#the last thing i need is to try to start another hobby but...

[cappurrccino]

maybe i should try my hand at typesetting/bookbinding with my bang fic from last year... 🤔

[brunchable]

How's retirement, Bucky? | Bucky Barnes x f!reader.

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Themes: Funny. Bucky trying to find things to do to kill time, while also being a menace to Y/N and the neighbours. Prequel to 'Ouch, My face.'

Summary: Bucky decides to retire and leave the super hero world behind, but now he doesn't know how to be normal citizen.

A/N: Just another scenario tha rudely popped into my head. . .

Bucky Barnes was retired.

It still felt strange, even after months of settling into a life of quiet mornings and unhurried afternoons. He had fought in wars, spent decades as an agent of chaos, and dedicated years to redemption and healing. Now, here he was—waking up whenever he pleased, making breakfast in a house that didn’t have bullet-proof glass windows or a panic room, and trying to figure out what to do with the rest of his day.

Today, like most others, started off simple enough: a run through the neighbourhood, a cup of coffee, and a lazy scan of the news. He’d even managed to fix the leaky faucet that had been bothering you for weeks, earning a soft kiss on the cheek as a reward.

But then… the day stretched on. There were no missions, no tactical planning, no world to save. Just the quiet ticking of the clock and the gentle hum of suburban life around him.

So, Bucky set his sights on something—or rather, someone—far more interesting: annoying you.

And thus began the saga of Bucky Barnes’ Retirement Phases.

Phase 1: The Handyman Hero Phase

Duration: One Month

Bucky started off strong, becoming the ultimate handyman of the household. Everything was fair game for improvement. Leaky faucets, creaky floorboards, wobbly shelves—if there was a screw to tighten, Bucky was on it like a well-oiled machine.

“Bucky, what are you doing?” you asked one morning, sipping your coffee as you watched him carefully measuring the distance between each picture frame on the living room wall.

“Making sure they’re exactly one inch apart,” he said without looking up, his voice deadly serious.

“Why?”

“Because last night, I noticed this one—” he pointed to a frame on the far left “—was slightly off-center, and it’s been bothering me ever since.”

You blinked. “Bucky, it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine, Y/N. It’s one and a quarter inch apart. Do you know what happens when things aren’t balanced?” He gave you a haunted look, as if you’d just suggested destabilizing the world order.

“Chaos,” you muttered.

“Exactly.”

Within weeks, Bucky had rebuilt half the house, repainted the walls (twice), and installed a state-of-the-art security system that even Tony Stark would envy. You came home one day to find the couch moved three inches to the left, the coffee table completely gone (“I dismantled it; we don’t need it”), and Bucky seriously contemplating whether the kitchen would look better with marble or granite countertops.

“Bucky,” you said slowly, trying to remain calm, “I’m begging you—stop fixing things.”

He blinked at you. “What do you want me to do then?”

You panicked. “Anything. Just—find a hobby!”

He gave a solemn nod, as if you’d just entrusted him with a new mission. “Okay. A hobby. Got it.”

You breathed a sigh of relief. If only you’d known what was coming next.

Phase 2: The Google Scholar Phase

Duration: Two Weeks

With his newfound free time, Bucky discovered the internet. And when Bucky Barnes discovers the internet, chaos ensues.

It started innocently enough. You’d come home to find him glued to his laptop, his brows furrowed in concentration.

“What are you doing?” you asked, setting down your bag.

“Research,” he said ominously, fingers flying over the keys.

“Research on… what?”

He glanced up, his eyes wide. “Did you know sharks have been around longer than trees?”

“Uh—”

“And that banana slugs can grow up to 9 inches long?” He leaned forward, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “There’s a whole website dedicated to weird animal facts. I’ve been reading for hours.”

And so, you were subjected to two weeks of nonstop trivia.

“Hey, Y/N!” he’d shout from the kitchen. “Did you know an octopus has three hearts?”

Or: “Did you know cows have best friends?”

And: “Do you want to hear about the deepest point in the ocean?”

“Not really—”

“It’s called the Mariana Trench, and it’s seven miles down!”

You tried banning Wikipedia, but he just switched to obscure forums. You blocked YouTube, and he found a random chicken fact blog. The worst part? He’d share his newfound knowledge with anyone who’d listen.

“I’m calling Sam,” you muttered one evening after hearing Bucky recite the entire history of the humble potato to the mailman. “You need social intervention.”

Phase 3: The Home Décor Perfectionist Phase

Duration: Two Exasperating Weeks

Denied access to his newfound internet pursuits, Bucky turned to interior design. You were caught off guard one Saturday morning when he asked, “What do you think of paisley?”

“What’s a paisley?”

“Pattern. I’m thinking of reupholstering the couch.”

“Bucky, no—”

Too late. Within days, every room was a different colour. You came home to find polka-dotted curtains in the bathroom, and he’d somehow managed to install a chandelier in the laundry room.

“Bucky, why is there a 10-foot mirror in the hallway?”

“It makes the space feel bigger.”

“Bucky, this is a two-bedroom house!”

He paused, squinting at the living room wall. “I think the polka dots need to go.”

You nearly wept with relief when he announced he was moving on to the garden.

Phase 4: The Amateur Detective Phase

Duration: One Overly Suspicious Month

After redecorating the entire house, Bucky set his sights on the neighborhood.

“Y/N, did you see that guy across the street?” he whispered one morning, peering through the blinds with a pair of binoculars.

“That’s Mr. Henderson. He’s eighty-five.”

“Yeah, and he’s up to something. No one goes to the mailbox that often.”

“Maybe he likes getting his mail?”

“I’m telling you, something’s not right.” He tapped the binoculars. “I’m gonna get to the bottom of it.”

And so began Operation: Neighborhood Watch. Every delivery truck was scrutinised. Every dog walker received a full background check. The poor Girl Scouts who came to sell cookies left looking slightly shell-shocked.

The Girl Scout Incident: When Bucky Barnes Met Thin Mints

The Girl Scout incident started out innocent enough—just a kid selling cookies to the neighborhood. But when Bucky Barnes answered the door, things took a turn.

It was a sunny Saturday morning. You were in the kitchen, enjoying a rare moment of peace, when you heard the doorbell ring. Before you could even get up to check, Bucky’s voice echoed from the living room.

“I got it!” he called out, already making his way to the front door.

Curious, you peeked around the corner just in time to see him open it. Standing on the porch was a sweet-looking little girl, no more than nine or ten, decked out in her green uniform, clutching a clipboard and flashing a bright, eager smile.

“Hi, mister!” she chirped, clearly undeterred by the stern look on Bucky’s face. “Would you like to buy some Girl Scout cookies today?”

You watched as Bucky’s expression softened just a bit, his head tilting to the side in confusion.

“Cookies?” he repeated, as if she’d just offered him nuclear launch codes.

“Yep!” She held up a laminated chart with pictures of the various cookies, pointing to each one with a tiny, rainbow-colored pen. “We have Thin Mints, Tagalongs, Samoas—uh, I mean, Caramel deLites—”

He squinted at the chart, clearly trying to make sense of it all. “Why would you need to sell cookies?”

You nearly face-palmed. Oh no.

The girl’s enthusiasm didn’t waver. “It’s a fundraiser! To support our troop activities and trips.”

“Fundraiser?” Bucky’s voice dropped suspiciously. “Who’s your troop leader?”

The girl blinked, a little taken aback. “Uh, Mrs. Patterson?”

“Uh-huh. And how many boxes of these so-called ‘cookies’ are you supposed to sell?”

Her smile wavered just a fraction. “Um, as many as possible?”

Bucky crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “And where does all this money go?”

“Bucky—” you tried to interrupt, stepping forward, but he held up a hand without looking back, eyes still locked on the bewildered Girl Scout.

“It goes to our troop!” she answered nervously, glancing down at her clipboard as if for reassurance. “For badges and supplies and—”

“Supplies,” Bucky echoed, his tone suddenly sharp. “What kind of supplies?”

“Uh… arts and crafts…?” she stammered, clearly starting to get uncomfortable.

“Arts and crafts?” He leaned in, dropping his voice to a low, conspiratorial whisper. “Or something else?”

You saw the poor girl’s eyes widen, her grip tightening on her clipboard as if she was contemplating using it as a shield.

“Bucky, stop,” you hissed, stepping forward to intervene. But he was on a roll now.

“Who gets the money, huh?” He narrowed his eyes, peering down at her like she was an enemy combatant. “Do you get it?

“Or does it go to some mysterious ‘troop leader’ who’s hiding behind a desk somewhere, raking in profits from innocent cookie sales?”

“M-Mister, it’s just cookies,” she squeaked, glancing nervously at the boxes stacked beside her. “We just wanna go camping this summer.”

“Camping?” he repeated slowly, as if tasting the word. “And what kind of ‘camping’ are we talking about here? Deep-woods recon training? SERE training?”

The girl blinked up at him, clearly having no idea what he was talking about.

“Bucky, she’s nine!” you practically shouted, rushing over to save the poor child from what was rapidly escalating into a full-blown interrogation.

“But Y/N, this could be—”

“It’s not a conspiracy, Bucky!” you snapped, turning to the girl and giving her what you hoped was a reassuring smile. “Sweetie, how much for a box of Thin Mints?”

“Uh… f-five dollars?” she stammered, still eyeing Bucky like he might suddenly sprout fangs.

You reached for your wallet, pulling out a ten-dollar bill and handing it to her. “Keep the change.”

“Thank you, ma’am!” she squeaked, stuffing the money into her pouch with trembling hands.

You shot Bucky a glare. “Apologize.”

He crossed his arms, looking mulish. “But—”

“Bucky.”

He let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. Uh… sorry… for, um… asking about your troop leader and, uh… the money laundering?”

The girl blinked up at him, clearly not following.

“Bucky!” you hissed, elbowing him sharply.

“I mean, sorry for… for… being weird,” he mumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets.

The girl gave a hesitant nod, glancing back at her stack of cookies. “Um… would you like another box, mister?”

Bucky frowned thoughtfully. “Maybe. Which one’s the best?”

“Bucky—” you started, but he was already leaning down, listening intently as the girl launched into a detailed explanation of the flavour profiles of Samoas versus Tagalongs.

Twenty minutes later, Bucky was the proud owner of a dozen boxes of Girl Scout cookies, which the girl somehow managed to upsell him into buying. The look of relief on her face as she walked away was palpable.

You turned to Bucky, hands on your hips. “Really, Buck?”

“What?” he said defensively, clutching his armful of cookies. “I needed to make sure it was legit!”

“Uh-huh. And that’s why we now have enough cookies to feed an army?”

He shrugged, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “I guess I got carried away.”

“Just… try not to scare any more children, okay?”

“Hey, I was just being thorough,” he muttered, glancing down at the boxes. “Besides… these ‘Samoas’ are actually pretty good.”

You shook your head, laughing despite yourself. Because only Bucky Barnes could turn a simple cookie sale into a full-scale interrogation—and then end up buying out the entire stock.

“Whatever you say, Bucky. Whatever you say.”

He gave you a sheepish grin, holding up a box of Thin Mints. “Want one?”

“Sure,” you sighed, reaching out to grab a cookie. Because, at the end of the day, this was Bucky Barnes: ex-assassin, super-soldier, and now… terrifyingly dedicated Girl Scout cookie connoisseur.

The Girl Scout incident, unfortunately, didn’t mark the end of Bucky’s neighbourhood watch endeavours.

“Hey, Y/N, that’s the third day in a row Mrs. Higginson has gone jogging past our house,” Bucky muttered a few days later, scribbling furiously in his notebook.

You glanced over from your spot on the couch, raising an eyebrow. “Uh-huh,” you replied absently, already wondering if now would be a good time to text Steve for a little ‘rescue mission.’ “Maybe she likes jogging?”

“Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s not natural. It’s a cover for something. Probably espionage.”

“Bucky, she’s seventy.”

“Exactly. No one that age moves like that. She’s gotta be a retired agent.”

“Or she’s trying to stay in shape?”

“Or she’s spying on us.” He narrowed his eyes, peering through the blinds. “Maybe she’s HYDRA.”

“Bucky, she brought us homemade banana bread last week.”

“Which tasted suspiciously good,” he muttered darkly, tapping his pen against his chin. “I’m keeping an eye on her.”

It didn’t stop there. He began obsessively tracking patterns—when neighbors took out their trash, when they left for work, who picked up their mail first thing in the morning. His conspiracy board rivaled the one you’d seen at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, complete with photos, string, and a suspiciously large map of the neighborhood.

“Y/N, I need to talk to you.”

You blinked, looking up from your book. “What’s up, Buck?”

He leaned in, his voice low and serious. “Did you know Mrs. Patterson’s dog peed on our lawn three times this week?”

“I—what?”

“And Mr. Thompson left his house twice yesterday. Twice.”

“…is that a crime?”

“Yes. Who leaves the house twice in one day? He’s clearly up to something.”

“Like… groceries?”

Bucky frowned. “No. Something bigger. I saw him walking to his car, get this—without any bags.”

“Maybe he forgot something?”

He shook his head, eyes narrowed. “It’s a diversion tactic. I’m keeping a close watch on him.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re stalking the neighbours.”

“Of course not!” He paused. “I’m… observing. For science.”

“For science?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, Buck. I’m putting my foot down,” you finally managed. “You need to stop this. The neighbours think we’re crazy. You’re scaring the kids and… the mailman won’t come to the door anymore.”

Bucky looked genuinely confused. “Why not?”

“Because you interrogated him about his route last week!”

“He was being shady!”

“He’s a mailman!”

There was a long pause as you stared each other down, Bucky looking defiant and you looking exhausted. Finally, you sighed and ran a hand through your hair.

“Buck… I know retirement is hard. But you need a new outlet. Maybe something a little less—”

“Paranoid?” he offered, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah. And a little less terrifying for the neighbours.”

He sighed deeply, like you’d just asked him to hang up his shield all over again. “I was just… trying to be useful.”

Your heart softened immediately. Because that was what it all boiled down to, wasn’t it? The man who’d spent his life fighting wars and doing battle against his own mind was now left trying to figure out how to fit into a world that no longer needed him to save it.

You walked over, placing your hands on his shoulders and giving him a soft smile. “You’re always useful, Buck. Even if you’re not interrogating the mailman about federal postal regulations or… spying on seventy-year-old retirees.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “I might’ve gone a little overboard, huh?”

“A little,” you agreed with a grin. “Maybe you should find something else to watch over.”

“Like what?” he asked, looking genuinely curious.

You bit your lip, thinking. “I don’t know… Maybe get a pet? You could… I don’t know, babysit a cat or something.”

Bucky blinked at you. Then his eyes lit up like you’d just handed him the Holy Grail of retirement activities.

“A cat,” he murmured slowly, as if testing the word. “A cat.”

“Yes, a cat,” you repeated cautiously, wondering if you’d just unleashed some new kind of havoc on the house. “You could train it to… I don’t know, not scratch the furniture or something.”

“Or… I could train it to keep an eye on the pigeons,” he muttered to himself, looking thoughtful.

“Wait, what?”

But Bucky had already gone inside, the gears in his mind clearly turning. You shook your head, deciding to let him have this one. After all, how much trouble could he really get into with a cat?

Phase 5: The Pet Phase (aka Operation: Find a Feline Friend)

Duration: Ongoing, with Fur Everywhere

You didn’t think he’d take it seriously. Until you came home the next day to find Bucky sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, a small, white ball of fluff curled up in his lap.

“This is Alpine,” he announced proudly.

You stared at the kitten, then at Bucky, then back at the kitten. “Bucky, what… why…?”

