you do, too. I’ll stay with you.”

THE SOUP TURNED OUT OKAY STILL. this is just how my mom takes care of me when im sick LOL but the idea of doing it to a sick aether was too good i had to write a fic about it. also i love angst about aether being the traveler aaghgh

thank u sm for reading. as always, lmk what u think and i hope u liked it!! <3

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin x you #aether x reader #aether x you #aether x y/n #genshin x y/n

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gay-dorito-dust · 4 months ago

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Will you do a scenario of how we’d meet Bill for the first time and what he would be like if you were sort of “friends”? 🙏

You were minding your business while walking through the woods of Gravity Falls, just needing a change of scenery and finding the woods to be the perfect place to do so with it’s mushrooms, flowers and the wildlife that crossed your path.

Everything was seemingly fine and not out of the ordinary until you started to feel like you were being watched from somewhere, you looked to see if you could spot anyone, but all you could see were birch trees that had markings on the bark that suspiciously looked like eyes. You were just about thinking of leaving until you heard a voice from somewhere.

‘Hey kiddo!’

You looked to the left, nothing

‘Other way kid.’

the to the right, nothing

‘Colder.’

Up? Nope, nothing.

‘You’re practically an human popsicle at this point.’

How about looking down? Still nothing. Now you were getting confused, scared and annoyed.

You heard the voice sigh and say ‘you’re starting to make me feel sad, here I’ll make this a little easier for you.’ Then before you could say anything, a small yellow triangle with one eye wearing a top hat and bow tie appeared before you.

‘It’s great to finally meet you y/n.’ It said and immediately you were freaked out.

‘Who are you and how did you know my name?’ You asked, uneasy.

‘The names Bill Cipher and I know lots of things, lots of things.’ Bill replied, shrugging. ‘Wanna see what I can do?’ He adds after a brief pause but before you could answer him, he held his hand out to a nearby deer as its teeth were taken out of its mouth and into his small hand in a neat pile. ‘Deer teeth for you kid hehe.’ He then chuckled as he dumped the pile of deer teeth into your hands.

You on the other hand didn’t find this funny and fought the urge to vomit as you offered Bill the deer teeth back. ‘Mind giving the deer its teeth back? I’m sure it has more use for them than either of us.’ You ask as Bill did as you asked and gave the deer its teeth back as it galloped off elsewhere, leaving you alone with the weird triangle in the woods. Everything that had happened within the past five minutes had been overwhelming for you, too overwhelming that you had to sit yourself down on the trunk of a fallen tree and put your head in your hands, muttering to yourself.

‘This isn’t real, this is all some weird fever dream or I’m tripping balls. There’s no other explanation.’

Bill only chuckled as he floated next to you and patted you on the shoulder. ‘There, there human I can reassure you that what you just saw was very much real.’

You looked at him from your hands, unamused. ‘You fucking suck at comforting people you know that?’

‘I think we’ll get along great!’ Bill chirped gleefully.

‘We absolutely will not.’ You replied but you had an inkling that your opinion on the matter didn’t matter.

Now onto how bill would be if you were sort of ‘friends.’

He’s got a weird way about showing his feelings in any capacity.

The little shit put rats, dead rats outside your door, spelling out your name on random ass occasions that made it look like to others that a) you were haunted or b) had a weird stalker who liked to form your name out of dead rats.

He doesn’t want you having friends outside of him because and I quote ‘I’m the only friend you need, why bother with anyone else. So don’t even try cuz I’ll be watching you.’

Will leave sticky post it notes anywhere and everywhere saying to get more silly straws or else he’ll find a way to possess you and make you do embarrassing shit. Ie: walk through town in your underwear, make you speak backwards, kick a child-

Bill was a brat and his pranks were often traumatic but apparently they were ‘light’ in comparison to the stuff he did to his other meat puppets. You didn’t ask any further questions about what he meant by that in fear that he’d show you one as an example.

You are probably the only person who bill has told about his secret technique with mascara and eyeliner, even seeing him do it once when he insisted that you had a ‘sleepover’ at your place. He even points the mascara brush at you warningly as he threatened that you were to never tell people about this or else.

His version of jealousy when he sees you spending time with others is to trash your house and try to act cute when you catch him in the act. You don’t fall for this and give Bill the silent treatment for the rest of the day as he practically lost his shit over your lack of attention.

Probably air horned you awake once.

Bill Wouldn’t tell you this but he make your enemies do stupid shit that resulted in their deaths, for fun he claims but he didn’t want his favourite meat sack to start leaking water from their eyes every time something went wrong in their life. So he just cuts them out in the most brutal way possible.

Bill was stuck to you like glue and there’s was no way to hide from him as he would ultimately appears where you are, even if you’re in the fucking shower, he don’t care.

Bill: *appears in shower* my favourite meat sack have you- stop screaming it’s only me, have you seen a king cobra anywhere, I must’ve dropped it somewhere here-

He probably once threatened you with the whole ‘steal your eyes’ thing like he did with Ford but you had witness enough of Bill’s behaviour to know that he was joking about that, to which he was proud and would magically make a cake filled with worms, bugs and other unpleasant things appear in celebration.

You may or may not have been sick that day.

Your and Bills friendship was weird, probably not the healthiest in all honestly and you should seek help and or maybe therapy for the shit he’s out you through.

You were his property, you were his pet, HIS MEAT SACK and you wouldn’t be allowed to go anywhere without him knowing and or being nearby in hopes of catching your eye.

Just a yellow triangle with one eye and a top hat and bow tie floating ominously in the background was enough to unnerve anyone.

You had no freedom as far as you were concerned in this ‘friendship’ but bill likes to claim that he has given you the most freedom out of anyone who has ever existed.

#gravity falls x reader #gravity falls imagine #gravity falls imagines #gravity falls #gravity falls x you #bill cipher x you #bill cipher imagine #bill cipher imagines #bill cipher x reader #the book of bill

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merchelsea · 4 months ago

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i can take it — logan sargeant

pairing: logan sargeant x girlfriend!vowles!reader

summary: she finds out about what her father (her boyfriend’s team manager) has been doing to him.

author’s note: i know it has all been denied by logan himself but i wanted to do it anyways. DO NOT TAKE IT AS A FACT OR TRUE EVENT.

word count: 1k

warnings: idk if there's any cursing, not proofread, sad logan, kind of daddy issues (?)

masterlist | requests

you were at home, laying down on the couch watching a show while you waited for hunger. everything you had to do was already done and dinner was ready, but you weren’t hungry to eat it.

you were tired, tho. you could easily go to sleep right now, but you knew better than to go to sleep without eating first.

that was when your phone started to ring and your best friend’s name appeared on the screen.

you stopped the show and picked up the call, putting it on speaker.

“hi?” you stretched your body on the couch.

“hey, have you talked to logan recently?” she asked, going straight to the point.

you could notice in her voice some kind of worry.

“hm, yeah… why?”

“and your dad?” she asked again.

“what? no, not really.” you answered, not sure about what was going on.

“open up twitter, babe.” her voice sounded alarmed. “i think you might want to do this on your own, i’ll hang up now.”

you simply hummed a goodbye and started to see the panic on your twitter mentions.

everyone knew about you and logan by now, so you were not surprised with all the tags from his fans, but it seemed like they needed explanations on a certain allegation.

“what the fuck?” you screamed as you saw the caption of a podcast, your mind going red immediately.

it’s like you were only capable of feeling anger.

that’s when you threw the blanket you had over your body away and got up. not caring about your clothing, that was just a pj, you got to your keys and left the house.

getting in your car, you drove as fast as legally possible to get to your father’s office.

while driving, your mind recalled everything you had learned about your boyfriend’s situation in williams.

a friend of a friend of logan told on a podcast that your boyfriend wasn’t even having fun in the team anymore. that was happening because of your father. apparently, the older vowles wasn’t giving logan the feedback he needed anymore and they were not on speaking terms.

you know how you say good morning to everyone? yeah, not even that.

you were more than pissed about all of this. you could understand that your father no longer had faith in logan, you did not agree with him but you could comprehend. but not even speaking to him? this was another level of childishness.

you got to your dad’s office in a matter of minutes and immediately asked to talk to him. you were told to wait, but, impatiently, crossed the building until you reached his room on your own and didn’t even bother to knock before going in and slamming the door behind you.

“what the fuck is this about?” you threw your phone on his table, an article opened.

“what?” vowles asked, a puzzled expression on his face. he started to read and his expression went from confused to worried in mere seconds.

“you are using silence treatment on logan?” you asked, disbelief clear in your voice. he sighed as he supported his head with his hands. “you can not do this to a driver”

another sigh.

you wanted him to say it was all a misunderstanding, that maybe this person was wrong or even lying. but you were just hurt when he spoke again.

“oh… this.” he finally looked up at you. “what do you want me to do? pretend i’m proud of the american like i don’t regret having him in my team?” all you wanted to do in that moment was punch your father in the face. it was so not fair.

“you’re being childish.” you pointed out.

he angrily looked over at you, as if you were in the wrong. as if he was the one who had to explain how you were wrong and why.

“he’s not talented enough for f1, y/n.” you were already angry, but when you heard your own father talk about the man you loved that way you completely lost it.

you could not care less about how loud you were being. maybe it wasn’t the most mature thing to do, but calling your father and imbecile felt pretty damn good.

“how the fuck is he supposed to deliver good results when he doesn’t have a clue about what’s going on?” you asked, honestly waiting for an answer before you started speaking again because the man in front of you was speechless. “the car isn’t good and the team isn’t good. you’re ruining it even more. he is talented and you know that, you just want to blame him for YOUR OWN mistakes.”

everything you had been holding in for some time, just because he was your father, was finally out. it should feel better than it did. you should feel way better than you did.

“that’s not true. and you should be ashamed of your little boyfriend for spreading things like this around.”

you couldn’t comprehend where this attitude came from. i guess you could really see how money changed people.

this was not the man you looked up to. this was not the father you wanted to be like when you were younger. and you had no problem of saying to his face that he had failed as a father.

“if there’s anything i’m ashamed of, is being your daughter.” you heard him start to complain, but you're already out the door when a proper word came out of his mouth. you rushed outside, too tired to fake smiles to people around you.

you needed to find logan. that was the only thing in your head.

tears already filled your eyes when you started the car, and you couldn't see properly, because of them, the whole way.

but you never gave in, none of them fell from your eyes until you were at his door and he looked at you, worry stamped on his eyes.

"hey? baby?" his hands rushed to the side of your face to make you look at him.

you couldn't help but notice how selfless he was. that made your heart sink. the way he always worried about other people first, even when he is in the worst position possible.

"i hate you." you let out, in a cry, and let your arms circle his body, pulling him to yourself.

logan let go of your face to pull you inside, and closer to him. he was as confused as one could be. and the circumstances he was put in during the day did not help him.

"baby, please tell me what's going on." he asked once your grip over him loosened and he could look at your face again.

"my dad..." logan's heart skiped a beat. he knew the older vowles disliked him, but he never thought he could actually put himself between you and logan. he was desperate to know the rest now. "what he's doing to you, that's so not right. so not fair." you finished, and heard your boyfriend let out a relieved sigh.

he was actually happy that it was about the whole williams situation, and not your dad poisoning your mind.

"baby." the driver starts, but his face tells you he doesn't regret not telling you. that doesn't anger you, like you thought it would. it actually makes you fall in love with him a little more.

"you never said anything, you stupid american." he couldn't help a chuckle at the nickname and you punched him in the chest. he realized just how serious you were about this and guilt rose in his chest.

"i didn't want you to worry, y/n."

his blue eyes were a little darker because of the lighting but you could still see the pain in them.

formula one was his dream as a kid, as a teenager and as an adult. he fought like hell to get there, and even when things got tight, he never gave up. you knew all about the financial struggles that would've ended his dream if it wasn't for williams.

they noticed his talent and helped him get to better categories of the sport he loved so dearly. and the boy? he loved that team and was so thankfull for them that it actually hurt you. your father actually helped ruining his path at formula one and still, that boy stood loyal and helped the team and his teammate in everything. standing by their calls and decisions even when they jeopardized his races.

"logan, i should've known about this from the start." you knew you could've done something for him if you knew about the situation sooner. maybe if you had talked to your dad, bringing some sense into that old head of his. anything but let this circus keep going until it reached this point. "what they're doing to you... it's so unfair."

"but i can take it, love." he smiled softly at you and you almost felt the urge to punch him. how could he think so low of himself that he didn't see how much he didn't deserve that treatment.

"i know you can, the thing is you shouldn't have to. let alone go through it on your own." you said in a higher voice, capturing all his attention. "logan do you realize that you're not having fun racing? you said it yourself." tears were no longer falling out of your eyes, and the ones on your face were starting to disappear. "you have loved this sport ever since you were born, and they are ruining it for you."

"i know that." he almost screamed. he was quick to apologize with his eyes, but you couldn't care less about the tone he was using. you wanted him to be angry, you needed him to let everything out. "i hate it all, y/n. but it's my dream to be where i am today."

"i know, logan. and that's what makes me more upset. their ruining your dream and you're smiling through it, letting it happen."

"i'm not 'letting it happen'." he said, hesitating a little. "i'm just... maybe if i did things a little better, i would not be in this situation but i didn't. and i have to deal with it." your expression softened and you let out a sigh.

"it kills me that you think that this is your fault." he started tearing up and you pulled him to yourself. he hid his face in your neck and you gently stroked the back of his head. "it's not your fault, baby. you are doing amazing for someone with so many difficulties."

you took your time in each others arms, calming down while feeling the touch of the person you loved.

"i'm sorry that i never told you. but it's your dad and i needed you by my side." he pushed himself back to look you in the eye. "i don't know if i could do it without you."

you were still not over everything he had told you, and would definitely come back to the topic sooner, but right now what mattered most to you was that logan felt loved and appreciated.

he was already going through a lot, and it killed you to see the man you loved like that.

"you will never have to worry about that because i'm here, logan. and i love you, always."

with his face in your hands, you leaned closer and peck his lips. that's enough for him to remember everything he was fighting for. he had to fight for himself. and with you by his side, he believed it was possible.

"i love you too, always." he leaned his forhead against yours. "thank you."

#formula one #formula 1 #f1 imagine #formula one story #f1 masterlist #logan sargeant #logan sargeant angst #logan sargeant fluff #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant imagine #logan sargeant x you #logan sargeant fic #williams racing #logan sargeant x y/n #logan sargeant x vowles reader #logan sargeant james vowles

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reiding-writing · 11 months ago

Note

hiii, i hope you're well! i saw that you are taking requests for spencer and i really like your angst fics so i was wondering if you could write one with unrequited love?

preferably bau!reader who has feelings for him but he doesn't and she watches him get with someone else and everybody knows how she feels about him but he is oblivious, ending is up to you but i love me a sad ending heheh 😸

transgression [ s.r ]

You’re in love with Spencer Reid. He’s in love with somebody else.

WARNINGS: SPOILERS FOR THE ENTIRE MAEVE ARC, LOTS of misunderstanding, Spencer is kind of a bad friend, lots of arguing, major character death

spencer reid x gn!reader || ANGST || 8.2k || masterlist!!

a/n: sorry for the delay, but i did warn you it was gonna be long so- also i listened to ceilings on repeat whilst writing this so take that as you will 🫶

did i bend the maeve arc to my will for this fic? yes. yes i did.

taglist (slashed blogs couldn’t be tagged): @babyspiderling @marsxoxo2 @vytvyvy @hpstuff244444 @frostooo @ohmysw33 @radioactiveinvisible @devilsadvcte @the-local-pendeja @kakashis-formal-simp @robinswrld

You suppose you did it to yourself.

Spencer’s migraines had gotten increasingly worse over the last few months, and after a few consecutive days of hounding him, he’d finally decided to go and see a medical professional about it.

You’d expected him to come back with news about how his brain stem was too active from how hard he was working himself, or that he’d managed to raise his blood pressure to an unhealthy high from all the stress he was under.

