#though I guess it's not so much about the comfort physically but the comfort of just being there with hi

[lightseoul]

CHAPTER 8 | ALL OUT OF LUCK

w.c. 5.1k

tags. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (26), lots of cussing, mentions of food, so much violence. like so much y'all but it's Canon-typical violence, references to (quirk) supremacist views, a (somewhat) graphic depiction of mental health issues

a/n. the content of this chapter is one of the reasons why i almost didn't start this series in the first place. as it turns out, action scenes are deceptively difficult to write—i struggled at first, but i eventually got into the groove of things and found it so fun! so much shit will go down, and i hope you find yourselves at the edge of your seats while reading this <3 please, please let me know what you think and don't be a stranger! enjoy :')

links. masterlist, ao3

You shoot up at the blaring sound of the alarm clock.

You scramble to reach and turn it off where it stands on the nightstand—quickly, before it wakes Bakugou up—a sigh of relief wracking your body when you manage to do so, a sudden stillness instantly enveloping the room.

That relief doesn’t last very long, though, because you’re once again shot with panic when you look up toward the foot of the bed, only to see the man himself already standing in front of it—fully awake.

“Fuck,” you breathe out, clutching your chest, “You scared me.”

“It’s too early to be this scared, princess,” is his pointed retort, a small hint of teasing underlying his tone. You shoot him a pained smile but don’t say anything back, not finding the courage within you to admit that your hands may or may not be already shaking in anticipatory anxiety.

Instead, you watch him as he does mobility stretches in place, breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth as he warms up his joints and rotates his limbs. He invites you to join him a moment after, and you do, if not in an attempt to ground yourself then in preparation for any physical combat that may ensue later on.

Not much is said between the two of you as you go on to prepare for the day, maneuvering silently within his bedroom and taking turns in the bathroom. He lets you get changed first, and you shimmy yourself in your most comfortable office clothes, finding almost immediately that describing them as ‘comfortable’ might be a stretch. Least suffocating, maybe—but the instructions were clear that you had to look the part, at least so that you could get past the guards and enter the building.

Apparently, you need to infiltrate the place organically to buy you as much time to position yourselves without raising suspicion. Mystically showing up on the premises with a man who will vanish not a moment later wouldn’t exactly be a common sight for the employees manning the CCTVs.

Well, then. You guess your long-sleeved blouse, slacks, and regrettably heeled shoes will have to do.

Not even five minutes after you step out of the restroom so he can get dressed himself, Bakugou emerges in a similarly dark, wrist-length shirt and trousers, and you’re about to comment on this unfamiliar yet…welcome sight when your eyes catch his notoriously unruly head of hair—magically pushed back, revealing his forehead.

Now, of all the things that strangely popped into your mind upon seeing him—handsome definitely wasn’t one of them—what you end up blurting is: “How the hell did you style it that fast?”

“Huh?” he responds absentmindedly, fiddling with his sleeves as he seats himself on the edge of the bed opposite from you. “Style what?”

You gesture towards his head. “Your hair. Hasn’t it always been a little hard to control?”

Folding his sleeves right up to his forearm, he then turns to face you, a borderline sheepish expression etched on his features. “’s some extra strong gel. Best Jeanist gifted it to me for my birthday.”

Ah.

“Yeah, well, it suits you,” you offer honestly, averting your gaze just as you think he is about to flash you a smirk. And before he can say anything: “I’m guessing you’re ditching the gauntlets for today?”

He nods, although he’s suddenly looking far from pleased. “No choice,” he intones, “My firepower will take a hit, but I can still get by without them.”

“Enough to kick some ass?”

A grin. “Always.”

You let Bakugou’s well-earned confidence infect you as you finish getting ready together, stuffing your respective bags with things you can let go of in case they get caught up in the fight, before finally walking out of your little sanctuary and into the living room. The twins are on you in an instant, installing your trackers on your chests where they’ve since taken residence for the past two weeks, pulling away without a single word afterward. You mutter a quick thanks, before walking toward Bakugou on the couch and asking him what he wants for breakfast.

“Something light,” is his answer. “Don’t wanna be bogged down by a heavy stomach.”

You end up getting him french toast with a protein shake—whether or not that was light for a man his size, you have no idea—while ordering a croissant and iced tea for yourself. You don’t bother asking the twins if they want to get something as well—opting to just get them breakfast sandwiches and coffee instead. You heard a stomach grumble just a few minutes ago—and it definitely wasn’t yours or Bakugou’s.

The food arrives just as quickly as it did the night prior, and you waste no time digging in. To your pleasant surprise, the twins accept the offering, albeit too begrudgingly for your taste. Maybe letting them starve was the smarter move for today’s final mission, but as you watch them scarf everything down in a matter of minutes, you decide that that’s a trade-off you’re willing to overcompensate for.

By the time you’ve finished eating and cleaning up, it’s a few minutes before 6 AM, and you resolve that as far as D-Days are concerned, the start of this one is going swimmingly well.

Right up to the moment Kouki materializes and grabs Bakugou’s wrist but not yours.

“Change of plans.”

At that, you instantly freeze just as Bakugou barks: “The fuck do you mean change of plans?”

That doesn’t seem to faze the teleporter, who instead regards the pro-hero with a stern, almost chastising look. “You’re needed in one of the schools. You’re coming with me.”

Somehow, you snap out of it. “But you said—”

“It’s a direct order,” he spews, now looking at you with such intensity that has your blood turning cold. “One that you have to follow. Unless…”

“Unless, what?” growls Bakugou.

He smiles. “Unless you want us to call off the entire operation and teleport where you can’t find us.”

Fuck.

Beside you, Bakugou must be thinking the exact same thing, because he suddenly goes quiet.

Kouki harrumphs. “That’s what I thought.”

Neither Bakugou nor you say anything else in protest after that, acutely aware of the gamble that has to be made.

It’s clear as day: either you follow the order and divide and possibly conquer, or resist and lose them altogether.

Perhaps for good.

Armed with the explosives Bakugou made himself, no less.

You chance a glance at the pro-hero, and the impassive look on his face is enough to tell you what he’s decided on.

You’re running out of time and you also need to say something, you know that. Otherwise, he’s going to think there’s something more important to the two of you than seeing the operation you’ve been devotedly ‘working on’ to fruition.

Something beyond just two lovers ensuring each other’s safety.

Forcing yourself to meet Kouki’s steely gaze, you finally relent and nod. “How’s the rest of us gonna get to our post, then?”

“I’ll come back right after I teleport him,” comes his speedy answer, seemingly satisfied with your newfound enthusiasm. “I’ll take you three to where Masaki is waiting near the Prime Minister’s Office.”

“He’s already there?” you can’t help but ask, suddenly nervous at the mention of the kingpin.

You still don’t know his quirk.

“Yes, and he mustn’t be kept waiting,” Kouki says cuttingly, before turning to regard Bakugou, whose wrist he’s still holding. “We’ve to get going.”

“Alright,” the pro-hero grits out, shrugging off the man’s hold, “Just—give me a sec.”

For a second, you think he’s going to head to the restroom to pee before the ‘mission’ starts, but then he’s stepping towards you, and you barely manage to stop yourself from tilting away when he leans into your space, immediately followed by a firm grip on your shoulders. Despite yourself, you gulp.

Bakugou lets out a long exhale. He’s not looking at you—you note—gaze directed towards the floor. You decide then and there that you don’t like seeing him like this.

Like he’s actually…scared.

“Hey,” you whisper, and he looks up, finally meeting your eyes. You almost stumble at the sheer intensity of them.

Almost.

In spite of that—and you don’t know how you do it—you manage to smile at him, as genuinely as you can.

“What are you so worried about?” you tease, voice soft enough for just him to hear. “I’ll be okay.”

To your dismay, that doesn’t make Bakugou laugh—countenance still grim—but his features do soften. So minutely, the change is almost imperceptible—but it’s there.

“How can you be so sure?” he actually whispers back.

That makes you grin, the answer already at the tip of your tongue.

“Because you don’t date losers.”

Now, at your quip, you expected him to at least smile. Maybe chuckle, if that punchline came out funnier than you intended it to.

But what you absolutely didn’t expect was for him to grab you by the neck and pull you into a kiss.

It takes you a second to realize what’s happening, body rigid in utter surprise, but you eventually relax into his hold, wrapping your arms around his torso as he deepens the kiss. A few more seconds pass by with your lips interlocked before he finally pulls away, face flushed and a little out of breath.

“Be careful,” he eventually gets out a beat later, and you nod, suddenly hyperaware of the three pairs of eyes watching you.

Kouki’s especially.

“You, too,” you call out to Bakugou as he lets go and returns to the spot beside Kouki, who once again takes his gauntlet-less wrist.

“We’ll be off, then,” the old man announces, and just like that, they’re gone.

Kouki returns—alone—in record time, an inexplicable expression written on his face. You debate whether or not to ask him how things are at Bakugou’s location, ultimately deciding against it when the man impatiently beckons you to move. You promptly approach and hold onto him just as the twins adjust their portkeys without much complaint, all the while trying to ignore the churning sensation at the pit of your stomach.

The borderline nauseating feeling doesn’t get any better as you get whisked away from Bakugou’s apartment unit in a matter of seconds, suddenly finding yourself sat as you emerge in what you think is an SUV—judging by the size of its interior. You squirm in your seat—too caught up in the discomfort of being squished between Kouki and Omiru in the back—to notice it.

But then you look up, and when you do, the churning from earlier stops and your stomach drops entirely.

From where he’s conveniently plastered in the driver’s seat, Masaki turns to fully face you, smiling.

Or at least you think he is, based solely on the upturn of his lips.

Because hiding his gaze is what seems to be hardened, high-tech goggles.

Goggles that completely block your view of his eyes.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You vaguely register Masaki thanking Kouki for bringing the three of you to him, and you think Kouki must’ve teleported away judging from the faint swell in wiggle room at your sides. But you couldn’t recall when that was exactly, and this very thought sends another shot of panic through you, the taste of bile now blooming in your throat.

You know what you have to do.

Clenching your eyes closed, you center your attention on the primary emotion you’re feeling—fear, unmistakable fear—and pull.

Instantly, you feel your facial muscles relax, cautious enough to let the change appear slowly—both in your face and in your frame.

The last thing you need is to inadvertently confirm any suspicion about your quirk.

Even if it means using a huge chunk of today’s reservoir on yourself.

Taking a deep breath, you let your eyes flutter open, and you’re once again met with the sight of Masaki, whose torso is now turned towards you.

Shit.

You scramble for something to say.

“I-isn’t it a bit too early?” you ask, averting your gaze toward the car window. “Is the Prime Minister even around at this hour?”

You don’t get to see Masaki’s reaction to your sudden question—you wouldn’t be able to study his eyes anyway—but you hear him shuffle in his seat, turning back to face forward. “Yes, he’s expecting a visitor.”

A million questions come up in your head—how he even knows that information is one of them—but what you end up asking is: “How about the rest?”

That must’ve been the right query to ask, because Masaki hums in what you think is approval. “People will be there, Y/N. When the Prime Minister’s around, most of the employees are expected to be present.”

You guess that makes sense.

You don’t say anything else after that, opting to peer at Masaki through the rearview mirror instead. To your surprise, he shifts his head towards the very same mirror, and you’re almost sure he’s looking straight back at you.

He smiles again. This time, a little too knowingly.

“Is there something—” he starts, before trailing off and pointing to his eyepiece. “Oh, this?”

You bristle. Still, you feign ignorance. “Huh?”

“You seem to have been staring at my glasses.”

You let your brows furrow, as if in confusion. “I…don’t think I was?”

“Cut the crap, Y/N,” Omiru suddenly spits at you from the side, and you startle.

“What the—”

“Now, now, Omiru,” scolds Masaki with that placating tone of his. “Y/N might’ve been lying to us but we still have a mission to finish.”

You blanch. “Lying?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” comes the leader’s quiet response, who’s watching the scene unfold behind him through the mirror. “It’s a pity our surveillance men took so long to notice, how you had us acting strangely, that day we met.”

Masaki cocks his head to the side, before: “Your quirk works via eye contact, doesn’t it?”

You stiffen.

“Thought so,” he concludes, and you bite back the urge to close your eyes in defeat. It’s too early to give up.

“Don’t worry, though,” he adds on after a beat, finally bringing the engine to life. “Nothing will happen as long as you cooperate and use luck when I tell you to.”

…Luck.

Did he just say luck?

Your eyes must’ve widened a bit at what he just said, because he continues. “Ah, Bakugou?” he asks, and suddenly you’re hit with the guilt of not thinking about the pro-hero.

Especially when he says the next thing.

“Like I said,” Masaki drawls, “As long as you cooperate, no one gets harmed.”

A pause.

“Even him.”

Your question gets answered as soon as you stop at the guard house.

Masaki’s quick to take off the goggles before rolling down his window, greeting the primary security guard with such innocence you definitely couldn’t have guessed he was on his way to an assassination if you based on just the encounter alone.

The guard flashes him an easy grin as he greets back, before bringing the walkie-talkie that’s velcroed on his shoulder closer to his mouth. “Masaki Kento of the Korean Consulate, heading towards Building C. I repeat, Masaki Kento to Building C.”

A bunch of static emanates from the device, immediately followed by a robotic voice. “Copy that. Let him in.”

At that, Masaki salutes him a thanks, which the guard returns fervently. You don’t even get to catch a glimpse of the former’s eyes before he’s got the window up and the eyepiece swiftly back on his face.

“Let me guess,” you pipe up as Masaki rounds a curb and drives more slowly as you enter the grounds, “You’re a consul and these two are your domestic bodyguards.”

“Yes,” Masaki readily confirms, “That is correct.”

That explains why he’s almost never present in the headquarters.

“Huh,” is the only thing you can muster, focus now trained on any human that you pass by.

The less they are in number, the better—is what Bakugou said. So far, most if not all of them are decked out in attire guards would normally wear, which you think isn’t much of an unfamiliar sight in this estate.

Eventually, you arrive at the front of what you believe is Building C, stepping out of the vehicle with your handbag in tow a moment later, smoothing the crinkled lines of your slacks. You pretend not to pay attention as an again bare-faced Masaki hands over the keys to the valet, who is off with the vehicle in seconds to what he said was the multi-story car park.

You don’t dare utter a word as you trail behind the man carrying a bulky briefcase you’re positive contains nothing but bombs, with the twins walking in step behind you. You keep your eyes fixed on the staircase as you do, painfully aware of how your nerves are coming back alive, and this time, somewhat more fiercely than before.

You know better than to waste another ounce of your quirk on yourself, though.

And so with ragged breath, you trudge on with anxiety creeping back up your spine, up until you’re met with another guard at the entrance, who makes a quick work of identifying the four of you. You’re introduced as Masaki’s new personal assistant, while the others just reiterate their established titles. The guard then grants you entry, but not before instructing you to register your name at the reception desk.

Masaki thanks the man on your behalf, and then finally—you enter.

The second that you do, though, you can tell something’s wrong.

For one, right behind the desk that you were ordered to approach, was nobody. Not one receptionist.

Nor are there janitors, guests, employees, or anyone that could possibly be in the Prime Minister’s Office at this hour.

Masaki, who just put on the goggles again, must have thought the same thing, because you catch him physically tensing, like this wasn’t part of the plan.

You’re about to ask him—genuinely—why the place seems to be deserted, when it happens.

Something fast lurches from the shadows in your peripheral vision, and you stumble back just in time to see Hiroto slammed to the ground by no other than Kirishima.

The male twin lets out a yelp in pain as the hardened hero wrestles him in his grip, all at the same time as a long string of tape suddenly fills your vision. You look up, and sure enough, there’s Sero swinging right into Omiru foot first, hitting the woman square in the jaw. She staggers violently backward, right into you—but the collision doesn’t happen, because a hand grabs your wrist out of nowhere and you’re pulled to the side.

A tidal wave of relief washes over you as you let yourself get forcefully dragged, but it’s instantly replaced with terror when you look up to see Masaki’s backside instead. From a distance, you hear Kirishima’s voice call out your name, and it snaps you out of your fear-driven trance. Renewed with unbridled strength, you put as much of your weight as you can on your soles and try to wrangle your hand out of his grip, but it’s too strong.

Masaki manages to haul you toward the end of the hallway, throwing you right into an elevator and punching the close button before you can pick yourself back up on your feet. You barely see him pressing the top-most floor before he turns around and grabs you by the shoulders, pinning you hard against the wall.

“You told them about us, didn’t you,” he seethes, manic, but you don’t dare say anything. At your silence, he lifts you a breadth’s hair away from the surface only to slam you back against it. You can’t help it—this time, you cry, a sharp pain sent straight to your back.

“Answer me,” he demands, and you’re just about to knee him in the balls when the elevator dings. You wait for Masaki to get distracted and look away so you can deliver the blow, but it doesn’t happen. His gaze seemingly remains fixed on yours even as he lugs the two of you out of the box, grip unrelenting as he approaches the nearest fire alarm device, smashing the glass before pulling down the lever.

Almost instantaneously, tens of alarms ring out not just on your floor but on the ones below you, and you can only watch in horror as the numbers on top of the elevators freeze.

“Kouki,” Masaki rasps into his earpiece, his two hands busy holding you at arm’s length. “Kouki, do you copy?”

You growl, a surge of indignation washing over your entire body at him blatantly ignoring you. You extend your leg from underneath in an attempt to trip and then pin him down, but he takes notice in the nick of time and staves off your attack.

“Kouki,” he tries again, even as you manage to ram a punch into his stomach, “Answer me!”

You grit your teeth, feeling your limbs quaking as you fight to fend off his grip. Still, your mind wanders as to why he’s calling Kouki now, of all times.

What, so he can teleport him and the twins out of here?

But then he speaks again, and you see crimson red.

“Kouki, kill him now!”

Your body moves before your brain can think—you throw yourself onto Masaki and grab him by the neck. He stumbles backward until he collapses and his back hits the floor, and you take that as an opportunity to immediately straddle him, increasing the pressure on your chokehold. He splutters for a bit, arms flailing and scratching at you, but before you can even think about trying to rip off his eyepiece and potentially taking the upper hand—at least until Kirishima and the rest arrive—he rolls over and has got you pinned under his weight in seconds. He pulls the same move and roughly wraps his hands around your neck, instantly cutting off the air to your lungs. You wheeze, and yet you still struggle even as you feel the last bits of oxygen die out.

He grins at you, and one look at the man’s face tells you he’s gone mad. “You’re on the wrong side of history, Y/N.”

Great, you think to yourself. Those can’t be the last fucking words you hear before you die.

You make one last attempt at seizing his wrist off of you, but—just like many other things in the past five minutes—that doesn’t get to happen, because something flashes in the corner of your eye—so quickly you think you must’ve imagined it. You squint, and in hindsight maybe you shouldn’t have, because, in the second that you do, Masaki is kicked off of your body and slammed straight into the far wall.

Shellshocked, you crawl backward with your forearms as fast as you can, not knowing what the fuck just happened.

But that’s when you see him.

You can only watch in disbelief as Bakugou propels himself across the room in a matter of a millisecond, towering over Masaki’s body instantaneously. “Get back!” Bakugou shouts, and it takes you a beat to realize that he’s talking to you.

You didn’t need to be told twice.

With the little, remaining strength you can muster, you manage to stand back up and hobble towards the corner of the room, farthest from where the two are currently engaging in a fistfight.

