#someone forgot to start the rice | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

trickphotography2 · 5 months ago

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Rooster wasn't for you. You were opposites in so many ways - he was an extrovert to your introvert. The center of attention to your wallflower. You weren't interested in a one night stand, and he couldn't offer more. So his volunteering to help with Friendsgiving was just a friendly gesture after you returned from a deployment...right?

Word count: 7.8K

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“Just a minute!” you called, swiping a strand of hair from your face. The knocking stopped, and you quickly washed the flour from your hands, drying them on the towel thrown over your shoulder while heading to the door.

And there, standing on your front step as the sun started to rise, was Bradley. His normally styled curls were sleep-mussed, his grey t-shirt clinging to his arms and untucked from his Navy PT sweatpants. The smile on his face grew as he took you in - sweatpants, a baggy sweatshirt dotted with flour, fuzzy socks, and not a stitch of makeup. The difference from your normally put-together appearance was stark. “Morning, Duch.”

“You’re late.” Laughing, he held up a bag of microwavable frozen corn.

“Had to turn around when I forgot my contribution.” Rolling your eyes, you stepped back to let him in, watching to ensure he removed his shoes before following you into the kitchen.

“The turkey’s already thawed and in the sink. I just need you to clean it out, and I can take it from there.” Bradley nodded, tossing you the corn before going to the kitchen. You put it in the freezer and walked to the downstairs bathroom to wash your hands before resuming your spot at the counter, picking up your bread lame and staring at the unbaked loaf. A part of you wanted to do a simple score, knowing that it would just be eaten, but the hostess in you demanded a more intricate design. The indecision tore at you. To buy time, you sprinkled the top with more rice flour.

“Can you get me the trashcan?” Bradley asked, and you nodded, quickly abandoning your project. After you set it beside him and pulled off the cover, he tossed the netting and plastic. You couldn’t help but notice his biceps flex as he shifted the turkey. But you shrunk back when he reached into the cavity and pulled out the giblets and gravy package, shaking your head at his raised eyebrow. He discarded them as you braced yourself, nose scrunching when he removed the neck. “You alright there, Duch?” he teased.

“Gross.”

“It’s just a turkey neck,” he said, holding it closer to you. You jumped back.

“I will throat punch you if you touch me with that.” He laughed, edging it closer, and you raised a fist. There was a reason a condition of you hosting everyone for Friendsgiving was someone else cleaning the turkey.

“Didn’t take you for being squeamish.”

“You would be, too, if your grandpa chased you around the house with it when you were a kid, and you had to lock yourself in a bathroom to escape.” At his barked laugh, you shook your head. “I told that to my ex, and he thought it was funny to put it in his zipper and chase me around the house with it. If floppy dick isn’t attractive, a turkey neck sure as shit isn’t.”

Bradley choked on a laugh. For as prim and proper as you were at times - hence the callsign Duchess - you sometimes reminded everyone that you also had a military sense of humor. “Maybe you just haven’t seen the right ‘floppy dick,’” he smirked, dropping the neck into the trash.

Shrugging, you glanced away from him when the oven beeped, alerting that it was preheated. “You’re right. Bob probably has a pretty one.” A rosy flush crept up his cheeks as he turned back to the turkey and forced a laugh. Bradley didn’t want to hear that you were thinking about Bob’s dick. “Put it in this afterward, and I’ll dry it.” After dropping the roasting pan beside him, you rewashed your hands.

Standing in front of your bread, you bit your lip to keep from giggling as you contemplated scoring a dick into the dough but decided to go with a traditional wheat stalk. To your surprise, he grabbed the roll of paper towels by the sink and patted the turkey dry, even the cavity. As you removed the Dutch oven from the preheated oven, he tied up the trash bag and took it out. After putting the bread into the oven, you set the timer and moved to the sink, glancing at Bradley when he came back in. Standing beside you, he reached for the soap and lowered the water temperature before scrubbing his hands. Removing the hand towel from your shoulder, you draped it over his after drying your hands. “Thanks,” he murmured.

“Thanks for taking care of the turkey.” Standing by the island, you crouched to retrieve a cutting board. The sound of other cabinets closing made you peek over the countertop to see him rooting through the overhead storage. “Are you looking for something?”

“Coffee mugs.” Biting back a retort about making himself comfortable, you pointed to the right of the stove. You bit your tongue when he grabbed two mugs - including your favorite - and went to the wet bar where the full pot was finished brewing. Placing the cutting board on the counter, you grabbed a knife from the block and were surprised to see a mug of coffee beside your workstation. Murmuring your thanks, you grabbed the creamer from the fridge along with packages of herbs and butter. “What are you making?” Bradley asked.

“A marinade since I didn’t brine the turkey.”

“You want a hand?”

“I’ve got it,” you said automatically. “I’ve got a schedule.” He didn’t need to know that you were already behind after falling asleep on the couch early last night and forgetting to set your alarm. And he definitely didn’t need to know that you’d only been awake for 20 minutes before he arrived. If you put your head down and focused, everything would still be ready to eat at the agreed-upon 3:00 PM. Some of your time to get yourself ready would just have to be sacrificed. For some reason, you’d insisted that everyone dress nicely for Friendsgiving. Wearing a uniform almost every day didn’t give you any opportunities to dress up, and sometimes it felt nice to wear something other than jeans and a t-shirt.

Setting your tablet up, you navigated through the bookmarked recipes and rinsed the herbs before pulling them from the stems. Bradley leaned against the counter beside you and sipped his coffee while glancing around the kitchen. Seeing him relaxing there, one leg crossed over the other and looking like he’d just rolled out of bed, made something flutter in your chest.

“You know, you could have saved a lot of time if you’d just agreed to let Hangman fry the turkey.”

That made you snort. “I just finished my renovations - the last thing I want is for my house to burn down.” It had taken months to get your home exactly how you wanted it. After twelve years in the Navy, you were ready to put down some roots, and buying a home had seemed like the smart thing to do. Living in a construction zone for the last year hadn’t been fun, but a well-timed deployment meant you weren’t there for the worst of it. The results were worth the pain, and you’d jumped at the chance to host when you got back and realized most of the squad had no plans for Thanksgiving. You couldn’t wait for them to see the changes in the Craftsman that had been a definite fixer-upper when you purchased it. The kitchen had been completely gutted and replaced with double ovens and quartz countertops, and the smaller kitchen island had been moved and changed to a wet bar with a wine fridge, replaced with an oversized one. The popcorn texture was scraped from the ceiling throughout the house, the floors redone, and the walls painted. The primary bath had been updated with a large soaker tub and walk-in shower, and you loved the giant closet. The guest bathrooms still needed work, as did the yard, but those were projects for later.

“It looks good, Duch,” he said softly, gaze holding yours for a long moment. You felt those inconvenient butterflies again and shoved them aside, dropping your eyes to the cutting board. Bradley wasn’t for you. You were too different - he enjoyed nights out at the bar, while you liked to spend time at home. He liked being the center of attention while you preferred to blend into the background. Besides, he didn’t seem much like a relationship guy, given the number of flings he had at the Hard Deck, while the idea of casual dating gave you hives. Pushing away from the counter, Bradley reached under the sink for a trashbag, putting it into the can before washing his hands. He moved closer, nose twitching slightly at the scent of rosemary, and braced his big hands on the countertop beside you. “Alright, what can I do?”

“You don’t - ”

“Lemme help.” His eyes met yours, smiling when you sighed.

“Fine. The meat injector is in here,” you said, bumping one of the drawer handles with your hip. “And I’ll need the chicken stock from the pantry.” Pouring the stock, herbs, and a couple of sticks of butter into a stockpan, you handed Bradley a silicone spatula and told him to stir. You rolled your lips together to keep from smiling when he pulled his phone from his pocket and watched videos of turkey injections before declaring he would be in charge of it. Reluctantly, you agreed. Once the marinade had cooled, the bird was given a second drying, you had finished the coffee, and Bradley had rewatched the video three times, it was time. He studied the turkey through narrowed eyes as you tried not to laugh. “You want to - ”

“Ah!”

“The breast and thighs - ”

“I’m doing it, Duch,” he cut you off.

“Well, remember that if it turns out dry.” The unimpressed look Bradley shot you made you grin as you put your chin in your hand and motioned for him to proceed. The tip of his tongue poked through his lips as he filled the injector and hovered the needle over the turkey. His eyes darted to you, and you raised an eyebrow. “You can tap out at any time, Rooster.” Instead of replying, he pierced the meat and pushed down on the plunger. You couldn’t help but laugh when he yelped, marinade spraying in his face after pushing too hard. But when he reached to wipe it away, you caught his hands. “Don’t put turkey germs all over your face,” you scoffed, towing him toward the sink. You held his chin while cleaning his face with wet paper towels.

“Now you’re just messing with me,” he chuckled when you scrubbed his mustache, but he didn’t pull away. His breath was hot on your hand, and his smile soft when you reached up to dab away a speck of garlic in his eyebrow. Balling up the paper towel, you shook your head.

“Wash your face with soap to make sure you don’t get salmonella. Cyclone’ll kill me if you’re out with food poisoning.” Turning on the water, you ensured it was warm before getting a clean washcloth. The oven timer beeped as you dug through the linen closet, and you hurried back into the kitchen, throwing the towel on the sink beside him and grabbing the pot holders to take out your bread. Once it was on the wire rack to cool, you moved to the turkey.

“What’re you doing?” Bradley demanded, turning while drying his face.

“Taking over.” You gasped when he closed the space between you in a few strides, wrapped his arm around your waist, and lifted you away from the counter. “Bradshaw! What the hell?”

“Told you I’m doing it,” he chuckled in your ear. Once back on your feet, you spun in his hold and stared at him. Butterflies erupted in your stomach at his cocky smirk.

“Fine, but if you waste more of my marinade, you’re out of my kitchen.”

“Deal.”

Thankfully, there were no further incidents, but you kept a close eye on him while slicing up a loaf of bread you’d baked two days before and let go stale for stuffing. After covering the roasting tray with tin foil, the bird went back into the fridge to rest for a few hours. “Thanks, Rooster. I guess I’ll see you later?”

“What else can I do?”

“You don’t - ”

“I want to help. I haven’t…” his eyes dropped to the floor as he shrugged. “I never got to do this before. My mom and I would always go to my cousin’s for Thanksgiving before she died, and it always seemed kinda fun.”

Everyone on the squad knew that Bradley’s parents had passed when he was young. He didn’t mention them often, but you noticed he’d get quiet sometimes when people talked about their families. So his volunteering the information felt important, and glancing at the clock showed that you were still behind schedule. “Fine.”

“Yeah?” he asked, excitement flashing in his eyes.

“Don’t look so happy - you’re doing prep work. You can peel potatoes, assemble the veggie tray, and roast the garlic. I need to work on sides and desserts.”

And he did. Bradley followed your instructions, grimacing while peeling potatoes over the trash can until you took out a plastic bag and put it in the sink for him to do it there. You kept an eye on him as he cut the spuds into uniform pieces after explaining that they wouldn’t cook evenly for the mashed potatoes, somewhat worried that he would cut himself. Rather than deal with the onions, you delegated the task and tried not to laugh at his near-constant sniffles and swipes at his watery eyes as you diced peppers. Once you dug out the hand-me-down crystal platters, he arranged the veggies you’d prepped the night before while making pies. Dips were mixed, and cans of olives and bottles of pickles were opened and drained before being plated.

Other than bumping into one another when going for the fridge at the same time, it wasn’t too bad sharing the kitchen. The coffee pot was quickly emptied, and Bradley brewed another between shredding blocks of cheese. You sang along with your playlists, his deep voice joining on a few songs while teasing you about others. When you sang about karma being a kink, he watched your hips sway at the sink, clenching his jaw when you sang a breathy ‘oh god.’

He slid the roasting tray into the oven when the turkey was rested and ready to cook. “Now what?” he asked, turning to look at you.

“Now we keep an eye on it for about four hours. Baste and re-inject it every hour or so,” you shrugged. A glance at his watch showed it would be almost 2:00 PM by the time it was ready. As though realizing it would still be hours before eating, his stomach grumbled its discontent. He blushed when you smirked. “I guess the least I can do is make my sous chef breakfast. Get the muffins and butter from the fridge for me.”

“Did you make these?” he asked, setting the containers beside you as you heated a skillet on the stove.

“I did - family tradition is grilled muffins on Thanksgiving morning. You okay with blueberry?” At his nod, you started slicing muffins in half. Rather than giving you space, Bradley stayed at your elbow. A comfortable silence fell, broken only by sizzling butter. His gaze met yours when you glanced up at him, and a smile tugged at his mouth.

An image of reaching up to bury your fingers in his messy curls and tugging his mouth down to meet yours flashed through your mind. Your fingers twitched with the urge to do it, eyes drifting to his mouth and lingering there for a moment too long. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and you forced yourself to look away, heat creeping into your face.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when he reached up to shift a strand of hair that had fallen from your messy bun. “I’m glad you're back, Duch,” he said, voice slightly raspy.

Forcing a laugh, you plated two muffins and handed them to him. “Everyone misses the mom friend of the group when she’s deployed.” Your eyes darted to his stomach when it growled again, just in time to see the front of his sweats twitch. Pretending you didn’t see it, you nodded to the living room. “The parade is recording if you want to watch it.”

Bradley opened his mouth as though he would say something before taking the apparent dismissal. Alone in the kitchen, you touched your cheek and felt warm skin. With a deep breath, you grilled yourself a muffin as the sound of the broadcasters came from the living room. After topping up your coffee, you joined him. He sprawled on one end of the couch, plate balanced on a thigh as he sipped his coffee. Sitting on the opposite side, you crossed your legs and let out a soft groan. Only a couple of hours standing in the kitchen and your back was already starting to protest. “What else do you have to do this morning?” he asked after a moment.

Mentally running through your list, you sighed. “I need to do some cleaning and get into the attic. I’ll start cooking a bit closer to noon, so things just have to be warmed up.”

“What do you need from the attic?”

“My nice china. My parents bought my sister and I sets for our hope chests when we were kids.”

“What’s a hope chest?”

“You know, stuff you’d need once you get married?” When his eyebrows shot up, you shrugged. “They weren’t really serious about it - it was more of a joke. But, every once in a while, they’d buy something for us and put it away for when we were older and say it was for our hope chest.” Taking a bite of muffin, you gave him a sad smile, “Mine’s more of a ‘hopeless’ chest,’ though. I guess they finally gave up on me getting married because they gave it to me when they sold their house and moved closer to the grandkids. I figured I’d get it out and use it instead of having it sit in the cardboard boxes it’s been in for over two decades.” Something passed over Bradley’s face but disappeared in an instant. Wanting to change the subject, you asked, “What do you usually do for Thanksgiving?”

“Nothing. It’s just another Thursday.” When you frowned, he lifted a shoulder. “A couple of times, I went to the Officer’s Club, or someone would invite me over. But most of the time, I just make myself a turkey sandwich and catch up on sleep. What about you?”

“If I’m not with my family, then this. When I first commissioned, I went to the O-Club with some friends but missed cooking and hanging out. And you know how hard it is to go home for the holidays.” He nodded even though he didn’t. Bradley never asked for the time off unless he was dating someone who insisted on it. With no family to visit, he was happy to volunteer when there was reduced manning and allow others to take leave. “So I invited a couple of people from my squad over, and that was that.”

“It’s a lot of work.”

“It is,” you agreed. “But it’s worth it.” Bradley’s fingers curled around his plate and in his sweatpants, his chest expanding as he took a deep breath. When he shifted forward, you quickly stood and reached out your hand for his empty plate. “Do you want another one?” Shaking his head, he stood and took your plate.

“Do you?” Swallowing hard, you shook your head and watched him walk back into the kitchen. Biting back a groan, you gave yourself a moment to collect yourself. Things had been…different… since you’d gotten home. And as much as you enjoyed these quiet moments alone with Bradley, it also stung. You’d thought the time away would help, but as soon as you were back, it was like no time had passed. He was still there, partnering for foosball in the Ready Room and coaxing you to go to the Hard Deck. Making sure that you sat next to him in briefings. Offering to look at your car when it made a noise.

Friends. That’s what friends do for each other. After all, he did the same for Nat.

Collecting the empty coffee mugs, you followed him to the kitchen and watched as Bradley cleaned up the mess and set it in the sink. “Don’t feel like you have to stick around, Rooster. I can handle getting everything ready.”

“I’m happy to help if you want me here. I’d just sit at my house watching TV and wait to come back if I went home.”

Chewing the inside of your lip, you bit back a wave of want. “Don’t think this gets you out of the dress code,” you replied, forcing your voice to be cool while allowing your eyes to run the length of him. “I’m serious - slacks and button-downs, not sweats.”

Laughing, he snapped a salute. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll make sure I run home and change to pass your inspection.”

The rest of the morning was a blur, punctuated by moments of stark clarity.

Bradley’s hands on your waist as you climbed down the attic stairs.

Biceps flexing as he carried your Christmas tree to a spare bedroom to set up tomorrow.

His elbow bumping yours as he dried the china and set it aside.

The look of concentration on his face when he basted and injected the turkey again.

His body passing close to yours as he emptied the dishwasher and you assembled dishes.

Just after noon, he went home to get ready while you showered. People were due to arrive around 1:30 PM, and you were back on schedule with your unexpected assistant.

Sooner than you expected, there was a knock at the door. Groaning, you capped your mascara, shimmied into your black sheath cocktail dress, and went to answer it. Bradley stood on the porch, having changed into a pair of slacks and one of his nicer Hawaiian shirts, hands in his pockets. Folded over his arm was a coat, and he grinned at you when he caught you looking at it. “Wasn’t sure if I would pass inspection without a sports coat,” he chuckled, allowing his gaze to rake over you. A flush rose on your cheeks as you reached behind yourself to pull up the dress zipper. It caught just above the top of your thong. “You look… you’re fine.” Chuckling, he shook his head.

“Turn around, Duch.” After a beat, you stepped back to allow him inside and did as he said.

“There’s a hook and eye at the top,” you said and inhaled sharply when you felt his fingers brush the back of your neck. The smell of his cologne enveloped you, and you bit back a moan when his hand moved to your lower back and tugged the zipper up. After a beat, you turned to face him and were surprised by how close he was. His mouth curved into a smile as he looked down at you, hand resting on your waist.

“You look fine, too,” he said softly. Your hands itched to move to his chest. Bradley’s eyes drifted to your lips, and your breath caught as his fingers flexed around you. If asked, you would have sworn you felt the lightest pressure pulling you closer - but then someone knocked on the door. Stepping out of his hold, you smoothed your hair down and ignored the brief moment his hands hung in suspension before being shoved back into his pockets.

“I came early to see if you needed a hand,” Phoenix said when you opened the door. In her hands was a tray, and she’d also chosen a cocktail dress for the occasion. Her normally tied-back hair was loose around her shoulders.

“Hey,” you smiled, hoping that you weren’t blushing. Nat’s eyes shifted over your shoulders and narrowed slightly.

“What are you doing here?”

“Same as you - seeing of Duch needed help.”

“He’s been here all morning,” you blurted out, flushing when both sets of eyes landed on you. “He’s taking care of the turkey.”

“The guy who hates cooking is in charge of the main dish?” Nat smirked. “Probably would have been better letting Hangman fry it.”

“He’s being supervised,” you assured, glancing over your shoulder to see him rolling his eyes. Stepping back to let Nat into the house, you accidentally bumped into Bradley, who held your hips to steady you. Quickly moving away from his touch, you took the tray from her and motioned for them to follow you into the kitchen. “I haven’t had a chance to put any drinks out, but there’s some coffee left and wine chilling. I still need to make the cocktails, but there’s also soda and flavored water.” The two followed you, exchanging a look that you missed.

As soon as he entered the kitchen, Bradley tossed his coat onto the wet bar and moved to the oven, flipping on the light to check the turkey before glancing at his watch. “I need to do the last basting, right?”

“It’s about that time,” you agreed, glancing at the clock. Digging through a drawer, you pulled out an apron and put it on, crossing the strings behind your back before tying them in a bow across your stomach. You thought you heard a murmured ‘Jesus Christ’ when you turned around to see him holding the pot holders.

You could feel Nat watching as you worked together to remove the turkey and then return it to the oven, popping olives into her mouth and smirking. “Looks like you guys have it down,” she said. “Don’t need my help at all.”

“Nope,” Bradley said, drowning out your, “You can feel free to relax.”

“Might as well do something since I’m here,” she shrugged, pushing off her elbows. “What can I do?”

And so, with a third set of hands, you set them to making large batches of seasonal cocktails while you cut the bread you’d made that morning, covering it with slices of brie and dried cranberries before drizzling it with honey. A quick scroll through your schedule gave you the times to start cooking, and you preheated the second oven.

The house slowly filled as more of the squad arrived. Countertops were quickly covered with their contributions - thankfully, more than beer and wine, and only a few sides repeated - and you mentally shifted your schedule to accommodate the additional dishes.

Mav, Penny, and Amelia were the last to arrive, with her new bartender, Georgia, in tow. Penny had asked you if she could invite her, given that the woman was new to the area and didn’t have anywhere else to spend the holiday. You’d replied with, “The more, the merrier,” just like you had for everyone else’s requests to bring a guest.

But you regretted that sentiment when you saw how she zeroed in on Bradley, staying close to him while you worked in the kitchen. The few times you broke away to mingle - showing off your renovated home, making sure that everyone’s glasses were topped off and that they didn’t need anything - you saw her hanging off his arm, giving him a simpering smile that set your teeth on edge. And, while she’d adhered to the dress code, you weren’t exactly thrilled to see that her breasts were nearly spilling out of her low-cut dress.

“You need anything, Duchess?” Payback asked, setting down the pitcher of spiced ginger pear and bourbon.

“I’m good,” you replied, wiping your hands on the dish rag thrown over your shoulder and blowing a loose strand of hair from your face. “Turkey should be done in a few minutes; once it rests, we can eat.”

“Thanks for doing this,” he said, glancing over at your full house. Aviators were sprawled across your living room and spilled out into the backyard. It was exactly what you’d hoped for when redesigning the house - plenty of space to comfortably entertain.

“I’m happy to, Payback,” you smiled, allowing him to pull you in for a hug. “Beats having a quiet house for the holidays.”

“Want me to get the turkey out for you?”

“I’ve got it covered,” a voice said behind you, and you couldn’t help but wonder about Bradley's slightly sharp tone as you pulled away from the hug.

“Got it,” Payback replied, raising an eyebrow and lifting his hands. “Let me know if you need anything, Duch.” Squaring your shoulders, you turned to face the man behind you and forced a smile.

“I’ll clear off a spot on the stove for you to put the pan, and then we’ll let it sit for half an hour.”

“Then it’ll be done?”

“Then you’ll have officially made your first turkey,” you nodded. When the timer went off, Bradley quickly pulled the bird from the oven and set it on the stove, closely inspecting his work.

“Does it look right?”

“Yes, relax.”

“Did you make it?” a smokey voice asked, and you felt your shoulders rise. Glancing at Georgia, you saw Bradley’s eyes dart between you.

“He did,” you answered, smiling at the woman.

“I just followed her directions,” he replied.

“It looks great!” Georgia giggled. Forcing a smile, you undid the apron strings and pulled it off before excusing yourself. You could feel eyes on you as you walked down the hallway to your bedroom and shut the door, retreating to your en suite.

After washing your hands for the millionth time, you quickly applied lotion while examining your appearance in the mirror. Compared to Georgia, you looked matronly with your hair pulled back and a higher neckline. Sure, your dress was classy - somewhat tight and falling just above your knees - but not attention-grabbing.

Not that you were trying to grab anyone’s attention.

A knock on your bedroom door startled you, and you peeked out to call, “Who is it?”

“Rooster.” Glancing back in the mirror, you saw your cheeks were slightly pink and scowled at your reflection.

“Get it together,” you hissed before turning off the light and going to open the door. And there he was, smiling down at you.

“Your phone was going off,” he said, holding up your cell. When your eyes flitted toward it, the device unlocked to show your family group chat was going off. Taking it from him, you swiped up to see videos and pictures. A smile crept onto your mouth as you clicked the first and heard your older sister’s voice.

“Guess what?” she said before tossing a card down and throwing her hands up. Cheers and laughs broke out, and you could hear your nephew complaining as your grandmother said, “Looks like Mom won!”

The camera panned to show your other nephew licking whipped cream off his pie, utterly unfazed by the family now pounding on the table in a drumroll. Catching Bradley’s interested expression, you moved so he could see the screen. Scrolling through the other videos, you watched your mom roll down a hill with the boys and your dad holding a glass of wine with your brother-in-law. The sight made your heart clench, and you sighed. Being away from family on the holidays was the worst. Thankfully, they all understood that your job didn’t always give you the flexibility to be with them.

“Looks like a fun group.”

“They are. I’m glad I get to spend Christmas with them.” He nodded, a flicker of sadness and something else in his eyes. “What are you doing for Christmas?”

“Mav’s already told me I’m spending it with him and Penny.”

“Sounds like fun.” You knew a complicated dynamic existed there but didn’t want to pry. His shoulder lifted, eyes drifting to your now dark phone. And that’s when you recognized the look on his face - longing. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” When he saw your unconvinced expression, he sighed. “Holidays kind of suck when you don’t have family.”

“I’m sorry, Bradley.” Something in his expression changed when you said his name and reached out to touch his arm. His eyes darted from your hand to your face, and you quickly pulled away. But he was faster, catching your fingers and holding tightly. Your breath caught with the intensity of his gaze, and he stepped into your room. His breath was warm on your face when you refused to retreat. Lifting your chin, you saw his throat bob when he swallowed.

“Hey, there’s a timer going off,” Bob called down the hall.

“Be right there,” you yelled back, pushing lightly against Bradley’s chest and forcing space between you. But when you tried to shake off his hand, he held fast. “I need to go, or something will burn,” you breathed. Reluctantly, he nodded and released you.

You’d already removed the green bean casserole and macaroni and cheese from the oven when Bradley reappeared. Unsurprisingly, Georgia glued herself to his side as he sipped his drink. Though you could feel him looking at you, you refused to meet his gaze.

When everything was ready, you looked over your kitchen and nodded approvingly. When the guys offered to carve the turkey, you turned them all down and delegated that task to Bradley. “He earned it,” you said, glancing at him before busying yourself with opening another bottle of wine. With Coyote and Fanboy at his elbows critiquing his cuts, you steered clear of that part of the kitchen and chatted with Penny while pulling out silverware.

Hangman refused to let you go around the room and tell people that food was ready, instead pulling out a chair and helping you stand on it before whistling loudly to get everyone’s attention. “Dinner’s served!” you said, placing a hand on his shoulder, his arm around your hips to keep you steady. “Thank you for bringing something, and please help yourself. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone - I’m glad I get to spend it with you.” Lifting your wine glass, you took a quick sip and laughed when Hangman lifted you off the chair to set you back on the floor.