Instead he’d told you that they couldn’t find anything physically wrong with him and that he’d been referred to a geneticist to check if the cause of his sudden mind-numbing aching was due to an underlying condition that might have been passed down from his mother.

He’d come back and forth to you for weeks about his phone calls with the doctor.

How she was helping him with his sleep deprivation.

How she was helping to manage his diet.

How she loved classic literature.

How she and him had spent four consecutive hours on the phone debating over the logistics of a novel they both enjoyed.

You could see the change happening before your eyes, and you weren’t the only one either.

“Pretty boy’s chipper this morning,” Morgan joins you at the kitchenette, his eyes following Spencer as he takes a seat at his desk with all of the enthusiasm of a golden retriever puppy who’d been let off his leash for the first time.

You hum with a nod, focusing your attention on the two cups of coffee you were making, heaping tablespoons of sugar into Spencer’s Doctor Who mug to satisfy his insatiable need for sweetness. “They’re reading a book together,”

“Really?” You respond to Morgan’s raised eyebrow with a short nod and another hum.

“Thoughts in Solitude by Thomas Merton, apparently she finds the religious analysis ‘fascinating’,” You can’t help the small contemptment that seeps into your tone as you reiterate what Spencer had told you to Morgan, and you can practically feel his pitiful gaze as he watches you make your coffee.

“I’ve heard of that book before from somewhere,”

“I tried to get him to read it a few months ago,” You take a sip of your coffee at the end of your sentence, barely able to taste it over the scolding water but not finding the mind to care.

You leave your conversation with Morgan at that, taking the two mugs in your hands and walking back into the bullpen, placing Spencer’s mug in front of him and walking around the cluster of desks to reach your own.

He’s sure he doesn’t need to verbalise it, but Morgan feels increasingly sorry for your situation, noting how you skirt past Spencer’s “thank you” without a response as you bury your head in your files.

he can’t imagine how much the fact that Spencer had seemingly formed a crush on his geneticist ripped you apart.

And the worst part? He’d never met her in person.

All scientific laws of attraction be damned, Spencer Reid had fallen in love with someone he’d never met in the span of three months, and you we’re resigning yourself to sit on the sidelines and watch as the man you had been in love with for six years find the happiness that you longed for with somebody else.

How you managed to keep up your facade you didn’t know.

You’d offered him change for the pay phone he’d call her from when he was running short. You’d let him rant to you about her opinions on a novel that you had failed to get him to read. You made excuses for him to leave the office early so that he could spend his time on the phone with her.

You were the one that sent him to the hospital and caused him to meet her in the first place.

He never hesitated to remind you of that fact, thanking you vicariously every time he relayed his conversations with the doctor back to you.

As the weeks progressed he stopped calling her that. She wasn’t ‘the doctor’ anymore. She was Maeve.

He didn’t call you by your first name and you’d known him for ten times longer that he’d known her. He didn’t even call Morgan by his first name and those two were practically brothers.

And that part was probably what hurt the most.

Maeve.

A name of Irish origin meaning ‘intoxicating’. How fitting.

Apparently the Irish goddess of love and desire was named Maeve. You could see the glimmer in Spencer’s eye that told you his Maeve was just as important as the mythological goddess he was describing.

His Maeve.

“So why haven’t you two actually gone on a date or anything?” You take a sip from the mug in your hands, swivelling your chair back and forth with your foot as a pivot. “You’ve been talking for what, four months now? Surely it’s about time you actually met her in person,”

“It’s complicated,” Spencer sighs as he collects the loose papers he was working on in a pile. He didn’t want to divulge Maeve’s issues without her permission.

“You’ve been saying that for the last six weeks Spencer,” You roll your eyes as you discard your half-empty mug on the table. “If I didn’t know any better i’d say you’re putting it off,”

Spencer shook his head adamantly at your suggestion. You couldn’t have been more wrong. He did want to meet her. Desperately. He’d wanted to meet her since the end of their first phone call. But he also wanted to keep her safe.

How do you meet up with somebody who’s hiding from a stalker without endangering them?

“I do want to meet her. It’s just- she’s dealing with something personal and it’s put a rift our plans, that’s all,”

“So it’s her not wanting to meet up with you then?” You raise an eyebrow at him over your desks.

“Look it’s- You don’t get it okay? It was a mutual understanding from both of us.” You can hear Spencer’s tone become more defensive as you spoke, and you raised both of your hands in surrender.

“Okay, i’m sorry for prying-” You ended your apology with a laugh, trying to keep the conversation lighthearted despite feeling your heart deflate in your chest at the way the friendliness his his eyes fizzled out the longer you looked at him.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Spencer’s late to work this morning.

It’s 8:06 when he finally walks through the glass doors, the coffee you made him stone cold after sitting lamely on his desk for the better part of twenty minutes. He doesn’t so much as offer an apology as he picks up the mug and makes his way over to the kitchenette to pour the coffee down the sink.

You follow behind him in a mix of intrigue and a want to refill your own mug, swilling it out with some water as you watch Spencer load a coffee pod into the machine. “Phone call last longer than you expected?”

“Hm? Oh- yeah, we were discussing the literary analysis of Annabelle Lee,” Spencer’s demeanour seems to brighten immediately once he’s given an opportunity to discuss the details of his phone call with Maeve, although the beginning of his ramble is quickly cut off by the beeping of the coffee machine.

You wait patiently for his coffee to finish before you begin making yours, raising an eyebrow as Spencer pulls out a regular teaspoon instead of the usual tablespoon he’d incorrectly use to load his coffee with sugar.

Your intrigue only heightened when he pulled a carton of milk from the mini-fridge. Not even normal milk. Soy milk.

“Since when do you drink coffee like a normal person?”

His eyes flickered from his mug to your face as he tipped a single teaspoon of sugar into his drink before replacing the bag back where it came from. “It’s a part of my managed diet, Maeve thinks that my increased sugar intake might be one of the risk factors for my headaches,”

“Did she tell you to put soy milk in it too?” You don’t know why you have the urge to be petty, Spencer had long since needed to change his coffee drinking habits for the sake of decreasing his sugar intake and Maeve’s suggestions were beneficial for his health.

It was just the fact that it was her that ticked you off.

“She did actually, it provides the same amount of riboflavin as cow’s milk, which acts as a soothing agent whilst also helping constrict inflamed blood vessels, but without all of the excess fats in regular milk that might make my migraines more frequent, it’s genius really,”

He thought that her ideas were genius. Him. Mr ‘I have three PhDs and an IQ of 187’, thought someone else’s ideas were genius.

You’re sure that he already knew the benefits of milk alternatives, and yet he attributed the ‘revelation’ of what they could do to Maeve. Of course he did.

“When was the last time you made a decision for yourself?” The question comes out much harsher than you intend it to, and you can tell by the way Spencer furrows his eyebrows that he’s taken offence to it.

“Sorry, that came out wrong,” No it didn’t. “I’m just a little surprised that someone as independent as you is so… willing to follow blind instructions,” Your attempt at saving yourself half-works, that wrinkle between his eyebrows disappears and you can see that the glimmer in his eyes is returning slowly.

“She’s a doctor, of course i’m going to follow her suggestions,”

You give him a soft nod as you pick up your mug from under the coffee machine. “Yeah, no, that makes sense, it’s just a little surprising is all,”

You don’t give him a chance to respond to you before you’re walking away from the kitchenette to retake a seat at your desk, fearing you might say something out of pocket if you continue the conversation any longer.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

You were really pissed off now.

You’d arrived back in Quantico three days ago, and you were still piled up to your neck in paperwork.

Maybe you would’ve had it finished by now if Spencer would stop talking about the fact that he was “-finally going to meet Maeve in person,”.

You had half the mind to snap and tell him to just shut up, although by the saving grace of Morgan you thankfully didn’t have to.

“Reid, give their poor ears a break man,” Your thankful for Morgan in times like this. He knew you were knee-deep in your feelings for Spencer, and he knew that every time Spencer so much as spoke Maeve’s name it carved another hairline fracture in your heart.

You were close to shattering, and Morgan could tell.

“Oh- right, sorry,” Spencer offered you an awkward smile which you mirrored back at him.

“It’s alright, don’t worry about it,” You shake your head in a polite dismissal of his apology before turning your head back down towards your files.

“I take it you’re nervous then?” Alex’s voice cut through the beginning of an awkward tension between the two of you as she entered to bullpen with a cup of coffee in hand.

“Well- I mean- you know…” Upon being unable to find a sufficient response, Spencer resorts to shrugging into his chair. “I just don’t want to ruin anything,”

“But aren’t you curious what she looks like?” Alex raises an eyebrow with concern like Spencer was he son going on his first ever date.

“it doesn’t matter what she looks like I mean- she’s already the most beautiful girl in the world to me it’s just-”

You don’t stick around to hear the rest of the conversation.

You sudden upheaval from your desk stops Spencer’s sentence as his eyes follow you across the bullpen and out of the glass doors, followed shortly by Morgan as he jogs after you.

“Hey- Wait up a minute-” Morgan catches your arm before you have a chance to get in the elevator, and as you turn your eyes towards him he can see the beginnings of tears forming in your eyes.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this..”

Morgan can do nothing more than pull your head into his shoulder and wrap his arms tightly around your back with a soft mutter of your name. “I know kid, I know…”

“He thinks she’s the most beautiful girl in the world,” You turn your head up from Morgan’s shoulder to meet his eyes, a single stray tear cascading down your cheek, illuminated under the florescent lights. “How am I supposed to compete with that..?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Incidentally, Spencer’s date with Maeve didn’t end up happening. Conflicting work schedules or something, you weren’t really listening.

Maybe all of your subconscious thoughts had leaked into reality and finally gave you momentary release from the crushing defeat of having Spencer go on a date with someone else.

Maybe it was them punishing you further by forcing you to sit through him rant about the book she’d left him at the front of the restaurant.

It didn’t help that you already had a headache that made it feel like your eye sockets were being kicked by an annoying kid sat behind you on an aeroplane, leaving a dull ache in it’s wake and making you just want to bury yourself in a hole and hibernate.

“And right at the back she wrote ’Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone; we find it with another’ it’s a quote from-”

“Thomas Merton. Yeah, I know.” You dig the knuckle of your left thumb into cavity of your eye socket over your closed eyelid, hoping to relieve some of the tension that’s lingering there and disrupting your thoughts.

“Thomas Merton’s ‘Love and Living’ specifically,” If Spencer noticed your discomfort he didn’t acknowledge it. “It’s a collection of his essays on the importance of love to live, so for her to have written it specifically knowing that I would read it means-”

“Reid.”

Your tone stops him from continuing any further, and he blinks at you with that sweet puppy-dog expression that would usually have you weak at the knees.

“No offence, but I don’t care about your over-the-phone girlfriend or the quote that she wrote in your book.” Your tone carried a harshness to it that Spencer wasn’t used to hearing from you. It was cold and detached and not like you at all.

“Are- you okay?”

“No, Reid, I’m not, and if you’d bothered to ask about my life every once in a while instead of using me like a human diary maybe you would’ve realised that already.”

You practically slam your file closed as you speak, pushing your chair out from your desk and leaving him sat in shock at your sudden change in attitude.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

After a bit of introspection, Spencer did realise that he hadn’t been treating you very fairly. He hadn’t asked you how your life had been in 3 months and 26 days. Four of those days he’d spent in damn near radio silence. He wasn’t sure he could take it much longer.

He missed you.

It was a bit ironic considering you sat directly opposite him for almost eight hours a day five days a week, but after you’d snapped at him last week, he truly realised just how much of his day he spent socialising with you, and just how much he missed talking to you.

So he decided that he was going to apologise.

And what better form of an apology for being dismissive of your feelings than putting a personal effort into something for you.

He walked into the office that morning with a leather bound copy of The Parasite by Arthur Conan Doyle stored cautiously in his messenger bag, pages scrawled with annotations from Spencer’s own reading of the novel that he hoped would be insightful to you as you read it yourself.

He’d remembered you saying how much you wanted to read the novel a few months ago, so he figured giving it to you as a personalised apology would show that he really did care about you and had listened to what you’d told him.

“Are you busy?” Spencer asks, though he already knows the answer to the question.

He’d been watching you from the other side of the room all morning, hoping for a moment or two of eye contact to see if there was a possibility of a conversation. A look from one to the other; even a smile would’ve been enough to make him feel validated and content. And he would have been willing to settle for that.

But you never looked up. Not even once.

"Mhm," You continue to not spare Spencer so much as glance as he speaks, turning over the page of the file you were working through.

“Can I take a minute of your time?” He tried to catch your gaze again, only to be met by your continued focus on your work. The last thing he wanted to do was disrupt your work routine, but he also knew that he needed to talk to you sooner rather than later.

“Please,” he said softly. “It’s important.”

You exhale heavily through your nose, exasperation written clearly in your expression as you leave your pen as a page marker to close the manilla folder on your desk. You turn your head upwards, raising an eyebrow and opening your hands to agitatedly indicate for him to continue.

You wouldn’t lie and say that it didn’t hurt being so openly cold towards Spencer, but you’d reached a breaking point, and you couldn’t bare sitting idly on the sidelines and letting him tear your heart to pieces anymore.

Spencer was relieved that you’d granted him your attention, but the look you directed towards him was enough to make him wince. You weren’t looking at him through a lens of indifference but rather cold, hard disappointment.

He took a deep breath, trying to gather the right words for what he had to say.

“I’m sorry,”

He seemed almost breathless as he spoke, like he’d just finished a tangent about something without taking the time to breathe. “I know that I’ve been spending too much time talking about Maeve and not enough paying attention to you.”

"You don’t say," You mutter the words under your breath to yourself, but your sure that Spencer heard you based on the way his eyebrows knit and the small gleam of hope in his eyes dwindles to barely a flicker.

He was trying not to react to your snide comment. Spencer knew that your tone didn’t leave any room to deny your meaning. He’d been selfish in talking exclusively about his relationship and hadn’t realised how it was affecting you.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer repeated. “You mean so much to me and I haven’t been showing that.”

"Thank you," Your thanks are polite but dismissive, like you were acknowledging his apology but choosing to not actually consider it as one, and it left Spencer with an expression of clear frustration.

He was used to being able to read your facial expressions and emotions in the past, but now you were just an unreadable wall of disappointment. He had hoped the apology would've been enough, but it was clear that you weren’t going to let him off that easily.

Time to pull out the last resort.

He bent over and fumbled with his bag for a few moments before pulling out the novel he’d brought with him face up.

“I uh… got you this,” He holds out the book towards you. “You said you wanted to read it right? So I uh.. annotated it for you to make it more enjoyable,”

You take the novel from him with a raised eyebrow as your eyes scan the cover, a clear flicker of confusion in your expression.

Spencer noticed your expression and furrowed his own brow in confusion. You didn't seem to recognise the book. In fact, the look on your face made him wonder whether you even knew this book existed at all before this moment.

“I hope you… like it,” he said nervously. “I was going off what you'd talked about before. You mentioned the book was a classic?”

"I… have never seen this book in my life,”

“B-But…” Spencer knew this was going to be awkward at some point, but he'd hoped not this early into the conversation. He could feel his cheeks burning from embarrassment, and it was only getting worse as he searched your face for an answer to this awkward situation.

“I… swear I heard you mention it once.”

You give him a short shake of your head and a pursed smile of awkward thanks as you put the book down on your desk.

Spencer looked away, embarrassed beyond belief. He hadn't even been able to deliver an apology properly, let alone make you feel special like he'd originally intended to.

How had he gotten it wrong? He had an eidetic memory for god’s sake.

When you put the book down on your desk, his eyes flicked back to the book. He'd spent almost 4 hours annotating and researching it and now it felt like all that effort had been wasted.

If you hadn’t mentioned it then who had? Someone must’ve. Someone he obviously equated with you to the point where he’d somehow managed to override his eidetic memory to mix the two of you up.

It takes him a few moments before you hear him whisper out a name under his breath, the palm of his hand dragging down the front of his face at the realisation.