It doesn’t take long for you to realize that Masaki’s holding up better than you expected him to, and the very same realization must’ve dawned on Bakugou, because the pro-hero swiftly switches gears and starts detonating small explosions toward the man’s direction.

But then the weirdest thing happens.

Instead of being hit by Bakugou’s blasts, Masaki absorbs them—right where the combustions meet his body—

And then, in the blink of an eye, releases it—almost twice in size—straight into Bakugou.

You hear the pro-hero curse just as he barely manages to dodge the hit. The discharge reaches the wall, leaving scorched marks and massive craters on the surface.

This is bad.

And you don’t even have to look at Bakugou to know that.

Still, the pro-hero presses on, and you stand there—restless—as the fight resumes in front of you. Bakugou’s stopped using his quirk to attack altogether, only using it to expertly maneuver himself in the air. Masaki’s fending off the strikes well enough, even landing a few hits here and there. You try to hold eye contact with him—but it’s no use. He’s still wearing the goggles, and you’ve studied them long enough this morning to be fairly sure that it’ll take more than just a perfect kick to the head to have it taken off.

That’s when it dawns on you.

You can’t manipulate Masaki. That’s for sure.

But you can manipulate Bakugou, who—based on what you can see—is becoming more and more frantic by the minute.

No fucking time to hesitate.

“Bakugou!” you shout, and the man doesn’t even glance in your direction, only shouting back: “What?!”

“Look at me!” you yell, pupils darting in record speed as you follow Bakugou’s volatile line of vision. You weren’t about to miss him when he does.

He doesn’t question your request, but he doesn’t immediately look at you either, too wrapped up in hitting Masaki and not getting hit back.

But then Masaki’s suddenly got him pinned against the wall across you, and you find yourself immediately face to face with him. You scream, “Now!”

Exactly right on cue, Bakugou’s gaze drifts from Masaki’s face to yours, and when you lock eyes, you pull.

Manic adrenaline to laser-sharp acuity.

Acuity that he’s always had since you met him in high school.

As hard as you fucking can—and with all that you have left—you pull.

And just like that, Bakugou’s entire countenance changes. You can only watch as the metaphorical gears in his head seem to come alive and shift—just as he throws Masaki off of him with unmatched force.

But then he does the unimaginable.

He starts bombarding the man with explosions—one blast after another, not allowing him the chance to even sit up and shield himself—and you stare in outright shock as Masaki’s body glows redder and redder.

Just as you think Bakugou’s completely lost his mind with the series of attacks, he launches himself from the wall and dives into Masaki, grabbing the man’s arm, tugging him to the nearest door with one hand and yanking the slab of wood open with the other.

And only as Bakugou throws Masaki into what you think is a janitor’s closet and locks the door behind him does it hit you like a ton of bricks.

“Come on!” Bakugo shouts at you as he presses his entire weight against the door—the door that Masaki’s desperately trying to get through. “Help me lock him in!”

You look around the room for something you can use, your eyes immediately landing on a chair and a moderately-heavy-looking desk. You waste no time grabbing the two pieces of furniture and hauling them toward Bakugou as fast as you can. Taking the chair first, you tilt it by the backrest and lodge it underneath the doorknob until it’s secure enough. You then hurriedly drag the desk to the other side and slide it in front of the door, just as Bakugou propels himself upward and out of the way.

You don’t get to do anything else before Bakugou snatches you by your waist and boosts the two of you toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, smashing against them shoulder-first. You hold onto him for dear life, wincing at the impact even though Bakugou took most of it.

And you’re glad you did everything the way you just did—because not even a second later, the explosion finally goes off—an eruption so massive that you’re both thrown forward from the sheer magnitude alone, the sound of shattering windows and crumbling walls booming in the background. Bakugou loses his balance for a second and you shriek, but he manages to get back into thrusting you into the air with his detonations, carrying you securely in his arms until you reach the ground, gently letting go of you when you do.

The moment your toes touch the concrete floor, though, you’re quick to jump on your feet and hobble away from him.

“Hey—”

Quickly, you tell yourself as you feel the tell-tale pinpricks of tears at the corners of your eyes. Before it’s too late.

But you don’t get to go far enough because Bakugou grabs your wrist, spinning you to look at him. “The fuck do you think you’re go—”

He cuts himself off, the scowl that was just carved on his features instantly falling when he sees your face. “Are you—crying?”

“N-no,” you choke out, although you know it’s no use denying it. You’re already feeling the all-too-familiar closing-in sensation that comes with you overextending yourself.

“Yes, you are, dumbass,” Bakugou retorts, before bringing up his other hand to lightly touch your cheek. “Tell me, what’s wrong?”

At the contact, you clench your eyes closed, fighting down the urge to whimper at the steadily increasing pace at which your heart is irregularly racing.

There’s no doubt about it.

It’s now flooding you—the terror that you’ve secretly been tamping down with your own quirk this entire mission—but especially today.

“Fuck—” you warble, and now you’re sure.

You’re having an anxiety attack.

It all happens in a blur—your brain too muddled with palpable fear to keep track of everything around you—but you vaguely register Bakugou wrapping his arms around you and rubbing soothing circles on your back, as he tried to guide your erratic breathing with his.

You remember shaking violently in his hold, gasping for air and barely managing to will yourself to breathe normally as an undercurrent of dizziness coursed through your veins.

You recall sweating bullets but being cold to the touch, and Bakugou ripping out one of his sleeves to use to wipe away your perspiration. It didn’t really help.

And you don’t know how much time passes with you fighting the nausea on top of everything, even as you heard the distant sound of police sirens, but it does—it somehow does—eventually and strangely finding yourself carried away home.

Home to Bakugou’s.

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[scary-grace]

Expiation (Chapter 5) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Even after slaying the High Kingdom's greatest enemy and sparing its people from a terrible fate, Shigaraki Tomura's past crimes make him an outcast in the castle. Still, someone has to attend to him, and that someone is you -- and unlike the maids who came before you, you're not afraid to ask a question. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapters: 1 2 3 4

Chapter 5

You never knew, but should have guessed, that the High Kingdom’s march to war will not include everyone in it. Half the army will stay to guard the kingdom itself, as well as half the king’s council, while the king and the other half lead the army in pursuit of Warlord Kai. There appears to be no rhyme or reason to which of the councilors leave and which stay, except in one particular case: Sir Tomura’s. No one trusts Sir Tomura to guard the kingdom, and the White Death will be much needed on the battlefield – cursed wound, cursed weapons, and all.

Wound, weapons, and armor. You promised Mei you’d recommend her to Sir Tomura when it became time to repair his breastplate, but he’s so recalcitrant about having it repaired at all that you finally just threaten to take it to Mei yourself. Sir Tomura glares at you with his arms crossed over his chest, parked firmly between you and the armor stand. “If you think I’m going to let you steal my armor, you’ve lost your mind.”

“As you’ve lost yours, if you think I’ll send my Lord into battle unprotected,” you retort. You’ve grown more comfortable disagreeing with Sir Tomura when necessary, and while you refrain from commenting on his stubbornness most of the time, you won’t back down where his physical safety is concerned. “You are already vulnerable there. If you leave your breastplate unmended, it will tell your opponents exactly where to strike.”

“I doubt anyone will be able to break through my guard, and even if they could, my death would please the world more than my life,” Sir Tomura says. That crooked, mocking smile you’ve grown to hate crosses his face again. “My redemption, such as it is, can be found only in death. My life does not matter to them.”

“It matters to me,” you say, and Sir Tomura’s terrible smile fades. “And to others as well.”

The old king is particularly concerned with Sir Tomura, and Hakamada has taken some odd degree of interest. The herald, too, spends some portion of most days pestering Sir Tomura to tell the tale of how he defeated the Enemy – something he would not do if he was as terrified as the rest. King Izuku is uncomfortable with Sir Tomura’s presence, to be sure, but he cares that Sir Tomura is treated fairly. On the servants’ side, there’s you and Mei, and no one else. Mei’s concern is for his armor. Yours is for him.

Today, your concern and Mei’s overlap completely, and you suspected Sir Tomura would refuse outright – so you called for backup ahead of time. Before Sir Tomura can argue with you any further, Mei gives a perfunctory knock on the door and strides in as though she owns the place. Sir Tomura looks surprised. “Who are you?”

“Mei, the greatest blacksmith in the land.” No one has ever chastised Mei for her humility. “No damage is too great for me to repair. I’ll have that breastplate fixed better than new.”

“Is that so?” Sir Tomura gives you a look. You cringe. “Your services are not needed. It cannot be repaired, and even if it could –”

“That’s just foolish,” Mei says. She walks fearlessly up to Sir Tomura, who towers over her, and crowds him until he shifts aside, his incredulity growing with every passing second. “A cursed weapon caused this damage?”

“Aye.”

Mei inspects the armor for a moment. “Two days.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’ll be done in two days.” Mei is already lifting the breastplate from the armor stand. Sir Tomura looks as though he wants to prevent her, but has no idea how – it reminds you of watching Sir Ejirou try to rescue a hissing, spitting tomcat stuck in a tree. “The suit will be done in five. It needs fixing, too.”

“And what else do you suggest I fix,” Sir Tomura says, painfully sarcastic. “Do you intend to re-forge my horse?”

“It needs new shoes,” Mei says. Sarcasm doesn’t work on Mei. Few things do. “Anything else?”

“No.”

Mei crooks her thumb at you. “How about for her?”

You don’t need armor. You aren’t fighting. You aren’t even going – are you? You look at Sir Tomura, who’s gone from glaring at you to pointedly avoiding your gaze. “My Lord?”

“Chainmail,” Sir Tomura says to Mei, who nods. “The lightest you can manage, and whatever else that’s lightweight. How fast can that be done?”

“Five days,” Mei says again. “I’ll work on nothing else.”

You don’t think that’s a good idea – you know the smiths are assigned quotas of arrowheads and ax-blades – but it’s not your place to comment. What is your place to comment on is Sir Tomura, and the fact that he’s very obviously concealing something from you. Before you can say a word, Mei seizes your arm and hauls you into service. “Help me carry this,” she says, already lifting the armor stand. “Many thanks for your patronage. You won’t be disappointed.”

You get one last glimpse of Sir Tomura before Mei’s rapid pace forces you to speed up, lest you drop your side of the armor stand. His voice follows you out the door. “I regret this already.”

So do you, if you’re being honest. You’ve never made a situation less stressful by adding Mei to it, and the question of just why you need chainmail is occupying all your thoughts. In her corner of the smithy, Mei makes you help her pry the armor off the armor stand, and once it’s off, she throws all of it into a vat full of a filmy grey solution that looks like nothing so much as dishwater. “What is that?”

“It cleanses the armor, and neutralizes any residual magic,” Mei announces. You stare in horror. “What? I know what I’m doing.”

“I don’t think Sir Tomura wants his spells stripped from his armor.”

“His armor’s got no spells left. All of them went into blocking that strike,” Mei says. “I could tell when I touched it. Only shreds remain, and those must be removed before I can add new spells. Most magicians don’t know how to do it themselves. That’s probably why he thinks it can’t be repaired.”

You’re used to taking Sir Tomura’s word as truth on matters of magic, and it’s true that he’s often right – but Mei knows her craft, and you trust her with it. She sticks both hands in the vat, arranging the armor so all of it soaks evenly, then turns to you. “Are you going to give me your measurements, or do I have to take them myself?”

You give them, only for Mei to come and take them anyway. It exasperates you. “Why bother asking, then?”

“Some noble ladies lie about their measurements,” Mei says as she wraps a knotted string around your waist. “It’s not wise to lie about your chest when you’re being fitted for armor.”

Your face heats up. “I don’t care about that. And I’m not a noble lady.”

“You speak to the White Death like one.”

“So do you,” you protest.

“That’s how I speak to everyone,” Mei says. You suppose that’s true. When it comes to matters of arms and armor, Mei offers no varnishing of her opinions to anyone, noble or otherwise. “You would never speak to another knight or noble the way you speak to the White Death.”

“Because he ordered me to,” you say. Mei raises an eyebrow. “Sir Tomura ordered me to speak to him as I would speak to an equal.”

“Nobles order you to do things all the time.” Mei yanks the knotted string tight enough around your chest to make you gasp. “That doesn’t mean you do them all.”

Nobles and knights give nonsensical orders not infrequently – if they’re drunk, if they’re showing off, if they’re in an expansive frame of mind. They also give inappropriate orders, ones you feel no shame at all about refusing, and ones you warn the other servants about so they know what might be coming their way. Sir Tomura’s orders are neither nonsensical nor inappropriate, at least not to you. It hasn’t struck you as strange at all to follow them.

And following them isn’t incompatible with arguing with him, you don’t think. After all, he never told you not to.

Mei finishes measuring you, then evicts you from her corner of the smithy, and you try to remember the rest of your tasks for the day. The army will depart within the fortnight, and you’ve already confirmed that Sir Tomura will receive the same makeshift accommodations as any other knight on the campaign – a tent of his own, a cot, and a squire to serve him on the battlefield and off. But Sir Tomura’s chosen no squire, nor has anyone sought him out. You know he prefers to do things himself, that he did so before, that he and his comrades kept no servants. Still, the idea of sending him off with no assistance alarms you. Perhaps if you find someone for him –

“No,” Neito says, when you corner him in the stables as he’s grooming Aizawa’s horse. “Absolutely not.”

“No other Lord is expected to fight alone,” you say. “Sir Tomura –”

“Is the White Death, and he managed to humiliate Sir Katsuki without drawing his own sword. He does not need me.”

“He needs a squire,” you insist. “If you would but speak with him, you might find him more agreeable.”

“He does not need me,” Neito repeats. He gives you a sidelong, measured look. “He’ll have you.”

That’s the second time today someone’s alluded to your presence on the campaign. You’re beginning to think you’ve missed something. “You are mistaken. I’m not supposed to –”

“Be here? Yes.” Sir Tomura’s voice rings out from behind you, and you jump. Neito takes two steps back in shock and trips over a bucket. “There is an errand you must accompany me on, today. Your ambush with the blacksmith merely delayed it.”

“Yes, my Lord.” You help Neito to his feet, then hurry after Sir Tomura, rethinking your strategy. Perhaps Neito isn’t the right choice for Sir Tomura’s squire. You still have a fortnight to find someone.

To your surprise, Sir Tomura leads you out of Castle Ultra, down the hill toward the pastures where the knights’ and nobles’ horses spend their days. Perhaps he wants to visit his horse. You wait for him to explain the purpose of the errand, and why it requires your presence, but he remains silent long enough that you ask. “My Lord? Where are we going?”

“You must learn to ride.”

“I know how to ride,” you say.

“On what? A plough-horse still attached to the plough?” Sir Tomura says it without scorn, but you feel the sting regardless. “You must learn to ride properly if you hope to keep up.”

To keep up with what? You look up at Sir Tomura and find him once again ignoring your gaze. “My Lord – I’m not to accompany you on the campaign, am I?”

“If it were my choice, you would stay behind.” Sir Tomura picks up the pace, and you do the same, nearly stumbling on the uneven ground. “But the council is displeased with the quality of the evidence provided by their spies. Once again, they turn to those with firsthand knowledge of the borderlands, and in practice –”

“Me.” Your stomach drops fast enough to make you nauseous. “My Lord –”

“The order came from King Izuku,” Sir Tomura says. A sneer twists his mouth. “Such a good king, to endanger those who cannot fight in order to spare those who do.”

Of course you want the soldiers of the High Kingdom to be as prepared as possible for the battles they will face. Of course you owe everything to the High Kingdom for taking you in. The knowledge that this is the price you must pay for it sits firmly within you, and yet you still feel sick. “When did you plan to tell me, my Lord?”

“I assumed you knew.”

“Forgive my naïveté.” Your eyes are stinging.

“No,” Sir Tomura says sharply. “I misspoke. I hoped you knew, because I did not want to be the one to tell you. If I waited long enough, the King would have been forced to do it himself, and that damned look on your face would be his fault instead of mine.”

You must look terrible. “If my expression offends you –”

“Be silent,” Sir Tomura snaps, and you subside. “I will teach you what you need to know, beginning with this. If you wish to keep up with an army, you must learn to ride like a soldier.”

The keeper of the pastures must be expecting Sir Tomura; when the two of you arrive, he’s waiting for you with a pile of tack and a wooden practice horse. Koji speaks very little, and he stands by while Sir Tomura tersely instructs you on the proper way to saddle a horse. Once you’re able to repeat the instructions back to him, you move on to practicing on the wooden horse, and when you’ve saddled it five times without a mistake, Koji brings over a set of steps. You’ve seen knights and ladies climb them before to mount their horses.

“No,” Sir Tomura says. “Do you think we have such luxuries on a military campaign? You’ll learn from standing, as I did. Watch.”

You watch as Sir Tomura grasps the pommel of the saddle, plants one foot in the stirrup, and vaults himself into place astride the wooden horse. He makes it look easy, even if you see him grimace as the motion strains the fragile skin covering his cursed wound. He’s still grimacing as he leans down to adjust the stirrups to the proper lengths. “You secured the saddle and girth properly. If you fail to do so and attempt to mount, you’ll fall off the other side, and I cannot promise that I will not laugh at you.”

“It would be hard to resist, and I wouldn’t mind,” you say. Sir Tomura gives you an odd look. “Not when you laugh so rarely as it is.”

Sir Tomura dismounts from the other side of the wooden horse, then comes around to yours. “Show me what you observed.”

You’re so concerned about the prospect of failing to make it to the saddle that you overexert yourself, and nearly launch yourself all the way over. Sir Tomura steadies you. “Dismount from this side and try again,” he instructs. Dismounting is harder. You stumble, and he steadies you once again, interrupting you when you try to mumble an apology. “Apologizing will teach you nothing. Try again.”

You practice mounting and dismounting the wooden horse until your arms and legs are sore. Sir Tomura instructs you to remove the tack from the wooden horse and turns to Koji. “Take her to the paddock. I’ll return with Nomu.”

Nomu must be his horse. You’ve never heard him speak its name. Koji ushers you along the edge of the pastures towards a training paddock, one which contains seven or eight horses of various colors. You look to Koji, puzzled, and after a long moment, he speaks. “You will choose from these.”

“From whichever among them can stomach Nomu.” Sir Tomura’s horse moves with such silence that you didn’t notice his approach until his shadow fell across you. “Nomu’s presence, like mine, is difficult to bear.”

When you look up at Nomu, you understand. He’s pale as death, pale as Sir Tomura’s armor and his hair and the blade of his sword, and his body is laced with scars that show through his thin coat. His eyes have neither lashes nor irises nor lids; rather, they stare endlessly out, devoid of life or interest. Sir Tomura stares that way, sometimes. The only life you can see in Nomu is in the twitching of his ears, this way and that.

The rumors say that Sir Tomura feeds Nomu a diet of blood and flesh, but you smell no such thing on the horse’s breath. Seeing Nomu makes your skin crawl, and makes you sorry, all in the same moment. Sir Tomura looks down at you from his back. “Frightened?”

“No, my Lord.”

“You’ll need a horse to match your temperament, then.” Sir Tomura touches Nomu’s reins and steers him in a circle, addressing Koji as he does. “Instruct the horses within to hold. Then open the gate, and stand aside.”