“You said get a pet,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “So I did.”

And that’s how Alpine, the grumpy old woman in a cat’s body, became part of your household. Bucky spent weeks trying to train him (“Sit, Alpine! Sit! … Okay, fine, just glare at me, that works too.”), set up elaborate obstacle courses (“Alpine, jump! No, don’t walk away—okay, you know what, just do your thing”), and spoiled her rotten with toys and treats.

With each phase, Bucky’s retirement became a new adventure. And while it drove you absolutely crazy at times, you couldn’t help but smile when you saw Bucky lying on the couch, Alpine curled up on his chest, both looking completely content.

“Retirement isn’t so bad, huh?” you teased one evening, curling up beside him.

He hummed thoughtfully, scratching behind Alpine’s ears. “I don’t know… I think I could use a new project.”

You groaned, but your groan turned into a laugh when he grinned at you, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Oh no,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “No more projects, Barnes. You’ve nearly redecorated us out of house and home, scared the mailman half to death, and—”

“Don’t forget the gourmet cookies,” he interjected with a cheeky smile.

You shot him a playful glare. “I’m trying to forget the cookies, thank you.”

“Aw, come on. I think I finally got the recipe down. I’ll just try one more—”

“No!” you practically shouted, your voice echoing through the living room. Alpine, unbothered, merely lifted her head, gave you both a disinterested look, and went back to napping.

Bucky chuckled, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. No more cookies. No more redecorating. No more… scaring the Girl Scouts.”

“Or spying on the neighbors.”

“Or spying on the neighbors,” he agreed, still looking a little too amused for your liking.

You sighed, leaning back into the couch and resting your head on his shoulder. “You know, most people take up hobbies like gardening or painting in retirement.”

Bucky nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, but those aren’t as exciting.”

“They’re not supposed to be exciting. They’re supposed to be calm. That’s the whole point of retirement, Buck.”

He glanced down at you, his gaze softening. “You really think I’m the ‘calm’ type, doll?”

You snorted. “No, not really. But it would be nice if, just once, I didn’t come home to find you plotting to build a moat around the house.”

“Moats are an excellent defense mechanism,” he said matter-of-factly. “But okay, I get it. I’ll tone it down.”

You gave him a skeptical look. “You promise?”

“Scout’s honor,” he said, holding up his right hand. The glint in his eye, however, told you he was already planning something new.

“Bucky…”

“What?” he asked, all innocence. “You don’t trust me?”

“Not for a second.”

He chuckled, then pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. “Alright, no more projects. I’ll just focus on Alpine. She’s a full-time job anyway.”

You glanced at the cat, who was now sprawled out like she owned the place. “You’ve turned her into a diva, you know.”

“He’s just refined,” Bucky said defensively. “He’s got standards.”

“Uh-huh. Like the way he refuses to eat unless you hand-feed her?”

“Refined,” Bucky insisted.

“And how she sleeps on your side of the bed and shoves you off with her tiny, evil paws?”

“Selective.”

“And how she sits on the counter staring at you like she’s plotting your demise?”

“Observant.”

You shook your head, laughing softly. “You’ve created a monster, Bucky.”

“Eh,” he said with a shrug, smirking down at you. “I’ve handled worse monsters. She’s a good one. Besides,” he added, scratching Alpine’s head fondly, “she’s family.”

Your heart softened at his words, and you smiled up at him. “Yeah, I guess she is.”

There was a comfortable silence as you both sat there, content in the peaceful moment.

Then Bucky cleared his throat, and you glanced up to see him shifting slightly, like he was working up the nerve to say something.

“So… I was thinking…” he began slowly.

“Bucky.”

“No, no, hear me out,” he said quickly, raising his hands as if to ward off your incoming refusal. “What if we… I dunno… made a baby?”

You blinked, certain you hadn’t heard him correctly. “What?”

“A baby,” he repeated, his voice steady, though there was a telltale blush creeping up his neck. “You know, a little human—our human. Someone we can train to take over the world… or at least keep me entertained.”

Your jaw dropped open. “You want to have a baby—because you’re bored?”

Bucky gave you a sheepish grin. “I mean, I was thinking it could be a good project… long-term investment… future troublemaker…”

“Bucky,” you interrupted, placing your hands on his shoulders and staring at him, bewildered. “Are you seriously suggesting having a child like it’s another DIY project?”

He shrugged, looking as nonchalant as ever, but his eyes were soft and serious. “Maybe. But I was also thinking it’d be nice to have something, or someone, that’s just… ours. A mix of you and me. Something that isn’t tied to the past, or fighting, or… all the other stuff.”

You stared at him, trying to wrap your mind around the sudden turn the conversation had taken. “You really want a baby, Bucky?”

He nodded slowly, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah. I do. Don’t get me wrong, Alpine’s great and all, but…” He sighed, his smile turning tender. “I just think it’d be amazing to have something more. I’ve spent so much of my life taking orders or fighting ghosts. But starting a family with you? That’s something I get to build. Something that’s ours.”

You bit your lip, heart swelling at his words. Despite the completely unromantic way he’d suggested it, there was sincerity in his gaze, a yearning for something deeper than fixing leaky faucets or buying out the Girl Scouts’ entire cookie stock.

“And you think you’d be a good dad?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Please,” he scoffed, pulling you closer and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’d be the best damn dad. I’d teach our kid how to throw a proper punch by age five, dismantle a toaster by six—”

You laughed, shaking your head. “So, what you’re saying is… you want to raise a tiny super-soldier?”

His grin widened. “Hell yeah.”

“Bucky, we are not turning our child into a mini-Winter Soldier.”

He pouted dramatically. “Not even a little bit?”

“Not even a little bit,” you affirmed with a chuckle. You leaned in, resting your forehead against his. “But… maybe we could talk about it. You know, actually talk. Not just… plan a tactical baby mission.”

Bucky’s eyes softened as he brushed his thumb along your cheek. “Yeah. We can talk about it.” He paused, then added with a mischievous glint, “After we practice a little more.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Oh my God, Bucky.”

“What?” he asked innocently, his grin widening. “Practice makes perfect, right?”

You shook your head, letting out a breathy laugh. “You’re incorrigible.”

“And you love me for it,” he murmured, leaning in to capture your lips in a soft, lingering kiss.

“Yeah,” you whispered when he pulled away, your heart fluttering in your chest. “I do.”

You glanced down at Alpine, who was still sprawled across Bucky’s lap, looking utterly uninterested in the conversation. A baby. You hadn’t really thought about it seriously before, but now that Bucky had put the idea in your head… you couldn’t help but wonder.

There was a brief pause as Bucky gazed at you, his expression growing thoughtful. “You know,” he began quietly, “after that whole Girl Scout cookie fiasco… I kinda started thinking… I’d really like to have a daughter.”

You blinked at him, surprised. “A daughter?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice softening. “That kid was just so… brave, you know? Standing there, staring me down even though I was being a total idiot. It reminded me of you—fierce and unafraid. I couldn’t stop thinking… what if we had a daughter like that? Strong, smart, and completely capable of putting me in my place when I get out of line.”

You felt your heart clench at his words, his quiet admission making your chest ache. “You want a little girl because she’d keep you in check?”

“That,” he said, smiling softly, “and I think I’d like the challenge. I’ve spent so much of my life dealing with people who only saw me as a weapon. I just… want to prove that I can be something else. That I can be gentle… and kind… and love someone unconditionally. The way I love you.”

You reached up, cupping his face gently. “Bucky, you don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”

“I know,” he murmured, his gaze warm and intense. “But I still want to try. And I want to be the kind of dad who isn’t just a protector, but a friend. Someone who’d sit through endless tea parties and help her build pillow forts… and buy all the Girl Scout cookies she wants without scaring anyone.”

You laughed softly, tears stinging your eyes at the picture he painted. “You’d be a great dad, Bucky.”

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice low and hopeful.

“Yeah,” you whispered, smiling up at him.

There was another beat of silence before Bucky leaned in, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “So… when do we start?”

You felt your cheeks heat, a mix of laughter and surprise bubbling up in your chest. “Bucky!”

“What?” he asked, his smile as innocent as ever. “I’m just asking. I mean, you know I’m a man of action. Gotta have a timeline.”

“Oh my God,” you muttered, burying your face in your hands as Bucky laughed softly, his arms wrapping around you.

“Okay, okay,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your hair. “No rush. We’ll take it one day at a time, sweetheart. But just know… I’m ready whenever you are.”

And somehow, you knew this next phase—whatever it looked like—was going to be the best one yet.

× × × ×

Ten months later

The soft glow of the nightlight bathed the nursery in a warm, golden hue, casting gentle shadows on the pale blue walls. The room was still, save for the quiet creak of the rocking chair as Bucky swayed back and forth, holding the tiniest bundle of joy in his strong, yet tender arms.

His daughter, barely a week old, was nestled against his chest, her small, delicate breaths in sync with the steady rhythm of his own. Her tiny fist curled around the fabric of his shirt, as if she knew just how safe and loved she was in her daddy's arms.

Bucky hummed quietly, the familiar melody of an old lullaby drifting into the air. It was a song his mother used to sing to him when he was no older than his sweet little girl was now. The words came softly, almost whispered, as if they were sacred—meant only for his daughter.

“Darling, you're my bloodYou have my heartbeatYou have my heartbeat, beating loud,”

His voice was gruff, yet softened by emotion as he sang, the gentle rocking lulling his daughter further into her peaceful slumber. His fingers brushed through her soft, downy hair as he looked down at her with nothing short of awe. How had he, of all people, gotten so lucky?

He had been through so much darkness in his life—seen and done things he would never be able to forget—but here, in this quiet moment, everything seemed to fade away. The world outside could wait. Right now, his whole universe was cradled in his arms, and for the first time in a long time, Bucky Barnes felt at peace.

Unbeknownst to him, you stood at the door, your heart swelling at the sight before you. You had come to check on them both, worried that Bucky might need help with the baby. But when you saw him there, rocking your little girl and singing so sweetly, you couldn’t bring yourself to interrupt.

A soft smile tugged at your lips as you leaned against the doorframe, content to watch the love of your life in this vulnerable, beautiful moment. 

Bucky was a natural, even if he didn’t believe it. You had seen the worry in his eyes when you first brought your daughter home—the fear that he wouldn’t be good enough, that he wouldn’t know what to do. But here he was, proving himself wrong in the most heart-melting way possible.

The lullaby continued, each note filled with so much love it made your eyes mist over.

"You are my lighthouseA peak of light from the dark cloudsI've lived under my whole life. . .And there's nothing I won't do for you."

Bucky’s voice cracked just a little on the last line, overcome with emotion as he gazed down at his daughter and carefully wiped his tears away. 

She had his eyes—bright and full of wonder, even when they were closed in slumber. He couldn’t help but trace the delicate features of her face with his gaze, committing every tiny detail to memory.

Finally, you couldn’t resist any longer. You stepped into the room quietly, not wanting to startle him. Bucky looked up, surprise flickering across his face when he saw you standing there. His expression softened when he realised you had been watching him.

“How long have you been standing there?” he asked, his voice low so as not to wake the baby.

“Long enough,” you replied, your smile widening as you walked over to him.

Bucky blushed, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. “I’m not exactly a professional.”

“I beg to differ, I think you’re the best dad in the world.” you whispered, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his temple. 

Bucky’s heart swelled at your words. He never imagined he would be here—sitting in a nursery, holding his newborn daughter while the love of his life stood beside him, calling him the best dad in the world. It still felt like a dream.

“She’s so small,” he murmured, looking back down at the baby. “So fragile. I didn’t think…I didn’t think I could love someone I barely knew this much.”

Your hand gently rested on his shoulder as you gazed down at your daughter. “You’ve got a big heart, James. I always knew you’d be amazing as a father.”

He glanced up at you, eyes soft and full of affection. “You’re the amazing one.”

You reached out to gently stroke the baby’s cheek, and Bucky leaned into your touch, feeling more complete than he ever thought possible.

“I never thought I’d have this,” he admitted after a long silence, his voice barely above a whisper. “A family. A reason to feel…whole again.”

You knelt down beside him, resting your head against his shoulder. “You deserve it, Bucky. You deserve all the happiness in the world.”

Bucky kissed the top of youe head, holding you close as he continued to rock your daughter. The world outside could be chaotic and unforgiving, but in this room, in this moment, everything was perfect.

× × × ×

Baby at six months

The house was peaceful, the late afternoon sun casting a warm glow through the windows. You were out running errands, leaving Bucky home with their now six-month-old daughter, who was currently kicking her chubby little legs and babbling on her playmat. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity as she reached for her favorite stuffed bear, the one Bucky had given her the day she was born.

Bucky sat beside her, legs crossed, watching her every move like she was the most fascinating thing on the planet. He leaned down, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. 

“You know, blossom,” he began, glancing over his shoulder dramatically as if checking to make sure Y/N wasn’t around. “Your mom thinks she’s the boss.”

Their daughter let out a high-pitched squeal, and Bucky grinned. 

“Right? Can you believe it?” he continued, keeping his voice low as if sharing the biggest secret in the world. “She thinks she’s in charge around here. But between you and me, we know the truth.”

His little girl giggled again, her tiny hands grasping at the air as if she was agreeing with him.

“See, you and I?” Bucky said, tapping his finger gently on her nose, “We’re a team. We know how to get things done. I mean, just look at us—surviving nap time, figuring out how to stack those weird little ring toys, and we don’t even need to look at the instructions. Meanwhile, your mom still thinks I can’t fold laundry properly.”

He paused for dramatic effect, raising his brows. “Can you believe that? Laundry. I fought in World War II, and she’s worried I’ll mess up the towels.”

His daughter let out a delighted shriek, her little legs kicking excitedly. Bucky reached over and tickled her belly gently, making her burst into even more giggles.

“Oh, yeah, I know you think it’s funny,” Bucky chuckled. “But trust me, your mom’s got some pretty high laundry standards. I tried to fold one towel, just one, and she came over with this look like I’d committed a crime. 'Bucky, that’s not how you fold them!' she said. And I’m standing there like, ‘It’s a towel, not a top-secret mission.’”

He leaned in closer, as if telling her something top-secret. “She doesn’t know this, but I might’ve folded them wrong on purpose so I wouldn’t have to do it anymore.”

His daughter cooed, her tiny hand reaching out to grab his finger, which she promptly brought to her mouth to chew on. Bucky let her, his heart melting at the sight. She was his little sidekick, always hanging on his every word, even if she didn’t fully understand yet.

“And don’t even get me started on the bedtime routine,” Bucky continued, shaking his head in mock exasperation. “Your mom’s got this whole plan—bath, story, lights out. Meanwhile, you and me? We’ve got a better plan. We chill, we rock, maybe sing a little. You get all cozy, and bam—out like a light.”

“Bababababa,” His daughter babbled something back at him, her little voice full of enthusiasm, and Bucky nodded seriously. 

“Exactly. That’s what I’ve been saying. We’ve got this figured out.”

He scooped her up from the mat and held her close, her head resting comfortably against his chest as he walked them over to the couch. He sat down, cradling her in his arms, and continued his lighthearted rant.

“And the thing is, she’s always right, which drives me crazy. Like, the other day, she told me you were gonna try to crawl soon. I thought, ‘Nah, she’s too young.’ But then what happens? Two days later, you’re scooting around like you’ve got places to be. I swear, your mom’s a psychic or something.”

Bucky gazed down at his daughter, who was now looking up at him with those wide blue eyes that never failed to melt his heart. She let out a happy gurgle, and Bucky chuckled softly, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead.