"Maeve…"

The mention of her name had your eyes flickering away from the leather cover and right back to Spencer’s face, awkwardness completely rid of your features and replaced with a mix of negativity that Spencer wasn’t sure he wanted to dig into.

"Are you serious?" Your words come out less questioningly and more accusatory, and you hold the book up so that he can see it once more, the gold embossing on the cover glinting under the overhead light as if to only taunt Spencer further for his mistake.

“You apologise for continuously disregarding me for your girlfriend by giving me a book that she showed interest in?”

You could see Spencer's face fall as your words sink in.

He hadn't even taken the time to think over what he was apologising with. It was almost as if his brain automatically just reverted back to his girlfriend's interests as an escape from dealing with his own guilt and sadness.

"Damn it," he whispered to himself. And in that moment he realised he'd just committed the biggest crime someone could make when trying to apologise.

“Like you constantly flaunting your relationship in my face verbally wasn’t bad enough.”

"I'm sorry I-" he says again, voice teeming with sincerity and guilt.

"You are truly and utterly unbelievable Spencer Reid." Your words didn’t carry anger as much as they did disappointment, and he could see the astoundment in your eyes as you pushed your chair backwards to stand, dropping the book straight in the trash bin by your desk before walking off.

It’s where it belongs; Right alongside the small sliver of respect you still had for him.

Spencer could've said so much more: he could've admitted how ashamed he felt for his careless actions and he could've apologised again and again a million times if it meant you'd stick around and give him a chance to make it up to you.

But you had already made it clear that you weren't in the right state of mind to discuss this matter further.

The best thing he could do now was give you space as he watched you walk away, a deep pain in his heart that slowly ate him alive from the inside.

He’d well and truly fucked up.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Oh sweetheart, what’s wrong?” You were bordering tears by the time you reached Garcia’s office, unintentionally interrupting her lunch break with Alex in the process, though the two seemed to care less about the interruption and more about the fact that you liked like you were about to cry your eyes out.

You take in a sharp breath through your nose as you try to tape together the cracks in your composure, although with every one you seal three more seem to appear in it’s place.

“I-” You can barely get the first word out before the tears start rolling down your face, and Alex immediately stands from her seat to guide you to sit in her place.

“Hey, you’re alright, slowly,” Alex’s hands find your shoulders and rub reassuring circles against your shirt. The slow breath you take in doesn’t stop the flood of tears that’s blurring your vision, and you only manage to get out a single word, but it’s all the two need to understand what’s got you so overwhelmed.

“Spencer-”

“I swear I am two seconds away from smacking that boy over the back of the head,” You can hear the clear frustration in Garcia’s tone. “Surely he’s got to realise how much he’s hurting you by now,”

“He does… I lashed out at him and then left to come here…” You rub your eyes with the back of your hand alongside a small sniffle, trying to rid your vision of it’s blurriness from your tears.

“Good, the boy deserves to have some sense knocked into him,” You appreciate Garcia taking your side, but you can’t help that small lingering feeling of guilt that invades the back of your mind.

“He’s just in love, it’s not his fault…” The words almost physically pain you to say. The verbal acceptance that Spencer Reid was indeed in love with somebody. Somebody who wasn’t you.

“That doesn’t mean that he should be disregarding you though sweetheart,” Alex’s tone is soft and almost maternal, and your sure that it doesn’t help how emotional you are.

Garcia’s right hand reaches forward to straighten out the collar of your shirt, unintentionally crumpled as you try to wipe your face of your emotions. “You’re his friend, and you have been his friend for longer than he’s known this girl he’s talking to, it’s not fair for him to completely push you to the side,”

Garcia was right. It’s not fair. Nothing about how Spencer had been treating you since he’d started speaking to Maeve had been fair. And you were done making excuses for the boy just because you knees deep in your feelings for him.

You didn’t deserve to feel guilty. You didn’t deserve to feel bad for lashing out at Spencer for apologising for not showing interest in your life by further proving just how little he’d actually payed attention to you. You didn’t deserve to cry because he was the most stupid genius to ever live and couldn’t see that you were hopelessly in love with him. You didn’t deserve to suffer by his hand.

It wasn’t fair.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Maeve’s been kidnapped.”

You have to consciously suppress the small voice in the back of your head that celebrates the possibility that she might not be a part of Spencer’s life for much longer. It’s a horrible thought. You should never wish ill upon anyone, no matter how much you internally despised them.

Still, that part of you that was still petty, that was still infuriated with Spencer and Maeve, wanted you to tell Spencer straight to his face that you weren’t going to help him find her and that it was karma for how he’d treated you.

But you weren’t a bad person.

As much as you might hate her, she was still important to Spencer.

“I have a wealth of knowledge i should be applying to this case, but- i can’t focus on anything for more than four seconds at a time… which makes me the dumbest person in the room-” Spencer’s eyes are full of desperation as they scan across your teammates.

“So please help me… Please help me find her…” The desperation in his voice is heartbreaking, the remnants of tears staining his face as he explains the context of the situation through broken sentences.

“We don’t have an official case, so we’ll be working on personal time,” Hotch’s voice is much quieter than you’re used to. Softer, more considerate. “Does anybody want to leave?”

You can feel his eyes linger on you as he asks the question, and you subconsciously purse your mouth into a tight line to stop yourself from impulsively pulling out of the investigation.

You might be detrimentally frustrated with him, but you did want to help. Even if it ultimately resulted in your downfall.

Hotch gave you a short nod before turning to the rest of the team. “Good, let’s get to work,”

It didn’t take Garcia very long to track Maeve down, mostly attributed to her unique name and specialised job.

Dr. Maeve Donovan, a professor at Mendel University who took a sabbatical leave 10 months ago.

The group split into different groups once they’d found her, JJ and Morgan heading off to a loft her parents owned, Alex and Rossi heading to the lab she used to work at, and you and Hotch, accompanied by Spencer, going to speak to Maeve’s parents.

“Reid,” Garcia’s tone is soft as she looks over her laptop screen towards him as he begins to stand from the conference table. “I have a picture of her, do you want to know what she looks like?”

“No,”

Spencer’s answer is immediate, joined by a shake of his head.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

You and Spencer watched from behind the one way mirror as the interview progressed.

They’d last spoken to Maeve five days ago. Her mother had cancer. She was also a geneticist. They were suspicious of her ex fiancé Bobby.

Her fiancé?

You can see Spencer’s face drop at the words despite the low lighting in the room, and you can’t help but furrow your eyebrows yourself.

She had a fiancé?

Spencer practically storms out of the office after the questioning is over, and Hotch has to remind him to calm down as they reach the apartment of Robert Putnam with Morgan and Rossi in tow.

When the door opens the five of you aren’t greeted by Robert, but rather a girl, a girl who looked very confused.

You invite yourselves inside at the girl’s recognition that Robert was inside the apartment.

“And who are you?”

“I’m Diane, his girlfriend,” She raised an eyebrow as the five of you looked around, confusion cut short as Robert rounds the corner questioning the sudden voices coming from his living room.

“Hey babe what’s-“

“Robert Putnam, FBI we’d like to-” Spencer’s voice cuts him off harshly as he rushes to speak, although he stops his sentence halfway as a flicker of recognition falls across his features and his anger turns to dread.

“Hey, I know you,” Robert doesn’t have the time to say anything else to Spencer before Hotch forces him out of the room, shutting the door behind him to speak to Spencer privately whilst you Morgan and Rossi remained inside.

Hotch returned a few minutes later. Spencer didn’t.

You end up taking Hotch’s place as you push yourself out of the apartment with a small “excuse me,” to follow after Spencer as he walks out of the apartment building.

“Spencer- wait up a minute-”

He doesn’t stop at your call, and you’re practically running down the stairs by the time you get to him, already out of the front doors of the apartment building.

“Hey-” You take a second to catch your breath before turning your eyes back towards him again. “Are you alright?”

You could see the flicker of confusion in his eyes as he met your gaze.

The last time you spoke to him you threw away any remnant of your friendship with him in the bin alongside the book he’d given you, and now here you were, chasing after him to make sure that he was okay.

“Why did you agree to help?”

Your face falls from concern to surprise at his question, and he takes it as a sign to continue.

“I know that you don’t like her, so why are you here?” You could see the beginnings of tears forming in his eyes, clearly overwhelmed with how the investigation was going.

“She’s important to you Spencer. Like her or not I care about you. So therefore I care about her,” You don’t think as you speak, words spilling out of your mouth with no conscious filter.

“I’m sorry.” Spencer’s apology elicits a sigh from your mouth, and you shake your head softly at him.

“Forget it, let’s focus on getting Maeve home safe alright?” He obliges to your request with a purse of his lips and a small nod, turning his eyes towards the ground.

“What’re you thinking about?” His eyes fall on yours once more at your question, round with confusion and glistening with the starts of tears. “I can see it in your face, you’re calculating something in your head,”

He exhales through his mouth in a small laugh. You’d always been able to figure him out, and not just because you were a profiler.

“2,412 hours,” His tone is uncertain, mixed between gratefulness for you observance and something far more upsetting. “That’s how long Maeve and I have contacted each other counting letters and phone calls…”

“That’s what-” You take a second to do the calculation in your head. “100 days?”

“100.5…” He runs his hand backwards through his hair, pressing his eyes closed like he’s afraid tears will spill from them if he doesn’t. “What if that’s all I get?”

“It won’t be Spencer…”

“You don’t know that-“

“Yes Spencer, I do,” You have to consciously suppress the sigh that threatens to leave your mouth, pushing your lingering distaste for Maeve down with it. “She is going to be fine, I promise,”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Turns out Maeve’s ex fiancé wasn’t the stalker. In fact, he was being stalked himself, and whilst JJ and Garcia were looking over the images posted to Robert whilst him and Maeve were still together they discovered something that changed the entire direction of the investigation.

Maeve’s face had scribbled out in eyeliner.

You and the team spent the next thirty minutes rebuilding the profile from the bottom up.

“Celebrity stalkers are usually non violent,”

“You want to tell that to John Lennon Rossi?” Spencer looked up from his lap towards the group at the table, having separated himself from the group to sit on a sofa lining one of the walls so he couldn’t bias the profile.

It wasn’t going too well.

“What was it that Mark David Chapman said after he shot him?” Spencer stood from his seat, anger flaring in his nostrils. “‘It was like all of my nobody-ness and all of his somebody-ness collided’,”

You could hear the rise in his tone as he worked himself up the more he spoke.

“Spencer-“

“Maeve is somebody. And this- bitch is a nobody.”

“Spencer.”

Spencer caught your gaze, and immediately fizzling out of his eyes and replaced with guilt. “I’m sorry- I can’t be very helpful right now I should leave-“

“Yes you can Reid, you have 100.5 days of communication with this girl and a recall everything verbatim,” Morgan’s gaze is entirely concerned with Spencer’s outburst.

“There’s too much of it, and I can’t sort through any of it clearly-“ Spencer is clearly on the edge of breaking, and you can tell he’s not going to be able to keep his composure for much longer.

“Then pick one of us and we’ll go through it with you,” Hotch leaned his elbows against the table, his voice again portraying that soft, parental tone that said he knew how overwhelmed Spencer was getting.

Spencer didn’t even say anything, his eyes just silently flickered over to you and you knew you couldn’t refuse him.

You return his silence as you get up from your seat and pat your hand on his shoulder for the two of you to exit the room together.

Time to torture yourself for the sake of Spencer’s wellbeing.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Diane Turner, a research assistant working for her PhD in the same lab as Maeve. A student who had her thesis rejected because it contained a heavy sample bias that included both of her parents.

It took a while, but Garcia eventually managed to track down a loft that was owned under Diane’s parents’ names, less than 10 minutes away from Maeve’s apartment.

“Take your gun and vest off,” Diane’s voice is harsh through the receiver attached to the front of the building, and Spencer’s eyes flickered up from the silk blindfold in his hands to the metal box.

He doesn’t question the orders as he immediately begins stripping the vest from his torso, dropping it and his gun on the floor.

“Now come in alone.”

“Spencer.” You call out to him as he reaches for the door handle, and he gives you that look that makes your stomach do flips in your torso. Except this time it’s not that pleasant fluttery feeling, but instead an existential dread at the fact that he might not walk out of the building alive.

“I’ll be okay,” He gives you a nod of reassurance as he pushes the door open, and you find yourself clenching your hands around your gun to stop yourself from following after him.

The six of you wait outside for what feels like hours, and you lean back and forth on the balls of your feet as you become increasingly restless with the situation.

Then, a gunshot.

And a second.

And your heart drops in your chest.

You’re not entirely present as you rush into the building with the team following behind you, gun raised at your eyes.

Spencer had to be okay. He had to. He was going to be fine. You were going to walk into that room and he was going to be perfectly fine.

You hoped Maeve was alright too. As much as she was unintentionally causing you literal hell, you knew that she meant everything to Spencer.

You knew that he’d choose her over anything. He’d choose her over you.

And right now you don’t care. You just want him to be okay.

You force the door open to the loft with your foot, gun pointed straight ahead at the first person you see.

“Stay back-“ Spencer practically shouts from where he’s half lying on the floor, right hand clutching tightly at his left bicep, trails of blood cascading down his fingers and onto the floor.

“Stay back stay back don’t shoot-“

You let out an audible sigh at the fact that Spencer wasn’t critically harmed, although upon a whimper of his name from further across the room you turn your eyes up to the noise.

And you finally meet the girl that’s caused you ten months of hell. Held at gunpoint.

That small voice in the back of your head tells you that this might be your chance to finally rid her from your life, to let her succumb to whatever Diane had planned and leave Spencer to you.

But you take one look at the desperation in her eyes and any loathing that remained in your mind immediately fizzled out.

It wasn’t her fault. Of course it wasn’t. She was just a girl that happened to be in love.

“Diane,” Spencer pushes himself to stand, and you can see the pain in his face as he does. “There’s still a way out of this,”

“You never wanted me. Never!” Diane pushes the gun she’s holding hard against Maeve’s neck, and you can see her eyes squeeze closed as she attempts to keep herself from crying. “You lied!”

“I didn’t.”

Spencer shakes his head adamantly, and you glance over at Hotch as you spread across the back of the room, guns raised in Diane’s direction. “Diane, I offered you a deal, and you can still take it,”

“Me for her. Let me take her place,”

You only have a view of the back of Spencer’s head now, but you can tell by the tone of his voice that his expression is a pure display of desperation, one that you’re happy you can’t see because you’d lose your composure in an instant.

“You would do that?” Diane’s question is angry and accusatory, tears rolling down her face as she presses the gun against Maeve’s neck once more.

Spencer nods with no threat in his tone. “Yes,”

“You would kill yourself for her?”

“Yes.”

You practically feel your heart stop.

“Thomas Merton,” Maeve’s voice is almost exactly as you imagined it to be. Soft, smooth and, as Spencer had called it all those months ago, ‘dipped in honey’.

“Who’s Thomas Merton?” Diane’s tone contrasts Maeve’s tenfold, pitchy, uneven and overrun with manic anger.

“He knows,” You can see Maeve’s eyes flicker, and you assume that they meet Spencer’s as his shoulders drop. “He knows.”

“Who’s Thomas Merton?” Diane shakes Maeve in her grasp as if to intensify the urgence of her question, and you tighten your grip on your gun in instinctual response. “Who is he?”

“He’s the one thing you can never take from us,” Maeve’s voice is confident and defiant despite the clear tears in her eyes.

Thomas Merton could’ve been something between Spencer and you.

“No.”

You can see a clear change in Diane’s expression at Maeve’s words, and she lowers the gun from Maeve’s head only to hold it up against her own, staring directly into Spencer’s eyes.

“Wait-”

Spencer barely has time to shout the word before the gun fires, and you flinch at the sound as you watch Maeve and Diane both drop to the floor, dark red blood pooling around the two.

You can feel the tension in the room as everyone computes what just happened, guns lowering slowly as their eyes lock onto the two women on the floor.