Koji complies, looking as though there is nothing he’d rather do less. You step aside as well. The horses within the paddock continue to mill about, registering the open gate without running for it. At least not at first. When Sir Tomura and Nomu jump the fence into the paddock from the far side, the horses panic as one. Two jump the fence of their own accord, while the rest rattle about, colliding with the railings and each other in an effort to escape. Nomu has done nothing; Sir Tomura has him in hand. But the horses react as though each and every one of them is in mortal danger.

Koji puts his hand to his mouth and whistles sharply. Three of the remaining horses break immediately towards the sound and the open gate, and when the others realize that an escape is available, they pile through it in a single, seething mass. You can’t imagine how Koji plans to contain them, but at his word, they flee into an adjacent paddock. Within the original one, only two horses remain. There’s Nomu, standing still, staring at nothing. And on the far side of the paddock, a mud-grey horse crops lazily at the grass.

Sir Tomura taps his heels against Nomu’s sides and guides him closer. Still, the grey horse fails to stir. Koji comes back, red-faced and out of breath, and Sir Tomura addresses him without looking his way. “Is something wrong with this one?”

“She has always had an even temper.” Koji’s voice is barely a whisper. “It’s a good quality in a mare.”

“Then why hasn’t she been chosen as some lady’s mount?” Sir Tomura nudges Nomu closer still, and the grey horse looks up. It studies Nomu for a moment, then goes back to its meal. “It seems she would suit a magician who rides to war.”

“Most prefer a flashier mount,” Koji stammers. “She is plain.”

Sir Tomura swings down from Nomu’s back and leads Nomu closer by the reins, so close that Sir Tomura can lay a hand on the grey horse’s neck. She lifts her head at that, looks towards him. They make an odd trio there, the man and mount too monstrous to tolerate and the mare too plain to be chosen. After a long moment, Sir Tomura lifts his hand away. “She will serve,” he says, and beckons to you. “Bring the saddle.”

You’re anxious from the first, but the grey mare lives up to Koji’s description. She shows a little mischief when you attempt to tighten the girth, but you know what to look for, and you wait until she’s exhaled to tighten it. Then you haul yourself up into the saddle, on tired arms and with tired legs. Now you and Sir Tomura are seated side by side. Sir Tomura guides Nomu out of the corral with the lightest touch on the reins, and there’s nothing for you to do but mimic and follow him.

The two of you ride in silence for some time, Nomu placid under Sir Tomura’s control, the grey mare jittery under yours. “Loosen your hold on the reins,” Sir Tomura instructs. “She’s responding to your fear, not her own.”

You relax your fingers with an effort, and as Sir Tomura said, the grey mare settles down. “We’ll ride together each day until the campaign begins. You’ll be familiar with the concept, if nothing else.”

You’ve never heard of a knight training a servant to ride. There are other servants for that. “My Lord, I do not want to claim more than my share of your time. If someone else could –”

“Why?”

Your insides twist with discomfort. “It’s not right for a noble to teach a commoner.”

“Yes, because you are beneath me.” Sir Tomura’s voice drips with derision. “Many soldiers, noble and common, have died at my hands. Believe me when I tell you that they all bleed the same color. There is no difference between us but what you pretend there to be.”

You have no idea how to respond. “I will grant that the High Kingdom is less rigid in its hierarchy than others,” Sir Tomura continues. “In some kingdoms, one must be of noble birth to be knighted, or to serve on the King’s council. Here, it seems deeds matter as much as blood – but those who commit great deeds see themselves as worthier than those who do not. There is not a kingdom in this world where that is untrue.”

“I have heard that you visited many kingdoms,” you say. Sir Tomura nods without looking your way. “Why?”

“I was granted the power to destroy that which displeased me. I was displeased by a great many things.” Sir Tomura ducks his head to avoid a low-hanging branch, then straightens up. “Others shared my ideals but lacked my strength, yet made up for my weaknesses in strengths of their own.”

You’ve never heard him reference his old comrades before. You remain silent, hoping he’ll say more. “We visited many kingdoms in search of one where my comrades could live as they wished to. Where we met opposition, we destroyed it, and so was born the story of the White Death, bringer of ruin and symbol of fear.”

“Is that all?” The words fly from your mouth unbidden, and Sir Tomura looks at you at last. “You did not wish to conquer the world?”

“And do what? Shape it in my own image?” Sir Tomura shakes his head. “You cannot model a world on an empty vessel.”

You’ve heard Sir Tomura call himself many things before. His many enemy-given epithets, his own mocking titles; on rare occasions, even his own name has left his scarred lips. You’ve heard him call himself a monster, a villain, an abomination. But in all the months you’ve served him, he’s never described himself that way before.

And yet it suits. You thought on the day you met him that he looked lost, that whatever had driven him to carve a bloody path across the known world had left him for good. You remember noticing the emptiness of his gaze. An empty vessel. A vessel for what?

Sir Tomura looks away from you. He shifts in his saddle, grimacing, and grimacing worse as he ducks again to avoid another branch. You wonder if he regrets what he told you. Certainly he does not wish to say more on the subject. “When we ride to war, you will be in danger,” he says. “The same amount of danger as the rest of us will be as we travel through enemy territory. I can do nothing about that.”

“Of course, my Lord.” You see him grimace again, and you wonder if your words are so hateful to him – but then you see one hand leave the reins, twitch towards his chest. “I do not expect you to.”

“Good, because it is impossible.” Sir Tomura looks ahead. “I can, however, ensure that no additional danger comes to you.”

“What do you mean?” you ask. He gives you a frustrated look, as though you should know already. It’s not often that he’s angry with you for asking a question. “Forgive me.”

“It’s the warlord you fear. He will not lay a hand on you, and I will allow no plan to be made that places you within his reach.” Sir Tomura taps his heels against Nomu’s sides, and the horse shifts into a trot. You do the same, or try to, and all your effort shifts from trying to catch up to trying to avoid biting your tongue in half. “I protect my comrades when it’s in my power to do so. Killing an upstart alchemist is well within my abilities.”

You try to imagine that, imagine Sir Tomura drawing his sword to protect you. In the decade and more since you last saw Warlord Kai, he’s loomed large in your imagination, towering over Sir Tomura, who’s always looked more mortal than monster to you. Could Sir Tomura defeat him? You pull the grey mare to a stop. You can’t speak while trotting, and you must speak. “My Lord, I don’t want you to risk your life.”

“Because my life matters to you.” Sir Tomura guides Nomu into a half-turn to face you, and you nod. “As your life matters to me.”

You can only stare at him. You don’t know whether knights and nobles commonly express concern for the welfare of their servants, but whether they do or not, it’s the last thing you would ever expect Sir Tomura to say. You can’t imagine such words leaving the White Death’s mouth. But even when Sir Tomura was the White Death and nothing more, he had comrades, friends. Someone told you that they once heard him laugh. Sir Tomura’s comrades are gone, slain in the same battle he expected to die in. He is alone in Castle Ultra, alone in the High Kingdom — save you. You’re a poor replacement for his comrades. You can’t fight, you can barely ride, you’ve no powerful magic, and you cower in fear from the memory of a man upon whom the full force of the High Kingdom’s might is about to fall. You aren’t a person worthy of Sir Tomura’s care. You simply hold the distinction of being the only one he has.

You don’t realize you’re staring until Sir Tomura snaps at you. “If you have some ridiculous response to that statement, spit it out. We still have much to do.”

The response that leaves your mouth is perhaps the wrong one. “Thank you, my Lord.”

Sir Tomura stares at you for a moment. “Don’t thank me,” he says, and turns Nomu away, nudging him back into a trot. You can barely hear what he says next. “You started it.”

Did you? You couldn’t say for sure. You tap your heels against the grey mare’s sides and hang on for dear life as she lurches into a trot, leaving any further thought about the conversation you and Sir Tomura just had in the dust behind you.

[valenteal]

Ok so I know we all wish there was more reaction in canon to the revelation of Dazai’s past. But I think there’s more of a reaction than people realize. It’s like the entire dynamic shifts after the meeting with the mafia. And it’s easy to attribute this to things getting more serious, more dangerous, because no one mentions Dazai being the reason for it. But I think it’s important to understand about these characters that the not saying anything is extremely indicative of their feelings on the matter. I think the tension is mostly glossed over because at the end of the day this is still Atsushi’s story and he’s kinda oblivious to it. But Dazai and Kunikida aren’t really partners after that, their interactions go way down, their banter is no longer a staple of the series. And Dazai wasn’t really close enough with anyone else to see major changes in his relationships with them, but we can guess based on what we do know.

For one thing, anyone thinking Fukuzawa already knew, sorry to burst your bubble but Taneda didn’t tell him jack. In fact Dazai made up a story about randomly meeting him at a bar and Taneda offering to find him a job if he won a bet or something. Dazai lied to Fukuzawa just as much as anyone else, he had elaborate cover stories. Fukuzawa told Kunikida to shoot him if he showed a hint of malicious intent but Dazai managed to worm his way out of that disguising it as his solution to the case/a suicide attempt. He pretended to be the bad guy to put on a show for the people listening in, and create an excuse for the listening device to be destroyed and gave Kunikida enough hints that he’d think twice about actually shooting him and pretended he wanted him to do it. It’s a very masterfully done scheme really, because Kunikida was so wrapped up in how it affected the case that he miss took Dazai’s innocence in the case for a lack of hidden evil. Kunikida definitely saw a side of Dazai that would make the President say “shoot him” but he didn’t even realize it because it was connected to solving the case. And when he lists off all the things he has problems with about Dazai it’s all about his unprofessional behavior and laziness and he doesn’t even mention that Dazai was so incredibly good at playing the bad guy that it didn’t feel fake. He didn’t mention the chilling aura. Dazai distracted him with all his other bad behavior.

But Ranpo must have known right? Well he certainly knew something was off about Dazai immediately after meeting him even without putting his glasses on. But I don’t think even he could have deduced Dazai’s past with the information he had. Because you have to remember that Dazai’s crimes were erased by Mushitaro’s ability and that Ranpo specializes in understanding crime scenes, not psychological profiling. Ranpo uses physical evidence for the most part and he needs knowledge of the crime to find the perpetrator. I don’t think it works the other way around. Not to mention that Fukuzawa trusts Kunikida and Kunikida said Dazai passed his entrance exam so Ranpo probably didn’t choose to look too closely at Dazai.

Anyway, the point is no one at the agency knew Dazai was in the mafia until the Guild arc. And Dazai’s interactions with the rest of the agency changed after that revelation. I think only Atsushi, Kyouka, and Kenji don’t change how they see him, because Atsushi is Atsushi, Kyouka probably already knew from when she captured him and his pep talk made her more comfortable with the idea, and Kenji is Kenji. Everyone else though? It’s a shock. And a lot of them probably just don’t know how to handle it. It helps that they got Kyouka around the same time it was revealed but Dazai had been lying to all their faces for two years at that point and he showed absolutely no remorse for that. Dazai doesn’t make a big deal of it, doesn’t try to make excuses for himself, doesn’t try to justify anything. Without him starting the conversation none of them have a way to comfortably bring up the subject. And because none of them (except Kenji) knows how to communicate in a healthy way, they just end up stewing with the information without fully processing it or acknowledging it. They’re stuck in this limbo of doubt and discomfort. It’s actually incredibly nuanced and I bet it’s all going to come to a head at some point in the near future and it’s going to be that much more satisfying for the wait.

[mad-hunts]

thinking about barton doing baby talk to his kids, even though he was eighteen when marcy gave birth to both matilda + louis and thus was a COMPLETELY different person, is honestly both super surreal to me and also surprisingly... sort of makes sense. because barton can NOT bring himself to be mean around babies; i mean at all, and this man loved his kids so much, which 😭 well — let me just say that his behavior has greatly changed since then, to say the least. though barton still believes he loves them in his 'own way'

[heyitslapis]

its times like this when i really wish i had an SO's shoulder to cry on

Because I think i factrued/sprained my foot the other day it happened wednesday but its still pretty swollen and pops when i try to walk on it without hobbling. i know i signed up for health insurance through work. i wrote down the insurance company name as Bayside and I have my personal insurance id number but the card never came in/got lost in the mail (and i already called for one replacement that never came so idk if theyll send me a third) so i cant confirm the insurance name nor call them, but i need to because ive called/visited 5 health care facilities around me and NONE of them have even heard of Bayside. So im calling the phone number that my manager provided me with telling me that was the insurance company. I keep calling the number (and mind you ive called them before to try to get a second insurance card sent to me but that was in like April) and i get that its saturday but theres no answer and the stupid automated machine wont let me leave a voicemail. the automated answering voice on the phone also says that theyre called National Benefit Plans by SafetyNet and google says the phone number im using belongs to National Benefit Plans out in San Antonio Tx (i live no where near there). I found National Benefit Plans' website on SafetyNetPlus dot com but National Benefit Plans doesnt have their own website, just through SafetyNet, and also the SafetyNet website says on a side panel that "this is NOT insurance" and instead keeps saying "health benefits" instead so idk what the fuck ive been paying for for the last 6 months tbh and im having an emotional breakdown bc i dont want to fuck my foot up for life just cause i couldnt figure out my health insurance/benefits shit

[ranoutofficssoiwritemyown]

You decide to sleep on the couch after an argument

love and deepspace

characters: Zayne, Sylus (pt2 with Rafayel and Xavier here)

note: they might be a little mischaracterized so bear with me.

Zayne

Usually, arguments with Zayne don’t get this heated. There was no yelling, not on his part at least, but he could be really cold with his words when he wanted to be. Not that you were any better. Some things you said hurt him to no end. So you came up with a decision - to sleep on a couch tonight. To be honest, it was more because to be petty, than not wanting to spend a night beside him. You gathered your pillow and blanket and got comfortable on the couch, which made Zayne sigh out loud when he entered the room.

“What is this?”

You turned your back to him as an answer. Another sigh comes out of his mouth. He’s exhausted, physically and emotionally, and you acting like a brat doesn’t ease anything at all.

“I know you’re mad, dear but is this necessary?”

No answer.

“Alright”

He left the room and before you could convince yourself that you didn’t care he was back with a blanket of his own and took a seat in an armchair. You turn your head towards him in confusion.

“What are you doing?”

“I guess we’re not sleeping in bed tonight”

“I’m not. You can go”

“I believe I didn’t stutter”

You scoffed and turned around again.

“suit yourself”

Minutes pass and sleep doesn’t come to you. Whether it’s because of an uncomfortable couch or an absence of his arms around you is hard to say, but after turning around thousands of times and still not being able to sleep is frustrating.

Finally, Zayne had enough of watching your struggle.

“How about we go to bed?”

“No” came your response after a second of hesitation. With a small amused smile on his face, he hovered over the couch.

“What do you say… I take you to bed and you can curse me out for it tomorrow?”

You shifted a little but didn’t answer, which made his smile widen. He gathered you in his arms and your lack of objection was all he needed to take you to your room and tucking you in bed. Even though you seemed to warm up he didn’t know how far he could push you, so kneeling beside the bed to be on your eye level he started:

“If you still need space I can-”

“Stay”

He smiled at you tucking your hair behind your ear.

“Okay”

He got up and kissed your forehead before slipping in beside you and pulling you closer.

"I'm sorry..." you mutter

"Shh, we'll talk about it tomorrow... but I'm sorry too"

You smile a little. You two will sort this out tomorrow.

Sylus

What Sylus says, goes around. His word is the law. This is what he’s used to. That's how it's always been.

Then you came into his life and even though he’s still in charge of how things go in the N109 zone, you just need to say the word and everything will be how you like it. No questions, no hesitation. He would give you the world if you so much as whispered the need. Whatever you want, whatever you need, he will make it happen.

Unless, when it comes to your safety. Now don’t get me wrong. Sylus knows you can defend yourself and then some. But when it comes to the N109 zone, there are things Sylus knows better than you. Additionally, The fact that you can be reckless in your battles does nothing to help ease his worries.

That was the reason for the heated argument tonight. Sylus with his harsh words and snarky remarks always finds a way to infuriate you. So you two go on and on for half an hour now and none of you seems to back down. You storm off to your room and take your things to get comfortable on the couch. However, on your way out Sylus blocks your way. He raises an eyebrow at the blanket and pillow in your arms.

“Now, what exactly do you think you are doing, sweetie?”

“move”

“I asked you a question”

“I’m not sleeping beside you- Sylus” you exclaim as he hoists you over his shoulder. you punch and scratch his back but to no avail.

“Careful with your claws, kitten”

He drops you on the bed climbing over you.

“Now listen, this is what will happen. You will stop acting like a wild kitten and sleep beside me. I am sorry for hurting you but we will discuss it tomorrow, when we are both a lot calmer. Understood?”

You don’t want to give in so easily. You also don’t want to sleep without him tonight. So you nod avoiding eye contact. He, however, doesn’t accept it and raises your chin with his finger to make you look at him.

“Use your words, sweetie”

“Yes”

“Splendid” He removed himself from you so you could get under the blanket. He laid beside you and pulled you closer so your head was resting on his chest.

"Sy... I'm sorry too"

"So I'm Sy now?"

This man.

"Nevermind, you're still a prick"

You try to remove his arm but he holds you tighter as he laughs.

"Alright, alright. I'm sorry, sweetie"

You felt him kiss the crown of your head as he caressed your shoulder with his thumb. you return to your previous position and listening to his heartbeat, sleep lured you in soon enough.

[lcriedlastnight]

Hi can i pls request a lando x reader where he mentions in many interviews that he wants an army of kids and the camara always pans to other drivers teasing reader

ofc you can baby <33 thanks for helping me celebrate! here's that kiss i promised xoxo

requests are open!

852 words.

it wasn't unknown that lando wanted kids. it's not like he went out of his way to to talk about having children either, he just went on half an hour tangents anytime an interviewer brought up the topic is all. you didn't find out just how many until you decided to ask him about it one night, not long after lando had gotten slandered on twitter for being 'obsessed' with having a mini version of himself running around.

"so.. you know how you've said you want kids?" you start, voice a little hesitant knowing he was a bit peeved about the bullying he was getting online for that very thing. if looks could kill you swear you would be a dead girl.

"don't you start." he groans, eyes rolling so hard to the of his head you thought they may get stuck.

lando, who had just gotten ready for bed, slips in beside you and you immediately know he's not actually pissed off at you because he is pulling your arm to get you as close to him as he physically could.

"i don't mean it like that, i just wanted to ask you about it." lando watches as you strain your neck up to be able to see his reaction from your very comfortable position on his chest. it does bring the smallest of smiles to his lips.

with a joking sigh he asks "what do you want to know?".

"well, i guess the most important one is-"

"if i want them with you?" lando interrupts, sending your brows into your hairline. you smack him on the back of the head and he just laughs like it was actually funny. dickhead.

"no! how many you want. but now i don't want any with you if they're going to turn out like you." you cross your arms over your chest, trying to convince him you actually were in a huff. a strong hand running down your front seconds after ruins your plans for any further annoyance though.

lando hums in thought before he answers your question. his hand now drawing random shapes on your hip bone.

"you're going to hate me when i say this, but i only really wanted a few maybe two max? but being with you? i want minimum four."

your gasp makes him wince. you're shocked, there is no way he is actually being serious. you tell him as much but he shakes his head and assures you just how serious he is.

"honestly baby. i want a big family with you."

his words may or may not rile you and you guys maybe get started on that big family that night, but you don't kiss and tell..