“You know I’m just kidding, right? Your mom’s the best. She takes care of both of us.” He sighed, feeling a rush of affection as he thought about Y/N. “Don’t tell her, but I’m pretty lucky to have her. She keeps me in line.”

Just then, the sound of the front door opening echoed through the house, and Bucky’s head shot up in mock panic.

“Uh-oh,” he whispered to his daughter, his eyes wide with exaggerated worry. “The boss is back. Don’t say anything.”

You appeared in the doorway, raising an eyebrow as you saw Bucky and the baby cozied up on the couch. “What are you two up to?” you asked, a knowing smile on your lips.

Bucky gave you his most innocent look, bouncing your daughter gently in his arms. “Oh, nothing. Just hanging out with my best girl here. Right, darling?”

The baby let out a little squeal, clearly delighted by the attention.

“Mmhmm,” You said, stepping closer and giving Bucky a playful look. “You haven’t been filling her head with nonsense, have you?”

“Me? Never,” Bucky replied, trying to keep a straight face. “We were just talking about how great you are. Isn’t that right, kiddo?”

Bianca, oblivious to the conversation, giggled and reached for you, and took her from Bucky’s arms and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“Well, if she grows up thinking she’s in charge, I’ll know who to blame,” You teased, casting a glance at Bucky.

He grinned, leaning back on the couch. “Hey, she’s gotta learn from the best.”

You smiled, shaking your head in mock defeat. “You’re lucky she likes you so much.”

Bucky stood and wrapped his arms around you, resting his chin on your shoulder as you both looked down at your little girl, now happily nestled between you. “I’m lucky to have both of you,” he murmured softly, kissing the side of your head.

And in that moment, with his two favorite girls in his arms, Bucky couldn’t imagine a better kind of luck.

[katsu28]

home is wherever you are

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

summary: secretly falling in love with your best friend is tough. secretly falling in love with your best friend who also happens to be your roommate is even less than ideal. the solution? move out! (hint: it isn’t a very good one.) (5k)

warnings: angst with a happy ending, a smidge of google translated french lol

a/n: CHARLES LECLERC!!! CHARLES LECLERC!!!!LECLERC!!! LECLERAUGHCOUGHCOUGH

“I still cannot believe you’re abandoning me.” 

Charles shoved another box of your things into the boot of your car rather huffily, as if to reiterate just how unhappy he was. 

“I’m not abandoning you, I’m moving out of your apartment.” You sighed, rolling your eyes playfully at him. You passed him the last box off the ground, wiping your hands off on your shorts before propping them on your hips. 

“That is quite literally the same thing.” He mirrored your stance in total seriousness, frown unwavering. “And it’s not my apartment, it’s yours now too. Your home.” 

You’d been living with Charles for a while now, having been suddenly evicted from your own place three, almost four years ago. With nowhere else to go, you’d turned to your best friend, and Charles had welcomed you with open arms, giving you a home when you’d needed it most. 

There were many good things about living with Charles—he liked to cook (which boded well with you, seeing as you were no master chef yourself. Except for when he’d gone through a questionable phase of combining cuisines that did not go well together.), he was respectful of set boundaries and agreed upon rules. You had the same taste in shows and movies, which made for little fighting when it came to deciding on what to watch. 

But most notably, he loved to play the piano. It was a hobby he’d picked up during long days spent staying at home, and he was good at it too. An electronic keyboard when he’d first started out, just to see if it was something he was serious about, but as he zoomed through the basics with ease, he’d splurged on a gorgeous white piano that stood proudly in the living room. 

Soon enough, it wasn’t unusual for the apartment to be full of music, beautiful songs of Charles’ own composing. 

He played whenever he had the feeling. Whenever he had something on his mind, whenever he was bored, anything, he’d spend hours at the piano, playing, playing, playing. Some might’ve called it annoying, but not you. You found it rather soothing. 

It had very quickly become a habit of yours to fall asleep listening to Charles play. Something about it seemed to always relax you just enough to the point where you could pretty much fall asleep anywhere if he was at the bench. 

Your favorite spot was on the sofa with a big blanket, watching him get lost in the notes until you drifted off. More often than not, you could rarely get a good night’s sleep without Charles’ accompaniment—your very own version of white noise. 

But truth be told, this past year of living together with Charles had been trickier than the first couple. You couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment things began to change, but something had definitely shifted between you. 

You’d been trying to write it off just the two of you being very close, but you’d been dancing on the line of close friends and more than friends for a long time. Falling asleep together cuddled on the sofa, lingering touches whilst you were in the same room and in passing, hugs that lasted a little too long to be considered normal. 

The more your feelings for Charles grew, the more worried you became. Worried about what, you weren’t exactly sure. All you knew was you didn’t want to lose the longest and best friendship you’d ever had because you went and fell in love.

“I know. But I think it’s well past time I get out of your hair and try being on my own for once.” You said softly, stepping in to fold yourself into Charles’ arms. 

Most of that was true. You did feel like you needed to live by yourself for a chance, to see what it was like to be fully independent in your adult life. You’d moved in with Charles when you were twenty two, and you were twenty five now. It was time for you to venture out on your own. 

But the uncertainty of falling in love with your best friend was definitely also a contributing factor. 

He made a displeased sound at your words, but tucked you under his chin nonetheless. “I don’t want you to get out of my hair. My hair likes it with you here.” 

“I live fifteen minutes away, Cha. I’m not moving across the country. You and your hair can come over anytime.” You scoffed, giving him a gentle poke in the ribs. “And I’ll come over here all the time too, you know that.” 

“Fine, fine. I don’t know what I am supposed to do with your empty room now, but I’ll figure it out. Maybe I will take up scrapbooking. Knitting. Needlepoint, maybe. Turn it into a craft room.” 

“Maybe you can turn it into a music room. Move the keyboard in there, your piano.” 

“Ah, bien entendu, my piano. How will you ever fall asleep without my sweet, sweet melodies?” 

“I think I will manage just fine.” You chuckled. 

Charles held you at arms’ length, dark brows furrowing as he scowled. “What I’m hearing is you don’t love me anymore.” 

Oh, if only he knew. 

You smiled instead, patting his cheek good-naturedly. “Come on, you drama queen. I want to move in before the sun goes down.” 

Charles went full protection mode the second all your belongings had made it safely inside the apartment, intently checking every lock, window, door hinge, cabinet—not an inch of the apartment went uninspected by him. When he seemed fairly satisfied with his safety checks, he returned to where you were unpacking kitchen items over by the oven.

“Everything up to your standards?” You asked, pulling out a stack of plates wrapped in brown paper. Charles shuffled over, easing them out of your hands and unwrapping them to help put them up in the cabinet. “No one is going to break in through my window tonight?”

“Don’t even joke about that.” He grumbled, chucking the balled up paper at you gently. “Everything I checked is fine. You will be safe here.” 

Food was simple when it came time for dinner—takeout on the floor of your living room, because you hadn’t had the time to go shopping for a coffee table yet. Or a dining room table. Or even chairs, really. All you had were some pillows and an overturned cardboard box to put the food on. 

Charles had insisted on helping you furnish the whole place before you moved in but you’d declined, saying that you wanted to get a feel for the place before filling it with everything. The last time it would be this empty would be the day you moved out. 

He seemed a little quiet the rest of the night, but you didn’t press it until after dinner, whilst he was helping you with the washing up. Well, helping was a strong word. 

“You’ve been drying that plate for ages now.” You observed, tilting your head at him thoughtfully. Charles inhaled sharply, shaking his head like he’d been snapped out of a stupor. He glanced down at the completely dry plate, then back up at you blankly. “What’re you thinking about?” 

“You’re really going to be gone.”

“You say that like I told you I’ve only got days to live. I won’t be gone, Cha. I’ll be around.” You chuckled, flicking dish soap bubbles in his direction. Charles responded by flinging his towel at you, cracking a smile. You liked it when he smiled, hated it when he frowned. He was still unfairly attractive, but it wasn’t Charles’ scowl that made you fall in love with him. 

“We can spend the day together anytime, you can come over whenever you want, and if it makes you feel any better, I will give you your very own key.” 

That seemed to put him a little more in higher spirits. 

 “What will you ever do without me?” He wondered out loud, feigning a thoughtful expression. 

“Probably clean up a lot less. Be able to take a shower without running out of hot water halfway through. Oh! Have a bottle of shampoo last more than a month because someone—not naming names, of course, won’t use it because they’ve run out of theirs. Not have to fight for—” 

“Alright, alright, I get it!” Charles huffed, grabbing you by the shoulders and promptly shoving your face into his chest to stop you from talking. 

You grinned against the softness of his hoodie. “Shall I go on?” 

“No, no you shouldn’t.” His hold on you loosened, but you stayed right where you were, wrapping your arms around his torso. “Just admit it. You’ll miss me.” 

“I will miss you.” You said softly, pressing your cheek into the crook of his neck. If there was something Charles was unbelievably good at (besides literally anything he’d ever tried), it was giving the best hugs. Something about them made you feel safe, like nothing and nobody could ever hurt you as long as you were in his arms. 

“You already know how much I’m going to miss having you around.” 

“Yeah, I am pretty great.” 

A laugh rumbled through his chest. “You are.” 

“You’ve been the best roommate I could’ve asked for. Thank you for everything.” Your words were muffled between the two of you, and you were glad for it, because he didn’t seem to notice the waver in your tone. But he did squeeze you a little tighter, so maybe he did hear you. “I love you, Cha.” 

Charles’ voice seemed to waver just a bit too. “I love you too.” 

“Okay, okay, you really need to leave. Go before I change my mind and make you stay.” You blurted, pushing him away playfully. It was better than letting him see you get emotional. 

“Is that a promise?” 

“No, it’s a threat. Go home. I will see you soon.” You gave his hand one last squeeze, nodding reassuringly to rid him of the crease between his brows. “Don’t worry about me. Go, get some rest.” 

It was only then that he seemed satisfied enough to leave, but even then, he cast another backwards glance towards you on his way down the hall, as if he was waiting for you to beckon him back. You just smiled as best you could. 

You’d get over it. You had to. There was still a lot you needed to get done before you called it a night. 

It wasn’t until you were getting ready to go to bed that you started to feel lonely. You and Charles had your respective bedtime routines, but they always intertwined. 

You never liked being the one to turn off all the lights in the apartment because the switch was at the end of the hallway opposite from your bedrooms, so he knew to do it because you hated running back through the darkness after flipping the switch. 

He always filled a glass with water for late night sipping, but never remembered to actually bring it to his room until he was already in bed, so you always grabbed it for him so he wouldn’t have to make the trek back out the kitchen.  

The bathroom counter was where you’d find each other the most, terrible jokes and funny stories told muffled through toothpaste bubbles, even though you could’ve just waited until you were finished to tell each other. You’d flick water at him as you washed your face because he took up too much space at the sink, he’d turn off the tap in retaliation, things like that. 

Sometimes Charles would stay up later playing video games with his friends, or take some extra time to practice piano, so you wouldn’t get to do your well oiled machine routine, but he’d always take the extra second to pop into your room to say goodnight when he heard you bustling around, even if he was in the middle of something. 

The times you fell asleep on the sofa to Charles’ playing the piano, he’d camp out at the other end of the sofa for the night, or at the very least made sure you were covered with a blanket if he went to sleep in his own room. 

It was something you’d grown accustomed to over the years, oftentimes the well-needed end to a not so great day. Charles never failed to put a smile on your face, even with something as small and mundane as a bedtime routine. 

But there was none of that as you ran through your routine this time. 

You didn’t hear him shuffling around over in the other room, the muffled sounds of his shouts as he played his games, and most of all, you didn’t hear him and his piano. 

Because there was no Charles. Of course there wasn’t. You were in this new place that you hadn’t had quite nearly enough of a chance to get used to yet, alone, and it was finally settling in. 

Suddenly moving out and away from him seemed like the worst decision in the world. 

You knew it was only the first night. You had to give yourself a chance to reacclimate, and that would take time. So you inhaled a deep breath, trying to get as comfy as you could for a long, probably sleepless night ahead. 

It was nearing four in the morning when you finally decided to give up and call Charles. Part of you thought he might not even pick up the phone, because he was probably asleep. Any sane person would be sleeping right now. 

Much to your surprise, he answered on the second ring. 

“Why are you awake?” You asked, maybe a bit harshly. 

“Um, you are the one who called me? Why are you awake?” He replied, groggy voice still teasing. His accent always grew thicker when he was sleepy. You thought it was adorable. “You cannot sleep, can you?” 

“...No.” Your voice grew smaller. You felt embarrassed at the fact that you couldn’t even make it one full night without Charles around. “I just…I wanted to hear your voice, I guess. I miss you already, Cha.” 

Charles fell silent for a few moments, the only sound on his side of the line being his gentle exhales. “I miss you too. Do you want me to come over? I can stay the night, if you want.” 

“No. No, you don’t need to do that.” You said softly. “Can you just talk to me?” 

This was also something that had become somewhat of a ritual when either of you couldn’t sleep. 

You’d tiptoe into each other’s rooms quiet as a mouse, slipping into bed beside the other. Charles always stirred when he felt the bed dip under your weight, half asleep but still reaching out to pull you against his chest like it was second nature. On the occasions when he came into your room, you’d feel him tuck himself close to you, nosing against any part of you he could find with a content sigh. 

There was no rhyme or reason to the things you’d talk about in those moments, but eventually, somehow, you’d both end up asleep, usually fairly quickly. Maybe it was the extra added comfort of each other that helped, you could never tell. 

It wasn’t unusual to wake up a jumble of limbs tangled together, and neither of you ever addressed it either. Just went on with your business as usual, never talking about it because it was just something you did. To help each other sleep, of course. 

Another thing that really blurred the line between friends and more. 

Charles hummed a noncommittal sound, soft and fond like he always was around you. “I’ll do you one better. How about I play some music for you?” 

“Yes, please. Thank you.” You sighed, relieved. He knew what you needed without you even having to ask. 

You heard him get up, footsteps padding along until there was a thud and some shuffling coming from Charles’ side. A few warm up scales in and you were already feeling a little less anxious, letting yourself get comfortable. 

“Any requests from the audience?” 

“Been working on anything new?” You yawned, nuzzling a little deeper back into your pillow. 

“I have, actually. It’s still—fuck, how do you say it…a work in progress?”

“Anything you play is perfect.”

“You flatter me.” He snorted. “Alright, here goes nothing.”  

He began to play. You knew jack shit about music, so there wasn’t much you could think of to describe how it sounded, but you could describe how it felt. You could almost feel the emotion pouring from his playing, even through the scratchy quality of the speaker. 

It felt like something you’d hear in the background of a movie montage, lilting and delicate and warm notes swirling together to create a bright melody, and you couldn’t help but let your mind wander. 

Memories of good times with Charles flashed through your head—all the long days and even longer nights you’d spent together because you thrived in each other’s company, cooking together, binging Netflix shows until you both passed out on the sofa. 

Hushed laughing during dinners at fancy restaurants that Charles could get into by flashing his name, soft conversations accompanied with expensive food and even more expensive wine. 

Day trips up the coast with the top down on the car, pushing the speed limit just to feel an ounce of the freedom that it could give you. Walking through Monte Carlo on late night gelato runs, switching flavors because you both enjoyed each other’s choice more than your own. 

Most of all, you thought of the love you felt for Charles, ever since you’d first met him. You’d never been one to believe in the concept of soulmates, but fuck, it was so easy to think of him as yours. Never had you felt as much for someone as you did for him. 

God, why were you even thinking of those things? 

It would never happen. Any love that Charles had for you would be strictly platonic, limited to however much one could love their best friend. 

Surely he’d drawn inspiration from something else when he’d composed the beautiful piece. You weren’t sure if you wanted to know. 