You’re not focused on that. You’re focused on the tightness of Spencer’s shoulders as he takes sharp breaths in and out of his nose.

The way he seems to forget about the bullet wound in his arm as his legs give out underneath him.

The way a sob that leaves his mouth despite the fact that he tries to muffle it with his hand.

The way that Spencer broke.

He's crying. Big, heaving, heart-wrenching sobs.

His shoulders are trembling.

His hands are shaking.

His head is hanging downwards so that his hair is covering his face.

You approach him slowly, kneeling down at his side and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

His eyes slowly shift from Maeve, his sobs only seeming to amplify as he meets your gaze. His eyes are red and closely with tears, his cheeks running hot and his lips trembling.

You don’t speak, knowing that you’ll break if you do. Instead, you guide his head into your shoulder and let him crumble in your arms, grieving the loss of the love of his life.

You’re sure you’re going to cry yourself to sleep when you get home, but right now, you needed to be strong. For him.

“I’m so sorry-“ Spencer speaks through broken sobs as you hold him, the rest of the team moving to secure the scene.

“Shh,” You shake your head against his softly, rubbing the palm of your hand up and down his back as you let him cry until he physically couldn’t anymore.

“I treated you so horribly-“ He pulls away from your shoulder to look into your eyes once more. “I’m so sorry- Please don’t leave me…”

You purse your lips into a line, your expression full of so many emotions Spencer can’t distinguish any of them.

“I’m not going anywhere,” You pull his head back into your shoulder, leaning your head against his. “I promise…”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst #mgg #asks 🫶

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imfinereallyy · 2 years ago

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“Steve, it’s an emergency. I need to kiss you. Actually, I need you to kiss me. But I can’t just do it without asking because what if you don’t want me to, and I practically attack you? So yes or no? I swear it’s for a good cause.” Eddie comes running up to Steve in the bar, panting so hard Steve can see the chest movements.

They have taken Robin to a bar out in Indy to get her laid finally. Or at least a tongue in her mouth. The girl is pent up. And it’s Steve’s job as best friend to make that happen (Robin has told him to stop saying that, ‘it is gross’). Eddie is the only other queer person they know and, luckily, has made quite a few trips to Indy to know which bars were the good ones. He tells Steve that, like Robin, he is desperate to get laid, so this is the perfect opportunity.

Steve does his best to try and ignore the burning jealousy he feels at that. Eddie doesn’t know about his feelings (hell about his sexuality), and Steve is pretty sure Eddie doesn’t see him that way.

“Huh?” Asks confused, his brain struggling to process.

“Okay, I see you’re stuck on how to answer, but Steve—“ Eddie grips Steve’s shoulder, and Steve tries not to swoon. “—my ex, the extra shitty one, is here, and if he sees me alone I’ll either a) go home with him tonight and—“

Steve cuts Eddie off with a searing kiss. The thought of Eddie going home with someone else was enough for Steve’s brain to catch up to speed. Steve presses Eddie against the bar. The loud bass of the music suddenly becomes a light thrum in the background. All that he feels is the delightful pressure of their lips together. Eddie’s hands slide up into Steve’s hair as he gets pressed harder into the bar. Steve’s hands' grip Eddie’s waist and give them a tight squeeze. The idea of bruises being left behind, a mark of what they are doing here, makes Steve deepen the kiss. His tongue used to massage Eddie’s, tasting the menthol and rum on his breath. Eddie moans loud and heavy, vibrating Steve’s entire body.

“Eddie?” A voice interrupts them. Steve feels his anger spark back slightly but wills it down because the interruption is probably needed. They are very close to getting kicked out for public indecency.

“Oh hey, Ryan.” Eddie looks the blonde man up and down. He’s cute, Steve notes, but he lacked personality in his appearance. He isn’t what Steve expects from an ex of Eddie’s. He isn’t naive enough to think Eddie dates exclusively metal heads, but he expects someone to match Eddie’s energy. This guy—Ryan apparently—looks like every other guy you’d find on a Sunday in Supermart. Boring and lacking imagination.

“Who’s this?” Ryan looks at Steve pissed.

“Steve?” Eddie wraps an arm around his waist, bringing Steve close up against him. “This is my boyfriend.”

“This dude’s your boyfriend?” Ryan snorts. “C'mon baby, I know you can do better.”

Steve feels his anger finally pop. “He is not your baby. Yea, he can do better than both of us combine, but I’m lucky enough to get him. Now, you interrupted our time together, and we both know you saw what we’re up to, so don’t act like it wasn’t on purpose.”

Ryan startles backwards, “I—“

“Sorry, maybe I wasn’t clear. I meant leave the fuck right now.” Steve grits out, some of his Upside Down protection mode popping out. Ryan scatters quickly.

“Jesus, Steve, that was amazing. I’m sorry I had to make you uncomfortable with that.” Eddie’s eyes find his and cuts Steve off before he can protest and explain no, he really did like that “—and you never even let me explain reason b, by the way! Reason b is b) he would probably humiliate me in the middle of the club.”

Steve nods at Eddie but has one track mind at this point. He grabs Eddie by the face this time before crashing their lips together once again. This time Steve moans into Eddie’s mouth as they both get lost in the kiss.

Steve pulls back ever so slightly and talks directly into Eddie’s mouth, “Sorry. I think he’s still staring. Needed to do more.”

Eddie, with swollen lips and a kissed-out face, looks around the bar to find nothing. “I don’t see him anywhere.”

Steve smirks and pulls Eddie by his belt loops so they are flushed together. Steve leans into Eddie’s ear and nibbles at his lobe. “Hmmm, you’re right. I think he’s actually in the bathroom. Maybe we should kiss in front of him there.” Steve whispers hotly.

Eddie’s brain, which has short-circuited much like Steve only minutes ago, finally catches up. Eddie groans, his face collapsing into Steve’s neck. He licks a stripe up Steve’s neck all the way to his mouth. “Fuck. Yea, baby, I think I saw him too. Think kissing, though, won’t be enough. We might need to up our game.”

Steve nips at Eddie’s lips, “I was hoping you would say that. Guess I just know how much you love your games, Eds.”

They meet each other for one last searing kiss before rushing to the bathrooms to share a very tight, very heated stall.

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fizzie-frog · 6 months ago

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You know, the Stolitz scene was a trainwreck as a whole (they usually are), but what honestly got me most was the way Blitz started pleading when he thought his livelihood was going to be taken away.

THIS IS NOT A STOLAS SLANDER POST. I'm coming from a place where I've seen Blitz being mostly, if not entirely blamed for their lack of communication most of the time.

Moving on...

People keep going like "Well if imps are so low in the hierarchy..." - Let's take a break to think. Blitz isn't rich, he's just getting by really. And how is he getting by?

By prostituting himself. To the upper class.

That's what it is, he's a certified whxre. Things may have evolved in the meantime, but that's how it started. Blitz got asked for the deal while being chased by a crazy lady and him, wanting to keep his business and livelihood, said yes, obviously.

Now Stolas was suddenly taking the book back with no apparent explanation (until they got to the crystal), so of course Blitz thought he was doomed. On a side note, why couldn't Stolas say "You won't need the book, I have an alternative" instead of the ominous "I'll need the book back, permanently. I have made up my mind." I would be scared out of my mind.

He teared up immediately and started pleading, you could already see what was going through his head. He won't have the means to support his business anymore, to pay his employees, to afford a home, he'll be homeless and have no means to take care of Loona. Everyone will leave him again and he will starve on the streets all alone.

He'd do anything to be able to live a life a bit better than miserable, of course he would.

And this brings me to Stolas's treatment of Blitz. I see that everything tends to fall on Blitz, and I'm not saying he has no fault (in fact I didn't even like him at the beginning of the series too much), but Stolas treated him like a peasant. Just the episode before Ozzie's he's called him his "impish little plaything" and asked for a reward for the rescue. He put out cigarettes on his horns, he ignored his "stop" most times, he addressed him in this little baby voice with babying diminutives. "Itty bitty" imp.

And I am sure Stolas is socially clueless. He was brought up alone and sheltered, taught to be a prince first and foremost.

Stolas probably saw this as playful banter, as something that is inoffensive, silly. It was only in the Ozzie's episode that he finally saw that actually, his silly play served to make Blitz feel smaller.

And of course in this scenario, Blitz would see this coming out of the nether. He reacted quite badly, but why would this prince be actually in love with him? As he said, he needed to have a minute (or several) to think about everything. They needed to talk this out, and Blitz was about to apologize when Stolas cast him out.

They were both emotionally charged. They fucked up. But I can see Blitz's side. And the power imbalance is so evident, that hierarchy that everyone keeps saying is irrelevant - in a moment's notice, he could have his life swept from underneath him. Just like he thought it happened in that split moment; it worried him so much that he cried and pleaded (and that's not in Blitz's character to do).

And then he was so scared of not being enough too, ugh, his little "I can always do better!". He's so used to everyone just seeing him as a lost cause, better to be discarded. With this amalgamation of things, no wonder he can't believe Stolas would have feelings for him.

So uh, I don't know what the conclusion to this is. Normalize getting imps some actual comfort? So far the only really privileged imp in Helluva Boss is Fizz after getting rid of Mammon. And when I say priviledged, I'm referring to wealth and upper class, not taking into account personal issues such as disability and so forth.

Anyway, this was my two cents on Stolitz. I honestly haven't thought too much on them, I'm riding on the Fizzarolli high. I'm chill over here in my Fizzmodeus bubble, but doesn't mean I have no thoughts on Stolitz.

#Blitzo #Stolas #Stolitz #Helluva Boss #Helluva Boss full moon #full moon #the certified trainwreck of Helluva Boss #I'm so chill in the house of Asmodeus

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ponderingmoonlight · 1 year ago

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How JJK men act in and after a fight

Pairing: Gojo x reader, Megumi x reader, Nanami x reader

Word Count: 4,1k (a big baby)

Warnings: obviously hurt in every part but also a loooot of fluff, Megumi being as inexperienced as he is lol, Nanami's part is pure fan service, you're very welcome

Notes: I consider writing part ll of that with Choso, Geto and maybe Toji. If you're down for that, just leave me a comment or a like <3 as always thank y'all from the bottom of my heart for the love and support you give me, I truly don't deserve it <3

Part ll with Geto, Choso and Yuji can be found here

Tags: @ifuckfictionalmen @sanicsmut

Gojo Satoru

“So you think I’m being ridiculous? I saw the way she looked at you and how her hand brushed against yours way too often”, you hiss, whole body trembling in pure rage.

“Oh, so every woman that touches me is apparently into me, now I get it”, he sarcastically remarks.

You bite your tongue, desperately trying to stop yourself from crying. Why is he not able to understand that you don’t feel comfortable with that situation at all? You told him over and over, especially when she completely ignored your presence on your first meeting. How does he not see all of this?

“You…You transferred money to her. A lot, actually. And all of that after she completely ignored me when you introduced me”

“Just like I do for you-“

“I’m your wife, moron!”, you scream on top of your lungs.

Satoru’s face is twisted in annoyance. He thought he’d come home to your loving arms, cuddling on the couch after a stressful day. But this? You stormed into him the second he opened the door, holding up bank statements. Over the past weeks, this happened way too often, interrupting your otherwise very peaceful marriage in a way Satoru can’t take any longer.

“So what? We’re colleagues, (y/n). You are my wife, why don’t you get that I am forced to work with other women from time to time?”, he questions.

The way he rolls his blue orbs at you sends you over the edge completely.

“So colleagues transfer money, hold deep eye contact and touch each other oh so casually when having a conversation? Don’t fuck with me, Satoru. I told you over and over that it bugs me, that I’m concerned. And you do absolutely nothing about it.”

“Maybe if you’d stop acting like a bitch!”, he cries out in frustration.

Your heart sinks immediately when is words hit you with full force. Even though your relationship with Satoru does get pretty heated from time to time, he never called you names. Never.

Not until now, when it comes to that woman.

You need to get off his sight, away from his stinging presence. Without saying another word, you storm into your shared bedroom and lock the door behind you before he’s able to follow you.

“Maybe if you’d stop acting like a bitch!”

His stinging words repeat themselves over and over in your head while you can’t hold back your tears any longer. This is so unfair. Why is he too blind to see the way she hunts after him, that she wants him to be more than a simple colleague? All you want him is to understand how uncomfortable this situation is for you, that you feel somehow betrayed.

“Open the door, (y/n)”, his clear voice is heard from behind the door.

Satoru knew he overdid it the second he saw the devastated look on your face. No matter how ridiculous this whole topic is, you don’t deserve his anger towards you. Mei isn’t more than a colleague for him though, a woman he has worked with on missions for years. She surely doesn’t like him like that, it’s simply impossible-

His phone vibrates in his pants, making him take a look at the screen.

What do you think about dinner tonight? Just the two of us.

He signs at her message, realization hitting him like a wall. Fuck, what did he do? The countless times her touch brushed over him, the messages she sent him not work related at all every night and how she always avoided the conversation when it came to you flood his mind uncontrollably. How could he make you feel this way? You told him over and over that you feel uncomfortable with this situation, asked him for compromises. And now…

Now he made you feel unwanted, delusional and dumb. You are his wife, the love of his life, the one thing that keeps him going in this world full of madness.

“Can you let me in, (y/n)? I’m sorry…”, he hushes against the closed door.

You can’t catch your breath, dry sobs hunt your body down when a new wave of sorrow washes over you. Does he even love you? All this time you thought you were the love of his life, his pride. But now…It feels like he chose that woman over you, that he cares about her opinion and feelings more than yours.

“I’m coming in”, he softly announces.

Of course, a simple closed door can’t keep him out if he doesn’t want to.

The second he lays his eyes on your crumpled on the floor figure, his heart completely breaks. Instantly, he kneels down in front of you and embraces you in his arms while your sobs make him hate himself even more.

“I’m so unbelievable sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean it like that at all. It’s just that in my world, there’s only you and no one else. I never understood how you even get the idea of me liking another woman because this scenario is ridiculous to me. I shouldn’t have lashed out on you like that. I’m so so sorry…”, he mumbles against your ear.

Despite his words still haunt your mind, you can’t help but let yourself fall at least a little into his inviting arms, tears staining his uniform.

“I will talk to her and make clear that you are the one and only for me, I promise.”

It’s impossible to stay mad at him for long. You wrap your longing arms around him, forehead pressed against his.

“So you understand my point?”, you mutter.

“I do and I’m sorry for making you feel this way. You are the only woman in my life and I love you more than anything else”, he reassures you once again.

You definitely won’t get him away this easily. After all, words mean nothing without action. But this is a step in the right direction and for now, you can definitely live with that.

“Now, please stop crying, I’ll call her right away and we’ll watch your favorite show and order some food after, what do you think?”

“Only if you pay”, you sniff.

Megumi Fushiguro

“Oh, where are you going?”, you question when your boyfriend Megumi gets up from the bed so early in the morning that it’s still dark outside.

The last few weeks were like a trip to hell and back, it seems like your relationship consists of Megumi going on missions while you have to stay behind. Before this night, you haven’t seen him for one whole week and while you do understand his responsibly as a jujutsu sorcerer, you can’t help but feel hurt.

“On a mission of course”, he remarks dryly.

Your eyes begin to burn as your heart sinks. It’s like you don’t know him anymore, as if he’s only the shell of the man you used to love. Is he so sick of you that he doesn’t want to spend a single day on your side? Is all of this on purpose? You can’t hold back any longer.

“You’re always leaving me”, you blurt out.

It shouldn’t bother you. After all, you’re a jujutsu sorcerer yourself. Despite being Shoko’s trainee you should be aware of the fact that this job is a mess and means you have to dedicate your whole life to it.

But still you can’t help but fell hurt. Hurt because your boyfriend doesn’t even smile anymore when he returns, hurt because he comes and goes without saying a word, hurt because you feel like you lost him.

“What was that?”, he grumbles.

“Do you think I do this on purpose?”

