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sophiethewitch1 · 4 months

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What We Want - Chpt. 1 - Not Quite An Isekai

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

You awake to the sound of your phone ringing. You slap to the edge of your couch, aiming for the rickety side table. Your wrist smacks against the corner, and you hiss in pain. It’s a few inches too high, and wood, not metal. Seems you somehow got to your bed during the night, but you didn’t remember it. Still, you get your phone. Through squinted eyes, you find the screen, its 3:15, far too early for your drunken suffering- Wait no, it’s mid-afternoon. Still, you feel tired, and you want to sleep.

You answer the phone anyway, putting it on speaker and resting your head back against the pillow. Your head doesn’t hurt that bad anyway. God was smiling down on you today.

“Miss, are you awake?” a man’s voice rings through your apartment.

Who was that? Who called you Miss of all things? Your boss didn’t remember your name sure, but he just called you ‘intern’ instead. You’d been an official employee for six months now. Right, conversation, paying attention, replying like a normal person.

“Hm, yeah, I’m awake,” you say, fighting back the urge to yawn.

“You don’t sound very awake, Miss,” the man replies, his tone familiar.

“Who is this?”

He sighs, “Miss, are you being sarcastic?”

“What? No, I’m serious,” you confusedly answer.

“…This is Alfred, Miss. Now, Master Wayne has asked me to-”

“Master who now?” you cut this Alfred off, doubly confused now. Wayne? Like, the Wayne family? The rich, philanthropist one?

He sighs again, “I understand the relationship between the two of you is quite strained, and this is a personally difficult day for you, but he insists on seeing you. Your birthday gala starts at 7, as I’ve told you, and your assistant will be over at 4. I ask that you unblock both their accounts, as I would much rather I didn’t have to talk to you when you’re like this.”

“What?” you repeat, like the idiot you are.

“Good day, Miss. And happy birthday.”

He hangs up. You blink down at your phone. And then you roll your eyes, because oh my god are Molly’s pranks getting ridiculous. You never should have told her about your weird fascination with the Waynes, she was getting back at you hard for your drunken mistake.

You make a lot of those. Well, life goes on. You’ll put glitter in Molly’s car’s vanity mirror or something.

You turn off your phone, and let your face slam right back into your pillow. For a while, you try to go back to sleep.

…Something about this isn’t right. You, like the freak you are, take a deep inhale of your pillow. It smells like you, like the laundry soap you use, but it also smells like… Well, you don’t know. All you can think about is your new boss’s wife and her awful perfume that swallows the office space like noxious gas.

Your pillow… kind of smells like that. Your first ungodly thought is that, somehow, you spent a torrid night with your boss’s wife. The second is that Molly needs to die for her crimes.

You let your crusty, bleary, stinging eyes blink open.

Hm. Why is there a chandelier in your bedroom? You shoot upright in the bed, silk sheets falling to your lap. Silk sheets you can’t afford. You look around the room, eyes widening at the space. The bed is king-sized, while you had barely been able to afford your twin-sized mattress. The living room isn’t in the same space as the bedroom. You can’t see the kitchen and the bathroom to your right has shining marble tiles. And even then, the decoration’s are luxurious and clean, compared to your livable chaos.

You look to your left, and your mouth drops open.

A floor-to-ceiling window, showing the Gotham horizon with the morning sun. Fog and clouds twist around spiralling gothic towers, reaching down to the people down below. You’re looking out over the bay, and you can see the Narrows barely peaking through the mist, desperately clawing for any sunlight.

The sun rises on the right of your building, not the left. You don’t have a view, you’re on the fourth floor and there’s a brick building directly across from your window. You live in the Narrows.

You live in the Narrows. You press your face to the cool glass and look down. Oh my god, you can’t see the streetside. You’re too high up. You’re somehow on the opposite side of Gotham City.

Stumbling away from the window, you do your best not to touch anything, because you know it’s all too expensive for your peasant hand. Let’s start thinking… whatever was happening to you, through. Molly might kidnap you for a joke, sure, but she was barely any richer than you, and that was just because her boyfriend lived with her. She could not afford this level of fuckery.

So… so… is this, what? A big joke from the universe? Did someone else kidnap you? You have to have been kidnapped, right? Why the fuck would someone kidnap you?

Did the Joker kidnap you? Was he coming to finish you off? End your family line?

You reach down and pinch yourself hard enough you yelp. When the dazzlingly perfect apartment doesn’t disappear, it’s much harder to force yourself not to panic. Okay, okay, okay. It’s fine. This’ll be fine, and it could still be a dream. That whole pinching thing was a myth, right? Argh, maybe you should’ve listened to Molly when she was trying to get you into astral projection.

Wait, Molly!

You go back to your bed and pick up your phone.

It’s… it’s not your phone. What was this? The iPhone 27? You didn’t keep up with those sorts of things, but it looked expensive. Everything here looked expensive.

You think you’re going to go into anaphylactic shock. Wait, no, it’s hyper-something. What was it? Argh, you can’t do this right now!

You press your thumb to the ‘on’ button, and luckily whoever this phone belongs to is not worried about their privacy because there's no password. Stupidly, you look for Molly’s name in your list of contacts.

BLOCKED - ‘Bruce Wayne’

BLOCKED - ‘Damian Wayne’

BLOCKED - ‘Dick Grayson’

BLOCKED - ‘Tim Drake’

‘Alfred :)’

BLOCKED - ‘The Wicked Witch of the West’

You drop the phone. Because the floors, even in the bedroom, are marble, it shatters like glass. You make a sound like a dying chicken as you watch the piece of technology make a bouncing break for the bathroom. It slides to a stop against the giant hot tub, and you pick it up and cradle it between your palms like a newborn.

The screen still works. Even if it’s cracked to high heaven and takes multiple attempts to turn it on, it still eventually does. Thanks God, won’t forget this. You hiss as you open the contacts again, pricking your fingers against the sharp edges.

As fate commands, you click on the ‘Bruce Wayne’ contact. The description is very simple.

‘Massive dickhead. Hope you jump off a building and fall like a rock.’

You go back. Click on ‘Dick Grayson’.

‘Massive dickhead’s beloved firstborn. Most annoying man on earth congrats.’

Again. ‘Damian Wayne’ this time.

‘Massive dickhead’s massive dickhead. Demon? Grinch? Somebody kill it with fire please.’

And finally, ‘Tim Drake’.

‘The only acceptable one.’

…Well, at least your kidnapper liked one of the Waynes. Maybe they kidnapped you because you were their opposite or something? You definitely wouldn’t call Bruce motherfucking Wayne a massive dickhead. Or maybe they wanted to kill you.

The Molly prank idea was becoming more sound. Maybe she won the lottery and didn’t tell you.

You click on ‘Alfred :)’. He’s the one that called you earlier and also called you ‘Miss’, for some reason.

It’s just a bunch of heart emojis. Coherent, sure.

You go back, and click on the final of the list, ‘The Wicked Witch of the West’.

‘Don’t listen to Alfred. She wants to eat you.’

She wants to what?

A knock at the door has you jumping a foot in the air and nearly banging your head on the bathtub’s lip. You hear someone call your name through the door, and you freeze. Who… how? They call your name again, this time their voice louder. They bang on the door.

You creep over to the door.

“Ma’am, if you don’t open this right now, I’m quitting! We both know Alfred contacted you this morning, and he’s going to be very upset if I do so. There’s only so many assistants in this city!” from this close, you can recognise the voice belongs to a woman. She rattles the doorknob.

You lean down, peering through the peephole. The woman has a harsh face, a perfect pencil suit and her blonde hair in a pretty updo. Her makeup is impeccable. You get the feeling this woman is also more expensive than you can afford, despite her calling your name.

Bewildered, you open the door. She slams through like a battering ram, strutting 6-inch stilettos into the space.

She huffs, and then turns around. You can see very clearly she’s trying to keep her calm, but you did leave her at the door for like five minutes. It wasn’t your fault, you thought you were hallucinating or something.

“Ma’am,” she stresses the word, “Please unblock me.”

You blink at her, “Uh, sure.”

She waits, her hands clasped together in front of her.

“Oh- oh, right now?” you stutter, pulling the phone out from your noticeably lavish pyjamas.

Wait had someone changed you in your sleep? What the hell was going on? Maybe you should be more concerned about that, honestly. Still, you do as she commands.

She watches you like a hawk as you stare at the cracked phone. Your eyes flick up at her, and then back down at the screen. Slowly, watching for her reaction, you unblock ‘The Wicked Witch of the West.’ She nods, not even commenting on what was apparently her name in ‘your’ phone.

You were still slightly concerned about the ‘She wants to eat you’ thing, but she seemed… alright. Kind of scary. But not cannibalistic.

Still, this was Gotham after all. A healthy dose of fear was what kept people like you alive.

“Ma’am, did you just wake up? It’s already 4 o’clock,” she gives you a subtly disapproving look, and your shoulders sink like you’re being scolded.

“Yeah- yeah, sorry about that,” you stammer, embarrassed for some unknowable reason. This really was just like a dream. You could tell something was very obviously wrong, but you were still going along with everything like it wasn’t. Everyday life.

You were going to focus on that, this had to be just a dream. Just go along with… this, and then you’d wake up. And if you could manage to get over the uncanny valley-ness of the very obvious wealth surrounding you, maybe you could enjoy it.

You had always wanted to be rich. This was just your brain spewing out random information. Better than the nightmares you usually get.

You’re abruptly pulled back into focus when the woman clears her throat loudly. Ah, shoot. Had she been talking? You definitely hadn’t been listening.

“We need to get you ready, Miss,” she says like she’s repeating herself. You nod, because yes, of course, getting ready.

Ready for what? You think if you ask her she’ll yell at you. So when she grabs your arm and tugs you along, you follow. She pulls you into the bathroom, sitting you down in front of the mirror on a stool. Because this bathroom has stools in it. You stare at your reflection warily, before glancing up at her behind you.

“The stylists will be here in about forty minutes, and the makeup artists in two hours,” she pauses, giving you a strange look, “I appreciate you being so cooperative today. I understand this is all a delicate matter, but I am under Mr. Wayne’s orders first and foremost.”

“Wayne… like Bruce? Bruce Wayne?” you ask, even though there’s really no one else it could be. Still, you have to check.

Because it’s impossible. Even if it’s a dream, it still feels completely impossible. There was just something inside you that said ‘that can’t be right’, even if you knew none of this was real.

You realise, quite late, that you don’t even know this lady's name. ‘Wicked witch’

“Yes, Ma’am. Bruce Wayne of Wayne Enterprises,” she answers you, pulling out her phone and flicking through it. She doesn’t even respond to what you have to assume is an inane question. Maybe ‘dream you’ often asks stupid questions.

‘Normal you’ certainly does.

“Oh… okay…” the conversation drifts off, and she makes no attempt to fill it. Aren’t P.A.s supposed to… you don’t know, fix that? Or maybe she’s not your personal assistant, just an assistant. Silly you, making assumptions.

This bathroom deserves assumptions. You wonder if the gold frame of the mirror is, y’know, real.

The blonde woman walks out of the room without speaking another word to you. You think maybe you should follow her, but instead you just sit there with your hands on top of your knees. Your leg bounces up and down, and you glare it into submission, ignoring the way your muscles jump.

You look at yourself. You look… different. The bags under your eyes are worse than usual, and your gaze sunken into your face. Your hair is sad and oily, knotted in places. Your skin is almost waxy.

You look sick. You look like… you remember, you look like…

In the light of the day, you refuse to think about it. You’re not allowed to, you’ll break if you do.

You just don’t. Even if your reflection just confirms that you have to be dreaming.

Instead, you turn your gaze to the tub. You raise your hand to your hair again. Back in your apartment, you’d had a shower. It was a surprisingly good shower because you’d invested in a showerhead with better pressure. Still, it wasn’t a bath.

You missed bathes. You get up, close the door, lock it, and sink inside the tub. You take off your silky pyjamas inside the bath, and then you toss them on the floor beside you. Sitting there, you watch through the giant window at the world down below. At the ravens and pigeons that fly through the fog, at the few people you can see through the windows and balconies.

You press your cheek against the glass. It’s cold. You’re cold.

You’re sitting in an empty bathtub naked. What are you doing?

Rubbing at your eyes, you reach over to what you think are the controls. They all look very complicated, but there’s a switch that goes from blue to red, so you turn that. It takes another button press for the water to start flowing out. Steam fills the room, and you let out a sigh of contentment.

“Ma’am! Ma’am, the stylists will be here in ten minutes, and you need to get out. Ma’am? Ma’am!”

You shoot up in the bath, splashing water over the overflowing sides. Blinking, you turn your head back and forth and then sink back down. Oh. You’re still here. You went to sleep, but you’re still here. Maybe it’s one of those dreams where you think you wake up, but you haven’t. Or, ah, something similar.

You feel so tired. You really, really didn’t miss this feeling.

Quickly, you wash your hair and body, scrubbing furiously at the oily sweat on your skin. You stumble out of the bath on shaky legs, dry yourself off, and almost trip in your haste to get out the door. Showing off your negligible intelligence, you only realise you’re still wearing just a towel till she manhandles you towards the closet.

A walk-in closet, because of course it is. You think it’s bigger than your apartment. It has a flat bench in the centre because evidently all the walking around you’ll be doing will require a fainting couch.

The woman gives you, horrifyingly, a set of lacy, racy underwear. When all you do is just gape at her, she sighs, takes them from your hands and gives you a simple black set with no frills. You look down at them clasped in your wet hands. They’re clean, and they seem to be your size.

Still, this is a bit…

“Are these… new?” you ask, because there’s no tag or anything.

“Yes, Ma’am. But if you want, we do have some sets still unpacked at the back of the closet,” she says, going along with your weirdness. Even if she was a bit scary, you were grateful for that, at least. You guess celebrities were usually quite eccentric, so maybe this wasn’t out of the ordinary for her.

“Yes, please.”

She gives you a pair of Victoria’s Secret bra and underwear, plain beige and still in their plastic packaging.

“Cool, sweet, thanks,” you say, and she shakes her head just slightly.

She puts a white bathrobe down, and leaves the room, closing the door behind her. You lock it, and then you put on the underwear that you did not buy. The whole experience is strange, but still, you just go along with it. You’re a go-along-with-it kind of person.

You were… you were starting to not like that all of a sudden. Still, out of your depth in an odd dream is no place to start doubting your entire personality. You put on the bathrobe too. And the fluffy slippers that are tucked under them, with great pleasure.

You hear the many voices before you open the door. When you step through it, you feel like you’ve stepped onto the set of a movie. Or well, the backstage at least. Women and men are flittering about the chic apartment in the sort of rush you’d only seen working at BatBurger.

The woman from before spots you and you feel like a rabbit under a hawk's gaze when her brown eyes narrow on you. She strides over to you and then, once again, clamps her grip around your wrist and drags you over. You wonder as you stumble after her if she’s got some meta-human in her because no slim, perfectly put-together lady should be this damn strong.

She pulls you towards a set of three people. You can immediately tell they’re the heads of the operation, with an aura that squashes you like a pancake. Two women, one man. They’re all dressed to the nines, in their own unique ways.

They all look at you with assessing glances. You fear you do not measure.

“I’m surprised, Jeanine. You actually got her this time,” a woman with a black bob and a rocker look comments, her red lips twisting into a grin. You realise, with a start, that the blonde woman who was not incorrectly nicknamed ‘The Wicked Witch of The West’ was actually called Jeanine.

Lovely, you were getting the hang of things.

“Yes, she was very agreeable this afternoon. I’d like to apologise once again for any past issues,” Jeanine says, all business. You still have no idea what’s going on, and definitely no idea what they’re talking about. But what you assumed was the jist of it… was that ‘dream you’ wasn’t a very harmonious person.

Lovely, lovely, lovely. This was a bit of a personal nightmare for a people pleaser like you. Actually, it was a literal personal nightmare. Lovely.

“The disrespect I’ve faced is immeasurable. But, Monsoir Wayne pays exceedingly well. Still, it’s nice to actually have our dear client before us,” the other woman says, appraising her french tip nails. Which, considering she said ‘monsoir’ and the whole accent, would make a lot of sense. She’s closer to a classic beauty than her punk rock friend, with brown hair coiled and beautiful pearls across her neck.

“I don’t know, I thought I’d be getting paid for doing no work tonight. Ruins my plans,” the man teases, and you’re relieved at the kindness in his gaze. He’s wearing a suit with a dazzling but trendy red tie. His tie has an odd metallic sheen to it, a fabric your peasant mind couldn’t place.

If Molly were here, she’d jab you in the stomach with an elbow and whisper “One of those homosexuals, me thinks” even if she was bi herself.

You wish Molly were here.

“Yes, well, I’d like it if we could all work together tonight. And get to it quickly, the drive to the Wayne Tower isn’t a quick one with the evening traffic, so, if you’d please.”

And that was that. No introductions, no extra pleasantries. You were swept away in a whirl of fabric and hair products.

They stuff you into a gorgeous evening gown, its colour reminding you of a sparkling midnight sky. Rhinestones dot down the sides, coalescing at the bottom. You hope they’re not real diamonds. Gloves, a bracelet, a necklace, and dripping pearl earrings. It was all impeccably put together, and you felt uncomfortable with such items on you. You didn’t dare ask how much it all cost, despite being desperately curious.

They slip towering 6-inch stilettos on you despite your protests, cake your face in enough powder to make you sneeze. Dramatic liner and eyelashes that felt heavy on your face, a lipstick that had to be coated twice because you chewed on your lip with nerves.

And then you’re done, dizzy and confused but thoroughly made up.

You get one quick look at your reflection before Jeanine is pulling you up and out of the seat.

They’d gotten rid of the signs.

You ignore the part of you that desperately wants them back and follow Jeanine out into the elevator.

Despite the fact that it is, in fact, a very long drive to the Wayne Tower, she does not seem inclined to say a single word to you. The ride is awkward and quiet, broken only by the sound of you pressing buttons in the back of limousine, and even that stops when you get an unimpressed look from her.

So you just sit there, vibrating at frequencies unseen by man.

When you finally arrive at Wayne Tower, the crowd shocks you. There are so many paparazzi, nearly overflowing the flimsy barricades and onto the carpeted marble entryway. The tower itself is a display of outrageous wealth, towering over the rest of Gotham City easily. You think for a while it’d been the tallest building in the world, but you couldn’t remember your elementary school education all that well.

It wasn’t like this information would’ve been useful at any point in your life. You still don’t think it will be, as this is all a very vivid dream.

The door opens, and immediately you’re overwhelmed by the camera flashing. You hunch away from the lights like a vampire, but Jeanine pushes you forward.

“We’re already very late, Ma’am. No time for faffing around,” she says from behind you, hand placed squarely against your back.

What? But all you’d done was rush around all afternoon! You know, if you’d just taken one of the trains or even the Skyrail you’d have been able to avoid this. Still, you’re out the door, up the steps, not given a moment to react to the questions thrown at you.

“Miss! Miss, are you here to celebrate your birthday? Don’t you think it’s a bit callous to ignore the tragedies of today?”

“Miss! Is it true you’ve been disowned?”

“Miss, miss, about your family…!”

Oh, well, even if what they’re saying is awful, it’s a relief. It’s your birthday again. You think the guy who had called you said happy birthday. That meant none of this could possibly be real. See? It had to be a dream. Had to, had to… You decide to ignore literally everything else they say, letting the words float through your very hollow brain.

Life’s a lot easier when you play it a little stupider.

The heels and the stairs are an awful combination, and if it wasn’t for Jeanine’s herculean strength you’re certain you’d be tumbling down them right now. Your assistant… secretary… lady is careful not to let that happen, however.

Maybe you judged her too quickly. You appreciated anyone who made sure you didn’t fall flat on your ass. It was a good quality for a person to have.

You don’t get to appreciate the Wayne Tower all done up. You don’t get to stare at the lights and flowers strung into the art deco rafters. You don’t get to stare and gape and look like an idiot, because Jeanine wants you to look like an idiot elsewhere.

In the middle of all these fucking random rich people you don’t know. Hurray!

You’re shoved into a group of people, with Jeanine at your back. She starts rattling off names and titles and relations, and you can’t make heads or tails of any of it. You turn to look at her with what must be a genuine deer-in-headlights fear, and she stops and then starts speaking slower.

Thank God for that. Well, since she’s making an effort, you do too.

“This is Lianne Jenkins, wife of Senator Jenkins,” Jeanine whispers into your ear, and you nod. You knew him, you’d voted for him, in fact. How the fuck were you here talking to his wife? She’s not looking at you, instead talking to someone beside her. She turns, and you put on the best smile you can.

The socialite physically startles when she sees your face. Great.

“Oh- oh my!” her voice stutters over your name like she can barely even remember it, “I didn’t know you’d be here tonight, it’s a pleasure to see you!”

It… it was your birthday party, right? Your name was on a giant banner at the back of the room, so you had to assume it was. Dream logic. Just- just blame it on dream logic.

“Oh, look it’s Gerald! I’m sorry my dear I really have to-”

And she just ditched you. At your birthday party. You blink at the space she just evacuated and then turn around to Jeanine. You probably give her some sort of weird Kubrick stare, and she winces. She then looks around for someone else for you to talk to. From the growing despair on her face, you can assume she doesn’t find anyone.

“I don’t want to be here,” you say.

“I said I’d quit, remember?” she replies. You think she’s lying to you. She looks about as desperate as you feel, which is a lot. You were seeing a lot of sides of ‘The Wicked Witch of the West’ today. She seemed less wicked and more generally insane. Hey, at least the two of you had something in common.

You turn away from her, eyes roving over the party. You recognise some people, because you know, they’re all rich and famous. That guy over there was in a movie you pirated recently. The one on your right seems to be someone important in online tech spaces. You think he did NFTs or something, which made you sad because you did not want that sort of person at your birthday party. Oh, the woman on the other side of the room eating canapes is an Instagram influencer, you think. The fantasy of a Wayne party gala is fading fast, falling out of the sky like a comet of fire to bring doom and death to mankind.

