#but it's 9 hrs away so...

[feastingonchrist]

church today!!!!!!!!!!! (i'm so excited, if you couldn't tell by all those exclamation points!)

[avvocarlo]

work pissing me the fuck offfff bro

[aleksatia]

10 Ways You Ruin His Day (and 10 Ways You Ruin His Self-Control)

I originally made this list as character notes for future stories — I love digging deep into their dynamics and really breaking them down. But honestly? I couldn’t not share. Would love to hear your thoughts too: what do you think drives them absolutely mad, and what turns them into helpless fluff puddles? 🖤

🍎 Top 10 Things That Make Caleb Absolutely, Irrevocably Mad

1 He doesn’t know where you are Even when it makes sense. Even when you’re safe. Even when he’s on the far side of a tunnel with no signal and too much time to think. The silence eats at him, turns every breath into a countdown. By the time he’s back, no one on the base dares talk to him until you’re in his line of sight again.

2 You come home with a bouquet of flowers from another man It’s not jealousy, really. It’s… fury dressed in olive green. You’re standing there, smiling, saying some poor man gave you flowers because you saved his life. Great. Fantastic. Caleb’s thrilled that his girlfriend is both competent and accidentally irresistible. But now he has to pretend this isn’t bothering him while mentally comparing the man's face to strategic punching surfaces.

3 You climb on unstable furniture to reach something You know, nothing fancy—just a stack of books on top of a chair that’s on top of a bench. And you? Balancing like a gremlin in fuzzy socks. He walks in and suddenly the war flashbacks begin. You think it’s funny. He thinks it’s a workplace hazard, and you are the HR violation.

4 You rearrange his model planes He adores you. Worships the ground you walk on. Would throw himself in front of an oncoming dropship for you. But if you dust his shelf and dare to reorder his starfighters and aircrafts by vibes instead of model number? He's already rewriting his will. In blood.

5 You do something reckless and then smile about it You say “relax, I had a plan.” He hears: “I almost died, and I’d do it again, because I’m cute and unstoppable.” That smile? That grin you give when you know exactly what you did and you’re proud of it? That’s why he needs stress meds. And maybe a punching bag with your face on it. (Lovingly.)

6 You casually mention the girl he used to date You say it with a smirk, like it’s just some harmless teenage memory. But he doesn’t see her—he sees you. You, standing in the doorway that day. You, catching him with her, both of them half-undressed. And you looking at him like something cracked between you. Back then, you were off-limits. You were the girl he wasn’t allowed to want. So he wanted someone else. Easier. Safer. And now, years later, you bring it up like it’s nothing—while he’s still trying not to remember how badly he wished it had been you.

7 You weren’t his first kiss—but worse, he wasn’t yours It never comes up. Not out loud. But he remembers. Vividly. The hallway. The way your face lit up. The boy leaning in. You smiling. And Caleb—watching from across the room, fists clenched, jaw tight, playing the role of older brother when his whole body screamed mine. You never talk about it. But he never forgot. Never will. Because that moment should’ve been his—and someone else took it first.

8 You walk away during a fight, or shut down emotionally You call it “space.” He calls it “psychological warfare.” You shut down. He short-circuits. Nothing drives him more insane than trying to fix something while you’re actively ghosting him across the living room. He’d rather you screamed. Threw something. Anything. But this quiet? This distance? That’s the one thing he doesn’t know how to fight.

9 You cry—especially if it’s because of him And then he’s done. Game over. His spine straightens like he’s under military command and his entire soul just went through the paper shredder. You cry, and suddenly he’s the villain. You say “it’s not your fault,” but that doesn’t matter. He’s already rewriting the past and taking full responsibility. And yes, he’ll suffer in complete silence. Like a man.

10 You secretly try to uncover what he’s hiding from you You call it curiosity. He calls it a breach of protocol punishable by full emotional lockdown. You think you’re clever. He thinks you just walked into classified territory barefoot, blindfolded, and with a target on your back. You were never supposed to see that side of his world. And now that you have? He doesn’t know whether to yell, hold you, or lock you in a room with military-grade firewalls and a blanket.

🍎 Top 10 Things That Turn Caleb Into a Complete Fluff-Mess

You wearing his dog tags / uniform shirt / flight jacket Instant puddle. No chance. He sees you in his gear and his brain just... shuts off. All he can think is mine mine mine, and he gets this dumb, soft little smirk like he’s trying so hard not to combust.

You falling asleep on him—especially mid-conversation You’re curled into his side, mumbling something about dinner plans, and then: silence. He looks down, sees you asleep on his chest, and that’s it. Whole day ruined. Cancel all missions. He’s not moving.

You bringing him coffee exactly the way he likes it—without asking That quiet, thoughtful act? Hits him right in the soldier-shaped heart. He doesn’t even know how to process being taken care of, so he stares at the cup like it just proposed to him.

You absentmindedly touching him—fiddling with his fingers, tracing scars, playing with his hair He pretends he doesn’t care. He does. He cares so much he forgets how to breathe. Just turns into a warm, red-eared statue trying not to whimper.

You whispering “I trust you” or “I feel safe with you” in a soft moment Core memory unlocked. He stores that one like sacred intel. Will literally whisper it back to himself at 3 AM when he’s lying awake, missing you. It breaks him in the best way.

You clinging to him in your sleep / pulling him closer without waking up Caleb.exe has stopped functioning. He will lie perfectly still for HOURS if it means not disturbing that moment. Bonus points if you mumble his name while doing it.

You defending him when someone questions his methods or past He’s used to being the shield—not having someone stand in front of him. The second you raise your voice on his behalf? He falls in love with you all over again. Might even cry. Secretly.

You gently helping him out of his gear after a long day Soft hands on his buckles. A kiss to his shoulder. A low “You’re home now.” That’s how you make a Colonel melt. His fingers twitch like he wants to worship the ground you walk on.

You surprising him with something dumb and heartfelt, like a handmade gift or bad sketch of him He acts gruff—says “the hell is this, Pips?”—but then puts it in his locker or keeps it in his chest pocket for missions like it’s sacred treasure. Because it is.

You calling him “baby” / “handsome” / “sweetheart” when he least expects it He acts like it’s annoying. It is not annoying. It turns him into actual butter. If you do it with a teasing smile? He short-circuits. Might drop something. Might combust. Definitely blushes.

🩺 Top 10 Things That Make Zayne’s Calm Snap Like a Microsurgical Thread

You ignore his instructions when you're sick You had a fever of 102°F. He left explicit care instructions—bed rest, fluids, minimal movement. You, sweating and glassy-eyed, decided this was the perfect time to rearrange the furniture. When he came home and found you dragging a bookshelf across the room “because the light felt wrong,” he genuinely considered sedating you. Not as punishment. As damage control. For both of you.

You order greasy fast food instead of going somewhere “nutritionally viable” He offered to cook. You said no. Twenty minutes later, you’re eating fries from a paper bag while half of it spills on his clean table. You grin. He stares. Not angry at the food. Angry because you rejected his precision, then settled for processed chaos.

You leave wet towels on the floor after every shower He’s not sure when it started. Day three? Day five? But every time he walks into the bathroom and steps into cold, soggy cotton, something in him fractures. You claim you “forget.” He suspects a psychological experiment.