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

lando wasn't to hold back on his thoughts or feelings and with his rants about wanting to start a family were proof of this, well you had thought so. the next time you're at the paddock is the next time he's asked about starting a family. you're watching from the side with max and oscar as he gets interviewed and you can see the say his whole face lights up at the question, as if racing was a chore he was getting forced to do every few weekends and not the second favourite part of his life.

lando takes a quick glance in your direction before he starts and it's like your conversation on the topic opened the floodgates in lando's mind as he reveals his every thought on having a baby or two or ten.

"me and my girlfriend were talking about this and it made me realise i want a full on norris army of children behind me. i want minimum four with my girl. ideally two of each but wouldn't even complain if all i had was girls because then that means that there would be so much more of my girl out there in the world, and little parts of me i guess too." lando's smile is splitting and the interviewer smiles back at him, loving seeing him being so open and honest about it.

"would you encourage your little ones to get involved in karting and racing?" she enquires. you can already picture taking your imaginary children along to watch lando in his races. it does make your heart skip a beat or two.

as the interview continues, unbeknown to you and the other two drivers who are making kissy faces at pretending to cradle a child in their arms just to tease you and how much lando was infatuated with the idea of kids with you, the camera pans in your direction to get a nice reaction shot to your boyfriend's words.

all they capture is your bright red face, from the teasing and lando blunt words, and the boys childish behaviour.

that night is then filled with lando teasing (and comforting) you as it was now your turn to get teased on twitter, millions of fans already making your reaction a meme. you knew you'd never live it down and a small part of you was excited to explain the video and reaction picture to those future kids.

[uzurakis]

Yess so glad to see more Sakamoto days fans 😏 may I request some Nagumo headcanons with him being in a relationship, kinda curious about how’d he be like in an argument with s/o

ೀ ׅ ۫ . YOICHI NAGUMO RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONS ?

SFW and NSFW under the cut!

n. i just recycled and elaborate the sfw ones from the asked i got from my 🎲 anon, added other things also. i love writing my stinky rascal . . hope u enjoy ^3^

the dynamic in a relationship with nagumo will be natural & playful so it allows the relationship to develop organically. your relationship with him is built on a foundation of mutual understanding and subtle communication. instead of a formal confession, his consistent flirting and genuine expressions of affection serve as his way of showing his feelings.

his love languages would be heavy on physical touch, means that he expresses and receives love most profoundly through physical closeness and touch. accepts pda; in fact, he prefers to take the lead. never let him take his hands off of you, somehow. pulls you by the waist and gives you a nosy kiss. he enjoys spending quality time, although his profession occasionally prevents him from doing so. however, he will make the most of his time with you while it is available.

really clingy in private. won’t let you get out off the bed by hugging you from behind. he’s also the big spoon most of the time.

he talks in his sleep when he’s comfortable with you, murmuring about how much you mean to him and lazy smooches here and there. likes to pretend to be asleep as well so you continue to caress him in bed when he’s ‘asleep’.

traps you in a hug every single time. nagumo just comes out of nowhere to hug you, not letting you go, and says “caught youu” and carries you in bridal style around the house.

if you love his tattoos, he definitely walks around naked in the house. also, the sign that he truly trusts you with all his life is when he tells you the meaning of each tattoo he has.

put your belongings at the topmost shelf so you need to call him for help or hides your stuffs in the most random places ever.

you guys have board and card games around the house. monopoly? uno? guess who? snakes & ladders? just name it.

i’ve seen so many times others saying he loves to play pranks, i definitely agree. intentionally getting you on your nerves just for him to apologize with another set of pranks. he’s just silly like that.

contrarily to beliefs, he likes to mull over after you guys argue and gives you space as he rethinks and reflects his actions. when he apologizes after a big fight, he takes both of your hands and swings them left and right as he explains, still teases but with a nervous smile this time.

a flirt, teaser, prankster, drama queen, what else?

he MATCHES YOUR FREAK, did i tell you he’s a nasty in bed? one hell of an experimentalist, doesn’t mind doing anything with you. his rage is huge, i’ll tell you that. vanilla? roleplay? waxplay? pegging? all down, just name it.

quickies at inconvenient times. you guys have a meeting in 10 minutes? 4 minutes is enough to do your thing in the public bathroom together.

likes to steal glances to your tits when you guys talk. i believe he’s a tit guy rather than ass. though, in public, his hands tends to uncontrollably go down to your ass when he circles you by the waist.

too good at nipple play.

nagumo likes you make you squirt, his personal favorite. however, for him, he likes it when you give him a handjob.

talks & coos to your pussy likes its you!

in bed, he likes it when you go rough, i think it’s really going to turn him on. just ride him i swear. might be one of his best times in life.

crack jokes during it, he’s quite humorous doing sex. compliments you in a funny way and says hilarious things also. expect your sex won’t be too serious and just all laughs & giggles.

doesn’t give a fuck about bounds, so semi public and publix sex are often.

@uzurakis

[deluboo]

SO WHAT? YOU'RE NOT MY BOYFRIEND.

genre: smut — 18+ㅤ contains: unprotected sex masturbation (m+f) oral sex

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ © DELUBOO 2024.

it was another late night at the office, the clock nearing midnight as the soft hum of computers and the occasional shuffle of papers filled the air. you leaned back in your chair, stretching your arms above your head and stifling a yawn. across the room, seungcheol was doing the same, his eyes meeting yours with a familiar glint. this had become your routine – working late into the night, side by side, before heading back to your shared apartment.

"are you ready to call it a night?" seungcheol asked, his voice breaking the silence.

you nodded, shutting down your computer. "definitely. i think i’ve stared at this screen long enough to see the code in my sleep."

he chuckled, standing up and grabbing his jacket. "i know the feeling. let's get out of here."

the walk back to your apartment was quiet, the streets deserted and the air crisp. it was a short distance, just a few blocks, and the familiarity of the path made the silence comfortable. when you reached the apartment, seungcheol unlocked the door and held it open for you, a small gesture that always made you smile.

once inside, the routine continued. you dropped your bags by the door, kicked off your shoes, and headed to the kitchen. "want something to drink?" you called over your shoulder.

"sure, just water for me," he replied, disappearing into his room to change out of his work clothes.

you poured two glasses of water and settled onto the couch, waiting for him to return. moments later, he emerged in his usual post-work attire – gray sweatpants and a plain t-shirt, looking effortlessly handsome. he joined you on the couch, taking his glass with a grateful nod.

"long day," he said, taking a sip.

"tell me about it," you replied, leaning back against the cushions. "i don't know how much longer i can keep up with these late nights."

he turned to you, a playful smirk on his lips. "you say that every night, and yet here we are."

you rolled your eyes, but couldn't help the smile that tugged at your lips. "yeah, yeah. don't remind me."

this was your life – a blend of work and personal time that blurred the lines between professional and intimate. seungcheol was more than just a co-worker; he was your confidant, your roommate, and the one constant in your hectic life. the nights often ended like this, with the two of you sitting close, sharing quiet moments that hinted at something more.

it had started innocently enough, a mutual attraction that neither of you had acknowledged at first. but late nights at the office had a way of breaking down barriers, and before long, your relationship had shifted into something physical. there was an unspoken agreement between you – no strings attached, no complications, just a way to unwind after the stress of the day. and it worked, for the most part.

the routine was simple and comforting. after sharing a drink and some light conversation, the atmosphere would naturally shift. seungcheol would give you that look, the one that made your heart skip a beat and sent a shiver down your spine. it was a look that promised escape from the day's stress and a dive into something much more exhilarating.

"ready for bed?" he would ask, though the question always held a double meaning.

"yeah," you’d reply, though the answer was never just about sleep.

you both moved with a practiced ease, the kind that comes from familiarity and mutual understanding. there were no awkward hesitations or second guesses – just a smooth transition from the living room to the bedroom. seungcheol would wrap his arms around you from behind as you brushed your teeth, his lips brushing against your neck, sending a thrill through you. these moments of quiet intimacy were as much a part of your routine as the more passionate encounters that followed.

in the bedroom, the air would be thick with anticipation. seungcheol had a way of looking at you that made you feel like the most important person in the world. he was attentive, always knowing exactly what you needed without you having to say a word. it was this unspoken connection that made your arrangement work so well. he understood you, and you understood him.

he would start slowly, his touch gentle yet firm, his kisses soft but growing more urgent as the moments passed. there was a rhythm to it, a dance that you both knew the steps to by heart. the way his hands roamed your body, the way he whispered your name – it was a routine that brought both of you immense comfort and satisfaction.

"you're so beautiful," he'd murmur against your skin, his voice husky with desire.

"and you're insufferable," you'd tease back, your breath hitching as his hands found their way to your most sensitive spots.

but beneath the teasing and the passion, there was a deeper connection. the routine was more than just physical release; it was a way for both of you to unwind and find solace in each other. the world outside could be chaotic and demanding, but in those moments, everything else faded away.

afterwards, you would lie together in a tangled mess of limbs and sheets, the post-coital glow making everything feel warm and safe. seungcheol would hold you close, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on your skin. it was in these quiet moments that you felt the most at peace.

"you should try to get some sleep," he'd whisper, his breath warm against your ear.

"i will," you'd reply, though you often found yourself staying awake a little longer, savoring the feeling of his body next to yours.

one morning, as you and seungcheol were enjoying a lazy breakfast together, you decided to share some news that had been on your mind. it was your day off, and the apartment was filled with the comforting scent of freshly brewed coffee and the soft hum of the radio playing in the background. you had been chatting casually about work and plans for the day when you took a deep breath and decided to bring it up.

"hey, seungcheol," you started, trying to keep your tone light and casual, "i wanted to let you know that i’m bringing a friend over tonight. his name is haru."

seungcheol's reaction was subtle, but you noticed it immediately. his grip on his coffee mug tightened slightly, and there was a brief flash of something in his eyes – jealousy, perhaps? – before he quickly masked it with a neutral expression.

"oh?" he said, raising an eyebrow. "a friend, huh? what's the occasion?"

you shrugged, trying to hide your own nervousness. "just thought it would be nice to hang out. haru and i have been talking for a while, and i thought it would be good to introduce him to you."

there was a beat of silence as seungcheol processed this information. he took a sip of his coffee, his eyes studying you over the rim of his mug. "i see. well, it’s your place too. you can invite whoever you want."

you nodded, feeling a mix of relief and apprehension. you had expected some sort of reaction from seungcheol, but his indifference felt almost worse than outright disapproval. you couldn’t quite place it, but there was an undercurrent of tension in the air now, a silent understanding that things might be changing.

the rest of the day was a whirlwind of activity as you prepared for haru’s visit. you spent hours cleaning the apartment, making sure everything was perfect. the kitchen was spotless, the living room was tidy, and you even put fresh sheets on the guest bed just in case. all the while, seungcheol watched you with a mixture of amusement and something else you couldn’t quite identify.

"you're really going all out for this guy, huh?" he remarked, leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen as you bustled around.

"well, i want to make a good impression," you replied, trying to sound casual. "it's important to me."

seungcheol just nodded, his expression unreadable. "if you say so."

as the day wore on, your excitement grew, but so did your anxiety. you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to seungcheol's reaction than he was letting on. you had always valued your relationship with him, but you also knew that things couldn't stay the same forever. introducing someone new into your life felt like a step forward, but it also felt like a step away from the comfortable routine you had built with seungcheol.

the afternoon sun filtered through the windows, casting a warm glow on the apartment. you found yourself glancing at the clock more often than usual, your heart beating a little faster with each passing minute. you had spent so much time with seungcheol, sharing laughs, secrets, and intimate moments, that the thought of changing that dynamic was both thrilling and terrifying.

seungcheol, meanwhile, tried to focus on his own tasks. he moved around the apartment with an air of forced nonchalance, his usual confidence replaced with a slight edge of unease. he couldn't deny the pang of jealousy that gnawed at him, but he also didn't want to overstep any boundaries. you were free to see whoever you wanted, and he had no right to interfere. still, the thought of you being with someone else made his chest tighten.

"need any help with dinner?" seungcheol offered, his voice breaking the silence that had settled between you.

you looked up from the vegetables you were chopping and smiled. "sure, you can set the table."

as he busied himself with plates and cutlery, seungcheol couldn't help but steal glances at you. there was a lightness in your step, a brightness in your eyes that he hadn't seen before. it was clear that you were genuinely excited about haru's visit, and that realization made his heart ache just a little bit more.

"what's he like?" seungcheol asked, trying to sound casual.

"haru?" you paused, thinking about how to describe him. "he's sweet, funny, and really kind. we've been talking a lot, and i think there's something special between us."

seungcheol nodded, forcing a smile. "that's great. i'm glad you're happy."

you sensed the underlying tension in his words but chose not to push it. instead, you focused on the task at hand, preparing a meal that you hoped would impress haru. as the aroma of cooking filled the apartment, you allowed yourself to relax, reminding yourself that this was a positive step forward.

by the time evening rolled around, everything was ready. the table was set, the food was prepared, and you had even taken the time to freshen up and change into something nice. as you gave yourself a final once-over in the mirror, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the evening ahead.

just as you were about to head back to the living room, there was a knock at the door. your heart leaped in your chest, and you quickly moved to answer it. opening the door, you were greeted by haru's warm smile.

"hey," he said, his eyes lighting up when he saw you. "you look amazing."

"thanks," you replied, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks. "come in."

haru stepped inside, and you took a moment to admire him. he was tall and lean, with dark hair that fell slightly over his eyes and a charming, easygoing demeanor. he wore a casual outfit – jeans and a fitted shirt that showed off his athletic build. there was an air of confidence about him that put you at ease and made you feel excited about the evening ahead.

as you led haru into the apartment, you couldn't help but feel a surge of pride. you had worked hard to make everything perfect, and now it was time to see how the evening would unfold. you guided him to the living room, where the table was set, and the aroma of the dinner you had prepared filled the air.

"this looks fantastic," haru said, glancing around appreciatively. "you really went all out."

you smiled, feeling a warm glow of satisfaction. "i just wanted to make sure you felt welcome."

just as you were about to introduce him to seungcheol, you heard the sound of a door opening behind you. seungcheol stepped out of his room, wearing his usual post-work attire of gray sweatpants and no shirt. his appearance was casual, yet it held an undeniable magnetism.

his well-defined muscles, honed from hours at the gym, moved with an effortless grace. his broad shoulders and chiseled chest caught the light just right, casting shadows that emphasized his sculpted physique. but it was his face that truly captivated – a strong, chiseled jawline framed a mouth that could shift from a teasing smile to a serious line in an instant. his dark hair was tousled, giving him an endearingly roguish look, while his eyes, a piercing shade of deep brown, held an intensity that made it hard to look away.

there was a certain scent about him, a mix of clean soap and something distinctly his, that lingered in the air and made your heart race. as he moved, there was an air of confidence and quiet strength about him, yet a hint of vulnerability in the way his eyes flickered over to you, just for a moment, before settling on haru.

seungcheol stopped in his tracks, his gaze locking onto haru and then drifting down to where your hands were still connected. the room seemed to freeze in that moment, an awkward silence enveloping you all.

"hey," seungcheol finally said, his voice low and rich, like a warm breeze. "i didn't realize we had company."

you quickly dropped haru's hand, feeling a bit flustered. "seungcheol, this is haru. haru, this is my roommate, seungcheol."

haru extended a hand, smiling politely. "nice to meet you."

seungcheol glanced at the outstretched hand, his eyes narrowing slightly. he made no move to take it, instead crossing his arms over his chest, his expression remaining cool and unreadable. "likewise," he said, his gaze never leaving haru's face.

there was a palpable tension in the air, and you couldn't quite understand why. seungcheol's usual easygoing demeanor seemed to have been replaced by something more guarded and intense. you brushed it off, attributing it to the sudden change in routine.

"why don't you join us for dinner?" you suggested, trying to ease the awkwardness.

seungcheol glanced at the table, then back at you. "i was just going to grab a snack," he said, his tone casual. "but thanks for the offer."

ignoring the lingering tension, you led haru to the dining table and gestured for him to sit. as you brought out the food, seungcheol moved to the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge with an air of nonchalance that seemed almost too forced. he emerged with a bottle of water and a snack, then leaned against the counter, watching you and haru with a look that you couldn't quite decipher.

"so, how did you two meet?" seungcheol asked, his voice cutting through the quiet conversation you were having with haru.

"we met through a mutual friend," haru explained, smiling at you. "it’s been really nice getting to know y/n."

"that's great," seungcheol replied, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "y/n is pretty amazing."

the compliment, though genuine, felt loaded with unspoken words. you glanced at seungcheol, trying to gauge his mood, but his expression was unreadable. you turned your attention back to haru, determined to make the evening enjoyable despite the strange undercurrent of tension.

as the evening progressed, the atmosphere in the room grew increasingly strained. you and haru settled into a comfortable rhythm, your conversation flowing easily despite the occasional pointed look from seungcheol. haru seemed genuinely interested in what you had to say, and you found yourself relaxing more with each passing minute. the food was delicious, and the atmosphere should have been perfect, but you couldn't shake the feeling that seungcheol was watching your every move with a scrutinizing gaze.

"so, haru," seungcheol interjected suddenly, his voice slicing through the lighthearted chatter with the precision of a well-aimed dagger. "what line of work keeps you occupied?"

haru looked up, momentarily startled by the abrupt inquiry. "i'm a graphic designer," he replied, offering a polite smile. "i work at a small agency downtown."

"fascinating," seungcheol drawled, leaning back in his chair with a languid grace that belied the intensity of his gaze. "it must be quite rewarding to indulge in such creative endeavors. y/n and i, alas, are consigned to the monotonous world of numbers and figures."

you shot seungcheol a pointed look, silently beseeching him to temper his remarks. however, he merely quirked an eyebrow, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips as if he were savoring the undercurrent of tension he had created.

"it has its moments," haru conceded, his smile faltering ever so slightly under the weight of seungcheol's scrutiny. "i do enjoy the creative challenges."

"good for you," seungcheol replied, his tone laced with a veneer of civility that did little to mask the sarcasm lurking beneath. "it's always heartening to hear of someone finding fulfillment in their work."

sensing the rising tension, you endeavored to steer the conversation back to safer waters. "haru, you were telling me about that fascinating project with the interactive website. do go on."

haru's face brightened at the change of topic, and he launched into an enthusiastic description of his latest project. you listened with genuine interest, but you couldn't ignore the way seungcheol's eyes kept flickering back to you, his expression a perplexing blend of amusement and something darker.

as the evening wore on, seungcheol's interruptions grew more frequent and increasingly pointed. he made snarky comments about the food, pointed out trivial inconsistencies in haru's stories, and even "accidentally" bumped into you as he moved about the apartment. each incident seemed designed to unnerve haru, whose initial charm was gradually giving way to visible discomfort.

"excuse me," seungcheol said at one point, reaching across the table with a deliberate nonchalance that belied his true intent. he managed to knock over haru's glass of water, sending a cascade of liquid across the table. "oops. my apologies."

you quickly grabbed a towel to mop up the spill, your frustration simmering just below the surface. "it's fine," you said through clenched teeth, attempting to maintain your composure. "no harm done."

haru forced a smile, but the strain was evident in his eyes. "it's okay," he murmured, though his voice lacked its earlier warmth.

seungcheol's behavior was wearing on your nerves, and you couldn't fathom why he was acting this way. he had never been so openly antagonistic before, and it was starting to fray your patience. all you wanted was to enjoy your evening with haru, but seungcheol seemed hell-bent on making that impossible.

the final straw came when seungcheol "accidentally" brushed against haru's arm as he walked past, causing haru to drop his fork with a loud clatter. the sound reverberated through the tense silence, amplifying the growing discord.