Soon enough, you’d drifted off like you always did when Charles played, coincidentally right before he came to a lingering stop. 

Had you been awake, you would’ve heard him say that the beautiful piece had been inspired by you. Instead you were fast asleep, still none the wiser to anything. Maybe it was a good thing. You might not have believed it if you’d heard him. 

-------

Charles was on your doorstep first thing in the morning, coffee and pastries in hand when you opened the door for him. 

“Hello, good morning, your savior is here. And with breakfast!” He chirped, coming to just enough of a halt for you to slide an arm around his shoulders in a hug and grab one of the drinks out of the tray before he swept past you.

Bright morning sunlight poured into the open area, washing the whole place aglow. A warm breeze floated in through the ajar window, rattling the shutters only slightly, and you could hear the all too familiar sounds of the city in the morning coming from the streets below. It was a gorgeous picture of peace; one of the apartment’s many fun quirks that convinced you to go for it in the first place. 

The only thing that might’ve rivaled the beauty of the moment was Charles standing at the window, leaning against the sill drinking his coffee while the breeze ruffled his hair. His back was to you as he checked out the view, but even the mere image of him here was nice. 

You sipped your own coffee, smiling to yourself when you realized Charles remembered exactly how you took it. You didn’t even need to look inside the bag to know they were your favorite pastries from the bakery down the street from your former apartment that both you and Charles loved. He was always thoughtful like that. Things like remembering your favorite foods and drinks, and going out of his way to get them as a little pick-me-up. 

It seemed wrong to ruin the moment, but you felt like you had to say something. 

“I’m sorry for waking you up last night.” You sighed, taking a cross-legged seat on a pillow. 

Charles turned away from the window, shaking his head quickly. He took a seat on the floor next to you, long legs stretching out towards your crossed ones to nudge a sneaker against your socked foot. “There’s nothing to be sorry about, I’m glad you called me.” 

“Right, but it’s kind of pathetic, isn’t it? First time on my own and I didn’t even last a whole night.” 

“Not pathetic.” He insisted, entirely firm in his words. He set his cup down as if it could strengthen his point. “It is a change, definitely. You can’t expect yourself to get used to such a big change immediately. It takes time, you know.” 

You messed with the lid of your cup, picking at the plastic with a scowl. “I know. But I can’t always come running to you whenever I need help. It’s not fair to you to have to keep rescuing me every time I need saving.” 

“Okay…” He trailed off, stretching out the last syllable in confusion. “I feel this is about something more than just last night. We can talk about it, if you would like?”

“I don’t know what it is.” You huffed. “I thought I was ready to be on my own, but maybe I’m not. Maybe I don’t know I’m doing and I’ll never figure it out, and—” 

“Whoa, whoa, slow down. Where is this all coming from?” 

“I don’t know,” You repeated, bordering on a whine. “But what I do know is that I can’t always keep relying on you for everything. It’s not good for me, or for you.” 

“You know, you could always just move back home if you’re truly not ready to do things on your own.” Charles offered, taking a casual sip of his own drink.

Home. He said it so casually, like home was with him instead of this new place you’d chosen to make yours. In a way, Charles was your home. Safety, comfort, love—all the things that made something home, you felt with him. 

That was the problem. You didn’t feel right relying on him for all those things, not without him being aware of how you actually felt about him. It seemed like too much of a burden to put on a friend, even one as perfect as Charles. 

His eyes met yours over the rim and he shrugged. “I still don’t know why you were so insistent on moving out in the first place.” 

You sighed, again. There weren’t many ways you could make yourself any clearer. Other than telling Charles one of the real reasons why you had to leave, which again, was more of a last resort (hopefully not at all) type of thing. “It was time—” 

“It was time for you to venture out on your own, yes, I know. But it doesn’t seem to be working out so well right now, does it not?” The last sentence seemed to slip out of Charles’ mouth before he knew what he was saying, because his mouth snapped shut right afterward. “I’m—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. I don’t want to argue.” 

But what had been done was done, what had been said was out there for you to know. Your coffee suddenly left a bitter taste in your mouth, and the traffic from outside became glaringly loud. The once peaceful atmosphere had been shattered now that you knew Charles’ true thoughts on it all. 

You stood up, letting your feet take you across the room from him. “No. Tell me more, Charles. Tell me how you really feel.” 

His nose wrinkled at the use of his full name. You never called him Charles unless you were upset with him, which wasn’t that often. Even hearing it come out of your own mouth seemed foreign. 

That seemed to change his reaction, because he stood too instead, doubling down on his words. “Okay. Yes, that is how I feel about you leaving. You barely even talked to me about it, and the next thing I knew, you were packing all your things into boxes! I didn’t understand where this—this sudden desire to leave came from. I still don’t.”

“You don’t have to understand it. It’s already done.” 

“Did I—did I do something wrong?”

You almost faltered. Almost.

“Did you ever think maybe me wanting to leave had nothing to do with you?” 

“Honestly? No. It feels like it has everything to do with me. It feels like you moved out because you didn’t want to be around me anymore!” Charles exclaimed. “And I have kept my mouth shut, I’ve been trying to be supportive of your decision, but I think I have a right to know. Am I why you wanted to leave so badly?” 

“That’s…part of it.” You admitted. Charles froze, brows flying up towards his hairline. “But not because of anything you did. Not because of the reason you’re thinking of.” 

“I don’t really see any other explanation. And I am sorry, but that is a shit excuse. I would’ve thought that you of all people would tell me the truth.” He didn’t sound angry, just disappointed and a little hurt. Somehow that felt worse. You’d rather him be mad at you than hurt by you. 

“I didn’t want to move out.” You said firmly. 

“Then why did you?” 

“I had to! I—I couldn’t live there anymore.” 

“But why?” He sounded desperate, begging for you to clue him in to any reason, anything at all that would help him understand. And god, as scared as you were of changing things by telling Charles how you really felt about him, you were infinitely more scared of losing him for good if you didn’t. 

“Because I’m fucking in love with you, Charles!” You blurted, finally. “I couldn’t live with you any longer, keeping this huge secret all the time, because it truly made me feel like I was about to explode. I just couldn’t do it anymore—pretend like everything was alright when every time I looked at you, all I could think about was how I felt about you! How much I felt for you.” Your voice rose with every word, emotion lacing your tone. 

You could feel the tears burning your eyes, threatening to fall no matter how much you willed them not to. “I just thought, maybe if we lived apart, if we didn’t see each other all the time, maybe those feelings would go away.” 

Charles blinked at you slowly. He scrubbed a hand over his cheek, across his mouth, letting it disappear into the neckline of his hoodie as he continued the motion near his jaw. Still, he said nothing. You weren’t sure if it was a good sign or a bad one, but still you continued. 

“So no, it wasn’t because of anything you did. Or maybe it was, for making it so fucking easy to fall in love with you. I don’t know. I’m sorry if I made you feel like you couldn’t say anything to me, but I’m not sorry for making the decision on my own. It was for the best.”

There it was, out there in the open at last. It felt like a proverbial weight lifted off your shoulders, but at the same time like a thousand rocks sinking to the bottom of your stomach, because he wasn’t saying anything. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was how you’d fuck up the best friendship you’d ever had. 

Charles was silent for the longest time before he replied, and when he did, his voice was quieter than you’d ever heard it before. It felt unnerving. “You could’ve just told me.” 

“Told you?” You had to fight the urge to let out a bitter, watery laugh. “Telling your best friend you’ve fallen in love with him isn’t just something you mention at the bathroom sink one night.” 

“It is, if he feels the same way about you.” 

A coldness crept down your neck, shooting through your veins like you’d just had a bucket of ice cold water dumped over your head. 

“No you’re not—you don't...you can't.” You whispered, disbelieving.

Charles’ brows furrowed in confusion. “What, do you want me to prove it?” 

You couldn’t give him an answer even if you wanted to. You weren’t sure if you could trust yourself to say a damn word, just in case this was all a dream and you'd wake up any second, still alone, still without him there.

He must’ve taken your silence as a yes to his question, because he crossed the room in three strides, took your face in firm hands, and he kissed you. 

Despite your utter shock, you managed to kiss him back clumsily, fingers curling into his hoodie tightly. Charles kissed you like he was afraid to let you go, like you’d slip through his fingers if he wasn’t careful enough.

A guiding hand curled around the back of your neck, angling your head so he could deepen the kiss, but only for a few seconds before he broke away, panting. His forehead stayed pressed against yours, soulful green eyes boring into your own in total seriousness.

“Do you believe me now?” 

“Maybe.” You breathed, letting your nose bump against his gently. This was not a dream. Charles was real and here and one hell of a kisser (just as you suspected).

“I am in love with you.” He murmured, stroking his thumb over your cheek fondly. “I have been for a long time. And I never thought you would feel the same way.” 

“I love you, Cha.” You were suddenly brought back to last night, when you’d uttered the same words to him. Only this time, they had a whole different meaning to them. 

This time, you knew Charles loved you in the same way you loved him.

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post new fics :)

[p0orbaby]

Parental Guidance

summary: you’re on the brink of a baby induced nervous breakdown and you need your wife to pull her finger out a little

warnings: just some postnatal tension, but it all works out

a/n: thank you for the request !

word count: 1.2k

-

You’re pretty sure you haven’t slept in three days. Or is it four? The baby’s a demon. This tiny, adorable, 8-pound entity that seems to thrive on your misery. His cries have melded into a never-ending soundtrack of despair, punctuated by your own hollow attempts at soothing him with a song that you made up on the spot about 48 hours ago and now can’t stop singing. It’s called “Please, for the Love of All That is Good and Holy, Sleep.”

You used to be a person. You had interests, hobbies. You read books that didn’t have the words “Goodnight” and “Moon” in the title. You once watched entire movies from start to finish without interruptions. You’re pretty sure you used to smile, and not the deranged, Joker-esque grin you’ve developed from trying to maintain your sanity while walking a screaming infant around the house at 2 a.m.

And where is your darling wife, Alexia, in all this? Nowhere to be found. Well, she’s at work, technically. Which, fine. Someone has to pay the bills, but wasn’t there some kind of brochure about shared responsibility? Maybe she’s left it in her locker, along with her soul. You barely remember what she looks like at this point. You could pass her in the hallway and just nod politely, like she’s the postman.

You’re doing your best. Really, you are. But the situation is like trying to fill a bath with a teaspoon. And maybe you’re filling the bath wrong. Maybe the bath is cursed. You’ve tried everything—rocking, singing, automatic bouncers, and some baby yoga thing that some well-meaning Instagram mum swore by but mostly just made you realise how tight your hamstrings are.

Last night, you were so desperate, you found yourself Googling “Can babies drink Nyquil?” You didn’t actually give it to him, of course, but the fact that you even considered it is telling. Your maternal instincts have been reduced to the level of a sleep-deprived zombie.

You call Alexia. She picks up after the third ring. You can hear the echo of her voice, so you know she’s in one of those soundproof meeting rooms, which would be useful for something other than work right now, like, say, your mental breakdown.

“How’s it going?” she asks, with a tone that implies she has absolutely no idea how it’s going.

“Oh, fine,” you say, with the kind of deadpan delivery that would get a standing ovation on a late-night comedy show. “The baby’s great. He’s taken up wailing as a full-time job. He’s really passionate about it, you know? Very dedicated. I think he’s trying to set a record”

You hear her exhale softly. “I’m sorry, bebè. It’s just i'm in the middle of some media stuff—”

“No, no,” you cut her off. “By all means, finish giving your opinions on that new stadium or whatever. I’m sure our baby will appreciate it when he’s, I don’t know, 18 and actually sleeping. Maybe he’ll get a job there. Or just stand outside and scream, since that seems to be his true calling”

There’s a pause on the other end. Not a comfortable pause. The kind of pause that suggests she’s realising you might not be entirely okay. The baby shrieks louder, and you realise you’re bouncing him up and down like he’s a basketball and you’re trying to make a buzzer-beater shot.

“I’ll be home soon,” Alexia says finally, her voice softer.

“Define ‘soon,’” you counter, adjusting your grip on the baby before he launches himself out of your arms and catapults into a new dimension where babies don’t need sleep. “Is it ‘soon’ like in 20 minutes, or ‘soon’ like in three hours when I’ve lost the will to live?”

Another pause, this one even worse. You’re pretty sure you can hear her wincing through the phone.

“An hour?” she offers weakly, and you let out a laugh that’s halfway between genuine and maniacal.

“Perfect,” you say. “I’ll just go cry in the airing cupboard until then. The baby and I have matching dark circles under our eyes now, so that’s fun. Maybe we’ll start a band”

You hang up before she can respond, not trusting yourself to say anything else. You’re exhausted, stretched thin, and the fact that your wife isn’t here to witness the madness is only making things worse. You know she’s working hard, that she’s doing her best, but in this moment, it feels like you’re on a sinking ship and she’s on shore, waving at you from a distance.

An hour later, when she finally walks through the door, you’re sitting in the middle of the living room floor, surrounded by a sea of baby toys, burp cloths, and what you think might be some sort of baby vomit, though at this point, who really knows?

You look up at her, and she looks back at you, and there’s a brief moment where you’re pretty sure she’s about to turn around and walk right back out the door.

Instead, she says, “I brought wine”

You blink at her, then at the bottle of wine in her hand. It’s a good bottle, too. The kind you used to drink before you had a baby and your definition of “good wine” became “whatever has the highest alcohol content and is closest to the till”

“Great,” you say, pushing yourself up off the floor with a grunt. “Let’s get the baby drunk”

She gives you a tired smile, but you can see the worry behind it. “Cariño…”

“No, it’s fine,” you say, holding up a hand. “It’s totally fine. I’m just saying, if we give him some wine, maybe he’ll sleep. Or at least pass out for a little bit. We can all get some rest. Or die. Either one sounds good at this point”

She sighs, setting the bottle down on the coffee table and coming over to you. She takes the baby from your arms, and you’re almost tempted to just collapse on the spot. Instead, you let yourself lean against her, just for a moment, just long enough to remember what it feels like to be supported by another human being.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and you can hear the guilt in her voice. “I know this is hard. I’ll try to be here more”

You nod, but you’re too tired to respond with words. Instead, you just rest your head on her shoulder and close your eyes, savouring the brief reprieve from the bedlam.

“Do you think he’s broken?” you mumble after a while. “Like, did we get a defective baby?”

Alexia chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “No, he’s not broken. He’s just…expressive”

“Expressive,” you repeat, nodding slowly. “Right. So we got the model with all the extra emotions. Great”

“Extra emotions,” Alexia echoes, her tone lightening. “Maybe that means he’ll be a really good artist someday”

“Or he’ll just be really good at screaming,” you say, lifting your head to look at her. “You know, for someone who’s supposed to be on a team, you’ve been doing a lot of solo missions lately”

“I know,” she says softly, her eyes meeting yours. “I’m sorry. I’ll do better”

You let out a long breath, feeling the tension between you, and your shoulder, start to ease. “Okay. But if he screams one more time tonight, we’re selling him to the circus”

“Got it,” Alexia says with a smile, and for the first time in days, you feel like maybe, just maybe, you’re not going through this alone.

[animeshotsh]

Them as Husbands | HCS |

Summary: Dating + Getting married

Warnings: Mentions of Alastor tendecies, grammar mistakes.

☆ LUCIFER

Best Husband ever.

He gives off the husband of the year.

Will open doors for you, will get you gifts because of a very simple reason (ducks)

Never lets you go away alone, he knows no one would dare hurt the S/O of the king of hell but still...he prefers to be sure.