You casually mention spending time with male friends You think it’s harmless. Lunch with Caleb. Training advice from Xavier. You light up when you talk about them—and that’s the problem. Zayne doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t raise a brow. But the sudden over-fixation on his email inbox says everything.

You receive a speeding ticket. Forty miles over the limit. You wave it off like it’s a funny little anecdote. He sits in absolute silence, calculating the stopping distance of your car vs. standard reaction time at that speed. You think he’s judging. He’s actually trying not to scream.

You poke his ass. Specifically, between the cheeks. You call it “affection.” He calls it “emotional terrorism.” He flinches like he’s been electrocuted, whips around with murder in his eyes—and you’re giggling like a gremlin. Later, you regret nothing, but your thighs may beg to differ.

When you diagnose him with internet psychology You’ve read one book on attachment styles and watched three reels about emotional unavailability. Now you’ve decided he has "clinical avoidant tendencies with a hint of fear-based control fixation." He stares at you, deadpan, like he's about to perform your autopsy.

You keep spoiled food in the fridge and expired meds in the cabinet You say “it doesn’t smell that bad” or “maybe it still works.” His eye twitches. His gloves are already on. He’s not even mad at you—he’s mad at entropy. You’ve become its agent.

You watch reality shows. About infidelity. Willingly. You claim it’s “just background noise.” But he walks in and hears someone scream “that’s not even your baby, Kyle!” and your eyes are glued to the screen. His soul briefly leaves his body.

You washed his white lab coat. With your pink unicorn pajamas. It’s not just the color. It’s the betrayal. The symbol of his clinical neutrality now smells like bubblegum and looks like cotton candy. You say it’s cute. He looks personally violated by the washing machine.

🩺 Top 10 Things That Make Zayne Soft Against His Will

You bring him lunch at the hospital He never asks. You just appear—arms full of neatly packed containers, face lit up like this isn’t the third double shift he’s worked this week. He complains about the timing. The smell. The disruption. And then eats every bite with frightening focus. You leave. He stares at the empty container like it’s proof someone still believes he’s human.

You quote him back to himself like a philosopher You remember something he said weeks ago—some throwaway line about time or structure or entropy—and you drop it casually in conversation, like it’s wisdom from an ancient text. He doesn’t know how to react. You turned his logic into poetry, and he’ll never recover from that.

You wear the little seal keychain he made He didn’t think you’d keep it. Let alone turn it into your everyday keychain. But there it is—always with you, worn smooth from touch. You twirl it absentmindedly while talking to him, never noticing the way his gaze lingers. Never realizing how something so small can hit him so hard.

You put a photo of the two of you on his desk It appears one day. No fanfare. Just… there. A moment frozen in light, sitting quietly beside his surgical reports and diagnostic schematics. At first, he moves it to the edge. Then back to center. Now it lives next to his pen. He doesn’t talk about it. But it’s the only object on that desk he wipes clean with his bare hand.

His work shirt smells like you You borrowed it that morning, wore it while dancing around the apartment with wet hair and no real purpose. Hours later, when he pulls it on between rounds, the scent hits him like a loaded memory. He short-circuits mid-button. Everything feels warmer than it should.

You leave your phone with him while you shower No password. No hesitation. You toss it into his lap with a breezy “can you clear out whatever’s making it lag?” and vanish behind steam. He sits there, phone in hand, suddenly trusted with everything. He opens nothing. But the fact that you’d let him? That’s the part that shakes him.

You ask for his opinion on minor discomforts A papercut. A weird freckle. A suspicious sneeze. You hold out your hand, utterly serious, asking what he thinks. It’s laughable. Ridiculous. And it absolutely wrecks him. You could ask a dozen others—but you ask him. Like he’s the one who makes things better.

You’re on top He likes control. Precision. Strategy. But when you climb into his lap, all instinct and fire, hands braced on his chest and lips already parted—his brain stops cooperating. There’s something about you taking the lead that makes him unravel. Quietly. Violently. Completely.

You argue with him about complex theories—and mean it You don’t just nod. You push back. You challenge. You quote sources he hasn’t thought about in years. You spark. You flare. And he watches, fascinated, lips twitching with something dangerously close to pride. No one does this. No one dares. But you? You never flinch.

You whisper “I love you” in your sleep It’s not loud. It’s not even clear. Just a faint breath in the dark, like a dream half-remembered. But he hears it. Every time. And though he never says a word in return—not while you're sleeping—his fingers tighten around your waist like he's anchoring himself to the only thing that matters.

🎨 Top 10 Things That Make Rafayel Absolutely, Irrevocably Annoyed at You

You told him his painting was “nice” You stood in front of a piece that cost him three sleepless nights, a minor existential crisis, and two broken brushes—and said “Nice.” Just like that. No gasp, no poetry, no tears. He aged five years on the spot. Somewhere in the distance, a violin cried for him.

You dragged him to a cat exhibit You thought it would be cute. Enrichment. A bonding experience. Instead, he spent the entire time perched on edge, eyes darting like prey. You said “they’re just kittens.” He said nothing. He was too busy making sure none of them came closer than ten feet.

You cleaned his studio You thought you were being helpful. But you moved The Pile. The sacred, unholy, perfectly calibrated mess. Now he can’t find his favorite brush, and also he’s deeply offended by how cheerful you looked doing it.

You didn’t reply to his messages for over an hour He sent three texts, one meme, and a “thinking of you 💭” voice note. You replied 67 minutes later with “sry was showering.” By then, he’d already decided you were breaking up with him, joining a cult, or possibly dead. He had a whole monologue planned. And now you’ve ruined it.

You cut your hair He loved your long hair. Adored it. Worshipped it. You showed up with a sharp little bob and said “it’s just hair.” It is not just hair. It is the collapse of a visual era. He’s still adjusting. And by adjusting, he means mourning with wine.

You made fun of his driving You muttered “technically, you were meant to let the tram go first” He muttered “technically, silence is golden.” His driving is instinct. Vibe. Energy. If you didn’t want drama, you shouldn’t have sat in the passenger seat of a man who parallel parks like he’s in a ballet.

You woke him up too early He went to bed at 4 a.m. because inspiration struck. You woke him at 7:12 like it was nothing, and said “you have that interview, remember?” He does remember. He also remembers specifically telling you that if he ever falls asleep before sunrise, you are to let him die peacefully, cancel all earthly obligations, and throw his alarm clock into the ocean where it belongs.

You hid your phone screen when a message came in You were probably teasing. Just being playful. But now he’s spiraling. Who was it? Why the secrecy? What do you have to hide? Congratulations—you’ve just activated his inner opera villain.

You got jealous Which is absurd. He’s the one who invented possessive affection. But you being jealous? That makes him unreasonably indignant. What do you mean you “didn’t like the way that gallery girl looked at him”? Of course she looked. But he didn’t see her. He saw you.

You burned the bacon You say “it’s fine.” He says it’s charcoal. The entire kitchen smells like culinary war crimes. And now he’ll have to burn incense and replant three garden beds to recover emotionally. Who even let you near the stove? Who hurt you? Was it… the bacon?

🎨 Top 10 Ways You Accidentally Turned Rafayel Into a Purring, Love-Drunk Work of Art

You massage his head He’s mid-rant. Arms crossed. Absolutely furious about the lighting in that gallery. And then your fingers slip into his hair—and just like that, the war is over. His entire body melts like he’s been tranquilized. He’ll deny it later, of course. But the way he leans into your hand? Case closed.