“I just feel like you’re never here. And I miss you.”

“Not all of us have an easy job like you, (y/n).”

You swallow hard. Wow, that is new. And extremely painful. Even though you aren’t out there fighting, you still have a lot to do, working your ass off so everyone survives, day and night ready if something happens. This is just not fair.

“You think my job is easy? Stitch yourself up next time, then”, you hiss and cross your arms over your chest.

“Don’t come at me. You started this whole thing!”

“Yeah, I ‘started this whole thing’ because you are my boyfriend and I love you, and I…I fucking miss you! But fine, if you don’t feel the same I’ll just leave.”

It’s ridiculous and you know it, mind screaming violently, begging you to stay. But your heart can’t. This was simply too much. You can’t stay here with a boy that treats you like this.

“If you leave now-“

“Then what?”, you interrupt him immediately, cold eyes glaring at him while your hand rests on the door.

“You’ll leave? You leave every time, Megumi. See you around…Or not.”

And with that, you leave him standing in his room alone, staring at the door like an idiot. What the hell has gotten into you? Since when are you acting up like that? He doesn’t know you like that. But still, your words do make him wonder if you’re somehow right…

He shakes his head violently. No, you’re being ridiculous. Maybe you need to sleep in and you’ll figure this out as soon as he returns.

But one things for sure: Megumi definitely won’t make the first move.

And so days pass until finally weeks begin to pass without both of you saying a single word to each other. Every time you see him you feel like dying inside, heart screaming at you in agony to stop your stubbornness, to approach him and say sorry. But you can’t. You simply can’t over the fact that he let you go like that, not even looking your direction when you cross each other. It’s like he doesn’t know you anymore despite all the nights you shared with each other, despite the intimate moments you’ve had.

No, it seems like he doesn’t care at all.

“Hey (y/n)!”, Nobara greets you.

“Hey, I’m in a bit of a rush”, you explain briefly, already on your way to assist Shoko in an autopsy of a curse.

“It’s just…(y/n), are you and Megumi okay?”, Nobara mutters, her face twisted in concern like you’ve never seen before.

You stop in your tracks, a new wave of grief washing over you. No, nothing is okay, absolutely nothing to be exact. You want to scream it into her face, break down crying, let all your feelings out. But instead, you just gift her an empty smile and say:

“Sure.”

‘Sure’ as if he never raised his voice at you, ‘sure’ as if Megumi would care about you feeling lonely and missing him, ‘sure’ as if you actually meant something to him

“I mean it’s none of my business but…You guys haven’t talk for what feels like an eternity, you are no longer there and I’m just worried that he messed things up with you, y’know…Well, let me know if I can help you with something, okay?”

She gently places her hand on your shoulder while you have to force yourself to not shed a tear. Oh, if she only knew. If she only knew that the last weeks were absolute hell, that you feel like dying inside. But this is something you and Megumi have to deal with alone. Even Nobara can’t help you with that.

You say goodbye to her and walk towards the laboratory, tears still stinging threatening in your eyes. How much you long for talking to him, to tell him how much his words really hurt you. But you can’t bring yourself to make the first step. After all, you tried to talk this out multiple times only for him to not even listen. No, this time he’ll have to make the first move if he wants you back.

If…

“(y/n).”

That voice. That oh so familiar voice that makes your heart skip a beat.

“Megumi”, you breathe out, slowly turning around to face him.

There he stands, scratching his head while looking at your feet, eyes not meeting your gaze.

“How…how you’ve been?”

Even a blind man would see the blush creeping up his face…Is he embarrassed? Painfully awkward silence hangs between you two as all you can do is stare at him, your blood slowly but surely boiling up. Is he really asking you how you’ve been after not talking to you for weeks, ignoring you every time he saw you?

“You have some fucking nerves”, you spit at him, closing the gap between you two with a rushed movement.

“You’re not talking with me for weeks and now you’re asking how I’ve been? I’ve been miserable, Megumi. I felt like dying every time you ignored me!”

Fuck, don’t cry. Don’t let him see how you really feel. Your trembling hands frantically wipe away the threatening tears, eyes darted towards him.

“I just couldn’t, (y/n). It’s just…I…”, he stumbles over his very own words, fingers over and over running through his hair.

“I was able to see it until I thought about it. I’ve been a horrible boyfriend, (y/n). So horrible that I thought you’d be better off without me. But I’m simply too selfish to let you go. I’m sorry for not making time for you, I’m sorry for treating you like shit, I’m sorry for making you feel like I didn’t love you when in reality, all I was able to think about was you and how much I missed you sleeping besides me”, he suddenly blurts out, leaving you completely speechless.

This is everything. Everything you longed for, ever single word you graved so deeply. Did this thick silence really change the way he sees your relationship now? A look into his sorrow – filled eyes is enough to realize that he’s telling the truth, making your heart jump up and down.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Because I know I’m not the boy you deserve and I’d fully understand if you’re having enough of me. I just wanted to let you know that I can see it now and that I want to give you what you deserve if you let me.”

The glistening in his eyes literally begs you for a second chance while your very own heart screams at you. Of course you want him back, Megumi is everything you ever wanted. But he’ll have to show that it’s really different this time.

“Promise me something”, you announce.

He tilts his head to his side, brows furrowed in confusion.

“What?”

“Promise me you’ll stay with me today, that we’ll spend time together. No mission, no obligations.”

“I’ll stay as long as you need, as long as you want me around, (y/n). This time without you hurt like hell, I simply don’t want to let you go again”, he hushes, his tender fingertips brushing over your arms.

“That sounds good…”, you mutter, resting your head against his chest.

God, how much you missed that feeling. Even though your relationship had its ups and downs, you always admired the way Megumi was able to calm you down in an instant with a simple touch of his hand.

Maybe you will figure it out now. And maybe him not having time for you stays in the past forever.

Kento Nanami

“Fuck”, you hiss through gritted teeth.

You’re on your way home after a pretty ugly mission. And even though Shoko already stitched you up, you feel like dying. Everything just hurts, it’s hard to even walk.

The thought of your husband at home makes your guts turn. Not because you don’t love him or aren’t longing to see him, but because of your recent conversation.

“It can’t go on like this, (y/n). You’re always injured and it’s starting to concern me. Maybe I have to talk t-“

“No”, you interrupted him immediately.

“Please don’t. I’ll be careful from now on. I promise.”

“Fine. But if this happens again, I’ll have a talk with the elders.”

And it happened again. All these missions one after another really took their toll on your concentration. One moment of unwariness was enough to sweep you off your feet, thigh sliced open in the nastiest way you’ve ever seen. Shoko told you it will take some time to heal entirely, but if Kento gets to see this…

“Maybe I should call Nanami to pick you up. You really can’t walk like that (y/n).”

“No, please don’t!”, you begged Shoko for dear life.

“I don’t want this to cause trouble. It’s fine, really!”

“You almost died, (y/n)”, she remembered you dryly.

“And I will definitely die if you tell him. Please Shoko.”

She signed.

“Fine. Just be careful and visit me tomorrow…”

You swallow. A fight seems inevitable if you won’t hide your wound from him.

You take a deep breath, keys trembling in your sweaty palms. Fuck, why does this have to ache so badly? Shoko gave so some pain killers, you shouldn’t feel a single thing.

No, focus. Pain is only in your head. But Kento is very real.

With one last stolen glance at your injured leg you open the door, forcing a smile on your face. Where is he? Your heart beats out of your chest, hands so sweaty that you have to wipe them on your coat.

“Kento?”, you shout into the quiet living room, closing the door behind you gently.

“There you are, sweetheart”, his voice coos out of the bedroom.

Your breath hitches, eyes wide open at the sight in front of you. There he stands, your loving husband. Dressed in nothing but his pants, bare chest immediately captivating you. Oh god, he looks so delicious that you feel like fainting, hungry eyes roaming over his tight muscles as if you haven’t seen him like that hundreds of times before.

“Where have you been? A mission like that shouldn’t take this long.”

He begins to approach you elegantly, staring at you with a small smile on his delicate lips.

“Y-yeah…Still had something to…y’know…say…to Shoko”, you stutter.

Why does he have to look so absolutely delicious? And why does your leg suddenly feel so…wet?

“Are you alright? You seem a little unfocused today. Did you get hurt?”

His eyes scan over your body without any mercy, forcing you to hide your leg behind the other.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine”, you press out.

No, you’re anything but fine. The way your other leg brushes against your injured one makes you see stars. You feel like fainting and throwing up at the same time, sweat running down your forehead uncontrollably. You need medication – now.

“I planned something very excited for us today. Something you might like”, he purrs, closing the distance between your bodies.

His hand grabs your waist passionately while your mixed emotions take your breath away. God, how much you love the way his arms wrap themselves around you, knowing exactly that this leads you directly into the bedroom.

But that means…

“Oh yeah?”, you chuckle nervously.

That means he’ll see the wound you’re so desperately trying to hide.

“Absolutely”, he breathes against your ear.

Oh god, this is so good…No, it’s not good at all. You need to get away from him, out of this misery, into t-

A toe-curling scream escapes your lips before you even realize what is happening, body stumbling backwards.

“(y/n)!”, Nanami mutters, eyes wide open.

He squeezed your leg like he always does and just the way you like it. Why on earth are you acting like that? That haunted look on your face almost makes it seem as if he hurt you.

Lost in thoughts, he looks down at his hand.

His blood-smeared hand.

It slowly dawns to him. No, it isn’t because he did something you don’t like. It’s because you’re injured again. And you decided to lie into his face about it.

“What is this?”

Your husband’s voice sounds as unpromising as you imagined it in this situation, eyes widen in horror while you’re still panting in agony.

Fuck. Your heart drops immediately by the sight of his blood smeared hand. Kento is an outstanding smart man, too clever to be considered an idiot by your actions.

“You promised me to stay safe. And that you lie to be about being injured...”

“(y/n), look at me”, he insists, grabbing your chin.

His eyes seem to stare right through your soul as he glances down at you, jaw tightened.

“I can’t believe you lied to me.”

“Only because you’d freak out”, you reply in your own defense.

“Like I should! I told you over and over to look out for yourself, to skip a few missions before you get seriously hurt. And what is that, huh?”

He points at your wounded leg, blood now soaking through the fabric of your skirt.

“You are severely injured. Just like I predicted.”

You feel like a child being scolded by her parents. Even though Kento never raises his voice at you aggressively, you can tell by the way his whole body tenses up and that glistening in his gaze that he’s absolutely furious.

“I am able to look after myself. I know what’s best for me”, you remark annoyed.

Fuck, you’re so damn tired. All you want is to bandage yourself up and go to sleep.

“Yes, I can see that.”

Something about his sarcastic tone and the way he stares down at you while shaking his head makes you snap.

“I’m a grown woman, I don’t need you to look after me like a damn child! Mind your own business, Kento!”

“You are my business. You are my wife. It’s my responsibility to take care of you!”, he barks back.

“But I don’t want you to take care of me, I want you to leave me alone!”, you spit into his face, making him drop his shoulders immediately.

God, you want to take that back straightaway, knowing damn well how your comment hurt his feelings. But at the moment, all you can think about is a warm bed and finally some rest.

You drag yourself into the bedroom and let your trembling body fall onto the mattress. This is not fair, right? After all, you aren’t a child anymore, you are able to look after yourself…right?

You close your eyes, the disappointed look on Kento’s face lingering through your mind. It wasn’t fair to snap at him, though. He is your husband, always caring about you. No, he certainly doesn’t deserve you to treat him like this.

Three soft knocks on the door.

“Can I come in?”, his damped voice questions.

“Sure”, you mumble.

You can’t even look at him when he enters the room in silence, elegant steps leading him to the bed where he sits down next to you. Suddenly, he begins to rip open a package of bandages, catching your attention.

“What are you doing?”

“I take care of you. May I?”

His gaze wanders to your skirt, eyes asking you for permission to pull it up.

“Sure…”, you mutter, a slight blush creeping up your face when his fingers brush over your panties.

“How did this happen?”, he asks softly while his skilled fingers remove the blood soaked bandage.

“I don’t know exactly. Wasn’t paying full attention and got hit by a curse.”

“I see.”

Despite all the things you said to him, despite the way you hurt him a few minutes ago, your man kneels in front of you and caresses your wound with so much affection that it doesn’t hurt at all. Your eyes wander over him, how his gaze is focused exclusively on your thigh, skilled fingers working wonders.

“I’m sorry for lashing out and not telling you”, you let out, not able to hold in your bad conscience any longer.

“I understand that I put you in an uncomfortable position when I threatened to talk to the elders about this and I’m very sorry for that. But it can’t go on like this, (y/n). This is the 5th serious injury within three weeks and I’m truly worried about you. I don’t want you to end like-“

He stops himself from finishing that sentence but oh you know exactly what he means and it shatters your heart. Without hesitation, your fingers grab his face gently, eyes locking with yours.

“I love you, Kento. And I see that you’re right. I’ll talk to the elders tomorrow myself about that”, you assure him.

A small but precious smile appears on his face, free hand caressing your cheek with so much affection that you have to hold back a tear.

“You’re my everything, sweetheart. Let’s stitch you up and go to bed.”

2K notes · View notes

free-sugar · 16 days ago

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mad scientist!yandere x franken!reader

includes; dubcon, virgin!reader, gender neutral!reader, overstimulation, mention of drugs, pet names, experimentation, mentions of a fatal accident, yan is bossy asl 😒, rimming (reader receiving), yan is a perv high-key, etc

Mad Scientist!Yan was born into long line of fantastic, admirable and scientific minds. All have set out to do the impossible: They want the power to control life itself. Ten generations of people scouring the land, testing themselves, searching for the answer to the concept that was resurrection and everlasting life.

Mad Scientist!Yan, sadly, (despite being the most intelligent person in his line 😭) doesn't give a damn about any of that....

....until he sees what happened to you.

Mad Scientist!Yan has always been popular despite his intelligence; he had always excelled in connecting with people (despite being insane). So, when he's too scared to approach you, he doesn't panic- he plans. He redirects.

Mad Scientist!Yan never approaches you directly. He enjoyed, well, studying you from afar. He felt embarrassed using his gifts and talents to be a pervert, but he began to warm up to his true nature.

Mad Scientist!Yan spends months watching you, years noting down everything he knew about you; he knows everything, from the smell of your sweat to your most... intimate habits and preferences (you sicko 🫵🤨).

Mad Scientist!Yan has dozens of informants, his doting sycophants who help him keep hundreds of tabs on you - your life has been documented at length without your knowledge.

Mad Scientist!Yan would have been content with this forever - but people don't live forever. Your time would, very abruptly, run out.

Mad Scientist!Yan was unlucky that day. He was on his way to your favorite coffee shop, since it was the time you usually went. He was particularly happy, too, because he loved seeing your face when the cashier (like clockwork) said, "Someone already paid for your drink!" He had the thought in his head when he saw the totaled cars, then the blood, then-

Mad Scientist!Yan sees your body splayed on the ground. You are in pieces.

You are no more...

No, he thinks, watching the authorities collect you, feeling himself be pushed away with the crowd, this isn't the end them. It can't! I haven't even spoken to them.

No, he thinks, I can fix this.

1 funeral later, your body goes missing.

1 moth later, you are patched together.

1 year later, you open your eyes.

He presses the button hard, sending shocks of feverish pleasure through you. You feel hotter than hot, sweatier than ever before.

Fuck, you think, he's going to break me.

You had no idea why you agreed to stay here. You barely knew the guy! Gratitude was due, sure, but... Did you really have to let him get freak nasty with your body?

You could have contacted your loved ones by now, but here you are, getting diddled by a freaky mad genius who had (apparently) been stalking you for months on end before your death!

“Ah… Ah…” you gasp, wriggling in your restraints. “Too much… It's so hot…”

“You must endure, sweetness,” he says, thumb still jumping on the button of the device. A cylinder inside the base of your spine releases the painkillers and the euphoria-inducing substance of your yandere’s own making. “It is my mission to mix pleasure and progress.”