Choosing to wait until your guests had a plate, you leaned against the wet bar and smiled tiredly, watching your hard work be devoured. There weren’t enough chairs for everyone at the table, so the group spread into the living room. You took a few pictures and sent them to your family.

Someone stepped in front of you, pulling your attention from your phone. “You’re not gonna eat?” Bradley asked.

“Just waiting for the line to clear,” you replied, forcing a nonchalant tone. The corner of his mouth twitched as he shook his head.

“Come on, Duch.” His fingers curled around yours, drawing you from the counter and into the line. Grabbing one of the smaller salad plates, you let him push you in front of him, taking small amounts of almost every dish while he served himself larger portions. After topping up your wine, you walked to the living room and felt him behind you, ignoring Georgia's attempt to get his attention. He motioned for you to take the last spot on the couch and sat on the floor. “Jesus,” he moaned after taking the first bite of turkey.

“Mmmm,” you agreed. “You did a good job.”

“Who would have thought the guy who made the barracks evacuate after he burned ramen would make a good turkey,” Nat smirked. Bradley flipped her off, unable to keep the proud grin off his face.

Dessert was eaten, and the last bottle of wine finished before 7:00 PM. The house felt quiet as it slowly emptied, and you hugged everyone goodbye. Already, tentative plans for a Christmas party formed even as you fought off a yawn. After assuring Penny that you were fine cleaning up, she left with Mav and Amelia in tow.

Which left only Bradley.

The sound of running water drew you back into the kitchen, and you paused in the doorway at the sight of him rinsing silverware and loading the dishwasher, a hand towel thrown over his shoulder. “I can take care of that,” you said quickly. Bradley glanced at you and shook his head.

“Relax, I’ve got it. Can the plates go in here, or do they need to be hand-washed?”

“They can go in there.” Ignoring the order, you walked around the house, picked up empty glasses and forgotten dishes, and set them by the sink. Donning your apron, you surveyed the leftovers, “Did you want any of this?”

“Yeah, I’ll take a plate.” Nodding, you started to put the food away. Thankfully, there wasn’t a lot left. Everyone had been happy to take leftovers, and you were glad you’d had the forethought to buy containers for them to keep.

The silence was comfortable, and you were stifling yawns with the back of your hand. Between the turkey, wine, and lack of sleep the night before, you were ready to change back into comfy clothes and pass out. Without prompting, Bradley started to cut up what was left of the turkey, placing some in the containers you’d portioned for him before putting the rest in the fridge. You started the dishwasher when it was full and wiped down counters. After tossing the rest of the turkey, he took the trash out.

When the door swung shut, you took the opportunity to stretch, moaning when your back popped before bending at the waist and letting your arms dangle. As much as you enjoyed hosting, your body took a beating, being on your feet all day. You would definitely need to invest in some mats to make the kitchen floor more comfortable before your next full day of cooking.

Even when the door opened, you felt too good stretching to stand up straight. You heard Bradley chuckle and then the sound of water running, followed by the snap of a trashbag being shaken out. Finally, you stood and threw out a hand to steady yourself when the world spun. Hands wrapped around your hips and drew you closer. “You okay, honey?”

The term of endearment caught you off-guard and had clearly slipped out by the flush on Bradley’s cheeks. “Honey?” you echoed, quirking a brow.

“Duchess,” he corrected.

“Rooster.” Your hands rested on his forearms, feeling the muscles flex as his fingers clenched around your hips. Taking a deep breath, you felt your chest brush his. His lips quirked into a wry smile. “What?”

“Just waiting for something to interrupt.” At your questioning look, he chuckled. “Been trying to kiss you all day, and something always gets in the way.”

“What?” you breathed, shock written across your face.

“Been thinkin’ about kissing you since that night at the Hard Deck, actually.”

“T-the Hard Deck?”

“Yup. Before you deployed.” Heat rushed to your face at the memory - or lack thereof - of your going away party. There had been one too many shots, and you had a vague recollection of Bradley driving the Bronco. Of him telling you not to throw up while he helped Nat into her apartment before taking you home. Half carrying you to bed and making sure you had water and medicine - warm hands on your face and a raspy laugh.

“When I was drunk?”

“When you told me you liked me.” Mortified, you felt a sudden flush of heat and tried to pull away, but he held firm. “But that you didn’t think I was a relationship guy.”

“Roo - ”

“I am. A relationship guy,” he clarified, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “For the right woman.” Your mouth was dry, unable to force out a single word. “I was gonna say something before you left, but you avoided me. And then you were gone for three months.”

“I… you messaged me.”

“Wasn’t exactly something I wanted to say over email,” Bradley chuckled. “I like you too.”

“What about Georgia?”

That drew him up short, and a confused look crossed his face. “The bartender?”

“Yeah. She… I mean, she’s clearly interested. And more your type.” Groaning, he leaned down to rest his forehead on yours.

“Honey, I’m not interested in her. And she’s not… ask Nat. She’s been on my case about my” - he lifted a hand to make air quotes - “‘hoe phase’ since I got out here.” That drew a snort from you, and Bradley pulled away to smile at you bashfully. “Gimme a chance, Duch.”

Hesitating a moment, you took another deep breath and gave the butterflies in your stomach free rein. Hands shaking, you wrapped your arms around his neck and nodded, unable to keep from matching his smile.

Moving slowly, as though afraid to spook you, Bradley leaned down and brushed his nose to yours. “As much as this is doin’ things for me,” he said softly, pulling at the apron strings tied at your stomach, “I think we’re done in the kitchen tonight.” Biting your lip, you could only nod, leaning away as he tugged it over your head, balled the apron up, and tossed it behind you. With his hands back on your hips, he walked you backward and lifted you onto the counter, stepping between your knees. “This alright?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, allowing yourself to reach out and run a hand through his curls. Bradley's eyes closed when you lightly scratched his scalp, and he swayed closer. His breath ghosted over your lips and -

“Fucking Christ,” he groaned when his phone started to buzz. You jumped, feeling the vibration against your shin, and laughed as he dropped his head into the crook of your neck. Your breath caught, feeling his lips on your throat. When he reached into his pocket and scowled down at the screen, you saw Nat’s name before he sent the call to voicemail.

Leaving the phone on the counter, he smirked and guided your legs around his waist as your arms went around his neck. His hands cupped your ass as he lifted you. In the doorway to the kitchen, he paused long enough for you to slap the walls until the lights turned off before walking toward the couch and lowering himself onto it. Your knees dug into the cushion on either side of him, forcing the hem of your dress higher.

From this angle, he had to look up at you. Hands migrated from your ass to thighs, callouses lightly scraping and fingertips darting under the fabric to trace shapes on your skin and drag the hem higher. Lightly, you ran your thumb along the scars on his chin before ghosting over the ones on his cheek that had always intrigued you. A moan rumbled from his throat as he followed your touch, mustache tickling the delicate skin of your wrist. Blushing, you wondered how it would feel on your inner thighs. He chuckled, kissing your cheek, “What’re you thinking that’s got you red?”

Rather than answer, you turned and kissed him - just a light brush of your lips against his that seemed to catch him off-guard. You stared at one another for a long moment until he guided you closer. His mustache prickled, not unpleasantly but different, when he kissed you again. It was sweet and unhurried, a direct contradiction to the hardness you felt straining against his zipper.

Pulling away, you smiled tentatively down at him, seeing the remnants of your lipstick on his mouth. The corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and you leaned forward to press your lips to them. “Hi,” you said softly.

“Hey.”

“You like me?”

“Yeah. You like me?”

Rather than reply, you captured his lips again. “Drunk words,” you said between kisses, “are sober thoughts.” He barked a laugh before tugging you closer and licking into your mouth.

“Shoulda said something earlier,” he chided, gripping your ass tightly. “Coulda been doing this for a long time.”

“Blame the tequila.” The word came out as a moan when he trailed kisses down your neck, and you felt him smile.

“Thank god for tequila,” he mumbled, nuzzling your breasts and making you grind down on him. Bradley caught your hands when your fingers trailed down his chest to tug at his shirt. “Nuh-uh, honey. Gonna take you on a couple of dates before we get to that.”

“What?”

“No more ‘hoe phase.’”

“Maybe just one more night?” That made him laugh again as he shook his head.

“No, Duch. Wanna do this right with you.”

“I’ve heard the stories. I know you would.” When you rocked against him, he pinned your hand at your lower back and stilled you with a hand on your hip. He growled your name and smirked when your thighs clenched.

“Liked that, huh?” he teased. “Ms. Prim and Proper Duchess likes to be bossed around?” Heat flooded your face, and he chuckled again. Without warning, he stood, and you squeaked, trying to keep from falling. But he held you steady and set you on your feet, towering over you. “Can I stay over?” You didn’t hesitate in nodding, and his kiss was rough before he pulled away and swatted your ass. “Go get ready for bed while I lock up.”

When you emerged from the bathroom, face cleaned and in your panties and a tank top, Bradley was lying in the middle of your bed in just his boxers. Groaning, he looked at you and shook his head. “Where are those sweats from this morning?”

“You want me to wear sweats to bed?” you asked, leaning against the doorframe and raising an eyebrow. His hand drifted down to his hard cock, squeezing lightly. “You’ve seen me in less at the beach.”

“Trying to do this right, honey.” Rolling your eyes, you walked to your dresser and pulled on sweatpants before digging out a pair of fuzzy socks. He laughed when you tossed them at his head, setting them aside as you circled the bed to lie beside him. Quickly, he pinned you beneath him, settling in the cradle of your thighs. As he licked into your mouth, you felt his hips rolling against yours. “Still too damn sexy,” he murmured against your lips.

“Housewife lingerie does it for you?” you teased, running your hands through his hair. Rather than answer, he looped an arm under your knee and drew it up, allowing you to feel him better. “Fuck.”

“Not tonight.”

And, unfortunately, he was true to his word. Anytime your hands strayed to his boxers, he pinned them over your head, seemingly content to tease and kiss all night.

Eventually, though, you could no longer keep from yawning. After setting his alarm - Bradley was on duty in the morning while you’d taken the day off - he tucked you against him, your back to his chest. His cock pressed against your ass as he kissed your shoulder, hand slipping under your shirt to brush the underside of your breast. Sighing, he murmered, “Best Thanksgiving I’ve had in a long time.”

You couldn’t help but agree.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Author's Note: Do I think that Bradley has a raging domesticity kink? Possibly.

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mangostarjam · 1 year ago

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knot happening (part two) — bnha, alpha!bakugou katsuki x f!reader, aged up characters, established relationship, a/b/o dynamics, use of "baby", "pipsqueak", "brat", "little shit" as pet names, dubious HR ethics, questionable sex toys, reader wears a skirt at the end, smut, creampies, oral sex, knotting, omegaverse!au for the spring fever collab run by @lorelune ! 10k words lmao

part one

your new company has some interesting policies for employee heat cycles, but your boyfriend and mate has no intention of letting you off easy

It starts with cravings.

All of Bakugou Katsuki's well intentioned efforts to keep you from dying of malnutrition or scurvy fly out the window as you enter your pre-heat. Your Pro Hero boyfriend and mate turns his nose up at the strawberry pocky you crunch on the couch, rolls his eyes at the cherry and dark chocolate chip ice cream you scoop after dinner, and pouts at the mango and sticky rice cups you devour after work.

"It all has fruit in it," you point out. "And besides, you always steal half my daifuku mochi before I can finish it. Complain about that, you thief!"

Katsuki, to his credit, retaliates by making your favorite veggie-laden meals for the cute bentos he puts together for your lunches. You pop open the container and you're greeted by stupidly cute penguins crafted from seaweed and rice, mushrooms and bell peppers nestled next to perfect rolled egg omelettes, carrots cut into little stars and cucumbers that look like clouds.

You take a photo of your lunch and send it to your boyfriend. He texts back "?????" and you frown at your phone.

Katsuki calls a moment later. "Don't tell me you're suddenly allergic to cucumbers."

His voice is rough and low — he must be in the office, if the distant chatter of his fellow heroes is anything to go by — but he's probably turned off into a side hallway because Eijiro's teasing has lately turned into casual remarks about marriage, and… yeah, of course Katsuki's gonna marry you, but he doesn't need his best friend to bring it up every time he's on the phone with you.

"I might be allergic to how cute these are," you say, but there's laughter in your voice and he scrunches his nose, so pleased he can feel the tips of his ears heat up. "How am I supposed to eat this?! This poor rice penguin has never done anything wrong in its life!"

Katsuki snorts quietly into his gloved hand. "D'you want me to make your food look ugly next time?"

You beam down at your bento and kick your feet beneath your desk. "Thanks for making me lunch, loverboy."

"Can't have you dyin' while I'm fuckin' you dumb," Katsuki's already low voice gets lower. The rough timbre of it so intimately in your ear sends a thread of desire straight to your core and you shift uncomfortably, glancing around your office. Luckily, it's empty — everyone's out for lunch because it's such a beautiful spring day, but you forgot to take your allergy medicine and you don't want to tempt disaster. "Leaving you in bed this morning was a crime."

"H-huh?" you set your feet on the ground and sit up a little straighter. "Babe, shut up. What if someone overhears you!"

"Then they'd be too damn close to you and I'll need to punch their lights out," Katsuki states matter of factly.

"So protective," you tease, settling back into your seat. He's trying to rile you up — he knows what his low tone does to you — but you're going to make it through your pre-heat without alerting your company even if it kills you. "I'll see you later, 'kay? Kick some ass, baby."

Your boyfriend mumbles something that sounds suspiciously cheesy before he hangs up, and you eat your lunch with gusto. It's day two of your pre-heat and so far it seems like nobody can tell. Your cravings are easy to pass off as a strong sweet tooth, and Katsuki's patrol schedule has kept him away from picking you up after work. You slapped a pheromone suppressor on your neck this morning and then styled up your business casual outfit with a loose silk scarf, so it should be… fine.

Your phone vibrates with a text and you swipe it open without thinking. The sound that leaves your mouth at the sight that greets you is unholy and you slam your phone facedown on your desk.

What the fuck.

"…You alright there, newbie?" Akane from Sales pauses in the act of draping her jacket over her chair. "Did you get a spam call?"

"Just peachy!" you croak out. You clear your throat as more of your coworkers file back in from their lunch break. "I thought I saw a bug, that's all!"

More like a closeup photo of your boyfriend's bulge in his hero suit, clearly stiff and straining hard against the heat resistant fabric, his easily recognizable gloved hand dangerously close to palming the thick outline —

Akane makes a funny face. "And you smashed it with your phone?"

"It was just instinct," you say sheepishly, "I'm fine with bugs where they belong, and they don't belong on my desk!"

Akane and your other coworkers nod at this and the conversation shifts, so you take advantage of everyone's inattention to pick your phone back up. You do it gingerly, as if there really is a bug squished underneath, but really you're just trying not to accidentally flash Pro Hero Dynamight's crotch shot to the world.

You can see the headlines now:

"Pro Hero Dynamight Ready to Blow!"

"Dynamight Explodes Up to the Top Ten Sexiest Pro Heroes with Infamous Shot!"

"Is the Great Explosion Murder God Packing the Heat?"

Katsuki's PR team would kill you. You quickly slide your phone beneath your desk and swipe away from your texts, breathing a sigh of relief when the (annoyingly tasteful) shot disappears from your screen.

Your phone vibrates with texts the rest of the day. No more photos (you can't tell if you should be grateful or mournful about this) but judging from the text previews you hastily swipe away on your screen, Katsuki's clearly out to get you. He seemed normal this morning — his lips brushed your cheek gently as you drew the blankets up to your chin — so what is his problem?

You finally get a chance to read his texts while waiting for your train at the station. Your eyes widen as you scroll through the messages — they're filled with his typical profanity, but he's practically written an instruction manual on all the ways he's imagined fucking you today. Your hand rises unwittingly to your pheromone suppressor patch. Maybe you should wear it at night, too, so he won't get so worked up? Though you kind of doubt it's working at all, since reading his texts is making you shift where you stand, heat pooling in your core.

The station is crowded with evening commuters — packs of students giggling and chattering among themselves, other tired office workers tapping away at their phones, little kids holding hands so they won't get separated — and nobody is paying you any mind. Maybe your suppressors are working after all? Wait — are they supposed to keep your pre-heat pheromones from leaking out or in?

Your ears perk as the pleasant tone signaling the arrival of your train jingles through the crowd. It's a quick ride three stops down to your apartment, which is one stop away from Katsuki's agency Ground Zero. When the two of you were looking for a place together, Katsuki insisted that it be just outside of his patrol range — close enough for him to get there quickly, but far enough that he would be able to actually relax at home. You can hear the familiar sound of a knife meeting a cutting board while you toe off your shoes in the genkan, lifting your nose to the air as the comforting smell of rice cooking wafts towards you.

"I'm home!" you call out, bypassing the kitchen to strip out of your work clothes. You sigh with relief as you toss your pants into the laundry basket, dragging one of Katsuki's well-worn hoodies over your head and tugging a pair of his workout shorts up your hips. They smell like him — smoky and rich and a little bit sweet — and you burrow into the comfort with a hum of pleasure.

The sizzle and crack of veggies and rice hitting the pan fill the air as you make your way into the kitchen. You follow your nose and ears happily, mouth already watering at the thought of eating more of Katsuki's cooking, but you stop dead at the entrance and make a funny strangled sound.

Asshole. Is he doing this on purpose? He's totally doing this on purpose.

"Welcome home," Katsuki says, rising from a crouch to his full, intimidating height and giving the pan another flick of his wrist. Sometimes you forget how broad your Pro Hero boyfriend is, but it's abundantly clear when he's standing in front of the stove shirtless like some kind of wet dream. He barely gives you a once over, just a casual glance of red that sends heat rushing to your cheeks before he turns his attention back to the stove.

You know — and you know he knows — that certain instincts flare up with your pre-heat. Everyone has different symptoms. The food cravings are one thing, for you, but they're manageable and easy to pass off as unrelated. Wanting to be covered in your mate's scent is another thing entirely, and while it's a relatively common symptom, it never fails to embarrass you, especially because you know how much Katsuki secretly likes it.

"What're you making?" you ask. Katsuki keeps his eyes on his pan, so you take the opportunity to ogle him freely, admiring the strong set of his shoulders and the firm lines of back muscle on full display. Stupid Katsuki with his stupid workouts making him look like a goddamn god. From your position at the kitchen entrance, you're close enough to see the pale scars crisscrossing his skin and the way the edge of his lips lift in a smug, self-satisfied smirk as he catches you checking him out. He's easily the hottest man you've ever seen in your life.

"Chicken fried rice," he says, snapping you out of your blatant stare. "It's almost done."

"You're telling me a chicken fried this rice?" you joke, grinning widely when Katsuki snorts and rolls his eyes at you. "Here, lemme set the table."

The two of you prepare for dinner companionably, though Katsuki definitely hovers more than usual. You can't help but lean back into his firm (and very naked) chest as he stands behind you while you reach up for plates, his hands heavy on your hips to help you balance. He also sets your plate piled high with fried rice next to his own at the table instead of across as usual, and when you make a questioning sound he just arches a brow expectantly.

"What? Sit and eat your fucking vegetables, pipsqueak."

"That's not my question," you giggle, accepting the seat he holds out for you. He spins it sideways easily, so that you're suddenly facing his own chair instead of the table, a casual show of strength that sends a shiver up your spine. Then he sits next to you with a grunt and immediately grabs your bare legs to drape them over his lap, forcing you to cling to his arm in surprise. "What the hell!"

"Shaddup," Katsuki mumbles, keeping a firm grip on your bare legs. "You can eat like this, right?"

You can, though you have to wiggle a bit and hold your plate in your lap. The changed angle gives you a perfect view of your boyfriend's profile, and you look at him for a moment, admiring the cut of his jawline and the slope of his nose.

"Quit starin'," he says. The pale scar along his cheek lifts when he shoots you a smug grin. "Your food's gonna get cold."

"You're the one who made me sit like this," you point out. You scratch at the side of your neck absently, but your nail catches on the suppressant patch and you pause. "Do you know if these patches are to keep the pheromones in or out?"

Katsuki takes a big bite of his fried rice and chews carefully. "Nothing's gonna stop your pre-heat from affectin' you," he says evenly. "And normally it'd keep 'em from leakin' out, but," he takes a deep breath and finally meets your eyes, "I'm your mate, so that shit doesn't work on me."

"Oh." Your voice is small even to your own ears. Katsuki's red hot gaze stays fixed on you for another long, torturous moment before he drags his attention to his food. "Is that why… you sent me a dick pic?"

Katsuki chokes on the spoonful of fried rice he just brought to his lips and his hand comes up to slap against the table. You crack a grin and pick up your own spoon. "That wasn't — wasn't a fuckin' dick pic, you perv."

"Sure looked like it to me," you say cheerfully. The fried rice is delicious and you nearly moan with satisfaction, wiggling in your seat as the flavors burst along your tongue. "It was a photo featuring the area of your body where your dick is at, so obviously, it was a dick pic!"

"Fuck off," he mumbles, shoving another spoonful into his mouth. "How was work? Anybody notice?"

"It was great," you say, "and nah, I don't think anyone noticed. I wore a scarf to hide the patch, y'know. Pretty good, huh?"

"You're a smart one," Katsuki says, and you preen under the praise. "You gonna wear a scarf the rest of the week, then?"

You shrug and wiggle your legs a little just to get Katsuki to clamp down on them with one strong arm. You flex your feet, feeling his thighs tense in turn, and eat another spoonful of dinner. "I don't think I can. It's supposed to get real hot this week and besides, I wanna… wear one of your shirts."

"Hah?" Katsuki nearly drops his spoon. "How're you gonna do that? It'll be too big for you, pipsqueak."

"I'll figure it out. I've done it before!" Your grin turns mischievous. "Want me to model for you after dinner?"

Katsuki shoots you a look. "You tryna get into my pants already, sweetheart? What happened to resisting pre-heat?"

"It's not like we'll be doing anything," you point out. "I have faith in you, babe."

Your boyfriend doesn't answer, but his hand tightens around your thigh, leaving indents in the soft give of your body. The two of you switch to safer topics, like the old ladies who ran into Katsuki on patrol (again) because they wanted to pass on their grandkids' sketches, and your new friends Akane and Shimizu who complimented your scarf. You do the dishes afterwards, but Katsuki stays glued to your back, thick arms wrapped firmly around your waist.

"I think you've got too much faith in me," Katsuki frowns, holding one of his button ups against your frame a bit later. You shed his hoodie and your shirt and bra, tossing them in the direction of the laundry basket and holding your arms out for him to dress you in his shirt. He eyes your chest openly, sending a spark of heat zipping down your spine, but slides the sleeves over your arms and helps you button it up without saying anything else.

His hands are careful as he slides the buttons home. You force yourself to breathe evenly as he crowds into your space, that smoky sweet scent filling your nose as he presses his lips to your temple and noses at your ear. His big hands with all their callouses and scars are gentle as he smooths the fabric over your shoulders, leaving a wave of warmth as he slides them around to your back to tug you closer into his embrace.

You hug him back, resting your palms against his shoulder blades and pressing into the skin there as he shifts. It's quiet as he breathes you in, his chest rising and falling against your own. Distantly you can hear trains rattling on the tracks, teenagers being rowdy in front of the nearby konbini, babies wailing for bedtime several doors down. You close your eyes and listen to Katsuki's heartbeat instead, though a furrow forms between your eyebrows as his heartbeat quickens.

"Are you… good?" you whisper.

"…'m fine."

"Okay… are you having a heart attack?"

"Don't be stupid," Katsuki snorts. "As if I'd get worked up over a lil' huggin'."

"Sure, sure," you grin up at him, smiling wider as his eyes soften at your expression. "It's not like I'm your mate or anything. It's fine if you get worked up, babe — I think you're pretty hot, too."

"Aren't you supposed to be figurin' out tomorrow's outfit?"

You detach yourself from him reluctantly, though he doesn't let you get very far, latching onto your wrist and padding along behind you as you go to peruse the closet. Katsuki pulls you into his chest again as you eye the various options. Despite favoring athletic, technical clothes — fabrics that are easy to move in at a moment's notice — he does own a wide range of clothing thanks to his various sponsorships.

"Does it ever bother you, wearing clothes with these brands associated with them?" you ask, rubbing a silky suit jacket sleeve and peering up at him.

"Nah," Katsuki shrugs. "My team's halfway decent 'bout choosin' who we partner with, so it's not a big deal."

"Should I be less sensitive about my company's branded sex toys?" Your voice is small. You turn back to the clothes so you don't have to look at him, but Katsuki presses a kiss to the back of your hair and huffs.

"If it bothers you, it bothers you," he says gruffly. "We're good, baby. You don't hafta tell your company squat. I'm still your mate no matter what."

You repeat Katsuki's words to yourself the next day, swathed in his button up shirt tucked into a pair of his trousers with the ankles rolled up, as Akane and Shimizu show you the storeroom where they keep the company branded sex toys. Everyone's email notifications had pinged this morning with the news that Kensuke in Accounting would be entering his heat soon, so your two new coworker besties had dragged you along on a mission to prepare his celebratory heat cycle package.

"Wow," you say blankly, "they really are branded."

Shimizu holds up a cock ring with your company's name emblazoned along the side. "When you're in the moment, you really don't notice the name, but I guess it is a little garish, huh?"

"It's just so… big," you say, pulling over another box. "Is the company worried we'll forget who we work for or something?"

"I think they just want to be supportive," Akane laughs, holding up a dildo that wobbles wildly in her hand. "We'll need to have our drinking party at the end of the week, I think. Kensuke-san said he'll bring his mate if it's late enough for her to make it. I guess her alpha senses get really sensitive when he's this close to heat."

"You'll come, won't you?" Shimizu asks you. She works in HR and it shows as she packs up a care basket with ease. "Most people don't bring their mates unless it's their own pre-heat party, but I'm sure everyone would love to meet yours!"

You wrinkle your nose before you can help it. The idea of alcohol and Katsuki and your coworkers sounds like a bad combination, especially when you're desperately trying to hide your own pre-heat symptoms from the company. "He doesn't really drink…"

"There'll be nonalcoholic drinks served too," Akane says. "My mate gets her panties all in a twist when I come home drunk."

"It's alright if you don't want to," Shimizu assures you. "We'll just meet him when it's time for your own pre-heat party!"

You freeze in the act of pulling out a package of anal beads where each bead seems to have one character of your company's name stamped on it, but luckily neither of them seem to notice. "Can you do me a favor, in the spirit of our new friendship?" you ask, "Could you guys please choose the toys with the least amount of branding?"