You claim him in public It’s an art gala. He’s dressed to ruin people. And then you slip your arm through his, fingers just tight enough to say mine. You smile like a goddess. He pretends he’s unaffected. Inside, he’s writing vows in ten languages and considering printing matching business cards.

You actually listen to his advice He knows he can be dramatic. Unfiltered. Emotionally volatile. But when you sit there, really listening, nodding like his words matter—you destroy him. Suddenly he’s not the chaos. He’s the compass. And that? That’s love.

You share every detail of your day over dinner You talk about everything—the lady at the store, the funny email, the awful latte. You give him your day like a story, like he’s the only one you wanted to tell. He leans in, listens too closely, files away each emotion like a collector of rare art.

You’re always down for his wildest ideas It’s 3 a.m. He wants to hike 2.5 miles along the beach, take a boat to a tiny island, and watch the sunrise with wine. You say “give me five minutes.” And just like that, you become the only person worthy of his wildest, most beautiful chaos.

You let him photograph you Nothing compares. Not awards. Not praise. Nothing rivals the moment you look into his lens—bare, unfiltered, unashamed. Especially when you’re nude, glowing, and laughing like the world doesn’t exist. That’s when he falls in love with you all over again. And again. And again.

You let him choose your dress You come out in the one he picked. Elegant. Perfect. You spin for him. And the way he watches you? Like he made you. Like you’re the gallery and he’s the only one with the key. It’s not fashion. It’s trust. And he adores you for it.

You sing when you don’t know he’s home Wearing socks and earbuds, dancing with a broom, serenading your way through burnt pancakes. You’re off-key. Glorious. Real. And he stands in the doorway, silent, just watching. Because in that moment—you’re not posing. And he’s never loved you more.

You take care of him when he’s sick He has a fever of 99°F and insists he’s fading. You bring tea, stroke his hair, whisper that he’s “very brave.” You don’t mock him. You take his dramatics seriously. He will never forget it. He may also write you into his will.

You join him in the bathtub without asking He’s already halfway submerged, music playing, steam curling in the air—and then you slip in behind him, no warning. You nudge your legs around his hips, hand him your shampoo, and let him wash your hair while you giggle. He tries to act unimpressed. But when he starts kissing your toes? Yeah. You win.

✨ Top 10 Behavioral Anomalies That Triggered Xavier’s Internal Alert System

You break an agreement—even if it's “just a small one” It’s not about control. It’s about structure. You promised. And when you bend the rules—just slightly—he doesn’t react outwardly. No visible shift, no sharp breath. But something behind his eyes goes cold. Because for him, even small deviations mean recalculating everything. And that means risk. To you.

You create drama “just to get a reaction” You push. You poke. You escalate. And he gives you… nothing. No outburst, no flinch. Just that flat, unreadable stare while he mentally exits the room. He doesn’t get angry—he just shuts off the part of himself that wants to stay.

You refuse his protection—on principle You call it independence. He calls it a strategic vulnerability wrapped in pride. He won’t argue. He’ll just be one step farther back the next time, quietly cataloging how to stop caring just enough that it won’t kill him if something happens.

You call him cold—especially when he’s holding himself together for you You see stillness. He feels restraint. You accuse. He remembers what it takes to not become the darker version of himself. If only you knew how much energy it took to stay composed. If only you knew it was for you.

You’re late Five minutes. Ten. No message. No explanation. And his pulse ticks upward—not with impatience, but with pure, trained alertness. He starts looking for signs. Traffic reports. Emergency alerts. By the time you arrive, he’s smiling. But it’s the tight kind. The kind that says never again.

You skip training You’re tired. You had a long day. You say you’ll make it up later. He doesn’t argue. He just recalculates survival probabilities and mentally adds you to the list of people who might die because they were unprepared. And he will blame himself for letting you get soft.

You pull away from his touch when you're angry It’s not the rejection. It’s the meaning behind it. He reaches out—small, careful, calculated—and you shut the door in his face with a single backward step. He doesn’t try again. He doesn’t ask why. But the space you leave behind? It echoes.

You use a photo of Lumiere as a bookmark You think it’s cute. Maybe even sweet. He sees it—and freezes. He’s not jealous. Not exactly. But the idea that you might admire that version more—the legend, the mask, the sharpness—it unsettles something deep. Something he can’t name.

You secretly believe you’re not good enough for him You never say it out loud. But he sees it—in your deflections, your nervous jokes, the way you doubt his love like it’s a glitch. It doesn’t anger him in the usual sense. It just…hurts. Because you’re the only one who never had to earn it.

You throw yourself in front of him during a mission It’s instinct, you say. Split-second decision. You didn’t even think. And that’s the problem. He does. Always. Every variable, every movement, every risk is accounted for—except you breaking formation to protect him. You think it’s brave. He sees it as catastrophic miscalculation. Not because you acted without logic. But because you decided his life was worth more than yours. And that? That’s the one conclusion he refuses to accept.

✨Top 10 Things That Quietly Break Xavier’s Walls and Leave Him Unreasonably Soft About You

When you start reading the same book he’s readingYou don’t announce it. You just show up with the same title, a few chapters behind, and start casually asking questions. He plays it off. But inside? He’s spiraling. Because this—this—is how you speak his language. Silently. Precisely. Together.

When you knock on his door like you’re trying to break it downIt’s loud. Impatient. Inappropriate for the hour. But he knows that knock. That rhythm. That you. You need him. Not his solutions. Him. And somehow, that chaos pounding on his door feels more like home than anything else.

When you hug him from behindYou wrap your arms around his torso mid-task, face pressed between his shoulder blades, palms splayed across his chest like you’re anchoring yourself to something ancient and steady. He stills. Every time. Like someone just whispered a secret to his bones. He never asks why. Never moves away. He just tilts his head slightly—listening, as if your silence said everything he needed to hear.

When you touch his sword (the actual weapon, calm down)He never lets anyone handle it. Not even for cleaning. But your fingers skim the hilt, gentle, curious, reverent. And somehow… it’s okay. You’re not just touching steel. You’re touching him. And he lets you.

When you act like a little girlYou scrunch your nose. Say something ridiculous. Blush like you didn’t mean to. And he watches—utterly disarmed. Because he knows exactly what you want. You want him to carry you. Wrap you up. Keep you safe. And he will—without hesitation.

When you join him on a morning runYou complain. You lag. You swear this is “not your vibe.” But you still show up. Same hour. Same route. And when you match his pace for those few precious minutes? He doesn’t say it—but he’s proud. Painfully proud.

When you share your dreams—and say “we”You’re rambling. Light spilling from your words. Talking about the future, the maybes, the next steps. But you don’t say I. You say we. And that sound? That tiny shift in grammar? It settles deep. Irrevocable. Permanent.

When you make matching braceletsYou say it’s silly. Handmade. Slightly uneven. There’s a charm shaped like a rabbit. He never takes it off. Not in combat. Not in sleep. It rests against his wrist like a pressure point—and grounds him better than anything else.

When you remember his habitsYour shopping list always includes his cinnamon. His brand of shampoo. The exact instant noodles he pretends not to love. You don’t make a show of it. You just know. And that knowing? It destroys him in the softest possible way.