You are so out of your depth.

You turn back around to Jeanine.

“I really, really don’t want to be here,” you repeat, and Jeanine, shocking you, grabs your hands in hers.

“Please stay. Just for thirty minutes, please,” she begs you, her dark eyes pleading. And because you are the living personification of a doormat, you sigh.

“Alright. But only for thirty. And I’m getting very, very drunk.”

“Thank you, thank you. I’ll be right beside you the entire time-”

You decide, oh so kindly, that you are totally ditching Jeanine, too. Spinning in your dress, you make a grand effort to get away from her, but she dogs you loyally. The goliath-like heels you’re wearing don’t make it any damn well easier. Still, you don’t stop trying to outrun the tiny, control freak of a woman. Because while she definitely seems to desperate to stay near you, you are also very desperate to not be near her.

Your hand itches. Randomly, it itches quite a lot. You don’t know why you only notice what must be a bug bite inside the gala, but you do. Awkwardly, you scratch your palm with your other hand, staring down at the skin. It doesn’t look red yet, but it honestly it’s getting kind of annoying.

You sigh again, and turn to ask Jeanine if she had any lotion or something, because you assume that’s what stalking personal assistants are for and… she’s not there. Somehow you lost her, without even noticing.

You throw your arms into the air. Yippee! Now, it’s time for alcoholism, as is the answer to all problems in life. It’s what the loving and maternal arms of Gotham had taught you, after all.

You stumble your way to a wall where there’s a set of food, and a server with a silver platter carrying a bunch of champagne glasses. You stop the guy before he moves again, your hands in the air like you’re trying to soothe a scared animal.

You point at the tray, “I want that.”

He looks at you with mild horror. You thought rich people were weird, like he’d be used to something like this. It wasn’t like you were asking for the shirt off his back or cocaine or something. If it wasn’t obvious, you really didn’t know anything about what rich people did.

“It’s my birthday. It’s totally cool. I asked Bruce myself,” You bald-faced lie, like you’d ever even met the man. Like a predator, you watch the man carefully put the tray down next to the rest of the food, and then he slowly backs away from you. Well, okay, you could admit that was kind of weird. This night is getting to you. God knows this loud-as-fuck party was more overstimulating than anything you could usually stand. And so bright. What a shitty fairytale ball.

You grab one of the flutes of champagne and swirl it, sniff it, and then once you’ve gone through the polite checklist of drinking you throw it back like it’s a shot of vodka. There were people watching after all. Wait, they’d probably seen you corner that poor server boy.

Hmm, this requires cake. You choose a random slice that looks like it might be strawberry something, and dig in eagerly. It tastes fucking fantastic. The cream is sweet and soft, and the jam has a pop of flavour you totally weren’t expecting. And the cake itself was a lovely, spongy texture.

Grand. Maybe if you just sat here like a wallflower and ate food and drank liquor you could handle this. It wasn’t any different from how you behaved at Molly’s college parties.

So, you decide to work your way up and down the buffet table. Most of it’s delicious, but when you try things you can’t quite recognise, there’s a twenty-percent chance it’ll be disgusting and you’ll have to spit it out to avoid poisoning. You’re careful not to try the caviar, despite your own curiosity. You’d heard that it just tasted like salty water, and that didn’t mix well with whatever you were currently putting in your stomach.

You look down at your hand. It’s another piece of the sponge cake, wedged between a napkin so your dirty fingers didn’t touch it and you didn’t have to bother with another plate. You giggle, because it really is that good.

Ah, this is great. You could do this forever, screw thirty minutes. You eye the entrance the servers keep coming in and out of, and wonder if Jeanine would get mad if you tried to follow them into the kitchens. Probably, probably…

The question was, was it worth it? You’re debating the merits when the sound of someone's shoes stops next to you. You think it’s a man, and you consider barking at him to get away from the buffet, but decide you’ve tried everything and can probably share again. It takes great strength, though. You decide you deserve some more champagne for the kindness.

It’s after a moment that you realise he’s not taking anything.

“Oh, so you actually showed up? Colour me surprised,” a familiar, calm, masculine voice speaks from behind you. Your mouth drops open, and you spin on your heel. If you hadn’t been clinging to the table cloth you’d have fallen over, but still, you drop the champagne flute, and it bursts in a spray of liquid and glass against your dress.

It also splatters on the dress shoes of one Tim Drake.

First the phone, now the delicious drink. You really wished you’d stop dropping things.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

#Series:WWW #yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere batfamily #yandere batfam x reader #yandere x reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader

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jjkamochoso · 2 months

Text

I Think I Like This Little Life

Nanami x gn!reader

Fluff

Nanami and reader have an adult conversation…

Warnings: a tiny bit suggestive in one part

“Kento.”

“Hm?”

“Are we boring?”

You and Nanami finally had a day off where neither of you were completely exhausted, nor were you called off in some sketchy part of the city to fight curses or held up in your offices, catching up on paperwork. When you woke up that quiet Saturday morning, you felt strangely relaxed. Nanami greeted you with his signature sleepy smile and a kiss on the forehead when he got out of bed. Since it was the weekend, you figured it was the best time to do all the fun things you’ve wanted to but never had the time for. However, you found yourself rain checking invitations for lunch with your cousin and clubbing with your friends. Of all the ideas that sounded the most pleasant to you today, those weren’t it. You slowly peeled yourself out of the bed sheets and draped a bathrobe over your pajamas to ease the chill. You padded your way to the kitchen where soft classical music filled the air and Nanami was simultaneously brewing tea and cooking eggs.

“Good morning, darling,” he called out, giving you another peck, this time on the cheek. “Did you sleep well?”

“With you next to me, my love? Always,” came your reply, earning you the chance to see a small blush on your boyfriend’s face before he turned back to the task at hand. You hummed along quietly to the song that was playing and appreciated the view you had of your domesticated partner. As he finally set a mug and plate down in front of you, everything piping hot, you smiled appreciatively and waited for him to seat himself before savoring the delicious breakfast. These types of quiet mornings were your absolute favorite. There was no need to fill the air with mindless chatter or anxious laughter. The company of each other was more than enough for both of you. The shy stolen glances between you at the dining table were routine in your relationship as you both found yourselves enamored with each other but still lost in the throes of young love. Your first meal eventually came to a close and as you stood to do the dishes, Nanami was quick to intervene.

“Don’t worry about those, y/n, I’ll do them. Please, sit down and enjoy your rest.”

You rose anyway. “No way! You cooked us a delicious meal, it’s only fair I clean it up.”

Nanami looked like he wanted to protest but gave up when he saw the determination on your face. “Fine. You wash, I’ll dry.”

As the last dish was put away and the sink rinsed clean, Nanami strolled over to you, grabbing you by the hips and staring deep into your eyes. “You know, I have a big day planned for us.”

You tried not to let your disappointment show. You had hope for a day filled with recharge and rejuvenation but you didn’t want to let your lover down. “Oh? And what’s included in that?”

He cocked his head, pretending to be deep in thought. “Well, first off we could…” He trailed off, distracted by your extremely kissable lips that were extremely close to his own. As he leaned in, painfully taking his time, his phone began to ring loudly.

“Tch,” he muttered under his breath, but you weren’t deterred. You ran your fingers through the hair at the base of his neck, goosebumps immediately popping up on his skin, and closed the distance, slotting your lips against his. You both made a contented noise at the contact. The kiss was gentle but needy, passionate but tender. Nanami’s phone had stopped ringing for but just a moment before the tone began again. He groaned into the kiss but still didn’t stop, his hands now roaming freely over your body and now it was your turn to groan, albeit for a different reason. His phone stopped ringing and started again once more.

“Whoever it is better have a good reason for interrupting us,” grumbled Nanami, breaking from your touch to answer his cellphone. “Nanami Kento. Oh, it’s you. No, thank you. I have plans. Yes, plans. No, not with you. No. No. I’ll see you on Monday.” He hung up.

“Let me guess, that was Gojo?” you mused, a grin erupting on your face. You could tell it was the white haired man on the phone with your beloved because he was immediately annoyed. Nanami nodded his head, his arms enveloping you in a hug as he rested his chin on your head.

“He wanted to know if we wanted to go out with him tonight for dinner and then clubbing. I hope you don’t mind I turned him down.” The blonde was taken aback by your giggling. “What’s so funny?” he asked you, letting go of the hug but holding you by the shoulders.

“I turned down my cousin and friends for lunch and the club today as well.” Nanami breathed a sigh of relief.

“Good. I have no plans today, I want no plans today. This day is ours and we will do as we please.” You nodded in agreement and sealed that with another long winded kiss before you went to your bathroom to get ready.

Thankfully the day had gone by pretty slow. It was a beautiful spring day so you and Nanami enjoyed a nice stroll around your neighborhood, listening to the chirps of the birds and rustling of the squirrels. You pointed things out to each other like a gorgeous flower (that Nanami of course compared you to) and a garden gnome (you couldn’t help that it looked just like Nanami!). You even cloud gazed for a while, enjoying the smells of the freshly mowed grass you found yourself laying on. When it came time for lunch, you made sandwiches for the both of you and munched on them while you did word search puzzles and Nanami did Sudoku puzzles. Like before, not many words were shared during this time but the comfortable silence was everything you could wish for. The plates were cleared, the sponge rinsed out. Another meaningful kiss was shared. Now it was time for household chores. You dusted while Nanami vacuumed. Nanami put the clothes in the washer, you put them in the dryer, you both folded them when they were done. You cleaned the sink in the bathroom while Nanami cleaned the toilet and shower. When that was done, it was time for another break. You picked up the cross stitch project you had been working on while Nanami settled for reading his newspaper. You sat in the family room on the couch while he opted for the chair. The window was opened slightly which allowed for the faintest touch of fresh air to be brought in by the light breeze. It was getting late into the afternoon and the birds, though still singing their songs, were beginning to head into their nests for the night. As you got lost into your project, the rustling of the newspaper brought you back to earth and into a new thought.

“Kento.”

“Hm?”

“Are we boring?”

Nanami lowered his paper and raised his eyebrows. “I don’t usually answer a question with a question, so forgive me y/n, but what brought on that thought?”

You went back to your cross stitching, nervously weaving the needle back and forth. “Well, it’s Saturday. We were asked to go out and join our friends in doing crazy things and instead we acted like an old married couple.”

“Would you have liked to gone out?”

“No. Would you?”

“Absolutely not.” His response was lightning fast.

“And so,” you laughed, “that raises the question. Are we boring?”

Nanami neatly folded his newspaper and sat next to you, taking your project out of your fidgeting grasp and replaced it with his hands. “I would spend the rest of my days watching paint dry if I had the pleasure of you sitting next to me as I did it. If the only views I ever saw were of neighborhood animals and our kitchen stove, as long as you were by my side, I’d be the happiest man on the planet. If that makes me boring, so be it.” You could tell he meant every word of what he said. Maybe you were being too hard on yourself—being able to build a life with someone as loving and kind as Nanami isn’t a privilege everybody is able to have and so what if people don’t understand you like to live a slow life? The only thing that matters at the end of the day is that Kento Nanami is yours, and you, his. You lifted your entwined hands up to your lips and gave his knuckles little kisses to show your appreciation for his answer. Unfortunately for you, you would never know just how wildly fast Nanami’s heart beat in his chest at the action, but you could get a feeling for what was going on by the deep blush spreading on his cheeks and his slightly flustered body language. You were definitely going to cancel plans to stay in more often.

#nanami x reader #nanami x y/n #nanami x you #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x y/n #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #nanami kento #nanami #nanami kento fluff #nanami x reader fluff

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thisblogisaboutabook · 21 days

Text

Mr. and Mrs. Shadowsinger

Azriel x Reader - Angst - Smut

His eyes are cold and restless, his wounds are almost healed, and she’d give half of Prythian just to change the way he feels. She knows his love’s in the Hewn City and she knows he’s going to go. But it’s not a female he’s leaving for, it’s his damned duty to the Night Court.

Warnings: sexual content, grinding, dom/sub dynamic, language, bondage, grinding, fingering, toxic couple, using intimacy as a form of persuasion

Her mate was strong but gods damn it, so was she. Perhaps that’s why by some cruel twist of fate, she was mated to the infamous Spymaster of Night Court. A male that could torture the secrets out of seasoned liaisons with even the highest of clearances. Nobody in Prythian was better at the game than him, and he wouldn’t allow anyone a moment to doubt it. “Cold”, “Calculating”, “Ruthless”, those that feared him would whisper.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Azriel?” she screamed at the top of her lungs.

His cold, stony gaze fixed on the door behind her as she pressed her body against it, blocking the exit.

Placing two palms to his leather covered chest, she shoved - perhaps she was the only one who didn’t fear him. In fact, she loved him and that was the fucking problem. She wished she didn’t, wished she could let his ass walk right out that front door and not give him a second glance. Instead she was so hopelessly devoted to him that she couldn’t fathom letting him go without a fight. The irony wasn’t lost on her that she needed him, like he needed to draw information from anyone he perceived as a threat to the Night Court. Those that respected him would call it honorable. She called it fucking insufferable.

To his credit, at the belligerent outburst of his mate, a slight tick of his jaw was the only sign of his irritation - a large hand raising to each of her shoulders.

“You just got back! This is fucking bullshit and you know it!” She huffed. She wouldn’t cry, wouldn’t let him see her weak. No, not today. Let him read the resolve in her eyes.

“I’ll be back tomorrow night.” His firm tone left no room for argument.

Too bad for him she didn’t give a damn about personal space as she made room to retaliate anyway.

“You’re not even healed! Your left wing is tattered in two places. Never mind the fact that I’ve barely seen you this past month. What the hell, Azriel? Do I not matter to you?”

His cold, restless gaze faltered for a moment. “That’s unfair, Y/N, and you know it. You matter and so does ensuring the safety of the court we live in. It’s my duty.”

She pushed a finger into his chest, emphasizing her next words. “No, Azriel, what’s unfair is the way you are walking out on me again. Fuck this court and every person in it, I only want you.” Rage seeped through her, rising to a boil beneath her heated skin. Azriel’s lips remained pressed in a firm line, a slight rustle of his wings the only show of frustration.

Lifting a scarred finger and tracing it lightly along the side of her face, he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You don’t mean that.”

Her brow creased at the implication. “I do and you know it. You are all I care about, you’re my fucking mate, not the people of this court, not the city of Velaris, YOU.”

Shaking his head, he remained calm, letting out an exhale. “We can’t keep doing this, Y/N. You’ve known my duties since well before we mated. You don’t see me complaining when you’re away on missions for the Valkyries.”

Oh- he struck a nerve with that. Bracing himself for the recoil he stood firm, crossing his arms in the warriors stance he and Cassian had both perfected over the years. With a cock of his head he continued, “Did I strike a nerve there? Let it out, Y/N. Let’s get this out of the way so you’re not stewing the entire time that I’m gone.”

“You are infuriating!” She howled, her power rolling off her skin in waves, Azriel’s shadows recoiled but he didn’t flinch. “You know why you don’t complain? Because you’re still fed, fucked, and fawned over every single night you’re home. Do I get the same treatment in return? No!”

“So that’s why you’re upset?” He challenged. “You need me to fill your pretty cunt? Is that it baby?”

He hit his mark with the statement. A rush of arousal barreling into him before she clamped down on their bond, rage again lining her sharp features. “I can get off well enough on my own, Azriel.” she spat, his name dripping off her lips with venom. He wanted to bite those lips, suck the venom coating right off of them.

He leaned in, centimeters away from her ear, running a thumb gently up and down her forearm. “You sure about that? You seem a bit-“ hazel eyes roved hungrily up and down her form, from the exposed flesh of the thighs her negligee did very little to cover, to the hint of areola peaking over the deep cut of lace trim, disheveled in her haste to catch him before he left the house. He closed the distance, his lips now caressed the shell of her ear. “-tense.”

“Fuck you.” She snarled.

“Oh, did I not make that clear enough?” He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, his hazel eyes boring into the depths of her own. “That’s what I’m offering.”

“You can’t fix this with fucking! I’m going to get Rhys, now. You’re not leaving. Not this time.” She stormed to their bedroom, the curve of her ass teasing him as he followed her through the house. Throwing open the armoire door she grabbed a silk t-shirt and leggings, hurriedly putting them on over her slip. Azriel’s tall form leaned against the door frame, arms crossed, watching his angry little mate with a smirk.

“I’m not fucking joking.” She scowled. “I don’t give a shit that he’s your High Lord. You’re MY mate first. Or did you forget that?” She marched toward the doorway shifting to slide past his towering frame. Just as she thought he’d let her past he flung out an arm. “How could I forget, my love? Your fiery rage is the soothing balm warming my own forged of ice.”

She hissed as she barreled into his arm, no match against the 500 years of hard-earned, corded muscle beneath. “No you don’t.” He hauled her over his right shoulder as she kicked and beat her clenched fists against the defined muscles of his back. “Put me down!”

He smiled to himself with satisfaction at the fact that though his mate was livid as all hel with him, she still was careful to throw those fists away from the sensitive membranes of his wings.

Reaching the edge of their oversized bed and much to her dismay, Azriel cradled one hand to the nape of her neck, and looped the opposite arm beneath her ass, dropping her onto the bed, his shadows darting out to restrain her.

“This isn’t going to work!” She yelped.

He hummed, a look of pure male arrogance crossing his gorgeous features. Leaning over the edge of the bed, he braced his weight on his left arm, tracing a calloused finger down the valley between her breasts. “Is that why the sweet aroma of your need is filling every inch of this room?”

Gritting her teeth, she fought the shadows pinning her to their bed.

She loved this and he knew it. His mate was wild, untamed, only yielding within the safety of their bedroom walls.

He placed a knee between her thighs, spreading them, and placing just enough pressure against her core to earn a whimper at the friction.

“Tell me what you need, Y/N.” he demanded.

The female shook her head.

“I may be a patient male, love, but I don’t have time to wait for you. Going to need you to use your words.”

She only scowled at him and he didn’t miss the way she almost imperceptibly arched her back, raising her chest, pebbled nipples peaking from beneath her silken shirt.

“Very well.” He tsk’d, turning his back, wings flaring slightly to remind her of just how accurate the rumors about wingspan were.

He stepped outside the door frame, turning the corner when a pitiful “Wait.” came from their room.

Her scent flowed to him from their room, his cock jerking at the win, at the fact that her submission and desire for him was so evident. He waited a moment. Oh yes, he was going to make her wait for this. Spymaster duties could hold off long enough to punish his girl for her outburst, in all the ways she loved to be reprimanded. She needed the attention and her behavior was a clear sign of it.

So he sauntered back into their room, oozing with confidence as he took in the sight of his mate, defenseless in her binded state.

“Can you be good for me, baby?” He asked in a condescending manner.

She nodded her head, apology dancing in her eyes.

“Promise me, baby.” He teased. “Show me just how good you can be.”

“Yes, sir.” She spoke submissively.

Pride sparked in his chest at her changed behavior. Releasing his shadows, he looked to her with faux empathy in his eyes, seating himself at the edge of the bed. “Strip.”

She did as he requested with no argument.

“Good girl.” He cooed, patting his thigh. “Now c’mere”

He took in every inch of exposed skin as she strode toward him, avoiding eye contact in a show of deference. Very well, the subtle bounce breasts with each step was captivating his attention anyway.

His submissive girl was so fucking good for him.

She spread her legs, straddling his thigh, dropping her weight down onto it, waiting patiently for his next command.

Looking into her eyes, he whispered in a low voice that sent chills through her, his palm cupping her jaw, thumb running across her lower lip. “You’re so delicious, you know? Those pretty lips make me want to devour them until they’re puffy and red.”

He was setting the bait. The next sentence determining whether she’d be rewarded or not based on her response. “But, unforunately” Azriel let out an exasperated sigh, “I don’t have all day. Our court needs me.”

He caught the flash of violence in her eyes, the rage warring within them. But to his surprise, she didn’t react. Not one single word of resistance falling from that pretty mouth.

He placed a hand on either side of her hip, situating her center over the seam of his leathers. “I know you didn’t like that, sweet girl. But look at you, you’re being so good for me right now. You’re learning.”

She smiled coyly at the praise, biting her lip and looking up to him with fluttering eyelashes.

“You can move now, baby. Take your pleasure.”

So she did, finding that perfect angle and rhythm to bring the friction she so desperately needed to her aching core.

Her body began to tense, little moans and whimpers spilling from her lips, brows furrowing as she focused on her pleasure. “Azzie.” She whispered innocently. “Please, may I come?”

He brought a scarred hand to the back of her head. “Such good manners, baby. So proud of you.”

She beamed at the praise.

“Yes, my good girl. You may.”

A whimper fell from her lips as his thumb found the sensitive bud of her clit, moving it in those rhythms he’d long ago perfected, bringing her to the edge in no time.

She cried out his name through shattered moans, her head falling to the crook of his neck, breasts heaving against him. When her panting settled, she whispered, “Thank you.”

Opening his mouth to accept her gratitude, he was taken back by something pulling at his wrists, ankles following suit.

His mate hopped off of him, heading to the closet. “What the hell?” Azriel shouted.

“Some Spymaster you are.” She chided, eyes rolling with contempt. “When would I ever submit so easily? Think with your other head next time, Az.”

Throwing on a set of leathers that typically would have had his cock at full attention by the way they hugged her like a second layer of skin, she flashed him a vulgar gesture and left the room, leaving him pinned to their four-poster bed by his own damned shadows.

He fought against the binds but the traitorous things were having none of it.

“Y/N! Come back!” He yelled but the only response was the slamming of the front door echoing down the hall.