I know! you think. You always say that!

“I'm… I'm going to cum—”

“Don't be bad, kitten,” he says, gripping your weakened legs with an iron grip. It was a warning, a message. “You know you don't cum without permission. You KNOW you listen.”

Tears well in your eyes as he stares both firmly and dreamily at you. “It's probably so intense for you. So exciting…”

You couldn't move much right then. He had the device that activated your body fully was completely shut off. All you could do is watch him spark up your most tender and sensitive sweet spots...

“I'll be your first time once I heal you completely,” he says giddily. You find him horrifying and eerie, but you'd never tell him that. “I can't wait to see you cry. It'll so sweet… I'll make sure you won't feel a second of pain.”

He leans down and throws your legs over his shoulders. A strong, hot tongue fucks your virgin asshole, wriggling and exploring your depths. He never stops pushing the button, either; you are at the mercy of his lust and invention. When he comes up to breath, he circles your rim hungrily, and you unwillingly reward him with whimpers and groans.

“Ah,” he gasps, looking up at you. “You came, kitten? You're supposed to wait for my orders.

“Now we have to start over.”

#yandere imagines #yandere x darling #yandere smut #yandere community #yandere male #yandere #yandere oc #yandere boyfriend #male yandere #sugar speaks

259 notes · View notes

bratzkoo · 2 months ago

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operation: laundry love | joshua hong

Author: bratzkoo Pairing: software developer! joshua x reader Genre: fluff, love at first sight Rating: PG-15 Word count: 9.1k~ Warnings/note: requested by a lovely anon!

summary: Joshua Hong falls in love at first sight with you at a laundromat and schemes his way into making you like him back.

taglist (hit me up if you wanna be added): @escoupseu , @yanabaaaaaaarysheva , @spnyin , @sousydive , @gyuguys , @gyubakeries

requests are open, but you can just say hi! | masterlist

Joshua Hong had always considered himself a practical man. At twenty-eight, he had a stable job as a software developer, a tidy apartment, and a cat named Algorithm. His life was as orderly as the code he wrote, each day neatly compartmentalized into routines and habits. Laundry day was no exception—every other Saturday, 2 PM sharp, he'd trudge down to Suds & Bubbles, the local laundromat, with his precisely sorted clothes.

But on this particular Saturday, as Joshua pushed open the glass door of Suds & Bubbles, his well-ordered world tilted on its axis.

The laundromat was busier than usual, probably due to the unseasonably warm weather that had everyone in town suddenly remembering their summer clothes. The air hummed with the whir of washing machines and the occasional beep of a dryer reaching the end of its cycle. The scent of detergent and fabric softener hung thick in the air, mingling with the faint mustiness of old magazines stacked on a nearby table.

Joshua's eyes swept the room, looking for an empty machine. That's when he saw her.

She was standing in front of a washing machine, her brow furrowed in concentration as she examined a shirt with the intensity of a scientist studying a rare specimen. Her hair was piled haphazardly atop her head in what might generously be called a bun, secured with what appeared to be a pencil. She wore oversized sweatpants and a faded t-shirt that proclaimed "I'm not arguing, I'm just explaining why I'm right."

To Joshua, she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

As if sensing his gaze, she looked up, meeting his eyes. For a moment, Joshua forgot how to breathe. Her eyes were warm, like flecked with gold, and crinkled slightly at the corners as if she was perpetually on the verge of laughter.

"Excuse me," she said, her voice snapping Joshua back to reality. "You wouldn't happen to know how to get spaghetti sauce out of a white shirt, would you? I've been staring at this stain for so long, I'm starting to see pasta shapes."

Joshua blinked, his brain scrambling to form a coherent sentence. "I, uh... have you tried pre-treating it?" he managed to stammer out, mentally kicking himself for such a mundane response.

She sighed dramatically, holding up the shirt. "I've pre-treated it, post-treated it, and given it a stern talking-to. Nothing seems to work. I'm beginning to think this shirt has a vendetta against Italian cuisine."

A chuckle escaped Joshua before he could stop it. Her deadpan delivery and the absurdity of the situation broke through his initial panic, and he found himself relaxing slightly.

"Maybe it's more of a Chinese food fan," he offered, surprised by his own attempt at humor.

Her eyes lit up, and she let out a laugh that seemed to bubble up from her toes. "Oh my god, you're right! I should have been feeding it lo mein this whole time. How could I be so culturally insensitive to my own clothing?"

Joshua felt a warmth spread through his chest. He'd made her laugh. He, Joshua Hong, notorious for his dry technical explanations and inability to remember punchlines, had made this gorgeous, funny woman laugh.

"I'm Y/N, by the way," she said, extending her hand. "Y/N L/N, destroyer of shirts and apparent oppressor of Italian-American textiles."

"Joshua," he replied, taking her hand. Her skin was soft, and he had to resist the urge to hold on longer than socially acceptable. "Joshua Hong, software developer and... uh, laundry doer."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking into a smirk. "Laundry doer? Is that the technical term?"

Joshua felt heat creep up his neck. "Well, I... I mean, I'm not a professional or anything. Just a guy who, you know, does laundry. Sometimes. Well, every two weeks, actually. It's kind of a schedule thing, and—" He cut himself off, realizing he was rambling. "Sorry, I'm not usually this..." He gestured vaguely, unable to find the right word.

"Articulate?" Y/N supplied helpfully, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

"That's one way to put it," Joshua said, managing a self-deprecating smile.

Y/N's gaze softened. "Hey, no worries. We all have our off days. Although," she added, glancing around the laundromat, "I'm not sure anyone's really on their A-game in a place like this. I mean, look at that guy over there."

Joshua followed her gaze to see a middle-aged man trying to stuff what looked like an entire month’s worth of clothes into a single washing machine.

"I think he's trying to create a black hole of socks and underwear," Y/N stage-whispered. "Should we alert NASA?"

Joshua snorted, then quickly tried to cover it with a cough. He wasn't used to finding things genuinely funny, especially not in a laundromat of all places. But something about Y/N's observations and the way she delivered them with such casual humor was infectious.

"Maybe he's conducting an experiment on the compression capabilities of cotton blend fabrics," Joshua found himself saying.

Y/N's eyes widened in mock seriousness. "Of course! How could we have missed it? Clearly, we're witnessing groundbreaking laundry science in action."

They both burst into laughter, drawing curious glances from other patrons. Joshua felt a mix of exhilaration and embarrassment. He wasn't used to being the center of attention, but with Y/N, it somehow felt... right.

"So, Joshua the Laundry Doer," Y/N said once their laughter had subsided, "since you're clearly an expert in all things wash and fold, any other tips for a hapless stain-battler like myself?"

Joshua's mind raced. This was his chance to impress her, to show off his knowledge. But as he opened his mouth to launch into a detailed explanation of stain-removal techniques, he caught sight of the playful glint in her eye. She wasn't really looking for a lecture on laundry. She was teasing him, keeping the banter going.

For a moment, panic threatened to overwhelm him. He wasn't good at this kind of thing. Flirting, joking around—it wasn't in his usual repertoire. But something about Y/N made him want to try.

"Well," he said, affecting a serious tone, "as a certified laundry professional—"

"Oh, you're certified now?" Y/N interjected, raising an eyebrow.

"Absolutely. I have a degree in Sock Pairing from the prestigious University of Wash and Tumble Dry."

Y/N gasped dramatically. "I've heard of that place! Isn't their mascot the Fighting Lint Roller?"

Joshua felt a grin spreading across his face. He was doing it. He was actually engaging in witty banter. With a beautiful woman. In a laundromat. If his friends could see him now, they'd never believe it.

"That's the one," he confirmed. "Our battle cry is 'We'll press your buttons!'"

Y/N doubled over laughing, clutching her sides. "Oh my god, stop," she wheezed. "I can't breathe!"

Joshua felt a surge of pride. He'd done that. He'd made her laugh so hard she could barely breathe. It was a heady feeling, one he wanted to experience again and again.

As Y/N's laughter subsided, she wiped a tear from her eye. "Oh, man. I haven't laughed like that in ages. You, Joshua Hong, are dangerously funny. They should put a warning label on you."

Joshua felt his cheeks heat up at the compliment. "I, uh, thanks. You're pretty funny yourself."

Y/N waved a hand dismissively. "Nah, I just state the obvious. The world's a pretty ridiculous place if you pay attention." She glanced down at the shirt in her hand, then back at Joshua. "Speaking of ridiculous, I should probably actually try to wash this thing before it becomes sentient and decides to take over my wardrobe."

"Right, of course," Joshua said, suddenly remembering why they were both there in the first place. He glanced around, spotting an empty washing machine a few feet away. "There's a free machine over there if you need one."

Y/N followed his gaze and grinned. "My hero! Saving me from the horrors of waiting for a free washer. Truly, your laundry powers know no bounds."

As they walked over to the empty machine, Joshua felt a mix of emotions swirling in his chest. He was elated at having met Y/N, at the easy way they'd fallen into conversation. But there was also a twinge of sadness. Once she started her laundry, she'd probably go sit down, maybe read a book or play on her phone like most people did. Their interaction would be over, just a brief, bright moment in an otherwise ordinary day.

Y/N opened the washing machine and started loading her clothes, chattering away as she did so. "You know, I've always wondered why they make these things so deep. Are they expecting us to wash a family of four's entire wardrobe in one go? Or maybe it's for people who only do laundry once a year and need to fit everything they own in here."

Joshua chuckled, leaning against the adjacent machine. "Maybe it's in case you need to hide from the Laundry Police."

Y/N paused in her loading, a pair of jeans dangling from her hand as she turned to look at him. "The Laundry Police?"

"Oh, you know," Joshua said, warming to his theme, "they patrol laundromats, making sure no one's mixing their colors and whites. Very strict about fabric softener usage too."

A slow grin spread across Y/N's face. "Let me guess, their motto is 'To protect and pre-treat'?"

"Exactly!" Joshua exclaimed, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. He quickly tried to rein in his excitement, reminding himself that he was supposed to be playing it cool. "I mean, uh, yeah. Something like that."

Y/N's expression softened, and she tilted her head slightly as she looked at him. For a moment, Joshua thought he saw something in her eyes—a flicker of interest, maybe? But before he could analyze it further, she turned back to her laundry.

"Well, in that case, I'd better be extra careful," she said, her tone light. "I'd hate to get arrested for improper sock sorting."

As Y/N finished loading her clothes and closed the washing machine door, Joshua realized with a start that he hadn't even begun to do his own laundry. He'd been so caught up in talking to Y/N that he'd completely forgotten why he was there in the first place.

"Oh, shoot," he muttered, glancing around for another empty machine.

"Everything okay?" Y/N asked, pausing with her hand on the detergent dispenser.

"Yeah, just... I kind of forgot to actually start my own laundry," Joshua admitted, feeling his cheeks heat up again.

Y/N's eyes crinkled with amusement. "The laundry expert forgot to do his laundry? Oh, how the mighty have fallen."

Joshua ran a hand through his hair, chuckling despite his embarrassment. "I guess I got a little distracted."

Something flickered in Y/N's eyes at that, but it was gone so quickly Joshua wasn't sure if he'd imagined it. She glanced around the laundromat, then pointed to a machine in the corner. "There's one over there if you want to get started. Unless..." She hesitated for a moment, then continued, "Unless you want to share? I've got plenty of room in here, and it'll save you some quarters."

Joshua's heart leapt at the suggestion. Sharing a machine meant they'd have a reason to stay together, to keep talking. But he didn't want to seem too eager.

"Are you sure?" he asked, trying to keep his voice casual. "I wouldn't want to impose."

Y/N rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Please, it's a washing machine, not a kidney. Besides," she added with a wink, "I could use someone to protect me if the Laundry Police show up."

And just like that, Joshua's resolve to play it cool crumbled. He grinned, already reaching for his laundry bag. "Well, when you put it like that, how can I refuse?"

As they loaded their clothes into the machine together, their hands occasionally brushing, Joshua felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the humid laundromat air. He snuck glances at Y/N, taking in the way she hummed softly to herself as she worked, the little furrow that appeared between her brows when she concentrated on measuring the detergent.

Y/N caught him looking and raised an eyebrow. "What? Do I have detergent on my face or something?"

"No, no," Joshua said quickly. "I was just... thinking."

"Dangerous pastime," Y/N quipped.

"I know," Joshua replied automatically, then blinked in surprise. "Wait, did you just quote 'Beauty and the Beast'?"

Y/N's face lit up. "You caught that? Most people miss it!"

"Are you kidding? It's only one of the best Disney movies ever made," Joshua said, his usual reserve forgotten in his enthusiasm.

"Agreed!" Y/N exclaimed. "Talking furniture, a library to die for, and a heroine who's more interested in books than boys? Sign me up!"

As they finished loading the machine and Y/N started the cycle, Joshua felt a sense of contentment wash over him. Here he was, doing something as mundane as laundry, and yet he couldn't remember the last time he'd enjoyed himself this much.

Y/N turned to him, a mischievous glint in her eye. "So, Laundry Master, what do you usually do while waiting for your clothes to wash? Let me guess, you have a special meditation technique for achieving perfect fabric softness?"

Joshua laughed, shaking his head. "Nothing so exciting, I'm afraid. Usually, I just sit and work on my laptop or read a book."

"Ah, a man of simple pleasures," Y/N nodded sagely. "Well, how about we shake things up a bit? I've got a deck of cards in my bag. Fancy a game? I warn you though, I'm undefeated in Go Fish."

"Go Fish? Really?" Joshua asked, amused.

Y/N shrugged, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "What can I say? I'm a woman of sophisticated tastes."

As Y/N rummaged in her bag for the cards, Joshua marveled at the turn his day had taken. He'd come here expecting nothing more than clean clothes and maybe a chance to catch up on some work. Instead, he'd met Y/N—funny, beautiful, ridiculous Y/N—and now he was about to play Go Fish in a laundromat like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Y/N triumphantly produced a battered deck of cards from her bag. "Aha! Prepare to be thoroughly trounced, Joshua Hong. Your laundry expertise won't save you now!"

As they settled into a game, the rhythmic tumble of the washing machine providing a soothing backdrop, Joshua couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, his orderly life could use a little chaos. And if that chaos came in the form of a beautiful woman with a penchant for terrible puns and children's card games, well... he was more than okay with that.

It was, he decided, the best laundry day ever.

Joshua Hong had never considered himself a schemer. In fact, he prided himself on his straightforward nature. But as he sat in his apartment the day after his fateful meeting with Y/N, he found himself plotting like a character in one of those romantic comedies his sister was always trying to get him to watch.

"Okay, Algorithm," he said to his cat, who was perched on the arm of the couch, watching him with typical feline indifference. "We need a plan."

Algorithm yawned in response.

"Thanks for the enthusiasm," Joshua muttered. He pulled out a notebook and began to scribble furiously. "Step one: Figure out Y/N's laundry schedule."

He tapped his pen against his chin, thinking. "She mentioned she usually does laundry on Saturdays, but not every week. So maybe... every other week? Or possibly every third week?"

Algorithm meowed and jumped off the couch, apparently bored with Joshua's romantic strategizing.

"You're right," Joshua sighed. "I'm overthinking this. I'll just have to stake out the laundromat every Saturday for a while. That's totally normal and not creepy at all, right?"

Silence greeted his question.

"Right," he answered himself. "Perfectly normal."

And so began Operation Laundry Love, as Joshua had dubbed it in his head (though he'd die before admitting that to anyone else).

The next Saturday, Joshua found himself at Suds & Bubbles, a bag of laundry in hand despite having done his washing just the week before. He'd had to dig into his "emergency clothes" drawer to have enough to justify a trip.

As he pushed open the door, his heart sank. No Y/N. The laundromat was occupied by the usual Saturday crowd: a harried-looking mother with three small children, an elderly man reading a newspaper, and a college student who appeared to be using the dryer as a makeshift desk for her laptop.