When you trust him completely in bed—even when his darker side surfacesThere’s a moment—quiet, charged—when the softness shifts. He waits. Watches. Braces for resistance. But you don’t pull back. You open your hands. Arch into him. Let him take control without fear. That? That’s what breaks him. Not the pleasure. The trust.

🖤Top 10 Things That Push Sylus Into Maximum Sarcasm and Mildly Homicidal Disapproval

Your outdated, unreliable weapon Yes, he gets it. It’s vintage. It’s “standard issue.” It’s approved by the Hunters Association. Congratulations. That won’t matter when it jams and gets you killed. Every time you return one of the sleek, upgraded firearms he hand-delivers like he’s your personal armory concierge, he has to resist asking if you've already made a draft of your death wish. Alphabetically sorted. With floral headers.

You chew gum—and pop it It’s not the gum. It’s the snap. The sudden, violent pop of sugary air bubbles that hits his trauma response like a trigger. He knows it’s just a noise. His shoulder still twitches. He’s this close to reaching into your mouth and extracting the gum like a gentleman. A very sarcastic, deeply annoyed, half-feral gentleman.

You try to shake your tail (him) You use stealth tech. You block your signal. You go dark. Adorable. You’re forgetting that the very system you’re relying on was developed by his own syndicate. The only person who ever really evades Sylus is Sylus. And maybe the cat that lives under his car. But not you. Never you.

You don’t introduce him as your boyfriend to your old classmates You panicked. He gets that. You called him “a friend.” And now he’s deeply committed to the bit. For the next seven days, every time you said anything, he replied with “Of course, as your friend…” in front of waiters, dealers, and one extremely confused ambassador. You only managed to shut it down by hastily posting a photo of you two with the caption “my boyfriend and the love of my life.” Acceptable recovery. Barely.

You refuse to use his resources His private jet? Untouched. His cars? Collecting dust. His black card? Sitting unused like some kind of insult in your purse. You say you’re “independent.” He says you’re actively offending his entire lifestyle philosophy. Do you have any idea how disrespectful it is to ignore an entire walk-in wardrobe prepared for you in his estate? Honestly, it’s almost admirable. Almost.

You once smoked a cigarette, and he saw it He didn’t say anything. At the time. Just looked at you. Silently. Like someone had drop-kicked a kitten in front of him. He’s not judging. He’s just picturing your lungs in an ashtray. And adding another page to your death wish list.

You speak in riddles and expect him to “get it” You want something—time away, a trip, his attention—but instead of asking, you sigh dramatically and murmur, “It’s fine. I guess some people just don’t want to escape the city with their girlfriends…” He blinks. Slow. Dangerous. “Was that a request, a riddle, or an emotional booby trap?” If you want something from him, Kitten, try using nouns and verbs. Not cryptic guilt puzzles.

You suggest another woman would be “perfect for him” It’s a joke. Offhand. Barely a breath. But your voice wavers—just slightly—and that ruins it. He doesn’t want her. He doesn’t want options. He wants you. And now, thanks to your charming lapse in self-worth, he has to waste the rest of the evening reminding you that this face, this power, this entire empire already belongs to someone. Guess who.

You sneak up on him You never mean to. But somehow, you're always the one person who slips past every alarm, every trained instinct, and ends up whispering behind him when his brain is still in kill mode. It takes everything in him to not react on pure reflex. You think it’s cute. He thinks it’s potentially catastrophic.

You don’t believe him when he says he’s fine Yes, he’s bleeding. Yes, his shirt is soaked. But he said “it’s a scratch,” and when he says that—he means it. His body heals like a myth. Your worried face? It makes something in him ache. Because the real wound isn’t on him—it’s in you, for thinking he’s anything less than unbreakable.

🖤 Top 10 Things That Make Sylus Dangerously Soft for You (And Yes, He’s Keeping Score)

When you finally spend his money It started with coffee. Small. Harmless. But the alert hit his phone and, for a moment, he genuinely wondered if his card had been stolen—until he saw your name. And something in him shifted. Not because of the cost. Please. He could buy the city it was brewed in. No, it was the fact you used it. You. Willingly. Now? You’re bolder—little dresses, shoes, jewelry you don’t need. And every time you do, he rewards it like you just proved you understand the assignment: what's his, is already yours.

When you give orders to his men like you're the boss You don’t ask. You instruct. Calm, certain, completely in charge. One of his men hesitates—just once—while you’re directing them to rescue a terrified kitten stuck in a tree. Sylus doesn’t interfere. He just watches, arms crossed, a grin tugging at his mouth as armed professionals scramble to obey you like you're the patron saint of lost animals. Somewhere in his mind, he’s already fitted you for a crown. With tiny cat ears.

When you secretly pet Mephisto The mechanical raven used to drive you insane. Now? You’re sneaking him treats and absentminded scratches under the jaw. Sylus sees it. Says nothing. But deep down, he knows: if you’ve accepted the bird—you’ve accepted all of him. And that’s lethal. To him.

When you make him a playlist You never explain them. Just send a link and say nothing. But he listens—every time. Alone. In his car. In the bath. Eyes closed, calculating your every choice like it’s encrypted intel. Each track? A hint. A mood. A coded message from you to him. He doesn’t ask for them. He just waits for the next one. And when it arrives, he treats it like gospel.

When you leave a trail of chaos in his car Your hair on the seat. Your gum wrappers in the cup holder. The seat so close to the wheel he practically has to fold in half. And the music? A full-volume love ballad ready to ambush his eardrums at ignition. It's obnoxious. It’s inconvenient. It’s perfect. His life, now featuring you.

When you eat from his plate You swore you weren’t hungry. You said “no carbs this week.” And now? You’re stealing fries from his hand and dipping into his steak sauce like it’s your birthright. He doesn’t stop you. He just watches you chew with that look that says: mine. forever.

When you talk and talk and talk Something happens. You spiral. Words spill. Thoughts tangle. You’re not even aware you’re rambling—but he is. He listens to everything. Stores it all. Because there’s something magical about your voice when it’s unfiltered. You don’t realize it, but he falls a little harder every time you forget to censor yourself.

When you crawl into his lap while he’s working He’s in the middle of paperwork. Calculating things. Dangerous things. And suddenly—you. Right there. Knees on either side, arms around his neck, like the world’s most beautiful interruption. He tells himself he needs to finish. But his hands are already on your hips.

When you call and ask for help A jar. A stuck zipper. A ride. It doesn’t matter. You’re a trained hunter—you’ve faced things with claws, fangs, and no name. But you still call him. Because you want him. And that? That wrecks him in ways he’ll never admit. He’s already on his way before you hang up.

When you scream his name right before you come There’s a lot he’s proud of. His empire. His power. His record. But nothing—nothing—satisfies him more than the moment your voice breaks open with his name. Like prayer. Like surrender. Like he’s the only thing in your world. Which, of course… he is.

[iceresurfacing]

I feel like shit today lolz

[onrainynights]

🕯️manifesting my promotion🕯️

[chwedout]

i think its very maryphobic that none of the cinemas near me are playing saltburn

[cherrygarcia-07]

The HR Meeting // Spencer Reid

In which you get called out for your flirting by HR in front of the team (yes it’s the HR meeting scene from season 9)

genre: idk this was just in my head and made me laugh to think about

pairing: spencer reid x (kinda flirty) bau! reader / established relationship

word count: 1.3k

(references to sex)

masterlist

———————————————————————————🍓—————————————————————————

‘So, let’s talk about sexual harassment.’