——————————

Hours later a disheveled Shadowsinger found himself in the Hewn City. After much convincing his shadows had finally let him free of their restraint when he promised the lecherous things their share of playtime with their favorite little mate - their mate who was absolutely going to be punished later.

He was fuming, embarrassment weighing heavily upon him like an anchor. He almost felt bad for the subject Rhys has sent him to elicit information from today. They expected it would take at least a day, if not two to work on this one. Azriel guessed a day based on the less-than-generous mood he was in.

His heavy footsteps echoed off the walls of the Hewn City dungeons as he neared the cell of his subject, shadows promising violence, an obvious attempt to win back his affections after their betrayal.

Azriel gaped as he rounded the corner to find his leather clad mate sitting in a chair outside the cell, seated in a relaxed show of dominance with one leg crossed over the other, irreverently picking at her cuticles with fucking Truth-Teller.

“What the hell?” He fumed at his mate. “Where is the prisoner?”

“Oh, him?” She flashed a wicked grin.

“He’s gone. I got the information Rhys needed.”

His brows furrowed with disbelief. There was no way. It had only been a couple of hours. “How?”

She stood, swishing her hips as she sauntered toward him, brushing her chest against his. “I have my ways. Certainly you would know that.” She flicked her gaze to his swirling shadows who quickly hid in shame. “Your shadows surely do.”

Gripping him by the front of his leathers, she pulled him into a kiss, claiming his mouth with her own. The Shadowsinger too dumbfounded to argue.

“C’mon Shadowsinger.” She quirked an eyebrow, as she looked into his eyes with challenge. “You’re mine. Now, let’s go home.”

—————————————-

A/N: you get extra credit if you know where the summary for this story came from.

General tags: @lilah-asteria

#acotar #sarah j maas #a court of thorns and roses #azriel #a court of silver flames #a court of frost and starlight #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #shadowsinger #Azriel smut #azriel one shot #Azriel’s mate #azriel spymaster #spymaster

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papercorgiworld · 2 months

Text

You're uninvited

Draco Malfoy x Potter!reader

When tensions between your brother and Draco rise, your friend advises you to go talk to Draco since he'll listen to you. However, some meddling by Mattheo and Theodore complicates things.

For this story Iris (a cameo by @amongemeraldclouds ) will be your friend and Enzo's girlfriend.

For the darling who requested this, I hope you like it. I find that it misses something, but I can't quite put my finger on it. Maybe it's the lack of brother sister interaction, I don't know. I did my best. Also shittiest tittle ever, but zero inspiration. I had struggles with this one. Anyways Happy readings!

“Fifty points from Slytherin because you went crying to Mcgonagall, I’ll get you for this Potter!” Draco snarled as he walked past your brother, you frown as you approached them. Draco raises his eyebrows as he passes you as well. “What did you do?” You snap at your brother as his eyes still follow Draco’s figure. He ignores you and Hermoine frowns. “He looked seriously pissed off.” Harry shrugs. “What can he do-“ Ron raises his eyebrows at his friend. “He can break your nose again.” Your brother can see the horror in your eyes at Ron’s suggestion. “Don’t worry, (y/n). Most of the time he’s all bark, no bite.”

You walk with your brother and his friends in the direction of the great hall. Once there you spot your friend, Iris, waving at you from the Slytherin table and you make your way over to her. “Your brother lost us 50 house points.” She complains and you sit down next to her. “I know.” You sigh. “In how much trouble is he?” You question sheepishly and her eyes quietly move opposite of her to where her boyfriend is sitting. Enzo smiles, not really bothered by the loss of points. “I think we can all get over the 50 points lost, but Draco getting a week detention… yeah he’s definitely out for revenge.” Your eyes widen at Enzo. “A week’s detention?” Enzo and Iris both nod and you lose your appetite, remembering how bad Harry looked after Draco broke his nose. Iris’s brown eyes carefully watch you as you stare at your plate. Knowing that you’re probably worried about another fight she offers some advice. “Why don’t you talk to Draco and explain that your brother is just an idiot, I’m sure he’ll listen to reason… at least if it’s coming from you.” Enzo looks at Iris through his laches, knowing very well what his girlfriend is hinting at. “Yeah, he’ll definitely listen to you.” He tries to sound serious, but you notice a hint of mischief in his tone and frown. Iris narrows her eyes at her boyfriend for being obvious and for a moment you think about asking what’s going on, but you decide against it and just nod. “You guys are probably right. I can just talk to him and encourage a peaceful solution to the endless tension between the two.”

Blaise takes a seat at the Slytherin table and his eyes immediately land on you. “Come on, Potter, sitting at the slytherin table after what your brother pulled, he lost us fifty points, you’re ballsy sitting here!” You know he’s only joking, but you notice the whole slytherin table looking at you and feel yourself get smaller. “Back off Blaise, you’ve probably lost Slytherin more points.” Iris snares at Blaise and he laughs. “Excuse me! I don’t lose us points. You must mistake me for your himbo boyfriend over here.” Enzo goes from smiling to dead serious in a split second, turning to Blaise. “Are you calling me stupid?” Blaise rolls eyes. “Yesterday you said a mandrake was a fruit.” Lorenzo narrows his eyes at Blaise. “In my defence she was sitting next to me and you can’t expect me to listen to Sprout when… you know, I was focussed on other things…” Enzo points at his girlfriend, blaming her for being distracted during class. You can’t help but smile, happy that for now everyone has forgotten about Harry. With the tension at the table gone your mind wonders what you’ll say to Draco to convince him to make peace or at least not get into another fight with your brother.

***

After class you spot Draco gathering his books while scowling at Mattheo who’s clearly trying to be funny. When Mattheo spots you he smirks and quickly leaves the classroom, you slowly approach Draco who’s still focused on organising his notes. You start fidgeting with your fingers as you notice everyone’s left and it’s just you and a very frustrated Draco who can’t seem to find a certain page. Just when your courage to talk to him sinks you spot a piece of parchment laying on the floor and reach for it. “Is this what you’re looking for?” Surprised, Draco circles around to you and frowns at your presence. You immediately notice how hesitant he is towards you. “I just saw it on the floor and I thought it might be yours.” You try to sound casual, but since the two of you rarely talk your words sound forced and awkward. “Thanks.” Draco whispers curtly and snatches the paper from your hands. When you don’t turn around to leave he watches you with a questioning look.

After a bizarre moment of silence, he raises an eyebrow and turns back around to gather his notes. Sorry, Harry, but I’m doing this for you. “My brother’s an idiot.” The blond slytherin turns back to you. “He never thinks about the consequences of his actions.” Draco snorts at your words. “I don’t think he thinks at all.” You narrow your eyes at Draco. Don’t push it Malfoy, he is still my idiot brother. You look down and Draco notices that was not the best approach. You were different from Harry, but he was still your brother. “I heard Blaise gave you a hard time during lunch.” Draco tries to change the subject as he stuffs his notes into his bag. You nod and smile at him. “He was only joking, I know that.” Draco and you move towards the door. “I told everyone to leave you alone, I know you’re not a moron like you brother. Are you sure you’re family?” You chuckle at his question. “Yes, I’m sure Malfoy.” Your smile and he slows down his step, adoring your beauty, before his eyes lock with yours. There’s this soft moment between you two and you notice how Draco’s cheeks heat up, making him look away and walk a little faster than you in an attempt to hide his flustered face.

“You don’t need to call me Malfoy, just because he does.” You're surprised by the gentle tone of Draco’s voice and a sweet smile tugs on your lips. “I know, but it’s not like you and I are friends or anything.” He stops and suddenly the two of you are standing way closer than either of you had intended. “Yeah, that’s probably why I hate him so much.” You frown, not really following and a soft chuckle rolls over Draco’s lips. “Your brother I mean… I like to think that if it wasn’t for him- maybe, I don’t know- maybe we would be friends or something.” Draco’s confession has you flustered and you press your lips into a line while avoiding his gaze at all costs. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Draco who suddenly even feels brave enough to take one step closer to you, leaving barely any space between the two of you as you stand there in an empty hallway. “Tomorrow before the Ravenclaw party, there’s a little pre-drink at the astronomy tower, rather exclusive, but Enzo and Iris will be there… You should come.” Your shiny eyes meet Draco’s as you nod. “I would like that.”

***

Unfortunately, the sweet moment between you two is mocked by Draco’s friends. “I bet that girl is willing to do all kinds of stuff now.” Theodore snorts at Draco’s confused face and Mattheo grins like a maniac. When Theodore notices that Draco’s getting rather annoyed he explains himself. “She’s worried about you hurting her brother, that’s why she’s suddenly being nice to you.” Draco’s eyes go emotionless at Theo’s suggestion and Mattheo licks his lips, mind still filled with dirty thoughts. “Enjoy it while it lasts, it should be fun. Pretty girl trying to gain your favour. I wouldn’t waste that opportunity.” Draco wrinkles his nose in disgust with his friends. “Keep your filth to yourself, Riddle.” With those words a furious Draco leaves the common room passing Iris and Enzo who immediately judge Theodore and Mattheo for whatever they had done this time.

Draco spots you walking alone in the courtyard on your way to your friends. When you notice him walking in your direction, you smile and slow down so he can catch up with you. “Hi-” You’re immediately cut off. “You’re uninvited.” Draco snaps at you with a scowl on his face. That’s all you get, because he immediately turns away. Your smile falls when you watch him walk away. His anger makes you take a step back, but even regardless of his anger, you are really disappointed that you couldn’t go tonight. You looked forward to spending time with him, because you liked him. It was your most guarded secret, you liked him a lot and now you couldn’t help but feel a little heartbroken. Maybe your brother and his friends were right, maybe he really was just a horrible person and all those nice things he had done over the years were just a bizarre way of mockery. You stood still in the middle of the courtyard, feeling like a fool.

However, Draco was about to feel like an even bigger fool, because when he returned to the slytherin common room he overheard Enzo and Iris lecturing Mattheo and Theo. “I can’t believe you guys would say something like that.” Iris says, shaking her head at Mattheo and Theodore. Lorenzo lets himself fall on the sofa, grinning. “Really, you can’t believe that dumb and dumber ruined or little plan, because I’m not surprised.” Iris sighs and Mattheo and Theo frown. “Draco and (y/n) have been crushing on each other for years.” Enzo explains and both slytherin boys look shocked. Iris stares at them for a moment not believing that they hadn’t noticed the obvious signs, before her boyfriend tugs her hand urging her to stop stressing and join him. “Iris and I have been looking for an excuse to get them to talk again, hang out more, so this seemed the ideal opportunity.” Softly stroking Iris her black hair to make her relax, Enzo explains their plan and Draco’s eyelids fall close as he curses himself. She had a crush on me?! After all those years of Harry ruining my chances, I know fuck it up myself.

Holding his friends equally responsible for his screw up, Draco hexes Theodore and Mattheo, leading to total chaos in the slytherin common room.

Lorenzo and Blaise take Mattheo to the astronomy tower to cool down and Theodore pours himself a glass of firewhiskey as his dead eyes watch Draco hold an ice pack against his jaw. “Does it hurt?” Iris asks and Draco nods. Theodore snorts. “Good.” Draco grits his teeth, glaring at Theodore and Iris scowls at Theo, who decides to keep quiet and take a sip from his drink. “Iris, you need to help me fix this with (y/n), please.” Draco begs with heartbroken eyes and a bruised jaw.

The weekend ended up being miserable for everyone. Draco even decided to skip the party, knowing that you wouldn’t talk to him at all; there really was no reason for him to be there. Feeling heartbroken and not in the mood to talk to anyone you hide in your room as well.

***

As instructed by Iris you wait for Draco in the hallway after potions class. “Again, Enz? 20 points.” Blaise sighs and Enzo raises his hands in defence. “I got distracted.” Mattheo sighs. “You spent every night with your girl, how can you not focus for one hour? I mean Theo doesn’t get distracted by staring at Ella.” Lorenzo frowns at Mattheo’s argument. “Theo always skips class.”

You hear the sound of bickering between the guys ebb away into the distance and it makes you wonder what’s keeping Draco. He hadn’t left the classroom, so your eyes peek through the open door as you lean against the wall opposite of it. To your horror you spot Harry and Draco talking and instantly your heartbeat quickens. You push yourself off of the wall and take a step closer, studying the two as they talk. Draco seems unusually calm and Harry just nods a lot, when your brother’s eyes accidently land on you he gives you a soft smile and for some reason you immediately return it without knowing what it’s about.

The next moment the both of them part and you take a step back, acting like you had just been obviously staring at them. “See you later, sis.” Is all Harry says and with confused eyes you watch his back. “Your brother and I made peace… for now at least.” Draco pulls you out of your thoughts and you look up at him. After a second you look down, remembering how he had snapped at you the other day and uninvited you for no reason. “Good.” You nod and force a smile. An awkward cough from Draco, before he puffs his chest a bit announces his apology. “About the other day, how I snapped at you- it was wrong. I- Theo and Matt, they said- No, it doesn’t even matter. I should’ve known better and shouldn’t have uninvited you. I guess, I just want to say I’m really sorry.” Now your forced smile turns genuine and your eyes light up. A soft laugh escapes Draco as he sees you smile at him with sweet eyes. “What did they say to get you so upset?” You ask and Draco snorts, remembering his own stupid overreaction. “Stupid things, I should’ve known better. I guess my insecurities got the better of me.”

You press your lips together and nod understandingly at his honest confession. “I’m glad we’re good again.” You tell him as your eyes lock with his and Draco can’t help but drown in your eyes, as he nods once in agreement. “I was… wondering-” Draco takes a deep breath as he searches for his courage to finish his sentence. “if, maybe you want to go to Madam Puttifoot with me?” A soft laugh rolls off your lips. “Puddifoot’s?” You question not believing you heard him right, the blond slytherin nods and you can’t hide the giddy smile on your face. You feel yourself blush madly. Puddifoot was a place for couples so it was obvious to you that Draco malfoy had just asked you on a date. With a flustered face you meet his eyes. “I would love that.” You whisper, afraid that if you said it any louder your excitement would be embarrassingly obvious.

***

“Malfoy?” Ginny asks you for the 10th time and you sigh. “Yes, I’m going out with Draco Malfoy.” Her eyebrows knit together. “Malfoy?!” You groan and push her onto your bed as you walk past her to get your cutest jacket and finish your outfit. You check yourself out in the mirror and Luna speaks up. “I don’t think he's that bad.” Ginny frowns and even you don’t understand why she’s sticking up for him. When she sees Ginny’s judgy eyes, she explains herself. “I think blonds should support each other.” You laugh at her logic and turn around showing off your outfit. “What do you guys think?” Luna smiles. “Absolutely perfect.” Ginny crosses her arms. “Too pretty for a guy like him, but okay if you like him I’ll support you.” You laugh at her reluctance to say those last words.

***

The date was perfect, you had enjoyed every second with Draco. The awkward walk to Hogsmeade when you were both still nervous. The first order at Madam Puttifoot’s when you finally relax and opened up more to each other. That last order had you feeling you had been friends since forever. The most magical moment, however, was when you left the cute cafe and Draco reached for your hand, gently holding it in his own hand. You meet his eyes and simultaneously you both lean closer towards each other, shoulders bumping as you walk together. Suddenly, your mind can’t help but wonder back to what got him so upset. “What did Riddle and Nott say?” Your question has Draco frowning and he bites his lip for a second as he struggles to confess. “They had me convinced that you were only being nice because you were worried about your brother, that you didn’t actually like me.” He says it in one breath and immediately looks away. You stop walking and Draco stops as well. Still looking away he squeezes your hand as he fears that you’re mad at him for thinking like that. He fears your hand will slip away and he’ll never hold it again. You take a step closer to him and he finally looks at you, meeting your soft eyes. “Don’t ever think something like that again, Draco, because I really really like you.” Your voice is just above a whisper and Draco feels himself fall in love with you even more.

When you lean in, lips getting dangerously close, Draco feels himself heat up and almost freaks out, but manages to pull himself together at the last second and meets your lips with more passion than you had expected. When the kiss ends you stay close to each other, smiling like love struck fools before Draco leans in for another even more intense kiss. However, your kiss is cut short when you hear someone call for you. “Ey! Ey!” You turn your head to see Harry, followed by Hermoine and Ron. As soon as you look at him his anger seems to subside and turn into something uncomfortable. “You… can do… what you… want… to do, but not where I can see it.” Draco’s first reaction is to get annoyed and grit his teeth. Then you better look away Potter. But when a soft giggle escapes you Draco relaxes. “Fine, we’ll just go back to the castle.” You look up at Draco, whose voice is calm but still has a frustrated tone to it. “G-Good.” Harry answers hesitantly. Hand in hand you and Draco walk away and Harry hears you laugh as Draco whispers something. Hermoine and Ron join Harry as he watches you. “Are sure it’s such a good idea to leave them alone.” Hermoine wonders out loud. “Why?” Harry asks, oblivious, and turns around to his friends. Ron gives him one obvious glance with raised eyebrows. “Because you know what people who are in love do when they're alone.” Panic fills Harry’s eyes as he sees Draco sling his arm around your shoulder and pulling you close to him.

#slytherin #slytherin boys #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy fanfiction #papercorgiworldwritings

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togenabi · 9 months

Text

waking up slow

yuta okkotsu x reader

♡—waking up with Yuta is one of your favorite things to do.

word count♡— 1k

genre♡— fluff, romance, established relationship

aged up characters♡— 18+

content notes♡— domestic fluff, living together, romance, lovers, dating, being late together, no use of y/n, shockingly not a royalty au

author's note♡— this is my very first request from anon! it's a bit short but I didn't want to drag it out too much. I mainly focused on the fluff and the uwu of it all. I hope you like it!

The scent of sheets and the warmth of the sunlight shining through the window are the first things you process when you wake up. The next is the weight of Yuuta’s arm around your waist.

Smiling contentedly, you bask in the moment before shifting to face him.

His eyes were still closed, but his eyelashes flutter and you sense that he’s coming to. You raise a hand to brush his hair away from his eyes. He wakes up slowly as you do, and a lazy smile graces his lips.

Yuuta pulls you to him, his arms firm around you and your nose is hit with a fragrance that’s so distinctly him. You let yourself be pulled closer against him and snuggle into his neck. For a moment, all you could think was how lovely it would be to have all days start this way.

Usually, mornings with Yuuta were rushed and scrambling. There always seemed to be something going on. Something that one–or, let’s be honest, both of you were late to. A meeting that slipped your mind. An urgent call for him. An event or two that you’d both rush to get to anyway, despite already being late for whatever it was.

Mornings like that had their own appeal, of course. Everything, every mundane moment was always made a thousand times more special with Yuuta. Each miniscule second was still greatly cherished. You breathe out a laugh when you remember that time Yuuta had put on mismatched socks. He didn’t even bother finding a correct pair, only hastily shoving on his shoes and kissing your cheek before he was out the door.

“Morning…” Yuuta’s voice rang in your ears. In that low, raspy tone it always was when he had just woken up. He kisses the top of your head before settling his head on the pillow again.

His expression was so calm; you had a feeling that the two of you would be falling asleep again before long. Fixing the blankets over you, your mind felt hazy as you anticipated a carefree and relaxed morning. Perhaps you could order food for brunch once you properly woke up.

Right as you were slipping into dreamland, however, Yuuta’s hold on you stiffens.

It alerts you instantly. “What’s wrong?”

Yuuta seems to try to fight the sleepiness as he forces his eyes to open. He blinks, looking deep in thought as if he’s forgotten something.

You felt the dread building in your stomach.

A few seconds of silence passes over the room. You place a hand on his arm. “Don’t tell me…”

He considers his words carefully before speaking. “It’s not... Yuuji’s birthday today, is it?”

“I don’t think so…” You try to deny it, wanting to stay in bed longer. “If it was, you’d set an alarm for that, wouldn't you?”

His face falls. You knew his answer before it left his lips.

“...I thought you did.”

The two of you spring off the bed immediately. The blankets are shoved away in a flurry, with a pillow or two falling to the ground softly. That softness being the exact opposite of your demeanor right now.

So much for a lazy morning, you think to yourself.

However, having been in situations like this makes you fall into a tried and tested routine with Yuuta. Once he heats up water for coffee, you already have the mugs out. You pick out clothes for one another while he brushes his teeth and cleans himself up. He gets your shoes while you’re the one in the bathroom, and he always knows which pair you would want to wear with your outfit for the day.

You’re ready and prepped in record time. As you give yourself a final once over in the mirror by the door, Yuuta goes to grab Yuuji’s present on the kitchen counter. When he returns, he meets your eyes in the reflection and leaves a delicate kiss on your temple.

“You look perfect.” He says, and he smiles brightly when you do.

You sigh, pretending to be exasperated. “I know.” A laugh bursts from your lips when he tries to tickle you in retaliation.

“No, Yuuta! Stop!” Still laughing, you try to capture his hands in yours. “We don’t have time for this!”

He finally relents, but pulls you to him instead. The look in his eyes is so precious, and you don’t doubt that you’re looking at him with the same gaze. You meet him halfway for a kiss, and you melt into it.

Kissing him was enchantingly perfect, a warmth blooming in your chest as if you were always meant to be with him. Your heart swells up from all that you feel and all that he gives you, but you catch yourself and pull back.

“We should be heading out.” You say, but you sound unconvincing even to your own ears.

Yuuta stares into your eyes happily for a moment. Then he nods and takes your hand as you head out the door.

“Do you have anything planned tomorrow?” He asks as you both walk at a leisurely pace.

It occurs to you that you should probably urge him to hasten his steps, but as the sunlight reflects in his eyes in that spellbinding way, you couldn’t find it in yourself to rush this moment.

“No, why?” You reply. He brings up your hand and kisses the back of it.

“I think we deserve a day of just absolutely nothing.” Yuuta’s expression was delighted, as if he was planning something more exciting than just simply staying at home together.