"seriously?" you snapped, your eyes flashing with indignation as you glared at seungcheol. "can you please give us a moment's peace?"

seungcheol raised an eyebrow, his expression one of feigned innocence. "i was merely getting a drink," he said, holding up his glass as if to underscore his point.

"well, can you manage it without causing a scene?" you retorted, your frustration boiling over.

haru placed a soothing hand on your arm, his touch gentle and calming. "it's okay, y/n," he said softly, his eyes beseeching you to let it go. "really, it's fine."

but it wasn't fine. you could see the hurt and confusion in haru's eyes, and it only fueled your anger further. seungcheol was ruining what should have been a pleasant evening, and you were at a loss to understand why.

the tension in the room had reached a palpable peak, a silent battle of wills between seungcheol and haru with you caught in the crossfire. the evening that you had hoped would be a pleasant introduction of new possibilities had turned into a minefield of unspoken emotions and escalating conflict.

seungcheol's final act of sabotage came as the three of you attempted to settle down in the living room. you had just suggested watching a movie, hoping it might diffuse the tension, when seungcheol abruptly stood up, his eyes glinting with barely concealed irritation.

"i don't think this is working out," he announced, his voice ringing with a finality that froze you in place. he turned to haru, his expression hardening. "i think it's time for you to leave."

haru's eyes widened in shock, his calm demeanor slipping as he struggled to process seungcheol's blunt dismissal. "excuse me?" he said, his voice tinged with disbelief.

"you heard me," seungcheol replied, crossing his arms over his chest. "this isn't your place, and i think it's best if you leave now."

you felt a rush of anger and embarrassment flood your cheeks. "seungcheol, what the hell are you doing?" you demanded, stepping between him and haru. "you can't just kick him out like this!"

seungcheol's eyes met yours, a storm of emotions swirling within them. "i'm doing what needs to be done," he said, his tone unyielding.

haru stood up, his expression a mixture of hurt and frustration. "it's okay, y/n," he said, his voice resigned. "i'll go. this isn't worth the trouble."

you turned to haru, your heart sinking. "i'm so sorry, haru. this is not how i wanted tonight to go."

haru managed a small, sad smile. "it's not your fault," he said softly. "i'll call you later."

as haru gathered his things and headed for the door, you felt a pang of guilt and regret. this was supposed to be a simple, pleasant evening, and now it was ending in disaster. once the door closed behind haru, the silence in the apartment was deafening.

you turned to seungcheol, your anger boiling over. "what the hell was that for?" you shouted, your voice shaking with fury. "you just ruined my date! why would you do that?"

seungcheol's jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with a mix of defiance and something else you couldn't quite place. "he wasn't right for you," he said flatly.

"that's not for you to decide!" you shot back, your frustration reaching a breaking point. "you had no right to interfere like that. haru is a good guy, and you just humiliated him for no reason!"

seungcheol took a step closer, his presence towering over you. "i couldn't just stand by and watch you pretend everything was fine when it clearly wasn't," he said, his voice low and intense. "you deserve better than some guy who doesn't even know you."

"better?" you echoed, incredulous. "and who are you to say what i deserve? you've made it very clear that our…whatever this is…doesn't mean anything beyond a few nights of fun. you don't get to dictate who i see or don't see."

seungcheol's eyes darkened, his frustration matching your own. "is that what you think?" he demanded, his voice rough with emotion. "that this doesn't mean anything to me?"

you crossed your arms, trying to shield yourself from the vulnerability his words evoked. "what else am i supposed to think? you keep things casual, no strings attached. that's what we agreed on."

"and maybe i was wrong," seungcheol said, his voice softer now, but no less intense. "maybe i want more than that. maybe i want you."

the words hung in the air between you, a raw and unfiltered confession that left you reeling. you searched his eyes, looking for any sign that he was playing with you, but all you saw was sincerity and a depth of emotion that took your breath away.

the silence following seungcheol's confession was thick with tension, each second stretching like an eternity. you stood there, heart pounding, grappling with the raw honesty of his words. the anger that had fueled your argument moments ago was now mingled with confusion and a flicker of something unnamed and unsettling.

"y/n," seungcheol began, stepping closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "i mean it. i want you."

you opened your mouth to respond, to argue, but before you could utter a single word, seungcheol closed the distance between you. his hands cupped your face with a tenderness that belied the intensity of his emotions, and then his lips were on yours, silencing your protests in an instant.

the kiss was both unexpected and overwhelming. seungcheol's lips were warm and insistent, moving against yours with a fervor that took your breath away. for a moment, you were lost in the sensation, the world narrowing to the points where your bodies connected. his kiss was demanding yet tender, a blend of passion and desperation that made your heart race.

but just as quickly, the reality of the situation crashed back over you. you pulled away, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps. "no," you said, shaking your head as if to clear it. "you don't get to do that."

seungcheol's eyes searched yours, a mix of confusion and hurt flashing across his face. "y/n, i—"

"no," you interrupted, your voice trembling with a mixture of anger and frustration. "you can't just kiss me and expect everything to be okay. you don't get to treat me like some casual hookup and then suddenly decide you want more. it doesn't work like that."

seungcheol took a step back, his hands dropping to his sides. "that's not what i'm doing," he said, his voice low but steady. "it's not like that."

"then what is it?" you demanded, crossing your arms over your chest in a defensive gesture. "because all you've ever wanted from me is something casual. and now, after ruining my date, you think you can just change the rules?"

"y/n, please," seungcheol pleaded, his eyes filled with a vulnerability that made your heart ache. "just listen to me."

you hesitated, the sincerity in his voice giving you pause. "fine," you said, your tone still guarded. "i'm listening."

seungcheol took a deep breath, as if gathering his thoughts. "i know i've been an idiot," he began, his voice steady but tinged with regret. "i've been hiding how i really feel because i was scared. scared of messing things up between us, scared of losing you if it didn't work out."

you frowned, your anger slowly giving way to confusion. "what are you talking about?"

"i'm talking about how much you mean to me," seungcheol said, taking a step closer. "i'm talking about how i can't stand the thought of you being with someone else because it makes me realize just how much i care about you. this isn't just some fling for me, y/n. it never was."

his words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of unspoken emotions. you could see the sincerity in his eyes, the raw honesty in his expression. it was a side of seungcheol you hadn't seen before, and it left you reeling.

"but you never said anything," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "you never gave me any indication that you felt this way."

"i know," seungcheol admitted, his voice thick with regret. "and i'm sorry for that. i thought i could keep things casual, that it would be easier that way. but seeing you with haru… it made me realize that i can't do this anymore. i can't pretend that what we have doesn't mean everything to me."

you stared at him, your mind racing as you tried to process everything he was saying. the anger that had fueled your argument was slowly giving way to a deeper, more complex mix of emotions. part of you wanted to believe him, to take the leap and see where it could lead. but another part of you was still hurt, still wary of getting your heart broken.

the silence hung heavy between you, laden with the weight of unspoken words and the raw, intense emotions that seungcheol’s confession had unearthed. you could see the sincerity in his eyes, the raw vulnerability that he rarely showed. and in that moment, your resolve began to waver.

“seungcheol,” you began, your voice trembling, “i don’t know what to say.”

“then don’t say anything,” he replied, stepping closer, his gaze unwavering. “just let me show you how i feel.”

before you could respond, he closed the distance between you, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both fervent and tender. his hands moved to your waist, pulling you against him, and you felt your body respond to his touch, the anger and confusion melting away, replaced by a burning desire.

his kiss deepened, his tongue sliding against yours with a sensuality that made your knees weak. you clung to him, your hands tangling in his hair as you surrendered to the intensity of the moment. seungcheol’s hands roamed over your body, his touch igniting a fire in your veins.

he broke the kiss, his breath ragged as he looked down at you, his eyes dark with desire. “i need you, y/n,” he murmured, his voice rough with longing. “i need you to know how much you mean to me.”

you nodded, unable to find your voice. he took your hand, leading you to the bedroom, each step filled with anticipation and unspoken promises. once inside, he turned to you, his gaze smoldering.

“undress for me,” he commanded softly, his eyes never leaving yours.

with trembling hands, you complied, shedding your clothes until you stood bare before him. seungcheol’s eyes roamed over your body, his expression one of awe and desire. he stepped closer, his hands moving to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, sending shivers down your spine.

“you’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “i want to make you feel good. will you let me?”

you nodded again, your breath hitching as his hands trailed down your body, leaving a path of fire in their wake. he knelt before you, his eyes locking onto yours as he pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, his tongue darting out to taste your skin.

the sensation was electric, and you felt a surge of arousal as his mouth moved closer to your core. he parted your folds with his fingers, his tongue flicking over your clit with a skill that made you gasp. seungcheol’s hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he devoured you, his tongue and lips working in tandem to bring you to the brink of ecstasy.

“oh, god, seungcheol,” you moaned, your hands fisting in his hair as your hips bucked against his mouth. “don’t stop.”

he hummed in response, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure through you. his tongue circled your clit, teasing and tormenting you until you were trembling with need. he slid two fingers inside you, curling them to hit that sweet spot, and you cried out, your body arching towards him.

seungcheol didn’t relent, his mouth and fingers working together to drive you closer and closer to the edge. you could feel the tension building, a coil tightening in your belly, and then it snapped, a tidal wave of pleasure crashing over you as you came, your cries echoing in the room.

he didn’t stop, his movements gentle as he coaxed you through the aftershocks, his eyes never leaving your face. when you finally came down, he stood, his fingers trailing your slick arousal up to your lips.

“open,” he instructed, and you obeyed, taking his fingers into your mouth, tasting yourself on his skin. the look of pure desire in his eyes made your pulse quicken, and you sucked his fingers clean, reveling in the way he watched you.

“good girl,” he praised, his voice a low rumble. he kissed you again, his tongue exploring your mouth with a possessiveness that made your knees weak. you could taste yourself on his lips, the mingling of flavors heightening your arousal once more.

seungcheol broke the kiss, his hands moving to undo his pants. “lie down,” he instructed, and you did, stretching out on the bed, your body still humming with the remnants of your orgasm.

he shed his clothes quickly, his erection standing proud as he joined you on the bed. he knelt between your legs, his eyes drinking in the sight of you spread out before him. “i’m going to make you feel so good,” he promised, his voice thick with need.

he took his cock in hand, stroking it slowly as he watched you. “touch yourself,” he ordered, and you complied, your fingers finding your clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles as you watched him.

seungcheol groaned, his hand moving faster on his cock as he watched you pleasure yourself. “that’s it, baby,” he murmured, his eyes locked on yours. “make yourself come for me.”

you bit your lip, your fingers moving faster, the combination of his gaze and the sensation pushing you closer to the edge. “seungcheol,” you moaned, your body tensing as you felt your orgasm building once more.

“come for me,” he commanded, his voice rough with desire. “come for me, y/n.”

his words pushed you over the edge, and you came with a cry, your body trembling with the force of your release. seungcheol watched you, his hand moving faster on his cock as he brought himself to the brink.

he leaned over you, his eyes burning with need. “i need to be inside you,” he said, his voice a raw whisper. “i need to feel you.”

you nodded, spreading your legs wider in invitation. seungcheol positioned himself at your entrance, his cock slick with your arousal. he pushed in slowly, the sensation of him filling you making you gasp.

he set a slow, steady pace, each thrust deep and deliberate. the pleasure built with each movement, the intensity of the connection between you making your head spin. seungcheol’s hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer, his eyes never leaving yours.

“look at me,” he murmured, his voice a soft command. “i want to see you.”

you locked eyes with him, the depth of emotion in his gaze taking your breath away. the rhythm of his thrusts increased, the pleasure building to a fever pitch. he reached down, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts.

the combination was too much, and you felt yourself hurtling towards another orgasm, the intensity overwhelming. “seungcheol,” you gasped, your body arching towards him.

“come for me,” he urged, his voice rough with need. “i want to feel you come around me.”

his words sent you spiraling over the edge, your orgasm crashing over you with a force that left you breathless. seungcheol followed you, his release spilling into you as he groaned your name, the sensation of him filling you only heightening your pleasure.

he collapsed beside you, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. you turned to him, your body still humming with the aftershocks of your release. he pulled you close, his lips pressing gentle kisses to your forehead.

“are you okay?” he asked softly, his hand smoothing over your hair.

you nodded, your heart full. “i’m more than okay,” you replied, your voice a whisper. “i’m perfect.”

seungcheol smiled, his eyes warm with affection. “good,” he said, pulling you even closer. “because i’m not letting you go.”

the promise in his words wrapped around you, a comforting reassurance of the depth of his feelings. in that moment, you knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them together. and that was all you needed.

the first light of dawn filtered through the curtains, casting a soft, golden glow over the room. you stirred, nestled in the warmth of seungcheol’s embrace, his arm draped protectively around your waist. for a moment, you lay still, savoring the tranquility of the morning, the quiet intimacy that enveloped you both.

seungcheol shifted beside you, his eyes fluttering open. a slow smile spread across his face as he took in the sight of you in his arms. "good morning," he murmured, his voice husky with sleep.

"good morning," you replied, your own smile matching his.

he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "how did you sleep?" he asked, his lips trailing soft kisses down your temple and along your cheek.

"better than i have in a long time," you admitted, feeling a warmth spread through you at his affectionate gestures.

seungcheol’s kisses continued, each one a tender promise of his feelings. he moved to your other cheek, then your nose, then your chin, covering your face with a constellation of soft, loving kisses. you couldn’t help but giggle at the sensation, your heart swelling with affection for the man beside you.

"seungcheol," you murmured, your fingers threading through his hair as he nuzzled against your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

"hmm?" he hummed, his lips moving to your jawline.

"this is nice," you said, your voice soft. "i could get used to waking up like this."

he pulled back slightly, his eyes meeting yours with a tenderness that made your breath catch. "so could i," he replied, his hand cupping your cheek as he leaned in to kiss you softly on the lips.

just as you were losing yourself in the sweetness of the moment, a familiar sound interrupted the tranquility. the door creaked open, and you felt a rush of fur and energy as kkuma, seungcheol’s dog, bounded into the room.

"kkuma!" seungcheol exclaimed with a laugh, sitting up as the dog jumped onto the bed, tail wagging furiously.

kkuma wasted no time, planting herself between the two of you and showering seungcheol with enthusiastic licks. you couldn’t help but laugh at the sight, the dog’s antics bringing a lightness to the room.

"kkuma, stop," seungcheol said, though his laughter belied any real annoyance. he scratched behind the dog’s ears, giving her the attention she so eagerly sought. "you’re interrupting a very important moment, you know."

you smiled, reaching out to pet kkuma as well. "i think she’s just making sure we’re both awake," you said, your heart full as you watched the playful interaction between seungcheol and his beloved pet.

kkuma’s presence had an undeniable way of lightening the mood, her joyful energy infectious. she turned her attention to you, her eyes bright with curiosity. you scratched her behind the ears, earning a contented sigh as she settled down between you and seungcheol.

the three of you lay there for a while, enjoying the peaceful morning. 

"y/n," seungcheol said softly, his hand finding yours under the covers. "about last night…"

you turned to him, your heart skipping a beat at the seriousness in his tone. "yes?"

"i meant everything i said," he continued, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. "i want to be with you. for real. no more pretending, no more keeping things casual."

you felt a lump form in your throat, the sincerity in his eyes nearly overwhelming. "i want that too, seungcheol," you whispered, squeezing his hand. "i want to be with you."

he smiled, a look of pure relief and happiness washing over his face. "then let’s do it," he said, leaning in to kiss you again, this time with a gentle, lingering sweetness that left no doubt about his feelings.

kkuma, not to be left out, nudged her way between you once more, her tail thumping against the bed as she demanded attention. you both laughed, the moment made all the more perfect by her playful interruption.

as the morning sun continued to rise, you and seungcheol talked about your future, about the possibilities that lay ahead. there was a sense of hope and excitement, a feeling that together, you could face whatever came your way.

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ — © DELUBOO 2024.

[moonreader1010]

Things about you that will have them hooked 💋🧿 (18+)

-by Valerie

Pick one of the following piles:-

Pile 1. Pile 2.

Pile 3. ^

Note:- the pictures used don't belong to me and all the rights go to their original owners.

-This is for entertainment purposes only. Take what resonates.

-minors DNI.

-take a deep breath and pick the pile that calls you.

Pile 1.

The Soulful Romantic

Cards Pulled: The Empress, The Moon, Ace of Cups, The Lovers, King of Pentacles, Seven of Wands

This person will be drawn to the divine sensuality you radiate. The Empress speaks of your natural beauty and allure—there’s something about the way you carry yourself that exudes confidence and an untouchable, goddess-like energy. When they’re near you, they feel like they’re stepping into a dream, a mystery they can’t unravel, as shown by The Moon. Your ability to reveal just enough while leaving so much to the imagination keeps them utterly captivated. With the Ace of Cups, you’re like a refreshing oasis, igniting a deep emotional connection that they haven’t felt with anyone else. The Lovers shows that they see you as their ultimate partner, someone they’d risk everything for. Meanwhile, the King of Pentacles hints at how grounded and self-sufficient you are, which only intensifies their desire to prove their worth to you. Yet, the Seven of Wands adds a layer of challenge—you’re not easily won over, and your resistance only makes them want you more.

Visionary Scenario: Imagine them watching you laugh softly in a dimly lit café, the glow of candlelight playing on your skin. They’re hooked on the way your eyes seem to hold a thousand secrets, the way you sip your coffee like royalty. They’d sit across the table, leaning in, mesmerized, while their heart races, thinking, "How do I convince them to let me in?"

Pile 2.

The Adventurous Spirit

Cards Pulled: Knight of Wands, The Star, Nine of Pentacles, Two of Cups, The Tower, Page of Swords

This person is a thrill-seeker, and your fiery passion lights a spark in them they can’t ignore. With the Knight of Wands, it’s your boldness and unpredictability that leave them intrigued. You’re not afraid to take risks or live unapologetically, and that’s a magnetic pull for them. The Star reveals that you’re like a beacon of hope and inspiration in their life. They’re drawn to your optimism, your dreams, and how you’re unafraid to chase after what you want. The Nine of Pentacles highlights your independence and elegance; they see you as someone who has built a life of richness—both externally and within. When the Two of Cups appears, it suggests that they feel an undeniable emotional and physical chemistry with you. The Tower, though, adds an element of danger. You shake up their life in the best way possible, forcing them out of their comfort zone. With the Page of Swords, they’re constantly trying to figure you out, hooked on your intelligence and the way you keep them guessing.

Visionary Scenario: Picture this—on an impromptu road trip, you’re laughing as you tease them, wind blowing through your hair. They glance over at you from the driver’s seat, utterly hypnotized by the way you radiate freedom and excitement. In that moment, they think, "I’d follow them anywhere."

Pile 3.