Akane and Shimizu laugh. "Aye, aye, boss!"

"We should just start prepping yours now," Akane says breezily. "That way we'll be ready when it hits you!"

"We can even give it to you early," Shimizu adds, "and I'll just mark it off in your file. You've got next week off, so maybe you can put it to good use ahead of time."

She winks and you laugh nervously, but thankfully they don't know you well enough yet to pick up on it. "That would be great, actually," you say, fidgeting with a packet of flavored lube. "I'm sure my boyfriend will love that."

There's a knock at the door as the three of you dig into boxes and sort misplaced toys into their proper shelves. Someone you vaguely recognize from the IT department pokes their head in and immediately zeroes in on you. "Ah, sorry to interrupt," they say sheepishly, glancing at the fuzzy handcuffs Shimizu is brandishing, "but it looks like your mate is here, and he says it's important."

You stare at them. "My… mate…?"

"Uh. Yes," they say, "Mr. Dynamight?"

What?

You wave goodbye to Akane and Shimizu and thank the IT person for the notice before speed-walking towards the entrance lobby of your building. The elevators always take too long, so you head for the stairs, even though it'll take you out towards the back end of the building. There's no reason for Katsuki to show up at your workplace, especially not when he should still be on patrol. He hasn't messaged you much today, either, but that's not unusual. Did something happen? Is he hurt?

Your heart is pounding so loudly in your ears that you nearly miss the gruff "whoa!" as a densely muscled arm suddenly swings out to snag you by the waist. You're lifted straight off your feet and shoved into a supply closet before you even have a chance to open your mouth and scream, but Katsuki is quick to slap a rough hand over your lips.

"Shh, it's just me, shit, sorry," he grunts, wincing as you bite his hand. "Fuck, your teeth are sharp."

"Katsuki!" You have the presence of mind to keep your voice low as you shout. He must have a reason for ambushing you in the back of your company building, so even if you don't know what's going on, you know better than to risk getting caught. "What are you doing here?"

The closet is dark, though light seeps through the bottom of the door he's shoved you against from the hallway he just caught you in. You can barely make out his deep red eyes with the lighting and his gauntlets and gloves resting on the shelf by his shoulder — everything else is cast in shadows. "I needed to see you."

"… huh?"

"I'm not losing, you got that? I'm just makin' up for yesterday."

"What're you talking ab— hey!" You back up into the door with a thunk as Katsuki leans forward, his thick arms caging you in on either side. "Bakugou Katsuki I swear on your All Might trading cards I'll knee you in the balls if you blow my cover here."

He snorts and ducks his head closer. You can feel the soft puffs of his laughter against your neck as you crane your face away, desperate to maintain the upper hand here even though his proximity is triggering something alarming between your thighs.

"Knew you'd look hot as fuck in my clothes," he mumbles, inhaling sharp along the soft skin of your neck. "You smell so fucking good, too."

"I used a strawberry lip balm today," you breathe, careful to stay pressed back against the door. Katsuki is close enough now that you can feel his chest rumble when he laughs.

He presses his lips to the hammering pulse beneath your jaw. "I'm not gonna blow your fuckin' cover," he says lowly. "I'm just gettin' a little taste."

And then he nips at your skin, mere centimeters away from your scent glands — and you moan.

Loudly.

Desperately.

Fuck him. You're sensitive this far into your pre-heat. Desire thrums through you like a plucked string and you lose your tenuous grasp on your self control. All you can think about is Katsuki, Katsuki, Katsuki as hormones flood your bloodstream and your subdued omega instincts rise to the surface, pheromone suppressor be damned. Your hands are in his hair before you've registered it, yanking him up to kiss you. It's a testament to Katsuki's iron will and his love for you that he lets you drag him into place, though he can't quite kiss you properly because he's smirking too hard. You bite at his lip in retaliation, but that only makes him groan low in his chest and the sound zips straight to your core.

You're so warm. Hot, even, flames of pleasure licking up your spine. You grab onto his shoulders and tremble as he shoves one hard, muscled thigh between your legs, flexing and pressing upwards until your weight rests firmly on top of him. "K-Katsuki…"

"What's the matter, baby?"

"This is so fucking unfair," you whine, tugging at him until he drags you forward by the hips. The friction is delicious and intense, even through your borrowed trousers and the thick fabric of his hero suit, and you can do nothing but hold on for your life as Katsuki guides you into riding his thigh. The easy way his biceps flex and his overwhelming strength turn your mind a little fuzzy. "Why'd you — why're you —"

"Couldn't stop thinkin' about you, brat," Katsuki grunts, pressing his face into the junction between your neck and shoulder. You bare your neck for him instinctively, presenting for him, but he tilts his face up to nip at your ear instead. "Wearin' my clothes and smellin' like me —"

"You're my mate," you gasp out, fisting his hair. "Don't I always smell a little like you?"

Katsuki laughs and stops dragging you along his thigh, shoulders shaking harder when you whimper in protest. You can feel the sharp wave of your impending orgasm recede with every rough chuckle exhaled against your skin. "You want me to keep goin'?"

"You started this, you asshole —"

"Beg for it, then."

Oh. Wait. "Fuck you," you hiss, shoving at him to let you down. He obeys easily, keeping his large hands on your waist to steady you. Desire is still humming hot in your veins, but the cold logic of your brain is working overtime to bring you back down. He's just trying to get you to lose, huh? "Did you come here just to rile me up? What's your problem?"

"Your pre-heat is gettin' to me," Katsuki says, nosing at your temple. Your already flushed body spikes with embarrassment at the tender gesture. "I didn't wanna leave you this mornin', and you were so fuckin' hot yesterday. You sure we can't just kickstart it early?"

"I thought you said you could resist me," you mumble, "what happened to that?"

"I am resistin' you."

You pull away slightly to shoot a pointed look at his body caging you against the door. You get an eyeful of his firm chest and those strong arms you love so much, which doesn't exactly help your predicament, but Katsuki just grins, sharp and beautiful even in the dim light of the closet.

"Baby, if it were up to me, I'd be balls deep in you right now," Katsuki says. Your toes curl in your shoes as you bite back a whine. "But we're tryin' to keep it a secret, yeah?"

This was a mistake. You know — you know your boyfriend has a competitive streak a mile wide, and there's no way he's going to let you walk away from calling him weak for you. Never mind that he's been behaving himself so far — letting you try on his clothes in front of him, sending dirty texts but not acting on any of them — now it seems like he's ready to fight back. Making dinner shirtless last night was definitely a small test for your own self control, but now he's breaking out the big guns by ambushing you at work.

"You're terrible," you breathe, and Katsuki just grins.

"Better get back to work, or your coworkers'll come lookin' for you."

As if your coworkers read his mind, behind you come the distinct sound of clattering footsteps going down the hall. You hear someone beyond the thin barrier of the door you're still pressed against. "Do you think Dynamight will give me his autograph?"

Katsuki meets your glare in the dim light and his grin shifts into a smirk, though his red eyes are unmistakably fond as he regards you. "I'll let you know when the coast is clear."

"You suck. You're evil. They should take away your Pro Hero license."

Your boyfriend laughs quietly and leans forward to brush his lips along your cheek. You tilt your face up into the smoky sweetness of him and manage to kiss the edge of his jaw as he pulls back. He hums with pleasure, but his smirk is still sharp as he eyes you. "Yeah, yeah. You're the one who poked the big bad alpha, you little shit."

Katsuki gets the two of you out of the supply closet and disappears before anyone in your company can corner him for an autograph. You spend a few minutes splashing water on your face in the bathroom, hurriedly trying to cool down as the lingering aftereffects of nearly getting marked race through your bloodstream. Once you deem your reflection (and raging hormones) passable, you head back upstairs and get back to work.

Or at least, you try to get back to work. The stacks of reports are less enticing to you now that you know Katsuki is really trying to get you to beg for him. It all makes sense to you now. The dirty texts and shirtless cooking were testing the waters — his way of seeing how affected you are by him, as if you haven't been mated for years at this point — and now he's ready to leverage your omega biology against you any way that he can. There's no rule saying you can't fuck during your pre-heat, but neither of you have tried thanks to the unspoken agreement that it would make this silly competition less fun.

But you really, really want to fuck him.

"Is everything alright?" Shimizu's voice snaps you out of your vivid fantasies and you blink at your reflection in the dark screen of your monitor. "Your computer's been asleep for ten minutes now. Is your mate okay?"

"O-oh, he's fine," you flush with embarrassment at getting caught slacking. "He just needed to give me something I forgot at home."

"Oh, was that all? That's so nice of him," Shimizu says. "Make sure you ask if he wants to come to the pre-heat drinking party for Kensuke-san."

"Is that really okay?" you ask. "It won't set anything off for Kensuke-san and his mate?"

"Nah. They're bound to be all over each other, anyway. We're all used to it — the drinking party is always more for everyone else to send them off with well wishes," Shimizu explains. "The company picks up the tab, too. It started out as a one-off, and we didn't think the company would keep doing it, but we're all in agreement that if the company is going to pay, then we're going to go out and play."

That… makes sense. Even in a company as supportive as this one, of course it doesn't erase the fact that you're all working under them. "Is that… what happened with the sex toys?"

"Yeah," Shimizu slides into the seat next to yours as she picks up on your interest. "At first, everyone thought it was super cringe and weird, right? Why would we want company branded toys? But it's free stuff, and even if we've got great benefits and paid time off and work isn't unbearable, it's still free stuff. Nobody passes up on the free stuff. We all need to work, so we might as well take advantage of everything the company is willing to give us!"

"And you said you don't really notice the branding…"

"I mean, honestly, you've gone through heats before, haven't you? Are you paying attention to anything besides your mate?"

You snort in agreement. "Back when Katsuki and I were figuring out our mating bond, he triggered my heat on accident and I climbed onto his lap in the middle of an izakaya. He had to help me through it in one of his friends' apartments because it was the closest he could get to a private space nearby."

The two of you ended up buying Denki a whole new mattress and bedding set to replace everything you irreparably messed up that week. His friends were gentle in their good natured ribbing, but you'd unfailingly blush any time you passed by that izakaya, and Katsuki couldn't eat there after patrols anymore without popping a boner.

"That sounds typical," Shimizu says, grinning. "I don't care about mates, myself, but I love hearing about the crazy shenanigans the bond ends up putting you through."

"Is that why there's a company-wide announcement anytime someone is about to enter their heat?" you ask. It's a little risky, bringing it up, but Shimizu is nice and clearly eager to chat on company time. "Most places just mark it as time off."

Shimizu twirls her hair around her finger as she hums in thought. "That started before I joined the company, but I think it's more like… public image? I heard it's the vice president who fully supports heats and likes buying all sorts of new toys for everyone to try out. And if we're celebrating it all so publicly, the president can't protest without looking bad!"

"That's… good," you say. You don't know what else to say to this — but thankfully Shimizu hops out of her seat and waves goodbye cheerily as a chattering group of coworkers enters the room. You try to refocus on your work, but not even a packet of chocolate dipped dried mangoes is enough to help you through more than a few reports.

Hearing about the company policies from a coworker's mouth and seeing everyone chatting excitedly about the end-of-the-week drinking party lifts your spirits. Like you told Katsuki originally, you know you'll get used to the idea of everyone knowing about your upcoming heat. It's just taken some time, and seeing how nobody treats Kensuke from Accounting any differently helps.

Now that you're feeling marginally more comfortable about the whole thing with your company, you feel like you can turn to the real task at hand: teasing your mate and winning this silly game of who can make the other beg for it first.

You skip your stop on the train ride home and hop off at the station closest to Ground Zero. Eijiro was delighted to conspire with you in sending Katsuki back to the agency a little early on his shift and the front desk receptionist lets you into the upper floors with a wide smile. If Katsuki can ambush you at work, it stands to reason that you should return the favor.

You slip into his private office and silently thank Mina for insisting on having strong frosted glass for the windows separating their offices from the cubicles of the sidekicks outside. Katsuki's office is plain overall — there's a large wooden desk with a cushy chair behind it, but otherwise it looks like a normal office space at first glance. As you walk around in it, however, you spot a few All Might collectibles, and there's an omamori hanging off of his desk lamp that you picked up for him at your first shrine visit of the year. He also has a polaroid photo of the two of you — his arm slung around your shoulders as you laughed, his free hand flipping off the camera — washi taped to the bottom of his monitor.

"The fuck're you doin' in here," Katsuki demands, striding into the room and shutting the door behind him with a slam. You jerk up in surprise. He got back a lot sooner than you expected.

"How'd you know I was here?" you ask curiously. Katsuki rolls his eyes as he begins dismantling his hero outfit, the loud clanking and clicking of his gauntlets filling the room as you walk over to help him.

"Smelled you from the station," he says. "As if I'd miss you tryin' to sneak in here."

You grin to yourself, somehow pleased that he sensed you even though he's ruined your chances of surprising him. "I just wanted to help you out," you say, trailing your hands up his arms. Katsuki raises one ash blonde eyebrow, clearly sensing your aim, but he lets you shove his hero mask up into his hair, exposing his forehead.

"Oh yeah?" His gauntlets hit the floor with a thunk and he rips off his gloves, tossing them aside as well. "Help me with what, brat?"

"Just, y'know," you bat your eyelashes up at him just to make him crack a sharp grin, "returning the favor from earlier today."

You kiss him first, a deep, melting kiss that makes your knees go a little weak even though you're the one initiating it. Katsuki's eyes narrow as you sink to your knees, but he doesn't stop you as you palm at his already hard erection through the fabric of his hero suit. "Oi, don't start something if you're not gonna finish it."

"I just want a little taste," you say, grinning as he glares down at you for throwing his words from earlier back at him. You hurry to unbutton and unzip his pants, dragging it down his hips and catching on his thick thighs as his cock springs free. He's leaking at the tip, pearly white and oozing, and he groans when you lick your lips at the sight.

"Fuckin'… don't stare at it."

You tsk. "So impatient." Katsuki threads his fingers through your hair gently as you lean forward to press your tongue against the slit, sliding his cock into your mouth with a wet suck. His hips jerk forward as he grunts, but his hand is endlessly gentle in your hair.

"Motherfu— oh, that's good," he pants, tipping his head back and exposing the strong lines of his throat as he groans. You hollow your cheeks and suck his cock down, settling into a familiar rhythm of bobbing on his dick, sliding your tongue along the underside and teasing at the slit as much as you can. You keep one hand on his thigh for balance and use the other to grab the rest of his length, squeezing in tandem with your bobbing. Wet, slick sounds fill the air as you choke and drool around his cock, and the way he throbs in the heat of your mouth sends a shiver down your spine.

"Sh-shit baby, yeah, just like t-that, fuck," Katsuki moans, his husky voice cracking a little on the words. He tips his head forward to watch the way his cock disappears down your throat, thumbing at your cheek and the tears gathering in the corners of your eyes. "You little — you little shit, you're gonna make me fuckin' come —"

You let go of his cock to cup at his balls, hanging heavy at the base of him, fondling them as you suck him deeper into your mouth. The strain on your throat makes you choke around him and he grunts, all of his muscles straining as he struggles not to blow his load. You choke on his cock a few more times, your omega senses singing in your veins with the thrill of pleasuring your mate, but as soon as you feel the telltale signs of his impending orgasm, you pull yourself off of him.

Katsuki nearly knocks you over. "You little — I'm gonna eat you alive you — fuck —"

You suckle at the tip of his cock, smiling up at him as he throbs concerningly in your loose grip. He huffs with the crash of his ruined orgasm and stares down at you in aggravated silence. "You want me to keep going?" you ask innocently, close enough that your lips get smeared with precum and saliva as you talk. Your voice is hoarse. "Just say the magic words, baby."

Your boyfriend seems to realize what you want a few seconds after you speak, as if it takes him a moment for his brain to comprehend full sentences. You peer up at him, blinking slowly, his cock mere centimeters from your lips as his face goes through approximately three different stages of grief.

"You're the worst," Katsuki grumbles, shoving you away and folding himself into a squat. You swipe at your face with the back of your hand, grimacing at the spit as you clean yourself up. He notices, because of course he does, and you watch with interest as Katsuki shoves himself upright to wobble to his desk. He tosses you a few tissues and pulls up his pants and boxers before crouching beside you to help you wipe your face. "The second your heat hits, I'm gonna fuck you so hard you won't be able to feel your legs, you brat."

You suppress a shiver at his words and scratch at your suppressant patch, hidden beneath the high collar of your borrowed shirt. "Don't threaten me with a good time."

Katsuki laughs, a short bark that makes you grin. "I hope you're ready, loser," he says, eyeing your lips. "C'mere and give me a kiss."

You wrinkle your nose. "I have dick breath."

"Like I give a shit, pipsqueak." Katsuki nips at your lip as you smile into the kiss, holding onto his shoulders for balance and sneakily smoothing your hands over the dense muscle there. "What're you smilin' about?"

"Just feeling you up."

"Hah?" He's so pretty when he blushes, pink rising high on his cheekbones and staining the tips of his ears red. You nuzzle into his strong neck, inhaling his comforting smoky sweet scent with a sigh of relief. You can feel your omega instincts settling as his scent envelops you properly. Katsuki seems to feel it, too, nudging into your hair and wrapping strong arms around you to keep you close.

After a moment, your legs start to cramp up from the awkward position, so the two of you clamber back up to your feet. Katsuki keeps a firm grip around your arm as you wiggle the feeling back into your toes, and you take advantage of his support to lean heavily against him. "Hey, Katsuki," you say, peering up at him sideways, "when did you steal my fruit themed washi tape?"

"I didn't steal it," he says. You arch an eyebrow. "I just borrowed it." You blink up at him. "Quit fuckin' starin'. It reminds me of you."

Oh. Your heart does a funny little flutter in your chest, which is a little ridiculous considering how long you've been together and the fact that he's literally your mate, but you let the feeling wash over you anyway and beam up at him. "I love you, too."

Katsuki's expression promptly freezes before he rolls his eyes, but his smile is soft. "Let's go already. It's gettin' late."

He holds your hand on the walk to the train station and acts as your wall against the crush of evening commuters. You're clingy — tugging on the sleeve of his hoodie, slipping your fingers through the belt loops of his pants — but Katsuki indulges you, clearly feeling the effects of your pre-heat just as much as you are.

Dinner is a comfortable, teasing affair. You bury your nose into the strong lines of his back as he cooks, pinching the skin of his stomach whenever he makes a snarky remark. He asks about your day and makes you laugh while recounting one of the old ladies on his patrol route who's taken to giving him pointers about how to make cuter bentos.

"You could learn a thing or two from her," you giggle, breathing in deeply.

"Watch it, brat, or I'm puttin' those rice penguins in jail."

The two of you refrain from riling each other up the rest of the night, sinking into the other aspects of your pre-heat instead. He watches with a wrinkled nose as you down a strawberry sando picked up from the konbini after dinner, but he lets you pat your night cream onto his skin and nuzzles your neck while you're tending to your own nightly skincare routine. Katsuki keeps a heavy arm around your shoulders as you tuck yourself into his side, throwing a leg over his thighs as he settles into bed with you.

This is your favorite part of the day — listening to the steady thump of his heart with his scent all around you, teasing him and feeling the low rumble of his voice as he snarks back, running the pads of your fingers over the scars crossing his chest idly and basking in the safety and security of Bakugou Katsuki being in your arms. It's always nice when you can fall asleep with him, when he isn't holed up in his office poring over mission reports or out on the streets taking down villains. You know he'll never say it out loud, but he always kisses you before leaving for patrol in the early mornings, always tucks the blankets back up to your chin to keep out the pre-dawn chill. He has spans of time where he's out more often than not working on taking down big missions, but he always comes back to you.

And with your heat approaching quickly, he starts pawning off his later patrols in order to pick you up from work. This is something like torture for you, personally, because he always smells so fucking good and looks so hot all rumpled and cozy in his post-work clothes. Katsuki makes a funny sound in the back of his throat when you greet him with a hug, slipping his hands a little lower than normal to squeeze your ass and smirking when you squeak and rip yourself away from him.

Luckily he's agreed to meet you a few blocks away from your company building, so you can escape before any of your coworkers notice the two of you. Katsuki gets handsy the closer you get to your heat, but he doesn't push it any further than blatant groping when you pass by him at home, so you retaliate by feeling him up whenever possible. You have no idea if blue balling him at work earlier in the week put the two of you in a stalemate, but you keep your guard up anyway and play by his unspoken rules to keep it to touching only.

It sucks, though.

Every touch makes you shiver; every graze of his lips makes you warm. You can feel the deep, intrinsic ache of your heat simmering just below the surface, the wellspring of desire thrumming through your veins. You're tense — Akane and Shimizu cajole you into fancy beverage breaks because they think you're stressing out too much about work — but your omega senses quiver like a roiling sea being brought to boil, only partially satiated by Katsuki's frequent touches and attention.

It all comes to a head at Kensuke's pre-heat party. Honestly, you should've begged off, but you didn't want to draw suspicion and everyone kept saying how they wanted to meet your mate. Kensuke himself brings along a Dynamight t-shirt in the hopes of a signature, which is just so cute you can't bring yourself to ditch the party.

"Congrats and good luck with your heat," you beam, toasting with Kensuke and his mate, a very pretty brunette who keeps her hand firmly around Kensuke's arm. She gives you a grin and a wink.

"Thanks," she says, "though we shouldn't need it. Ken-chan and I are old hats at this now."

"Your mate's scent is pretty strong, huh?" Kensuke says, tilting his nose up in spite of the grilled skewers being handed around. "It's almost like you're the one in pre-heat with how overpowering his scent is over yours."

"Haha," you swipe a skewer and pretend to be intensely interested in the slightly charred yakiniku. "You're probably just confusing my scent since you're in pre-heat, Kensuke-san!"

"Hm, I guess so," he says easily. His expression suddenly perks up, but you don't need to turn to see why. Every hair on your body raises as that comforting, overwhelming, smoky sweet scent washes over you. "Oh look! It's really Dynamight!"

Fuck.

You feel his red hot stare burrowing into you, and you know without a doubt that he's caught the way you've tensed up. You can feel your nipples perk against the silk fabric of your shirt, straining through your bra, and your panties get undeniably damp as his gaze drags along your form. You feel warm, warmer than you should be in this partially outdoor izakaya, and the air suddenly feels stifling, like you're swimming in smoke.

Katsuki's hand is heavy on your shoulder. You feel his touch like a brand, searing straight through your meager defenses, a spark that flickers as it drifts down to the well of your desire. You know — you know that once it catches, once it alights — you're both screwed.

"Hey, babe," you chirp, leaning into his arm as if your entire body isn't thrumming with want. "This is Kensuke-san and his mate! He brought one of your shirts — would you pretty please sign it?"

Katsuki's red eyes flash as he nods. To everyone else at the party, he probably looks normal. Just a regular Pro Hero alpha, strong and exuding power, all dense muscle and grace and skill, little sparks flying from his hands as he adds a tiny explosion smudge to the end of his signature on Kensuke's merch shirt. The guest of honor and his mate thank Katsuki profusely, and you take advantage of their distraction to slide away towards the bathrooms inside the izakaya proper.

This isn't good. You need to figure out how to get out without anyone noticing that Katsuki's been eye-fucking you since he got here, and then you need to bolt home so you can collapse into your heat in peace. One more touch from your mate and you'll probably drop right into it, but there's no way Katsuki will be able to keep his hands off you tonight.

You press yourself flat against the concrete wall in the hallway for the bathrooms, heart hammering in your chest. Forget worrying about your company's pre-heat shenanigans — you have a new fear unlocked: going into heat at a party full of coworkers.

"Whoa, hey!" Akane's a little louder than usual, a little wobblier on her feet. "The bathrooms are here, yeah?"

You manage to laugh, though there's a pitch of desperation in it that she thankfully doesn't notice. "Yup, they're right here! I just needed a breather. Hey, what happened to sticking to the nonalcoholic stuff?"

"Aw, yeah, I'm having those next," Akane flaps her hand at you breezily. "I'll sober up before I get home! Don't worry your pretty little head 'bout me! Hey, have I ever told you how nice your skin looks? Like, whoaaa."

This makes you giggle. "Do you need help in the bathroom?"

"Nope!" She shoots you a thumbs up. "See ya soon!"

You watch with amusement as she stumbles into the bathroom, but she doesn't hit anything on her way inside, so you lean back against the wall again and take a deep breath. You're aching — a deep, insistent pulse throbbing between your legs as a rich smoky caramel scent tickles at your instincts. Oh, shit.

You barely manage step away from the wall when suddenly Katsuki's there, looming big and broad and setting off every alarm bell ringing in your head. He eyes you with a flinty glare that's more black than red for a moment before he huffs and grabs your hand.

"Uh —"

"Zip it or I'll fuck you right here," Katsuki grits out. Oh, god. Your panties are sticking to your folds, tacky and damp, and you bite back a whimper as he pulls you along. His hand is warm around yours, and even though he's tugging you towards the back entrance of the izakaya, he never moves too quickly for you to keep up.

The two of you burst out into the back alleyway and Katsuki spares a quick glance around before he's on you.

He keeps a hand on the back of your head as he slams you into the dirty brick wall, shielding you even as he wrenches your waist towards him to grind his incriminatingly hard length against you. He kisses you like he wants to eat you alive, wiping out all coherent thought in your brain as your senses strain towards him. "You're gonna kill me," he grunts. You whimper into the kiss and clutch at his shoulders for dear life as he licks into your mouth, filthy and wet, swallowing down your pitched moans as he rocks his clothed cock against your center.

"What d'you want? Fingers or mouth?"

Your eyelashes flutter open in confusion. Your mind feels hazy, lost in the smoky sweetness of your mate, your focus entirely zeroed in on the throbbing of your pussy as Katsuki swears low beneath the clattering of the izakaya door opening.

"Wh— whoops!" the voice sounds familiar, but you can't quite place it. You blearily try to turn your head towards the sound, but Katsuki anchors you closer to him, covering you with his broad shoulders. "I was just — oh! You two should head home! I'll let everyone know you had an emergency!"

The roar of the crowds inside the izakaya rises in volume again before the door clangs shut. Katsuki picks you up before you can figure out what's happening, a strong hand tucking beneath your thighs as you cling to his neck. "Hold on tight."

"What're you— Katsuki, what the fuck!?" The loud, snapping, popping sound of explosions echo in the night before you're suddenly shooting straight into the sky, air rushing past you like you're flying. You tuck your face into his neck and swallow down an aborted scream, because, well — you are flying, propelled through the city skyline by Katsuki's explosive power.

Your boyfriend laughs. The shaking of his chest is familiar, at least, and you concentrate on that and the strong, sweet scent of his scent gland right beneath your lips. It would be downright disastrous for you to bite him now, while you're soaring through the city leaving fireworks in your wake, but you can't help kissing and sucking at the skin of his neck and shoulder as your body shivers with want.