The feeling is contagious, nonetheless. You found yourself grinning at the idea of an uninterrupted morning with him. You remind yourself to try to wake up before him tomorrow, so you can see him in that morning glow that makes your heart flutter again.

“There’s no one else I’d do absolutely nothing with.” You give his hand a tender squeeze as you respond.

“Glad that we agree on that, then.” He beams at you, and you realized then that the sun would never hold a candle to him.

And so you went on with your day, having fun with friends and celebrating your time with them. But as the day draws to a close, all you could look forward to was waking up slowly the next day and every day after that, in the loving arms of your other half.

#yuta okkotsu x reader #yuuta x reader #yuuta okkotsu x reader #yuuta fluff #jjk fluff #boyfriend yuuta #jujutsu kaisen fluff #yuuta x y/n #yuta okkotsu reader insert #yuuta reader insert #yuta okkotsu x you #yuta okkotsu imagine #yuta okkotsu fluff #domestic au #boyfriend yuta #togenabi-yuuta-01

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k2ntoss · 3 months

Note

"“On your knees.” While their fingers thread through your hair, guiding you onto the floor." with Jason? 😳

guess who fell sick FROM A KFC CHICKEN PIECE!!! i'm dying but anyways first one of the nighty-night!!! omg i just love writing this stuff with jay it's just hehehe :3 here we go, my dear anon, thanks for your request. adding vigilante!reader here bc my head has ideas.

"on your knees." while their fingers thread through your hair, guiding you onto the floor.

it was usual for you to steal kisses from jason's lips whenever you walked past him and everyone around had grown used to it, soft pecks followed by a pretty smile as you carried your gear after a mission or when you walked around the training arena. it wasn't weird anymore not even for bruce because he knew that you needed each other.

this time wasn't much different besides the fact that tim and damian were fighting right in front of jason at the time you had to pass by his side, carrying a couple of knives you stood next to him and nudged his side softly, a silent sing for him to lean down so you could reach and kiss him and he did, lips softly touching yours in a sweet motion that made his younger sibblings grunt at the missing attention because they sworn they needed his opinion.

"i bet you have better things in mind to do rather than getting involved on a new discussion with them" you murmur against his lips, a small smirk when you noticed your tease working on him even if it wasn't meant to at first.

"and i bet you've never been told you speak way too much, haven't ya?" jason asks cockily, standing straight once again and looking at you with his arms crossed over his chest and you can't help but chuckle when his eyes linger for a little more on your lips before he looks back at his brothers.

"all i hear is you're in love with me, todd" your words bring a scowl to damian's face and drag a tired sigh from tim, probably a little too over the loverbirds shit you always manage to pull out of jason when you're close. of course he's not always so sweet with you but you've pulled onto his more human side and that had helped jason to feel more worthy of a lot of stuff, because you've been there to teach him that not being perfect wasn't bad.

"i hate it when you're right." he chuckles and shakes his head, leaning in to drap an arm over your shoulders and pressing a kiss to your temple, looking over you and taking in your figure, the way the gray suit hugged your curves before getting lost under the waist of your cargo pants made your body look even more desireable and he just smirked to himself "i wish there was a way to shut your mouth at least for a while."

if you didn't knew him you would have thought he was pissed off by your comments but the undertone of tease and mischief on his words was clear for you and you understood his intentions, even clearer when you noticed jason's eyes wandering around the cave to make sure it was just the two of you there.

"well, maybe there is" you say, as if wondering the answer but jason is quick to grab your hand and pull you upstairs and between chuckles he makes his way to the library as he looked into any other room to make sure there wasn't a chance of being caught like two horny highschoolers, but that was the fun in this all.

"yeah? what would that be?" he asks once he finds a nice spot. that chair he always picks in between all the spaces around the manor because it's comfortable and because it is the first place he kissed you "does it has anything to do with that pretty mouth of yours wrapped around my dick?"

it takes jason almost nothing to change the tone of his voice, he sits on the big chair and pulls you closer by the waist to place you on his lap just so he can capture you lips in a new kiss, this time hungrier and harsher. his hands grip onto your hips as yours claw softly on his chest, kissing him back and letting his tongue intrude into your mouth when he deepens the contact of your lips.

"here? in broad daylight?" you ask him teasingly but jason knows you couldn't care less when your hips push against his making your body grind against his "if we get caught you know we won't hear the end of it, jason." and your boyfriend knows that's true but there isn't too many people to find you both and he is 50% sure he just locked the door but that's just details.

"i don't really care and i'm sure you don't care either" he says in a low tone, looking up at you as his hands trace the outline of your figure until he squeezes your breast playfully and leans in to kiss your jaw, nibbling on the zone as if he was tasting you for the first time ever and he just got adicted to the feeling of your flushed skin.

it takes a few more heated kisses, your hips grinding against him and the sound of your heavy breathing mixed with the noise of your clothes until he pulls away with a predatory smirk as he pushes your body from his.

"on your knees." jason's voice sounds hoarse and it drives shivers down your spine because his hand touches you in a soft way as his fingers threat through your hair as his other hand pushes you by the waist to get you off his lap, the hand that is still on your head is now guiding you slowly to the floor and making you kneel between his legs.

it's not hard to do as he wants and it's even easier to lean in closer and press a playful kiss on the bulge that you can spot under his pants, the action itself makes jason's eyes darken as your fingers work undoing his belt and the buttons of his jeans, pulling down slightly with a hint of urge just to lift his shirt a little, exposing his lower abdomen and kissing a trail until your lips reach the waist of his boxers.

"you look so pretty like that, princess," he practically growls as his hand brushes your hair out of your face, a smirk playing on his lips when your eager hands pull down his underwear as your eyes remain fixed on his.

"i don't know what i'll do if you keep looking at me like that, jay" you purr and he chuckles but the sound stops as soon as it starts when you grab his hardened dick on your hand and give him the first slow stroke as you lean in to wrap your lips around the swollen tip and at the feeling of having him in your mouth you hum.

"i think i know what you'll do" jason teases, letting out a deep groan when you bob your head up and down with your tongue tracing his shaft but what drives him crazy is the way you look at him through doe eyes and the ghost of a smile on your expression as you start moving with him in your mouth.

"that's it, ma," he growls as his eyes close and his head drops back, his hand finding its way to the back of your head where it grabs a handful of your hair "feels so good to have that pretty mouth of yours taking me so damn well, such a good girl."

the sight is amazing, the way he frowns when a deep raspy sound escapes his throat when he starts pushing your head down his dick, making you gag a little when he hits the back of your throat and keeps you held there making it hard to breath, he enjoys it.

the way your hands hold onto his thighs and how you look up at him with teary eyes, your cheeks red and the sloppy sounds his cock makes as he fucks your mouth slowly but harshly makes him feel his ego grow at each helpless moan you let out.

"think i'll shut you up by fucking your throat more often," he says, voice completely low and hoarse now that he controls the movements of your head and sets the pace on his own, getting off with the way you look with your chin full of your drool and his precum, a few tear trails now painting your cheeks.

it's right then when he pulls you away from his dick, stroking himself needily as he looks at you with a wide grin that lets you know what he wants to; you sit on your knees and your eyes follow the movements of his hand around himself and you can't seem to notice when you start to bounce a little in expectation.

"just look at you, how eager you look, ma" he mumbles, his voice struggled between sighs and growls as his hand moves fast when he is about to reach his climax "bouncing like a pretty bunny... open your mouth, love."

the way he speaks and the sinful scene mixed with the sweet pet names he calls you makes everything better. as soon as you part your lips, tongue sticking out jason moves a bit closer and places the tip of his cock over your tongue and a few second later his load is being spilled inside your mouth, a little of it staining your chin when he pulls away panting.

jason is unable to take his gaze away from you as you swallow what you just got and the tension builds up again on his body just with the sight of it, he tries to hold it back and cleans your chin with his thumb in a sweet caress then moving to search for something he could use to clean himself and also you but stops as soon as you take his hand and suck his digit clean.

"what? haven't you been taught not to waste?" you ask him teasingly and his control vanishes completely at your words.

"fucking hell, you're gonna have to come here because there's no way i'll be letting you go right now"

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teapartyprincess4two · 4 months

Text

Corner Store - C. Sturniolo

pairing: Employee!reader x Coworker!Chris

classification: fluff

warnings: use of y/n, slow build up & slight cursing

summary: Chris is your annoying coworker who always manages to make your shifts a little more miserable than necessary, but it turns out he has a misunderstood crush on you.

—

“That’ll be $10.32,” you say, scanning the last item and looking towards the customer awaiting their form of payment. Your shift seemed to drag on, you had already been here 6 hours and still had 1 more to go before your shift was over. Not like you would be able to leave right away anyways, you always had to wait until the next person scheduled arrived to relieve you. When you checked to see who was scheduled after you, you noticed that Chris, one of the few other people who worked here, was scheduled today. Chris was always late.

You watched as the customer in front of you dug through her purse, struggling to find the correct amount of change. “I swear I have the 32 cents,” she mumbled, fishing around for the loose coins scattered at the bottom of her bag. Your fingers tapped against the counter impatiently as you watched her. How had you gotten yourself stuck in this dead end job?

“Here,” she says, finally finding the correct amount of change. She hands you a quarter, a nickel, and two pennies. She waited for you to cash her out, not realizing that she had yet to hand you the ten dollars. “Hello?! I need the receipt,” her voice holds an impatient tone as her hands point towards the receipt machine aggressively. You sigh, knowing that this interaction could go south quickly if you didn’t choose your next words wisely.

You wanted to reply with, ‘Hello?! I need the ten dollars,’ but your shift was almost over and there was no reason to pick a fight now. “I still need the ten dollars, ma’am,” you replied, using your customer service voice at its fullest potential. She facepalmed, realizing her mistake before responding, “Oops! You’re right, sweetie.” Her hands returned into her purse, this time pulling her wallet out and handing you a ten dollar bill. Without a word you take it from her and cash her out, making sure to hand her the stupid receipt. “Keep the change,” she jokes. The joke feels like a slap to the face, there was no change. There was never change. You wanted to bang your head against the wall.

“Have a good day,” you say, chuckling a bit at her sarcastic joke and offering her a fake smile. She walks out with all her items in hand, the ring of the doorbell letting you know the coast is clear. Once she’s gone you slump back into your stool, pulling your phone out to check the time. 30 more minutes and you’d be free.

You’re about to turn your phone off when you notice a text from your coworker Chris.

Chris (WORK): hey you think you can cover for me? I’m running late lol. I’ll be there in like 30 minutes :p

You were fulling expecting him to be late, but 30 extra minutes sounded like actual hell. You groan, running your hands through your hair in annoyance before replying.

y/n: really bruh :|

Why was it so hard for him to get to work on time? He didn’t even live far, you had dropped him off a few times on the rare occasion you were scheduled to work the same shift and he didn’t have a ride. He lived like a full 5 minutes away, 10 minutes if he walked. The text bubbles would disappear and reappear, indicating that he was typing up his response.

Chris (WORK): sorry, I’m waiting for my brother to pick me up. he’s my ride

Another groan of annoyance escapes your lips, annoyed at the fact that a grown man was still relying on others for transportation. The haunting sound of the doorbell rings again suddenly and catches your attention. A couple had just walked in hand in hand. “Hello!” You greeted them quickly using your standard go-to customer service voice as you watched them disappear to the back of the store. You hated greeting the customers, they always ignored you.

y/n: you always do this bro. you could literally still get here on time if you started walking right now

The customers in the back of the store were laughing loudly, causing you to once again look away from your phone and in their direction. They were horse-playing, pushing and pulling each other playfully around the store. As cute as it was, you could only think about them possibly tipping something over and making a mess. The last thing you needed right now was a big mess to clean up.

Chris (WORK): that’s not true.

Chris (WORK): and nah I’ll just wait for Matt to take me

You didn’t even bother replying to his last message because no matter what you said he would still be late either way. A loud crash echoes from the back of the store, the couple gasping right after. You sit up from your stool and tiptoe, trying to see what they dropped. ‘Hopefully they didn’t break anything,’ you thought, but you knew they had. Before you could examine the situation, the couple was running out of the store giggling and laughing.

When you walked over to where they previously were you saw it, an entire 6-pack of Coors Light busted on the floor. You wanted to scream, the only thoughts running through your mind being about how much you hated this job. Somehow this all felt like Chris’s fault because his shift started in five minutes and if you weren’t so busy texting him back you might’ve caught the couple in time to warn them to stop.

“Stupid Chris,” you whispered in annoyance as you bent down to pick the beer cans up. The beer dripped down your arm and onto the floor as you rushed it over to the trash can. You really, really hated this job right now.

—

By the time Chris finally arrived it was well over 45 minutes since your shift was meant to end. You were still cleaning up the mess from before, using bleach and the dirty mop from the supply closet to try and remove as much of the sticky residue as possible.

Chris rushed inside, buttoning up his uniform shirt in the process. Once inside he immediately looked around, trying to find you to let you know he was there and you could leave. “Y/n, where you at?” He called through the store, peering easily over the shelves as he tried to find you. But because you were hunched over scrubbing as hard as possible to clean up the liquid mess on the floor, he couldn’t see you.

He walked down the aisles, picking up a bag of chips on the way. He opened the bag, popping a chip in his mouth as he continued to the back of the store. When he found you, he didn’t even comment on what you were doing, instead letting you know that you were free to go, “hey thanks bro, you’re good to go.” You stood up straight with the mop in your right hand and the bleach bottle in the other as you rolled your eyes at his comment.

A chip fell from his mouth, landing on the floor. This irked you even more. Not only was he 45 minutes late, but now he was actively adding to the mess you were trying to clean up. “Here,” you say sternly, shoving the mop and bleach spray towards him and snatching the bag of chips he was holding.

“Hey! I was eating those!” He exclaims, attempting to grab them back from you. “Bye Chris,” you reply, already beginning to walk off, eating a chip in the process. You quickly learned that you didn’t even like this chip flavor, but you couldn’t stand looking at Chris’s face right now so you took them simply to mess with him. “Wait! You didn’t finish cleaning this up!” He called back, looking between you and the mess on the floor. The mop felt so foreign in his hands, he never mopped. You or one of your other coworkers always did that, but never Chris.

“I’m good to go!” You replied, quoting his own words as you pushed the front door and walked out, the doorbell ringing in the process. You threw the bag of chips away on the way to your car. Now it was Chris’s turn to be haunted by the doorbell.

—

The next day you were off so you decided to focus your energy on studying and binge watching your favorite tv shows. You had a few exams coming up so you made a mental note to specifically study for those. You hadn’t even reached the end of the first day when you received a call from Chris.

You debated on whether or not you should answer it, knowing it had to be a work related call. ‘Someone probably called in,’ you thought. You weighed out the pros and cons quickly in your head. ‘Pros? I answer this call and get more hours. More hours equals more money,’ you thought. On the other hand, the cons were never ending. ‘Cons? everything.’

After letting it ring five times, you picked up the phone and placed it on your ear, “Hello?” You could faintly hear the hum of the convenience store refrigerators in the background along with loud chewing. Chris was definitely eating yet another snack. “Y/n, Marcus called in again. Do you think you can come in?” Chris asks, getting straight to the point.

Why was everyone at your job so unreliable? “Umm I don’t know, I’m pretty busy right now,” you replied, staring at the exam notes sprawled out in front of you on your bed. “You don’t sound busy,” he said sassily and followed it with loud crinkling noises as he tried reaching the chip at the bottom of the bag. “What’s that supposed to mean?” You sounded offended but Chris didn’t notice. He mostly wanted you to come in so he wouldn’t have to get through this shift alone. Of course he could’ve called someone else to come in, but for whatever reason he found himself calling you.

Today was Friday and although your store was generally slow, Fridays tended to pick up around 5pm when everyone was either getting off work or picking their kids up from school. “It means that you don’t sound busy,” he replied again, still crinkling his chip bag. His fingers were so greasy at this point that he kept missing the last chip every time he almost had it.

“I mean, what are you even doing right now? Studying?” He asked again. It was a rhetorical question, but the answer was yes. A loud crunch was heard through the speaker, he finally found that one straggling chip and was now incessantly chewing on it. ‘Lucky guess,’ you thought as you began piling all your notes together in embarrassment. “I’ll be there in 20,” you replied, wanting nothing more than to end this conversation.

“You’re studying aren’t you,” he chuckles, crumpling the chip bag, creating a make-shift basketball. He sits in the stool, shifting his body in the direction of the trash can that sat in the corner so he could throw his bag away. “Shut up,” you grumble, getting up from your bed to start getting ready.

“KOBE!” He shouts, throwing the bag in the direction of the trash can with a swift flick of his wrist. He missed terribly and the bag hit the floor with a soft thud.

—

You arrive to work 20 minutes later, mentally preparing yourself for the long 8 hour shift ahead of you. When you walked inside you noticed Chris had a long line of customers forming, all of them holding a multitude of items. Dread filled your body as you realized that you actually had to work and couldn’t just sit there as you waited for your shift to end.

You made your way behind the counter and situated yourself to the right of Chris, motioning for the next customer in line towards your register. “I can help who’s next in line,” you said loudly. The next customer quickly shuffled over to you, dumping all their things on the counter for you to scan.

The rush doesn’t last long, both you and Chris checking customers out quickly and efficiently in order to get them out the door as fast as possible. “Thanks for coming in,” Chris finally says, watching as you grab a box of candy from under the counter. The box is heavy, causing you to heave slightly when you pick it up. Chris notices this and quickly sits up off his stool to help you with the box. “Yeah, it’s whatever,” you reply nonchalantly, allowing him to help you pick the box up.

He’s now holding the box with ease before inquiring what your intentions with this box of candy were, “you gonna stock up?” You hum in response, ready to take the box back from him so you could begin stocking up the now bare candy shelves around the store. He notices this and offers to help carry it around for you. It was the least he could do after calling you in on your day off. “I got it,” he says, adjusting his arms so the box is comfortable enough to carry around.

“Thanks,” your reply is simple, they always were. Chris had never been able to break through to you on a personal level. Throughout your shifts you would always make small talk to pass the time and he was able to learn small details about your life, but he was never was able to learn anything truly personal about you. On one occasion, for example, he learned that you were working here to pay for your school, but he never learned what you were going to school for. Another time he also learned that you had a dog, but you never told him its name.

All your other coworkers had opened up to him with ease, sharing personal details about their life and even trauma dumping a few times. He wondered why you were always so distant. He wanted to get to know you better, but he didn’t know how.

Chris follows behind you as you stock up the shelves, watching as you organize the rows neatly before moving on to the next. He catches sight of a package of Twizzlers, deciding he was going to use this as his talking point. “These are my favorite candies,” he comments, handing you the package so you can organize it onto the shelf. You don’t even respond, you just continue working like some type of task bot.

He sighs quietly, wondering if he should’ve asked someone else to come in for Marcus. Chris wants to give up, but he decided to try again, “What’s your favorite candy, y/n?” The question causes you to pause. ‘If I wanted to be quizzed, I would’ve stayed home to study,’ you thought, already wishing that these next 8 hours would just be over.

“Um… I don’t know? M&M’s are okay, I guess,” you respond, providing him with a half-ass answer in hopes that he’ll take the hint and stop asking questions. He doesn’t.

“What color M&M is your favorite?” He asks, thinking about the different M&M characters from the commercials. “I don’t know, they all taste the same to me,” you quipped back, trying to focus on neatly organizing the shelves in front of you. He was still trudging behind you and although the box he was holding became lighter with each candy you removed, it was still heavy. He adjusted the box again and pulled it up higher against his chest.

“No, I meant like the characters,” he laughs, his mind replaying all those funny commercials where the M&M’s are getting into trouble. You were silent, seemingly confused with whatever he was talking about. “You know! From the commercials!” He sounds excited, hoping that you know what he’s talking about so he doesn’t sound like an idiot. You don’t remember but decide to just go along with him for the sake of your own sanity, “oh yeah, the red one was pretty cool.”

He scoffs at this response, pretending to act offended, “the orange one was clearly the best.” You chuckle at this and it instantly puts a smile on his face. Finally he was getting somewhere with you.

Chris would be lying if he said he didn’t find you pretty. You were the prettiest girl who worked here, which really wasn’t saying much considering the only other woman who worked here was a 65 year old named Gladys, but he’d been around town and he could never find a single girl hotter than you. So, yes, he’d sneak a few glances your way here and there and was always excited to come into work when you were scheduled. Sometimes he would even come in on his days off to buy a soda for an excuse to see you.

You found Chris attractive too, but you mostly found him annoying. He had a pretty terrible work ethic and every time you worked with him it felt like you were stuck doing all the hard labor. Not to mention the fact that he was always running late, forcing you to cover for him until he arrived. Plus he was always snacking on something and leaving his crumbs all over the place for you to clean. Despite all this, he did have his few good moments. Like right now when he’s helping you carry the heaviest box in the store.

“I knew I could make you laugh,” he comments, handing you the last package of candy in the box. You roll your eyes at his comment before responding, “it doesn’t take much to make me laugh, kid.” Your comment was meant to push his buttons, but he didn’t mind the challenge. “Is that a challenge?” He asks, a small smirk growing on his face as he wiggles his eyebrows at you. This earns him another eye roll from you.

“I’d like to see you try,” you respond with a cheeky smile as you take the empty box from him so you can throw it away. Chris watches as you walk away, feeling absolute smitten by you and confident in his skills to make you laugh at least one more time in the next eight hours.

‘This is going to be fun,’ he thought.

—

Chris spends the next 8 hours of your shift trying to make you laugh. He tells bad jokes, pulls silly faces, and even does stupid little dances all in an attempt to see you smile. You laughed at his first joke, but it was quiet enough for him to miss it. You were grateful for that because it egged him on.