You let out a tired sigh as the HR representative continued on. You were trying to pay attention, really you were- it seemed an important topic- but you were just so damn tired and her somehow both shrill and monotone voice was making you zone out. You straightened your posture in an attempt to wake yourself up, shoulders brushing Spencer’s as he stood next to you leaning on the desk behind you both, but it was of no avail. Glancing over at him, you cursed him under your breath- it was his fault you were so worn out this morning in the first place.

‘Sexual harassment isn’t always a quid pro quo arrangement.’ You stifled a yawn. ‘maybe it’s a conversation between two coworkers that makes you feel uncomfortable.’ Curiosity cut off your yawning as you wondered what scandalous conversations you might have missed to warrant this talk, eyebrows raising without you meaning for it.

Looking around the room, you spotted Penelope nodding along to give off the impression she was listening intently but you knew she was wondering the same thing as you. Alex sat next to you to your right, chin resting in her palm as she listened earnestly- ever the professional- whereas JJ beside her seemed more on your wavelength and you flashed her a look of pure nosiness which she reciprocated.

‘Maybe these coworkers use phrases like ‘babygirl-’

No way. You bit back a laugh as you watched Penelope’s eyes widen and her head shoot to Morgan to her left, who mimicked her actions.

‘Chocolate thunder-’

This was too good. Morgan’s eyebrows were raised now too, a wary expression on his usually smug face.

‘Where’s my big black twelve pack?’

She dragged the phrase out, her voice laced with disapproval and quite frankly, disbelief. You had to look away, turning your head towards your shoulder pretending to cough in a desperate attempt to stifle the laughter threatening to spill out. Even Alex’s stoic facade had faltered, an amused look in her eyes as she tilted her head at Penelope who seemed positively mortified whilst Morgan simply shook his head, exhaling with an uncharacteristically embarrassed look taking over him.

‘And that creates a what? Hostile work environment.’ The woman turned to face the board behind her momentarily and you leaned forward to sneak a look at Spencer’s reaction. Despite the things you’d heard him say alone, you knew these types of conversations made him sheepish, but it seemed his not-so-secret affinity with gossip was stronger. He was trying to keep his expression unreadable, neutral but you knew him and you could tell in the way his brows shot up, his eyes narrowing beneath them with that mischievous twinkle, that he was loving this just as much as you were. Your eyes snapped back to the board as she turned back around.

‘So messages like… more cushion for the pushing- NOT appropriate,’ a scattered series of chuckles echoed throughout the room. ‘I’ll be Coco to your Ice-T- NOT appropriate’ oh you were so going to give Penelope shit for this later.

‘Flarpy Blunderguff…’ You couldn’t hold it in anymore. A loud laugh escaped you as if beyond your control and your hand shot up to your mouth instinctively to muffle the sound. Across the room Rossi’s lips pursed, a curious look on his face as he stared down at Morgan. A grin stretched across your face as you thought back to Penelope telling you all about ‘flarpy blunderguff’, about the paint and the food and the thought of her being caught discussing this was simply too much for you.

You giggled uncontrollably, and in an attempt to hide your juvenile glee, you leaned over and pressed your face into your boyfriend’s shoulder. Big. Mistake. The woman’s eyes shot to you. She called your name.

‘I wouldn’t get so comfortable if I were you, agent.’

Oh no. Your smile slowly dissipated and your face contorted in a mix of confusion and dread and you slowly pulled yourself up from Spencer’s shoulder, ignoring the highly entertained look he gave as he looked down at you. To your side, you heard a chuckle from JJ.

‘Likewise, phrases like-’ she turned back to the board, clicking a remote that highlighted your shame in big black letters before your coworkers, ‘Doctor Sexy.’ Breathing in, your eyes closed and your lips drew into a thin line, beside you Spencer became annoyingly unreadable. You only called him that as a joke, one time! Or two… or a few…

‘Love to watch you leave, pretty boy.’ Eyes still closed, you thought back to that day. He’d worn pants a little tighter as the result of a joke Morgan had made about him being, quote, ‘flat as a pancake back there’- not that Spencer would ever admit that’s what he was doing or why. You weren’t shy about how you felt about the way they hugged him, about how they made his waist look so pretty and how they made the rest of his lower half look even prettier. You’d been teasing him all day, revelling in the way he squirmed and lost his breath and as he turned to walk away your eyes dropped to his pants once again and you just couldn’t help yourself. Back to the present moment, Penelope’s eyes were now on you, mirroring the look you’d given her only moments ago.

‘Save the handcuffs for later.’ A blush rose on your cheeks and you could feel Morgan’s gaze on you, not needing to look at him to know he was wearing that devilish grin of his and planning a million ways to make fun of you. You hadn’t meant it seriously. Not really, anyway. It was just a joke that spilled out after making an arrest one night as you watched him tuck his handcuffs away, just something to lighten the mood… and maybe set one for later. You risked peeking a look at Spencer next to you and were shocked to find a smile tugging at the corner of his lips and his eyes wide and twinkling with amusement, you’d have thought him to be wishing the ground to swallow him whole by now.

‘Talk dirty to me, genius.’ Okay that one was completely out of context. It had been a sarcastic response to one of his infamous spontaneous tangents, only this one had been on the lovely topic of ants and parasitic fungi. To your right, cackles pierced your eardrums and your head snapped around to see JJ burying her head into her desk while Alex covered her face with her hands, eyes giddily darting between the two of you still leaning against the desk. This whole ordeal had turned your team into a bunch of immature school kids, you thought, ignoring the fact you had been acting the exact same way not even 5 minutes ago.

Feeling your embarrassment radiating off of you like heat from a fire, Spencer exhaled the last of his laughter and placed a hand on your knee, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles. Mistake number two. Exasperated, the HR representative locked her eyes onto him.

‘PDA and physical touching between coworkers also create a what?’ She asked again, her voice shooting through you. ‘Hostile work environment, Doctor Reid.’

He froze, eyes widening even further as his mouth opened and closed until his jaw simply fell open in that way it did so often (‘you’re going to catch flies in there’ you’d tell him before threatening to kiss it shut- an offer which he would happily take you up on). Hastily, he snatched his hand back and placed it in his lap as he felt a flush race up his neck. You turned to him, and despite the humiliation and the scolding and the inevitable endless teasing the two of you had coming, you couldn’t help the way your heart fluttered as you watched the flush reach his cheeks, his flustered, pink complexion matching yours.

-

[lookwhatyoumademelou]

.

[yuukimiyas]

(づ ﻌ ど) this is me this mornin wiping the sleep from my eyes to get my day started!! its the wknd!! ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა & i hope everybun slept so v well & has the best saturday ever!! squeezin you so tight!!