Will buy whatever you want, even if you were looking at something out of curiosity, its yours.

Is going to introduce you to Charlie and hope you two get along well. Probably Charlie already knows about you since her dad was worried she would see him trying to remplace her mother. But Charlie is actually happy to see her father moving on and being happier!! She is fully supportive.

proposed to you in a wold yet amazing way. This man is down bad for you. Will get the perfect place, music, set up, get on one knee and ask you to be by his side for the eternity.

☆ VOX

He never expected himself to be a husband...with how fast the world progress and how relationships seems well just a thing to past time, he was sure he was out of the game.

Then he meets you, and he glitches because now all these romantic dramas he sees at 1am make sense to him. How everything slows down when he sees you, how the sounds are muffled when talking to you.

He does so many virus and hacks checks on himself to be sure what he feels.

Then is a nervous tv head. This man knows how to flirt and sleep around, not date. Its going to be akward but sweet. He falls first and hard. No one could ever make him dream on getting married.

The ďay he finally proposes is away form cameras, he prefers privacy for this (and is afraid you will say not but he also does not want to social pressure you).

Oh and when you say yes...the news are all about it. He is so dam happy, no one has ever seen him this happier (well unless is Alastor losing).

As a husband he is a gentlemen. He makes your house/aparment all last generation, so you only have to worry over sleeping and doing your hobbies.

Has the best emergency and security in your home/aparment. He is away most of the day so he likes to be sure you are safe and ok.

Yes, will spy you using cameras.

☆ STOLAS

Baby Owl wants a S/O who will respect him and love him for who he is.

Its going to be very and i mean very wary of your intentions with him. He may sleep with you and kiss you but wont fall fast. He is too hurt for that.

Once he feels enough confidence he will ask you to date him directly, no fooling around, you and him.

Will introduce you to Octavia and will be in cloud nine once you two start to bond.

His proposal is well, in space itself. Will take you to your favorite planet, to see the born of a star (signaling the start of your marriage with him) and ask you getting on one knee.

As a husband he is very sweet and tender. Always making sure you are happy with him and with your life. He does not want it to fail so he gives his best. Will need your support on it. Its not shy to cry to you about his fears.

Wants to have another kid with you, by adopting or impregnating you. Its your choice.

☆ ALASTOR

He comes from a time of change but believes once two peopel are dating they must get married sooner or later.

Well, getting him to date you is hard. It takes a lot for the idea to even pass by his head and stay. But somehow you end dating him.

He is someone who prefers quiet dates, you two and thats it. Will take you out if you ask him.

Since he pretty much has the idea of marry you since he accepted you as his S/O he will prepare something more special. Probably a dinner and a sweet speech with jazz in the background.

Letting aside his tendecies and him being a murder he is another gentlemen with you. Opens doors for you, dances with you. If you are from his same period of time he may expect you to make him food, but dont worry if you dont want to he will understand.

Is protective. Knows he has enemies, thats why he has one shadow with you all the time.

[luveline]

Hi! I was hoping you’d write a James or Remus fic, literally anything you want just make it super fluffy, thanks!

modern au, fem

"You have training in half an hour. What are you doing?" 

James looks up from his games console with a frown. "What?" 

"You have rugby training in half an hour, Jamie. You haven't had lunch or anything." You frown as he goes back to his game. "James, this is terrible time-keeping." 

"Sorry, I can't pause it! It's that thing. Just– fuck, two seconds my lovely beautiful darli– fuck me!" 

Curious, you creep around the bedroom to the side of the bed where he's sitting with a hunched back. "Oh. I never should've let you try. I've turned my gym mad boyfriend into a degenerate." 

You honestly believe that James should spend his time doing what makes him happiest (so long as he spends time with you, too), and for him that's rugby and weight training. They're not solely independent from one another, but they also don't always coincide, and so he spends a large majority of his time up and active. You spend some of that time active but more of it on different hobbies, including the games console. "How long have you been playing?" you ask, leaning down to stroke the thick wave of his hair from his forehead. 

"Just an hour while you were, uhm. What were you doing?" 

You kiss his forehead. "Meditating."

He laughs. "Wait, were you actually? I want to meditate with you." 

"I was doing the washing. Basically meditation if you try hard enough." He splats someone on the game, then a second person, a third in quick succession. "Are you better than me?" 

"No way, shortcake." He splats a fourth person with impressive dexterity, narrowly avoiding his own death. "I'm trying to get coins for you so you can buy that thing you want." 

James is better at the game than you, because of course he is. "I hate boys," you say decisively, kissing his forehead again. "Finish the game and get dressed, my love. I'll make you a roll to eat on the way." 

You steal a last fond kiss and he shouts sweet everythings down the stairs at you. "If my hands weren't busy!" he promises. 

You make him a sandwich and another to eat after practice and put them in a tupperware, knowing he'll scarf both in the car. It's fine, you'll just make him a third when he gets home. Time ticks on, training starts in twenty minutes, then ten. You hear the telltale sound of your avatar upstairs dying and snort to yourself. 

"James Potter!" you shout from the bottom of the stairs. "I need help!" 

There's a sudden thump and the tell-tale rush of him opening your bedroom door. "What?" he asks, coming down the stairs in a whirlwind. "What, lovely?" 

You pass him his kit and tupperware. "You're about to be late." 

"What a devious thing to do," he murmurs with a squint, though he gives you an appreciative sideways hug. "What would I do without you?"

"You'd probably have more muscles," you say. 

He kisses the soft skin under your eye as though this is the normal place for a kiss. "I think you're right. I got you enough for that thing, by the way. What was it? An aerospray?" 

He presses another kiss into the first.

You laugh and push him out the door before he gets too informed. 

[steddieas-shegoes]

Steve and Eddie go through the whole adoption process in 1996, despite how difficult it was to find somewhere willing to help them at all and despite their conflicted feelings on adoption.

The way they saw it though, providing a loving home for a child who needed one was better than the alternative. Eddie had enough experience with temporary foster homes to know stability was better than constant moving and questionable foster parents.

They get a foster placement almost immediately, a six year old girl named Amelia. She’s quiet, but not in a way that worries them. She’s very focused, and enjoys going to school more than any regular children’s hobbies. Neither of them know what to do with that other than keep encouraging it.

She stays for months, months turn into a year, and the agency finally gives them the go ahead to complete the adoption process.

But they don’t do anything without talking to Amelia.

She’s happy there, her therapist signs off on it immediately and explains that Amelia has shown more personality development and less signs of trauma with them than she had even living at home. Not to mention they actually brought her to appointments, unlike her previous guardians.

To celebrate, they throw a party with all their friends and family and tell Amelia she can invite anyone from school she wants. She invites everyone.

Turns out their daughter is a social butterfly and is friends with everyone.

At the party, Eddie pulls out his guitar, plays a bunch of popular kid-friendly songs after a very scathing look from Steve as a reminder to behave.

Amelia walks over to him after a few songs, on a sugar high like he’d never seen on her before, and asks to play the guitar.

He’s hesitant, but not because he’s still protective of his guitars, more because he doesn’t want her to embarrass herself in front of her friends. Kids are cruel, even and especially at seven, and the last thing he wants is this to be the thing that kids talk about for the next ten years.

She sits on the couch and holds it, arranging her fingers…correctly. Eddie watches.

Steve is watching from across the room.

She starts strumming, very quietly at first, not as confident as she’d been a moment ago. And then she starts really playing.

It’s one of the songs Eddie wrote. He played it for the last four months nonstop as he perfected it, and she’d apparently been watching.

Eddie’s jaw is on the floor and he quickly looks over to Steve, who has a similar look of surprise on his face.

He doesn’t interrupt her. She makes it through the entire song.

She looks up.

“When did you learn to play guitar?” Eddie asks.

“When I was watching you.”

“But have you played before tonight?”

Amelia shook her head, looking down. “Didn’t wanna touch it without asking.”

Eddie pulls the guitar from her hands and sets it aside, then pulls her into his lap and hugs her. Steve sits down on the couch next to them, hand on her back.

“You can always ask, sweetie. And if you’re this interested and this natural, we can buy you your own guitar if you want. I didn’t think you were interested in playing.”

“I wanna be like you,” Amelia admitted against his shoulder.

Eddie was done for. He looked at Steve, half-panicked, trying not to cry in front of these people, but Steve wasn’t faring any better.

“Then we can go get you a guitar tomorrow. You can get your own picks, too. They might even have purple ones.”

“Can I have red? Like yours?”

“Of course, sweetie.”

It only took them two days after that to realize she could play by ear, just like Eddie.

And then it only took another day after that to realize she had taught herself to read music too.

They spent hours and hours every week playing together while Steve cooked dinner or checked her homework or just watched them.

When Eddie’s band decided to record another album and go on tour when Amelia was 12, Eddie insisted that she get to be on it.

She ended up helping write one of their songs, played on the track on the album, and with a lot of work, convinced Steve to let them homeschool her for the entire 8 months they’d be on tour so she could perform on stage with her dad.

“Can’t believe she’s not even genetically yours. Are you sure you didn’t have an affair?” Steve asked the night before they were leaving for Europe.

“When would I have had an affair? I came back to the tour bus or hotel with you every single night,” Eddie kissed him softly. “She’s amazing, huh?”

“She is. What happens when she wants to be a full blown rockstar like her dad too?”

“Then we make sure she’s protected and has good people around her like I have. She could be a rockstar easily. She’s got the talent and the presence,” Eddie smiled. “And she’s got me to make sure no one takes advantage of her. But she’s only 12. We’ve got time to worry about that later.”

“You’re bringing her onstage every single night all over the world for the next eight months, baby. I think later is now.”

Eddie sighed. “She’s gonna blow them all away. I’m proud of her. Let’s focus on that for now.”

And she did blow everyone away. The fans and the media had nothing but good things to say, and Steve didn’t have to go into overprotective mom mode at all until she was 15 and signing a record deal of her own.

But between Eddie and him, the entire industry knew better than to fuck with her or them.

They made rules, of course. School still came first, she still had required family events to be at, she still had regular friends at home. She wasn’t allowed at any parties, not even the events for award ceremonies.

But she didn’t really need those rules. She had no interest in parties or abandoning her friends or family, and she was a straight A student who still had hopes of getting into Brown for Journalism like her Aunt Nancy. She had a passion for music and wanted to share it, but not at the cost of the rest of her life.

And Eddie and Steve did everything they could to make sure she got to have everything. That’s what they’d promised her from day one.

[just-a-creep-babe]

What Makes You Tick - Prologue

(Ticci Toby x Reader)

Cheers to the new longer fic series starring Toby! Hope you enjoy this brief little intro to get a taste of what's to come~

Commissions are open!

Masterlist: x

Divider by @plum98

Work.

That’s what Toby’s life revolves around. Day in, day out. He doesn’t have hobbies, doesn’t have friends to hang out with—and he certainly doesn’t have a family to go back home to, either. He has work.

It consumes him.

He’s thankful for it, though. It’s pathetic to say, but at least he has something. At least he’s still good for one thing. At least he’s not completely fucking useless.

So it doesn’t bother him when Slender sends him out on a mission not even a full 24 hours after the last one. It's just another distraction, another way to kill some time and keep his darker thoughts at bay. It's another way to feel useful, to feel needed.

He notices, as he's preparing his things, that his partners in crime aren't the happiest about getting thrown into another job. But then again, when are they ever happy?

Toby sits on the couch in their dingy cabin when he finishes prepping. Hoodie joins him not too long after, leaning against the side of the couch with his arms folded over his chest, and both wait in silence for the following orders.

When Masky has most of his things ready, he stands in front of them and addresses them for a debrief. It's a fairly standard mission, as far as jobs go. Something about someone with the Sickness who's trying to find the cure and needs to be intercepted—same old, same old. There's a strange kind of comfort in the regularity of the work.

Ever since the incident, Toby's life stopped making sense. But at least there's still some semblance of routine within the insanity of it all. At least he could still cling to these fleeting threads of normalcy.

"Toby."

Snap.

Masky snaps his fingers in front of Toby's face.

"You're zoning out. I need you focused."

"I am focused," Toby retorts.

"No, you're not. You're not taking this seriously."

With a roll of his eyes, Toby looks up at the ceiling.

"That's because we've done this exact same job hundreds of-of times by now. I don't need to listen to the same fu-fucking debriefing every s-single time."

Masky pinches the bridge of his nose, furrows his brows, and exhales deeply through his tired frustration.

"It's not the same every time. I'm giving you important information that you need to know and you need to remember. I don't do this shit for fun, Toby; it's not a fucking game."

"I'm not saying it's a fucking game," Toby stands abruptly as a jolt of anger snaps through his body. It takes everything in his power to stop himself from grabbing Masky's collar and shaking him. "I'm saying I'm sick of hearing you spew out the same crap time and time again when you—when you could just s-summarize it or something!"

"I am summarizing it—you fucking dipshit. You'd know that if you fucking listened for once in your life."

Toby's about to lose whatever meager ounce of self-control he has, when Hoodie steps in between them and separates them.

"Alright, that's enough. No injuries before we're on site. I don't wanna have to work more to compensate for dead weight."

"Just—focus, alright?" Masky insists, and all Toby can think about is how satisfying it would be to throw his fist into his dumb fucking face.

"I am focused," the youngest of the three seethes the words out.

"Alright, can you repeat the plan to me, then?"

"We're finding our target, going in, seeing what edge we can find. They have some—some notebook or wh-whatever and Slender wants it back. We kill if we need to."

Masky groans, as if the recap isn't good enough, but Hoodie shakes his head, as if to dissuade his partner from arguing any further.

"It'll do," Hoodie states, "C'mon, it shouldn't be a long one. The sooner we're in, the sooner we're out."

And just like that, the three separate to start loading up the car and heading out.

Masky drives, as usual, and Hoodie takes shotgun, leaving Toby in the back, as usual. He doesn't mind it too much, though; anything is better than sitting next to Masky for an extended amount of time. Plus, not having to worry about the road gives him plenty of time to look out the window and daydream. It's one of the few times he can escape, and his mind won't take him anywhere unpleasant.

Well, most of the time it won't, anyway. Which is about as good as it can get.

They sleep at a hotel after driving non-stop for the rest of the day, and they're on the road for the following two days after that. It's only on the fourth day that they finally crash at a hotel that Masky announces will be their "home, sweet home" until the end of the job.

He recaps the mission, again, but Toby, admittedly, only really pays attention to their target's description. He hears Masky explain that they’ll start working at dusk, but Toby’s already too busy testing out the mattresses and pillows to bother listening.

Thankfully, Masky ignores him instead of bitching at him, and the two other proxies talk about more shit Toby doesn't care about.

At least this won't be a long one, Toby thinks, his eyes already growing heavy as the comfort of the cheap hotel bed encourages him to relax. The last coherent thought he has is the feeling of relief that at least this mission’s bound to be over before he knows it.

And then his thoughts are lost to his dreams.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Too big to care

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in BOSTON with Randall "XKCD" Munroe (Apr 11), then PROVIDENCE (Apr 12), and beyond!

Remember the first time you used Google search? It was like magic. After years of progressively worsening search quality from Altavista and Yahoo, Google was literally stunning, a gateway to the very best things on the internet.