“C’mon y/n! Just one little laugh, one giggle, a chuckle even,” he pleads, walking closer to you from behind the counter. You shake your head playfully as you sit back in your stool and face him. He inches closer once again as his mind comes up with the perfect plan of action to get you to laugh,, “what if I do this!”

He pounces on you, using his fingers to poke at your sides as he tickles you. Immediately you burst into a fit of laughter as you attempt to push his hands away, but he uses his strength to keep them in place. “Chris! Stop!” you say in between laughter. He has the biggest smile on his face because he finally got to hear you laugh after so many failed attempts.

Chris continues to tickle you, failing to notice how your body is beginning to slide off the stool. Before he knows it, you’re leaning backwards and heading straight for the floor beneath you. You shriek at the feeling and reach forward to latch yourself onto Chris’s arms to prevent yourself from falling. He immediately stops tickling you and grabs you firmly by the waist, catching you before you can slip off the chair completely.

At this point his forehead is flush against yours, both your eyes locked in a heated stare as your breath fans against his lips. You tried catching your breath, both from the laughing and from the scare you’d just gotten. The moment feels so intense and intimate, all Chris can think about is how easy it would be to kiss you.

‘Fuck it,’ he thinks as he closes his eyes, ready to lean forward and capture your lips in his before he can psych himself out. You do the same, too lost in the moment to realize that you were about to kiss Chris, your coworker who you found annoying up until a few hours ago. Before your lips can meet, the sound of the doorbell rings through the store causing you to break away as quickly as possible.

You both look towards the front door, fully expecting a customer to be standing there but you’re met with nothing. It was just the wind from outside, it had pushed the door open slightly and triggered the doorbell.

Both of you cough awkwardly, deciding to avoid each other for the rest of your shift.

—

Finally, your shift is over. You and Chris worked together silently to close the store up and restock any bare shelves. Once you grab your things you prepare to walk outside and over to your car. Chris was outside already on the phone near the gas pumps. He was calling his brother to pick him up, but he wasn’t picking up.

When you make your way outside, you use your keys to lock the doors behind you. As you fumble with the keys you hear Chris muttering something under his breath before groaning. You turn to walk over to your car, ready to leave without Chris, but as you reach for the door handle you stop to look in his direction one last time. He’s now sitting on the curb, looking in the opposite direction of you. He’s debating in his head whether he should ask you for a ride or just walk home in the dark.

You watch as he gets up abruptly as he decides he was just going to walk home. He couldn’t bare having to sit in a car with you after what happened today. The guilt ate at you, causing you to offer him a ride. “Need a ride?” You shouted in his direction, waiting patiently for him to turn around and acknowledge you. Immediately his head turned in your direction at the question. He silently thanked God for your offer because he really didn’t want to walk home, but he was to embarrassed to ask for a ride. This also meant that you probably weren’t as upset with him as he thought you were. In reality you weren’t mad at all, but you did feel a little awkward.

He jogged over to your car, standing in front of the passenger side door awkwardly almost like he was waiting for permission to get in. “You getting in?” You asked as you opened the your car door and hopped in. “Oh. Um, yeah,” he stutters before following suit and getting in the passenger seat.

The ride to his house is silent, the only noises being the radio and the sound of the car engine. Considering he doesn’t live far, it doesn’t take long for you to arrive to his house. You pull up to the side of the street and place the car in the park, waiting for him to thank you and get out like he always does when you drive him home. He doesn’t immediately get out though, instead he sits in the passenger seat quietly as he rubs his clammy hands against his thighs to relieve some of the anxiety building up inside of him.

Chris’s mind is racing a mile a minute as he thinks of all the possibilities this night could lead to. He could get out of the car, leaving you with nothing but a simple thank you and then let your relationship return to normal. Or, he could do the unthinkable and gain an outstanding reward in return. Whatever he chose, he knew he’d have to deal with the consequences and right now he was willing to gamble.

“You good?” You ask him as you shift in your seat to gain a better look at his face. He looks so nervous that you almost don’t recognize him because it completely contrasts his usual energetic and confident demeanor. “Yeah, I just-“ he’s struggling to find the right words, afraid to say the wrong thing and ruin it all. “You just?” You push, wanting to know what he’s getting at.

Chris sighs, taking one last pause to gather his thoughts before completely shifting towards you. His eyes pierce into yours as he searches them trying to gauge whether his next move will affect his chances at a future with you. Upon further inspection, he decides to just do it.

“I just-” he begins to say but cuts himself off by planting his lips on yours. You’re caught by surprise at his actions, eyes widening in shock and arms falling stiff to your sides. His hands move up to your face, cupping your cheek in an attempt to get you closer, but once he realizes you’re not kissing him back he completely pulls away from you.

It took you a while to process what had just happened; Chris just kissed you! Despite your reaction, you were satisfied with the outcome of the night. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have-” he begins to apologize, but you interrupt him this time. Your lips are back on his, both your hands cupping his face to keep him as close to you as possible. A sigh of relief escapes him, his warm breath landing on your lips. He melts into your touch, placing one of his hands on yours that rested on his face. Chris tasted like candy which only made you want the kiss that much more.

Finally you two pull away from the kiss, letting go of each other slowly. He has a goofy smile on his face as he stares at you, taking in every aspect of your being. “Stop looking at me like that,” you giggle, covering your face in embarrassment.

He laughs along with you, pulling your hands away from your face before replying, “see, I told you I’d make you laugh.” You roll your eyes, moving your face closer to his once again.

“Shut up,” you whisper, kissing him for the third time that night.

—

A/n: I wrote a Matt story so yk I had to write a Chris story. Nick is next don’t worry lololol. Also, I’ve seen your requests/ anon messages and trust that I’m gonna respond to those too! Thanks for reading 🩵enjoy girlies!

- L.A.M.B👼🏻💗

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gayerthanevertbh · 1 year

Text

pretty when you cry.

pairings: natasha romanoff x fem!reader

n.r masterlist | navigation | n.r one-shots masterlist

summary: you and nastaha were once a happy couple, until she became a whole different person.

warnings: extremely toxic!natasha, degrading, alcoholism, verbal abuse, cheating, pure angst - 18+ MINORS DNI.

author’s note: just did this anon request! hopefully you enjoy this!

Natasha was the ideal girlfriend. She was tenacious, loving, generous, and irresistibly romantic, among other qualities that are difficult to put into words. The redhead was everything through your mending heart during the first year of your relationship. She took you on daily dates, brought you flowers every week, took care of you whenever school got in the way, and would make love to you in your bed until the sun rose again. She took you to her favorite forest, where she had a small cabin in the middle of the woods, and you'd sometimes spend time alone with her there. You sighed at those happy memories, they were once good when she suddenly transforms into a completely different person.

"I'm going to the compound for a bit," Natasha murmured as she grabbed her coat and walked to the front door without looking over her shoulder or even kissing goodbye. "You don't need to cook dinner; Steve will do it anyway."

You only responded with a nod, knowing she wouldn't say anything else but leave the house. As soon as she was gone, you could feel your own tears streaming down your cheeks, not knowing when they would stop. The pain consumed you, the loneliness fed into your system, and the sense of betrayal lingered in your mind for a long time. One thing is certain: you're not sure if you still trust Natasha. Would you? She's been acting this way for nearly two years, so you're not sure if she's still faithful to you.

You'd like to believe she was still faithful.

When the sun goes down and the air becomes colder, you decide to go to bed early because you were expecting Natasha to be late. You were used to this routine because she was gone every night. She'd come home around midnight on occasion, but most of the time she'd return the next day but not sleep in the same bed as you. She'd either sleep in the other room or on the couch, drunk from the night before. Most of the time, she comes home and then goes out to drink with her friends. The Avengers were no longer her friends; they had turned against her because of everything she had done to you. You were constantly fighting, which caused the older woman to leave the house. And whenever you mentioned these fights to Sam, he'd always say, "I told you so, Y/n."

He was right, but you still had your hopes for your girlfriend.

Surprisingly, before you got to bed, Natasha came home early that night – not even intoxicated. She goes to the kitchen and pours herself some orange juice, while lighting a cigarette from her mouth. You leaned against the countertop and asked, “Why are you home early?”

The woman scoffed.

“Can I not be home early?”

“Of course you can,” you stated quietly under your breath, knowing that within the next few seconds she would be yelling at you. “I don’t know, it’s just that you are never home.”

“I got work, Y/n. I save people’s lives, I need a fucking break from all of this shit in my life.”

You are not saving our relationship.

Knowing that she was right for the whole time, you decided to end the conversation there by saying: “Okay, you’re right. I’m going to bed.”

But she didn’t stop there, she continued to speak.

“What have you been doing all day?” she asked, almost in a condescending tone. She swung the cigarette away from her lips, chuckling. “I bet you were just lying down in bed all day, expecting me to give you everything.”

“I work too, Nat,” you sighed, pressing your fingers onto your forehead. “I don’t want to fight, okay? Can't we just go to bed?”

“You’re avoiding this conversation.”

“That’s because I know what you’re going to say.”

“What do you want me to tell you, hm?” she takes a few steps closer to your frail body, looking down at you with so much power in her green eyes. You dared yourself not to gaze back at her, because if you did – you were doomed. “Look at me!”

“I can’t.” you whispered with a voice crack, causing her to groan.

"You're so difficult to talk to," she grumbled, hurling a glass against the wall, which splattered all over the floor, your body flinching at the harsh sound. She didn't bother to console you, and she was even moved by the sound of your whimper. "You little bitch, don't cry at me. You expect me to give you everything you fucking want?!"

“I don’t even ask for anything anymore, Natasha!” you yelled back at her, wiping the tears away using the back of your hand. “We barely talk! Do you expect me to ask something from you when we don’t even communicate?”

“But that’s what you are, a greedy bitch!”

You let out a painful sob as the sound of her voice and the use of her words made your knees weaken. She's been calling you these things lately. You tried your hardest to remain strong, but it eventually caught up with you. It really does.

"I-" you stammered, afraid to look into her angry eyes. She was breathing heavily through her nose, pleading with you to speak up. “I don’t want to fight, please.”

"You keep avoiding this type of shit," she said vaguely. "Whenever I called you out, you'd tell me to go to bed. Y/n, I'm not a fucking kid. "I'm an adult!"

“Then act like one!”

Natasha raises her hand to strike you as you close your eyes, but she stops. She looked at you for a moment before dropping her hand, noticing that she was completely unaware of what she was doing, despite the fact that she wasn't drunk. She sighed as she pinched her nose bridge, mumbling: “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”

"Whatever," you replied, walking back to your room and closing the bedroom door behind you. You cried yourself to sleep that night, knowing that you would have to leave her at any moment.

What happened to us?

The next few days were crucial. You and Natasha never discussed that night, and she never intended to. You were fine with the idea because it was just another way to avoid a fight, but you also wanted your girlfriend back to the way she used to be. Despite your optimism, you were beginning to give up. You had a strong feeling she would never return. She'll stay this way forever.

For some ethical reason, you took a visit to the compound, finding out if Natasha was there or not. When Tony let you in, you were surprised that she wasn’t there. Huh, you thought. Where has she gone?

“She’s not here, Y/n,” said Tony from behind. “She uhm… left somewhere.”

You turned over your shoulder, giving him a frown. What did he mean by that exactly?

“Can you tell me where she is?”

"I'm not sure if I should," he admitted, his face flushed. He rested both of his hands on his waist, still debating whether or not to tell you. He continued, “I think you’ll be very angry if I–”

Steve speaks up, his arm crossed. “You should tell her, Tony. She is entitled to know.”

"But Natasha is our family," he said. Were you also not family? His words pierced your heart, as if a knife had been thrust through it. “She’ll be very upset.”

"We've been upset with your girlfriend for a long time," the old man sighed, leaning uncomfortably against the wall. You sat down on the stool, silently requesting that he continue. "She's been cold with us, and there's something you should know before it's too late."

"I'm sorry," Tony apologizes to you. You could tell he was sincere because his eyes weren't looking back at you, and you already knew where this was going. "I'm sorry for disappointing you, sweetheart."

“Tell me what’s going on.” you whispered in final, hearing Steve breathe deeply.

"Natasha has been flirting with one of our young recruits for the past year," Steve said, his head low. "But she's gone now because Natasha asked her to. We couldn't get a hold of her, but she had every right to leave. She had no idea Natasha had a girlfriend, which made her very upset. I’m not saying you shouldn’t be mad at the girl, but that’s what happened.”

You have known this from the very beginning; all you needed to do was stop wishing that Natasha would change into a better person. There was a mixture of anger and sadness in your throat, and you didn't care much if you cried in front of them.

"Oh," you murmured, unsure what to say next..

“I know this is very hard for you, and I’m sorry that you had to hear it this way. You deserve to know what she has been doing, Y/n.”

“Did they ever had sex?”

Steve shrugged. “I’m not too sure about that, but maybe they have.”

"They probably did," Tony says. "Natasha is family, but we don't support her actions. We all know how much she loves you, but I don’t think she’s right for you.”

"That is certainly a wake-up call," you sniffled, wiping your tears away with the back of your hand. "I had a feeling she'd do something like this, let alone fuck them. I'm not sure if there are any more girls. I just…”

I just want to love you again, but I don’t know how.

You were disgusted by the thought of Natasha fucking another girl. Were you not providing her with the satisfaction she required? Most importantly, what happened to you? You had a feeling you were the source of the problem, but you couldn't hurt Natasha in this way - it was too much.

All you know is that you wanted to leave her, you didn’t care if she cheated on you, you just wanted to stay away from her presence.

“I’m going home then,” you stood up from the stool as you walked towards the front door, giving them a small smile from your lips. “I’ll see you when I’m around.”

You quickly left the compound and returned home with a scream, throwing vases around the living room area as you reflected on the times Natasha had degraded you as a person, doing infidelity scenarios behind your back, doing the things you were supposed to do with her without your presence. You returned to your old bedroom with her as you packed your belongings, leaving the jewelry she had given you as well as the books she had also given you. You had enough of her horrible behavior; you were done being hers.

Natasha returned home a few hours later, with broken glasses all over the floor, ruined picture frames from the wall, and the bedroom thrashed with pure rage. When she looked at you, you were sitting on the ground, and she already knew what was going on - she was just too embarrassed to admit it.

You muttered to yourself, your eyes getting heavy, “You finally came home.”

She asked with a choking sound in her voice, “Did they tell you?”

“They told me everything.”

“Can we talk about it?” she asked, her voice becoming softer as she looked at you.

“If you're willing to change,” you said so bitterly that you didn't recognize yourself. “If you're willing to give up the girls you've been messaging.”

“I will,” she rushed onto her knees and embraced you, kissing your collarbone. But this did not seem to have much of an effect on you, as you continued to have a trusting nature toward the woman who has caused you god knows how many problems. “I promise I will, okay?" I'm sorry, baby. I'm truly sorry. I didn't intend for this to happen.”

You nodded, your nails digging through her jacket, wishing that you could die today without being hers. But if you didn't have her, then who were you to begin with?

“I know,” you patted her back as you felt her lips lightly brush against your skin. “I know, don’t worry.”

Natasha was only perfect for a week before returning to her old routine after convincing you to stay. She was out of the house once more, drinking until she passed out on the road, then texting a girl on her phone with no shame. You were sick of her by this point. You were tired of being her partner in everything, of being her individual. Heck, she never asked you to marry her, so you weren’t that serious for Natasha. You felt lonelier and lonelier, until you were consumed by the thought of being a bad person for leaving her again.

But you knew tonight was the night of leaving, and Natasha had to just take the fact about it.

The redhead came home around midnight – as expected – and sat down with you, surprisingly kissing your knuckles. But you pulled away instantly, disgusted by her. She frowned.

“What’s wrong? I’m trying to be affectionate here.”

“I saw you texting another girl.”

She laughed, scratching her nose. “I was texting Maria about the mission, that’s all.”

“Maria isn’t named Angela,” you pointed out with a dead pan look on your face. “You don’t talk sex with Maria, you also don’t text her about it. So why would Maria be in your favorites then?”

Natasha sighed, cupping her face as she could feel irritation boiling through her veins.

“Y/n, I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s always that,” you chuckled with sarcasm, standing up from the table as you picked up your duffel bag from the kitchen floor. Natasha raised her chin, noticing that you were holding two bags. She gulped and stood up slowly, trying to hold your face. “Don’t touch me, I’m leaving you.”

“I know I’m stupid, okay? And I'm sorry,” her voice was pleading, and you were sick of hearing it. She pulls you into a hug before shoving her away from your tired body, marching you to the front door until she blocks your path. “I love you, I’m still in love with you! Don’t leave me, please. Baby, don’t.”

“Move out my way, Romanoff.”

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she chanted, her cold hands meeting your arms and stroking your skin as tears streamed down her cheeks. Her pupils were bloodshot. “I’m just going through something right now, I’m sorry. Please, my love, stay. Don’t go, don’t leave…”

You sobbed loudly, stomping your foot on the ground pitifully. “God damn it, Natasha! You always do this! You only tell me you love me the minute I’m leaving you, and it makes me feel tired! I’m tired of you, don’t you understand that?”

“Sweetheart–”

“I’m tired of your mess, you picking up a fight, degrading me as if I’m stupid, and making me feel foolish too! I’m tired of you cheating on me, not spending time with me, choosing a girl over me, and everything else you have done! So please, spare me some remorse and let me leave you!”

“I can’t!” she screams, rubbing her eyes furiously. “I can’t, okay? I need you here with me! Through thick and thin, remember? I will move heaven and earth for you–”

“Do not even do that.”

"I love you so much," she said softly, pecking your lips. You let her kiss you because you knew it was the last time she'd kiss you. “I want everything from you, including your love. I promise to change, okay? I’ll stop drinking, I’ll stop it all! Just don’t leave me, baby… don’t leave.”

You pushed her chest away with all of your might, crying in front of her, feeling defeated once again. You looked at her for one last time before saying, “If I see you change, I will decide if I should take you back or not. But if you don’t, expect me to never see you again.”

You parted ways with her that evening, walking to the bus stop while simultaneously texting your mother to tell her that you'd soon be moving in with her after a separation of five painful years. During the night, Natasha let out all of her pent-up emotions, finally acknowledging the magnitude of what she had lost. She took a broken picture frame, memorizing your face as if it were the last time she looked at you. She smiled brokenly and kissed the picture, whispering for you to come back.

I’m sorry.

Are you?

TEN MONTHS LATER.

“So, when’s the baby shower?”

Your sister smiled happily at you as you rubbed her swollen stomach, amazed with the idea of a woman carrying a child. You sometimes thought about having one, but that was a long time ago. You continued to rub her rounded stomach, smiling fondly at it.

“Probably next week since James is still finding a crib for the baby,” she sighed, smiling down at you. “Are you excited to meet your niece?”

“Of course,” you responded with a grin. “Are you excited to be a mother?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

You were washing the dishes while your sister, Alica, was sleeping in her bedroom because you both ate lunch. While your father was at work, your mother was at the farm. You enjoyed being at home again, finally leaving the city and returning to the rural town where you grew up. When you peeked out the window, you noticed an unusual car going to the gravel and abruptly stopping. At first, you couldn't believe what you saw.

Natasha stepped out of the car with sunglasses on and a leather jacket slung over her shoulder. You felt your breath hitch from the sight of her, unsure whether you should leave or not. But before you could, Natasha knocked on your front door.

Don’t open the door.

Oh, but you did.

Her eyes and her glowing face greeted you. She smiled warmly at you while lowering her head, scared to gaze further into your eyes.

"How did you find out about me?" you inquired, looking around to see if anyone else was nearby.

"I came to get you back again," she said confidently. "Y/n, I want you back. I'd like to get you back again."

You crossed your arms at her and asked, "Look me in the eyes and say it."

That she did. Natasha smiled as she took your hand in hers and brought it close to her lips. She stroked your skin gently, moving your hand into her hair. You sighed contentedly, knowing that this was the Natasha you remembered.

"I stopped drinking and left the compound," she admitted. "Right now, I live in an apartment; I sold the house we used to live in because I don't see the point in me staying there. But I saved our photos on my wall, as well as the mugs you gave me every month."

You laughed, recalling the times you used to give her odd mugs.

"And I, uh, brought a ring with me so that I could ask you to marry me."

Your eyes widen as she pulls a black box from her pocket, opening the cover to reveal a little diamond heart in the center of the ring, glittering beyond your vision. You looked up briefly at her, taken in by the situation.

"Natasha, what-"

"Marry me?" She breathes out, her forehead pressed against yours as she inhaled your scent. "Oh, God, marry me Y/n. Make me the happiest woman alive, and I swear I'm changed. I'm ready to be with you again and finish our story. Accept and adore me once more. Because, lovely girl, I can't live without you. I can't live without my girl."

You lifted her chin and smiled, tears on the brim of your eyelids as you closed your lips together. When she eventually kissed you again, you felt her tongue caressing your bottom lip, almost falling to the ground. You drew back, your thumb caressing her cheek, and nodded joyfully.

"Yes, I will marry you, Natasha Romanoff."

You moved back in with Natasha in New York, and lived with her with the happiest decision of your life.

A HAPPY ENDING?! YAAAY

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x yn #natasha romanoff fic #natasha romanoff angst #a's oneshots!

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jongseongsnudes · 1 year

Text

twenty one.

warning; 🤫🤫🤫 1k words. masterlist.

seven days.

it had been seven days since you left sunghoon’s apartment, seven days since you’ve last seen the man himself.

so many times did your finger almost press that call button next to his name but you always chickened out. because what were you supposed to even say if he actually picked up anyway.

“are you okay? love?”

“hm?” you were so tired from greeting your fiancé's relatives and friends all night that your mind had dazed off into another dimension, which explains why you hadn’t heard a single thing beomgyu said in the past ten minutes.