There's a thud as he lands heavily and then a muttered curse before the tinkle of glass meeting concrete filters into your ears. You take a peek and catch sight of your apartment's balcony curtains fluttering in the wind, but the perspective is all wrong — why're you looking in as if you're —

"Katsuki," you pinch one of his strong shoulders, "did you just break into our apartment?"

"I'll get the glass replaced next week," Katsuki says, stepping inside and kicking off his boots. You're shivering, hot, feverish. He's warm, too — as usual — but sweat beads across his brow and you know you're close. "Bed, now. Or all our neighbors'll hear you screamin' my name."

Katsuki doesn't put you down. He carries you in a princess hold, the hand supporting your back smelling like smoke and soot, and he kicks the bedroom door shut with one socked foot. "Katsuki, Katsuki," he mocks, and suddenly you realize you've been chanting his name, fingers clenching tight to the hairs on the back of his head. "What d'you want, baby? Fingers or mouth?"

"I want you —"

His laugh is rough, a tortured sound spilling from his lips as he drops you on the bed and immediately kneels between your legs. Your breath catches in your throat as he slides your shoes off and tosses them aside. You lean up on your elbows to watch, wide eyed and breathless, as he trails his lips along the bare skin of your calf, hiking your skirt up with every beat of your heart. "I want you, too," he mutters, pupils blown wide with lust, his smirk pressing into your thigh. "But answer the question."

Your body thrums with anticipation. You can feel your heartbeat in your core like a siren song. "Katsuki, please —"

Katsuki snaps. A loud riiip tears through the air as he tosses aside the ruined fabric of your panties and then he's on you, his tongue licking dirty and insistent through your folds. You choke on a moan, hips canting into the air as pleasure sparks in your synapses, chasing the feeling as he eats you out like a man starved.

"Katsuki, Ka— nghh, Katsuki, please —"

Your boyfriend swirls his tongue around your clit and you nearly sob as you clench around nothing, your inner walls spasming with your near orgasm. Your thighs are tense, locked tight around his head. Katsuki doesn't seem to mind, lapping at your slick and groaning into your warmth, fingers digging into the fat of your thighs to hold you down.

Distantly you hear yourself whimpering and whining, but Katsuki continues to torture you, bringing you to the brink and pulling back as soon as you start to spasm. Somewhere in the depths of your mind you know there's a way to get him to — to fuck you properly —

You release the blanket you've been twisting in a death grip and scrabble for the pheromone patch on your neck. It takes a few tries as you pant helplessly, your fingers sliding off your sweaty skin, but as soon as your nail digs under the edge you rip it off and drown.

"Haah, fuck you —"

Katsuki rips himself away from your fluttering pussy with a groan and shoves his pants down awkwardly, the thick fabric catching on his thighs but low enough that his cock springs free. You whine at the sight, reaching for him, and he huffs out a laugh as he clambers over you. "You asked for it," he warns, but his voice cracks as the tip of his cock nudges against your wet folds.

"Oh, god, please please please. In," you grab at his arms and tilt your hips up, "Please get inside me."

"Fucking — hell —" Katsuki groans as he pushes inside, but his self control is at an all time low. He doesn't want to hurt you, but you're so wet and warm and your velvety walls are practically squeezing him in a vice grip.

He shoves every hard inch of his cock into you with a grunt, kissing you hard as you fall off the edge into bliss.

White. Sparks. It takes you a moment to come back to your senses, a moan punching through your chest as Katsuki pants into your neck. "Fuck."

"Yeah?" He rolls his hips and you whine at the sensation of being stuffed full of his cock, wiggling as best as you can beneath him. His skin is sweaty and sticky against yours, and you realize pulled his own shirt off. He's shoved your borrowed shirt up and off so that you're nearly naked, and out of the corner of your eye you spot your bra dangling from the doorknob where he tossed it away.

"Katsuki, c'mon, move," you plead. He digs his elbows into the mattress on either side of your head and rolls his hips again, dragging every rock solid inch of him against your insides. You clench around him, sparks skittering up your veins as he bullies his way back in, and then he's gone.

Katsuki fucks you into the mattress. You can barely string together a sentence, holding onto his arms as he shoves himself deep with every thrust. The overpowering scent of him fills the air along with the smell of sex and sweat and your choked off moans. You cling to him as best as you can, tilting your neck up as an offering as his thrusts get deeper and harder, crying out when he reaches to rest your legs on his shoulders, ankles dangling by his head as the changed angle lets his cock kiss a spot inside you that makes you sob.

"Oh, oh, Katsuki, fuck please I need you I want you please please please —"

"I — I got you," he grunts, "just fucking — hah you've gotta —"

"Oh I'm gonna cum, I'm — Katsuki I'm gonna cum!"

Katsuki growls as you leap off the edge again, pressing a strangely sweet kiss to your lips before leaning down further and licking along the side of your neck. You barely have a moment to register what he's doing before his body locks up and he bites you, marking you as his cock spurts and kicks inside you.

"Oh, fuck —"

The heady rush of pheromones sends you spinning dizzily higher, a pleasure so intense lighting up your nerves you nearly black out. Distantly you can still feel Katsuki cumming, thick ropes of white painting your insides as he rocks his hips in tiny, incessant motions against you. He lets go of your neck with a grunt. And then you feel it.

"Ah. Ah." The swell of his knot is thick and alarming, but you force yourself not to tense as he locks up with you. The overwhelming feeling sends your nerves buzzing and you tilt your head to kiss him, languid and sweet.

"How's it?" he asks, breaking the kiss just to press his sweaty forehead against yours. You meet his deep red eyes and brush a kiss along the pink swell of his cheekbones. "I didn't hurt you?"

"I'm fine," you sigh. Your heart is still thumping like a drum in your chest, but Katsuki is warm and solid and unyielding around and inside you. You're so full. You nuzzle into the neck of your mate. "You're lucky I'm so damn bendy."

The first knot is always the most lucid, the relief of sliding into heat lending clarity to both of your senses before dissolving into a messy, incoherent sex fest. By the end of the cycle you'll have lost track of how many times and how many ways Katsuki takes you — though you know he's fond of the shower and he used to like propping you up against the balcony doors…

"Did you really break the balcony door?" you ask suddenly, disrupting Katsuki's careful kiss to your jaw. Your boyfriend snorts, slowly sliding your legs off his shoulders and wincing lightly as his knot jostles inside you.

"If I had to go through the apartment I would've taken you in the goddamn elevator."

"Oh." You wince as his knot slips slightly. Another thought leaps unbidden to the front of your mind. "Who was that at the izakaya?"

Katsuki shrugs. "Some chick. The one you were helpin' to the bathroom."

Your brain still feels fuzzy with endorphins and the afterglow of white hot pleasure, so it takes you a moment longer to figure out who he's talking about. You groan. "Oh, no… not Akane…"

"She said she'd take care of it," Katsuki assures you, nosing along your neck. "And 'sides, that's not what you should be worried 'bout."

You raise an eyebrow. "Oh? And what's that?"

The grin Katsuki shoots you is shit-eating and terribly, annoyingly endearing.

"You begged for it first."

A few days later, while Katsuki heats up some premade food so neither of you die of malnutrition, you finally remember to turn on your phone. It pings! with notifications, but one flagged as "important" catches your eye.

Shimizu: Hey friend, hope your heat's going well! I've sent along your company care package to be delivered to your apartment, and once you get back we'll have a post heat drinking party for you! I also sent out your pre-heat company-wide congratulations email a few days ago, but don't worry, I'll send it out earlier next time so we can celebrate you properly!

Katsuki pokes his head into the bedroom at your loud groan, two plates piled high with food balancing on his strong forearms.

"What's the matter, pipsqueak?"

"Did we get a delivery?" you ask. Katsuki sets the plates down on the bed beside you and disappears for a moment, but then you hear a loud bark of laughter and he reappears with a large box. "Oh, no. Don't tell me…"

Katsuki reaches in and whips out a dildo with your company's name stamped along the base. "They found out?"

"I'm gonna die," you say. "I can never face any of them ever again."

"So dramatic," Katsuki snorts, setting the box down. He braces his hands on either side of your thighs as he leans down to kiss you. "Wanna see which one makes you beg hardest?"

"We are not using those toys, Katsuki!"

"We'll see how you feel when I've got you beggin' for me again."

#tw omegaverse #tw a/b/o #cw a/b/o #cw omegaverse #a/b/o dynamics #cw knotting #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #bnha x you #mha x reader #mha x you #bnha writing #mha writing #x reader #at long last! hope you enjoy!#lmk if i need to add any other warnings!#fuji writes!

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chanelrolls · 21 days ago

Note

heyy hope you’re doing fine!

I saw this hc of Xavier I wanted to know if you could write something about it? (only if you want tho no pressure)

He has a fever and calls MC to like watch out for him, give him medicine and all BUT he gets freaky and then things happens between them

Lovesick | Xavier

synopsis. xavier isn't just in a fever, he's in heat. and he wants you to take care of him.

tags. mdni, nsfw, mature content, mutual pining, tension, so much tension, yearning!xavier, t!t-pleasing, f!ngering during a phone call, etc.

wc. approximately 3.5k

the coffee machine whirred behind you, steaming with the usual early evening chaos. customers murmured by the counter, some tapping impatient fingers, others scrolling on their phones. you were halfway through wiping down a table when your phone buzzed inside your apron.

you shouldn’t have checked it. you weren’t supposed to have phones out, but something about the timing made you glance.

xavier (7:46 PM): You free?

you blinked. the message was simple. no teasing, there were no smartass remarks. simple two words, coming from xavier, and that was practically a cry for help.

you typed back quickly.

: at work. why?

there was a pause. then three dots from his chathead. then nothing.

you hesitated, peeking out at the line of customers forming by the register. your coworker was mid-order, so you ducked into the stockroom and pressed the call button.

he answered after the first ring.

"hey," he said, voice hoarse, lower than usual, softer too.

“xavier? what’s going on?” you asked, keeping your voice down.

“i think i’m dying.”

you rolled your eyes, even though he couldn’t see it. “what kind of dying are we talking about here?”

“i’m... sick,” he muttered. “probably a fever. my head’s spinning. i didn’t eat anything all day.”

you leaned against the shelves, sighing. “did you take anything? medicine?”

“nope.”

“water?”

“forgot.”

“xavier.”

“i—” he paused. “didn’t want to be alone. so i called you.”

that silenced you for a moment. you could hear rustling on the other end, the faint sound of a blanket being dragged over him. you could almost picture it—xavier, curled up in bed, hair a mess, hoodie probably pulled over half his face, looking pitiful in that annoyingly charming way of his.

“i’m at work,” you said softly. “i can’t leave.”

“i know.”

“but i’ll come after.”

“...you will?”

you sighed once more, adjusting your apron. “yeah. just... stay alive until then, okay?”

“noted,” he replied, voice tired but teasing now. and just like that, he hung up.

you stared at your phone for a second longer, then stuffed it back into your apron and headed out to take the next order. but your mind was already somewhere else. or rather, with someone else.

your shift ended later than expected. the rush hour crowd had dragged on, and you'd stayed behind to help close up. by the time you made it to xavier’s apartment, your limbs were sore and your feet were screaming, but the moment you stood in front of his door, all of that faded.

you didn’t even have to knock. he'd texted you his spare keycode months ago, something about “just in case i pass out drunk or dead,” typical xavier. and for the first time, you were grateful for his melodrama.

the door creaked open. complete silence.

you stepped inside quietly, toeing off your shoes. the living room was dimly lit by the city lights bleeding in through the window blinds. his cardigan was tossed over the back of the couch, and the faint scent of his cologne lingered in the air.

you didn’t call out. he was probably asleep, and you didn’t want to wake him.

instead, you headed to the kitchen.

you knew his cabinets by heart. he always left the mug you gave him on the second shelf. the rice cooker blinked on standby. you moved automatically; washed your hands, checked the fridge, started cooking something simple.

that’s when you noticed it.

a small table nearby, and a box of tissues aloft.

and right next to it—your photo. not the one from high school graduation, or from a group hangout. no, it was a candid shot you barely remembered anyone taking. you were laughing, head turned slightly, sunlight catching your cheek. you didn’t even think you looked particularly good in it.

you froze.

for a moment, the quiet of the apartment felt heavier. like it knew something you didn’t.

why would he keep that photo? why would it be out like that, with tissues beside it? was he… crying? no, could it be...?

you were just reading into it again, like you always did.

you swallowed, turning back to the stove, but your hands moved slower now. more uncertain, more careful.

he always called you first, since the prologue of your childhood friendship. and you've had the biggest crush on him for a while, and yet his ambiguity made it difficult for you to open that up.

and that photo... maybe it was just the flu.

you nudged the bedroom door open with your elbow, careful not to spill the bowl of porridge balanced in your hands.

he was buried beneath his blanket, cocooned like a child. the tip of his hair stuck out from the edge, tousled and damp with sweat. you couldn’t even tell if he knew you were there yet. the room smelled faintly of mint and something warmer, muskier. like heat.

you set the tray on his desk and turned on your heel to grab the small bucket of warm water you’d prepared from the kitchen. a washcloth dangled from the edge. he probably needed help wiping down his face, he always got annoyingly dramatic when he was sick.

but when you walked back in, your breath caught in your throat.

he was awake.

sitting up.

and staring right at you.

his blanket was slung low around his hips, exposing the cut of his collarbones, the slight sheen of sweat across his neck, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. his eyes were glazed, feverish, but locked on you like you were something he hadn’t decided what to do with yet. hungry, almost?

you clutched the bucket tighter.

“you’re awake,” you said, suddenly very aware of the silence. “i—i made you something. porridge. you haven’t eaten, right?”

still, he said nothing. he just watched, before flickering his gaze down the floor, like he was contemplating something.

it made your skin feel tight, like his gaze was unraveling something you didn’t know how to hide. “...you okay?” you asked again, gently this time, your voice just above a whisper.

something in the way he looked at you made your chest twist. he was beautiful. even like this—flushed, messy, and sick. too beautiful for your own good. and you had no idea what was going through his head.

you dipped the washcloth into the warm water, watching steam rise gently before wringing it out with a practiced hand. the room was utterly silent, save for the quiet drip of water and the soft hum of the air conditioner.

when you turned to wipe his face, you almost froze.

xavier was propped up slightly against the headboard. the blanket was haphazardly draped over his hips, his chest rising and falling with a slow, heavy rhythm, still staring at you.

but not at your face at least.

his gaze had dipped lower, fixated somewhere near your collarbone, unmoving. lips parted, his breathing uneven.

you cleared your throat and brought the cloth to his forehead, gently wiping along his temple.

“you’re burning up,” you murmured.

he let out a breath, shaky. almost a whimper. “I know…”

you frowned at the sound he made. “xavier?”

he blinked once, sluggishly, then finally looked up at your face. “i heard you come in,” he said, voice low and distant. "knew it was you."

“mmh, didn’t know you were awake.”

he didn’t answer right away. his gaze dropped again, this time to your thighs as you sat beside the bed. “you wore that... last week.”

you blinked. “what?”

“those jeans,” he said flatly, though there was a tremble at the end. “i remember—” a second whimper slipped out, barely controlled.

that’s when you started to notice it. his jaw was clenched too tightly, fingers gripping the sheets, and flexing rhythmically. his pupils were a little too blown despite the half-lidded gaze.

and when you leaned closer, the scent of something—not just sweat—hung in the air.

your hand stopped mid-wipe. “xavier, are you… are you sure this is just a fever?”

he didn’t respond right away. he just took the time to breathe slower. then finally, with a near-broken edge in his voice: “i didn’t want to call you... but i couldn’t- couldn’t think straight.”

he sounded desperate with that strained voice of his. like his body was at war with him.

and for the first time since stepping into this apartment, you realized—this wasn’t just sickness. something else was happening to him. and you were the one he called first.

you kept your hand steady, even though your pulse had picked up. you continued wiping his cheeks, temples, and neck with slow, deliberate strokes, trying not to react. trying not to notice how his eyes traced every movement of your fingers like it hurt him to look, but worse to look away.

he was quiet now, except for the occasional unsteady breath and soft, involuntary whimpers—small, bitten-off sounds like he was trying to hold them back. it was subtle, but enough to startle you. you glanced at him from the corner of your eye.

his skin was flushed deeper now. jaw tight. his chest rose and fell faster.

still, you didn’t say anything.

you just dipped the cloth again and moved on.

until you heard him speak, barely above a whisper. “…it’s worse when you’re close.”

you froze mid-motion. “what?”

xavier’s eyes slid shut, like it took effort just to keep them open. his hand gripped the blanket tighter near his abdomen. “i didn’t want to make this your problem,” he said, voice hoarse. “i just wanted to hear you. thought maybe it’d help if i heard you.”

you didn’t respond. because your heart was hammering too loud in your chest now. and you were beginning to understand.

this was his body asking—no, begging—for relief from something else entirely. and the fact that it was you he called, of all people, said more than his trembling lips could.

still, you swallowed it down, wrapped it up in a calm voice.

“i made you some food. you should eat before it gets cold,” you said softly, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. you stood up slowly, brushing off your jeans, carefully reaching for the tray on the side table. but before your fingers could curl around the handle, a firm grip closed around your wrist.

“xavier…?”

his grip wasn’t painful, but it was strong. his hand was burning hot around your skin. when you turned back to face him, his eyes were already on you, heavy-lidded and desperate.

“i said it’s worse when you’re close,” he mumbled, “but i didn’t tell you to move away.”

“xavier—��

before you could even take a breath, he tugged. you stumbled forward, catching yourself with your free hand against the mattress just beside his hip.

“wait—”

he shifted, his body rising slightly despite the clear strain on him, and in one fluid motion, he guided you down onto the bed, your back hitting the sheets with a soft thud. his palm pressed against the mattress beside your head, caging you in, while the other still held your wrist against his chest.

your heart practically stopped.

he hovered there, breathing heavily above you, eyes scanning your face like it grounded him. “��i’m sorry,” he muttered, leaning closer. “i just… i can’t pretend i don’t need you right now.”

you could feel every bit of his warmth. every bit of restraint teetering on the edge of collapse. and despite everything—your confusion, the unspoken history between you—you didn’t push him away.

his eyes flicked down, just for a second.

not at your face.

lower.

and he didn’t even try to hide it.

still hovering over you, his breath warm against your skin, he let out a shaky exhale and muttered, “you shouldn’t wear stuff like that when you’re around me…”

there was a tension in his jaw, like he was biting back more than just words. his hand that had been holding your wrist slowly loosened, fingers trailing down the length of your arm in a way that felt both deliberate and unsure.

then, his voice came again, this time, laced with a strange, monotonous rhythm. “…you smell too nice.” a pause. “it’s hard to think.”

he whimpered quietly, like it escaped him without permission. you saw his brows furrow as if frustrated with himself, his knuckles turning pale where they gripped the blanket beside you.

“damn it…” he whispered, and another shaky sound followed—half-breath, half-moan.

you wandered your eyes beyond his stare, afraid to prolong the tension in the eye-fucking you've been doing since earlier. but the presence just above you made it impossible to keep your eyes anywhere but on his.

“…say something,” he whispered, almost pleading. “before i- before i stop thinking straight.”

you watched as xavier's adam's apple bobbed with a hard swallow. you could see the internal struggle playing out behind his eyes, the war between his self-control and the primal instincts screaming at him to take you, to claim you as his own.

"xavier... i.." you couldn't even form anything coherent.

he leaned into you for a brief moment before catching himself and pulling away, shaking his head. "i need you to go. now."

despite his words, he made no move to leave, instead staying rooted in place, his eyes still drinking in every detail of your face, your body, like a man starved. you could see the outline of his hardening length straining against his sweatpants, impossible to hide in such close proximity.

"xavier..." you breathed out, your own heart beginning to race as you realized the true nature of his condition. "you're not fine. you're in... heat."

you said the words gently, almost hesitantly, not wanting to believe it yourself. but the evidence was undeniable, from the feverish look in his eyes to the prominent bulge in his pants. he was fighting it, fighting you, and he was losing control fast.

suddenly, xavier's eyes flicked down to your chest, lingering on the swell of your breasts straining against your shirt. he swallowed hard, his tongue darting out to wet his suddenly dry lips.

"can i... can i see your chest?" he asked, his gaze still locked onto your breasts. then he looked up at you, his eyes pleading and filled with a hunger you'd never seen before.

you hesitated, knowing that giving in would be crossing a line. but the desperation in his eyes, the way his body trembled with need, made it impossible to say no. with a reluctant nod, you slowly began to unbutton your shirt, your fingers shaking slightly as you exposed more and more of your soft skin.

it wouldn't hurt to try, right?

xavier watched, his eyes following the path of each button until your shirt fell open completely. he let out a shaky exhale as he took in the sight of your lace-clad breasts, his gaze darkening with lust.

"beautiful," he whispered, his voice low and rough. "you're so beautiful."

his hands clenched at his sides, as if he was fighting the urge to reach out and touch you. after a long moment, he looked up at you, then— "can i touch them?"

you hesitated for only a second before nodding, your heart pounding in your chest. xavier didn't waste any time, reaching out to cup your breasts in his large hands. he grunted at the feeling of your soft flesh yielding beneath his touch, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples through the thin lace.

but that wasn't enough for him. so he leaned down and pressed his mouth against your tits, his lips brushing over the sensitive peak of your nipple. you gasped at the sudden contact, your back arching slightly as a jolt of pleasure raced through your body.

xavier seemed to take that as permission, his mouth opening to draw your nipple between his lips. he suckled hard, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud as he ate at your breast. his hands kneaded the soft flesh, squeezing and groping.

you could only moan in response, your fingers tangling in his hair while he worshipped your breasts. the sight of him, face buried in your chest as he suckled and licked at your nipples, was almost too much to bear. you could already feel the heat building between your legs, your core aching with a need that demanded to be filled.

xavier seemed just as affected, his hips rocking forward and grinding his hard length against your thigh. you could feel the damp spot of pre-cum soaking through his sweatpants, the evidence of his arousal impossible to hide.

when the moon called for unfortune, the shrill ring of your phone pierced the charged air, startling you both. xavier glared at the offending device, a hiss of frustration escaping his lips. you reached for it, answering the call and trying to maintain some semblance of composure.

"h-hello?" you managed to say, your voice only slightly breathless.

xavier watched you intently, his eyes dark with lust and a hint of mischief. as you tried to focus on the conversation, you felt his fingers at the waistband of your jeans. with a deft movement, he undid the button and zipper, his hand slipping inside to cup you through your panties.

you had to bite back a moan, your hips instinctively canting into his touch. "y-yeah, I'm still here," you struggled, trying to keep your voice steady as xavier's fingers began to move, rubbing your clothed slit with a growing pressure.

the person on the other end of the line seemed to sense something was off, asking if everything was alright. "i'm fine," you assured them, even as xavier's fingers pushed your panties aside, his bare digits brushing against your slick folds.

you could feel the wetness gathering at your core, your body responding eagerly to xavier's bold touches. he explored your slick heat, fingers teasing your entrance before dipping inside, just barely, a shallow thrust that made you clench around him.

"okay, i'll... i'll see you soon," you said, struggling to keep your voice even while xavier began to pump his fingers in and out of you, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing tight circles around the sensitive nub. with a muffled moan, you hung up the phone, tossing it aside carelessly.

xavier imperceptibly smirked at your reaction, "all alone now," he murmured, "and all mine." with that, he crashed his lips against yours in a bruising kiss, his fingers never ceasing their movements between your thighs. you could only moan in response, still feeling uncertain despite the overwhelming pleasure that tugged at you. but one thing was for sure, you wouldn't stop xavier until you both reached the peak of this night. you wouldn't stop him from claiming what he craves for tonight.

#lnds #lnds x reader #love and deepspace #lads headcanon #xavier love and deepspace #lnds xavier #lads xavier #xavier x reader #xavier x mc #xavier x you #xavier x y/n #sylus love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #zayne love and deepspace

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w1w2 · 13 days ago

Text

Let Me In

Irene x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 5k

Synopsis: Behind the spotlight and polished smiles, one of Red Velvet’s members begins to struggle under the weight of unseen pressure. In the quiet of their shared space, love becomes both a question and an answer.

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

The apartment was quiet when they walked in, just the soft hum of the refrigerator, the faint tick of the wall clock, and the low click of the door shutting behind them. No lights turned on, no music, no casual joke thrown over a shoulder.

A stillness settled over the space like a heavy blanket, thick and unmoving.

Y/N didn’t say a word.

She moved on autopilot, bag sliding off her shoulder with a dull thud against the wall, her sneakers kicked off carelessly, one landing sideways, the other left crooked and half blocking the hallway. Her posture screamed exhaustion, but not the kind that sleep could fix, her shoulders drooped like something invisible was weighing her down.

She paused for a moment in place, hands hanging uselessly by her sides, eyes staring somewhere vague, somewhere far.

Then came the words, low and distant.

“I’m gonna shower.” No inflection, no emotion. Just words tossed out like an afterthought.

She didn’t wait for a response, she didn’t look at Irene. She turned and walked down the hallway, towel already pulled from the door hook, bare feet ghosting over the wooden floor.

Normally, she’d linger. Say something dumb just to get a smile. Pull Irene’s hand, tease her, pretend she forgot something just so Irene would follow. On bad days, she’d still do the bare minimum, flop on the couch, fake a dramatic sigh, and wait for Irene to press a kiss to her temple.

But Tonight? Nothing, not even a glance back.

Irene didn’t move, she stood frozen in the entryway, fingers curled loosely around the strap of her purse, watching the place where Y/N had just been. The silence stretched, long and cold.

She tried to write it off “Long day, she’s tired, maybe she’s just overwhelmed.” But none of those excuses landed.They didn’t sit right.

Her gut twisted, a quiet ache starting to bloom in the space between her ribs. Not panic, no, not yet. Just that first drop in the stomach, the one that comes when someone you love starts closing a door you didn’t even know was there.

Something was wrong, and Irene could feel it in her bones.

The signs had been showing all day, subtle but steady, if you weren’t paying attention, you’d miss them. But Irene had been paying attention.

At dinner, Y/N sat wedged between Wendy and Joy, her plate nearly untouched. She picked at her food, nudging rice around with her chopsticks like it was part of some quiet ritual. Three bites, maybe four, a small piece of meat, barely chewed before she swallowed and reached for her water like it was something bitter. She smiled when Joy teased her, laughed when Seulgi dropped her chopsticks and muttered a curse under her breath. But it didn’t reach her eyes, her eyes were tired.

Irene watched it all from across the table, close enough to notice, far enough that Y/N probably thought she wouldn’t.