[bbluefllame]

hcs on how I think mha characters sleep

contains: pure silly stupidness

characters: tomura shigaraki, touya todoroki, keigo takami, izuku midoriya, toga himiko, plus one katsuki hc😭

note: LISTEN GANG I WAS SLEEPY BUT I COULDNT SKEEP SO I WAS LIKE OH EM GEE!!! keigo's went out of hand 😔😔😔

tomura shigaraki

- he usually sleeps in his normal attire, he has no energy to get up and change

- sleeps 4 hrs MAX

- his thumbs are always I mean always are covered by the rest of his fingers tightly, he probably decays mattresses every couple of months by accident

- either super light sleeper or super heavy no in-between, probably doesn't even sleep most of the time

- there's no pre-sleep routine. mf just plops down into the bed and blacks out OR he sleeps in his gaming chair😭

- if you're sleeping next to him, he would make sure he's facing the opposite side with his hands dangling at the edge of the bed just to make sure nothing happens to you.

- one thing that makes him black out is playing with his hair, like blackout like snore mimimimi type shit

- he's so still in his sleep, barely moves to the point you might think he's dead if he wasn't breathing‼️

- Overall he'd be a pretty good person to sleep next to (if he even sleeps) just make sure he doesn't have nightmares or everything is done and dusted (literally)

touya todoroki

- he either sleeps naked or something that can't snag on the staples/ irritate his scars (probably naked bcs have you seen his room?? ITS EMPTY EMPTY THERES NOTHING BESIDES HIS USUAL CLOTHES)

- I give him 5-6 hrs maybe then he wakes up but on nights where he's in too much pain, he takes a shit ton of painkillers and tries to sleep just to wake up 2 hrs later

-biggest snorer out there, complete opposite of tomura. esp w those lungs of his omg.

- you could be sleeping and BOOM 🚉 SNOREEEEEE HONKKKK you need earplugs with him, then he wakes up and goes "I don't snore, fuck you mean??"

- he tosses and turns 24/7 also he will 100% steal the blanket and kick you off, at this point it'd be more comfortable to sleep on the ground than to sleep next to him

- yk those videos where it's like someone tweaking while sleeping, like they roll around steal blankets and kick and stuff and do the craziest shit, yeah that's touya

- idk if he has a pre sleep routine I'm leaning towards it depends? he usually just makes sure his scars are clean so he doesn't get an infection and yk die!

- I conclude, a horrible person to sleep next to. Would much rather kms than tolerate a night of his torture!

keigo takami

- this bitch has 2 options, blackout the second he gets home in his hero attire, or if it's a day where he has to recover from an injury or something, these specific navy blue sweatpants and a black t-shirt

- depends on the day he's sleeping either 3 hrs or 9 hrs

- he doesn't snore but he talks in his sleep about the weirdest shit ever "noooo pls don't put me in the airfryer" he 100% has the weirdest fucking dreams to ever exist

- he never sleeps on his back, literally always on his stomach so his wings don't get in the way

- also on the topic of his wings, during said weird dreams if he's running away or something they start flapping and shit😭 it'd be so annoying to sleep next to him

- he sleepwalks 100% you look at that face and tell me he DOESNT?? he's a really light sleeper as well esp for nights where he might be called in

- definitely has a pre sleep routine (if he doesn't immediately blackout) ESP if you're living tg oh em gee, he'd have a longer skincare routine than you (tbf the skincare routine is kind of obligation from him to appeal to the civilians nd shit)

- he'd have a headband on his head pushing his hair back, washing his face, using a toner etcetera, and then going "baaaaaabeeee where'd you put my cosrx snail mucin, I know you used it" and he'd be all sassy and shit (twink cough cough sorry)

- if he's having a calm day, he's being the clingiest cutest little shit, you wanna go to eat? "nooo 5 minutes" . You wanna go to the bathroom? "Ugh be quick" while he's guarding the door waiting to tackle you and drag you back to bed. He's such a little (loving) shit

- he just lays there on top of you not willing to let go with a serene expression on his face, those days are rare though (fuck the commission 😠)

- random but he has some of the worst bed head you could ever see

- overall, kind of annoying to sleep next to (funny as well) but for him, who wouldn't tolerate it 🙏🏼

izuku midoriya

- before OFA bro used to get no sleep he'd have the most fucked up sleep schedule to ever exist ‼️‼️ like during weekends no sleep at all just staying up analyzing new heroes

- w OFA he's sleeping healthily or too much with the amount of energy he uses ESP in the first seasons when he breaks his bones a shit ton

- HIS SLEEP WEAR LMAOAOA funniest thing I've seen i don't have to say anything abt it 😭 a fucking shirt w " t-shirt" on it or sumn

- doesn't snore but moves a lot, and not even kicking?? just flipping side to side or clutching the blanket like he's a woman clutching her purse in the 1800s (no one's taking it from you calm down lil bro)

- occasionally he might talk but it's like 2 words then he flips to the other side

- no pre-sleep routine but that's bc he doesn't need one, his pre-sleep routine is studying or training, BUT bro has to be like wrapping his arms and hands at night or something bcs he's in pain (his arms are fucked up there's no way he doesn't have chronic pain)

- if you're forced to sleep next to each other (insert ur own fanfic idea of why) he would be so tense he'd have his hands by his side tryna not sleep so he doesn't annoy you, at this point, you'd be annoyed by how tense he is

- he's not a bad person to sleep next to tbf, just like he might be kinda annoying that's it

Toga Himiko

- she has pink pj's and everything she's such a cutie (some have blood on them but whoops accident!)

- she sleeps with plushies (her room is adorable. search it up pleek‼️), changes the plushie every night so "every single one of them feels loved"

- she sleeps pretty healthily although on the low side 6-7 hrs prolly, she's told by compress "You're a growing girl, you need your sleep" or something similar when she wakes up too early

- she's more giggles in her sleep rather than anything, maybe whispers a name then goes teehehehe, she's pretty calm in her sleep honestly

- she has a pre-sleep routine and it's adorable, if it's in the broke era she steals face masks (specifically hello kitty ones), moisturizers, toners, face washes and skips back to the base with a smile on her face

- has 100% forced a couple of the league members to use the face masks

- has music blasting (for some reason I see her playing like a g6 and bopping her head while putting stuff on) at 10 pm, she 100% has been forced to turn it off bcs it woke everyone up

- she's such a cuddly person as well but in the best way possible, before sleeping though 100% there's gonna be gossiping or just yapping tg

overall my favorite !! silliest girl to ever exist I luv her

bonus katsuki

- bro sleeps like a Victorian child dying from the plague, waiting for a true loves kiss type shit you'd see him and go "wtf okay disney princess😟"

[stellastarcrash]

what the hell is it about my grandma's house that is so conducive to remembering things from past lives ???

anyway we've been here fir about three hours snd i already recalled something from when i was Whisper

and yeah it is tangentially related to my life as Surge in that same timeline

[kentoxo]

friction | reader (f) x crush!nanami pt.13

pairing: reader (f) x crush!nanami

synopsis: [AU] you have always had a crush on nanami. since the day you were hired as his personal assistant, you've been right at his side combating numbers and making money within the finance department for the company you two worked for. but, things take a turn when nanami catches wind of your feelings, and rejects you. little did he know the weight of his mistake.

warnings: angst, heartbreak, sexual tension, jealousy (future smut)

a/n: we are so back. here is the next part!! we maaaaay or maaay not be close to an end. i am predicting between 18-20 parts total, idk yet so we're going to find out (it could even be less!). once again, thank you all for your patience and still enjoying this series even during my unannounced hiatus due to my ailment. im back and ready to get everyone in their nana feels xo

all parts: pt.1, pt.2, pt.3, pt.4, pt.5, pt.6, pt.7, pt.8, pt.9, pt.10, pt.11, pt.12,

December | Tokyo, Japan | Tuesday

After an event Monday, full of congratulations and praise, you returned to face the work you’ve accepted to take on. 