“are you feeling okay? wait just a little longer and i’ll tell my parents that we’re leaving okay?” he asks you with worry on his face, his hand gently rubbing at your lower back. he was standing a little too close, he always does but no matter how often he did this, you still couldn’t get used to it.

“oh no i’m fine. it’s your father’s birthday party, you can’t leave early.”

“okay but let me know if you need anything okay love?”

how sweet, you think for a split second before you catch his eyes wander off yet again. this time to two very attractive girls who are heading your way. they don’t bother acknowledging your presence, instead immediately sweet talking your fiancé who seems a little too pleased with it.

and this was how your past week with choi beomgyu had been.

the man was very attentive to you, no doubt. he would follow you around the apartment like a man truly in love, doing every little thing you asked for. but then he would disappear when night time rolled around, only to reappear before your eyes midday. like clockwork, with dishevelled hair and with the smell of alcohol and different women.

every single day.

sigh.

“i’m going to catch up with some friends okay love? i’ll be back soon,” you could barely catch his last few words because he had already disappeared amongst the crowd, evidently eager to be alone with the two female guests.

you sigh in relief, finally able to be on your own for a moment to enjoy the glass of champagne you had been holding for way too long. your face cringes to the taste, the liquid still so foreign to your tongue no matter how many times you’ve tried it.

while smiling at some of the passing guests, your eyes unintentionally scan the room for the one face you had hoped to see tonight. the platinum haired man who was still nowhere to be seen, unfortunately.

“how are you finding your new place with beomgyu?”

the deep, authoritative voice has your fingers nervously grasping around your glass, your face fighting to stay normal in front of the man.

“it’s great mr park, thank you for asking.”

“that’s good, darling,” his face though so sweet and soft, is a complete contrast to the threatening tone in his voice. just something about the man scared you more lately or perhaps it’s because he had threatened you, with sunghoon and your mum.

“ah my two most favourite people in the world. together.”

your body immediately tenses up to that voice. the voice you’ve been wanting to hear.

with excitement now surging inside your body, you turn a little too hastily, bumping right into the man’s chest. you manage to peek up for a split second, your mouth immediately going agape at the view.

in front of you stood park sunghoon, only his hair was no longer platinum. the complete opposite, you’d say. a natural black, a colour you found absolutely perfect on the man.

but as much as you wanted to stay in his hold, you knew there were eyes already gawking. eyes belonging to mr park and your beloved fiancé who was making his way back to you.

“nice to see you too, step sis,” he leans right in without hesitation, wrapping one hand around your body, hugging you tightly against him. his lips brushes the tip of your ear, the man obviously not caring about everyone’s gaze, “you look beautiful. breath taking.”

you were left speechless. the simple move, the simple words, to others might seem like a sweet sibling moment but to you, meant much more. especially with the way your heart was thrashing just to the sight of him... and the thoughts of that night you spent with him.

a secret you’ll be taking with you to the grave it seems.

“sunghoon, people are staring,” you manage to rid of his arm without much struggle, your eyes peeking over to mr park who had his brows slightly raised. but in that moment you couldn’t care less, not when sunghoon was standing there, looking this good, “your hair...”

“thought it was time for a change, right father? the people at the company think it’s a nice change.”

company? why was he there when he hated that place with his whole heart?

you don’t miss the sudden uneasy feeling in the air once sunghoon mentions the word ‘company’ or the way mr park’s gaze darkens almost immediately at his son.

“my brother in law, you’re finally here! we were waiting for you,” beomgyu appears beside you, his arm immediately around your waist. something sunghoon definitely noticed. your fiancé then extends his arms towards sunghoon, hugging the man like they were the tightest pair of friends. and if you didn’t know the history between them, you would’ve actually thought it was true.

such actors.

“oh by the way, you left this behind,” your step brother suddenly looks down at you as his hand reaches into his pocket, fetching out the long forgotten diamond sparkle that should’ve been on your ring finger right now. the same one you thought you had lost the past week.

the surprised looks on both beomgyu’s and mr park’s faces immediately tells you that they’re confused, a bunch of questions already brewing in their minds.

“ah thank you so much sunghoon!” you instantly put on a fake smile, quickly reaching for the ring in his palm, “how could i have forgotten it-”

“exactly. this is such an important ring,” the man closes his hand as he says so, trapping yours inside, the action immediately grabbing the other two men’s attention. but that’s exactly what sunghoon wanted, to have everyone’s full attention, especially yours.

“so how could you have forgotten this little sis... in my bedroom?”

end.

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r3medialch8os · 9 months

Text

so since u guys liked that i did this with remedial chaos theory i will now also be doing this for epidemiology.

the most incredible thing about this episode is that it is in fact Not merely an homage like most concept episodes are; it actually happens. a zombie epidemic For Real takes place at greendale. it's not a gimmick or a game or a way to frame the plot. the actual conflict is derived from the fact that people are zombies and the study group need to outrun them/turn them back. how often can you say that a sitcom incorporates a storyline like this and sincerely pulls it off? never.

the emotional tension in this episode is framed around troy/abed/jeff and the dichotomy of being a nerd vs. being cool, which respectively get attributed the qualities of caring about the people around you who have turned into zombies or wanting to run and escape from the zombies without trying to help. abed and jeff's costumes are both pointed out in the beginning receiving clear denotations of 'lame' and 'too cool to care' and therefore their positions in the conflict are cemented. the episode has a push-pull with troy being the moving factor, having to decide what he thinks is most important. he gets swayed in the beginning by two girls rejecting him over his costume and jeff mentioning how expensive his suit is. he changes from his ripley costume into a 'sexy dracula'. abed spends the whole episode trying to get troy back to his side, even saying "what defines a nerd? committing to an awesome halloween costume with your best friend?" troy is eventually 'turned back' into his nerdy self (perhaps a zombie metaphor itself, keeping in tone with the theme of the episode) because jeff cares more about his suit getting dirty than surviving the herd of zombies.

a crucial part of the episode is that it is soundtracked by abba music playing from the dean's playlist. now, who would i be if i didn't investigate significant music choices connected to scenes? first up and probably the most important one: s.o.s. is used in the background of a scene where abed confronts troy about changing costumes. troy insults him and walks away. the lyrics are: 'you seemed so far away, though you were standing near. you made me feel alive, but something died, i fear. i really tried to make it up, i wish I understood. what happened to our love? it used to be so good.' next; gimme gimme gimme plays right before the scene where chang and shirley hook up. another insane choice is at the end when troy is fighting the zombies. the whole sequence has mamma mia playing in the background Faintly. then when troy eventually gets to abed and has to fight him, the music comes in much louder with the lyrics: 'here i go again, my, my, how can i resist you?', which i think fits perfectly. the ending song fernando has the lyrics 'there was something in the air that night', both referencing the thermostat changing the zombies back and the fact that it was just an incredibly weird fucking night.

troy is dressed as ellen ripley and also kind of acts as the ripley of this episode. his journey in this as being the sole survivor and the one to eventually save greendale adheres to a common science fiction model where a life-threatening force is faced against the protagonists and they fall off in degrees, resulting in one person being left to mend everything. here specifically, it seems to mirror ripley's journey in alien (1979) as it starts with a crew that eventually gets cut down leaving only her. i thought that was really cool.

more alien tidbits, but the jumping cat scene is also inspired by it. jones the cat is an imporant figure in the first alien movie. in various scenes, members of the crew will go looking for him, then get ambushed by the titular alien and subsequently killed. it is a minor homage to the movie through yet another subtle reference. the bit is also parodying jumpscares in horror movies in general, and how they are used to cheaply amplify the tension. anyways, it's quite the multilayered joke because it also really works out of context as a bizarre comedic moment.

troy and abed's scene in the basement pays homage to princess leia and han solo's scene in the empire strikes back. the conversation in the film takes place just before han is frozen alive in carbonite by darth vader. not knowing if he’ll survive, he kisses leia, only to be torn away from her by stormtroopers. she says 'i love you,' and as he descends into chamber, han replies, 'i know.' an undeniably romantic moment, maybe one of the most memorable ones ever, is applied to troy and abed who have held reign over the emotional core of the plot for the entire episode. it's pretty special that such an iconic moment is given to them, i feel like the creators of the show wouldn't just do this sparingly. it also perfectly resolves their conflict as troy makes such a vulnerable statement and abed assuring him that he already knew, validating their bond once again.

more on troy and abed, it is pretty amazing realizing the emotional implications tied to how dire the situation was. everyone in this episode was under the direct threat of Not Surviving, and still abed sacrificed himself for troy. he knew this was for real. he couldn't be sure if they were going to make it. but i think he had enough faith in troy to aid in his escape. it's very touching. further, it's incredible that troy is willing to fight all the zombies (all his friends) but when it comes time to punch abed, he refuses to do it. he's struck by the force of their friendship, mumbling 'we're friends' defeated before eventually succumbing to his bite.

troy saving the school by controlling the temperature; nicely setting up his further plot with the ac repair school.

him being the one to escape and abed saying 'be the first black man to make it to the end' subverts the common horror trope of 'black dude dies first'. a playful way of keeping up with the horror movie theme of the episode.

also ironically this episode, which features the song mamma mia by abba, sets up a plotline in season two about shirley not knowing who the father of her new baby is, which is functionally the plot of the movie mamma mia!, a musical based on abba's music. probably a coincidence but a pretty funny one.

at the end when the army arrives, they ask the dean about witnesses. when he says he is the only witness, one of the guards reaches into his jacket, suggesting that he's pulling a gun intended to kill the dean and get rid of the witness. when they notice everyone in the school is still alive, they abandon this plan and go for 'scenario b'. kind of dark but i laugh every time that scene happens.

anyways that's all i could pull from my brain crevices for now. this episode is a genuine masterpiece, it will never ever get old and will remain to be one of the most unique sitcom episodes ever created.

#community #abed nadir #nbc community #troy barnes #troy community #abed community #trobed #trobed community #troy and abed #epidemiology #community analysis #jeff winger #six seasons and a movie #shirley bennett #britta perry #annie edison #tv show analysis

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calypsocolada · 10 months

Text

TILL NEXT TIME | f. dostoevsky

(prequel to 213 days, technically pt. 2, click here for the final part!)

synopsis: you meet a demon for the first time and he surprises you. authors note: sorry it took me so long to make this i am recovering from bsd s5 ep3. anyways, this is a kind of prequel to 213 day. hope you enjoy more soft lovestruck fyodor :) might write one final part to this... cw: blood, gore, violence, fluff, flirting, lovestruck!fyodor, manipulation wc: 2.7k ----------------------------------------

You're phone rang in the darkness of your room. It seeped into your dreams until the harsh ring sent you flying upright in your bed. Your heart thumping wildly in your throat. Your eyes search the dark room until it lands on the clock across the room, the red letters reading 2:13 a.m.

No one ever calls this late unless something is truly wrong.

You fumbled for your phone in the dark, knocking over some things on the nightstand. You cursed as you felt the cold metal of your phone. You pulled it towards you, the bright screen momentarily blinding you. You blinked until you were able to read the name.

Dazai.

Your heart dropped from your throat into the pit of your stomach.

You left the agency a few months ago after a particular villain almost killed you. In and out of the hospital for weeks. Nightmares night after night, screaming and waking up the other patients. You were sure the nurses despised you. During those weeks leading up to your close demise you realized that risking your life time and time again was wearing on you heavily. You had found yourself jumping at chances that could get you killed. It was a harsh find, something that left you reeling. Fighting for what was right never felt like a job. With powers like yours it was more of an obligation. But lying in that hospital bed, fightened that the villain, who may or may not have perished, made you finally realize. That even though it hurt, you truly were afraid of dying. You stepped down, amidst your coworkers dismay. The agency was like a family to you and it hurt you but you had an another family, one that had been worrying over you for years.

You let the phone ring. The tone harsh. Something tugged in your chest, you hit the answer button.

“Dazai?” You murmur sleepily.

“You almost let me go to voicemail, friend.” There’s amusement in his voice.

“Almost.” You say and he laughs.

“Sorry to wake you but we need to talk. Somewhere private.” He says and the amusement in his voice is gone. It has a serious edge to it. It puts you on high alert.

“Is something wrong?” You ask.

“I wouldn’t dare interrupt your beauty sleep if there wasn’t.” He says and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

Dazai was sat in a clearing lit from the moon when you finally found him. He gave you directions to a forest just outside of the city and the entire ride here you wondered if this was all some kind of joke. Or if it wasn’t and you were being lured here to your certain death. The forest was certainly dense enough for something bad to occur. THis clearing was the first shred of light the entire way here. You had to guide your way with your pathetic flashlight on your phone.

But when you saw Dazai alone you relaxed. He was sat cross legged on a boulder, his head propped in his hand. He perked up as you walked closer to him.

“Finally.” He sighs, sliding off the boulder landing on the forest floor.

“You couldn’t have picked some nice little coffee shop?” You grumble, flicking leaves from your hair. Dazai leans against the boulder, sliding his hands into his pocket.

“This is secluded. No one can hear us here.”

“It’s creepy. And the way you said that is even creepier.” You snipe. Dazai just smirks. It reminds you of the good ole days. Of sitting around the agency after a job, resting on your chair, listening to the members bicker or laugh. Something warm filled your chest. “Is everything okay, Dazai?”

“I need your expertise.”

“You need my powers.” You deadpan and he nods his head.

“The agency is in a bit of a bind. I need you to do a little recon for me.” Dazai said calmly. You crossed your arms over your chest, shaking your head.

“I’m done with that, Dazai.”

“I know but- one last mission. A send off.”

“No.” You say a bit more firmly. You already had a send off, it almost cost you your life, you didn't want another one. “You don’t need me, you think circles around me, I’m sure you can find another solution.”

“You’re my solution. Your powers are extraordinary, you do this for me and I’ll owe you.”

“You already owe me! A ton!” You argue.

“We need you. Just one last time.” He says, leveling you with a meaningful look. You clench your jaw.

One last time.

The old you wouldn’t have even thought twice. You always jumped head first into a problem. You can’t help but think of how relieved your mom was when you told her you quit, she cried with joy. Your dad smiled at you, hugged you and beamed that he wouldn’t have to worry any longer. You were dissappointing them.

One last time. You'd say that all the way to the grave.

You found yourself slinking down a dark hallway, using shadows to your advantage. Been a long time since you held a gun, but it fit comfortably in your hand and felt all too familiar. Dazai gave you the run down. It was a quick in and out. There was a prisoner down here you needed to get a few two answers out of with your powers.

Cell thirteen.

“Hey! You shouldn’t be down here ma’am!” A voice called out down the hallway. You hid your gun behind your back, not wanting to spook the man into calling for backup.

“I wasn’t here, keep walking.” You command, your powers coating your voice. It washes over the man as his eyes go hazy, his feet carrying him down the hallway. You hear chains rattle beside you, slightly startling you.

“That was impressive, quite a power you have there.” A voice to your left says, his Russian accent softly coating your ears. You turn to the voice, peering through the bars of a dark cell. A man sat on the edge of a bed, long limbed, black hair hanging in his face. He pulls his head up, eyes as black as night looking into yours. He barely tilts his head, those dark eyes looking you over not once but twice. The corner of his lips quirk slightly. “You’re a beautiful sight for sore eyes, dear.” You glance at the cell number. Thirteen.

“Fyodor Dostoevsky.” You say, and his eyes light up. Before he closes them, making a face as if he’s savoring something sweet.

“Yes…” he breaths out. “It sounds so sweet from your lips.” You stare at him. Is this guy for real?

“I’ve come to ask you some questions.” You say and he opens his eyes back up, sliding them to meet yours.

“Some questions, hmm? With a power like yours I’m sure you can just force an answer out of me.” He says, leaning his elbows on his knees. You nod your head.

“Yes.”

“But what fun would that be?” He asks.

“I’m not here for fun.” You say and Fyodor pouts his lips.

“I’ve been imprisoned for quite some time, dear, humor me?” He asks. You stare for a moment. Dazai described this man as highly dangerous and to not let your guard down.

“No.” You say. “Tell me-“

Suddenly a hand clamps over your mouth, a strong hand that drags you back into an even tougher body. Your gun is wrenched from your hand and easily tossed to the side. You’re held with no hope of escape. You watch Fyodor rise to his feet as he walks to the bars. Slender fingers wrapping around them. This close you see his face better, pale skin, sharp lines. His eyes are soulless, the smirk on his pink lips turning to something colder. One last time, yeah this really would be the last time.

“Careful with her,” he directs sharply to the man holding you. You struggle but it’s in vain. Whoever is holding you right now was ten times stronger than you. “Come, bring her closer.” Fyodor directs and you’re forced to walk forwards as you kick and squirm, grunting with effort. The man stops. “I’m not going to hurt you, I just wanna see you,” he whispers softly, reaching a hand through the bars. You flinch as his long finger drags softly across your forehead to move your hair from your eyes. You’re too confused by the moment to pull away. It's not often that an enemy takes such an interest in you. “Don’t be angry with me, my love, you must understand why.” He says as you feel the man behind you fish the keys from your pocket. Handing it to Fyodor. Fyodor doesn’t look away from you as he unlocks his cell, stretching.

You slam backwards against the man holding you, hitting him in the jaw. The man grunts in pain, loosening his grip. You stamp your foot down, driving your head up one last time, his grip slackens even more as you’re able to break free. But he catches you by the hair, yanking you back and slamming you against the concrete flooring. You feel your nose bust, blood gushing. Your head screams in pain as you feel a foot stamp hard down on your chest. The breath is swept right out of you as you see the man’s looming figure over you, just as you part your lips to speak there’s a flash and a loud pop. Hot blood sprays across your face as the man’s hold is released and he falls slack on his side slamming into the concrete. Your breath rushed back into you as you cough and gasp, scrambling back. Stood mere feet from you was Fyodor, gun in hand, smoke curling out of the barrel. You stare, dumbfounded as Fyodor bends to his knee as you watch him carefully. He reaches across the space between you two, you flinch as his soft fingers wipe blood from your lips. His fingers linger there and your stuck staring because his eyes aren't black, they're a midnight plum color.

“Are you alright, my love?” He asks his voice a husky whisper. Your throat is dry. His hand is warm against your face, his thumb drags slowly across your cheek. His eyes travel your body as though he searching for any other wounds. He shoots a sharp glare to his dead henchman.

You find your voice.

“Drop the gun and get in the cell.” You command, that same hazy look settles in his eyes as he stands up straight, hand dragging from your face, turning and walking into the cell. You force yourself off the floor, snatching the keys from his hand, slamming the door behind him, locking it. He stops in the middle of the cell and turns slowly, lips parted in surprise as his eyes meet yours. There’s something you can’t quite place behind it.

He had saved your life… he could’ve run and never looked back. But he didn’t. Something shifted in your chest. Some feeling you shoved away before it could try and form. Slowly a smile forms on his cruel mouth, it offsets every sharp line in his face, makes it look soft.

“Love in action is a harsh and dreadful thing compared to love in dreams.” He recites, eyes taking on a sort of dreamy quality.

“Why did you kill him?” You push, avoiding the dead man not three feet from you.

“He wasn't careful with you,” he waved as though that were obvious.

“You could’ve fled, what did my life matter to you?”

“I feel a sort of draw to you, my love, something about you I can’t put my finger on just yet.” He says in thought. Your jaw ticked, you decided not to go down that road with this man, it’s clear he’s not all there. “I knew the agency would send someone but I didn’t expect you.”

“Y-you knew?” You stuttered. Fyodor’s eyes drag lazily up to yours.

“Of course I did, dear, it was quite obvious.”

“You knew but couldn’t come up with a better plan to escape?” You dug. His lips turned up in a smirk.

“I’m not sure I want to just yet.”

“There won’t be a yet.” You growl. His brow raises.

“Will you stop me, my love?” He asks and you take a threatening step forwards. He was behind bars but still he intimidated you. He was over a head or so taller, looked down at you with dreamy sort of glaze over his eyes.

“I’ll kill you if I have to.” You say. He slaps a hand over his chest as though you shot him with an arrow.

“My love you wound me.”

“Enough!” You snap, hand slipping through the bars grabbing the front of his shirt and slamming him into them. He grunts in pain as you hold him against the bars. “You’re going to tell me what you know then I'm going to leave.” You growl and the look on Fyodor is the complete opposite of what you want. He looks highly entertained. He doesn’t struggle. As though this is what he wants, you being rough with him

“I’ll tell you whatever you like.” He breathes out, this close you can’t hide the way his voice affects you. You feel crazy. You hide it well enough though.

“How did you know I would be coming?”

“Not you, just someone from the agency. But I feel as though I am truly blessed with your presence.”

“Enough...” You sigh.

“I don’t know how to be silent when my heart is speaking.” You let go of his shirt and take a step back, running a stressed hand through your hair.

“Do you know who I am?”

“If you’re asking if I remember who caught me then yes, I remember you love, I could never forget a voice like yours.”

Fyodor had the agency backed in a corner months before your accident, with no hope in sight Dazai had one last plan, he got you on the phone to Fyodor and you were able to tell him to sleep, he was arrest moments later. You hadn't known him then. You still don't now.

“I know you want revenge. Maybe you killed that guy because you wanted to kill me yourself." Fyodor tils his head as he thinks about your words for a moment. He walks closer to the bars, reaches for your cheek and holds it. You don’t move. You’re not sure you can. Whatever was happening was something completely out of your own control.

“One day I will prove it to you. Until then,” His eyes glance at a clock just on the wall behind you. “You must leave.”

“Why is tha-“ You’re walkee clicks to life as Dazai’s staticy voice comes through.

“Time to go, got some trouble on the way.” He says and your eyes slide up to him. He still has his hand on you, it slides down your arm to take you by the hand. He brings your knuckles to his mouth and presses a kiss to them. You watch all of this in rapt attention, something flutters in your chest. You pull your hand away and take a step back, shaking your head as though shaking off a trance. He was just as dangerous as Dazai said. Not only did you not ask one question Dazai wanted answered but you almost let a very dangerous man escape. You bend to pick the gun up off the floor, your eyes never leaving Fyodor’s.