Today, Google has a 90% search market-share. They got it the hard way: they cheated. Google spends tens of billions of dollars on payola in order to ensure that they are the default search engine behind every search box you encounter on every device, every service and every website:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/03/not-feeling-lucky/#fundamental-laws-of-economics

Not coincidentally, Google's search is getting progressively, monotonically worse. It is a cesspool of botshit, spam, scams, and nonsense. Important resources that I never bothered to bookmark because I could find them with a quick Google search no longer show up in the first ten screens of results:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/21/im-feeling-unlucky/#not-up-to-the-task

Even after all that payola, Google is still absurdly profitable. They have so much money, they were able to do a $80 billion stock buyback. Just a few months later, Google fired 12,000 skilled technical workers. Essentially, Google is saying that they don't need to spend money on quality, because we're all locked into using Google search. It's cheaper to buy the default search box everywhere in the world than it is to make a product that is so good that even if we tried another search engine, we'd still prefer Google.

This is enshittification. Google is shifting value away from end users (searchers) and business customers (advertisers, publishers and merchants) to itself:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/05/the-map-is-not-the-territory/#apor-locksmith

And here's the thing: there are search engines out there that are so good that if you just try them, you'll get that same feeling you got the first time you tried Google.

When I was in Tucson last month on my book-tour for my new novel The Bezzle, I crashed with my pals Patrick and Teresa Nielsen Hayden. I've know them since I was a teenager (Patrick is my editor).

We were sitting in his living room on our laptops – just like old times! – and Patrick asked me if I'd tried Kagi, a new search-engine.

Teresa chimed in, extolling the advanced search features, the "lenses" that surfaced specific kinds of resources on the web.

I hadn't even heard of Kagi, but the Nielsen Haydens are among the most effective researchers I know – both in their professional editorial lives and in their many obsessive hobbies. If it was good enough for them…

I tried it. It was magic.

No, seriously. All those things Google couldn't find anymore? Top of the search pile. Queries that generated pages of spam in Google results? Fucking pristine on Kagi – the right answers, over and over again.

That was before I started playing with Kagi's lenses and other bells and whistles, which elevated the search experience from "magic" to sorcerous.

The catch is that Kagi costs money – after 100 queries, they want you to cough up $10/month ($14 for a couple or $20 for a family with up to six accounts, and some kid-specific features):

https://kagi.com/settings?p=billing_plan&plan=family

I immediately bought a family plan. I've been using it for a month. I've basically stopped using Google search altogether.

Kagi just let me get a lot more done, and I assumed that they were some kind of wildly capitalized startup that was running their own crawl and and their own data-centers. But this morning, I read Jason Koebler's 404 Media report on his own experiences using it:

https://www.404media.co/friendship-ended-with-google-now-kagi-is-my-best-friend/

Koebler's piece contained a key detail that I'd somehow missed:

When you search on Kagi, the service makes a series of “anonymized API calls to traditional search indexes like Google, Yandex, Mojeek, and Brave,” as well as a handful of other specialized search engines, Wikimedia Commons, Flickr, etc. Kagi then combines this with its own web index and news index (for news searches) to build the results pages that you see. So, essentially, you are getting some mix of Google search results combined with results from other indexes.

In other words: Kagi is a heavily customized, anonymized front-end to Google.

The implications of this are stunning. It means that Google's enshittified search-results are a choice. Those ad-strewn, sub-Altavista, spam-drowned search pages are a feature, not a bug. Google prefers those results to Kagi, because Google makes more money out of shit than they would out of delivering a good product:

https://www.theverge.com/2024/4/2/24117976/best-printer-2024-home-use-office-use-labels-school-homework

No wonder Google spends a whole-ass Twitter every year to make sure you never try a rival search engine. Bottom line: they ran the numbers and figured out their most profitable course of action is to enshittify their flagship product and bribe their "competitors" like Apple and Samsung so that you never try another search engine and have another one of those magic moments that sent all those Jeeves-askin' Yahooers to Google a quarter-century ago.

One of my favorite TV comedy bits is Lily Tomlin as Ernestine the AT&T operator; Tomlin would do these pitches for the Bell System and end every ad with "We don't care. We don't have to. We're the phone company":

https://snltranscripts.jt.org/76/76aphonecompany.phtml

Speaking of TV comedy: this week saw FTC chair Lina Khan appear on The Daily Show with Jon Stewart. It was amazing:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oaDTiWaYfcM

The coverage of Khan's appearance has focused on Stewart's revelation that when he was doing a show on Apple TV, the company prohibited him from interviewing her (presumably because of her hostility to tech monopolies):

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/apple-got-caught-censoring-its-own

But for me, the big moment came when Khan described tech monopolists as "too big to care."

What a phrase!

Since the subprime crisis, we're all familiar with businesses being "too big to fail" and "too big to jail." But "too big to care?" Oof, that got me right in the feels.

Because that's what it feels like to use enshittified Google. That's what it feels like to discover that Kagi – the good search engine – is mostly Google with the weights adjusted to serve users, not shareholders.

Google used to care. They cared because they were worried about competitors and regulators. They cared because their workers made them care:

https://www.vox.com/future-perfect/2019/4/4/18295933/google-cancels-ai-ethics-board

Google doesn't care anymore. They don't have to. They're the search company.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/04/teach-me-how-to-shruggie/#kagi

[adkawariatka]

I can’t stop thinking about this idea soooo here is another part.

In hindsight Tim really shouldn’t have worked himself so much about that friend of Damian. Why you might think? Becouse spying your brother’s friend is an invasion of his privacy? Or just creepy? Or maybe its unfair towards said brother and his friend? No. No Tim problem was much more human shaped. He did plan to be subtle but with DAMIAN. Not with his very annoying and moral older brother. When Dick found him in Bat Cave in his work trance and asked him what he was doing…. Tim just told him, damn his one track focus. It earned him a lecture about privacy, respect and morals….So he was forbidden from any camera videos in areas that Damian met his misterious friend. He felt so frustrated when he tried to explain his worries to Dick and he called him paranoid… which fair he may be sometimes fixated on some cases and a little suspicious of everything too… normal. But Dick was just so happy about the information that Damian had a friend, that he did not think about the fact that other normal 10 year old would never be able to talk with Damian about complicated emotion problems … let alone how to solve them. The time of Damian working on friends mission, Or differently meeting with some stranger, and changing his behaviours at manor lined. SO that someone needed to talk with Damian about his social problems. The only logical way of explaining the „condinience” would be if that person was someone older. Old enough to understand social interactions to the level that allowed them to introduce it to Damian. It painted disturbing picture to Tim. Some Creep manipulating his younger brother. It can lead to a disaster not only for Damian but all the Waynes. What if he will Trust that person and tell them their secret? The talk with Damian only opened his eyes that above all the training the kid had he was still just that: a kid. The only thing that Dick advised him was to go and talk with Damian. Which ok, last time went well but…. he might at least try.

-

Tim did not wanted to believe that it was that easy. Of course he didnt start to snoop about the friend yet…. But just interacted with Damian. First time was really akward but they got past it. Tim still cringes at the memory:

It was after patrol they were changing in to civilian clothes. Tim was battling with his thoughts how to start conversation when Damian started to pull out his equipment for sharpening his katana. And he thoght that it is as good subject as any other.

-how long does it take to sharpen it?

Damian stopped what he was doing and gazed at him warly. They stood in complete silence long enough to be uncomfortable. Tim started to think that it was mistake when Damian broke the silence.

-do you…want to see?

And Tim did want. It turned out that it was great idea. Damian talked for almost an hour about granuality of sandpaper used to sharpen his katana, different kinds of oils and even how to storage it properly. Tim was impressed by detailed knowledge and experienced movements. That was his first full Blown conversation with Damian and it was great.

After that they interacted with each other more and more outside of patrols. They weren’t conversations of utter importance, but Tim got fond of them. More often than not it revolved around things as trivial as favourite books, school, fight techniques Or even hobbies. If Tim was being honest he did not Think that Damian would ever talk about such topics. In the past he often expressed his annoyance at information of this type, but not anymore. Tim suspected that it was the influence of his „friend”. However among those unsuspecting subjects Damian sometimes asked questions that worried Tim.

One of the untold rules of their interactions were that they never talked about the „deep stuff”. Which was why he was so surprised by sudden change of topics during unsuspecting conversation about donating clothes to Damian school, which by the way he was doing things like that now. Without any warning he heard question:

- when you were living in Darke manor were you… lonely?

That was weird question to ask without warning. But… was Damian worried about him? Or was he feeling like he has no one close? But there was also second aspect: From beggining of their interactions they avoided any subjects that Tim was prying for and here Damian was offering it on silver platter. He was not going to waste that chance.

-hmmm… well I was young and alone for most of the time so yes I was

Damian seemed to mull over that information. After short pause he started

- What did you do to feel better?

- I mostly tried to take my mind elsewhere. I cooked, cleaned, studied, went around making photos of Batman in the middle of the night… but I wouldn’t recommend that to anyone. Oh and I read many many books. But you know the best option is to go to people that care for you.

- that seems acceptable.

After that Damian came back to the previous subject. Tim felt a little dumbfounded. He couldn’t shake the impression that he was the one grilled for information in this situation.

Not long after that memorable conversation Damian started going to library very often. Tim was now seriously worried. Did Damian felt lonely? Did he actually think that he has no one. It didn’t seat with Tim right. He doesn’t mean that he was uneasy with Damian trying to help himself… it was more about the fact that he was doing it wrong… he had Dick and Bruce, Alfred, his supposed friend… hell Tim was right here! He thought that their relationship was better. He thought… he doesn’t know what he felt but he was damn upset about it. If Damian does not came to Tim then he will come to him. When he passed library third time that week and Damian was there picking books he decided that it was enough.

When he entered Damian was standing on a small stool picking books from the shelf high above his head. Tim walked to the stack of already picked ones and went through their titles

- I didn’t know you were interested in astrology… or maths and physics

- I am not

Replayed Damian without the beat of hestitation. Tim looked at him as if he grown second head.

-then… why did you choose those books? I can help you find some about katanas or animals

- I appreciate the offer but I do not require your assistance.

Tim stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, while Damian apparently found what he was looking for and got of the stool. He turned around and meet Tim’s unsure eyes. In his hand he held huge brown book with constellations on the cover. Damian studied him for a moment.

- Drake

- Damian IF I can somehow help…

Cut in Tim trying to act as a responsible older brother. Where the hell was dick when he was needed. He was the emotional one. His small breakdown was interrupted by Damian words:

- Timothy I don’t know what inaccurate conclusion you created but whatever you are thinking is wrong

It sounded only a little as an insult. That’s progress but it does not solve his problem.

- Damian if you look for a way to feel better…

Tim trailed off God he was awful at this. He had problems processing his feelings how was he supposed to untangle Damian’s?!

- Ancients Those books are not for me.

Tim stared dumbfounded. Who the hell were ancients and if books weren’t for Damian then…

-they are for Danny

Ok Tim did not know from when did Damian started using nicknames, or who was Danny but he started to have his suspicions. Who did Damian became close lately? To the mysterious friend. It was not difficult from there.

-soooo Danny told you he was lonely?

Tim swears that if some creep is trying to pry on his little brother developing compassion then he is going to make sure he will pay for it very high price. He needs as much information as he can get.

- No he did not. But I observed that…his mood drops whenever we had gone longer without seeing each other…. Your advise seems to help

Huh. Tim did not expect that. However that does not seem that it is not manipulation either. Danny might be playing the victim to ensure that Damian trusts him completely.

- hey Damian how old is Danny?

Damian narrowed his eyes and tensed. Oops Tim just crossed the line.

- I don’t see any reason I should inform you about that.

That was rather cold. Tim is glad that Damian’s katana is away from his hand radious.

- If he is lonely then he could sometimes visit manor. Come for dinner or something. It’s not like our friends don’t visit.

Damian eyes softened a little. Tim counted this as a win.

- I will take that into account.

After that Tim helped Damian carry his books to his room and tried not to worry too much about his suspicions.

-

In Tim’s defense he did not plan this. He was just checking out the coffee shop close to the park when he bumped into them in the doorway. He exited said store when he stumbled into someone. Only after a moment he processed that said someone held in hands the same huge brown book with familiar constalations on the cover. And sure enough when he looked to the left there was standing Damian. The boy who held the book was Laughing and looking at his younger brother. Tim studied him carefully he had piercing blue eyes, hollow cheeks indicating malnutrition and black tangled hair that seemed in serious need of a cut. He was wearing jeans that in the past were probably navy blue but now seemed more gray and brown pulled jumper very similar to what he used to wear few years ago. He was lanky in that unhealthy way that kids from troubled homes were. Tim smiled slyly and caught Damian eyes. He seemed really tense.

- hey Danny nice finally meeting you!

[writingrock]

petals of longing

pairing: katsuki bakugou x reader (gender neutral) summary: after spending time with bakugou, you couldn't help but make the dire mistake of falling in love with him.

notes: angst, unrequited love, hanahaki disease, mentions of blood, college! katsuki bakugou, rejection

word count: 2.2k

a/n: I lied, I have more angst in my drafts.

edit: there's a continuation here

Has he ever noticed you?

After listening to Bakugou talk about training for the past hour, you couldn’t help but rethink about your presence in his life. The two of you are in his dorm room, having another one of those late night conversations. You weren’t sure when but having late nights together became normal.

It didn’t matter whose room or what the conversations were. The only thing that mattered was that it had to only be the two of you. At first, it started off as night study sessions but it devolved into something more casual.

The two of you got close by chance. It all started with some assignment where the two of you happened to be paired up. From the beginning of the project, he had displayed his frustration to be paired with you. Something about being paired with ‘some extra’. You paid no mind to his comments and essentially forced him to comply with you.

Bakugou did eventually get used to you. Working with you was effortless. Not like he'd ever admit that. He liked working with someone who cared like you. It was refreshing to see someone match his hardworking nature. There were late nights and countless revisions over this project. It was tiring. You could recall how badly you wanted to yank your eyeballs out during certain nights.

But the two of you kept encouraging the other, keeping each other alive and motivated. Bakugou always specifically made sure you were eating. To the point where he cooked for you during those study sessions. It was always paired with his long spiel about how important it is to take care of your body. Ironic, considering the number of sleepless nights the two of you shared over this project.

But it was all worth it when the assignment returned highly-graded. The look on Bakugou’s face when he read the commendations from the professor was memorable. Pure satisfaction. These two words describe his expression perfectly. The way his eyes gleamed with a sense of achievement when he read the professor’s comments.

You’d never seen such a proud grin stretched on his face. “We make a pretty good team.” he remarked as he admired the result displayed on your laptop’s screen. You should have realised then that you saw him differently. Whilst his eyes remained glued to the screen, yours were admiring him.

You thought that would be the last you’d see of Katsuki Bakugou. That the two of you would return to being strangers after the project. Afterall, he wasn’t ecstatic in being your project partner initially. To your surprise, Bakugou started hanging around you. In subtle ways of course. It started with small texts about lectures— asking about deadlines, exchanging notes and arranging study sessions.

At first, you didn’t think much about it and figured it was beneficial to both parties to become study partners. But it slowly became more than that when he started inviting you to do stuff with him. Accompanying him to the grocery store because he needed help with the groceries. Making you watch him cook so you could learn and try his new recipe. Then eating with him because he made too much.

Before you knew it, the two of you became friends. A friendship that most did not expect and even questioned. Spending time with him brought the two of you closer. Peeling back the layers of Bakugou and uncovering the nuances that uniquely made him who he is. Learning easy details about him like his favourite foods and hobbies. Occasionally, you'd hear snippits of his deeper thoughts if he'd allow.

You even got used to his insults, forming witty comebacks in response to them. It stunned him when you fired back at his words for the first time. Resulting in endless banter you deal with daily. His brash exterior you once deemed unnecessarily aggressive became something you understood. The closer you got, the softer he became. However, with that came a flower.

A tulip.