When the others got distracted in conversation, Irene stayed watching. Her gaze landed on Y/N’s fingers, how they clenched around her napkin every time her phone buzzed on the table. She never picked it up right away, stared at the screen for a second, shoulders tight, jaw set.

Eventually, she gave in. One swipe to check the lock screen, one flash of something in her expression, Irene didn’t know what to call it.

Pain? Disappointment? Something sharp. Too sharp for someone so soft.

Then the screen went black. The phone slipped back into her bag like it had burned her, and the mask came right back on.

Y/N made another effort at a smile when Wendy asked her a question, answered with that gentle lilt in her voice that always made people lean in. But her fingers stayed clenched in her lap the rest of the meal. She even laughed again when Joy pulled out some weird inside joke, but Irene could see the strain behind it. That split second where her smile faltered, just long enough to be real.

It was muscle memory at this point, pretending everything was fine, but Irene knew better.

Y/N was slipping.

And now, hours later, Irene could still feel the echo of that dinner, the weight of it sitting with her like a bruise that hadn’t quite faded.

Irene moved toward their bedroom, dropping her purse on the dresser with a soft thump before sinking onto the edge of the bed. She didn’t turn on the main light, just clicked on the small lamp by her side of the bed. A warm glow pooled softly across the room, barely chasing the shadows off the walls.

She pulled her knees up and folded her arms around them, chin resting lightly on top. Her eyes stayed fixed on the bathroom door across the hall, slightly ajar, a faint mist curling out around the frame.

The water ran steady in the background.

She waited.

It wasn’t impatience, it was a quiet kind of hoping. Maybe Y/N would come out and say something, maybe she’d crawl into bed and let herself be held. Maybe she’d fold into Irene the way she always did when her walls cracked just enough.

But that didn’t happen.

Eventually, the water shut off. A pause. Then the soft rhythm of movement, towel rustling, the creak of the cabinet, the tap of skincare bottles being shuffled around.

A few minutes later, the door eased open with a click. Y/N padded into the bedroom, wrapped in her oversized towel, damp hair clinging to her neck. She didn’t look at Irene, just moved toward the closet, pulled out a hoodie, and tugged it over her head before slipping into a pair of shorts.

Her silence stretched the whole time, thick enough to chew on.

Irene watched her carefully, picking up on every shift, the way she avoided eye contact, the slight tremble in her fingers as she brushed her hair back, how she tugged the hoodie sleeves over her hands like she wanted to disappear inside them.

“You’ve been quiet today,” Irene said softly, finally breaking the silence.

Y/N froze for a heartbeat, not enough to be obvious, but just long enough for Irene to notice. Her back remained turned, her movements paused mid motion as if considering how much to say.

Then she spoke, casual and even, too practiced to be real. “Just tired.”

Irene let the words sit in the air for a moment before answering, her voice still soft but edged with something firmer, something that quietly refused to be brushed off. “You sure?”

Y/N’s hands stilled again, her fingers mid-way through gathering her damp hair into a loose bun. She didn’t look back. Didn’t meet Irene’s eyes.

“Yeah, Joohyun. I’m fine.”

And that name. Joohyun. landed like a stone in Irene’s chest. Not Hyun, not babe, not even unnie that Y/N used when she wanted to be spoiled.

Just Joohyun.

Flat. Formal. Careful.

The kind of name someone used when they were pulling away, even if they were trying not to show it.

Irene didn’t respond right away. She just watched Y/N quietly retreat to the far side of the bed, lifting the covers, slipping under them without a word.

The days started to blur.

Wake up, schedule, perform, smile, collapse, repeat.

It wasn’t anything unusual on the surface, Red Velvet had been through busier times, but something in the rhythm had changed, and Irene could feel it like a draft sneaking through a cracked window. Not loud, not obvious. Just steady, cold.

Y/N wasn’t just tired anymore. She was somewhere else entirely.

She started coming home later than usual, ten minutes at first, then thirty, then over an hour. She never said where she’d been, and Irene didn’t always ask. Not because she didn’t care, but because she could already guess the answer.

Irene would be waiting in the living room most nights, curled up on the couch with the TV on low, the glow flickering across her face. Sometimes she’d make tea, just in case Y/N wanted some. Sometimes she’d scroll through her phone, pretending not to be watching the door.

And then Y/N would walk in.

“Sorry, lost track of time,” she’d mutter, tossing her keys into the bowl by the door like she hadn’t been avoiding the apartment for hours.

She didn’t sit beside Irene, didn’t steal a sip of her tea, didn’t collapse into her lap like she always used to after long days.

No hug, no kiss, no “I missed you.” She’d just head straight to the bedroom, shoulders stiff, head down.

The door never slammed, never locked. Just closed, quietly. That almost made it worse. It wasn’t anger, it wasn’t even annoyance. It was distance wrapped in politeness, like she didn’t want to bother Irene with whatever she was carrying.

It was the kind of closed door that said she needed space.

And Irene? She heard it.

She sat there most nights in that silence, trying not to feel like a stranger in her own home. Trying not to take it personally, trying to understand without overstepping. But the ache in her chest was starting to feel permanent.

Irene tried.

She didn’t storm the walls, she didn’t pry. She just showed up, in small, steady ways. She’d bring Y/N tea before bed. Offer to run her a bath. Ask if she wanted to watch something, go for a walk, eat out somewhere lowkey.

Sometimes Y/N would agree. But lately, more often than not, it was just a shake of the head, a quiet smile that didn’t reach her eyes, and another “Maybe next time.”

So Irene started asking differently, trying to find cracks in the silence without pushing too hard.

“Are you okay?” she asked one night, her voice casual but weighted with quiet concern.

“Yeah,” Y/N replied without missing a beat, her tone light, practiced, a reflex more than a response.

Another day, Irene tried again, softer this time. “Do you want to talk? Just us?”

“I’m fine, really,” Y/N said, forcing a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

They weren’t harsh answers. If anything, they were soft, too soft. Like Y/N was trying to wrap her detachment in kindness so it wouldn’t hurt as much, like she was trying to protect Irene from her own unraveling.

But the thing about loving someone is, you know when they’re not okay, even if they say they are with the sweetest voice they can manage.

And Y/N’s voice was sweet, but it was full of cracks.

She stopped making eye contact when Irene asked those questions. She started walking past her with a hand on her arm or a kiss on the cheek, brief, like punctuation, not affection. She’d say she was tired, that she had a headache. Say she needed a few minutes alone, and those minutes always turned into hours.

“I’m just tired.” “Don’t worry about it.” “I can handle it.”

At first, Irene let it slide. Maybe she really was tired, maybe a little space would help.

But it kept happening, and each time Y/N said those things, Irene heard the real meaning behind them a little more clearly.

“I’m just tired.” mean “I don’t have the energy to talk about what’s hurting.”

“Don’t worry about it.” was the synonym of “You shouldn’t have to carry this too.”

Irene never blamed her. She just wanted to wrap her in her arms, tell her she didn’t have to fight invisible battles with her fists clenched in the dark. But every time she got close, Y/N would gently pull away, never rude, never cold, just distant. Careful, too careful.

And Irene didn’t know how to break through that without shattering something. So she stayed quiet.

For now.

It was a Thursday night, and the apartment felt colder than usual.

Y/N had gone to bed early again, another quiet “I think I’ll just lie down” said halfway through Irene asking if she wanted to order takeout. She hadn’t even touched the dinner Irene made, only pushed the rice around and mumbled something about a headache.

Now the bedroom door was closed, not slammed, just closed.

Irene sat alone on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, the untouched food still on the coffee table in front of her. Some drama played quietly on the TV, but she wasn’t watching, not really. She kept checking the hallway like Y/N might change her mind, come back out, maybe curl up beside her and say what was really going on. But the silence stayed.

Her phone buzzed once on the armrest.

Then again.

Irene glanced down. A couple of notifications, nothing urgent, but one of them had her name. A tagged post. A fan account. Something about Red Velvet’s most recent appearance.

She didn’t usually check those things this late, but her thumb moved on its own. Curious Or maybe just hoping for something to make the silence less heavy.

She tapped in, and wished she hadn’t.

Y/N was trending, but not in celebration, not in the fun, “queen of duality” kind of way.

The comments hit like a slap.

“She’s not Red Velvet material. SM should’ve never added her.”

“She doesn’t fit. It’s like she’s from a different group.”

“Can someone tell her she’s not the main character?”

“Why does she talk so much? Always trying to be the center.”

Irene scrolled, each word heavier than the last. Her throat tightened, her stomach twisted.

She put the phone down slowly, like it might shatter if she moved too fast. It slipped from her fingers and landed beside her on the couch with a dull, final thud.

The TV played on, but she couldn’t hear it anymore. Just noise, just static behind the sound of her own heartbeat, thudding harder now in her chest, in her throat. Irene stared at the screen, the faint reflection of her own face staring back at her, soft in the glow, but tired. Her eyes looked hollow, jaw clenched, shoulders tense in a way they hadn’t been even during the most brutal training days.

She blinked slowly, once, twice.

There was no anger in her, no. She wasn’t mad at Y/N, not even a little. But she was hurting, because she saw it now. All of it.

The closed doors, the rushed excuses, the fake smiles, the way Y/N had started using her real name like a wall between them. The way she said “I’m fine” like it was a line she’d rehearsed, not a truth she believed.

And all the while, she'd been breaking, quietly.

Alone.

The girl Irene loved more than anything was crumbling right behind a door just a few steps away and pretending she wasn’t.

That was what broke Irene’s heart the most. Not the comments, not the silence. But the fact that Y/N thought she had to go through it alone. That she couldn’t come undone in front of her, that she didn’t feel safe leaning into her anymore.

Irene inhaled, shaky and shallow. This couldn’t keep going like this, something had to give. She wasn’t going to wait any longer.

The hallway felt longer than usual as Irene made her way down it, every step sinking with the weight in her chest. It wasn’t just the dim lighting or the late hour, it was the stillness. The kind that made your ears ring, the kind that followed hurt left unspoken.

She stopped in front of their bedroom door and rested her hand on the knob. It wasn’t locked, it never was. But something about turning it felt like asking permission.

The soft glow from the bedside lamp spilled out beneath the door, warm and golden, the kind of light meant to be comforting. But through the silence, it only felt… sad. Like a light left on for someone who forgot how to come home.

She exhaled slowly.

Then she turned the handle, the door opened without a sound, and the room greeted her with more silence.

Y/N was on the bed, facing the wall. Blankets curled around her. One arm tucked beneath her head, the other draped over the edge of the bed. Her back rose and fell in slow, measured breaths, too slow, too steady.

Irene’s heart ached.

She knew what pretend sleep looked like, knew the difference between the softness of peace and the stillness of someone just trying to disappear.

Irene stepped inside, her footsteps quiet against the floorboards. She closed the door gently behind her with a soft click, sealing the silence in with them. Then she moved toward the bed, sitting down on the edge with care, leaving enough space so it wouldn’t feel like pressure.

Her eyes stayed fixed on Y/N’s back. The curve of her spine beneath the hoodie, the way her fingers were curled into the blanket like she needed something to hold onto.

Irene didn’t speak right away. She just sat there, close enough to reach her, but far enough to let her decide. She folded her hands in her lap and stared down at them, thumbs absently tracing the edge of her sleeve. Her heartbeat was loud in her ears, and her thoughts were louder.

This wasn’t a moment to fill with words, not yet.

So she let the silence settle between them, not to create distance, but to offer something that had been missing. A quiet, open space where Y/N could choose to let her in.

The quiet had stretched long enough that it began to hum in Irene’s ears, vibrating with everything that hadn’t been said. The weight of it pressed against her ribs, made the air feel thinner.

She glanced at Y/N’s back again, took in the way her shoulder blades sat high and stiff, how her knuckles had turned pale from gripping the edge of the blanket too tightly. It wasn’t rest, it was restraint. The kind that comes when you're trying so hard not to break.

Irene shifted slightly, folding one leg beneath her on the bed. Her voice, when it came, was soft but steady.

“You don’t have to talk,” she said, barely louder than a whisper. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

Still, Y/N didn’t move. Her body didn’t tense or relax. It just stayed, like she was trying to disappear into the mattress, like staying still was her last form of defense.

But Irene saw the truth anyway. She always had.

Her eyes dropped to Y/N’s hands again, clenched into the bedding like it was anchoring her in place. Like if she let go, the dam would break.

Irene swallowed.

“I know you think you have to be strong all the time,” she said, slower this time. Her voice dipped into something deeper.

“But not with me, not here.”

There was a beat. A hitch in Y/N’s breathing, then a soft, bitter exhale.

Irene barely caught the words when they came.

“I said I’m fine, Joohyun.”

And there it was. Not the words themselves, but how she said them, tired, guarded, laced with something between guilt and grief. As if admitting anything else would make her weak. As if “fine” was a wall that could hold everything together.

That name again.

No sweetness, no softness. Just the distance tucked inside her full name, like a subtle push meant to keep Irene at arm’s length. It wasn’t anger, it wasn’t cruelty. But it was careful. And that hurt in a way Irene couldn’t describe, because it wasn’t rejection, it was fear disguised as strength.

She could’ve pulled back, could’ve let it go.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she leaned in, just slightly. Her voice didn’t rise, it didn’t sharpen, it trembled with love, with worry, with the ache of watching someone you adore fall apart piece by piece.

“Then why do you look like the world’s crushing you?”

The words settled into the room like dust, and for a moment, neither of them breathed.

Y/N didn’t answer, but something shifted.

Her shoulders drew in tighter, her spine curling inward like she was trying to fold into herself. Her fingers had loosened from the blanket, just barely, but her hands now lay still, open, like she’d run out of strength to hold on.

The silence between them was no longer gentle. It was suffocating. And Irene knew, this wasn’t the time for more space, this wasn’t something Y/N could carry alone, no matter how badly she wanted to.

Irene shifted slowly, deliberately, like she was moving through water. She leaned forward, closing the distance between them inch by inch until her chest was just barely brushing against Y/N’s back.

And then, quietly, gently, she wrapped her arms around her.

Not tight, not urgent. Just there.

Her hands slid beneath Y/N’s arms and found her waist, settling like they belonged there. Her head tucked into the curve between Y/N’s shoulder blades, the scent of her shampoo still clinging to her damp hair. Irene breathed her in like it was the only thing grounding her.

She fit there, perfectly, like she'd done it a thousand times. Like her body knew this shape before her mind did.

Y/N’s breath hitched the second Irene touched her. Not enough for anyone else to notice, but Irene felt it. The subtle shift, the crack forming in the stillness. The tension in Y/N’s spine wasn’t gone, but it wavered. Her back rose unevenly beneath Irene’s cheek, like she was trying to keep control and losing that grip with every second Irene held her.

Her voice came out low, nearly a whisper, full of quiet truth.

“I see you, Y/N.”

She closed her eyes, resting her forehead lightly against the soft cotton of Y/N’s hoodie.

“Even when you try to hide.”

Her arms tightened, not enough to suffocate, just enough to hold. To remind her she wasn’t alone. Her fingers curled gently into the fabric, grounding herself in the warmth of Y/N’s body.

“I’m right here,” Irene whispered. “Please, talk to me.”

At first, it was stillness.

One breath, then another.

Irene thought for a moment she might’ve asked too much. Pushed too far, but then she felt it, so faint it could’ve been imagined.

A tremble.

Y/N inhaled sharply, and her breath collapsed mid way through like a wave breaking against rock. She exhaled with a sound that wasn’t quite a sob, not yet, but it was close, too close.

The sound tore out of her, a single, shattered breath that cracked open into a sob she couldn’t contain. Her body jolted in Irene’s arms, shoulders shaking violently as the dam finally gave way. Her fingers scrambled for something to hold onto before she turned around in a blur of movement, burying herself in Irene without a word.

There was no hesitation.

Her arms wrapped around Irene tight, almost crushing, like she needed to be held together by force. Like she didn’t trust herself to stay in one piece unless Irene was holding her there. Her face pressed into the crook of Irene’s neck, hot tears seeping into her skin. Her breath came in ragged sobs, one after another, pouring out everything she’d been trying to swallow for days.

“I just,” she gasped, voice broken and small, “I didn’t want to be a burden.”

Irene didn’t flinch, didn’t speak right away. She just held her, anchored her. One hand cradled the back of Y/N’s head, fingers threading gently through her hair. The other rubbed slow circles into her back, steady, rhythmic, grounding. Her own eyes stung, but she blinked them clear. Y/N needed her strong right now. Present.

“You’re not,” she whispered, brushing her lips against her temple.

“You never are.”She tightened her arms just slightly. “Not to me.”

The sobs faded slowly, like a storm rolling off into the distance. Y/N’s breathing was still uneven, but steadier now, less like she was falling apart, more like she was starting to come back to herself.

They lay curled into each other under the blanket, bodies tangled naturally, as if the only way either of them could sleep was like this.

Irene stayed close, never letting go. One hand rubbed slow, gentle circles on Y/N’s back, her thumb brushing along the fabric of her hoodie, up and down in a rhythm that matched her heartbeat. The other was laced with Y/N’s fingers, their hands nestled between them.

When Irene finally spoke, her voice was a whisper, like something sacred.

“Let them talk.”

Y/N blinked against her shoulder, eyes red and heavy.

“They don’t know you,” Irene said. “They don’t get to define you.”

She leaned in, pressed a kiss to Y/N’s forehead, then the bridge of her nose, then her cheek, each one slow, unhurried. Each one saying I love you, I’ve got you, I’m here.

“You’re mine,” she murmured into her skin. “You’re ours, you’re more than enough.”

Y/N let out a shaky laugh, the sound small but real. “You’re kinda cheesy, unnie.”

Irene grinned against her cheek. “You love it.”

“I do,” Y/N admitted, voice still a little hoarse. “A lot.”

They shifted slightly, adjusting into an even tighter hold. Y/N’s head tucked beneath Irene’s chin now, her hand curled loosely at Irene’s chest, feeling the steady rise and fall. The safety of it.

“You don’t have to pretend for me,” Irene whispered, words soft as breath. “Ever. Not even a little.”

Y/N didn’t answer, but the way she pressed her face closer said enough. She breathed in deep and let it go, like she hadn’t been able to do that in days.

Then Irene added, “And if I ever catch you reading those comments again, I’m throwing your phone in the toilet.”

Y/N let out a tired, half-snorted laugh. “You wouldn’t.”

“I absolutely would, with a smile.”

Y/N smiled back, eyes still wet, but finally peaceful. “You’d cry after.”

“Okay, maybe a little,” Irene muttered, brushing her thumb under Y/N’s eye. “But the point stands.”

They shared a few more soft kisses, no urgency, no need. A kiss to Y/N’s forehead, one to the tip of her nose, a lingering one to her lips that didn’t ask for anything but closeness.

Eventually, Y/N’s breathing slowed even more, the tension finally ebbing out of her limbs. She blinked a few times, heavier with each one, until her eyes fluttered shut for good. Her hand stayed in Irene’s. And for the first time in days, she looked like she might sleep without a weight on her chest.

Irene stayed awake a little longer, just watching her. Watching the calm settle on her face like a prayer answered.

“Mine,” she whispered again.

Then she closed her eyes, and let the peace hold them both.

Morning arrived gently, without fanfare or noise, just a slow bloom of light pressing through the curtains and spilling into the room like a soft promise. It was the kind of light that didn’t demand anything, that let you wake on your own terms, no harsh edges, no urgency.

Irene stirred first.

For a moment, she stayed still, her body still curled protectively around Y/N’s. Her arm was tucked under the younger girl’s head, slightly numb but unmoving, while the other rested at her waist. Their legs were tangled beneath the sheets, the covers pushed down in their sleep, revealing the faint warmth of skin and fabric where comfort had finally settled in.

Y/N hadn’t moved much, and for the first time in what felt like days, her face was completely at peace, no furrowed brows, no clenched jaw, no tightness behind her eyes. Just the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of sleep, her lips parted slightly, her body soft and unguarded in a way that made Irene’s chest ache with quiet relief.

She didn’t want to get up. Part of her could’ve stayed like that forever, just holding, watching, breathing in the fragile stillness of their shared safety.

Eventually, she eased out of bed, careful not to wake her. She padded barefoot through the apartment, grabbing a blanket from the edge of the bed to wrap around her shoulders as she moved. The air was cool, the kind that nipped at your skin before the day fully warmed, and she welcomed it, something crisp and real after the storm of the last few days.

In the kitchen, she moved slowly, deliberately, letting the silence fill the space as she started breakfast. Nothing complicated. Just something warm, something familiar, soft scrambled eggs, a little rice, toast with too much butter, and a sliced apple the way Y/N liked, peeled and fanned out neatly.

Irene didn’t need her to say thank you, she just needed her to wake up to something kind.

It wasn’t long before she heard the quiet shuffling of feet behind her. She didn’t turn right away. She didn’t have to. Y/N wrapped her arms around her waist from behind, pressing her face into Irene’s shoulder, still half asleep and warm from bed. Her hoodie sleeves swallowed her hands, and her voice came out soft, raspy from sleep and last night’s tears.

“Morning,” she whispered, like the word itself might break the stillness between them.

Irene turned in her arms and met her gaze, tired eyes, a swollen face from crying, messy hair, and somehow still the most beautiful thing Irene had ever seen. She reached up, cupped Y/N’s cheek, and leaned in to kiss her slowly, deliberately, like a quiet reassurance.

“Hey, baby,” she murmured against her lips, voice low with affection. “Did you sleep okay?”

Y/N nodded, barely. “Yeah, better than I have in a while.”

They didn’t say anything else for a moment. They just stood there, holding each other, letting the warmth between them say everything that didn’t need to be repeated. There was nothing grand about the way they fit together, no cinematic swell of music, no dramatic line, just quiet familiarity, like coming home after being gone for too long.

“Thank you,” Y/N said finally, her voice barely above a breath, as if she wasn’t sure she was allowed to say it. “For last night, for staying.”

Irene pulled her closer, fingers brushing lightly through the ends of her hair. “There’s nothing to thank me for. I’m always going to stay, you don’t have to earn that.”

Y/N’s eyes softened, and for a moment, she looked like she might cry again, not from sadness, but from the strange, overwhelming relief of being fully seen and still chosen.

They sat down to eat together at the small table, knees brushing beneath it, their bodies still close enough to touch but not needing to cling anymore. There was a kind of stillness between them now that didn’t feel empty. It felt safe.

Halfway through breakfast, Irene glanced up and said, completely serious, “By the way, I meant what I said. If I ever see you scrolling through those comments again, I will drop your phone in the sink.”

Y/N laughed, a real one this time, messy and warm and a little nasal from crying too much the night before. “You’re bluffing.”

“Try me,” Irene said, smirking, but her voice was still soft, still loving.

Y/N reached across the table and laced their fingers together. “You’re dramatic.”

“You love it.”

“I do,” Y/N said, smiling without hesitation now. “God, I really do.”

When they finished eating, they lingered at the table longer than they needed to, fingers still linked. Y/N didn’t look at her phone once. She didn’t check notifications, she didn’t apologize.

She didn’t have to.

And later, when she lay back down on the couch with her head in Irene’s lap and her eyes fluttering closed again, Irene leaned down and kissed her temple, whispering,

“You’re not a burden. You’re mine. And I’m yours.”

Y/N didn’t answer, she didn’t need to. She just held Irene’s hand a little tighter, her breathing even and slow, finally unafraid of being held.

#kpop imagines #girl group imagines #gg x reader #kpop x reader #irene x fem reader #irene x reader #bae joohyun x reader #joohyun x reader #red velvet x reader #red velvet imagines

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zafill · 12 days ago

Note

Hii can u do hashiras x f!reader (or if you dont feel like doing all of them, giyuu, mui, and obanai would do just fine!)

Basically reader has hanahaki disease (its a disease where someone coughs/vomits flower petals when they experience unrequited love)

How would they react? Will they find out theyre the reason on why she has the disease?

Thankss <3

HI THIS IS SO CUTE SO I JUST HAD TO DO IT!! just a side note, i made muichiro readers sibling, since he is a minor, :D

Giyuu Tomioka x f!Reader

When you first met Giyuu, he was just “Tomioka-san” — a pillar of ice and water, still and unreadable. You’d been a new recruit under Urokodaki’s watchful eye, clumsy with a blade but steady in your determination. Giyuu had already become a Hashira by then, but he returned often to the mountain where he trained — sometimes to visit, sometimes just to be alone.

He never spoke much.

You never expected him to.

But over time, silence became comfort. His presence was reassuring, solid. When Urokodaki wasn’t looking, Giyuu would adjust your stance, wordlessly. After missions, he'd leave rice balls near your satchel if you forgot to eat. He was kind in a way no one else seemed to notice — not loud or expressive, but constant. Like a river that never stopped flowing.

You admired him. Then respected him.

And eventually… somewhere between the quiet glances and the way his gaze softened when you spoke about your dreams, you began to feel something else.

It wasn’t a lightning bolt. It was slow. Creeping. Blooming in secret places inside your chest.

You fell in love with Giyuu Tomioka the way flowers bloom in winter — against all odds, and far too quietly.

But you buried it.

Because Giyuu didn’t see you like that. He never had.

Even when he’d walk beside you during missions without speaking. Even when he gave you his scarf on a snowy night without a word. Even when he took the blow meant for you and stared at you too long as you screamed his name.

You mistook kindness for hope.

You should have known better.

He never gave you an inch more than he gave anyone else — and when you, just once, tried to lean into him, to say something just a little too warm, he gently stepped back.

"Don't," he had said. Not cruel. Just tired. Just closed off.

That was the first crack in your chest.

You told yourself you’d move on.

But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

The First Petal

It started after a mission.

You were returning from the Butterfly Mansion after patching up a nasty slash across your ribs. Shinobu had offered a smile too soft to be comforting.

“You should rest,” she said. “Stress will slow your healing.”

You didn’t tell her your chest already ached in a way bandages couldn’t fix.

That night, you woke up choking — a dry cough tearing from your throat, something soft and wet spilling past your lips. You rushed to the basin, confusion and fear bubbling as you spat out crushed petals — soft, pale pink, with edges tinged in crimson.

You knew the signs.

Hanahaki.

You laughed, bitterly. Of course.

Of course your body would betray you like this.

You kept it secret, even as the petals came more frequently — a slow suffocation blooming inside you. You distanced yourself. Refused missions with Giyuu. Avoided his gaze. Every time he looked at you with that same unreadable expression, your throat clenched and petals tickled the back of your tongue.

But you weren’t dying fast enough to stop loving him.

And that was the cruelest part.

-----

You didn’t mean for him to find out.

You thought you had more time — time to figure out if you wanted the petals surgically removed and lose your feelings forever… or let them choke you quietly.