Joshua sighed and resigned himself to actually doing his unnecessary laundry. As he loaded his clothes into the machine, he couldn't help but smile, remembering how he and Y/N had shared a washer the week before.

"You look happy for someone doing laundry," a voice behind him said.

Joshua whirled around, his heart leaping into his throat. But it wasn't Y/N. Instead, he found himself face-to-face with the elderly man, who had set aside his newspaper and was now regarding Joshua with amusement.

"Oh, uh, I just... really like clean clothes?" Joshua offered weakly.

The old man chuckled. "Son, I've been coming to this laundromat for thirty years, and I've never seen anyone smile like that over a washing machine. Unless..." His eyes twinkled mischievously. "You wouldn't happen to be waiting for someone, would you?"

Joshua felt heat creep up his neck. "What? No, I'm just... doing laundry. Like normal. Because it's a normal thing to do. Normally."

"Mm-hmm," the old man nodded, clearly unconvinced. "Well, I hope your 'normal laundry' shows up soon."

As the man shuffled back to his seat, Joshua groaned internally. Was he really that transparent?

The answer, as it turned out over the next few weeks, was a resounding yes.

Every Saturday, Joshua found himself at Suds & Bubbles, armed with increasingly creative excuses for why he suddenly needed to do laundry so frequently.

"I spilled an entire pot of spaghetti sauce on myself," he told the amused attendant one week.

"My cat decided my closet was his new litter box," he explained to the harried mother the next.

By the fourth Saturday, he'd run out of plausible excuses and was seriously considering actually spilling something on all his clothes just to justify his presence.

It was on this fourth Saturday, as Joshua was contemplating the merits of "accidentally" upending a bottle of ketchup on himself, that the bell above the door chimed. He looked up, more out of habit than hope at this point, and nearly dropped the detergent he was holding.

There, silhouetted in the doorway like some laundry-bearing angel, was Y/N.

She was wearing faded jeans and a t-shirt that proclaimed "I'm not procrastinating, I'm doing side quests," her hair once again in its chaotic bun. To Joshua, she had never looked more beautiful.

Y/N spotted him almost immediately, her face breaking into a grin. "Well, well, well," she said, sauntering over. "If it isn't the Laundry Master himself. We've got to stop meeting like this, people will talk."

Joshua, who had been mentally rehearsing casual greetings for weeks, found himself suddenly tongue-tied. "I, uh... hi," he managed.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Wow, they really should put a warning label on you. 'Caution: Excessive wit may cause spontaneous combustion.'"

That broke through Joshua's panic, and he felt a grin tugging at his lips. "Sorry, I left my witty retorts in my other pants. I'm here to wash them."

Y/N laughed, the sound cutting through the monotonous hum of the washing machines. "There he is! I was worried the Laundry Police had gotten to you and stolen your sense of humor."

"Nah, they just put it through the spin cycle. It's a little dizzy, but intact."

"Oh, good," Y/N nodded seriously. "A dizzy sense of humor is a small price to pay for clean clothes and freedom from laundry-based tyranny."

As they bantered, Joshua felt the tension leaving his shoulders. This was why he'd been coming back week after week, enduring knowing looks from the regulars and inventing increasingly ridiculous laundry emergencies. Not just because Y/N was beautiful (though she absolutely was), but because talking to her felt as natural as breathing.

"So," Y/N said as she started loading her laundry into a machine, "do you always do your laundry on Saturdays, or am I just lucky enough to catch you during your weekly sock-sorting séance?"

Joshua froze for a split second. This was it, the moment of truth. He could confess that he'd been coming here every week in the hopes of seeing her again. Or...

"Oh, you know," he said, aiming for casual and probably overshooting into 'trying way too hard to sound casual', "laundry emergencies wait for no man. Or woman. Or... person of any gender, really."

Y/N's eyes narrowed slightly, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Laundry emergencies, huh? Sounds serious. What was it this time? Rogue red sock in with the whites? Denim uprising?"

"Actually," Joshua said, warming to his theme, "it was a catastrophic coffee spill. My entire wardrobe now smells like a coffee shop."

Y/N nodded solemnly. "Ah, yes. The dreaded Cappucino Fiasco. I've seen it claim many a good outfit. You were wise to seek help immediately."

As they continued to load their respective machines, Joshua marveled at how easy it was to fall into rhythm with Y/N. They moved around each other seamlessly, passing detergent and fabric softener back and forth without a word, as if they'd been doing this dance for years instead of having met only a few weeks ago.

"So," Y/N said as she closed the door of her washing machine with a flourish, "what's your strategy for killing time while the laundry gods work their magic? Please tell me it's more exciting than last time. If you pull out a deck of cards again, I might have to report you to the Fun Police."

Joshua grinned. "I'll have you know that Go Fish is a game of intense strategy and skill."

"Uh-huh," Y/N nodded, clearly unconvinced. "And I'm the Queen of Sheba."

"Your Majesty," Joshua said with an exaggerated bow.

Y/N laughed, then grabbed his arm and started pulling him towards the door. "Come on, Laundry Boy. There's a coffee shop next door that does a mean latte. I think we can risk leaving our clothes unattended for a few minutes. Unless you're worried the Sock Gnomes will strike?"

Joshua allowed himself to be led, his arm tingling where Y/N was touching it. "Sock Gnomes are no laughing matter," he said seriously. "They're a menace to matched pairs everywhere."

The coffee shop, as it turned out, was a tiny hole-in-the-wall place that looked like it had been decorated by someone's eccentric grandmother. Mismatched chairs surrounded wobbly tables, and the walls were covered in a truly bewildering array of artwork, ranging from serene landscapes to what appeared to be a portrait of a cat dressed as Napoleon.

"Wow," Joshua said as they entered, the scent of coffee and freshly baked pastries enveloping them. "This place is..."

"A glorious affront to interior design?" Y/N supplied helpfully.

"I was going to say 'unique', but yeah, that works too."

They ordered their drinks - a simple black coffee for Joshua and something that sounded more like a dessert than a beverage for Y/N - and settled at a table in the corner. The chair Joshua sat in promptly made an ominous creaking sound.

"Don't worry," Y/N said, noticing his concerned look. "If it collapses, I promise to laugh only a little before calling for help."

"Your kindness knows no bounds," Joshua deadpanned.

As they sipped their drinks, the conversation flowed as easily as it had in the laundromat. They discovered a shared love of terrible puns, a mutual disdain for people who talk in movie theaters, and a surprising amount of overlap in their taste in music.

"No way," Y/N said, her eyes wide. "You like The Microphones too? I thought I was the only person under 40 who'd heard of them!"

Joshua nodded enthusiastically. "They're amazing! 'The Glow Pt. 2' is one of my all-time favorite albums."

"Okay, that settles it," Y/N declared. "We're officially friends now. I don't make the rules."

Joshua felt a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with the coffee. "Friends, huh? Do I get a membership card or something?"

"Better," Y/N grinned. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a slightly squashed packet of gum. With great ceremony, she extracted a piece and presented it to Joshua. "I hereby bestow upon you the Gum of Friendship. Guard it well."

Joshua accepted the gum with equal solemnity. "I shall treasure it always," he vowed, then promptly unwrapped it and popped it in his mouth.

Y/N gasped in mock horror. "The sacred Gum of Friendship! You've destroyed it!"

"I'm savoring our friendship," Joshua countered. "It's minty fresh."

They dissolved into laughter, earning curious looks from the other patrons. Joshua couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed this much. Being with Y/N was like being caught in the best kind of whirlwind - exhilarating, unpredictable, and utterly delightful.

As their laughter subsided, Y/N glanced at her watch and yelped. "Oh shoot, our laundry! We've been here for almost an hour!"

They hurried back to the laundromat, half-expecting to find their clothes strewn across the floor or absconded with by the mythical Sock Gnomes. But everything was just as they'd left it, their machines humming away peacefully.

"Crisis averted," Y/N sighed dramatically. "Though I have to say, part of me was looking forward to staging a daring rescue mission for our captured clothes."

Joshua grinned. "Maybe next time. I'll bring my laundry-themed superhero costume."

"Oh? And what would that look like?" Y/N asked, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Well, obviously a cape made of dryer sheets," Joshua began, warming to the ridiculous idea. "A utility belt stocked with stain removers for every occasion. Oh, and a mask that looks like one of those mesh laundry bags."

Y/N nodded approvingly. "Don't forget the catchphrase. Every good superhero needs a catchphrase."

"How about... 'It's time to clean up this mess!'" Joshua suggested, lowering his voice to a gravelly superhero register.

Y/N burst out laughing. "Perfect! Watch out, evil-doers. The Laundry Avenger is here to take you to the cleaners!"

As they continued to riff on increasingly absurd laundry-themed superhero ideas, Joshua marveled at how comfortable he felt. Usually, prolonged social interaction left him drained, but with Y/N, he felt energized, like he could keep talking for hours.

All too soon, their laundry was done, and they found themselves standing outside Suds & Bubbles, clean clothes in hand.

"Well," Y/N said, shifting her laundry bag to her other shoulder, "this was fun. Who knew doing laundry could be such an adventure?"

Joshua nodded, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. He didn't want this to end. "Yeah, it was great. Maybe we could, uh..." He trailed off, suddenly unsure.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

Joshua took a deep breath. It was now or never. "Maybe we could do this again sometime? The laundry thing, I mean. And the coffee. Or, you know, just hanging out. If you want."

Y/N's face broke into a wide grin. "Joshua Hong, are you asking me on a laundry date?"

"Maybe?" Joshua said, then, gathering his courage, "Yes. Yes, I am."

"Well, in that case," Y/N said, pretending to consider it seriously, "I suppose I could pencil you in for my next laundry day. Someone's got to make sure you don't fall victim to the Sock Gnomes, after all."

Joshua felt like his heart might burst. "It's a date. A laundry date."

As they parted ways, Joshua couldn't keep the grin off his face. He'd done it. He'd successfully engineered an "accidental" meeting, and even better, he'd secured another one.

Operation Laundry Love, he decided, was a resounding success.

Little did he know, Y/N was walking away with a similar grin on her face, thinking to herself, "I wonder if he realizes I don't usually do my laundry on Saturdays?"

But that, as they say, is a story for another load of laundry.

The next few weeks passed in a blur of laundry detergent, coffee dates, and increasingly elaborate excuses for Joshua's constant presence at Suds & Bubbles. He had become something of a legend among the regular patrons, who watched his blossoming relationship with Y/N with the rapt attention usually reserved for soap operas.

"What's the crisis this week, son?" Mr. Jenkins, the elderly man who had first caught onto Joshua's scheme, asked one Saturday.

Joshua, who had just arrived and was scanning the laundromat for any sign of Y/N, startled at the question. "Oh, uh... paint," he said, grabbing wildly at the first excuse that came to mind. "Lots of paint. Everywhere. I'm thinking of taking up abstract expressionism."

Mr. Jenkins nodded sagely. "Ah, yes. A noble pursuit. Though I must say, your clothes look remarkably clean for someone covered in paint."

Joshua glanced down at his spotless jeans and t-shirt, realizing his mistake too late. "I... changed before coming here?"

"Of course, of course," Mr. Jenkins said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "And I'm sure it has nothing to do with the charming young lady you've been meeting here every week."

Before Joshua could stammer out a response, the bell above the door chimed. He turned, his heart doing its now-familiar leap as Y/N walked in.

She was wearing a sundress today, her hair for once free of its usual chaotic bun and falling in waves around her shoulders. Joshua felt his breath catch in his throat.

Y/N spotted him and grinned, making her way over. "Well, if it isn't my favorite laundry buddy," she said. "What's the disaster today? Attacked by a rogue sprinkler system? Fell into a vat of maple syrup?"

Joshua, still a bit dazed by her appearance, blurted out, "Paint."

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Paint?"

"Uh, yeah," Joshua said, committing to the lie. "I'm taking up abstract expressionism."

Y/N's eyes lit up with mischief. "Oh really? And here I thought you were more of a performance art kind of guy. You know, the kind where you keep showing up at a laundromat week after week, pretending to have laundry emergencies."

Joshua felt his face heat up. "I... what? No, I just... I mean..."

Y/N laughed, the sound bright and clear in the humming atmosphere of the laundromat. "Relax, Joshua. I'm just teasing. Though I have to admit, I am curious about this sudden interest in art. Care to elaborate while we wait for our clothes to wash?"

Still a bit flustered, Joshua nodded. As they loaded their machines (Joshua had actually brought laundry this time, having run out of clean clothes due to his frequent "emergencies"), he found himself spinning an increasingly complex tale about his newfound passion for abstract art.

"So there I was," he said, warming to his theme, "staring at this blank canvas, when suddenly I was struck by inspiration. I grabbed the nearest paint can and just... let loose."

Y/N nodded solemnly. "As one does. And the paint just happened to get all over your clothes in the process?"

"Exactly!" Joshua said, relieved that she seemed to be buying it. "You know how it is with artistic passion. Sometimes you just can't contain it."

"Mm-hmm," Y/N hummed, her eyes sparkling with barely contained laughter. "And what, pray tell, was the subject of this masterpiece?"

Joshua, who knew about as much about art as he did about deep-sea fishing, panicked. "It was... a commentary on the existential dread of modern laundry practices?"

There was a beat of silence, and then Y/N burst out laughing. "Oh my god," she wheezed, clutching her sides. "That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard, and I love it. Please tell me you're going to display this masterpiece in a gallery. I would pay good money to see a painting about the existential dread of laundry."

Joshua, realizing he'd been caught out, couldn't help but join in her laughter. "Alright, alright," he admitted once they'd both calmed down a bit. "I may have exaggerated the paint situation a tiny bit."

"A tiny bit?" Y/N asked, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. "Joshua Hong, I do believe you've been telling me tall tales. I'm shocked. Shocked and appalled."

"Would it help if I said I was inspired by your artistic influence?" Joshua offered, grinning.

Y/N pretended to consider this. "Hmm, flattery will get you everywhere. But I think you owe me a coffee for this blatant deception. And maybe a painting about laundry-based existential dread."

"Deal," Joshua said, relieved that she seemed more amused than annoyed by his fib. "Though I warn you, my artistic skills are limited to stick figures and the occasional smiley face."

"Perfect," Y/N declared. "I expect nothing less than a masterpiece of stick figure angst surrounded by washing machines. You have one week to deliver, Mr. Hong."

As they made their way to what had become their usual table at the coffee shop next door, Joshua marveled at how comfortable he felt with Y/N. The nervousness that had plagued him during their first few meetings had given way to an easy camaraderie, punctuated by their shared love of terrible jokes and pop culture references.

"So," Y/N said once they were settled with their drinks (a simple latte for Joshua, and something that seemed to consist mostly of whipped cream and caramel for Y/N), "now that we've established your budding career as an abstract expressionist, what's really been going on with you this week?"

Joshua, caught off guard by the sincere question, found himself answering honestly. "Oh, you know, the usual. Work's been pretty hectic. We're launching a new software update next month, so everyone's been pulling long hours."

Y/N nodded sympathetically. "Sounds stressful. Is that why you've been coming to the laundromat so often? Blowing off steam by cleaning your clothes?"

There was something in her tone, a hint of... what? Hope? Curiosity? Joshua couldn't quite place it, but it made his heart rate pick up.

"Well, that's part of it," he admitted, deciding to take a risk. "But mostly... I've been hoping to run into you."

Y/N's eyes widened slightly, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "Oh," she said softly. Then, a smile spreading across her face, "You know, you could have just asked for my number. It would have saved you a fortune in quarters."

Joshua groaned, burying his face in his hands. "I know, I know. I just... I wasn't sure if you'd want to hang out outside of our laundry days. And then it became this whole thing, and I didn't know how to bring it up without sounding like a complete weirdo."

Y/N reached across the table, gently pulling his hands away from his face. "Joshua," she said, her voice warm with affection, "you are a complete weirdo. But you're my kind of weirdo."

Joshua felt a surge of warmth in his chest. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Y/N confirmed. "Now, are you going to ask for my number like a normal person, or do I need to write it on a dryer sheet and hide it in your laundry?"