Takada scheduled a proper meeting with you and Nanami, as he confessed his misapproach in not including Nanami during the promotion consideration. This would include your future training to become an Office Manager, and all the leadership building you would have to do. It was a bit nerve wracking, having the CEO of the company and your boss sitting you down in a room to discuss your new role, but alas, that is what being an adult is about. 

It was a lot to take in. An influx of emails plagued your inbox, with several including onboarding procedures from HR. A few emails came from Shoko and Geto, offering their support in your transition as well. Many congratulations came from other colleagues, many who you’ve never met before. Your nerves were clear in the shaking of your hands, your fingertips reticent to tap another key of your keyboard. 

You let out a deep breath, attempting to waive the anxiety. You push away the keyboard and sit back in your chair, covering your face with your cold, clammy hands. As you feel your own warm breath press against your face, you are quickly reclaimed back by reality with a tap on the shoulder. 

“Mm?” You look up to see Nanami with a cup in his hand. You point at yourself questionably, receiving a curt nod from the blonde-haired stallion. Your eyes narrowed at the bit of hair that hung at the very center of his hairline while you grabbed the warm, closer to hot, cup. “Thank you very much. Is this coffee?” 

“Hot chocolate,” Nanami hums as he begins to take a seat beside you. This is the first time that he had truly returned to his desk next to yours, as he spent the time in his office during the company’s client hosting. In his other arm housed a stack of documents, with his briefcase hanging from his hand. “I figured it’d be too cold to get your usual iced coffee, and you don’t seem too big of a fan about regular hot coffee.” 

“This is true,” you say simply, not giving him the opportunity of meeting his eyes. You side-eye towards the stack of documents, watching as he begins to compartmentalize the sea of folders. Your thumb flicks at the edge of the lid, smelling the sweet scent of chocolate with melting whipped cream. “Oh– why didn’t you ask me to help you move some of your things, Nanami?” 

“Hm?” He asks. “Can you repeat that?”

“I said, why didn’t you ask me to help you bring all that?” You repeat. “Your office is a bit far from here, Nanami. You could have called me over to assist you.” 

A shameless, small smile crawls at his lips as he continues to file his things away. He wouldn’t know how to describe it, but he was giddy to hear his name, just his name, from your lips. You, on the other hand, could only squint and stare at him curiously before returning to your onboarding documents. Another long sigh leaves your mouth, and you begin to distract yourself by blowing into the little hole of your hot chocolate. 

Nanami looks over at your monitor (Mr. Nosey) and gives you a sympathetic look, “ah, this is the worst part about a promotion. I’m sorry.” 

You look over at him and shake your head, “ah, no no, it’s not a big deal. Honestly, it’s the least stressful thing about this whole process.” 

“Is there something that’s stressing you out?”

“Yeah,” you say, “my promotion.” 

Nanami emits a quiet chuckle, leaving one folder on his desk before closing the drawer on his lower right. You looked at the folder a bit, it looked rather peculiar. It was lumpy in an uneven way, as the top of the folder was the highest point, and the slope lowered towards the bottom. Whatever he has in there is not my business, you repeat to yourself. After all, nothing has changed. You were still upset with him. 

“What’s so scary about it?” Nanami hums curiously. 

“I’ve always been the one managed,” you begin simply, not one moment needed for thought. “And I’m capable under those circumstances. I’ve never managed anyone before in my life, so how can I have any confidence in something I’ve never done before?” 

Nanami turns his chair to you, your eyes quickly need to divert to safety. He was dressed in this navy blue turtleneck, with his usual dark fitted pants. The tight cotton hugged his muscles kindly, you could see the veins of his biceps even. But it was the way those massive thighs were separated, the space between it so grand that your mind might be stuck in the gutter until the end of time. This was a horrible time for such thoughts. You decide to suck it up and look into his hazel eyes. Though still a sight, you felt calm to see his more soft demeanor. 

“Well, let’s take for example what you’ve done since joining this company,” Nanami points out, “you have managed to start at Legal, then transfer into Sales with perfect ease, and now you’re here in Finance. You have quite the talent to be able to go into these departments, doing work right under the Head of each one.” 

“But it is because of everyone's guidance that I’m able to perform the way I do,” you say quietly. “How can I take pride in it if you all are what shaped me into the worker I am?” 

Nanami looks at you with a grin, “you wouldn’t have gotten hired if you weren’t great, Y/N. Especially being hired by Geto. I’m accounted for, but Geto is a stickler for good workers.” 

You giggle at that, “it’s his way or the highway, huh?” 

Nanami turns back to his computer, “you wish it was a highway. It’s his way or none.” 

You felt your body settle a little more. Despite your feelings towards Nanami at the moment, it felt the way it used to. The dynamic felt just the way it did before everything happened. But there was definitely something different there, something new yet nostalgic. You weren’t sure what, but you wanted to keep fighting against his efforts. Your skepticism over his feelings was still quite high, and you didn’t want him to convince you that easily. 

Even if you wanted to give in and have him all to yourself already. 

“Oh, Y/N, I almost forgot,” Nanami begins, his eyes still glued to the screen. “I asked Takada shacho to extend our lunch break to about 2 hours, so I made reservations at that omakase place right outside the office.” 

You jumped. “2 hours?” 

Nanami doesn’t even flinch, “I asked him for extra time so we could discuss the plan regarding your transition as Office Manager. Though, I have no intention to talk about work during our break.” 

You halt for a moment, thinking about his words. “Nanami, you lied?” 

“I… stretched the truth,” Nanami hums innocently, “it looked like you might need a bit of a break, so I figured it was the perfect opportunity to take you out of the office for a little.” 

He’s being sweet. You can’t let him win, but truthfully, he was being too sweet. Why is he being so damn sweet?

“I…” you begin slowly, taking a sip of the hot chocolate. You felt it warm your throat, coating the nerves in your stomach with its sweet heat. “Thank you, Nanami. I appreciate it.” 

“Of course,” Nanami says with a short smile. “Besides, I wanted to properly congratulate you. Having breakfast with the rest of them was nice, but as your boss, I owe you a proper celebratory meal.” 

You quickly wave your hand at him, “no no, Nanami, it’s me who owes you everything. I would have never gotten promoted without your guidance and praise.” 

Nanami pinches the bottom of the folder he left on his desk, and carefully slides it over to you. He then begins to rise from his chair, lifting his arms in the process to stretch. “Could you sort these very quickly? I need to use the bathroom.” And with that, he practically jogs away, disappearing from your sight, and the conversation. 

You look down at the folder and hesitate, unsure at its lumpy state. But, Nanami would never prank you or make you do anything weird, so what was the worry really? You slide it closer to you, and open it up, revealing 3 camellia flowers. The beautiful pink flowers with white ombre tips opened up so delicately, the floral smell sauntering around you. As you lifted them, you could tell they were picked up this morning. They were still wet and cold from the winter weather. 