The Intellectual Dreamer

Cards Pulled: Queen of Swords, Temperance, Three of Pentacles, Ten of Cups, The Devil, Eight of Wands

This person admires your sharp mind and wit, symbolized by the Queen of Swords. You challenge them intellectually, and they’re obsessed with how you always have the perfect comeback or insight. Temperance reveals that you have a serene balance about you—you’re the calm in their storm, a grounding presence they crave. The Three of Pentacles shows that they’re drawn to how you collaborate with others, your ambition, and your ability to inspire and lead. The Ten of Cups makes it clear that they fantasize about long-term happiness with you; you embody their dream of an ideal partner. The Devil, however, spices things up—you have a seductive side they can’t resist. It’s the way you make eye contact just a little too long, or how you subtly hint at something more, that drives them wild. The Eight of Wands speaks of your ability to make things happen quickly and passionately, leaving them breathless and wanting more.

Visionary Scenario: Imagine them meeting you at a gallery opening. You’re discussing art with effortless eloquence, your voice like velvet. They’re hooked on the way your words tease their mind while your presence tantalizes their senses. That night, as they lie awake, they’re consumed with the thought, "How can I be the one to unlock all their layers?"

[lowkeyerror]

Congrats on Your Divorce

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Notes: Requested, fluff & smut, librarian!reader, divorced!Wanda, smut, fingering, thigh-riding, cunnilingus

Summary: You befriend Wanda, a regular at the library you work at, after learning about her divorce. The friendship becomes something more one day when you come over to help her with her sick kids. As your relationship progresses you even talk about buying a home together, which leads to a physical manifestation of how much you love each other.

An: It took me awhile because I got a little carried away. I hope I did your request justice 🙇‍♀️.

Masterlist

You enjoyed the mundane lifestyle that came with working at the library. There was a comfort that came with knowing that you worked in something of a community center. Being able to provide a service that for some was the highlight of their day. In this day and age having regulars at the library was a rarity, especially the adults. Kids would come after school for homework or for research purposes, but the adults were few and far between.

Technically it may have been weird that you had a favorite but you couldn’t help yourself. There was a woman named Wanda, she’d come once a week ask for a recommendation and sit there the whole day and read it.

She’d always make a comment or two on the book on her way out and it made you smile. It was good to know she appreciated your picks. Though there were other staff members she only really asked you.

When she missed one week, you found yourself discouraged. One week turned to two and so forth until it had been a month since you saw the woman.

“Y/n, it looks like your regular is back. She might need a little assistance,” one of your coworkers approaches you.

“What are you talking about?”

They give you a look that says ‘seriously’, “Ms. Recommendations, she’s in the non-fiction section looking a little worse for wear.”

You nod and make your way over to the section. There you find Wanda. Your coworker was not exaggerating. She looked so fragile as if she was just waiting for the tears to fall. She was staring at the books, but it was easy to tell that she wasn’t really reading anything.

“Looking for anything in particular,” you say softly, trying not to startle her.

She seems to snap out of her trance enough to try and answer you, “No, not today.”

It felt like she was speaking on autopilot. If it were another guest, you would’ve let her be, but this was Wanda. Perhaps it was a bit para-social but it felt like you knew her better than the average customer.

“I- I don’t mean to overstep, but are you alright?”

She lets out a tired sigh, “That obvious?”

You attempt to back track, “No… uh it’s just I haven’t seen you around in a while."

She looks away for a moment, “ Yeah, I um got a divorce. So I’ve been a hermit as of late.”

“Oh, congratulations.”

Wanda can’t help but laugh at your words, “Most people have been saying they’re sorry to hear, but congratulations? It’s kind of refreshing.”

You shrug, “Well I don’t think divorce is always a bad thing. It’s hard for sure, but it’s better than staying in a situation you don't deserve.”

“What if I was in the wrong?’ Her eyes are glued to the floor as she speaks.

“I may be overstepping again, but I doubt that's the case. You don't seem like the kind of person,” your tone doesn't make her argue, instead a look of relief crosses her face.

“I'm not,” she says taking a deep breath.

You smile at her, “Then it’s their loss.”

She smiles back at you, “I guess you’re right.”

Glad to have made her feel even a little bit better, you begin to leave the aisle she's in. You dint get far before there’s a gentle tug on your wrist. You turn back to stare into Wanda’s warm green eyes.

She’s nervous as she speaks, “I don’t know if I’m too old to be doing this, but fuck it. I could really use a friend right now and I was wondering if you’d be open to getting coffee or something, whenever you’re free.”

You stare at her for a few seconds before nodding, “I’m off in about 15 minutes, there’s a café a few blocks over that I think everyone should try at least once.”

Her excitement builds up in her features. She clears her throat to hide it, “I’ll wait for you by the YA novels?”

“Sounds perfect.”

From that day on Wanda wasn’t just a regular customer anymore, she was your genuine friend. She was also one of the sweetest people you had ever met in your life. She was unbelievably strong too.

The details of her divorce were quite messy. A touch of infidelity here and there, mixed with a custody agreement was a recipe for disaster.

You always offered to be there in any way you can’t for. She usually turns down your more serious offers for help, and sticks to fun small outings. You can tell that she’s somewhat embarrassed by her situation, but you don’t think there’s anything she should be embarrassed about.

“Y/n, I know I said I was free to go out today, but Tommy is sick and Billy isn’t doing that great either, can I give you a rain check?”

She called you and you could hear the tiredness and distress in her voice, “Let me come over and help you, Wands. Two sick kids is rough work, I know you could use a hand.”

She’s silent on the line, but the coughs and sinus filled conversation doesn’t stop.

Wanda sighs, “Okay, do you think you can bring me some medicine? I’ll text you some ingredients I need for soup too if that’s alright?”

“Whatever you need, I’ll see you in a bit,” you say simply.

You follow through on your word picking up various cough, cold, and fever medicines along with some cough drops. You nearly forget about the stuff for the soup, until Wanda texts you something she left off the ingredient list. After picking up everything you head to her house.

You’d been to her house before, but never when her kids were there. You had seen them with her a few times at the library, but back then you didn’t quite deduce that they were her children. It feels so obvious now, but Wanda was definitely a young mom in your opinion, or at least she looked like one.

You rang the doorbell and waited with the groceries in your hand. It took a moment but eventually the door swung open revealing Wanda. Though your hands were full, she’s the one who had bags under her eyes. She looked as though she would fall over any second.

“You’re a godsend Y/n,” she tries to take the bags from your hands but you don’t let her.

“And you’re sick too, here I figured this would happen,” you rummage through the bags and pull out a medicine that’s for adults.

“It’s drowsy.”

You nod, “I know, I figured you need the rest anyway, let me handle its.”

Wanda shakes her head, “Are you crazy? You think you can handle my two kids and me on your own?”

You smile at her, “You underestimate me, Maximoff. Let me show you what I can do.”

“We’ll see, but first come meet them properly.”

You sit the bags down in the kitchen, opting to take the medicine upstairs with you. She takes you to their room.

Tommy is propped up in his bed watching as Billy plays videogames from his spot on the floor.

“Tommy, Billy, this is my friend Y/n. She’s going to help us out today,” Wanda introduces you.

“The library lady,” Billy sounds congested as he speaks.

You nod your head enthusiastically, “ Yep, that’s me. I heard you boys were sick, so I brought some stuff to make you feel better.”

Tommy gags, “Ew medicine.”

You sympathize with him, “Ew is right, but it’s worth it I promise. In fact, I’ll sweeten the deal, you guys take your medicine, and I’ll make you the best soup of your life in return.”

“Better than mom’s?” Billy questions.

“ 1 million times better,” you egg him on.

Tommy is more hesitant, “I don’t know.”

You get closer to him, crouching so you can meet his level, “How about when you’re feeling better, we go out to the arcade and get some ice cream too.”

That seems to be enough for the boy, “That sounds awesome.”

While you’re chatting with them Wanda starts to prepare the medicine cups for the boys. They take the medicine with all the dramatics that children do.

“Ok, we’ll be back to check on you guys, shortly. Billy, get some socks baby. Tommy stay under the covers sweetheart."

The both of you exit the room and head back down the stairs. Wanda moves to start unloading the groceries, but you stop her.

“If you’re not going to fully rest, at least sit. I can make the soup,” you point to the barstools she has in her kitchen.

“Are you sure? I can help-"

You block her from opening the next bag. She looks into your gaze, which holds no feeling of malice or resentment. Instead she finds a warn and tender look behind your eyes.

“I’ve got it.”

She listens to your directions and takes a seat

She watches as you prep the ingredients, ever so often asking where she keeps certain things. Otherwise there is a fluid motion to your movements in the kitchen.

“You know you don't have to take them to the arcade just because they took the medicine, right?”

You pause slightly from chopping vegetables to look up at her, “I probably should’ve asked if it was okay with you first, but I don’t mind taking them. They seem like good kids, which isn’t a surprise at all considering they’re your kids.”

She beams at your words, “They’re a little more docile in this state, but they can be a handful at times. We haven’t really had a big outing like that since the divorce, I’m sure they’d appreciate it.”

“Then consider it done, as soon as they’re better let me know. We can all go out and have some fun.”

Wanda can’t help the feeling she gets hearing you talk so nonchalantly about going out with her kids. It’s something like a spark, that she hasn’t felt in a long time. She takes this time to really look at you, you’re stunning. Truth be told Wanda had always found you a little attractive, but she wrote it off as you just being conventionally good looking. However now, with you standing in her kitchen cooking for her and her kids. She’s starting to think it’s more than that.

“Do you like children, Y/n?”

“I have a soft spot for kids, it’s partially why I chose to work at the library. I had kind of a rough upbringing as a kid. It was just me and my mom, and money wasn’t all that great, but I remember her taking me to almost all the community events they hosted at the library. We spent a lot of time there. When I was old enough to go on my own, it was rare that I didn’t go. The library is such a haven for kids it’s one of my favorite things about it.”

Wanda felt herself melting under the sincerity of your words, “That’s really sweet.”

You start cooking down the vegetables before you answer, “Yeah, if I wasn’t so crazy about the library, I would’ve been a chef. I actually applied to a few culinary schools in high school, pretty ambitious but I had won a few competitions. I had offers and full ride scholarships to some of the best schools out there, but I chose to become a librarian instead.”

Wanda tilts her head to the side playfully, “So you weren’t just talking shit when you said you’re going to make a soup 1 million times better than mine.”

You laugh, “Technically I’m using the ingredients that you told me to get, so it’s more like our soup. I’m just tweaking a few measurements and cooking it a little different. It’s like a group project, if you will.”

Wanda laughs even harder, “You’re so full of shit.”

“Language, there are children present.”

Wanda rolls her eyes, “They’re upstairs."

“Children have super good hearing Wanda, trust me, I’m a librarian.”

She shakes her head with a small chuckle. She watches as the soup comes together a lovely aroma fills the kitchen, her mouth waters at just the smell.

“It smells delicious.”

You motion her over to the stove next to you. She scurries over, which makes you smile. She looks utterly adorable and ethereal at the same time. You began to notice it over the last few times you had hung out. Wanda was simultaneously the cutest and the most beautiful woman, you think you’d ever met in your life

“Taste,” you hold a spoon full of soup up for her.

She hesitates a little, but decides to just eat from the spoon while you hold it. Her eyes close as the flavors dance on her tongue. She lets out an involuntary moan, that has her blushing as soon as it leaves her mouth.

“Oh my god, that’s the best soup I’ve ever had in my life,” Wanda stares at you in awe.

“I hope the boys think so too.”

Wanda helps you fill the bowls for them, “They’re going to love it.”

True to her words the boys devour the soup going as far as to ask for seconds. Neither of you can deny them another bowl. Once they eat, you can see the food working in tandem with the medicine to tucker them out. Before they’re completely out of it you and Wanda get them ready for bed.

It feels more normal than either of you expected. By the time you’re done, both twins are now in bed. The tv plays something at a low volume, but you and Wanda are both aware that the kids will likely be asleep as soon as you leave the room.

When you leave you head back to the kitchen fixing 2 more bowls of soup for Wanda and yourself. You eat amongst each other with small chatter, but it’s comfortable. When you’re done, you almost have to fight Wanda to allow you to do the dishes.

She pouts, once again sitting at the barstool watching you clean.

“You haven’t let me help this whole time,” she whines.

“I’m here to help you, not the other way around,” you remind her.

Wanda places her hands on her hips, “But if you’re doing everything, what am I supposed to do?”

“Just sit there and look pretty,” you say without thinking.

Wanda feels her face heating up, losing track of how many times it has happened today alone, “Look pretty, huh?”

You can feel your ears heating with embarrassment, “oh I- well.”

“Oh my god are your ears turning red, that’s literally adorable. Are you flustered, Y/n?” Wanda teases.

You glare at her with faux-anger, “My ears? Your cheeks are just as red.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about?”

You wash your hands, quickly drying them before approaching her. You keep walking until there is virtually no space between the two of you. You look down at her, you don’t stop your eyes from dropping to her lips.

“Oh really?”

She looks up at you, her cheeks indeed, red like you had mentioned.

“And if they were?”

“Maybe I’d say that it’s adorable,” you use her words against her. “Or maybe…”

“Maybe what?” Her eyes dart to your lips.

You look back into her eyes, “Maybe, I’d kiss you.”

“I’d like that.”

That was all you needed to hear. She met you halfway and, in an instant, you were kissing. Your hand rested on the small of her back, while her hands locked around your neck. It was cliché but it was cute. The kiss itself was respectable, but still filled with a feeling of longing.

Wanda’s hands drop from your neck to lightly push you back, “I’m divorced with two kids Y/n-"

You stop her before she can even rant, “I know, Wanda. I’ve been here, maybe not the whole time, but most of it. I don’t care that you’re divorced and I’d love to get to know your kids. I’d love to get to know you better.”

“I feel like you already know me, Y/n. We’ve been friends for over a year now. We’ve spent so much time together, I’m just surprised you’re not tired of me yet.”

You take her hands in yours, “I could never get tired of you. I’m quite literally asking for more. Let me take you out some time.”

“Are you sure?”

It’s bold, but you place a quick kiss on her lips, “Positive."

From there things just seem to fall into place. You kept your promise to the boys, taking them out when they recovered from their sickness. Wanda was impressed by how well you mingled with them considering her ex always seemed to struggle to relate. However you, had no problem tapping into that childlike like amazement that the kids felt.

Soon after that outing, you and Wanda went on your first real date. You took her out to a nice restaurant. It was an upscale establishment, the prices weren’t even on the menu. Wanda tried to fret about how she didn’t know if she deserved this kind of treatment, but you always reassured her.

You believe she deserved the best and as long as you could give it to her you would.

It only took 4 dates before you asked her to be you girlfriends, not being the best at waiting. Luckily for you she agreed and truth be told if you would’ve asked her on the first date she probably would’ve said yes then.

At this point you’ve been dating for a little over a year. The twins are with their father for the weekend, and Wanda is staying over at your apartment.

The two of you are on the couch. She’s resting in your arms as you watch tv, “Wanda.”

She looks up, “Yes, detka.”

“How attached are you to your house?”

Her eyebrows furrow, “Why?”

You hold her gaze, “Is it crazy if I say that I want us to live together?”

Wanda plays with your fingers, “No, I don't think so.”

You kiss her forehead, “It’s just a thought.”

“You want to buy a house?”

You nod curtly, “We don't have to leave the area, I know the boys have school and I wouldn't want to pull them away or make them start fresh or anything, but I’ve been looking at some homes in the area. Something a little bigger, Billy and Tommy could both have their own room and a huge backyard. Maybe a dog, in the future.”

Wanda cups your face gently, pulling you down to kiss her, “I would love to buy a home with you Y/n.”

“Really?”

Wanda kisses you again, “Really.”

“I love you,” your eyes softening as the words fall from your lips.

“I love you too.”

Your lips are connected again, this time neither of you break the kiss. Instead Wanda shifts in your lap to straddle your waist. Her hands playing with the tiny hairs on the back of your neck. Your hands start at her thigh but end up sliding up to her hips, and soon your fingers are in contact with the cool skin of her stomach.

You aren’t able to stop yourself from kissing down her jaw. She moves her hair and cranes her neck to give you more access. Your teeth sink into her neck only for your tongue to soothe the skin. You suck the spot tenderly, causing little whines to emanate from Wanda.

“Y/n,” your name is breathless on her lips.

She doesn't have to say anything else for you to stand up with her still in your arms. You carry her to the bedroom. Once you’re in there and her feet are on the floor, you pull her shirt off. Yours follows after.

Wanda feels herself getting wet under your gaze. The way you take in her bare chest, eyes blown with want. While you stare she gets rid of the rest of her clothes. You eagerly do the same.

You pull her flush against your body. Skin heating upon contact.

“You’re perfect,” your thumb toys with one of her nipples.

Your head dips to take it into your mouth. You suck lightly, ever so often slowly fanning your tongue over the nipple. You do the same to the other nipple, while your hand cups her warmth. You moan at her wetness.

“ I need you,” she whispers.

You kiss her tenderly, backing her onto the bed. You’re gentle as you ease two fingers into her. She arches her back slightly, and her kiss becomes sloppier.

You’re in no rush as you slowly build pace. Her finger nails dig into your back.

“More please,” she buries her head in your neck.

You begin pumping at a faster pace, using your thumb to stimulate her clit. Her ragged breaths in your ear only turn you on even more.

You jolt as you feel her hand in-between your legs. Her fingers play through your folds and you hear her gasp in your ear.

“All for me baby?”

You nod, “All for you, Wands. Can I taste you, baby?”

“Fuck,” Wanda murmurs.

She pulls her fingers from you, signaling for you to suck them. You take them in your mouth, swirling you tongue around the digits, high off of your own taste.

Once her fingers exit your mouth, you maneuver down her body. You momentarily take your fingers out of her. She doesn’t have time to complain before you’re sucking on her clit.

“Holy shit,” she entangles her hands through your hair.

You keep eye contact with her as you lick, suck, and slurp her pussy. She throws her head back, taking her lip between her teeth. You can see sweat illuminating her body.

Soon you add your fingers back and you can feel her approaching her edge.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” she keeps repeating the mantra as she reach her peak.

You don’t stop when she cums on your tongue, only slowing your motions, to help her come back down.

“You did so good for me baby,” you say kissing up to her lips.

She shifts so her thigh is against your dripping cunt, “Your turn, my love. Use me.”

You see her flex her thigh, which causes you to moan, “Fuck, Wanda.”

Your hands rest on her shoulder as you begin to grind down on her. Her hands are on you, but the movements are all yours. Wanda watches with blown eyes as you fuck yourself on her thigh. Her hands climb up your sides to massage your breasts. You bite your lip as her fingers play with your nipples.

Wanda sits up slightly, just enough to get her mouth on your body. She sucks on near the top of your breasts, trailing hickeys across.

“I love it when you make a mess on my thigh, cum for me, moya lyubov.”

You cum all over her thigh. Her arms wrap around your midsection holding you steady as you shake. Her head rests against your chest, listening to your wild heart beat return to normal. She places a delicate kiss on your shoulder.

“I love you.”

You kiss the top of her head, “I love you too.”

Once you’re both cleaned up, you settle in bed for the night. You’re start out as the big spoon but soon Wanda turns to face you.

“I was so scared before you came into my life,« she admits.

“Wanda-"

She shakes her head, “Let me finish. I was so lost, I didn't know what to do, if there was anything I could do to feel like myself again. There were so many days I went through thinking I was unlovable. Then you show up, and all of those feelings and thoughts just leave. I’ve never felt so cared for. You make me remember all of the things I love about myself. You make love seem so easy, it feels obvious when you’re with me. I’ve never experienced a love like you’ve given me and I need you to know I love you too. I’ve never felt what I feel for you with anyone else.”