But he came to check on you after three weeks of avoidance.

“I heard you were injured,” he said from the doorway.

You tried to smile. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

He stepped closer. “Then why have you been avoiding me?”

You froze.

You could feel the petals in your throat, panic swelling in your lungs.

“I haven’t.”

“You have,” he said, gaze narrowing.

Your chest began to shake. The pain flared suddenly, sharply — like your body knew it couldn’t keep the secret anymore.

Then, you coughed. Hard. A wet, choking sound that startled even him.

And with it, you spat out a spray of petals. They spilled down your chin, across your hand. Blood followed.

Giyuu stood frozen, horror dawning on his face.

“…Hanahaki.”

You didn’t meet his eyes.

He stepped forward. “Who?”

Your shoulders trembled. “Does it matter?”

He knelt beside you. “Tell me.”

“…You already know,” you whispered.

Silence. Like a blade drawn in the dark.

“I never wanted you to find out,” you said, voice breaking. “I was trying to forget. I know you don’t feel the same. You made that clear.”

His expression was unreadable — not cold, but cracked. His fingers twitched at his sides, like he wanted to reach for you and didn’t know if he was allowed.

“I didn’t know,” he said, quietly. “I didn’t realize…”

“You weren’t supposed to,” you said, trying to stand. “Please just go. I don’t want your pity.”

“I don’t pity you.”

You laughed, sharp and broken. “Then what is it? Guilt? Regret? You told me not to fall for you. I should’ve listened.”

He caught your wrist gently before you could walk past him. His hand was warm. Steady.

“I didn’t say that because I didn’t care,” he murmured. “I said it because I didn’t think I deserved someone like you.”

Your breath hitched.

“I thought… if I kept my distance, you’d forget me,” he said. “But I kept watching you. Listening to you laugh with others. I told myself I didn’t care. But when I stopped seeing you… it hurt more than I expected.”

You looked up, shocked. He met your eyes, and for the first time, there was no wall there. Just a flood of something raw. Painful. Real.

“Maybe I was wrong,” he whispered. “Maybe I do feel something. I just… realized too late.”

Your vision blurred.

“But if there’s still time,” he said, voice shaking, “let me stay. Don’t go through this alone.”

And you — broken, aching, and still in love — let him hold you as petals fell between you.

----

Obanai Iguro x f!Reader

You knew Obanai long before you understood him.

He was difficult — sharp-tongued, secretive, constantly glaring through that bandaged mouth like the world owed him something. Others feared him, or at least avoided him. But not you.

You saw past the bitterness. Past the fangs.

You saw the man who fed Kaburamaru with gentle fingers. Who always sat with his back to a wall and never let anyone walk behind him. Who carried more shame than one person should, tucked between the stripes of his haori.

You didn’t know exactly why, or when, but you fell in love with him.

It was quiet. Private. You didn’t expect anything from it — just being near him was enough. You followed him on missions when you could, patched up his wounds in silence, listened to his gruff complaints with a small smile.

And he let you stay.

That meant something. He didn’t let anyone stay.

But you weren’t blind. You saw the way his eyes softened when Mitsuri Kanroji was around — like someone had let sunlight into his dark little world. You’d catch him watching her with an expression you never received, even in your quietest moments together.

It gutted you. But you smiled anyway.

Because if loving him meant just being there, you’d take it.

Until one night, you coughed into your hand — and watched a trail of crimson-edged petals fall between your fingers.

You didn’t tell anyone.

Hanahaki was an embarrassing disease — not because of the petals, or the slow, excruciating death, but because it meant you had loved someone who did not, could not, love you back.

And in your case, that truth hurt more than the blood in your throat.

You kept it hidden well. Even as the flowers grew. Even as it became harder to breathe during training, harder to walk without your chest pulling tight with pain. You’d excuse yourself when the coughing got worse. Wash away the petals. Pretend you were just tired.

But Obanai wasn’t stupid. He noticed.

“You’re paler than usual,” he muttered one afternoon after you nearly collapsed during sword drills. “Stop pushing yourself.”

“I’m fine,” you said quickly.

“You’re not.” He stepped closer. “Are you injured?”

You looked up at him — his mismatched eyes narrowed, concern barely veiled beneath that constant irritation — and your chest clenched with the pain of another petal pressing against your ribs.

“No,” you said. “Not in the way you think.”

He frowned but didn’t press. He never did. He respected boundaries — maybe because he had so many of his own.

You wanted to scream at him. Tell me to stop. Tell me you love me back. Tell me anything.

But he never did.

And when you saw him the next day with Mitsuri, his smile hidden beneath his scarf, his voice low and soft — something in you cracked completely.

It was Kaburamaru who found you.

You’d collapsed on a mossy trail outside the estate, clutching your chest, blood pooling between petals that had fallen like snow around you. The snake slithered from Obanai’s shoulder, sensing something wrong, and raced to where you lay gasping.

By the time Obanai found you, petals clung to your lips, your eyes glassy with pain and fading light.

“No,” he breathed, kneeling beside you. “No. No—what happened?”

You tried to smile.

“Figured… you'd come.”

“Don’t talk.” His hands hovered helplessly over your bloodied clothes. “Don’t move. We’ll get Shinobu. We’ll fix this.”

You coughed again, violently, more flowers spilling from your mouth. Kaburamaru curled around your neck, gentle and protective, as if sensing you were leaving.

“It’s Hanahaki,” you whispered, barely audible.

He froze.

You laughed, wet and broken. “Don’t look so surprised.”

“Who—” His voice cracked. “Who did this to you?”

You looked up at him. “You.”

Silence. He flinched like you’d stabbed him.

“I didn’t… mean for you to find out,” you said. “You were always kind… even when you didn’t have to be. I knew you loved her. You never tried to hide it.”

“I—” He shook his head. “No. I didn’t know. I didn’t see…”

Your breath hitched. “That’s the worst part. You didn’t see me. Even when I was right in front of you.”

Kaburamaru let out a soft hiss, coiling closer to you, nuzzling beneath your chin as if he, too, was mourning.

Obanai looked at you — really looked — and something in his face shattered.

“You should’ve told me,” he said, his voice breaking. “I was so blinded by a love I thought I deserved… I didn’t see the one I needed was beside me the whole time.”

You blinked slowly, your body growing cold. “Don’t say that now… it’s too late.”

“No,” he whispered. “No, don’t say that.”

He pulled you into his arms, clutching you like he could stitch you back together with sheer will. His scarf unraveled, falling to your lap. His cheek pressed to your forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he said, again and again, like a prayer. “I’m sorry. Please stay.”

You didn’t answer.

The petals stopped falling.

And in the stillness of that forest trail, Obanai Iguro held your lifeless body, surrounded by the flowers you had choked on in silence. His only companion the snake that curled around your throat like a necklace of grief.

He had loved the wrong person.

And by the time he realized the truth…

You were already gone.

----

Muichiro Tokito & Older Sister Reader

You remembered the day Yuuichirou died like it was still living behind your eyes.

You had watched your twin brothers — both just children — hold each other in the ruin of your home. Muichiro, bloody and broken. Yuuichirou, dying and stubborn. You had tried to cradle them both, screaming for help that never came in time.

He was your younger brother, but after that, Muichiro stopped being a child.

He stopped being anything, really.

There was a hole in him after Yuuichirou died — a blank, shifting space where memory should have lived. You watched your sweet, gentle brother become empty-eyed, calm in a way that scared you. Detached. Dangerous.

But he remembered you.

Even as he forgot the name of your parents, forgot the seasons, forgot his own birthday — he remembered your voice. Your scent. The way you’d pull him into your arms on cold nights like you were still trying to protect him from the world.

He didn't always say your name. Sometimes he just called you "Nee-san," in a voice so soft it made your chest ache.

You joined the Demon Slayer Corps with him, even though you weren’t as fast or strong. You just… couldn’t leave him alone in this world.

He was all you had.

You knew that his emotions were frayed. That he didn’t laugh anymore. But sometimes, when he’d look at you — just for a second — you saw the boy he used to be.

That was enough.

Until you met Genya.

It was right after Final Selection. Genya Shinazugawa was angry — at life, at demons, at his brother, at himself. He lashed out at everyone. You included.

The first time you met, he insulted you for being “weak.” Said people like you wouldn’t last. That you were just dragging your “dead-eyed brat” of a brother around.

You didn’t fight back. You never did.

But the words lodged in your chest. Not because they hurt you — but because Muichiro had heard them.

He didn’t react. Not at first.

He just stood there, staring at Genya, face unreadable.

And that night, you coughed up your first petal.

It was small. Pale. Delicate.

You blinked at it in your palm for a long time before crushing it in your fist and telling yourself it wasn’t what you thought it was.

But you knew.

You had fallen in love with someone who would never look at you as anything other than another weak link in his chain of resentment.

You, who had never once asked for anything in return.

You, who only wanted to feel something again — to be loved by someone in a way Muichiro could no longer offer.

And so it began.

Muichiro noticed your coughing first. The way you hesitated on missions. How your haori began to look too big for your shrinking frame.

“Are you sick?” he asked one morning, frowning at the trail of crimson on your sleeve.

“No,” you said, lying with a practiced smile. “Just tired.”

He didn’t push. He never did.

But you saw the crack of worry in his gaze. He’d always been blunt, forgetful — but when it came to you, he watched. He remembered.

He was trying so hard to hold on to you.

And you were slipping through his fingers, one petal at a time.

You collapsed during a mission. Blood and blossoms soaked your uniform. Your blade lay forgotten in the dirt, petals scattered around you like snow.

Genya was the one who carried you back to the Estate, eyes wide with horror. You were unconscious, but the flowers never stopped coming.

When Muichiro arrived, he didn’t ask what happened.

He just stood at your bedside, watching the rise and fall of your chest, eerily calm.

“Why?” he asked no one. Or maybe he was asking Yuuichirou.

You woke up only once.

Your lungs were shredded. You couldn’t speak properly. Your fingers twitched toward him.

“Muichiro,” you rasped, blood trailing down your chin.

He sat beside you, blinking slowly. “Nee-san.”

Your breath shook.

“I… I’m sorry I couldn’t stay longer,” you whispered. “I’m glad… you remembered me.”

He didn’t speak.

Kaburamaru — no, that was Obanai’s snake — wasn’t here. That was a memory.

Genya stood at the door, fists clenched, eyes red.

“I didn’t know,” he choked. “I didn’t mean—if I hadn’t said those things—”

You looked at him. Smiled, gently.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Muichiro was still holding your hand.

Even as your chest rose slower. Even as the blood thickened.

Even as the petals finally stopped.

When your heart stilled, he didn’t cry.

He just stared.

Blankly.

Quietly.

And somewhere, inside his mind, your name began to unravel. The edges of your voice, your face, your warmth — all began to blur like smoke.

He stood.

“She’s gone,” Genya said, barely holding it together.

Muichiro looked down at you. Then away.

“…Who was she again?”

Genya broke.

Muichiro walked out into the sunlight, the petals still clinging to his sleeves.

He didn’t look back.

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sweetiesicheng · 8 months ago

Text

san - smartie

word count : 844

you hear someone knock on the door and get up from the table in your apartment. you go to the door and look through the peephole to see your boyfriend standing outside. you unlock the door and open it.

"hey," you smile and kiss him before letting him inside.

san just grumbles and goes straight for the table. he sits down and immediately thumps his head against the table.

you grin while closing and locking the door. you go over to san and tap his shoulder. "take your backpack off," you say to him. he moves his arms, and you help him take his backpack off, leaving it on the floor. "you okay?" you ask him and sit down next to him.

"just got out of office hours..." san says to you, sounding defeated.

"with who?" you ask.

"my math professor," he mentions and sits up. "i'm failing, but he offered to let me retake some stuff for some credit."

"why are you taking a math class when you're a dance major?" you question your boyfriend.

"baby, i've told you plenty of times that it's required. you've literally looked at all of the classes i have to take," san replies. "can you please help me out? i'll make you dinner."

"you owe me more than dinner," you say to him. "alright, take your stuff out. i'll help you."

you push your things out of the way besides your tablet while san takes out everything he needs. san sets up everything while you look over his shoulder.

"gosh, babe. that's a lot of stuff," you sigh. "i'm going to cook rice first," you say to him. "figure out where we're starting, okay?" you say to him.

"got it," san replies and manages to find the syllabus for the class in the midst of the pages of his notebook.

you go into the kitchen and rinse the rice a few times before turning the rice cooker on. once you're done, you open the fridge and grab an energy drink that san likes to drink. you return to the table and find san already looking confused.

"you look confused," you say to him and put the energy drink on the table. you sit down next to him and look at what he's trying to work on.

"i am confused," san says to you. "this looks nothing like the problems we did here," he says and points to his notebook and the quiz paper.

"okay, let me look," you say to him and lean over. "so for this first one, it looks like you didn't use the right formula," you say and look at his notebook. "wait a minute..." you open the notes app you use for your classes and look through some old notes. you finally find the one you're looking for and show san. "babe, you didn't write the formula right," you inform him.

"huh?"

"see? you forgot this," you say, pointing on your tablet's screen.

san groans, "i probably wrote everything wrong then..." he says to you. "hang on, i'm going to go through the powerpoints again," he says to you.

san starts to work diligently, trying to get at least one quiz done before the night ends. you start working on some assignments but move on to cook dinner for the two of you.

"if you are failing because you wrote the formulas wrong and memorized the wrong ones, i'm gonna call you an idiot for the rest of the year," you say to san.

your boyfriend just groans, "don't do this to me right now, baby..."

you giggle, "i'm sorry. i'm sorry."

"that doesn't sound genuine," he replies.

"can kisses make up for it?" you ask him and bring a bowl to the table. "eat."

san looks up at you, "what happened to me cooking dinner?"

you smile at him, "you haven’t cried for help yet, so i think you’re okay for now," you say to him and kiss his forehead before returning to the kitchen. you bring a bowl of food to the table for yourself and eat with san. "good?"

"mhm," he hums as he takes a break to eat. "really good."

when both of you are done eating, you check san's work that he has done for the first quiz. the paper is littered in red ink, and it's clear that san made many mistakes. however, his corrections in his notebook look correct as you look over his work.

"this one is wrong. you forgot the negative so the answer is wrong," you say to san and point to his mistake.

"oh, you're right," he replies. he takes the paper and adds a negative sign. he fixes the answer and hands his notebook back to you.

you look over his work again, making sure everything is right. "i think you're done with this quiz," you say to him.

"yes!" san cheers.

"now you have more to do!" you say to him, leaving him to groan again. "don't worry, smartie, you got this," you say and kiss his cheek.

"thanks baby."

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ziggyzolch · 1 year ago

Text

Your Prettiness is Seeping Through (Wanda Maximoff x Reader)

Summary: You and Wanda get sent to a mental hospital at the same time. Super huge trigger warning!!!! This story contains talk and descriptions of bulimia, eating disorders (reader) , suicide attempts, depression (Wanda) and mental illness in general. Please read at your own risk!! If you feel like any of these will trigger you, don't feel obligated to continue reading.

----------------------------------------------------

---------------where's your head at?---------------- ❅❅❅

Four times. Your mother caught you four times before she actually showed any concern.

The first time your mother caught you, she had called you disgusting. She threatened to tell your father, not out of worry but spite. She forgot.

You weren’t expecting her to be home so early, and that’s when she caught you the second time. The door to your room was open, which your mother took as an invitation. She stopped in her tracks, then slowly walked out, closing the door behind her, not without an awkward stare-off. She never brought it up.

The third time went about the same as the second.

Right now was the fourth, and this time she was accompanied by your father.

The position you were in was unbelievably compromising. You hadn’t even realized you blacked out until you were startled back into consciousness by your father barging into the bathroom. A gasp came from behind him, your mother peeking her head over his shoulder.

“Oh my god.” Your mother covers her mouth with her hand, your father staring at you blankly.

Crouched on the floor in your underwear, vomit covered tissues surrounded you, the stench of bile seeping from the toilet. “No, it’s,” You sluggishly push yourself off the floor, attempting to pick up the discarded tissues and wipe the vomit off the toilet seat, “Not what it looks like.”

Your mother pushes past your father, touching a sore spot on your forehead. Red coats the tip of her fingers when she pulls back her hand. That's when you notice the little blood pool on the floor, you must’ve hit your head when you fell.

In hindsight, you should have double checked the lock on the bathroom door.

“Please, leave.” You plead.

The worry in your mother’s eyes is nauseating. She had never shown this much care the other times. You figure the forehead injury is what pushed her over the edge, and the presence of your father.

“Clean up, we’ll talk about this tomorrow.” Your father gently places his hands on your mother’s shoulders, ushering her out.

You sighed, picking up the rest of the tissues you placed around the toilet to make cleaning up easier. Using up the entire toilet paper roll, you finish wiping the vomit off the toilet and go to the sink, cleaning up the saliva and vomit off your forearms and hands.

It’s been 3 years since you started. In all honesty, you had no idea why you resorted to bulimia. You had been losing weight fine, there was no reason to. It was after you got food poisoning that you realized how easy it was to reverse everything. Having an addictive personality didn’t help, and by the third day you were scrolling through forums and websites, trying to get worse.

Every girl you knew had some kind of disorder. It was a bond you and all of them shared. You couldn’t talk to the pretty girl about the various types and shades of lip gloss, but you could relate with her on how much you hated this one specific area of your body.

You couldn’t keep up with the STEM girls’ ramblings, but you found that all your mothers had called you fat.

You couldn’t offer any help to the digital artist when she complained about not finding the right brush to bring her idea to life, but you could offer each other weight loss advice.

You couldn’t relate to the girls’ boy obsessed conversations, but you could relate to how you could never be with someone that weighs less than you.

You couldn’t enjoy a plain rice cake for lunch with the skinny girls, but you could relate to wanting to get worse.

Vanity was a shared characteristic of every girl you knew. You’ve seen the fit soccer girl pull at her love handles, the STEM girl pull at her shirt and adjust her posture, the pretty girls sucking in when a mediocre boy passed by, and the skinny girl tearing up after getting weighed at the nurses office, and every girl that got weighed after her. If you could relate to one thing, it was that you all hated at least one part of your body.

So, nobody asked how you lost weight so fast. Nobody asked why your lips were cracked at the corners. You and your two best friends had all developed bulimia independently, which was crazy to you, but also encouraging. They would never report you and vice versa. You were each others fucked up kind of support system.

Right now, though, they weren’t there to reassure you that it’ll be fine.

'You’re not too skinny, your mom won’t find out, the marks on your knuckles aren’t too obvious.'

Right now it was all out in the open.

You were so fucked.

❅❅❅

On the other side of town, Wanda Maximoff was being made to throw up by her best friend. Her hand trembles as she shoves two fingers down Wanda’s throat. She had walked in on her half-conscious on the floor of her bathroom, an empty pill bottle held loosely in her hand. She gags when she feels the ridges, almost throwing up when she grazes her uvula. With one hand still down her friend’s throat, Natasha used her other to pull out her phone and call 911.

Wanda mumbles incoherently as Natasha ends the call and throws her phone to the side, sighing in relief when Wanda finally expels the contents of her stomach. Natasha had known how hard her brother’s death was for her, but she had never expected it to get this bad.

Pietro’s death was devastating for all of them, but they had to move forward. Natasha and Wanda threw themselves into their work, just like the rest of their team. Everybody was so preoccupied by their own missions, their own guilt and their own healing. A year had passed and everybody except Wanda seemed to have moved on. Natasha hated herself for not getting Wanda help sooner. She had seen the empty bottles of alcohol and discarded razor blades littered around Wanda’s room.

Wanda walked in on her cleaning up, face paling before she turned and left. Natasha hadn’t seen any more bottles or razors after that, and it was enough for her to think Wanda was doing better. That she got her wake-up call. She never brought it up, she never offered her any more help, she never asked. Natasha figured Wanda closing herself off even more afterwards was out of embarrassment.

Natasha had grown to be a kind of older sister figure to Wanda. She cared deeply for her and it scared her. After losing the closest thing she had to a little sister, the thought of losing another was terrifying. So, she didn’t get too close, she didn’t ask why Wanda never ate with the team anymore, she didn’t want to care.

Wanda throws up a little more before the paramedics arrive. Natasha looks back and forth between Wanda and the door, rushing to the door when the knocking becomes more insistent. “She’s back there.” She points towards the bathroom, guiding the paramedics to Wanda. Natasha finally gets a good look at her best friend as the paramedics carry her away.

She notices how thin she’s gotten when her gangly legs dangle as the paramedic carrying her rushes out. She notices how her nails had been chewed down to the nub as they placed her on the stretcher. Natasha notices how pale her face is as she enters the ambulance with Wanda. She can’t stand it.

She takes out her phone, texting the rest of the team and getting them up to speed. Everyone except Wanda and Natasha had been on a mission, Wanda must’ve thought she was alone. Natasha sighs, finally turning back to her friend. She grabs her hand and pushes down the nausea at how lifeless she looked. A napkin appears in her vision. She accepts the paramedic’s offer with a little smile, wiping the vomit off her fingers.

This was going to be a long ride.

❅❅❅

Next Chapter

A/N: This is just a prologue, and the story wont be so bleak after this chapter i promise. thank you for reading!

#marvel #marvel imagine #mcu #mcu imagine #mcu fandom #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #the scarlet witch #wanda maximoff imagine #scarlet witch x reader #wlw #reader #x reader #sapphic #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #neutral milk hotel

263 notes · View notes

mixsethaddams · 2 years ago

Text

Steve was having a really bad day.

He forgot to pass on a message to a co-worker which, ok, wasn’t the end of the world exactly, but it made his insides squirm.

He forgot to write a list for his boss which, again, nothing that couldn’t be rectified, but it made his palms itch.

A customer yelled at him over something out of his control and he had to stand there and take it because what is retail if not the first circle of hell.

Steve sat in the break room and wished his coffee was hotter while he ran his hands through his hair.

“It’s just one of those days,” he told himself over and over. “It’ll be over soon,”

He wasn’t working the next day so he was counting down the very seconds until he could dart out the front door and not have to come back for a whole forty hours.

Things didn’t improve after he swallowed his lukewarm coffee and went back to his duties. Everything he said seemed to land wrong. Everything he did seemed to need redoing. It felt like his co-workers were annoyed with him even though he knew that realistically they had no reason to be. Steve’s jaw was sore from clenching it shut, trying not to burst into tears right there in the store and hold it together at least until he got to his car.

Even staying an extra fifteen minutes after he should have left to help someone finish a task they were struggling ended up being the wrong thing to do. Why did he stay? Had he clocked out? He should have. Did he not know that overtime needed to be approved a day in advance?

Steve let the feeling of the latest failure of the day wash over him as he grabbed his things and left after his shift.

Eddie wasn’t even going to be home when he got back. He was running a campaign for his D&D group which was being hosted in Gareth’s place a full fucking two hour’s drive away. Eddie was just going to be staying the night there and coming back tomorrow, instead of driving home when they finished. It made sense. It was going to be a ten-hour session and they didn’t even start until almost noon. It was just something that happened every other week and Steve usually enjoyed having a few hours to himself but today he would have killed to have his boyfriend waiting for him.

Steve’s lip wobbled while he drove. His eyes were misty and he was blinking rapidly to keep them clear. He was determined to get home before fully breaking down. He just wanted to order dinner, wrap himself up in every blanket he could find, and watch the latest episode of Married At First Sight. When he finally got back to their apartment, his phone pinged with a text from Eddie.

“Hope work was ok! I’ll call you before I go to sleep later? We’ve got about four hours left”

Steve sighed at the screen. Eddie always called him to say goodnight when he stayed at Gareth’s. Usually Steve loved it because Eddie would be a little bit drunk after having some post-session beers with his friend and they’d giggle together on a video call until Eddie’s eyelids drooped. Tonight though Steve wasn’t sure he could handle the reminder that he was alone when he wanted so badly to be held.

“Long day. Probably just crash soon as I’m home”

“You good?”

“Just tired. Hope you’re having fun :) “

Steve regretted the food he ordered for dinner. He wanted the orange chicken but for some reason he ordered sweet and sour pork. It wasn’t bad, it was fine, but the chicken was his favourite and it almost felt like a form of punishment for his bad day. So now Steve was crying uncontrollably over a container of rice. He felt so stupid but it was just one more thing that had gone wrong for him today. Crying at this point didn’t even feel cathartic. It just gave him a headache and made his throat dry.

He didn’t finish his food, and he didn’t watch TV. Steve dragged himself to his bedroom, leaving his clothes in a pile in front of the dresser he grabbed his sweatpants from, before he took a pill for his headache and fell, unshowered, into bed. It was still bright outside.

Steve felt the bed dip next to him. For the briefest moment a kind of raw panic gripped his chest and he was too scared to open his eyes. It wasn’t until he felt a familiar brush of fingertips over his temple, sweeping strands of hair out of his face, that he calmed down.

“Stevie?”

Eddie whispered it softly and Steve opened his eyes. The room was dark, but there was a navy blue hue, like the sun was only barely below the horizon, that meant Steve could still see Eddie’s outline.

“What time is it?” mumbled Steve.

“Almost nine,” said Eddie gently, still rubbing his hand through Steve’s hair.

Steve scrunched his nose. Nine? That wasn’t right? It wasn’t bright enough to be morning. He peered up at his alarm clock, still flashing the same date it had been when he closed his eyes before fitful sleep.

Steve sat up quickly.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, panicked again. “Why are you here, what happened?”

Steve knew Eddie’s D&D sessions never cut short for anything less than a national emergency so he was instantly on high alert. Eddie driving all the way home was even more concerning. Steve gripped Eddie’s arms, he was still wearing his leather jacket. It was cold from being outside. He lifted the edges of the jacket as if he was checking to make sure Eddie was all in one piece.

“Nothing happened,” soothed Eddie. “We just finished up early,”

Steve was still looking over Eddie’s body like he was expecting to find a missing limb or something.

“What?” asked Steve, confused. “Why?”

Eddie shrugged.

“Wasn’t feeling the vibe,” he said easily. “I plugged the plug and said I needed to get home,”

“You never finish early,” said Steve. “And you never drive home. What happened?”

Eddie sighed.

“Why don’t you tell me?” asked Eddie gently, reaching up to cup Steve’s cheek.

Steve gulped.

“I don’t…” stuttered Steve. “Nothing, what do you mean?”

“Baby,” said Eddie firmly.

Steve chewed his lip to stop it trembling.

“I just had a bad day,” said Steve quietly. “You didn’t need… You could have stayed out there,”

Eddie gently pulled Steve forward, so he could rest his head in the crook of Eddie’s neck. Steve breathed in the well-known smell of cologne and cigarettes smoked outside. He practically melted into it.