A blood-stained, pink tulip that you retched out one night. You jolted awake one night, gasping desperately for air. Your breaths came in short, ragged gasps as the coughing fit intensified, each spasm more forceful than the last. Did you get sick? Another violent cough wracked your body. No, this is definitely something else. Fear gripped your heart when you realised how clogged your throat felt. The panic you felt that night was unmatched to anything you’ve ever experienced. Throwing the covers off your body, your mind raced for answers. The air felt thick, suffocating, as you stumbled out of bed. You barely made it to the bathroom, the cold tile floor sending a shock through your bare feet. What was happening to you?

Falling to your knees in front of the sink, your reflection in the mirror blurred by the tears welling up in your eyes. Your heart pounded hard against your chest. With a final, desperate heave, the mystery lodged in your throat finally gave way. You doubled over the sink, feeling something solid and foreign in your mouth. Trembling, you opened your lips, and a delicate pink tulip fell into the sink, its petals slightly crushed but unmistakably beautiful. The vibrant colour stood out starkly against the white porcelain, its soft edges smeared with the faintest trace of blood. A cold wave of realisation settled in your gut like a stone. You have it don’t you. You weakly draw a slow breath. Hanahaki disease—the tragic, unspoken affliction of the lovelorn. A disease born from unrequited love.

You just had to fall in love with him.

The tulip in your hand was just the beginning, the first bloom of many. And as you stared at its delicate beauty, you felt the bitter sting of irony—the same love that had once filled your heart with warmth and hope was now destined to consume you, one petal at a time.

花言葉 Hana ko to ba: チューリップ Tulips [ pink ] - caring, attachment, happiness

Has he ever noticed you? Did he notice the times you’ve hurriedly excused yourself to throw up these plague of flowers? How much weaker have you been? Or even the trail of pink petals you leave behind? Your eyes find him leaning against the bed frame, scrolling on his phone. Oblivious to your suffering. How you wish you could be blissfully ignorant too. It’s been a month since you learnt of your condition. You’ve tirelessly tried to fall out of love with Bakugou. Avoiding the areas he frequents and making lame excuses that you can’t see him. Texting him less and telling yourself that he’s just some asshole. He’s not even that good looking. Right? His deep, rumbley voice isn’t attractive at all. Bakugou’s voice belongs to an old man who eats cigarettes. Plus, his attitude sucks. There's absolutely no reason for you to love him.

Oh, but… one look at him and it all crumbles down. His eyes, fierce and crimson, are like molten embers—burning with a relentless fire that you’ve always admired. Those wild locks you love to run your hands through. His chaotic crown of ash-blond spikes that comedically defy gravity. It frames his face in a way that accentuates his sharp features. Specifically his irritatingly perfect, sculpted jawline. And, of course, his voice never did sound like a senile smoker. You’ve always found his gravelly undertone to be hot. His looks weren't the only thing that made you gravitate to him. The air around him crackles with raw energy and confidence. He's strong-willed and fierce, he's unforgettable. You want to be by his side and watch him achieve his ambitions. Aside from all that, it's how soft he becomes when it's just the two of you. No matter how much you told yourself you didn’t love him, he only needed to appear for your heart to race. Lying to yourself was useless.

Deep in your lungs, you could feel a tightness that’s been building for weeks. You knew it was getting worse yet you refused to confess. But this curse wasn’t going to give you time. It hits you hard. You catch on quickly that this flowery misfortune is flaring up now. With you sat on the floor of his dorm. The pain in your chest intensifies, a sharp, burning sensation that spreads to your throat. Your stomach twists with anxiety and fear, but beneath it all, there’s a quiet, desperate hope. It dawns on you that you are unable to keep your secret for much longer. You have to tell him now. It doesn’t take long for Bakugou to take notice of your pain. Alarmed, he goes to your side, putting his hand on your back.

“Hey, what’s wrong? You don’t look too good.” His voice carries a gentle warmth, confused with the sudden change from you. Softly, he rubs circles on your back in an attempt to soothe you. Unfortunately for you, his concern only makes the tightness worsen.

“Katsuki, I have to tell you something– ” Your voice trembles as you utter those words. You’re barely holding it together from the twisted pain. Just as you take one shaky breath, a cough forces its way through. A red petal lips past your lips, falling to the floor. The petal alone being the confession you were meant to voice. You press your hand over your mouth, letting out a sob.

花言葉 Hana ko to ba: チューリップ Tulips [ red ] - declaration of love, true love, eternal love, romantic love, believe me

“I… love you Katsuki. I’ve always loved you.” The words come out in a rush, each one a painful release. “From that moment we got assigned together, you’ve taken my heart.” You can’t stop the tears now; they spill over, sliding down your reddened cheeks. Each breath you take brings another cough, another handful of those red petals, each one soaked in the essence of your clandestine love. The petals start to fall faster now, flooding the floor with these red tulips.

Bakugou is frozen in place. His widened eyes stuck onto the floor that is now scattered with red petals and tulips. The moment that petal flew out, he knew what you’ve been suffering with. Reluctantly, he turns to look at you. “You…” What does he even say in this moment? Words lose him as his mind races for a solution for this whole situation. Something has to ease your pain. Is there a cure for this unforgiving disease? Bakugou knows himself and the reality of this situation. The cold, harsh reality is that he doesn’t love you. His features harden as he grits his teeth, swallowing hard. “You… hopeless idiot. Fucking hell.” Is all he manages to say. He can’t bring himself to crush you with the raw truth. His lips twist into a scowl. Why did you fall in love with him? Why did you make the mistake of loving him? You absolute fool.

“I never wanted you to fall for me.” he wished to say.

He doesn’t need to say it. Another flurry of petals erupt from your mouth. These red tulips are stained with blood. The fluid sticking on them in sickly sweet fashion. His hesitancy is the only answer you need. His silence speaks volumes. Bakugou does not love you. Your heart sinks as you find the courage to face him. To take one look at the handsome face you’ve grown to love. However with one look, you regret ever catching a glimpse of him. That detached, impassionate expression of his shattered your heart. How could he look at you with such indifference as you regurgitate your declaration of love. You didn’t blame him for not feeling the same way. But the way he looks at you makes you feel sick. You couldn't accept how he's looking at your pain as if it were meaningless.

He looks at you like you’re nothing to him.

“Look.” With your remaining strength, you fist up a bundle of these petals. Shoving them in front of his distant gaze. You wanted him to see them, the raw consequences of your love for him. Red petals, dripping in red secretions in your grasp. Blood dripping from your fingers to the floor. “I am literally head over heels for you,” You spat, a few more petals leaving your mouth. Facing his glare with your own. It’s hard to speak but you need to. You need to scream at him. Did all of your memories with him mean nothing? To look at you with such an apathetic expression hurts you more than this wretched disease. There never was a chance for the two of you.

“But here you are,” You scoff as you lower your hand. Letting the petals sink to the floor. You should have known better. He's right. You're just a pathetic fool. A fool that can't even bring herself to hate him even now. “indifferent to everything that I’m feeling.” A full bulb of a tulip tumbles from your mouth. The final, yellow tulip lands silently by their feet. Your heart sinks, and the pain in your chest doesn’t disappear. Why does your quivering heart still beat with such passion for him? The yellow tulip stands alone, its petals vibrant and golden, glowing softly in the light. Blood clinging onto its velvety surface and seeping into the grooves of the petals. Everything dissipates, you only feel despondent.

花言葉 Hana ko to ba: チューリップ Tulips [ yellow ] - brightness, sunshine, hopeless love, unrequited love

You pull away from his embrace, accepting the rejection. Wobbling as you rise to your feet and turn to the door. Bakugou tries to reach for you, trying to find the right words. You don’t entertain him, swatting his hand away as you shake your head. Turning to the door before he could catch sight of the fresh tears in your eyes. You walk out the door with heavy steps and an aching heart. Now with every breath, flowers bloom within you to remind you of a love that will never be reciprocated. Your unrequited love.

a/n: just something quick because my brain was rotting. I don't offer free therapy on my blog, sorry :) @chocogoldie

In case you needed me to say it, hanatokoba is japanese flower language.

Reader's last words are from the angst prompts over at @me-writes-prompts !!!

border credits: @enchanthings & @adornedwithlight

© writingrock 2024 do not copy, translate or repost.

[merakiui]

Mera! I'm not sure if youve done this before but who are the winners and losers(and their tap out times) for no nut November??

Winners

✧ Riddle - the rule is to last the entire month without cumming; you know he's going to take it way too seriously.

✧ Jack - something something Ace and Deuce (losers) tease him about being easy, and he has his pride as a wolf and he always brings his all to competitions so,,,, he will ultimately win.

✧ Ruggie - if you bet money or food on him losing, he's going to win just to make sure he gets that from you. He is very serious and dedicated.

✧ Jamil - unfortunately, he only wins because he's too busy. </3 rip Jamil. You'll have all of December to make up for what you lost.

✧ Rook - no one knows how or why he does it, but because Rook was in the mood to see how he would fare in NNN he ends up winning somehow. He is so bewildering. Epel wants to know his secret.

✧ Azul - he would've gone in the loser category, but something tells me Azul is another type who is too busy to bother with NNN. And so he'll win solely because his mind is on other things (academics, Mostro Lounge, contracts, money, etc).

✧ Silver - he wasn't even trying to win. He just can't stay awake long enough to deal with his arousal. :(

✧ Sebek - miraculously, Sebek survives the entire month, but that's only because he treated the entire thing like it was a form of training. Also, he couldn't let Silver win all of the glory!! >:(

Losers

✧ Deuce - he lost the first day because he forgot what month it was and by the time he remembered it was NNN he had literally just came in his hand. T_T better luck next year.

✧ Ace - genuinely tries to do better than Deuce so he isn't teased for having a weak dick, but he folds like a week or so in.

✧ Cater - he is not winning NNN. </3 I think he can last at least half of the month if he isn't spending his time scrolling through risqué content.

✧ Trey - he's too stressed playing big brother to the underclassmen and making sure Riddle isn't overdoing it with the beheadings to pay attention to NNN. Stress relief is one of the few things he looks forward to when he has free time and isn't using it to do other hobbies. But also,,, he doesn't care as much for NNN as others might.

✧ Leona - another one who doesn't really care about NNN. He's a few days in when he loses, but he's not even participating.

✧ Floyd - lost right at midnight LOL. Not that he had any plans to genuinely try. Bragging rights isn't a good enough reward. Why is he going to suffer through a hard-on just for something as measly as bragging rights? :/

✧ Jade - you'd think he'd win because he's Jade, but it's precisely because he's Jade that he loses. He'll push himself to see just how far he can go and how many days he can last. While everyone else plays normal NNN, he is playing X-games mode. This eel is going out of his way to purposely get aroused just so he can edge himself throughout the month. Ultimately, once he's had his fill of fun and sated his curiosity, he'll handle his business. <3

✧ Kalim - he forgot NNN was a thing for a moment. He's the type to be like "Oops, I forgot about that! Can we pretend those four didn't count? Let me start over!" T_T he probably lost three days in.

✧ Vil - he is not going to deny his body what it needs all for a silly challenge. Firstly, masturbation can be healthy for the mind and body. Secondly, there's really nothing substantial to gain from a challenge like that. Vil sees no point in it.

✧ Epel - this means everything to Epel. It's to test his restraint as a man! To prove to himself that he isn't going to fold so easily! To show that he has what it takes to be strong! (He loses at the end of the first week. He really was trying his best...)

✧ Idia - no chance he is winning. He'll give it his best effort if he's feeling it, but it's impossible to resist the temptation when he's watching hentai. He either taps out in the very beginning or somewhere in the middle of the month.

✧ Malleus - he doesn't even know what NNN is, but based on these rules he lost towards the end of the month. In his defense, the horny nature of a dragon far surpasses that of the pride gained from winning NNN.

✧ Lilia - he goes on and on about how he may be old, but he's far from impotent. Thus, he will prove just how impressive his restraint is. After all, back in his day, it was impossible to find the privacy to get a good wank in when sleeping outside in inclement weather conditions. But perhaps that will serve him well now as he proceeds to win this NNN without trouble! ...he loses in just five days.

✧ Rollo - he is above these foolish, filthy challenges. Or so he claimed, but suddenly your undergarment is wrapped around his dick on the last day of November. He is strong, but lust is stronger.

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Part 3 - Meeting Kyle For Coffee

This is not in chronological order but I needed for this to get out of my head. Takes place after the end of Charlie's Charmed!Slasher!Simon series.

(If you don't want to read it, in the end, Simon does serial killer things. What a rascal!)

Slasher Handler Masterlist

Kyle Garrick is just as unreasonably pretty as he ever was, sitting in the cafe and drinking something hot. He’s a bit leaner in the face than you remember from high school. His jaw is sharper, but his smile is still so inviting.

When he spots you coming, his smile seems to light up the whole room.

You say, “Thank you, for agreeing to meet with me. Give me just a minute to order?”

“I ordered you a caramel latte,” he says with a smile. “You still like them?”

“Yeah, I do,” you admit, and sit down.

“I asked them not to start making it until you got here,” he says, taking another sip of his drink. “Figured you’d appreciate it being made fresh. All things considered.”

You blow out a breath and lean back in your chair. “That’s… actually why I wanted to talk to you.”

“I figured,” he says with a grin. “We haven’t talked since just after graduation. We do each other a favor, then say our sad goodbyes. And years later, out of the blue you hit me up? Looking for another favor. Could break a man’s heart.”

You bite your lip and look at the smiling man across from you. A barista appears at your elbow with an almost overfull mug and places it gently on the table. She gives Kyle a grin before flouncing away.

“Cheers,” he says, lifting his own mug in a gentle salute. He waits until you’ve taken a sip to continue. “So, how big is he?”

“What?” When you look up at him, he’s still smiling. His face hasn’t changed. But his brown eyes are flat and empty. Your heart beats just a bit faster.

“How big is he? I don’t do things the way I used to. I need to know so I can make it look like an accident.”

The last time Kyle did you a favor, the coroner had not ruled it an accident. No one had ever been accused of or charged with the death of David Toole-Kirk. But that amount of thallium doesn’t eat a person from the inside out on accident.

“I… um. I didn’t ask you here for that kind of favor,” you say. Your hands are burning where they’re wrapped around your mug. You feel like if you take them off, you’ll freeze under his stare. “I was hoping that you could… give me some advice?”

That brings genuine mirth to Kyle’s eyes. “Oh, this aught to be good.”

“I just… there is a guy,” you say. “Just… Do you… still go… hunting?”

Kyle grins and sits back in his chair. “Hunting?”

“Please answer the question,” you groan.

His grin is wide. His teeth are perfect. “No, can’t say that I do. Bit more of the gardening type now, in my old age.”

“We’re not even thirty,” you say, dumbly.

“This guy you know,” he prompts, barely keeping back laughter. “He likes to… go hunting, then?”

“He’s a pretty avid… hunter,” you say, carefully. “But I was hoping that I might be able to help him find another… hobby?”

Kyle Garrick looks almost ready to burst at the seams with the laughter he’s holding in. If you hadn’t had such a recent and thorough reminder not to get complacent with predators, you might have swatted at him. As it is, you can only clench your jaw as you watch him try and fail to keep a straight face.

“I know,” you hiss, “I know.”

“You really, really don’t,” Kyle wheezes. “Oh my god.”

“He says he doesn’t want to hurt me,” you say, looking around nervously. “But he’s taken me hunting twice, and I can’t do that again.”

That’s what breaks him. He bursts into peals of laughter, peppered with “he’s taken you,”s and “oh my days,”s that fill the whole cafe. It shocks you into giggles.

“Will you quit it!” You eventually whisper-shout.

“How did you manage to meet two of us?” Kyle wipes tears from his eyes. “My word. He’s taken you on hunting trips, and now you want to find him a new hobby.”