Wanda starts out loud and sure, but by the end her voice is quiet. She doesn’t break eye contact, fighting against her insecurities.

There are no more words shared between the two of you. Wanda kisses you with everything she is feeling and you return her fervor. She pecks you again before burying her head in your chest. You hold her tightly in your arms wondering how you ended up being so lucky.

Her words make emotion swell inside of you. Your voice cracks when you speak, “You are the love of my life. I was doing alright before, but you and the boys are truly everything I’ve been missing in my life. Getting to be with you, a part of your family, it means everything to me Wanda. Thank you, for letting me love you.”

[rinnstars]

time capsule!

in which you hesitate on calling him on his 19th

itoshi sae x reader: angst w comfort, happy ending, long distance rs, birthday fic ish, not proof read + likes n reblogs are appreciated

its cowardly - its been 30 minutes and you’ve still yet to dare to press his contact. you turn to the other side of the bed, facing the walls - ironically maybe you are truly talking to a wall. you could scroll through the chats between you and itoshi sae and half of it would be one-sided conversations - whether that be you chatting about your day with no replies, good morning and good nights that are left unreciprocated, i love yous that are left with blue ticks.

time. time is cruel to you and sae you think - compared to the youthful and heart-pumping love you once shared of secret love whispers and letters in the classroom you were once familiar with just down the street of your house. you’ve changed a lot since the last time you saw him when he was just seventeen, coming back for the first time from overseas - you’ve cut your hair shorter than what he’s used to yet just enough for him to still comb through it as he’s always done in your memories, you’ve changed your fashion style, ironically more similar to his with his stylish sweaters, sunglasses you’ve bought with him at the thrift shop, shoes that reminds you of him, you’ve changed your room from the youthful polaroid filled room to a simple room walls clean of any identity or evidence of you. and youre sure time has been even more cruel - he’s changed since the last time you’ve met him - he’s grown a lot taller than the fourteen year old he was when he waved goodbye to you in the airport yet that eye full of affection still remained back then, he’s much more determined you think, no longer giving up after once or twice failures at. the claw machines you used to take him to during the weekends, and he’s much quieter than he used to be, even more stoic and colder than you’ve remembered the quiet lover that sits beside you during class. and you wonder how much more has he changed during these two years - you could guess though: even colder with lesser texts from him gradually day by day week by week until it’ll soon be too late, even quieter than you can get used to with little to no words to tell you anymore to fix this torn apart house of cards, and maybe this will be the year where he finally leaves.

grief is a natural process of life - death, lost passions, and torn-apart friendships. and you’re pretty sure youre at the acceptance stage of grieving over this fallen apart romance story. it was denial - making excuses for him when he stopped the daily greetings through texts and photos of new places he’s been, making excuses for him to your skeptical friends that has always been right to see without the tinted-rose glasses, making excuses for him so that just maybe he’ll come back. then it was anger: the one week you refused to text him or answer his calls although there wasn’t any to interact with in the first place - how could he abandon you like that? why can’t he care about this relationship just as much as i do? why is he being so selfish? why.. doesn’t he love me anymore - sadness. you’ve practically sobbed the next week or two away - has he fallen out of love? distance makes the heart grow fonder they say, but you think it has made itoshi sae forgot all about you, all about the memories you’ve shared, all about japan and the person he’s left behind. you hate the physical heartache you face as you look at photos of you and him from the past, hearing at the voice calls and voicemail he’s sent to you with that same familiar voice that seem to still make your heart flutter. you hate the physical memories of him that reminds you of him everywhere that makes your stomach churn - from the bus stop that you seem to always see the phantom of you and him sitting there just like before in that school uniform that hangs in your closet, from the sweater on your bed that still somehow smells like him that you’ve grown way too attached to, from the candy that’s sugary-sweet taste that burst in your mouth reminds you of eating the candy pack with him during lunch break on days too tired to walk down long stairs to get to the canteen. you hate the dreams of you and him - wearing the white cloth that covers your face walking down the aisle, wearing stupid matching christmas sweaters going down to eat dinner together just you and him, wearing that stupid paper rings that matches with his that youre sure is long gone in his pile of abandoned mess and trash in his life. yet youre persistent - you don’t think you’ve ever given up before, not for anything you wanted so desperately to stay - you work hard and get sort of good results so that you have something to share with him only to be met with a thumbs up reaction, you force yourself to desperately like just a little bit of his favourite drinks that burns under your tongue, even worse you’ve considered and calculated the amount of money and everything just to run over to spain to find him, to fix this torn-apart love story that youre so desperate to fulfill, to build back this house of cards that has long crumbled without you even noticing.

and now its 11:59. you know logically, you should at least give him a call, tell him happy birthday even if it goes to voice mail - because at the end of the day you love him, you can’t leave him the way he left you, and truly to the deepest part of your broken heart, you want his life to go right, you want him to achieve his dreams out there even if it’s without him, you want him to smile even if from a memory far too long for him to recount these days. and so you do, pressing that call button - but its selfish, deep. down perhaps you just want to hear his voice even if its prerecorded and laced with the same annoyance that pricks your heart slightly you try to says, perhaps you want it to hurt so you can stop lingering on this ghost of his and stop loving him when the ceiling of this house of cards have fallen and practically ripping apart at your heart and stomach, and perhaps you want to say one last farewell before you run away from this mess that you know deep down you’ve contributed to.

“hello?”

and yet its that stupidly sweet voice that replies back, one that makes your heart flutter, makes your ear turn pinkish red, makes your stomach burst with butterflies. oh youre sure its love, the same love that you’ve felt the first time you’ve held hands with him and felt electric coursed through your veins and verve’s, the same love you’ve felt when your lips melted perfectly into his like you were made for each other by the universe, the same love you’ve felt when he’s first made you that paper ring in the middle of science class before that match that changed the entirety of yours and sae’s life. and you think, if it means feeling this pumping of your heart as though youre on a rollercoaster, feeling this warmth that rises through your entire face, feeling the love from your legs through your head - you think its all worth it.

“happy birthday sae. i love you”

“… thanks. i love you too. i’m coming back tomorrow by the way, i’ll come over..?”

and just maybe, you can fix this house of cards with him. with him - not alone, but with him. and just maybe those phantoms of you and sae at that bus stop, on your bed in your bedroom, at yours and his favourite cafe wont be ghosts anymore.

[july-19th-club]

a while back i read jane eyre for the first time since high school in anticipation of watching the 2006 wilson/stephens miniseries. it's incredible to reread these classic novels as an adult, because while i got all the words and understood the *content* as a teenager, i didn't at all find the book interesting or fun to read. anyway i think one of the reasons that book stood the test of time isn't so much the gothic intrigue and how fucked up rochester and his wife are . he sucks so bad in so many ways . but he keeps needing rescued from stuff and only jane can do it . he fucking breaks an ankle falling off a horse early in her employment with him and she's the one who helps him back to the house . his attic wife sets his bedroom on fire and jane's the one who finds him and puts it out before he dies of smoke inhalation . then attic wife sets the house on fire after jane leaves and the whole place burns to the ground, grievous death and permanent injuries, etc, etc. jane comes back yippee everything's okay again! austen heroes don't get wounded like that because they're far too sedate and busy engaging in social seasons and heathcliff is like not wounded physically so much as destroyed emotionally . but this dude strikes the balance for readers who best enjoy when a man is collapsing of various problems and literally cant survive a day without some governess to pour water on his four-poster so he doesn't fry to a crisp

ALSO . i particularly was interested in the passages just after jane first meets him where she talks a lot about how if he was a normal polite person, or even just like a normal Lord with like, a sense of propriety and good manor house manners, she'd have been shy and awkward and uncomfortable and would have hated him. but i think where some interpretations get it wrong is that she doesn't think his rudeness is HOT. she thinks it's good for her own confidence, in that she knows her own self-esteem and social comfort levels are so low that all the scripts of peerage and society make her crawl into herself and disappear. she doesn't know how to follow the scripts convincingly, she's been emotionally abused her whole life so she has no sense of self-worth, but he doesn't follow the script. which means she doesn't have to worry about following it either. which does wonders for her confidence levels because when she can just act in ways that make sense to her rather than second-guessing whether she will be Approved Of, she can actually be a person. and that's what she first appreciates about him: his ability to (more or less without trying or even noticing) facilitate that for her.

"The incident had occurred and was gone for me: it was an incident of no moment, no romance, no interest in a sense; yet it marked with change one single hour of a monotonous life. My help had been needed and claimed; I had given it: I was pleased to have done something, trivial, transitory though the deed was, it was yet an active thing, and I was weary of an existence all passive."

[66stitches]

abby anderson request !! :)

i wanted something where abby is starting to doubt her sexuality and trusts reader to ask questions and just talk about it (reader is a lesbian and they're close friends, it can end up with them kissing — or more, if you're comfortable)

cw: sfw, kissing (a lot of it), descriptions of masturbation (abby), talk of sexuality and questioning sexuality, no physical description of reader

Daily click - Palestine masterpost - TLOU and israel

a/n: thank you for the req !! I don’t write full on smut unfortunately (though I might write some short stuff in the future), but I tried to write a few kinda sexual scenes here and there

wc: idk prob like 1k

divider creds

Abby loved Owen, truly. She was attracted to him: that is what she kept convincing herself of everyday.

Every moment with Owen was a new lie she fed herself.

He was the man she loved. There was nothing she doubted in her relationship with him. The absence of love’s warmth meant to fill her body was her own fault; her inability to reach climax when they had sex was a problem for which only she was to blame.

It doesn’t mean she never tried, though. Abby had spent nights attempting to pleasure herself to the thought of Owen: the only person she should be thinking of; the only person supposed to be capable of reaching her to her climax.

And yet, all she felt was nothing. She laid in her bed, carnal and romantical dissatisfaction utterly consuming her. She was convinced that she was simply incapable of experiencing any sort of attraction exceeding platonicity.

But it only grew more confusing from there.

In another one of her inevitably futile attempts of bringing herself to climax to the thought of Owen, she felt her mind begin to drift to another thought that would hopefully bring her to that much desired release.

She didn’t intend for it to, but the man was just not doing it for her.

That night, she thought of a woman.

That night, she came so hard she swore she could see stars.

A specific woman she thought of in particular, but she would never admit who it was that finally relieved that ache. Not even in the confines of her own thoughts.

And so here she found herself, seated on the soft cushion of your worn-out couch.

You were Abby’s sole friend who was openly lesbian. Abby had seen you bring women over numerous times before. She had listened to your rants about your sexual and romantic encounters with women.

She even helped set you up with one, which harbored a slight odd feeling in the pit of her stomach for a reason she couldn’t quite decipher.

She had thought of it many times: what it was like being with a woman. She didn’t really know what to make of those thoughts. Whether it was mere curiosity, or perhaps something more.

And now here she sat next to you, trying to find the confidence to speak.

She never found it hard to confide in you. Of course not, you were her dearest friend. But this dilemma of hers was difficult to merely utter aloud, even if it is only to herself.

You were on your phone when Abby spoke.

“So… you’re gay,” she started, and she wanted to strike herself as soon as the words left her mouth, because of course you were gay. What kind of opening is that?

“Good observation?” You chuckled, bemused. You placed your phone down, curious as to where she was going with this.

“What’s it like? You know, being with a woman,” she asked, already regretting bringing it up, but she just needed some certainty.

Your eyebrows twisted in confusion at the inquiry. You and Abby were comfortable enough to share anything with each other. Nothing was considered too much information or too uncomfortable to talk about.

It was just an odd question coming from Abby, who you thought was so sure of her sexuality.

“I guess it’s like how it feels for you being with a man.”

God, she hoped not.

“Why?” You asked.

“Just curious, that’s all. Wanna understand your sexuality more, educate myself,” she spoke rather timidly.

You laughed softly. “Oh, because you’re so woke, right?”

Abby could tell you didn’t believe her. In all fairness, she didn’t really put much effort into trying to sound the least bit credible.

She didn’t even know why she was lying to you right now. She trusted you, she always has. This was just a difficult truth to face.

“I don’t know. I’m just feeling a little confused, I guess,” she confessed, shrugging.

“About your sexuality?” Your voice was slow, but your heart beat quicker than ever before.

You would be lying if you said you didn’t find Abby attractive. You’ve always had a little childish crush on the blonde, but you constantly found yourself trying to shove your feelings aside, somewhere far away so it could no longer reach to gnaw at your heart.

But now this — this made it all different. You might be getting slightly ahead of yourself, but you can’t help but think that now you might have the smallest chance with her.

“I don’t know— I mean, yeah, I guess,” she said as she fiddled with the seams of her shirt. “Owen’s just never really made me feel… well, anything. Anything you’re supposed to feel with a partner, I don’t feel it. I thought maybe the problem was Owen specifically, but I’ve come to realize that it’s not.”

“But women get you going?”

“I think so,” she admitted, finally. “I tried to think about a woman last night, while, you know…” she trailed off, her skin suddenly feeling very hot at the confession.

“And?” You whispered, feeling just as hot at her confession. “Was it just what you were missing?”

Abby went quiet for a moment, then she answered. “Yeah, it was.”

It was silent. Abby still looked like she had something to say, so you offered no response for a moment.

“But how could I know? I’ve never tried anything romantic or sexual with another woman, so how would I be able to tell? I could just be confused,” she said.

You were quiet, contemplating your next words. What you were about to do could either ruin your friendship, or elevate it to something more. You were relying on the latter.

“You wanna try?” You asked. Your voice sounded bold, but everything within you was shaking with apprehension.

She offered naught but an incredulous look. Her eyes were blown wide, disbelieving.

“What?”

Well, shit.

“I mean, solely for experimental purposes, of course. A kiss shared with another woman, just to be certain,” you explained.

The tension was thick, almost palpable. You were nervous at Abby’s silence and you realized that this is where your boldness gets you.

You were ready for her harsh rejection and the revulsion that would surely be evident in her voice, but then she spoke.

“Okay,” she said. Not a hint of revulsion in her tone. You didn’t know it, but her heart beat just as quick as yours.

“Really?” You asked, surprised as if you hadn’t been the one to offer.

“Well, yeah,” she leaned in slightly, bringing her face closer to yours. “Just for experimental purposes, right?”

“Yeah, sure,” you breathed. You brought your face to hers, and in a split second you closed the gap between you, meeting each other in a slow kiss, your eyes fluttering shut.

Her lips were soft. Her kiss felt nervous, lacking confidence, yet it still exceeded every expectation.

You pulled away once you felt it was enough. You looked at her and waited for what she had to say.

“Oh yeah, I’m definitely gay,” she said and pushed your face right back into hers, meeting your lips in a much more heated kiss.

This kiss, however, held the confidence the previous one lacked, her lips moving skillfully against yours. You waited for the shock to wear off before kissing her back, clearly not expecting her to want more.

You disconnected your lips once again, pulling her face away from yours. “Abby—”

“Just need-” she interrupted her own words to press another swift peck to your lips. “A little more-” another kiss. “Just to make sure,” she said, finally and pulled you in for another kiss. She cupped your burning cheeks with her palms and slipped her tongue into your mouth.

What was supposed to be an innocent kiss, solely for the sake of experiment (how the thought made you laugh now), turned into her exploring your mouth with her tongue and pushing her body against yours. This kiss held no place for innocence now.

She softly moaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating throughout your body.

She used her thumb to lightly caress your cheek as she kissed you like her life depended on it. She slightly pulled apart then, nibbling on your bottom lip with her teeth.

As the kiss came to an end, you sat staring at each other, breathless, and oh so blissful.

“You wanna know something?” Abby asked with a dumb smile on her face which brought another smile upon your own. You hummed.

“It was you,” she started, still faintly breathless. “You were who I thought of.”

Your eyebrows rose at the confession. It was unexpected, but certainly not disliked.

What you were more surprised at, though, was how casually she said it, seemingly too blissed out at the moment for any feeling of embarrassment.

“You telling me I was your gay awakening?” You asked, grinning.

“You could say that.” She shrugged and scratched at the back of her neck.

You laughed and scooted closer to her. “Well, I guess I’m honored then,” you said.

“Alright,” she rolled her eyes and laughed. She leaned in then, craving more of your taste.

You giggled into the kiss and pulled away, licking your lips to savor her intoxicating taste.

“I think we’ve already come to the conclusion that you’re gay. You still want more?”

She brought her face closer again and caressed your cheeks. She was close enough that you could feel her breath against your lips.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Now shut up and let me kiss you.”

[luveline]

Hey!! I love love LOVE your criminal minds content so much, especially the Hotch with unexpected daughter reader. Is there any chance you’re gonna write more for that series? I’d literally take anything, the comfort vibes are off the charts with your works and I need some Hotch comfort. But no worries if not, hope you have a great week <33

thank you for requesting! fem, 1.4k

Jack peers at you from over the furthest armrest. “Y/N. Are you grumpy?” 

“Do I look grumpy?” you ask. 

“Yes.” He pokes his eyebrow. “You do.” 

“My face is betraying me then, because I’m not grumpy.” 

“Mine does that to me all the time but mom doesn’t believe it.”

You give him a small nudge. “Your mommy probably knows you better than you know yourself, like, knows how you’re feeling before you do.” 

“But how does she know?”

“I think it’s because she loves you. She really loves you, babe. You’re lucky.” 

“So lucky.” He climbs over the armrest and onto the couch, smiling at you politely, like a friend he’s just found at school. 

You try to see the similarities in your faces. He looks more like Haley than he does Aaron. You look more like your mother, too. There are bits of Aaron in both of you, yours not quite as physical —Jack’s tame when it comes to expressing emotion, and you both talk in a measured tone. (Though your tone is coincidence or genetics, but not learned. You’d have to have known him growing up for it to be learned.) 

“Did dad tell you what mommy said?” Jack asks. 

You glance over his head but see no one. Aaron said he was going to get chips for movie night, and Haley tends to find things to do. “No.” 

“It’s a secret.” 

“Well, you don’t have to tell me.” 

“You can’t tell anyone,” he says. 

Your stomach feels not your own. “I won’t,” you promise. 

“Mommy says you’re here too much.” 

You nod slowly. Jack frowns at you as though waiting for you to be upset, but you’ve suspected she thinks so for a while. It’s not something you blame her for. 

Jack watches you. 

“Dad got really mad.”

“I’m sorry, Jack. That must’ve been scary.” 

Jack drops his face into your arm. “No. Dad doesn’t yell. But he slept in my room with me.” 

“Want a hug?” you whisper. 

Jack squirms under your arm. You pull him toward you and try to divide your feelings into boxes. Embarrassed and horrified and a little annoyed that Haley thinks you’re here too much. Sad and again embarrassed that Aaron defended you. 

This is Haley’s house, and she never signed up for you. She’s never made you feel unwelcome but that doesn’t mean she wants to see you every Saturday. You're a huge new wedge inserted in their married lives, and now you’re affecting Jack, making his parents argue.  

“I’m sorry,” you say, suddenly flooded by a wave of hot, awkward regret. 

You knew when you found out that Aaron was your father that you would change his life. You’ve always hoped it would be for the better, but maybe it isn’t. 

“Jack…” you say. What is it about hugging him that makes you feel like crying? “I’m real sorry, I didn’t mean for that to happen.” 

“It’s not your fault. I like you here. You’re fun.” 

“Thanks, Jack.” 