“Thought this might be where I was needed more,” murmured Eddie, twisting around on the edge of the bed to allow Steve to relax more comfortably into his hiding place. “Looks like I was right, hmm?”

“Ruined your game though,” said Steve, muffled against the leather of Eddie’s jacket. “I just had a bad day,”

“It’s not ruined,” assured Eddie as Steve’s arms wrapped around his shoulders. “Knowing I left you here by yourself after a bad day is what would have ruined it,”

“I didn’t even say anything,” sighed Steve. Eddie was running a comforting hand over his back.

“You didn’t need to,” said Eddie. “Soon as you didn’t ask for a more solid time to expect me to call you, that’s when I knew,”

Steve sniffed back a tear.

“So dumb…” said Steve, frustrated almost more than ever with himself now. “I’m sorry, this is so fucking dumb,”

Eddie shushed him gently.

“No it’s not,” said Eddie, nuzzling into Steve’s hair. “Sometimes things creep up on you like this. It happens,”

“I wish it didn’t,” admitted Steve, pulling back to look at Eddie.

Eddie rested their foreheads together.

“I’m always here for when it does, though,” said Eddie softly.

Steve closed his eyes and let Eddie take him into another embrace, holding him tight for what could have been seconds or hours.

Steve didn’t remember when Eddie finally slipped his jacket off. He didn’t remember feeling him sliding into bed next to him, gathering him up and holding him as close as he could. Steve just remembered the feeling of Eddie heartbeat against his own chest, the sound of his breathing, his fingertips scratching gently against Steve’s scalp.

All Steve knew was feeling safe. Protected. Like one bad day was no longer drowning him because now, he remembered how to keep his head above water.

#steddie #my writing #seth writes #steve x eddie #why yes i did have a bad day and project it onto steve harrington

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s4pphicb1mb0 · 2 months ago

Text

Swept Away - Sevika

Part 2

Warnings : Hints at infedilty, married!r, surfer!Sevika

At the dinner table

Coco is sitting in a high chair, playing with her buttered spaghetti and talking with a mouthful.

“Mama today…Today I saw the shells, real shells on the sand, and they were pink and white and the ... .the dark white like Ariel!!” she exclaims proudly about her discovery. “Oh yeah? You were like Ariel, hm? The princess?” you ask with a fond smile on your face.

“No, like the mermaid!” she corrects you., “Oh yes, mermaid, my mistake, honey,” you chuckle and return to your food. Your husband doesn't participate but focuses only on the dinner, a seafood boil with some rice and wine. The food is delicious, and you're looking forward to being done with dinner, taking a shower, and getting in bed. It's been an exhausting day and the longest you've spent with your husband. He's chewing loudly and making the most obnoxious slurps and giving you smirks as if you're supposed to like it. You don't. It's disgusting.

After you finish eating, you clean up Coco, and good thing she was exhausted too that she immediately fell asleep as soon as she was tucked in the bed. You lock the door so your husband doesn't enter, and you go to the attached bathroom and take a quick super and come out. Between your shower, you could hear your husband's voice calling out for you to open the door, but he gave up and went to another room to sleep. Thank god. The night breeze is nothing short of serenity. The salty air, cool breeze, and gentle sound of waves crashing. It couldn't get better than this. You get in the cool sheets and drift off to sleep in a peaceful state.

Your morning, although it couldn't be more chaotic. You hear Coco screaming and your husband calling out your name and another two voices chattering about and clanging. You quickly jump out of bed, throw a robe on, and go outside. Coco is on the couch screaming with the iPad in her hand, your husband is yelling at someone on the phone and shoots you a glare and mouths “Handle her!” referring to Coco. You go to pick up Coco and see your nanny, chatting with……sevika?

“Maria, hello? Could I have some help here?” you ask exasperated by how your morning has started.

“Oh I'm sorry missus but my shift doesn't start till half an hour” she replies with that sickly sweet smile.

“Then why are you even here?!”

“Oh, I like to be early.” If only you could punch her-

You pick up Coco and try to talk to her

“Coco, baby, what's the matter, hmm? Tell me, c'mon tell mama.” You rub her cheek with your thumb while she just throws that pout at you.

“Dada won't give iPad.” She crosses her arms and looks away.

You huff and take the iPad in your hands, but see it's switched off because of the battery.

The charger…….

“Nate!! Where's the iPad charger?” you yell out.

“Well, I didn't pack it. Why would I have it?” Of course, why would HE lift a finger?

Now, you didn't pack a charger, he didn't pack a charger

“Coco, the iPad is asleep. You know, iPads need nap times too.” You come up with a white lie

“Really?” she asks with wide eyes.

“Yes! You know, like little coco was exhausted and slept at night iPads sleep during the day because….um……-”

“The sun makes them sleepy, kiddo.” Sevika’s voice cuts through; she leans with her forearms on the back of the couch, her head next to you. You almost forgot Sevika was in the house, too. You turn to look at her, and of course, her signature smirk is still intact.

“And may I ask, why are you here?” you inquire

“What? You thought teaching surfing makes enough money?” she grins and looks at you as if shes-

“Well then, what do you do?”

“I live here and take care of this house all year round,” she says

“Wait, what?! Why didn't I see you yesterday at the wait….you're lying?”

“No doll, I prefer to take the staircase that's connected from the backyard so I don't…..barge in with you or your husband's activities” she whispers into your ear.

“You–....you aren't barging in to anything. take the stairs from inside the house, it's fine” you say as your gaze returns to your daughter who's now fidgeting with your hair. You don't even realize you just told Sevika something so revealing about the true nature of your marriage.

“Is that so?” she asks with that smirk that's just never-ending.

“I don't have time for this, MARIA, has your shift started yet?” you ask, replicating her sweet smile.

“Yes missus, hand her to-”

You cut her off

“No just make her breakfast, she doesn't eat any fruits except berries, no spices not even salt, she eats butter, no pancakes only waffles but keep them a bit tender and raw so they're soft” you give her hard instructions to piss her off.

“You love giving everyone a hard time, eh?”Sevika asks, her eyes never leaving your body.

“Pfft, whatever.” You set Coco down on the couch and see Sevika play peek-a-boo with her as if she's a 3-year-old child. Coco is literally a big girl; she's 4 years old.

You get a few of Coco's colouring notebooks and her crayons, some toys even and set them on her coffee table.

“So when are you coming down to the beach?” Sevika asks

“Not now, I'm busy with my daughter,” you reply. Sevika doesn't miss the possessiveness you have for your daughter. She was getting a kick out of seeing you all motherly and demanding.

“What's the point of a nanny, huh?” she asks, knowing she's treading on your nerves.

You shoot her a glare, and Sevika raises her arms defensively.

“I'm just askin’ mama, you look tired.”

You realise she's right. You jumped out of bed and had to handle everything yourself. Where is Nate?-

“Nate?! Where the fuck are you??” you call out

No response

“Nate?!” you yell out again

You're about to yell again when Sevika’s hands come up to your shoulder and massages gently.

“Shh…dont stress, you and lil’ coco are here on a vacation,” she whispers in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. You relax and huff and sit back down on the couch.

“Yes, mama! We are on the beach!”

Your daughter exclaims while she's colouring on her little book.

“I’ll come down after breakfast, Sevika…”

“Aight’ see you then” she gets up to leave and you almost want to grab her arm and pull her back.

“Um….okay, bye…” You wave at her. You again mull over how bipolar you were acting earlier with her. You really want Sevika to know you like her, but not like her too much because, after all, you're married. It's endless.

After breakfast, while you're cleaning up, your husband appears out of nowhere.

“Where were you?!” you ask him in a frustrated tone. You've been running around feeling like a headless chicken with no help.

“Just an important call,” he mumbles, grabbing a plate and piling up some toast and fruit on it.

“Oh, I see you need to disappear from the house to answer a call.” You cross your arms, lean against the counter, and glare at him

“What's your implication?” he asks

“Nothing”

“No, no, I get what you mean. What about Sevika, huh? You two are getting real cozy here.”

The audacity

“What the fuck do you mean by that?” you ask him.

“Nothing, you seem very happy with her rather than me” he says in an accusatory tone.

“I met her yesterday, Nate?! She literally did nothing, WE literally did nothing.”

“Yet she was massaging your shoulders and acting like Cora’s father” he says, his voice getting whiny and defensive.

“Oh, so reassuring her and massaging my shoulders is all it takes for your fragile, pissy masculinity to get hurt? You're accusing ME of cheating?! Wow, Nate, I could've done this years ago.”

“Natalie was just a friend!!” You didn't even have to name which girl, he's setting himself up at this point.

“Just leave. We came here to enjoy a vacation, not deal with your little boy tantrums.” You dismissively walk past

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN WE? WHO’S WE?”

“Coco and me” you say without turning to look at him

“Fine, I’ll leave. I bet you'd love being here without me, huh. I paid for ev-” you cut him off

“Are you leaving or not, or should I leave?”

“Fine!! Jesus.” he runs off to the room he slept in. You grab the picnic basket and Coco and pack some beach stuff for the both of you. You instruct Maria to carry the luggage and set up a nice spot. Meanwhile, you put Coco in her sundress and put on SPF; you do the same and match the dresses with Coco. You see Nate use the back door to leave. You both don't exchange goodbyes. With his departure, the house feels………….peaceful. Like the beach house you wanted to stay in.

You walk to the beach and find Maria chatting with Sevika again. You set Coco down on the beach towel and turn to Sevika.

“Could I get a floatie or something for her?” you ask her.

“Of course, meri jaan~” she says, making you blush just a bit. Whatever she said sounded hot.

“W-what does that mean?” you ask, flustered

“Noothing, just a lil’ word in Hindi,” she replies, turning away and walking to a shed you can see in the distance to grab a folate for the child.

“Oh c'mon!! Tell me please” you yell out, hoping for an answer, but sevika ignores you and walks away. You could've looked it up on your phone but you left it back at the house.

Sevika comes out with a small flamingo floatie. She hands it to Maria, and as you get up to go help her. You're pulled back down next toSevika.

“Where you goin’ ?” she asks, her face being a bit too close for your liking.

“To help Maria”

“Nah, Maria’s okay, aren't you, Maria?” You both look over to Maria, who gives a thumbs up and takes Coco to the water

“Fine…...help me with my spf” you hand the bottle to her and turn you back to her.

She squirts a good amount onto her palms and slowly applies it onto your back. She leans close and whispers into your ear.

“I saw that your hubby left, huh….”

“Yeah……he had a meeting or whatever,” you quickly cover up with a lie

“Meeting with Natalie?” she asks.

Shoot

She heard the argument

But how?

“How-”

“Told ya’ I live on the second floor. You guys weren't exactly hush-hush either.”

"Of course.”

“Aight, gotta get back to work. Watch me without wetting yourself, hm,” she says with a smirk as she puts her glasses on

“Excuse me?!” You let out a gasp and quite literally clutch the pearl necklace you're wearing

“The waves meri jaan~.... you're sitting far too close,” she says as she's walking away.

“No! That's not what you- Sevika come back here…Sevikaaaa” you whine and call out to her but she doesnt turn back and look at you.

Little fucker.

AN: second part is out!! the smut could possibly be included in the next chapter ;)

divider by @dollywons

comment to be added to the taglist

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koolades-world · 11 months ago

Note

Can you do the brothers accidentally spilling too much food into their bowls

So like a few examples are

Too much cereal into their milk

Too many oats into their yogurt

Too many fruits in their yogurt

Too many noodles in their soup

Too much eggs in their rice

Etc

And MC thinks they’re so fucking funny by going “I think you have some ___ in your ___”

Can we get their reaction to it

Please and thank you

hiii!! of course :)

this was completely written on mobile because im traveling so forgive any cases of autocorrect doing its job incorrectly. i forgot how hard it was to get tumblr mobile to cooperate in general 😭

enjoy <3

Mc commenting on the brothers spilling too much food into a bowl

Lucifer

of course this old man isn’t amused

he’ll give you one of his signature side glares

but he just assumes it’s some weird human thing and move on with his day

however, if you somehow get his brothers to start saying it too, it won’t go as well as it did for you for them

Mammon

he will be commenting about how you’re a stupid human

honestly, he’s more embarrassed than anything

why? he’s not sure but he hates that you pointed out his mistake haha

but you could do it over and over again, and he’d forgive you

Levi

he understands you!

as someone who’s chronically online, levi swears he’ll get you back one of these days

be careful because he’ll be ready when you least expect it

he may or may not make it so this will happen, how devious!

Satan

he’s just mostly confused

be prepared to get one of his side looks, not too unlike lucifer’s

(do not bring that up though, unless you want to make him very upset)

he’s just going to enjoy his food elsewhere, aka away from you haha

Asmo

he’s the only one to actually ask what that means

I mean, it’s not the words that confuse him

it’s everything else haha

if you teach him how to use it, he’ll start using it too, just let him know not to try it on lucifer

Beel

unbothered king

food is food after all, isn’t it?

he questions it a little, but nonetheless chows down

perhaps not the best brother to try that on haha

Belphie

the most “little shit” about it all haha

will straight up tell you to shut up and that he doesn’t care

(he does)

he’s a little butt-hurt about it so he scarfs down the food so you can’t point it out again

#obey me #obey me!#obey me x reader #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me lucifer #obey me beel #obey me mammon #obey me levi #obey me belphie #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me asmodeus #obey me leviathan #omswd #obey me shall we date #obey me! shall we date #obey me! shall we date?

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chthonic-cassandra · 7 months ago

Note

hello my friend! currently rereading dracula, as you know, and wondered if you have any recs for where to start with criticism about the novel? 🖤

This question makes me so happy! <3

I am dreadfully out of date on this, but I can certainly give you places to start; these are not all necessarily recommendations for criticism I like (there's precious little of that), but more introductions to classic criticism in the field.

The classics

The Norton Critical Edition of Dracula (edited by Nina Auerbach and David J. Skal), alongside the Cambridge Companion to Dracula, are both good introductions which collect representative examples of some of the most popular scholarly strains of thought on the novel. When someone asks me to recommend an edition of Dracula to start with, I always suggest the Norton.

Leonard Wolf (who was not Virginia Woolf's husband, but who was one of Anne Rice's college professors) was one of the most important voices in the critical reevaluation of Dracula which started in the 1970's. I often disagree with him (so much so that I once wrote a fic about how much I disagree with him), but his annotated edition of Dracula was my first. His important works are A Dream of Dracula and Dracula: A Connoisseur's Guide. He (along with Radu Florescu and Raymond McNally) was an important early proponent of the "Dracula is Vlad Tepes" theory, which was hotly opposed by...

Elizabeth Miller, ornery grand dame of Dracula criticism. She is extremely invested in being the most reasonable and the least prone to flights of fancy of all the critics, which means she does often say useful things, but she's also a little boring. She's best known for Dracula: Sense and Nonsense, but it's more a litany of complaints than actually analysis. Her books in general have useful primary source stuff.

Once you get into analysis of Dracula reception and adaptions, then I can with a full heart recommend David J. Skal's Hollywood Gothic, full of delightful trivia, which was truly Skal's strength.

Recommendations I more stand by:

Donald Glover's Vampires, Mummies, and Liberals: Bram Stoker and the Politics of Popular Fiction is one of the very few works of Dracula criticism that I thought actually dealt in any kind of thoughtful way with the racial politics of the book.

Christy Desmet's essay on Ophelia, Ellen Terry, and Dracula, collected in Shakespearean Gothic, was excellent and I still think about it; the whole collection is very much worth reading.

Loved Ann-Louise Kibbie's Transfusion: Blood and Sympathy in the Nineteenth Century Literary Imagination, which isn't all about Dracula but obviously deals substantially with it.

As a teenager I had a lot of fun reading the uploaded issues of The Journal of Dracula Studies and sometimes fantasized about submitting something to them while concealing my age/lack of higher education to see what happened (I never did). I remember feeling very vindicated by Katharina Mewald's "The Emancipation of Mina?" but don't know how it would hold up now. I haven't kept up with the most recent issues (perhaps I will start!) but at a glance there seem to be some interesting things.

ETA forgot about Allison Case's Plotting Women: Gender and Narration in the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Century Novel! Good Mina material, comparing her with Marian in Woman in White.

#another important note about my copy of the leonard wolf annotated dracula is that's stained with my blood but that detail is going in tags #dracula #criticism #recs

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ladybyakuya · 9 months ago

Text

| BLIND + IZUMO HARUICHI.

+cw. — izumo haruichi x f!reader, coworker to lovers, oblivious pinning, flirting, confession, description of panic attack, claustrophobia & coping mechanisms, forced proximity, fluff, angst, character study, smut ( kissing ).

+wc. —3.1k ( shocker )

+syn.— last summer Izumo Haruichi came under your radar but this summer he has managed to get under your skin.

+notes. — part of ‘HELP WANTED’ mini server collab hosted by @interstellar-inn | redirect to blog navigation.

+tags. — @dear-koi @qichun @violet-turning-violet

The refectory of the office is oozing with ruckus this afternoon. It is not unusual but today it is just unbearable. The compartment plate in front of you is still filled with rice, curry, and salad as when you started eating your lunch. The line for the food is still alive; people are gossiping, taking food onto their plates, gossiping, taking spoons and forks, chopsticks— the sound of utensils clanking against each other one after another or sometimes all at once in sync is bugging you today. Your ears should be used to it by now after working for two years straight but it seems like a bother today. It is awfully loud in here. Everything is, even the heat.

Among this hustle and bustle, the only sound that bothers you the most is someone’s voice. It is faint to catch on from where you are sitting but the voice keeps coming to you in bits and pieces, like ebb and flow. Sometimes it is there and sometimes it is not. Sometimes your ears pick up on it but sometimes not and when it does not, your heart waits for it, even searches for the sound to reappear. And the heat is just making it worse. You can practically feel the beads of perspiration cascading through your cleavage as you search, waiting for the voice to turn up again. The air conditioner is on though, and the fans are working perfectly fine but with this kind of crowd, and heat in the dining place is at par with some blast furnaces.

“Well, I can take you there sometimes if you want,” Izumo states as one of the new interns, sitting diagonally to him, places a dumpling from her plate to his. Aoi Kaguragi, Izumo Haruichi, Reno Ichikawa, and Iharu Furuhasi are sitting at one table but Izumo is the most disconnected from them.

“No. No. Haruichi-san, it’s fine. I can manage.” The girl sitting beside him pleads. A group of four girls who joined as new interns have occupied the table beside them. There is just a slit of partition between the two tables. Most tables are for a group of four people, but cubicle tables are cluttered together to make the team bigger, and better to establish a good workplace culture to some extent.

Izumo expresses his thanks with a sun-kissed smile to the girl who just gave a dumpling to him, without asking. You make eye contact with him for a second but it's awkward. Aoi's nose shrinks. It acts as a distraction from Izumo’s azure gaze. Aoi stuffs his mouth with the dumpling Izumo just received out of disgust earning an alarming glare from Reno. Izumo does not even bat an eye to it. But the girl protests, “Hey. . .” Aoi glups it before saying, “he hates dumplings.” Iharu is busy eating his lunch. This guy . . . he woke up early, made breakfast for himself, got so busy and immersed with cooking that he forgot to eat. So, he is eating quietly. Reno keeps telling him to slow down but who is he? His dad?

“Well, wouldn't it be easier if you could get some directions and details?” The girl looks confused so Izumo divulges. “I live around there. So, yeah I could get you in touch with some agents if you want,” The girl looks at him with so much hope as if she has a chance to ask for the moon.

“Oh my God. Really? Thank you so much Haruichi-san,” she chimes

Oh Fuck! Here it comes. Aoi, Reno, and Iharu share a look as you get up. The clank of your spoon was a little too loud to be ignored. Okonogi asks, “You didn’t even eat today too. Are you okay? Do you wanna leave soon today? I can finish your work if you want . . . ”

“No. Kono-chan. It’s alright. I don’t feel hungry. I will eat when I feel hungry,”

“Yeah, gallons of coffee and tons of cakes,” Kikoru prompts without missing a beat. Your shoulders sink at her statement. She is not lying but gallons? Tons? That’s surely an exaggeration. You take your plate and as you walk past his table he gets up. Please let him not run into you. . . please god, please.

“Going to share the rest with your boyfriend?” He grabs a bottle from its designated section. You watch him walk, pick a bottle, and then come back but he halts in front of you blocking your way. Of course. Why didn’t you expect that? You should have taken a different route.

“So what if I’m?” you squint your eyes at him since his Adam’s apple shift. Now, that’s different, unlike other days. Your eyebrows jump. Teasing each other is as easy as breathing for you and him. So, you just give in to this golden opportunity. “Your flirt game is so bad, no wonder you’re still single, Haruichi-san,” you snicker emphasizing ‘Haruichi-san’ since you have already been granted the authority to call him by his name but sometimes it is just amusing how he hates it when you do not use it; even if he specifically said that you can call him Izu-kun or simply Izumo. He just wanted to get included in your league of people; the people who you have given a nickname. It's almost like adopting a puppy.

Izumo rolls his tongue inside, along his bottom lip too quickly to pinpoint his frustration. He is pouting now. His hand proceeds to his nape scraping his hair for a moment in the hope of seeking some respite from this heat. Why does he even keep his hair long? Why not just cut it? Or put it in a bun. Your eyes go to the bunch of interns who are eagerly watching you two as if you are big stage actors. “My flirt game isn’t bad, . . . he trails off and then sighs. His hand swings back in his pocket as clarifies, “It’s just that . . . the person I like is a fucking idiot. That’s why I’m still single.”

You scan the group of interns at his valor display of vulgarity. Girls must find it hot, don’t they? That’s why he does it, isn't it? Good for him! He has an audience now. You bet they are practically swooning. Aoi’s face is a sight to behold. Iharu has given up. Even Reno has his head tipped down while holding the bridge of his nose. He is not someone who loses patience easily except Kafka Hibino, his mentor and co-worker.

“What a loverboy.” You opined to him before your gaze switched back to the girl who was trying all the ways to get his number. Yeah, it was very obvious especially since she was practically rubbing herself on him since the day she joined. How do people do that? Get hooked onto someone like the twinkle of a star. That too in this heat. It is hard enough to keep coherent behavior, thoughts, and habits intact but now you have another problem, Izumo Haruichi. He is being spectacularly annoying today.

You look at the girl before saying anything. You will probably be doing her a favor.

“don’t waste your time on him, he is going to break your heart, girl.”

The spoon from her hands falls on the dish splashing a little bit of soup on her dress. People have already started to look at this table by now.

“You’re just jealous,” the girl sneers back.

You part your lips forming an apology at the tip of your tongue but you realize the damage you have done. She hurriedly tries to clean herself with a napkin to avoid eye contact.

You should not pick on people’s emotions like that, however small, however meek it may seem to you, it's a lot for them. What’s with you today? This is not like you. This is more like . . . Haruichi. He has this habit. Maybe it's starting to rub off on you simply because he is now working with your team on this upcoming project.

Izumo has always been like this. Flirting with girls, leading them on, giving them hope, and then, breaking their hearts. Does he realize that? The hurt he leaves in his wake? He is like a swan in a lake leisurely swimming in the evening that attracts ducks, influencing them to be like the swan, elegant and beautiful when there is a surge of fresh batches of interns; every year. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it backfires.

His flirting is not limited to just girls. That’s how he became such close friends with Aoi. But then again, it is not exactly flirting. Could it be he is unaware of how he carries himself? Nah! That’s too much of giving him the benefit of the doubt or maybe has managed to charm a part of you. Yeah! That would happen in any case. He picks up on people’s emotions really quickly and does not hesitate to call them out. It’s a nasty habit.

That is how much you know about him, as a co-worker. Outside this office, he is a total stranger to you. So, you do not have to look out for him, worry about being among the swarm of ducks, he might turn into one, or fearing if there hides a hawk among them.

“That’s too much talking for an intern,” Iharu remarks, taking his plate and standing up.

“I agree.” Reno nods his head. “Wait, what?” He is not surprised by Iharu’s statement but rather his wit. Before the situation gets elongated you try to put an end in your way but whether the bow will pierce the heart or the head you gamble on that.

“Yes. maybe you’re right. That was so rude of me. But you see,” you bow your head a little to match her eye level since her eyes are on her plate. “ I don’t go for committed boys.”

Izumo’s face is aghast. What did you just say? He is not committed. He is single. Excuse you, did you not hear him a while ago?

Izumo looks at Aoi, clearly uncomfortable and frightened by your burst of bubbling behavior. That was odd of you. He has never seen you this annoyed. He has always been like this with you, teasing and flirting around you with other people. Maybe the heat is going in your head today. You walk towards the dustbin to empty your plate before keeping it on a designated table. Everyone watches you as Izumo follows you like a kicked puppy searching for his owner. It’s pathetic.

He is not pathetic . You are just dumb. How can you not get it? How can you not see it? His feelings for you? Well, not that he exactly laid his heart out in front of you but isn’t it obvious? Everybody on his team is aware of it. Everybody on your team is aware of it. Are you really that dumb? Or do you just choose to ignore his feelings? If it is the latter then he is done for. Perhaps, the fear of abandonment and rejection compels him to create backups while at the same time, it gives him a refuge to hide his feelings; keep them protected, warm, and soft; so that he can still talk to you, still be around you, breathe the same air as you.

After all, who would look for a leaf in a forest?

“Fancy a candy?” Izumo chimes as he leans against the door frame of the archive room while you slide the access card to open the door.

“No thank you.” You tartly reply with a poker face. God, he followed you here, which means he is gonna yap for as long as he is here and God forbid he better not talk about what just happened in the dining hall.

Izumo mumbles to himself, stepping into the room, “Guess I’ll have it then,” with a pout.

“Did the storage closet door lock behind us?” you ask as the bang of the metal door sends jolts throughout your body.

“I think so,” Izumo walks towards the door to check. He hopes that you are not playing any prank or something but then again, who would like to be stuck in the archive room? Especially in summer when the air conditioner is out of service and the fans have been hopeless since last spring. Izumo hears a loud thud. As he turns he finds you curled up in a fetal position on the floor struggling to breathe.

“Oh no no no no” you blabber feeling the dread and anxiety piling on top of your body. It is getting heavier. Seeing you like that, Izumo forgets what to do. At first, his feet move slowly though, then he quickens his pace but finally skids towards you since his calf muscles betray him.

“Breath. Look at me.” His voice is so faint or maybe you are already sinking in the depth of the attack. You know what to do. The tactic to overcome this. But with people around it gets harder. Most people do not know what to do and even if they did they are only aware of the ‘321’ rule since it is easier to remember, faster to execute, and the default suggestion before the medic arrives. Right. Medic. You can call, right? You touch your hips for your cellphone feeling only your skin and clothes. Your phone is at your work desk. Fuck. Your only hope is this guy, Izumo Haruichi.