Laughing, Joshua pulled out his phone. As they exchanged numbers, he felt as though a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. No more elaborate excuses, no more anxiously waiting at the laundromat hoping Y/N would show up.

"So," he said once their numbers were safely stored in each other's phones, "now that we've entered the digital age, what do you want to do for our next non-laundry related hangout?"

Y/N's eyes lit up. "Oh, I have the perfect idea! There's this new escape room place that just opened up downtown. The theme is... wait for it... a haunted laundromat!"

Joshua blinked. "You're kidding."

"Nope!" Y/N said, grinning. "It's called 'Spin Cycle of Terror.' Apparently, you have to solve puzzles related to missing socks, detergent bottle clues, and a vengeful dryer spirit. It's supposed to be hilariously bad."

"That sounds absolutely terrible," Joshua said. Then, unable to keep the smile off his face, "When do we go?"

Y/N clapped her hands in excitement. "I knew you'd be up for it! How about next Saturday? Unless you have another painting emergency, of course."

"I think I can clear my schedule," Joshua said dryly. "Though I may need to stock up on laundry-themed good luck charms. You never know when a vengeful dryer spirit might strike."

As they continued to chat, making plans for their upcoming escape room adventure, Joshua found himself marveling at the turn his life had taken. A month ago, he would never have imagined himself looking forward to a cheesy haunted laundromat experience. But with Y/N, even the most ridiculous activities seemed like the best way to spend an evening.

The week leading up to their escape room date (and Joshua's heart did a little flip every time he thought of it as a date) passed in a flurry of text messages. Y/N, it turned out, was a prolific texter, sending Joshua everything from random song lyrics to photos of particularly interesting clouds to long, rambling messages about her day.

Joshua, who had never been much for texting, found himself eagerly checking his phone at every opportunity, just in case Y/N had sent something new.

"Dude, what's got you so smiley?" his coworker, Hoshi's, asked one day after catching Joshua grinning at his phone for the third time in an hour.

"Oh, uh, nothing," Joshua said, hastily putting his phone away. "Just... a funny meme."

Hoshi's raised an eyebrow. "A funny meme that's been making you check your phone every five minutes for the past week? Come on, spill. You've met someone, haven't you?"

Joshua felt his face heat up. "Maybe," he admitted.

Hoshi's whooped, drawing curious glances from their other coworkers. "I knew it! Our little Joshua is all grown up and in love. So, who's the lucky lady? Or gentleman? Or non-binary individual?"

"Her name is Y/N," Joshua said, unable to keep the smile off his face. "We met at the laundromat."

Hoshi's's eyebrows shot up. "The laundromat? Seriously? Man, and here I thought all those cheesy rom-coms were lying to us. Good for you, buddy. When do we get to meet her?"

The question caught Joshua off guard. He and Y/N had been in their own little bubble for the past few weeks, but the idea of introducing her to his friends and coworkers made everything feel suddenly more real.

"I... don't know," he admitted. "We're still figuring things out."

Hoshi's nodded understandingly. "No pressure, man. Just know that when you're ready, we're all dying to meet the girl who's got you checking your phone like a lovesick teenager."

As Saturday approached, Joshua found himself growing increasingly nervous. This would be their first real date outside of the laundromat and coffee shop. What if things were awkward? What if the easy rapport they'd developed over shared loads of laundry didn't translate to other settings?

By the time Saturday evening rolled around, Joshua was a bundle of nerves. He changed his outfit three times before settling on a simple button-down shirt and jeans, then spent an inordinate amount of time trying to get his hair to cooperate.

"It's just Y/N," he told his reflection, trying to calm his racing heart. "You've seen her elbow-deep in dirty laundry. This is no big deal."

But as he arrived at the address Y/N had sent him, he couldn't shake the feeling that this was, in fact, a very big deal.

The escape room place was tucked between a trendy vegan restaurant and a vintage clothing store. A neon sign proclaimed "Spin Cycle of Terror" in lurid pink letters, complete with a cartoon ghost emerging from a washing machine.

Joshua was so busy staring at the sign, wondering what he'd gotten himself into, that he didn't notice Y/N approaching until she was right beside him.

"Pretty epic, right?" she said, making him jump.

"Y/N! Hi! You... you look great," Joshua stammered, taking in her appearance. She was wearing a dress patterned with tiny washing machines and bubbles, her hair pulled back in a messy bun with what appeared to be a clothespin.

Y/N did a little twirl. "You like? I figured if we're going to face a vengeful dryer spirit, we might as well dress the part."

Joshua laughed, feeling some of his nervousness dissipate. "It's perfect. I feel underdressed now. I should have at least worn a shirt with a sock pattern or something."

"Next time," Y/N said with a wink. "Now come on, we've got some laundry-based puzzles to solve!"

As they entered the escape room, Joshua was hit with a wave of artificial lavender scent. The room was set up to look like the world's most over-the-top laundromat, complete with washing machines that seemed to be made entirely of glitter and dryers that emitted an ominous red glow.

"Welcome to the Spin Cycle of Terror," a bored-looking employee droned, clearly having repeated this speech many times. "You have one hour to solve the mystery of the missing socks and appease the vengeful spirit of Agatha Cleanpress, the laundromat's former owner. Failure to do so will result in you being cursed to fold fitted sheets for all eternity."

"Jokes on them," Y/N whispered to Joshua. "I already can't fold fitted sheets."

Joshua snorted, earning a glare from the employee.

"Your time starts... now," the employee said, hitting a button that started a comically large timer on the wall.

What followed was an hour of the most ridiculous, pun-filled, laundry-themed puzzle-solving Joshua had ever experienced. They deciphered clues hidden in detergent bottles, played a memory game with different types of stains, and even had to perform what the instructions called a "sock puppet séance" to communicate with Agatha's spirit.

Throughout it all, Joshua found himself laughing more than he had in years. Y/N attacked each puzzle with enthusiasm, her running commentary on the increasingly absurd challenges keeping Joshua in stitches.

"Oh come on," she exclaimed at one point, elbow-deep in a bin of mismatched socks. "How is this even a puzzle? This is just my normal laundry experience!"

As the final seconds ticked down, they found themselves facing the last challenge: a riddle that would supposedly reveal the location of Agatha's missing lucky sock and put her spirit to rest.

"I am not alive, but I grow; I don't have lungs, but I need air; I don't have a mouth, but water kills me. What am I?" Y/N read aloud.

They looked at each other, momentarily stumped.

"Not alive but grows... needs air... water kills it," Joshua muttered, running a hand through his hair.

Y/N's eyes suddenly lit up. "Fire!" she exclaimed. "It's fire!"

They looked around frantically, spotting a cardboard fireplace in the corner that they had dismissed earlier as mere set dressing.

Racing over, they found a hidden compartment containing a single, sparkly sock.

"We did it!" Y/N cheered, just as the timer buzzed.

The room was suddenly filled with the sound of canned applause, and a holographic image of a ghostly old woman appeared.

"Congratulations," the 'ghost' said in a voice that sounded suspiciously like the bored employee who had greeted them. "You have solved the mystery and found my lucky sock. You are now free from the curse of eternal fitted sheet folding. Please exit through the gift shop."

As they emerged from the escape room, still high on their victory, Joshua felt a surge of affection for Y/N. Her hair had come partly loose from its bun, her cheeks were flushed with excitement, and she was clutching the sparkly sock they'd been allowed to keep as a souvenir.

"That," Y/N declared, "was the most ridiculously awesome thing I've ever done."

"It really was," Joshua agreed, still grinning. He hesitated for a moment, then added, "You know, I never thought I'd have this much fun pretending to be cursed by a laundromat ghost."

Y/N bumped her shoulder against his playfully. "See? This is why you need me in your life. To introduce you to the wonderful world of laundry-based entertainment."

As they walked out onto the street, the cool evening air a refreshing change from the lavender-scented escape room, Joshua felt a surge of courage.

"Hey," he said, his heart racing, "do you want to grab some dinner? I mean, if you're not sick of me after an hour of sock sorting and ghost appeasing."

Y/N's face lit up. "Are you kidding? After all that excitement, I'm starving. Plus, I think we need to celebrate our victory over Agatha Cleanpress. Any ideas?"

Joshua thought for a moment, then grinned. "Actually, I know just the place. How do you feel about continuing our laundry theme?"

Y/N raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Color me curious, Mr. Hong. Lead the way!"

Twenty minutes later, they found themselves standing in front of a small, quirky restaurant called "The Soap Suds Café."

"No way," Y/N breathed, taking in the washing machine-shaped menu boards and the waitstaff dressed in what appeared to be high-fashion interpretations of laundromat uniforms. "This is amazing. How did you even know about this place?"

Joshua rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly feeling a bit sheepish. "I, uh, may have done some research on laundry-themed attractions in the area. You know, just in case."

Y/N turned to him, her eyes sparkling with amusement and something else... was that fondness? "Joshua Hong, you continue to surprise me. And here I thought I was the queen of ridiculous themed experiences."

As they were led to their table - a booth made to look like the inside of a front-loading washing machine - Joshua felt a warm glow of satisfaction. He'd managed to impress Y/N, to make her smile that radiant smile that never failed to make his heart skip a beat.

The menu, as it turned out, was just as themed as the decor. Appetizers were listed under "Pre-Wash Cycle," main courses under "Heavy Duty Wash," and desserts under "Fluff and Fold."

"I can't believe this place exists," Y/N said, giggling as she perused the menu. "Oh my god, they have a cocktail called 'Fabric Softener.' I don't know whether to be impressed or terrified."

"Why not both?" Joshua suggested. "I'm leaning towards the 'Spin Cycle Spritzer' myself."

As they ordered their meals (Y/N chose the "Delicate Wash Delight," a surprisingly elegant salad, while Joshua went for the "Heavy Duty Burger"), they fell into easy conversation, recounting their favorite moments from the escape room.

"I still can't believe you managed to untangle that giant knot of sheets so quickly," Y/N said, shaking her head in admiration. "If laundry folding was an Olympic sport, you'd definitely take the gold."

Joshua felt his cheeks warm at the praise. "Well, I had a pretty great partner. Your sock puppet séance was a thing of beauty. I think you might have missed your calling as a laundry medium."

Y/N struck a dramatic pose. "What can I say? The spirits of lost socks speak to me. It's both a gift and a curse."

As their food arrived (served on plates designed to look like old-fashioned washboards), Joshua found himself marveling at how comfortable he felt. Here he was, in a ridiculous laundry-themed restaurant, with a woman he'd met only a few weeks ago, and yet it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

"You know," Y/N said, pausing in her attack on her salad, "I have a confession to make."

Joshua felt a flutter of nervousness in his stomach. "Oh?"

Y/N nodded, a mischievous glint in her eye. "I don't actually do my laundry every Saturday."

Joshua blinked, processing this information. "You... don't?"

"Nope," Y/N said, popping the 'p'. "I usually do it on Sundays. But after we met that first time, I started coming on Saturdays. You know, just in case a certain software developer with a penchant for laundry emergencies happened to show up."

Joshua felt his jaw drop. "You mean... all this time..."

Y/N grinned. "Yep. Looks like we were both playing the 'accidental' meeting game. Although I have to say, your excuses were way more creative than mine. I just pretended to have a very messy lifestyle."

For a moment, Joshua was speechless. Then, he burst out laughing. "I can't believe it," he managed between chuckles. "Here I was, thinking I was being so clever."

Y/N joined in his laughter. "Hey, you were! I was impressed by your dedication. The paint excuse was particularly inspired."

As their laughter subsided, Joshua felt a wave of affection wash over him. "You know," he said softly, "you could have just asked for my number too."

Y/N's smile turned a bit shy. "I know. But where's the fun in that? Besides, I kind of liked our laundry day meetups. They were... special."

Joshua nodded, understanding completely. There was something magical about those Saturdays, something that might have been lost if they'd rushed into regular dating too quickly.

"Well," he said, raising his 'Spin Cycle Spritzer', "here's to laundry emergencies, escape rooms, and ridiculously themed restaurants."

Y/N clinked her 'Fabric Softener' against his glass. "And to new beginnings that smell like lavender detergent."

As they continued their meal, the conversation flowed easily from topic to topic. They discovered a shared love of obscure indie bands, debated the merits of various streaming services, and somehow ended up in a heated but good-natured argument about the best way to organize a bookshelf.

"I'm telling you," Y/N insisted, gesturing with a forkful of salad, "organizing by color is the way to go. It's aesthetically pleasing and makes your bookshelf look like a rainbow!"

Joshua shook his head, grinning. "But how do you find anything? What if you can't remember what color the book cover is?"

"That's half the fun!" Y/N exclaimed. "It's like a treasure hunt every time you want to read something."

As Joshua opened his mouth to retort, he was struck by a sudden realization. He could see himself having this exact debate years from now, in a shared apartment, surrounded by a mix of his meticulously organized books and Y/N's color-coded chaos. The thought should have terrified him - Joshua had always been cautious about relationships, preferring the safety of his orderly life. But instead, he felt a warm glow of contentment.

"Earth to Joshua," Y/N's voice broke through his reverie. "You okay there? You looked like you were a million miles away."

Joshua blinked, focusing back on Y/N's concerned face. "Sorry, I just... I was thinking about how much I'm enjoying this. Being here, with you."

Y/N's expression softened. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Joshua confirmed. Then, gathering his courage, he reached across the table and took her hand. "I really like you, Y/N. And not just because you make laundry day the highlight of my week."

Y/N turned her hand in his, interlacing their fingers. "I really like you too, Joshua. Even if you do have terrible ideas about bookshelf organization."

They shared a laugh, the tension of the moment breaking into something warm and comfortable.

As they finished their meal and stepped out into the cool night air, Joshua felt a sense of possibility that he hadn't experienced in years. Whatever this thing was between him and Y/N, wherever it might lead, he knew one thing for certain: his life would never be the same.

"So," Y/N said as they walked, their hands still linked, "same time next week at the laundromat?"

Joshua pretended to consider this. "I don't know, I might be busy. You know, with all my abstract expressionist paintings and laundry emergencies."

Y/N nudged him playfully. "Come on, I'll even let you borrow my lucky sock."

"Well, when you put it that way, how can I refuse?" Joshua said, grinning. Then, more seriously, "Although, maybe we could meet somewhere that doesn't involve washing machines next time? Not that I don't love our laundry adventures, but..."

"But it might be nice to see each other in a setting that doesn't smell like fabric softener?" Y/N finished for him.

"Exactly."

Y/N nodded, a soft smile playing on her lips. "I'd like that. Although I have to warn you, I may not be as charming without the backdrop of spin cycles and dryer sheets."

Joshua squeezed her hand gently. "Somehow, I doubt that."

As they reached the corner where they would have to part ways, Joshua felt a reluctance to let the evening end. "So, um, I'll text you? About our next non-laundry related hangout?"

Y/N nodded, her eyes twinkling. "You better. And who knows? If you play your cards right, I might even show you my color-coded bookshelf someday."

"I look forward to it," Joshua said, meaning it more than he'd ever meant anything in his life.

They stood there for a moment, neither wanting to be the first to say goodbye. Then, in a move that surprised even himself, Joshua leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Y/N's cheek.

"Goodnight, Y/N," he said softly as he pulled back, his heart racing.

Y/N's cheeks were flushed, but she was smiling wider than ever. "Goodnight, Joshua. Thanks for a wonderful evening."

As Joshua watched Y/N walk away, he touched his lips, still feeling the warmth of her cheek against them. He had come a long way from the man who had walked into Suds & Bubbles a few weeks ago, his life as orderly and predictable as his laundry routine.

Now, as he made his way home, Joshua felt as though his world had been turned upside down in the best possible way. His thoughts were a whirlwind of escape rooms and laundry puns, of shared laughter and intertwined fingers.

One thing was certain: Joshua Hong was falling, and falling hard. And for once in his life, he was perfectly happy to let the cycle run its course.

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