He looks up at you. “Will you stop coming over?” 

“I guess it’s up to your mommy.” You falter. “Jack?”

“What?” 

“I’m sorry if having a new sister isn’t as fun as you thought it would be. I don’t want to make things harder for you, but I guess I did.” 

“Mom says everything is hard now.” 

You bite the inside of your cheek in efforts to hide how you’re feeling. “I’m sorry. Um, listen, can I have a big hug? I just remembered I have to go help my mom at home.”

“You’re leaving?” 

“Sorry, Jack.” 

Jack gives you a hug. You gather your things and rush to the door to shove your shoes on, but your dad catches you before you can leave. 

“Where are you going?” Aaron asks, his smile falling.

“I–” He makes you nervous, and you know your stammer gives you away. “I forgot I had to do the laundry for my mom tonight, if I don’t do it she’ll be mad for days.” 

“I’m sure you can make it up to her tomorrow,” he suggests gently.

“I better go.”

“Honey, what’s really going on?”

“The laundry is really going on,” you say, unconvincing. “I have to go, I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay. Well, I’ll see you on–”

You open the door before he can finish or offer a hug, image of him in his loose t-shirt carrying a tray of sandwiches burned into your guilty conscience. 

—

You don’t see Aaron for three weeks before he corners you. You owe your great avoidance to his busy job, but it didn’t feel good to reject him, to refuse to make time for him as he does for you. 

“You!” he says, clearly kidding but not entirely where he’s waiting outside of your university building. “Beautiful young woman in the blue! I have some questions for you.” 

It’s so absurd for him that you immediately burst into shy laughter. “Dad, what?” you ask, hiding your face. 

Classmates part around you, seemingly unperturbed. 

Aaron retrieves his badge. “See this? I could detain you, but I won’t if you come quietly. In fact, if you don’t argue I’ll buy you lunch.” 

“You’d buy my lunch regardless.” 

He grabs you. Kindly, but grabbing all the same, like he’s worried you’re about to scarper. “Where have you been hiding?” he asks, giving you a quick hug. You feel tenseness in his arms you're unused to, hear a sadness in his voice that makes your throat burn. 

Putting a table between you helps marginally. Aaron pretends he doesn’t know why you’ve been avoiding him and the Hotchner house, and you’re more than happy to go along with it, until. 

“I have something to tell you,” he says. 

You press against a piece of soaked fruit with your spoon. “Okay.” 

“Haley and I are probably going to separate.” 

You bite your tongue so hard it makes you flinch, spoon scratching the bottom of your bowl. “What?” 

“We’ve been having problems ever since Jack was born.” 

You stare. 

Aaron is very still. He talks carefully. Not without emotion, but stilted, perhaps. “I’m not as good a father as I wish I were. And Haley sees that. Sweetheart, I haven’t ever wanted to burden you with the, uh, less than happy details of my life. I think you’ve suffered me enough. But I’m telling you because I know Jack told you about my most recent argument with Haley.” He smiles at you. “Honey, we fight too much. That day, it was about you, but it’s not all about you, and she doesn’t… Haley’s a good woman. She is. I’ve changed her life a hundred different ways and she hasn’t had many choices, and she…” Something vulnerable crops up, a wavering in his breath. “Sometimes I think she isn’t fair. She holds me to standards I can’t reach, no matter how hard I try, but we’ve stopped arguing about it so much recently, and I’m afraid that that’s… the death knell.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say softly. 

“I’m going to keep trying. I don’t want to lose her.” He drinks what’s left of his soda and presses his napkin under the edge of his plate. “But I won’t lose you, you know? I just want you to understand that you’re not the problem, and you never could be.” 

“I don’t want to add another thing to your levy, dad,” you say, still soft. 

“Meeting you is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Well, tied with your brother, of course. You aren’t a thing to be added to anything, you’re my daughter, and Haley might not like it but my home will always have a place for you.” 

What if that’s the problem? From his perspective, you’re not a hindrance to his marriage so much as a separate issue, but from your own, it sounds like you’re just making things worse. 

You’ve missed him, though, and you can’t argue that his reassurances aren’t working. 

“It’s not that Haley doesn’t like you,” he adds, reaching for your hand, “more that she’s unhappy. I’m sorry that that’s something you had to carry.” 

You often think to yourself that Aaron talks like he’s telling a story. He’s so calm and steady, the same as the feeling of his thumb on your wrist. 

“I’m sorry I stormed out.” 

“I wouldn’t call that storming out,” he says. “You’re too quiet sometimes. I wish you’d be upset out loud.” 

“I just don’t want you to fight about me.��� 

“Honey,” —he holds your eyes, giving your wrist a gentle squeeze— “I’m always gonna fight for you. That’s what fathers do.”

[romerona]

The Cook and The Teacher!

Let's pretend The Bear and Abbot Elementary are in the same city.

Another cute interaction between Carmen (Carmy) Berzatto x Abbot Teacher Femreader! Sunshinereader!

Carmy stood in the dimly lit laundry room, hands on his hips as he glared at the washing machine like it had personally wronged him. The display panel flashed erratically, like it was trying to send an SOS in Morse code, while a faint but concerning smell of burning plastic wafted through the air.

He let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. All he wanted was to wash his clothes—just one normal task in a sea of chaos. Apparently, even that was asking too much.

With a frustrated sigh, he muttered curses under his breath and gave the machine a half-hearted nudge with his foot, as if that might magically revive it. Spoiler alert: it didn’t. The machine remained defiantly lifeless.

“Wow. Bold strategy. Were you planning to wrestle it next?”

The voice startled him. He turned sharply to see you standing in the doorway, holding a laundry basket overflowing with brightly colored clothes. You were dressed in the epitome of Saturday comfort: an oversized t-shirt with a graphic that read 'Physics: It’s Not Rocket Science... Oh, Wait, Yes It Is,' paired with baggy sweatpants and ridiculously fluffy, colorful monster feet slippers. Your hair was slightly messy like you’d just rolled out of bed—or perhaps fought the laundry demons he was now dealing with.

Your lips curved into a teasing smile as you tilted your head. “I’m impressed. I didn’t know machines responded to passive-aggressive foot taps.”

Carmy let out a quiet sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t have a better idea.”

“Well,” you said, stepping into the room and setting your basket down on the counter, “I hate to break it to you, but this thing looks like it’s plotting your demise. What’s the issue? Won’t open?”

“It stopped mid-cycle,” he explained, gesturing toward the uncooperative machine. “Clothes are stuck. It’s probably fried.”

“Oof. Smells like defeat and polyester.” You crouched down to inspect the machine, tilting your head like a mechanic sizing up a stubborn engine. “Looks like it’s giving you the silent treatment. Did you try apologizing? Promising to separate your whites and darks next time?”

“Funny,” Carmy deadpanned, though the twitch of his lips betrayed his amusement.

You straightened up, planting your hands on your hips in a stance that could only be described as authoritative. “Well, lucky for you, Carmy-next-door, I happen to be an expert in broken things.”

Carmy raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the counter. “Yeah? How’s that?”

You let out a playful scoff, crouching in front of the washing machine as if it were a patient in need of your expertise. “When you work in a place that runs on shoestring budgets and prayers, you pick up a thing or two about fixing stuff. I’ve practically got a minor in MacGyver-ing. It’s part of my many talents.”

He smirked, watching as you pressed a few buttons and tapped the side of the machine like you were coaxing it back to life. “Sounds like a tough gig.”

“Oh, it’s a blast,” you replied sarcastically with a grin, peering at the machine’s latch. “But the real fun is my lovely fourth graders and their… slippery fingers. Nothing keeps you on your toes like finding out your class stapler’s been dismantled to ‘see how it works.’”

“And you adore them,” Carmy guessed, his voice soft but sure.

“Ugh, to a fault,” you admitted, sitting back on your heels to glance at him. “They’re chaos in human form, but they’re my chaos. Like when Marcus decided to see if he could use glitter glue as a bookmark. Spoiler alert: he couldn’t. And then there was Kayla’s science project that involved exactly zero science but a lot of snacks. Kids are wild, but they’re kind of the best.”

Carmy chuckled, the sound low and warm as he shook his head. “Sounds like you’ve got your hands full.”

You huff a laugh nodding. “But they make all the broken stuff worth it... also, they’ve prepared me for moments like this. Fixing things? I’m a pro. Diffusing meltdowns? Also a pro. Dodging paper balls? Let’s just say my reflexes are unmatched.”

He chuckled quietly, his blue eyes softening as he observed your easy confidence. “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.”

“Oh, hardly,” you said with a self-deprecating laugh.

He watched as you tinkered with the inner workings of the washer, the way your monster-footed slippers stuck out behind you, and the light in your eyes as you spoke about your students. There was something captivating about the way you moved—confident but never overbearing, your words spilling out in an endless stream of humor and warmth. For someone who probably dealt with endless chaos in your day-to-day life, you had an energy about you—warmth—messy and vibrant—that felt oddly grounding in his otherwise muted world.

Finally, with a triumphant click, the washer’s door popped open. A puff of warm, damp air escaped, carrying with it the faint scent of detergent. You rocked back on your heels, grinning up at him as if you’d just disarmed a bomb.

“And there you have it!” you declared standing up, sweeping your arm dramatically toward the liberated laundry like a game show host revealing a grand prize. “Your clothes are finally free, Chef Carmy. Laundry liberation, courtesy of yours truly. I accept gratitude in the form of snacks, coffee, or eternal admiration—your choice. But please, no autographs. I have to stay humble.”

“You’re something else, you know that?” Carmy said, huffing a quiet laugh as he shook his head, stepping forward to start transferring the damp clothes into another machine. His tone softened slightly as he added, “But thanks, really. I owe you one.”

You waved a hand dismissively, already moving to the next machine with your own basket in tow.

“Don’t worry about it, Carmy…” you said, your tone casual, though the smirk playing on your lips suggested otherwise. “But, if you do feel like you want to repay me, feel free to bring me more of those leftovers—like the ones you brought when I first moved in.”

He paused, eyebrows raising slightly as he met your gaze. “That’s what you want? Leftovers?”

“Not just any leftovers,” you clarified, turning back to load more clothes. “The fancy ones. Braised short ribs, perfectly roasted vegetables... whatever culinary magic you’re whipping up in that kitchen of yours. Don’t think I forgot.”

Carmy paused mid-transfer, glancing at you with a faint, almost embarrassed smile. “You liked those, huh?”

“Liked?” you scoffed, tossing a pair of socks into the machine. “I was ready to write you a thank-you sonnet. That braised short rib? Poetry in food form. You’ve ruined me for takeout forever.”

He chuckled softly, shutting the door to his machine. “It was just a test recipe.”

“Well, then I’d be happy to test more of your recipes,” you said with a wink, starting your own machine and leaning back against it. “Strictly as a favor, of course. I’m nothing if not generous.”

“Generous,” he repeated, shaking his head with a smirk as he pressed the start button on his machine. He glanced at you, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Alright. I’ll see what I can do.”

“See?” you teased, flashing him a grin. “You’re already getting the hang of this whole neighborly exchange thing. Don’t worry, I’ll keep my expectations high.”

Carmy shook his head, letting out another quiet laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” you quipped, settling yourself into the nearby chair and grabbing a book from the empty laundry basket at your feet. You opened it casually, like you weren’t fully aware of the fact that his attention was still on you. “Don’t keep me waiting too long, Chef Carmy. I’ve got standards now.”

Carmy smirked faintly, shaking his head as he leaned back against the counter, arms loosely crossed. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than he intended, watching as you flipped through the book, completely at ease. The light in the room, though dim and slightly yellowed, softened your features, making you look... warm. Pretty, even. The oversized t-shirt, the messy hair, and those ridiculous monster slippers didn’t detract from it—in fact, they only made you more endearing. Not that he’d ever admit that out loud. Instead, he tucked the thought neatly into the back of his mind, letting it sit there quietly.

The faint hum of the working washing machine filled the space, stretching the silence between you into something that felt oddly comfortable. He wasn’t used to that—not in conversations, not in moments like these. Usually, silence felt heavy, awkward, something to be broken. But this? This felt... different.

Still, the need to say something eventually won out, despite his lack of finesse with small talk. Clearing his throat softly, Carmy shifted his weight and finally asked, “So... uh, how are you liking it here?”

You glanced up from your book, your lips curving into a small, knowing smile. “In the building? Or in the laundry room?”

Carmy huffed a quiet laugh, looking down briefly before meeting your eyes again. “The biulding, I guess."

“Oh, it’s not bad,” you said, leaning back in your chair. “The walls are a little thin—I may or may not know the entire plot of the soap opera your upstairs neighbor is binging—but they are decent. A little quiet, though, except for one guy who keeps kicking appliances. Total menace.”

“Sounds rough,” Carmy deadpanned, though his smirk gave him away.

“It is,” you said with mock solemnity before your smile softened. “But honestly? I like it. It’s... cozy, you know? Feels like a place where things can settle down.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze dropping briefly to the floor. “That’s good.”

“It’s growing on me,” you admitted, closing the book and resting it on your lap. “I mean, it’s not every day you move into a building and immediately make friends with someone who’s probably going to be on the cover of Some Fancy Chef Magazine someday.”

“Friends?” he said, arching a brow.

“Yeah, friends,” you replied with a teasing grin. “Or at least laundry room acquaintances.”

He shook his head, his smirk softening into something closer to genuine. “Friend's better.”

"Good," You smiled, shifting slightly in your chair. “So, Carmy-next-door, aside from working and battling possessed washing machines, what do you do for fun?”

“For fun?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow as though you’d just asked him to name every spice in his kitchen alphabetically. “Uh... I don’t know. Not sure I’ve got much time for that.”

“Not buying it,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes playfully. “Everyone’s got something. Come on, spill. What’s your guilty pleasure? Do you secretly knit in your downtime? Binge-watch trashy reality TV? Start a garden but refuse to tell anyone because it ruins your ‘serious chef’ vibe? And if you are, I know someone who could be your new best friend.”

He let out another quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “None of those, but now I’m thinking I should start knitting just to throw people off.”

“Do it,” you said, pointing at him. “Then you can make me a scarf. But seriously, what’s your thing? There’s gotta be something.”

Carmy hesitated for a moment, his gaze dropping briefly before meeting yours again. “I guess... sometimes I’ll just walk around the city. Clears my head, you know?”

You nodded, smiling softly. “That’s a solid choice. City walks are like people-watching with a side of fresh air. What’s your favorite spot?”

“There's this park near the river. Quiet, not too crowded. Good place to think." Carmy tells her.

"Sounds nice," you replied, smiling. "I might have to check it out sometime."

"You should," Carmy said, his expression softening. He clears his throat, "I-uh, I used to draw, though. Sketch stuff when I had the time.”

“Used to?” you asked, leaning forward a bit, intrigued. “You mean you don’t anymore? Or are you just too modest to admit you’ve got sketchbooks hidden under your bed?”

His smirk faltered into something a little more genuine, a touch of shyness creeping into his expression. “I still do. Sometimes. When things aren’t too crazy.”

“Now that’s interesting,” you said, sitting back with a thoughtful smile. “What kind of stuff do you draw? People? Landscapes? Elaborate food masterpieces?”

“A little of everything,” he said with a small shrug. “But mostly recipes, or at least how I want them to look."

“Like a visual diary,” you said, nodding. “That’s actually really cool.”

“Yeah, well...” he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s nothing big.”

“Carmy,” you said, tilting your head at him. “You just admitted to having an actual hobby, and I’m here for it. Don’t downplay it.”

He huffed, shaking his head flushing ever so slightly. “Alright. What about you? What do you do for fun?”

“Me?” you repeated, your eyes lighting up as you sat back in the chair, clutching your book like a prop in a comedy routine. “Well, let’s see. I’m a professional daydreamer, certified in overthinking, and an expert-level snack enthusiast. It’s an impressive resume, I know.”

Carmy chuckled, the corner of his mouth twitching into a rare smile. “Sounds like a full-time job.”

“Oh, it is,” you said with a mock-serious nod. “But if we’re being serious... I like to read, obviously.” You held up the book for emphasis. “And I’m a sucker for a good movie. Big screen, small screen, doesn’t matter. I also like to go out with friends— go to clubs, a karaoke bar, grab dinner, play board games, complain about life. You know, the usual.”

He tilted his head, his expression softening. “Any favorites? Books or movies?”

“Hmm,” you mused, tapping your chin. “For books, I like a little bit of everything—mysteries, fantasy, even the occasional cheesy romance. Keeps life interesting. And movies... I’m a sucker for feel-good comedies. But every now and then, I’ll binge something dark and broody just to balance it out.”

Carmy nodded, his gaze thoughtful. “Feel-good comedies? Got any recommendations?”

“Oh, I’ve got tons,” you said, your eyes gleaming. “But only if you’re ready for some real classics. Think Clueless, The Princess Bride, or When Harry Met Sally. If you’ve never seen those, we might have to reassess this friendship.”

“Clueless,” he repeated, remembering the movie because of Natalie who forced him and Mikey to watch it, one eyebrow-raising. “That the one with ‘As if’?”

“Yes!” you exclaimed, pointing at him with enthusiasm. “See? You’re already on the right track.”

He smirked, shaking his head again. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“What about you? Do you watch movies, or is that too much fun for someone as serious as Chef Carmy?”

He smirked, rubbing the back of his neck. “I watch stuff sometimes. Nothing specific. Just... whatever’s on.”

“Lame answer,” you teased, narrowing your eyes at him. “We’ll work on that. I’ll make you a list. Everyone needs go-to favorite movies.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” he said, his smirk softening.

“Good,” you replied with a playful nod, leaning back in your chair. “And since you’re such a layer enigma, like an onion, I’m guessing you don’t do the whole ‘night out with friends’ thing often?”

“Not really,” he admitted, his tone quieter now. “Doesn’t happen much.”

“You should,” you said, leaning forward slightly, your tone teasing but warm. “You might surprise yourself. One minute you’re awkwardly standing in a corner, and the next, you’re reenacting a dance scene from Dirty Dancing with a stranger. That’s how the best stories happen.”

Carmy shook his head, a quiet laugh escaping him. “Not sure that’s my thing.”

“Hey, it doesn’t have to be Dirty Dancing,” you said with a shrug. “But everyone deserves a good night out now and then. Even mysterious chef-next-door types.”

“I’ll think about it,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “But no promises.”

“Fair,” you replied, looking over at him with a soft smile. “I’m just saying, Chef Carmy, you can’t live in your kitchen forever. Sometimes you’ve gotta step out and find your own rom-com moment.”

Carmy stared at you for a moment, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. He shook his head, as though amused by something he couldn’t quite put into words, but the warmth in his expression lingered.

The hum of the machines filled the room, a soft backdrop to your easy conversation. What started as playful banter drifted into more thoughtful exchanges—small glimpses into each other’s lives, quirks, and histories.

Minutes melted into what felt like seconds, neither of you noticing the time slipping away. For once, it wasn’t about schedules, responsibilities, or the ever-present noise of the outside world. Just two neighbors sharing stories in the glow of the laundry room’s dim light.

A/N: So, thank you so much for all the support. It really keeps me going. I'm thinking of making like a small series of this, like a few interactions before they started dating- maybe some jealousy along the way lol- the first date- maybe the future but idk.

Also, just in case I do, please tell me if you would like to be tagged.

Part 4?

@themorriganisamonster