“You have little more than thirty seconds, are there any questions you’d like to ask me? Possibly one’s Dazai supplied you with?” This man knew all too much.

“Did you have anything to so with the framing of the agency?” The hazy tint takes over.

“Not directly.” He answers.

“Did you hire someone else?”

��No.” He says. There were a few ways to get around your gift, you just had to choose your words carefully, a lie could be the truth with the right words. “You have to go, please.” Fyodor says, there’s a slight edge to his voice, like… worry?

His eyes flicker to the clock, his lips move to count the seconds.

“Till next time, my love.” You leave without another word. There wouldn't be a next time if you could help it.

Slipping back into the outside, warm air greets you. You spot Dazai parked and walked dejectedly to the car, slipping your hand in your pocket. You stop dead in your tracks. Dread sets in.

The keys are missing. And you would bet your last dollar you knew where they were.

#bungo stray dogs #bsd x reader #fyodor x reader #bsd fyodor #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd

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dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice · 2 months

Text

The Grim Reaper's Guide to Breaking Every Rule of the Universe /// Chapter 2

Bruh. My back is HURTING from being hunched over my laptop lol. For some reason I've managed to shit out this next chapter at the speed of light, but I'm back at uni and deadlines are picking up so I can't guarantee another one for a couple weeks. ANYWAY - ALASTOR HAS FINALLY MADE AN APPEARANCE. Not in person yet, but he's here (in spirit). I also apologise to anyone not from Yorkshire, I've used some of our slang from there and it may not make sense, but MC's embracing her Northener crave for violence.

Summary: When touring America for the sake of it, you go to stay with your aunt in New Orleans for a while, taking up a peaceful part-time job restoring objects. But a few weeks in, a package arrives containing an old radio that's seen better days, along with a note seemingly written by someone who thinks they could fist-fight the Devil.

What you didn't know, was the hell of a path that was now set out in front of you. Not fist-fighting the Devil, but instead a very smug radio host who would have no problem spending the rest of his days driving you up the walls.

But two could play that game.

Tags: Demiromantic-Asexual Alastor x Demiromantic-Asexual OC/Reader - 1920s/30s New Orleans - fluff - angst - EXTREME slow burn - crack - Violence (It's Alastor what else)

Word Count: 6800

Warnings: Period-typical sexism, Period-typical attitudes towards neurodivergency, Swearing, Descriptions of murder and dismemberment. MC'S RACE IS DEFINED DUE TO PLOT REASONS (also because she is based off my OC)

Taglist - comment or message to be added!

Now available on Wattpad and AO3 (please let me know if links aren't working)

< Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 >

PART 1: Chapter 2

Another box for my trinkets it's trinketville.

Meraki (Definition): To put something of yourself into your work. (Noun)

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Thursday, 7th November, 1929.

The first four months of your new apprenticeship had you thriving more than ever before since arriving in the US. The last time you had felt this joyous and satisfied you were nearly eighteen, the tickle of the long grass on your cheeks as you laid in the meadow at the height of spring, holding the bunch of wildflowers against the kaleidoscopic swirls of the evening tones of the sky above you, admiring the way the lowering sun hit the petals and the small bugs that floated around with its golden highlights. It was one of the few times you had managed to bring your racing mind to a stand-still; no voices; no random lines of songs in your head playing on replay; no worries about the chores you were procrastinating or the book your friend had recommended weeks ago that you were yet to touch. You remembered the feeling of the summer dress you wore, the texture of the leather messenger bag beside you gifted by the old woman who lived further down the lane of the village. She used to babysit you when your parents would travel to York days at a time for work or personal errands. You loved to skip down that lane, with your hand running along the rough stones of the ancient stone walls that lined the lanes of your little village you had spent your whole life in – also lining your mind with the cuts it gave you as you tried to climb over them with the twins over the years.

The routine of working at the repair shop had brought the blissful feeling of stability back, the hectic frenzy of travelling from hotel room to hotel room, checking your tickets a thousand times to make sure you were on the correct train platform, then checking again. You no longer had to worry about travel dates that would leave you feeling paralysed from doing anything else.

Mr LeBlanc had been an excellent teacher and manager, drilling skills into your mind since you stepped into the shop for your starter shift. It was certainly an experience: opening the double doors to a vintage collector’s dream, an antique emporium filled from floor to ceiling (and on the ceiling). Ralph had brought you behind the counter, to a room in the back that he gleefully revealed to be concealed by a door disguised as a bookshelf. The workshop hidden behind was every antique restorer’s sanctuary, and it was certainly yours. Drawers lining the walls filled with every tool that could file, chip away, or apply anything you could find. In the centre was a large wooden table – thick, sturdy planks covered in chips and splatters of paint and adhesives used over the years. This table would be the place you would spend the next four months, your hair tied back by a patterned silk bandana, Ralph showing you how to work with materials from wood to porcelain, metal to textiles. You would pour over books you had pulled from Mr LeBlanc’s bookshelves until late into the evening, until he sent you home with them in your bag, and you protected them with your life as you returned on the trams (or ‘streetcars’, as Americans called them) in the evening light.

Every Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, he taught you everything he could, and you absorbed it all at the speed of light, your mind soaking up every piece of information like a dry sponge. By month three you had been given the go ahead to work on your first object from a customer – a small, spindly regency era chamber table belonging to a local gentleman. All it needed was some chips to be filled and repolishing, allowing Ralph to be confident enough in your abilities to complete it correctly. Your results came out on top, both Ralph and the customer being satisfied with your work, and you received the praise gleefully, along with the hefty tip the gentleman handed you over the counter. To you, everything was going fine and dandy.

Until October hit.

Apparently there were plenty of warning signs, according to most. They knew this was coming, your aunt knew this was coming. It was what she had said when you sat with her on the steps of the front porch.

“Shops are going to start disappearing.” She said, keeping her gaze ahead as she watched the cars sputter by. “With the rate this is going, I’m going to have to pull the boys out of school and get them working – I can’t keep the walls of this house up by myself.”

It had sent chills down your spine when you had picked up a newspaper, the words ‘Wall Street’ and ‘Stock Market Crash’ staining the pages for weeks. You put your mind and body into helping Mr LeBlanc, desperate for him to keep his business up and running. Unfortunately, as prices dropped, less people wanted to splurge the extra cash on something nice and antique, so you both lowered prices where you could, even going to lengths to hammer fliers to every street-post that advertised restoration jobs for any household item, promising customers that they would save money on repairs instead of buying it new.

It worked more than you thought, and it brought in enough income for Ralph to scratch by. He was also grateful you hadn’t asked for a raise to cope with the financial crisis, flat-out refusing when he had tried to hand you some tips he had received.

It was just the beginning of December when Ralph had called the house phone as you were getting ready for work. Ollie had yelled up the stairs to tell you and you scrambled down in your work trousers with your nightgown still on. Grabbing the phone, you listened to a raspy Mr LeBlanc as he told you he had falling ill with the usual winter flu. Unfortunately, being 63 meant that he was more susceptible to the illness, and was unsure if he would recover. If he did, it would still take a while, so he had asked you that morning if you were capable of running the shop solo. You had instantly said yes, refusing to let any sidetrack be his business’s downfall, so, with your head held high, you walked to his house, picking up any essential documents that he said you would need, and kept the shop up and running to the best of your abilities.

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Friday, 6th December, 1929.

It was the Friday of the first week of December when you were an hour away from closing. You had been lucky that it had been pretty quiet the last few days, allowing you to settle into working your first ever Monday to Friday and getting to know the everyday things that were essential to keep the doors open. You had brought an armchair behind the counter – the gap between the counter and the wall was spacey enough for you to fit the chair and a small side table.

After not seeing any customers for over an hour, you had wandered off to the small side kitchen hidden by a Persian rug hung over the doorway to fetch yourself a warm cup of tea and a slice of carrot cake that Agnes had slipped into your lunch bag that day. Returning to the front, you placed the food and beverage on the side table, and sank into the chair, propping your feet up and delving into the book you had bought a few months ago.

Your eyes were drooping by the time you finished the tea and cake, and you rested your head on the back of the cushion, lowering your eyelids shut but remaining awake, knowing you had to get up soon in order to close in a half hour. Though the sudden sound of the shop’s bell chiming had you shooting out of your seat like a cat on a hot tin roof.

Scrambling to your feet, you scooted over to plop yourself on the counter stool, fixing yourself to look as presentable as possible as you faced the person entering. It was the mailman, stomping his boots to rid of the snow from the mild blizzard outside on the shoe rug by the door whilst holding a semi-large parcel under his arm. You recognised him from his rounds of the area, normally dropping off the odd parcel here and there for Ralph. Making sure the curls you had pressed into your hair overnight weren’t flattened at the back, you straightened out the silk scarf tied round the front of your head, flicking a curl out of your eye, and faced the man with a warm smile, to which he returned. He was a tall, young looking lad, older than you, but youth still shone in his eager eyes as he approached you.

“Afternoon ma’am,” he greeted, tipping his snow patterned hat. “I apologise for the snow on the floor, m’fraid the storm doesn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon.”

You waved him off, assuring that you were going to be cleaning up soon anyway. He inquired about Mr LeBlanc’s whereabouts, and you explained that his illness wasn’t letting up any time soon.

“Shame,” he said. “I know you’re probably not getting overrun, but it still must be complicated being a young woman running someone else’s business – especially near Christmas, having to trek home in the cold and wet by yourself.”

“Oh, it’s quite alright.” You laughed with a shake of your head, trying to not let your frustration show at the thought of him doubting your skills because of your gender. “He’s given me everything I need, and I can deal with the weather just fine. Wet and cold is the norm where I’m from.” Changing the subject, you gestured to the half-damp parcel still under his arm. “Is that addressed to Ralph or the shop?”

As if suddenly remembering the reason he was here, he quickly hauled the parcel from under his arm and slid it onto the counter.

“It’s for the shop.” He explained, gesturing a gloved hand to it. “S’pose it’s a last minute repair for a Christmas gift or somethin’.”

Placing your hands on either side, you slid the large square box towards you. Standing up from the stool, you peered at the top. Brushing off the half-melted snow, you read the handwriting that ornately spelled out the address - this was probably another repair.

The parcel itself was probably the neatest you had ever seen anything wrapped. The parcel paper was thick and expensive, the water and snow running off without leaving any trace behind except for a slight sheen, and the edges were folded so crisp and perfectly shaped and flat you wondered if whoever had wrapped it was human. Tied round like a present was a thick twine, looping into a bow directly in the middle of the top. You admired the dedication of whoever had put in the time to wrap this, running your fingers over the corners only to jerk them back slightly as the folds were so sharp they felt like they were slicing at your skin.

Looking back at the mailman, you thanked him for the delivery, and hoped him safe travels back home. Tipping his hat at you, he turned away with a farewell, and the bell chimed again when he opened the door, dipping his head against the wind as he faded into the white wall outside.

When the howling wind finally allowed the door to shut, you began the closing routine, knowing that there wouldn’t be anyone else today with the severity of the weather outside. After locking the exits and pulling the shutters closed and the blinds down, you kept the shops lanterns on as you lifted the hefty parcel with a grunt and shuffled through the hidden doorway into the workshop.

Sliding it onto the table, you got to work opening it up, pulling the twine bow free and taking some small hand-held shears to slice open the glued down folds to reveal a cardboard box.

Pulling the thick brown paper and twine out from underneath, you chucked them onto the other workbench pushed against the wall to the right. Placing the shears down, you pushed your fingernails between the gap of the serrated cardboard and swung the flaps open. Inside was a lot of loose cotton wool, and you reached in, removing the protective layer and chucking it onto the table whilst simultaneously thanking whoever had spent their time padding the box out. This uncovered a semi-large shape swaddled in a maroon-coloured knitted blanket, and you reached your arms in deep to wrap around the object and haul it out.

Laying it on the table, you pushed the box and wool out of the way, and gently began unwrapping the blanket, mindful that some repair jobs may start out with several shattered pieces that you certainly didn’t want to accidentally drop an lose amongst everything. Coming to the final layer, your nails slotted through some of the holes of the knitting and clacked against what sounded like solid wood, and slipping the material off, you had your first look at your new potential project.

It was an old radio. Well, not that old, considering radios had only been in circulation for a decade or so, but it was one of the earlier models, the features you recognised from when you visited the county Mayor’s house when you were in your early teens. It was shaped with a resemblance to a cathedral arch, the wood panelling around the edge looking like pillars that began swirling and spiralling into gothic patterns the closer you got to the top. These patterns decorating the fine grated material that covered the speaker, and a few dials were situated on the bottom half, and you immediately noticed one was missing.

Pulling a stool over, you sat down to get a closer look, and you noted down the damages that came to light. It had obviously been looked after over the years, but, as always, people are prone to accidents, and this radio seemed to have gone through a few. Apart from the dial that was missing, there was a large split down one side, between two of the panels, and scratches and slight dents from where it had obviously been dropped. Grabbing your notebook, you jotted down your initial observations, before diving your hands into the left over cotton in the box to search for anything that could assist you.

To your luck, you found a small linen bag about the size of your palm, that you untied to reveal the missing dial and a few pieces of wood that had come off in some areas. Returning to your notes, you were just about to start a proposal form for treatment when something caught your eye. Looking over to the blanket you had put to the side, your eyes landed on a fancy looking envelope.

Reaching over, your fingers clasped around the paper, the material just as thick and expensive feeling as the parcel wrap, and you brought it towards you, careful not to elbow anything in the process, because if they could afford fancy radios and paper during this crisis, then they certainly were expecting you to repair this with equally expensive standards. Holding the paper up you read the loopy handwriting on the front of the envelope:

To the Owner.

Turning it over, you pried the even fancier wax seal apart as gently as you could as to not ruin the paper, and opening the flap, you reached in to slide out a folded piece of parchment. Unfolding it, you began to read the matching, loopy words.

---

December 4 th, 1929

Dear Owner,

I do hope this package finds you well. I am delivering this fine radio to be repaired at your establishment, as it belongs to my dear Mother and I would be overjoyed to have it completed in time for Christmas. Unfortunately, it has suffered its fair share of drops and bumps, but from what I have heard from others in our beloved city, you should be able to do an excellent job. The outside is obvious with what needs to be done, but there are areas within the interior mechanics that require some repairs. Now, I would take it to the radio shop, but the man who owns it is oh-so unpleasant, and would take weeks to be returned.

I am sure you would be happy to take on this challenge, for my mother’s sake, and that you will do a splendid job.

Regards,

Mr A. Boudreaux

---

You blinked. Then furrowing your brows, you read it again. And again. Did this guy want you to not only fix up the look of his mum’s radio, but magically know the ins and outs of radio technology? You shook your head, then did a quick once-over of the words scrawled onto the page. Yep, he wanted you to do a Frankenstein and completely resurrect the old thing.

Placing you elbow on the table, you rested your chin on your palm as you stared at the wall covered in tool across the room. There was no way you could do this, not without Mr LeBlanc still ill – though even if he was here, you didn’t know if he had any knowledge on radios. Sighing, you rubbed at your face tiredly, not caring if you smudged the mascara on your lashes, it wasn’t like anyone was going to walk in on you with panda eyes anyway. Letting out a prolonged groan, you came to the final decision of what to do.

Trudging back into the shop, you quickly made yourself another cup of tea, before snatching some of the letter paper and an envelope from under the counter. Slumping back onto the stool in the workshop, you placed the paper in front of you whilst reaching into one of the drawers attached to the table to grab a pen, then, taking a moment to think of what you were going to say, you began writing.

---

December 6 th, 1929

Dear Mr Boudreaux,

Thank you for your enquiry. As much asI would love to fulfil your request, there are some issues regarding certain stages of the repairs. Mr LeBlanc, who owns the company, has taken ill this last week, and it is not yet known when he will recover, and I am the only member of staff he has employed at the moment. Unfortunately, I am not experienced in radio mechanics, and strongly advise that you come and collect the radio and take it to be repaired at a radio shop.

The radio can be returned here for outer repairs, but I am afraid that is the only option I can offer you at this time. The radio will be ready for you to collect from 9am on Monday morning. I do apologise for the inconvenience.

Regards,

---

Signing the first letter of your name, along with you surname, you read over what you had written. Satisfied, you sealed it in the envelope and got to work wrapping the radio back up. Quickly taking a candle, you took a peek in between the crack in the wood, the light shining on the innards. You definitely had no chance of fixing that, if the absolute mess of dislodged coils, wires and metal pieces inside said anything. Reluctantly you placed it back in its box wrapped up and padded with the cotton, before taping it up and re-glueing the parcel paper and twine back in place. It was a shame that you had to reject the request, the payment for the repair would have benefited you and Ralph quite a bit, and it made you feel awfully guilty to prevent someone’s gift for their mother, but it was out of your control. So, with the guilt hanging over your head, you pushed the parcel into the corner under one of the tables on sale.

Doing one last round of the shop, you extinguished the candles dotted around and flipped the light switches off except the main one by the door. With your coat and gloves on, you made sure the scarf was wrapped tight round your neck before grabbing your bag and did one last sweep of the place. Glancing in the corner, you took one last lingering look at the sorrowful parcel that sat under the table, but quickly snatched your eyes away, and grabbing the keys, you flipped the final light switch and stepped out into the cold, looking for the nearest post-box with the letter grasped in your hand.

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

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Monday, 9th December, 1929.

Monday came rolling round as usual, and you began your usual weekday routine of washing and dressing yourself before heading downstairs for breakfast. Scooping some scrambled eggs onto the toast on your plate, you trudged from the kitchen to the dining room, the slap of your bare feet on the tiles echoing through the wide hallway.

Shuffling through the doorway, you sat opposite Ollie, who, by the looks of it, was still waking up as he shovelled buttered toast into his mouth with his head still lying sideways on the table. Reaching over, you slapped the handle of your fork against his ear that stuck out from between his loose, dark curls, and he let out a whine as he sat up to face you with one eye glued shut, the other barely open, bread hanging from between his frown.

“You’ll choke eating like that.” You said as you scooped egg into your mouth.

Ollie dropped the toast from his mouth onto his plate. “Good.” He mumbled. “S’better than Miss Sammie droning on and ooonnnn about nonsense.” He flopped his head back on the table.

“Well enjoy it while you can.” You snorted. “If this crash gets any worse Mum will be pulling you both out to find jobs. And I know you two wouldn’t last a day in the workplace.”

He jerked his head back, scrunching his face in offence. “Like you would be any better.”

You deadpanned. “I’m currently working 9 -5, Monday to Friday, dumbass.” You jabbed back in annoyance, throwing a piece of crust at his forehead.

“Shit, forgot about that.” He grumbled, but perked up suddenly. “Yea, but you’ve only been working full time since last week!”

You chucked another crust. “Running a shop full time on my own – something I’ve never done before??”

“Still.” He retorted, shrugging his shoulders.

You had opened your mouth to retort, but stopped halfway as Allie’s voice echoed through from the kitchen.

“There’s been another one!” he called out, almost excitedly, the thumping of his feet vibrating through the floorboards as he practically sprinted into the room with the morning newspaper grasped firmly in his hands. The two of us jerked back as he slammed it onto the table.

“Amuver!?” cried Ollie, voice muffled by food, though he quickly swallowed it. All evidence of his tiredness now gone, he snatched up the paper and brought it right up to his face. “It’s barely been a week!”

“I know!” Allie replied, his voice rising in volume every time he spoke. “At this point it could end up happening every month!”

You looked between the two of them confused since you couldn’t see what Ollie was reading. “What could happen?” you asked, perplexed.

The two of them froze, turning to stare at you. Their eyes darted to each other, before Ollie lowered the newspaper and spoke.

“…The murders?” He revealed, as if it was the most obvious thing.

You blinked, then looked between the two, more confused. “What murders?”

“What!?” Allie cried, bracing his hands on the table as he leant over it, eyes wide. “You’ve been gallivanting round town for seven months and don’t know about thee murders??”

You leant back slightly at the sight of your cousin’s crazy expression, and slowly shook your head. “I’m uh – not one to read the newspaper often.” You explained sheepishly.

He gaped, clearly shocked at your lack of knowledge about the subject. His head whipped to where his brother sat, and his hand reached out and snatched the newspaper from Ollie’s. You quickly moved your breakfast out of the way, saving your food from being flattened as Allie slammed the paper down and began aggressively prodding at the headline on the front page. Swatting his hand away, you read the giant words printed above a photograph of a lake you didn’t recognise.

‘BARRISTER FOUND BUTCHERED ON EMBANKMENT’

Suddenly intrigued, brought the paper closer to read the front column.

Tragedy strikes again in New Orleans as the remains of county barrister, Paul Morgan, were found on the embankment and in the water of Lake Cataouatche by visitors to the area. Morgan was reported missing last Wednesday by his wife, Martha, when he failed to return home for two days after a night out on Monday with his colleagues. It was reported that Morgan’s body was dismembered, and his head took several hours to locate. However, certain body parts are still missing, therefore the lake has been closed off to the public for the foreseeable future. Police are calling in and searching for potential suspects, and give their condolences to Paul’s close family and friends, stating that they are working overtime to bring the killer to justice and prevent any further deaths. Due to the nature and severity of the crime, it is possible that this is another victim of who the public dubs ‘The Bayou Butcher’. The Sheriff strongly encourages people to stick to an early curfew and remain indoors after nightfall, as the safety of the public cannot be guaranteed at this trying time. (More on Page 5)

You went to flip through, but the paper was pulled out your hands by Ollie who wanted to read it.

“You know what I’m thinking?” Allie hissed excitedly as he lowered himself onto the chair at the head of the table between you both. “This could be another Axeman!”

Ollie gasped, eyes sparkling. “Shit, it could!”