“Please,” you hiss. “I’m a little bit desperate and a lot at the end of my rope, here.”

And then Simon Riley’s voice says, right behind you, “Garrick.”

You’re a little bit grateful that Simon’s hands wrap around your wrists from above at the same moment, because otherwise you’d have thrown your coffee in the air. His sternum presses against the crown of your head. You tip your head, just a bit, rolling your eyes up to see him. He’s not looking at you. He’s staring at Kyle.

Kyle grins. “Riley. Good to see you, mate. How’s the family?”

“Still dead, you muppet,” Simon says, pulling out the chair next to you and settling in. When you eye him, he’s got that not-quite-blank look that means he might be thinking about smiling. “How do you know my girl?”

“Went to secondary together,” Kyle says with a grin. “She was bloody terrible at chemistry. Luckily, we got paired up. I helped her with a personal project before she went off to uni. It’s been years. Was pleasantly surprised when she reached out.”

“You’re online?” Simon asks, disdainfully.

“Calls more attention not to be,” Kyle points out.

“Told you,” you can’t help but mumble into your drink.

Simon gives a considering hum and his usual answer. “Technically, I’m dead.” To Kyle he says, not bothering to lower his voice. “If you meet up with her without my permission again, I’ll kill you slow.”

You gape at him, and, daringly, slap his shoulder. “You can’t tell me who I can and can’t hang out with.”

He leans in to kiss your forehead. “Sure, sweetheart.”

[agirlwithglam]

how to stop being so obsessed with them.

heyyy bestieees! heres a few tips to stop you from being so obsessed with them cus honeyyy its just not worth it. it doesn't just have to be romantically btw!

"she's literally perfect.. like how??" <- affirmations!

༄ ✬ move on! ༄ ✬

numero uno. move on. okay hear me out! there are 8 billion people in the world. (8 billion freeky deeking people). do yk how much that it? a lot of 0s. and i know for a fact that SO MANY of them would be thrilled to know you, to spend time with you, to love and respect you! if that 1 person out of 8 billion people doesn't seem to recognise your worth, so what?!

"oh but they're perfect and i just love them so much!" ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.... sorry, what do you love again? the fact that they don't care enough to return a text, treat you right, make you feel loved?

"i just want them to love me back and treat me the way they treat others because they are so funny and always seem to make me and other people laugh!" oh ma lawd. ur not serious r u? you are?! okokok i won't make fun of you. i can relate to how that feels. but sweetheart, 8 billion. trust me, you'll find a lot more people who are twice as funnier and caring who will love you to the moon and back and make you feel like the most specialist person ever and massage ur crusty musty toes. jk about the last one- unless u want that?

༄ ✬ not everyone will know your worth. ༄ ✬

so asking questions like "but why can't they realise how great i am? or how funny i am? or how loving i am? i would do anything for them, why can't they realise that and treat me the same way back?" im sorry honey but the world doesn't work that way. if someone doesn't feel or treat you as if you're the most glamorous girl in the world, then you need to stop giving them sm energy and importance.

heres an analogy that i got from simonesquared on youtube: in gilmore girls, Rory has this super rich boyfriend Logan right? (who has the most cutest smile ever i might add) and he buys Rory a birkin bag. now to Rory, she doesn't realise the value of a bag like that! to her, its just another bag. she's grateful of course, but she doesn't fully realise the immense value this type of bag has.

༄ ✬ have a life outside of them.༄ ✬

lemme repeat that. have. a. fleeping. life. outside. of. them. they should NOT be the center of your life or the cause of all your actions NUH UH ABSOLUTELY NOT! its okay to do SOME things with the thought of them, but that part is separate from the rest of your life. your life is your life, not theirs!!

this can mean going to the gym, working out, finding new hobbies, educating yourself, self care, etc etc! but don't go about your life, thinking about them. you go about your life thinking about YOU.

༄ ✬ stop chasing them. ༄ ✬

"gee, thanks vanilla. thats so helpful! how did i not think about that earlier?" im assuming thats sarcasm, but whateverr. okay so if they know that you're chasing them, that you're obsessed with them, yk what they'll think? they'll think that 'oh! this person is chasing me, so she really wants me. so she'll stick around. i dont really need to try too hard to keep her cus i know she'll stay. i'll explore my options in the meantime :)'

GIRL do not so available like this! BE BUSY (which relates to the point before). once you glow up, work on your life, not taking it so seriously, and just being happy and enjoying this beautiful gift of life, they will start to think: 'oh! this person (you) is actually quite fabulous. i better try to make her feel happy/ be friends with her before i miss this awesome opportunity!'

cus girl, cmon, you've got things to do, places to be, and people to talk to. i've got goals and dreams and my bucket list. you don't have the time to sit here and be crazy obsessed. so like, if they just leave, um okay and? "yes, and?" what about it? am i meant to be bothered? likerrr okay, byee? i mean, i've got a lot of things to do so i could try to fit in a "help i need you" session between my pilates class and my cooking class? jk <3

༄ ✬ give yourself the damn love. ༄ ✬

why are you obsessed with them? why are you head over heels for somebody who literally couldn't care less? its because they have something that you feel like you're lacking.

is it the fact that they always seem so happy and laughing-y with people around them? that they get super high marks on their test? they are attractive? they have a high status? money? what is it?? often, we can actually give these things to ourselves. some, easier than others. but not impossible. if you really wanted to, you would get up, dust yourself up, and give yourself the love you crave. What you want in others, give to yourself first.

More resources:

How to stop comparing yourself & feel fulfilled without needing external validation.

Thewizardliz: becoming selfish was the best thing i did

Lumma Aziz’s videos

[sophie-frm-mars]

I just wanna gush about DBT for a second

DBT saved my life so I'm gonna spend a moment telling everyone how helpful it can be because I know there are a lot of people with BPD out there who need to hear it.

so cluster B personality disorders are characterised by, among other things "unrelenting crisis" - this is the combination of the feeling that every small problem you encounter is just yet more insurmountable bullshit and the reality that you have a lot of bad shit going on in your life, some of caused by the wider world beyond your control and inevitably some of it self-inflicted. The problem is, to someone who is constantly activated and feels life as this kind of non stop catastrophe, it's really hard to practice skills learned in therapy to do anything about it AND it feels impossible to judge what is an appropriate thing to spend your energy on, where to even begin tackling your problems.

The group component of DBT is explicitly justified in the therapists' manual as tackling this, which I think is genius. A borderline patient will bring new problems to their therapist every week and not focusing on them will trigger feelings of abandonment but the patient will definitely have forgotten all about this problem and moved onto a new one by next session or the one after so you have two therapies, one talk therapy one-on-one and the other a group setting like a class where you learn the DBT skills, and then in the group setting no patient feels like they're being especially ignored by the therapist because they're all there to learn the skills as peers. I just think that's really clever

The bit that really whips though is the skills around Accumulating positive experiences and Building mastery. Okay so your life feels like shit, right? Like one shit thing after another? Your therapy is to have a nice time and get better at something in a way that makes you proud. There's a whole acronym for the skills you need to use to keep yourself well, ABC PLEASE, but C and PLEASE are all essentially preventative skills to stop you having an actively bad time or worsening your mental health, and A and B (Accumulate positive experiences, Build mastery) are the ones where you're proactively creating your life worth living and I love it so much.

Accumulating Positive Experiences really does just mean having a nice time in an intentional way. It can literally be watching TV, it can be whatever you want, but you approach it thinking about what will make good experiences that will actively make you feel like you are leading a life worth living. My girlfriend and I went to the planetarium and took edibles last month and it owns so hard that according to DBT that's therapy

Building Mastery is all about helping you get a sense of momentum and direction by improving at something, ideally something that isn't also what you do for work. I know "get a hobby" seems like such basic advice for helping someone out of a rough time but like I've been bouldering since early last year and seeing myself get better at it has been impossibly good for me.

I've been getting into cooking this year as one of my Building mastery practices, at first just regularish like "how can I feed myself in a way that feels like I'm showing myself care at all" like finally learning how to make some of the comfort foods I had in childhood like beef stew, or trying out new things on my very basic salmon, potatoes and broccolli, like teriyaki glaze on broccolli or making hasselback potatoes. Then after a while it became a thing where I felt confident enough to actually thing about a little project and do it like around when my gf and I started officially dating I made her roast lamb and dauphinoise potatoes (nothing photographs well, sorry in advance lol), or we started rewatching Twin Peaks and I really wanted cherry pie so I made my own, which I had never done before!

and at the same time as improving at that stuff I felt like I was good enough at it that cooking for other people was a way I could show them care, which was something I had always wanted but never put in the time to making a reality.

In The Endings Machine: Technology & Teleology I talked about how cooking vegan food in groups is more effective in several ways that going vegan yourself and afterwards my sister (who helped with recording) said to me and a friend "I've been thinking about this ever since filming, we should do this!" and we've been holding a rotating vegan group meal at other's places fortnightly since then, and it's been really good! (This idea btw was partly inspired by my time on the ZAD where communal living leads to group cooking on a rotation, mostly vegan) For the first one I made a spicy mushroom pasta, then I had to bring the dessert to one and I made a vegan chocolate tart with coconut milk instead of dairy making a coconut chocolate filling and it was SOOO good

Last week the vegan meal was at mine again and it fell on halloween so we invited more people and arranged a little spooky movie screening and I made SOOO much food and it was all fucking fantastic. My gf and I made dhal makhani, aubergine rice, parathas, vegan raita and onion bhajis and served them with some mango chutney and some oven-cook samosas that were just from big tesco. I'm so fucking proud of myself, I've never cooked this much before and it went so well! I guess what I really want to get across is how looking at this from the DBT perspective I gotta get across how good this shit is for your mental health and how absurdly well it dovetails with building community.

There are all sorts of other ways Accumulating positive experiences and Building mastery help, because DBT is a very holistic approach to helping people get better - like if you know what things you like doing and you plan them to be available to you, you know that you're going to be happy with your own company, which means if you're having a shit time around someone else you're happy saying "I would be having a better time being alone right now" and just leaving. That makes it easier to live up to your self-respect goals, which are a big part of the DBT interpersonal effectiveness skills, as well as helping to tackle every cluster B girlie's deep seated fear of abandonment.

I could go on an on, but the salient thing right now is that there are a lot of people struggling with stuff I relate to as someone who has had my shit rocked by Borderline Personality Disorder for years and years, and I know that the biggest feeling at core is like "what is this all for? what is the thing that we are all trying to do in the space we are chaotically scrabbling to try to clear all the time?" and this is the answer: you want to accumulate positive experiences and build mastery, and when you get to doing it you have such a profoundly more grounded sense of being in the world, of what it is that's worth being here for and what stands in the way of life just being like that for everyone and a more meaningful drive to try and make it be that way for everyone.

I also wanna go on and on about how Interpersonal Effectiveness makes everyone better at organising too, but I think the Life Worth Living is the better sales pitch for DBT. idk in short a close friend pitched it to me a little while ago that all leftists should learn DBT and it would make the revolution way easier and the more I live of my life worth living the more I agree.

[ocelettelatte]

How are they when they do your hair?

Includes: Gojo, Nanami, Geto, Choso, Toji x Curly Hair!Reader. (+Todo Bonus) Author's Note: First and possibly the last post I'll make. Made this just for fun so the characters might be OOC. Self-indulgent, but I did try to make the reader ambiguous. Divider by @/saradika

Gojo

Gojo learns how to do your hair pretty quickly.

He watches you do it once and he’s able to do it almost immediately.

He’ll go all out for you. That hairstyle you saw online? Boom you got it.

That one hair product you wanted but were always told you needed some kind of license to get it? I don’t know how, but he got it.

Your hair gets the slightest bit messed up and he’s pissed for you. Just straight whiny about it.

Has given you mini heart attacks before. “My bad I messed up, we gotta go bald.” while braiding your hair...

Buys all kinds of charms and accessories for your hair.

While he knows you shouldn’t do it often, he actually likes your hair straight. It always amazes him how long your hair actually is.

He also loves curl-defining. Going one by one curling each ringlet with his finger is oddly satisfying to him.

Definitely uses all of your products. When you ask about it, he’ll deny it.

Nanami

Nanami likes your hair however you like it. braids, twists, dreads, loose, straightened, wigs, short. If you’re happy with it then he’s happy.

If you ask him to do your hair, he’ll keep it simple. Nothing too flashy but not too basic.

He does this because he always feels bad when you have the prettiest hairstyles, knowing you’ve spent hours on it and it just gets messed up because of your line of work.

The face you make when you tell him it’s fine always tugs at his heart.

However, this doesn't mean he won't give you a glamorous hairstyle for date nights.

Nanami has bought little charms for you to put in your hair and keeps everything you leave at his place in a little basket.

Helps you with your hair when you’re getting ready for bed.

Buys a silk pillowcase just for you.

If he sees you're running out of product he'll use the last of it and buy you new ones.

If there's a particular product you have to order online, Nanami knows exactly when to order said product.

Geto

You always let the twins do your hair, Nanako being the most interested in it. You see it as a learning experience for them.

However, You never let Geto touch your hair. You weren’t too fond of his choice of words when referring to non-sorcerers.

After a bit of warming up to one another, you finally allowed him to do your hair.

Geto absolutely loves braiding your hair.

I’ve always thought that Geto might have picked up on some mundane hobbies once he started his cult. One of those hobbies being Ikebana. Which is why he loves hair braiding.

After learning how many intricate things you could do with this style, it would become his go-to thing.

He has the gentlest hands when doing hair.

With permission, he would put flowers in your hair. Sometimes he’ll go the extra mile of getting you to wear a Hakama or Kimono just to tie the whole look together.

Granted, he knows that he has to give your scalp a break. On those days he actually likes your hair loose.

Choso

All of his experiences doing hair have only been on himself. So when he meets you, he learns so much about his and your hair.

Unfortunately, Choso is scared to touch your hair. The last time he did he tangled it pretty badly.

He is so gentle that things end up getting loose and he has to start over.

Still learning all the different hairstyles. Confuses twists for dreads.

Constantly asking if you’re okay and making sure that he’s not hurting you.

Sometimes he hesitates when doing your hair and you reassure him that he’s doing fine.

Either uses too much product or not enough. There’s no in-between.

If you ask him to buy shampoo and conditioner, he'll get a little overwhelmed and come back with three in one.

Loves giving you any hairstyle that has twin tails. He also likes to put little ribbons in your hair sometimes.

Toji

“Stop moving your damn head.” Kind of vibes.

Definitely rough and says that he’s not.

Most definitely would pop you with the comb.

All jokes aside, Toji is pretty good at doing your hair. Though it’s like pulling teeth trying to convince him to do it.

Prefers if you’ve done whatever you needed to your hair so he can style it however.

Toji doesn’t have a favorite style for you. At the end of the day, it’s just hair to him.

Your accessories are floating around his place. He even stepped on one.

Here's a bonus because Toji was so short!

Todo

Todo definitely has everything he needs to do your hair. Unfortunately, just like that one hair lady in your life, he’s hard to get a hold of.

This Takada mega fan will cancel on you when he finds out there’s an event in the area. Those days you’ve contemplated going bald…

The only reason why you keep going back to him is because he's so damn good at it. It’s just one-on-one... and the occasional mentions of Takada, but you can deal with that.

Has tried to convince you to lock your hair a handful of times.

Gave you starter locks to see if you like it. If you don’t he’ll do whatever you like.

“Stop being so tender-headed.”

"HOW!?"

He’s not gentle but he’s not rough either.

Silk. Pillow. I’m confident that he owns at least one.