“That’s not. . . it. you inhale barely but manage to say the next set of words in one breath.

“That 321 rule doesn’t work on me.”

Immediately, your chest starts to feel heavy. Your head feels heavy. Your breathing is labored.

“Yes, I know. I know.” Izumo assures. His voice is so still, so even that it gathers all scattered pieces on him finally. “54321 it is.” He adds. He tries to make you sit but you are so stiff under the influence of fear that even with his strength he is in no luck. Moreover, he does not want you to treat him as a threat rather than a cane to grab on.

“Identify 5 things you can see,”

Your eyes roam everywhere, to the farthest point it can see things. It has already started to itch and water. You blink rashly before mumbling. “Files—you inhale a long breath. “cabinets, AC, tables, chairs”

“Next. 4 things you can touch”

“The wall,” you say and touch it. You can finally sit up now, leg sprawled on the hot floor. Next, you touch your i-card. “My ID card.” Then your hair clip. “my hair clip,” unfastening it from your hair letting your hair fall onto your shoulders; it's a turquoise one today, and finally his ID card. You grab it in your hand and watch closely, flipping it too to glance at the other side . What an awful picture of Izumo .

“Your ID card.”

Izumo holds you by the arms. His touch feels cold against yours. The full-sleeve dress is the only barrier between his skin and yours. Your palms clamp around his upper wrists.

“Okay, 3 things you can hear:”

“A.C.”

“Fans.”

“Your voice,”

Izumo nods every time but it becomes slow at your third pick.

“2 things you can smell.” It sinks in him: how in desperation and hunger you seek whatever you can get.

You take your scented handkerchief out of your pocket. Izumo takes it and holds it against your nose. Your exhaustive eyes look at him. His perfume smells rather too sweet today. You fall into his chest, embracing him. “Your perfume,” You whisper nuzzling against him. He is still sitting with his legs folded. You can hear his heartbeat, yours too. You are alive. You are very much alive.

“1 thing you can taste,” He says in a low voice, like the start of a lullaby. Reluctantly you pull your face away and look up. At this angle you can see his tongue, it’s white due to the candy. Could it be lichi flavored? There is still a bit of it left, peeking against his teeth.

Curiosity cascades into your body like rain and soaks him wet in a fraction of a second. It is an entirely foreign sensation for Izumo: Your lips are plush and soft with no hint of lipstick. The way your fingers press into his chest is unforgiving to his taut muscles creating a sense of pain, but a different kind of pain; the good kind. You are desperate and forceful. Your lips taste like spicy and honey. What did you have for lunch today?

WAIT. You break the kiss. Izumo is as stunned as you are. His azure is asking why did you stop? You are still holding on to him. How did he know that the ‘321’ rule does not work on you? Moreover, how did he know that you have claustrophobia in the first place?

Ah! Now it makes sense.

The realization paints your mind like it's high on drugs. Before you can think twice, your hands trail up to his nape enveloping his face. He instantly pulls you into his lap folding his legs one over the other to make you comfortable. He is swift and strong. This time, he is the one to demand first. The candy must have melted by now. It was coconut-flavored. You do not remember swallowing it neither does he but only the feeling of your lips on his, his on yours. He pulls away from the kiss gasping for air. His mouth and nose are cherry-tinted. He is getting an earful from Aoi for sure.

“I have texted Aoi.” His hands recoil back into his pocket from under your shirt. “He will be here soon.”

Izumo looks at the ground. Is it awkward? Yeah! Definitely. Does he want this to get over with? NO!NEVER. Damn him for wanting you. Damn him for craving you even at desperation like this.

You give him a long hum. “Why do you look like a crumpled receipt? It’s not like I will break your heart once we are out of the room, Izumo.” You place a kiss on his cheek. “Still have to thank you for saving my life.”

You get out of his lap. He blinks hopelessly. Yeah, his suffering isn’t going to end . You still are as dense as a cabbage and so defenseless, so tactless, by god it drives him nuts. “I love you,” Izumo mumbles to himself. Aoi opens the door as you look at Izumo.

“What did you just say?” Both of you walk side by side as you two walk out of the room. Aoi is still holding the door.

“Nothing” You continue to scrutinize him with your eyes. “I said, I hate you.”

You smile. “Yeah! I hate you too.”

Poor Aoi is still holding the door witnessing the cheesiest corny confession ever.

—

network: @underratedcharactercorner

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destinyisastar · 6 months ago

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How do I ask a Girl Out?

Atsushi x Fem Reader

Summary: Atsushi gathering up the courage to ask out the girl of his dreams.

Category: Fluffy

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People come and go but I want to stay by your side forever.

“No… that’s way too much.”

I really, really, really would like if you’d be my girlfriend!

“Umm… no, that sounds kind of desperate.”

Atsushi shakes his head, placing his pen down and crumpling up the paper and tossing it into the trash can (which is filled to the brim with crumpled paper).

“Why is this so hard!?” Atsushi yells to himself. He places his head on the table with a groan. Turning his head slightly towards the trash can, he closes his eyes tighter.

Kyoka comes in the room with a rice bowl, “What are you doing?”

Atsushi immediately jumps up, “NOTHING!” He jumps towards the trash can wrapping his arms around it. “It’s nothing Kyoka! Just…. just felt liking hugging the trash can!...?” He laughs.

During whatever that was, some of the papers flew out towards Kyoka landing at her feet. She bends down to pick one up, opening it.

“Dear Y/n,

You are like the sun on a rainy day, when the clouds separate here you are with your beautiful smile making my day. When I saw you walk through the doors that faithful da”

“OKAY, THAT’S ENGOUGH!” Atsushi lunges at Kyoka, ripping the paper from her.

“You like Y/n.”

Atsushi catches his breath, “You make sound likes its common knowledge.”

“Is it not?”

“What do you mean by that Kyoka?”

She bends down to grab the other fallen papers, “You always stare at her and you always offer to hold her bags,”

“Okay Kyoka.”

“You always go with her if it’s a simple outing, like if she forgot her purse down at the diner,”

“Yeah, I know Kyoka.”

“You always offer to do half her paperwork.

“I get it Kyoka.”

“You always turn red when she praises you,”

“Okay! I get it! I… I just don’t want to screw up our friendship. I like her a lot, I don’t want to lose her if she doesn’t feel the same way I do.”

“Have you tried speaking to her about it?”

“No, it’ll be awkward, I probably won’t even get the right words out.”

Kyoka walks around the room, grabbing an issue of seventeen. “It says here you should ask her on a date.”

“What?”

“You should as her out on a date.”

“Shouldn’t I tell her I like her before I ask her on a date? How am I going to ask her on a date if I can’t even tell her I like her!!”

Kyoka takes a moment to look at her friend.

“Talk to her as if she were just a regular friend.”

“How do you know so much about this? I didn’t think you were into this kind of stuff.”

“Yosano-san bought me this magazine and told me to read it, she says it’s for teenagers.”

Atsushi looks down at the paper in his hands, “What if she says no..”

Kyoka tosses the papers that were on the ground into the trash can, “What if she says yes?”

He looks at Kyoka throwing the trash away, “Tomorrow... I’ll ask her on a date tomorrow.”

｡.｡:∞♡*♥｡.｡:∞♡*♥｡.｡:∞♡*♥

Atsushi is already sitting at his desk, looking from the door to the papers in front of him. The door opens slightly, and Atsushi perks his head up, “This is it… I’m gonna go for it.” He stands up from his desk, but right before he can walk towards the door, in comes Kunikida.

Atsushi deflates back into his chair.

“Oh, Atsushi, you’re here rather early. You even got here before me.” Kunikida looks at the deflated boy.

“Well, you know me Kunikida, just wanted to get an early start to the day.” Atsushi said dejectedly.

“Right, well you can you place everyone’s reports on their respected tables.” He hands Atsushi some documents.

“Yeah, sure.” He begins placing them at the tables.

Kunikida looks at the over at the tiger boy, “You alright kid? You seem kind of off today.”

“No, I’m fine Mr. Kunikida! I was just expecting that you….. were someone else.” He whispers the latter.

“What was that?”

“N-Nothing!” Atsushi makes it to your desk but takes half of the reports and puts it on his desk, giving you less than everyone.

She’s not here yet… that’s okay! It just means I have more time to think about what I’m going to say.

As Atsushi is “hyping” himself up, you walk in. “Good morning, Atsushi!”

Atsushi quickly turns around almost stumbling, “AH! G-good morning, Y/n! It’s a wonderful morning isn’t?! Yup! The sun is out so it’s a good morning!” He laughs, rubbing his head.

Kunikida watches the exchange with an almost embarrass look… scratch that, he feels embarrassed. Why is Atsushi acting like this?

“Uh… yeah, the sun is out, hahaha..” You laugh, then its silence.

….

Awkward….

“Well, I’m going to head to my desk now….. oh, good morning Kunikida!”

“Yes, good morning, Y/n.” He stares at Atsushi who is watching you sit at your desk.

A light bulb is popped into his head.

“Atsushi, come here please!”

“Y-yes coming Kunikida!”

Kunikida pushes him lightly both of them facing the agency’s main window, “Are you planning to ask Y/n out?” he whispers.

“HUH? NO, no way, I’m totally not doing that! Why would you think that? She’s my friend! Only my friend!” Atsushi whisper yells.

“Jeez, calm down kid. Take a deep breath, then let it out.”

Atsushi does as he’s told. “Yeah, I’m… trying too.”

Kunikida takes a look at the boy then turns to you smiling as you’re doing your work.

“Just be yourself.”

Atsushi looks at you, “I don’t know how.”

“Just walk up to her, I’ll leave the room alright, so you can ask her, but you should make it quick before everyone else gets here. Dazai will probably tease you to no end if he finds out you’re doing this.” Kunikida pats Atsushi’s shoulder.

Kunikida walks towards the door, and mouths “Good Luck.”

Now its just you and Atsushi together, alone in the agency. “Hey… Y/n?”

You look up at him smiling, “Yes Atsushi, do you need anything?”

He walks towards you rubbing his hands together, “I just wanted ask if…you…”

Putting your pencil down you give him your full attention.

Atsushi takes a deep breath, “Would you like to … to go out on a date with me?” His face turning red as he shuts his eyes. He expects you to laugh at him, to get up and walk away, but you don’t.

“Yes.”

Wait... what?

“Huh?” He opens his eyes.

“I’d like to go on a date with you!” You stand up from your chair.

“Really?”

You look at him slightly confused, “Really, really!”

Atsushi sees you smile, your bright beautiful smile that makes him weak in knees, your eyes that shine brighter than the morning sun. You want to go out with him. You. He can’t believe it.

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destinyisastar 2024

Two posts in one day? Yes. I had this one made awhile back when the most recent chapter of bungo stray dogs came out. Atsushi is really going through it right now. GIVE MY BOY SOME PEACE PLS! (Akutagawa thooooo)

Wordcount: 1178

#bungo stray dogs #atsushi nakajima #atsushi x reader #atsushi nakajima bsd #bsd atsushi #bsd #bsd kunikida #kunikida doppo #atsushi nakajima x reader #kyoka izumi #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs fluff #atsushi fluff #atsushi nakajima fluff #x reader

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altruistic-meme · 9 months ago

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skk fic rec time !!! 🖤🖤

okay i officially have more skk fics bookmarked on my ao3 than my sister has fics in general bookmarked on hers. so. it is time for another ficrec list by abram, bsd/skk version this time!!!

i have no idea yet how many fics will be on this list. i will go until i decide to stop. but as of right now i have 124 bsd fics bookmarked and i definitely won't be listing all of them so if anyone wants a pt. 2 then i certainly have the material to do that.

i'm not putting warnings with the fics, but bc this is BSD please do take note of tags and warnings that are given! i read a lot of fics with darker material so do be cautious!

One-Shots:

keep you alive, set you on fire by flyby @orbitalflyby (Explicit, 23k) Dazai steps out in a dress and heels for a mission, since the gown won't fit Yosano. He's only supposed to spend an hour or so leading their targets on a dance around a charity gala, but the unexpected arrival of a certain Port Mafia Executive threatens to disrupt all his plans. And when he and Chuuya find themselves finally face to face, they end up entwined in a tense game of mutual provocation...

Don't Pull Your Punches by kanekei (Teen and Up Audiences, 5k) Everyone thinks that their partnership is a series of Dazai being a troublemaker while Chuuya is helplessly dragged along for the ride. That couldn’t be farther from the truth. Some days it feels like Dazai is the only one aware of how insane Chuuya actually is. OR: 3 times Dazai cleans up after Chuuya + 1 time he doesn’t bother

The 5 Elements of an Apology by artemisiatea (Teen and Up Audiences, 6k) in which dazai learns that change is hard, but accountability is harder

Tea Over Rice by the_most_happy (Teen and Up Audiences, 8k) “Oi, Dazai— what would people say if they saw us?” Dazai gave him a puzzled look. “That we’re happy,” he answered. He made it sound simple; he made it sound pure. “They would say we’re happy.” They never stopped being Double Black — just different clothes and less blood on their hands. [Or: What if Dazai and Chuuya escaped the Port Mafia together?]

Lost All Judgement by todxrxki (Teen and Up Audiences, 12k) “Uh, sorry, but unfortunately I already have a date to the dance.” “Oh, really?” Tachihara says, sounding disappointed. He pauses for a second, clearly processing what Chuuya’s just told him, and then says, “Who is it?” Chuuya certainly hadn’t budgeted for this. Panicking, he tries to think of the people that he knows that are single, and before he knows it, the first name that comes to mind is slipping out of his mouth. “With Dazai.” / After a momentary lapse in judgment, high school student Chuuya ends up having to pretend to date his enemy Dazai to get Tachihara off of his back - and quickly finds it's nowhere as bad as he'd imagined.

oh darling it's alarming to think of us apart (you know you've got me in your pocket) by interludewings (Teen and Up Audiences, 20k) “Okay so if we’re both still single when we’re twenty two,” Dazai’s smile grew even wider. “Let’s marry each other.” By the time Chuuya’s twenty two, he’d probably be in a relationship with someone else, and the possibilities of them even remembering each other were slim to none. And so, Chuuya gave his answer. “Fine, let’s do that.” In short, fifteen year olds Dazai Osamu and Nakahara Chuuya made a stupid promise one day in their school library out of boredom, which leads to the next seven years of their life filled with fighting, burnt notebooks and late night conversations.

The Undercover Mission by OldSauk411 (Teen and Up Audiences, 16k) It all started when Atsushi was sent to drop off some papers that the Port Mafia had let them borrow. That was when he saw her, the woman with orange hair and blue eyes standing in the Port Mafia's hallways and talking. She was beautiful if he was being honest. However, after he left, he forgot about her- at least until a few months later, when the ADA and the Port Mafia teamed up for an undercover mission. One that was led by said 'woman'. Aka, Chuuya Nakahara. _____ Or: Atsushi sees a woman from a distance and thinks she's beautiful, up until the Port Mafia and the ADA team up for an undercover mission and it's revealed that the woman was actually Chuuya Nakahara.

Nothing but your spine by osamuchuu (Mature, 6k) “Oi, Dazai. We’re here.” Chuuya reached into the car to shake Dazai’s shoulders a bit, rearranging his coat to lay over the man’s back. Dazai swayed and blinked up at him. Whatever painkillers he’d been given had stolen the sharpness from his face. Dazai looked fifteen again, wide-eyed and vulnerable. And then he smiled. He smiled and Chuuya’s heart stuttered because it was so fucking real, so small and different from all the painted faces he wore now. This was dangerous.

strange loyalties by finalizer @tarmairons (Mature, 13k) “The Agency dorms are being fumigated,” Dazai explained cheerfully. “So, I offered—Atsushi can stay with us.” Or: Atsushi's observations from inside Yokohama's strangest household.

[sidenote: this is actually a sequel fic and while i loved the first one, this one really just took me to a whole other plane of existence which is why it's the one on the rec list. i do also rec the first one though!]

Yokohama public High School- almost as crazy as their pep rallies by BlowingYourMind (General Audiences, 20k) "The slacks! They're way too tight on him! Exactly no teachers ass should be like that, the students may be offended-" "Dazai, I think you're the only one that notices, and maybe refrain from eyeing up your co-workers like that-" "But how can I not!" Dazai huffed "It's right there in front of my face, it's hideous!" Oda sighed. he was just an average man with an average job gaining an average salary, but he would need to find a way to help Dazai and his obvious crush on Chuuya Nakahara before he lost his sanity. Or The story of how Chemistry teacher Dazai Osamu fell helplessly for coach Nakahara Chuuya, and the student body's many attempts to get them together.

If you refuse to listen I'll say it twice, love of my life by olympiansally @olympiansally (Mature, 15k) There’s Atsushi, Dazai’s star pupil. There’s Fyodor, arguably Dazai’s soulmate, a single mind in two bodies. There’s Kunikida, Dazai’s partner. There’s Oda, the reason Dazai wants to live. And then there’s Chuuya. If he asked Dazai to define him, to name his purpose, Chuuya already knows what he would hear. Chuuya is his dog, Chuuya is a slug, Chuuya is a chibi. And sure, maybe he is. But none of that is enough. Or, Chuuya can’t figure out what he means to Dazai exactly, but if he would only listen, he would realize that Dazai has been telling him all along.

In the throes of Corruption by BlowingYourMind (Teen and Up Audiences, 7k) Dazai’s ability ‘No longer human’ ironically made Chuuya human. It stripped him of the god that set his insides to flame and wreaked havoc. Corruption was terrible to Chuuya but Dazai’s touch never was. Or Five times Dazai helps Chuuya through the throes of Corruption.

hide the truth by writingfromtheshadows (Not Rated, 24k) When Chuuya wakes up in the middle of an ongoing fight without any memory of how he got there or what happened to him, he ends up turning to someone saved as 'bandage-waster' in his phone. Somehow, it just feels like the right decision.

Dream a little dream of me by BlowingYourMind (Teen and Up Audiences, 9k) "What would you like to dream of, Chuuya?" Dazai asked, and his partner shifted in the bed before settling down. "I dunno idiot, you pick." Dazai hummed, "I believe I can arrange that." Chuuya's eyelashes fluttered against Dazai's palm as Dazai continued to speak, voice turning into a whisper as he spoke late into the night. Or Chuuya can't dream, and Dazai has a soloution that quickly turns into a routine between the two of them.

Multichapter fics (all complete)

in the mirror, i bloom by ephemeralis (Teen and Up Audiences, 12k, 2/2) It twists him, turns him, curls in his chest like something alive, something he knows but can’t dare to name. Chuuya curses the red-black petals that fall from his lips, these nearly rotten things that tear him apart from the inside out. Part of him wants to rip his own traitorous heart out, through a ribcage shattered by feelings he can’t contain. Anger is easy, a thing he’s learned to control. This— whatever the hell this is— is not. Or at least it’s easier to feel as though this is beyond his own control, because Chuuya is not in love. (It feels like a lie even to himself.) After he's hit by a strange ability, Chuuya is forced to consider truths he'd much rather keep hidden- but not everything is as simple it seems.

[sidenote: this was the first bsd fic i ever read and HOOOOLLY CRAP what a beautiful way to join the fandom. i've reread this fic several times since. stunning.]

where your loyalties lie by writingfromtheshadows (Explicit, 163k, 20/20) Loyalty is the foundation of the yakuza code, something that was drilled into Chuuya at an early age. However, his lessons did not cover how to manage a political marriage with his organization's oldest rival.

Inseparable by milwritsecausewhynot (Teen and Up Audiences, 107k, 21/21) Best friends is too simple a term to squash the entire dynamic of Dazai Osamu and Nakahara Chuuya within. Sure, they’ve known each other since they were children, and they’re each other’s #1 on their best friend lists on Snapchat, and Chuuya’s been seen one too many times in his hoodies. People have also noticed how Dazai’s main muse for his volunteer hobby of polaroid photographer is the redhead himself. But the pranks they pull on each other isn’t much of a ‘best friend’ thing to do. Especially when one of the pranks get pulled so far, That Chuuya is forbidden from seeing Dazai ever again. And though he sees no good coming from such a forced separation, the one thing that can enhance their futures together is propelled forward at a faster speed than either of them could have ever imagined: Coming to terms with their unusual feelings for each other.

Do I Get My Worthless Reward Yet? by World_Ender22 (Teen and Up Audiences, 40k, 10/10) Chuuya has always been certain of two things: he is going to die young, and it will be Corruption that kills him. So when the Boss orders him to use his Corrupted form without an out, he is neither surprised nor distressed. He simply does what he's told. When Dazai learns that the whole thing is a ploy to make him rejoin the Mafia, he plans to beat Mori at his own game... starting with convincing Chuuya to join the Armed Detective Agency. / Soukoku

When I Awake by wildflowertea @wildflowerteas (Mature, 235k, 23/23) Dazai Osamu has been in a coma for exactly one year, seven months, and twenty-two days. But Death still refuses to take him. Trapped in the space between worlds, and unable to die, Dazai waits, killing what precious time he may have left and hoping—praying—that his family will pull the plug and move on. He doesn't expect someone to move into his old apartment instead. Nakahara Chuuya, two-time Grammy awards winner, and freshly unemployed pessimist, has never believed in fate—much less the supernatural. But the lively—if a bit annoying—ghost of his apartment's previous tenant, might just change everything.

hopelessly devoted by soukocacola (Explicit, 188k, 18/18) "Get your grades up." Oda tells him. "Then we'll talk." Well, Dazai thinks. If he's going to be miserable, the least he can do is make Chuuya miserable, too. Maybe then Chuuya will ditch him and Dazai can fail out of college with no regrets.

His Prized Experiment by fauxtales @fauxfroot (Mature, 94k, 18/18) "As terrifying as it could be, there was something just so freeing in using Corruption. It is, after all, his strongest state. No one can harm him when he uses Corruption; he is all but invincible. There are days when he lets himself dream. There is the part of him wondering if that’s just the god or his instincts trying to convince him to unleash pure chaos and destruction on the world, but that thought is easy enough to push away. He has no control in that state after all." As a teenager, Chuuya is subjected to experiments at Mori's hand in an attempt to find a way to control Corruption. Now, years later, Mori has decided it's time to revisit the experiments. Dazai is having none of it. But can they really leave their entire life behind?

death offers no absolution by Zairielon (Mature, 62k, 10/10) After so many years in the Port Mafia, Chuuya thought he couldn't be phased by anything - that he had carried out the worst orders that would ever be given to him. Then he sees things he never saw before. He sees horror, cruelty, needless suffering. He sees death in every step he takes. Chuuya is only human, too. Eventually, he breaks. OR, Chuuya leaves the Port Mafia and attempts to escape his bloodstained past.

from a to o, i love you so by anticide @anticidic (Explicit, 22k, 3/3) Here they were dancing a dangerous tango and crossing lines and blurring boundaries that neither Fukuzawa nor Mori would take kindly to. Dazai was supposed to have gotten over Chuuya, not melted in his embrace and bound them together for an eternity. (Or: Dazai and Chuuya's unconventional relationship sparks a radical change within Dazai when he wakes up one day under the weather and feeling very, very off.)

My Body is Your Body (I Won't Tell Anybody) by thereweregiants (Explicit, 26k, 2/2) Thanks to a rogue ability user, Dazai and Chuuya find themselves switching bodies. ...yeah, there's no way this ends well.

Mission - Entrancing Armed Detective Agency by cocktailjjrs (Teen and Up Audiences, 105k, 12/12) “Charming? Have you finally started dreaming now?” Dazai turned to face his longtime partner again “Say what you want, asshole, but people like me better anyway” Chuuya ignored the jab at his lack of dreams, only shrugging in response. “I can bet anything in this world that you can’t be liked by everyone. Your efforts will be fruitless by the end of the day” “Wanna bet?” Chuuya smirked “You’re on!” Dazai returned the smirk “I’ll tell you who your target will be” . . . In which, Dazai and Chuuya are upto their old shenanigans and make a bet. As a result - Bonds are formed, secrets are revealed, money is spent, devious plans are concatenated; someone gets drugged, someone gets punched, someone gets a wakeup slap. And Chuuya's 'brute' image is at imminent risk. All of this - to with the bet!

Prey to Your Instincts by skylorr (Mature, 98k, 8/8) He was a beta. He was normal. Barely any scent, no cycles, no mating instincts. Just plain old normal. At least, that’s what he thought. He thought he was normal. But instead, Dazai is currently curled up on his single mattress in the shipping container that he calls home as he sweats profusely and struggles through cramps, pains, and the desire to nest. His mattress has a single thin blanket, which apparently does not satisfy the omega instincts trying to claw their way out of his mind. He was so close, too; days away from his 17th birthday, the birthday that would have officially made him a beta. Hope is a killer disease.

[sidenote: there is also a sequel to this fic that i recommend just as much! it's still a WIP <3]

Illustrations of Lying by writingfromtheshadows (Mature, 49k, 20/20) It is more difficult, perhaps, to bear with fortitude the little daily trails of life, than great calamities, because we summon up all our spiritual and moral strength to resist the latter... Upon faced with the culmination of Mori's plan, Dazai does not go to Odasaku's side. Instead, he relieves Mori of his duties.

i'll bleed out for you by StarshipDancer @neonganymede (Mature, 75k, 7/7) What a shitty way to die.... Less than forty-eight hours ago, they’d been impaled together, and Chuuya had feared that the broken metal pole had pinned him in place against a corpse. Now, he worried that a corpse sat next to him, nothing more than a poorly-crafted imitation of his ex-partner. ... And what an even shittier situation to be stuck in. Or, A mission goes wrong, and Soukoku die together. Except, they don't, but now they're stuck in a safe house pretending that they did. And if Chuuya wants to find out what went wrong with Dazai's plan, he'll first have to find a way around the wall of silence that his former partner has built to keep him out.

Cigarette Game by chowderpuff (Teen and Up Audiences, 9k, 2/2) Chuuya has a crush on Dazai. Dazai knows this, and he thinks it’s a prime opportunity to mess with his partner a little. After all, why not? Chuuya’s reactions to his flirting are priceless, a new little bonus feature to the game between them, and Dazai actually starts to find it more entertaining than outright arguing. It’s all harmless fun until Dazai realizes that he has feelings too. Then it's decidedly not.

[ author's tumblrs are tagged when i could find them! if you know one who wasn't tagged or if you're an author and would like to be untagged, let me know! ]

#29 fics total jfc ksdhgkshdgkhsdgkh #so yep i definitely could do more of these and i probably will <3 but not for a good minute cus this took me like 2 hours #i love spreading the love and sharing my fave fics and there are sooo many and i didn't want to make this much longer #but anyway!!!#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #ficrec #fic rec list #fic rec #skk #soukoku #dazai x chuuya #dazai osamu #chuuya nakahara #bsd dazai #bsd chuuya #shh ac

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