You perked up. “Another Axeman? How long has this guy been around?” you asked as you brought your breakfast back in front of you.

Allie turned to you, eyes shining in excitement. “The first body was found in 1927 – and the rest have been popping up every 2-3 months, but this is the first time there’s been two in less than two weeks!”

You narrowed your eyes in thought. “How do you know it’s all one guy?”

At this question he seemed to get more excited, practically vibrating in his seat as he gestured to his twin. “Ollie and I have been collecting newspaper clippings on every murder that’s happened, and we’ve tried to eliminate any outliers – like, different weapons, ones that are bleedin�� obvious who did it – the rest all have the same MO: they never find the whole body.” He yammered on at light speed, emphasising each word with a loud thump of his finger prodding the table. “Sometimes it’s not obvious, I think they try to throw the police off by going for something small – like a finger – but there’s always something missing, and we know it’s them.”

You frowned. “Them?”

He shrugged. “Could be a woman.” You raised an eyebrow. “What!? I don’t discriminate! Women can be scary!” You slowly sat back in your seat, staring your cousin down. He pointed at you as he looked at his brother with wide eyes. “See!? You wouldn’t be surprised if she dragged a body in?”

Ollie swallowed the food he was chewing. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she caused the second Great Fire of London because someone stole her food.” He said nonchalantly, before casually returning to his toast.

“Exactly!” cried Allie. “No wonder the government wants you all nice and buttoned up in a strait jacket!”

Dropping your fork with a clatter, you looked up at him in shock, mouth hanging open. He froze, quickly realising what he had said, and his face slowly scrunched up as he cringed.

“Too far?” he squeaked meekly as he glanced at you. “Sorry.”

Pouting, you glared silently before picking your fork back up.

A few moments of silence passed, before Ollie decided he had experienced enough of the dampened mood. “You know,” he began, catching your attention again. “We think the body parts aren’t just missing for the sake of it.”

“Oh?” you tilted your head, intrigued again.

He looked you directly in the eye. “We think they’re eating them.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Oo yummy, like a cannibal?” you queried, eyes darting to Allie, who perked back up, nodding. “So… there’s a cannibalistic serial killer running around New Orleans?”

Allie pointed a finger. “Serial killer, yes. Cannibal, possibly. We don’t actually have any proper evidence for that. I’m also going to skip the ‘yummy’ part, cuz I know you would never willingly consume human flesh.”

“You would be correct,” you confirmed with an amused smile, before glancing at the two. “Has mum ever suggested that you two should consider joining the police force?”

All you got were two matching cheshire grins in response.

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

After cleaning up your food, and disappointing the twins because no, you didn’t bring your serial killer books to America with you, because you didn’t want to be judged by the luggage inspectors on the ferry, besides, Jack the Ripper got a little boring after a while.

Even though it was interesting to learn about the current events of the city you were staying in, the subject of said current events did end up putting you on edge when you travelled to work that morning, with you clutching your bag a little tighter, and intensely staring down anyone who looked at you a little odd on the tram. It even got to the point where you had stepped off the tram, and spent the ten minute walk between there and the shop glancing down any alleyways as subtle as you could, even though you knew you would spot anyone against the white snow that reflected the morning sun into your poor, suffering eyes anyway.

Unlocking the shop doors, you stepped in, stomping the snow off of your boots on the mat before picking it up and shaking it off outside. Crossing the threshold of the room, you ducked under the rug into the kitchen, shrugging off your scarf and coat and hanging them up on the pegs.

You were just dusting off the old grandfather clock that was slotted between the shelves of smaller antique clocks when a knock echoed through the shop. Jumping slightly, you lowered the feather duster in your hand and looked over your shoulder to see the same mailman from Friday waving at you through the window in the door, his smile growing as you made eye contact with him . Placing the duster down, you quickly strode over to the door, twisting the locks before pulling it open and sticking you head through the gap.

“I do apologise Miss,” he began after you said hello. “I hate to interrupt you whilst your still getting ready to open, but my boss handed some priority mail to me – said I had to get it to you as soon as I could.” He held a letter out in front of you.

Frowning, confused, you slowly reached out and took the letter from his hands. “Okayyy…” Turning the letter around you came across some very familiar hand writing:

‘To Mr LeBlanc’s Employee.’

“Oh god.” You groaned quietly, your shoulders slumping. This could turn out to be quite nasty if this was going the way you thought it would.

The mailman glanced between the letter and your very prominent grimace. “Is everything alright?” he asked, concern shining in his eyes.

“Yea! Yea,” you breathed, glancing around the street with the dwindling hope that your client would show up to pick up his parcel, but the letter in your hand said otherwise. “Everything’s fine. Just some very small business issues.”

He glanced at your face again, and went to open his mouth, but hesitated, seemingly switching what he was going to say. “Well, uh, I hope everything goes well, ma’am. I’ll see you around?”

You nodded, still staring down the street. “Yea, sure. See you around.” You said distractedly. Quickly giving him a strained smile, you stepped back to close the door, and the man tipped his cap at you again before strolling away.

Walking over to the counter, you slumped onto the stool with a groan, chucking the letter down in front of you. Leaning your elbows on the surface, you rested your forehead against your palms as you glared at the words inked onto the paper. The way it was addressed to you already screamed passive-aggressive, and you hated confronting anything or anyone with a passion, and you certainly didn’t want to confront this Boudreaux guy because you denied his mum a Christmas present. With a loud whine, you slammed your head onto the counter before blindly patting the surface until you felt the thick paper and slowly dragged it towards you. Sitting back up, you held the seemingly innocent envelope in front of you, and stared at it for a couple more moments, before you couldn’t take it anymore and tore it open.

---

December 7 th, 1929

To the Employee of Mr LeBlanc,

I hope this letter has found you in post haste. I am deeply upset that you lack the skills of radio repair, after all it is a growing medium that most should be learning at this point. Therefore I have come to the conclusion that I will refuse your rejection. The fliers you put out stated very clearly that you could repair ANY object, and it would be very disappointing for people to hear that it no longer has that skill to offer, since the only other option for radio repair during these trying times is a very unpleasant experience with that owner I mentioned.

I do hope my Mother’s radio will be fixed on time, I do hate to disappoint her. If Mr LeBlanc does not recover within the period, or you have any queries about the repair, please call the number I have written below.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Best Wishes,

Mr A. Boudreaux

---

If your mouth hung open any further than you would be catching every insect that resided in the swamps surrounding the town.

Was this guy fucking for real??

You scoffed slightly. Then again. Eventually you scoffing spiralled into manic laughter as you guffawed at the audacity that this man thought he had. With wide eyes, you slammed the paper down back onto the counter, staring over at the wall because if you looked at those words any longer you would probably end up tracking this man down so you could shove his mother’s radio up his ass along with the fat metal rod that apparently already resided there.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed back the stool and stood up, deciding you needed you reset your mind before the first customers came in. Marching back to the kitchen, you spent the next five minutes sat in the middle of the floor, waiting for the kettle to boil as you very angrily stuffed the blueberry muffin you had brought in your mouth. You glanced at the clock and pouted as you realised you only had 15 minutes before you had to put on your best customer-friendly expression despite the metaphorical grey cloud that thundered above your head.

Thinking for a moment, you shot back up, chucking the muffin case as you strode back through to the counter, and snatched the letter up, marching back to the kitchen over to the rotary phone on the table in the corner. Picking up the handset, you pressed it to your ear as you spun the number written out on the paper in front of you.

It rang for a moment, and you tried to picture the man who would – hopefully – receive your call. You expected to hear the gruff voice of some 50 year old, that would start yelling down the line about how incompetent you were, especially when he found out you were a woman, before you heard a crackle as it was picked up and a polite and much younger sounding “Hello?” came through.

You froze for a moment, your vision of some rude, old guy whooshed away at the voice of a much younger, more spritely man, and you pictured someone like the mailman, until you heard a louder, drawn out “Hellooo?”, the man on the other end seemingly becoming amused at your lack of response.

Snapping yourself out of the character builder you had in your mind, you quickly spoke. “Hello, do I happen to be talking to–”

“Oh, I am sorry, my dear.” You blinked as you were interrupted. “But I do believe you’ve accidentally called an American number!” The man said chipperly, though there was a condescending undertone – his amusement clearly growing at the thought of your apparent mistake. You guessed it was when he heard your accent.

“I- what?” you stammered down the receiver.

“Oh you poor thing.” He simpered over the line like some fake grandma comforting you after you tripped over. He was clearly having fun – you could just picture the fake pout he was putting on. “Like I said, I’m afraid you have the wrong number.”

No, this was definitely the right one. His attitude over the phone matched his attitude in the letter precisely.

You could hear him being to move to put the phone down, and you quickly called out. “WAIT NO!!” you cried, on the verge of an outrage. “I definitely put the right number in! Now, am I or am I not speaking to a Mister Boudreaux?”

“Oh! Do pardon me.~” He practically sing-songed. Oh, so now he was willing to listen? “Yes that is I, and to who do I owe the pleasure to be called by an English dame such as yourself?” the fake flirtatious tone had you picturing the faceless man laid on his front, kicking his legs as he twirled the coil between his fingers. You pushed that amusing thought down, however, when you caught sight of the piece of paper in your hand.

“I got your letter.”

“Ah,” It was like a switch was flipped, the man’s tone darkening slightly. “I see.”

Rereading the words this guy had put down, you could barely control yourself, and you pictured the time your mother had marched you down the lane to the house of a boy in your school year. That boy had given you a large bruise on your forehead, and instead of telling you that he did it because he fancied you, your mum decided to give him and his family the verbal lashing of your life. ‘I’m not raising you to snap at the slightest pressure like those London lasses, my love’, she had said, ‘You’re gonna go down kicking and screaming like it’s the last thing you’ll do’.

And that’s exactly what you’re gonna do.

“Right,” you began, your Yorkshire accent coming on full force. “I’m gonna need you t’ open yer lug ole, lad, cuz I dunno how you lot do customer service over here in America, but bein’ passive aggressive t’ someone who’s literally done nowt to deserve the absolute shite you’ve just given me makes you out t’ be a right knob’ead, you hear me?” You reprimanded. “If you don’t get your arse down to the shop by the end of the week, I’m putting ya mum’s radio down as unclaimed and selling it t’ the next person I see!”

You quickly slammed the phone down, too fuming to hear anything that Mr Boudreaux had to say. The only reason you felt a little guilty was that you knew nothing about this guy’s mum – she could be the sweetest woman in the world, and you just up and went and threatened to sell her possession! Though, with the way her son behaved, you would be surprised if she turned out to be just like him. Ugh, then you would be dealing with two of them.

Letting out a sigh, you picked up the phone again, instead dialling the phone number pinned to the corkboard on the wall. It rang for longer this time, and when it picked up you received a very loud coughing fit. When it died down, you finally spoke.

“Ralph I need your help.” You groaned, plopping yourself down on the spindly chair next to you with a defeated sigh.

“I’ve got the worst customer in the world.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Does uh, anyone want more memes?

I hope you've enjoyed what I've given you so far, and I do apologise for the sudden dialect change, I was desperate for MC to finally speak the way I do lol. See you soon for Chapter 3!!

Please let me know if you want to be added to the Taglist!

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*feeds you content a lot earlier than I thought*

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chocolatechipkiki · 10 months

Text

~Oblivious~

LokixReader Fluff-Shot

Word Count: 2,415

Warnings: Absolutely large amounts of fluff up ahead! That's it! Summary: Loki and you were spending the evening of your anniversary in a calm and gentle way. During your time together, Loki brings up the first time you two realize the other had feelings for them and enjoys recounting the story to you as you loved.

This is written for @sarahscribbles Birthday Celebration! It's only my fourth finished one-shot for Loki ever, so I hope I actually meet some of your standards! I used the prompt "Are you really so oblivious?" which I put in bold in the text!

*****

"Do you remember when you found out that I had feelings for you?" Loki said, his eyes crinkled up in delight. His cheeks were pink in the soft candlelight and he held a glass full of wine, leaning against the marble countertop of the washroom.

Y/N, seated in the bathtub a few feet away, giggled and set her own glass down. "By the norns, Loki, why must you always bring this up?" she asked, but her tone told him she wanted to relive the memory anyways. Loki smirked and rolled his eyes.

"Honestly, I still don't know how you couldn't tell I was madly in love with you," he said. "I was a righteous and noble Prince, yet I was nothing more than a muttering mess when you were around." He pushed himself off the counter and closed the distance between the two of them, sitting down on the edge of the tub and tucking a few wet strands of Y/N's hair behind her ear. She smiled, looking into his blue eyes with pure adoration.

"Yet you never told me anything until you were jealous of your brother," she quipped, wriggling her eyebrows at him. He chuckled, a delightful sound that Y/N would never grow tired of hearing. She smiled as he recounted the two days leading up to his jealousy, his smile never leaving his lips.

It had been the middle of winter, and Y/N was good friends with both of the Odinsons since meeting them the year prior. The three of them did everything together - so much so that Y/N had to designate times to spend alone with each of them, or they would bicker and send her into a flurry of chastising. These two particular days had been exceptionally hard on Loki, as his mother was off with Odin, writing up a peace treaty with the neighboring realm. Loki hadn't spent much time away from Frigga, and the toll it was taking on him hadn't been especially kind.

Y/N was patient with him, though. She had slept in his room so he wouldn't be alone. It spoke novels to Loki, as he was afraid to even ask something of her to begin with, and she had offered to do so before any words left his mouth. But Loki had woken to an empty room the next morning, which left him rather crestfallen.

Y/N was off spending time out in the city with Thor and Lady Sif, commissioning a weapon smith for new daggers. They decided to make a day out of it - buying goods from stalls filled with burly men that intrigued them and snacking on treats from plump women that knew how to bake. There was lots of laughter as Thor recounted the many battles he experienced with Sif, always ending in her punching him on the arm playfully. As time went on, the sun began to set, and the three of them made their way back to the palace.

When they arrived, they found Loki in the dining hall, sitting alone with a book and a few plates of barely touched food. He hadn't looked up when they entered rather noisily, still laughing with each other over some story of Thor mistakenly fighting a rock. As they sat down, Loki stood up. Y/N attempted to make conversation with him, but he didn't acknowledge her once - leaving the room and his dinner behind.

Y/N paid no mind to his lack of openness, and instead drank heavily with Thor, Sif, and the Warriors Three as they joined them for the meal. She fell asleep that night in her own room, and woke up long after the sun had risen the next day. When she had come down to the dining hall again for breakfast, Loki was nowhere to be seen, and she hadn't noticed again because Thor was already being his usual, loud self. He greeted Y/N with eagerness, asking if she was still on for their spar session in a few. She agreed, and the two of them headed out to the training grounds after she shoveled some eggs into her mouth quickly.

It was in the silence of the courtyard that Y/N finally realized how absent Loki had been, so she asked Thor if he knew anything.

"Is there ever a time where there's not something wrong with my brother?" he retorted, grabbing the wooden hammer off of one of the weapons racks. Y/N sighed as she took hold of the wooden daggers.

"I know Loki usually gets like this when Frigga leaves, but this time it feels... Different." She took her fighting stance, beckoning Thor to make the first move. He only laughed, throwing his head back and placing a hand to his stomach.

"The words 'Loki' and 'different' always seem to find themselves in the same sentence," he said, smiling down at Y/N with amusement. "But I don't see this as anything out of the ordinary." He patted her on the shoulder and took his fighting stance. "Come on, Lady Y/N, I don't want you distracted while I kick your ass."

The two of them sparred for hours, keeping warm against the cold winter air by keeping their bodies moving. But soon the chill was too much and snow started falling, so Y/N sought refuge inside. She wandered to the library for her upcoming "date" with Loki as she settled on the idea of waiting in front of the fire in there for him to show up.

To her surprise, she found Loki already splayed out on his back in front of the fireplace reading as usual, and his eyes darted to meet hers as she approached him. She knew her footsteps were silent, but he still was aware of her presence. He quickly sat up and drew his legs underneath him, leaning back against the bottom of the love seat that sat opposite of the fireplace.

Y/N continued making her way to him and plopped down next to him, leaning over to see what he was reading. "What's this? I thought we were reading something else, today," she said cheerily. He only shrugged his shoulders in response, so she continued. "Thor and I had a wonderful time outside today. But the sky had other plans for us, and we had to come inside early. Maybe we can go for a stroll in the snow later. I know how much you love this type of weather." She smiled at him, but he paid her no mind as he continued to stare at the pages in his hand. Her brows furrowed and she reached over to place a hand on his thigh, but he tensed so quickly that her hand paused mid air, before dropping back down to her lap. "Are you okay, Lo?" she asked, hoping the nickname only she was allowed to use would make him ease up a bit.

It only made him tense more, and he rolled his eyes before dropping the book down to his lap rather aggressively. "No, Y/N, as a matter of fact, I'm not okay," he said. Hearing his voice made her relax a bit. He's not giving her the silent treatment anymore, at least. But his tone was off, and she assumed it to be because of Frigga's absence.

"Hey, you know she will return tomorrow, right?" she said softly, hoping to rid him of his worries. Loki scoffed and went back to his book. Y/N's face reflected confusion as she turned so her whole body was facing him. "Is that not what troubles you?"

With a huff he set his book down again, turning to face her now. "Are you really so oblivious?" he asked. When Y/N's face showed no recognition, he placed a hand to his temple and closed his eyes.

"Loki, I'm so confused," she said, now placing her hand on top of his. He pulled back and stared into her eyes with a look of longing.

"You spend the entire night in my room, and what, you think because I miss my mother?" he spit, hurt clouding his tone. "Then you abandon me before the sun even rises, spend the entire day with my brother, and still you have no idea what could possibly be souring my mood?"

Y/N's heart flutters as she looks at him, but her mind screams warnings at her. She had always been so careful around him - not because he was fragile, but because, selfishly, she didn't want to ruin the moments between them that she found herself looking forward to every day. She had suspected that there might be more to her longing to lie next to him as he read the newest stories of the books he collected, but she told herself time and time again that if he had felt the same way about her, he would have said something. For him to be confirming her suspicions now, after all this time... Surely she must be misunderstanding.

Searching his eyes for some hint that he was messing with her, Y/N opened her mouth to speak, but shut it again as the words refused to form coherent sentences in her head. Her cheeks flushed from embarrassment at her insensibility. The only thing she could squeak out was a measly little "I'm sorry," before she grabbed his hands and held them. She turned them over in her own, admiring each and every crease of his palms, every ridge of his knuckles, and the curve of his perfectly manicured fingernails. He simply let her, feeling his frustration dissipate with her warm touch complimenting his cool temperature.

After sitting like that for a long while, Loki finally looked up and met her gaze with hesitation. He now searched her eyes for any trace of uneasiness before he found himself leaning in slowly. Y/N bit the inside of her cheek as she glanced down at his lips, suddenly overwhelmed with the need to press her own to them with feverish desperation. But Loki paused when they were inches apart, and his voice lowered to an unsteady whisper, her name spilling out of his mouth so delicately, she wished she could reach out and capture the sound forever.

"By the norns, I have dreamt of telling you how I feel for many moons, but every time I wanted to, I couldn't find the words..." he said, lifting his hand to brush a few loose strands of her hair behind her ear. She closed her eyes gently, leaning into his touch like she needed it. Her heart drummed symphonies in her chest, and he didn't move his hand away immediately. Surely he could feel how quickly her blood flowed through her body with the flittering pulse in her neck, but if he had, he paid it no mind as he spoke the words she had been longing to hear. "I have loved you from the moment we met, darling."

Y/N chanced opening her eyes and was met with the most adoration filled expression she'd ever seen. She felt her heart now skip a few beats as her body took over, placing her hands to his shoulders and pulling him forward until their lips met. She kissed him gently, fireworks exploding behind her eyelids as his hands snaked down to her waist. He held her firmly, like she would change her mind if he wasn't careful enough. When they finally pulled away, Y/N placed her forehead to his and smiled sheepishly.

"I love you, too, Loki," she said, lacing her fingers into his black strands and stroking his scalp with soft precision. She had done the same thing many times before, but something else sparked a different noise to escape his kiss-bruised lips, and his eyes fluttered shut.

"Stars, sweetling, I've waited eons to hear those words from your lips," he said breathily, his smile giddy as he pulled back to properly look at her. "And I've never imagined they would sound this good."

***

Y/N giggled as she downed the last sip of wine in her glass. Loki leaned down and kissed her forehead. "Those words still make my knees weak and my head spin when you say them," he said, pouring warm water on her shoulders. He had begun bathing her as he recounted the delightful story, and she was loving every second of it. She smiled up at him, setting her empty glass down and relishing in everything about this moment.

"I love you, I love you, I love you," she repeated, watching as his lips quirked up into that smirk of his she loved so much. Loki chuckled and rubbed circles into her wet back, leaning over and pulling the drain plug.

"If you want to ruin the magic of those words darling, I promise you'll need to do a lot more than echo them at me. I could listen to you say that all day." He stood and grabbed a few towels, wrapping them around Y/N as she stood and stepped out of the tub. He leaned down and pecked her nose, which only made her giggle incessantly as he lead her out of the washroom. He dried her off with the towels and took them back over to the basket next to the washroom door. While he did this, she slipped into the bed, sitting up with her back against the headboard.

Loki undressed, joined her in bed, and laid his head on her lap. Y/N reached to scratch his scalp out of habit, and he let out the same loving groan he did every time since that day. "I still love when you do that," he said, letting his eyes close as he relished in the feeling.

"And I still love you," Y/N responded, leaning her head back and sighing peacefully. Loki smirked once again, nuzzling his head further into her hands.

"I love you, too."

#loki #loki oneshot #loki x reader #loki fanfction #loki fandom #loki laufeyson x reader #Soft!Loki x Reader #soft!loki #loki fluff #sarah scribbles birthday celebration

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