It was strange. You were upset with him, yes, but you also felt your heart like him just a bit more. A smidge. It wasn’t some grand gesture, but he went out of his way and bought you flowers. And he also went to get you a hot chocolate, because he’s now catching onto the things you like. And he’s taking you out of the office for a little bit of time because he noticed you were stressed out and wanted to help. 

He had always been considerate, yes, but this was taken to another level you never could have imagined. 

The walk over to the restaurant was brief, but brutal. The winds were sharply passing the two of you, bringing your body temperature way down. Although you were no longer sick, you were still a bit sensitive to the cold. You didn’t notice it, but Nanami walked ahead of you not just to lead you, but a futile attempt to shield you from the wind. 

Warmth washed over you from the strong heaters above the entrance of the restaurant. You fix your hair while walking towards the host, whose attention is strictly on Nanami. Which is fair, given the fact that this man was essentially hand-crafted by God himself. 

You follow right behind as the host (with dismay in her face upon noticing you) guides the two of you towards your area of the sushi bar. It was at the end of the bar, which was nice as it was more secluded and away from the other diners. You begin to remove your winter garments, your hair getting tussled in the process. As you fix your hair, Nanami walks over to your chair and pulls it out for you, waiting for you to take your seat. 

Flustered, you look down at your feet, “a-ah, thank you, Nanami.” 

He nods, watching as you go around to take your seat. But, the chairs were particularly high, similar to a high stool, but with a chair back. And, silly you decided to wear a skirt as you bought new heat tech leggings and wanted to take it for a test run. They kept your legs warm, yes, but now you couldn’t get yourself into the seat. 

Nanami notices your struggle and immediately offers out his hand. “Use the spindles to lift you up. You can use me to keep yourself from falling in the process.” 

Shyly, you take his hands and do as he instructed. In moments, you were in the chair, and felt Nanami proceed to push you in. Your cheeks were in heat as you watched Nanami get into his own seat upon undressing his coat and propping it behind him. You quickly distract yourself with the small paper menu placed before you. But your body took your attention once more, as you were getting a little too warm. 

You decide to take off your cardigan, unbuttoning it slowly before removing it. Nanami looks over curiously, “‘m surprised you’re taking that off, considering how cold you usually are.” 

“It’s just really hot in here all of a sudden,” you comment, concealing the secondary fact that he was making you flustered. Underneath the cardigan was a skin-tight, long sleeve shirt. You didn’t think much of it, but when Nanami’s eyes trailed down, he quickly snapped his neck around. “They have the heat on max here, I swear.” 

“Y-yeah,” Nanami says, clearing his throat. “I feel it as well.” He keeps his words curt, but he struggles to let them out. His mind went places it’s never gone before, and he felt embarrassment shoot at his heart. This feeling was foreign, and he wasn’t sure what to do, or how to control it. All he knew was that seeing your dents and curves was a danger to his mind and body. 

It wasn’t that you were reserved or anything. You simply adhered to the dress code expectation. Pencil skirts, professional blouses, and short-heeled shoes. So, it was rare to see you in this nature. And, as Nanami had not worked with you until this year, he has never seen you outside of your work clothes, or noticed you at the holiday parties in the past. 

“Ah, before I forget,” you begin quietly. You place your hands under your thighs, feeling your nerves heighten. “Thank you kindly for the camellias… they’re very beautiful.” 

Nanami looks over at you, hazel eyes boring into your own, “you’re very welcome. I was impressed at how they bloomed in this weather.” 

You nod, “they’re known for being tough, as they can grow and survive in the winter.” 

“I’m not good with words,” Nanami begins quietly, his straight face ironic considering his future words, “but the florist informed me that they are symbolic for adoration. So, I wanted to give you these to express my feelings for you.” 

You suddenly begin to choke, taken aback by Nanami’s abrupt confession. He quickly hails one of the sushi chefs, who quickly runs over with a glass of water. Soothing your throat with the refreshment, you quietly clear your throat a few times until the itch goes away. One of his hands holds you from your elbow, the warm touch of concern making you cough a few more times, just enough for your eyes to water. 

“Are you alright?” Nanami’s voice is painted with a bit of worry. 

You wave your hand at him, “‘m fine, please don’t worry.” 

A moment of silence ensues as you regain yourself. Nanami stares at you, his eyes searching for some sort of approval in your expression. But your face was flush, your eyes darting anywhere else but at Nanami. Concerned, he quickly attempts to take fault, “was it something I said? I apologize if so.” 

You immediately shake your head, still unable to look at him, “n-no, no, it’s not that…! Actually, you’re… much more romantic than I though.” 

Nanami’s cheeks turn rosy, “I… am trying my best to understand my feelings and make up for my… less-than-ideal confession.” 

You finally look over at him, and quickly lament ever being so rude to him. His sincerity was ornate all over his expression, his eyes uncertain but his hands rubbing together anxious, seeking approval, or at the very least, patience. You are Nanami’s first time feeling whatever he is feeling. Although he was a grown man, you had to understand his circumstance (though self-imposed) raised him this way. What was he but a man trying to navigate love for the first time. 

Of course, this still didn’t earn him leniency points. However… 

“Nanami, you are very romantic for someone who's never been romantic,” you hum warmly. “I’m still not completely convinced but… you’re putting up quite the fight for a novice.” 

“I didn’t think so,” Nanami agreed, bringing his hands to his knees to latch onto them. “But I’m not too concerned. I have until the holiday party to convince you, no?” 

“Correct,” you say promptly. 

Nanami then hails for a chef once more, requesting a bottle of sake for the two of you. “Then I suppose I have nothing to worry about.” There he was. The confident Nanami you’ve known for almost a year now. The man who couldn’t be shaken, not even by an earthquake. A businessman at his peak. 

You scoff, your sympathy quickly going out the window, “is that so?” 

Nanami nods, his eyes narrowing down at the small, warm pitcher of sake before him. He passes you your choko, and begins to fill it carefully with the sake. After filling his own, he quickly lifts it, prompting you to lift your own. The two of you down it like a shot, with your spin shivering from the alcohol. 

Nanami lets out a satisfied sigh, “Y/N, I will make you mine by the end of the holiday party.” He looks over at you, his hazel eyes holding a sort of conviction you have never seen before. Loose blonde hairs tickle at his forehead, but his expression was warm yet tantalizing. “Whatever it takes, it will happen. It’s either my way, or my way, no exceptions.” 

You cover your mouth with your hand, unable to even reply snappy at his words. But you quickly regain yourself, reminding yourself of his poor confession, followed by his even worse reasons for it. Grabbing the sake, you pour yourself another cup full and press your fingers down against the rim of it. “And what do you know about making somebody yours?” You whisper, a dash of attitude in the challenging question. 

Nanami shrugs, sliding the cup from your hold before downing the drink himself. You scoff from the audacity, but it was… a little exciting. The way his lips pressed against the cup where yours previously made its mark. It was like an indirect kiss, but you might be getting ahead of yourself. 

The always respectful Nanami was currently a bit disrespectful– dare you say rebellious. Drinking during a lunch break, stealing your sake. The gull. 

“I know nothing, you’re absolutely right,” Nanami admits, his voice hoarse from the sake. “But I do know that you will be my first. So, prepare to give me feedback once I do make you mine.” 

Taglist (OPEN)

@blossomedfloweroflove @numblytemporary @everyoneandtheirmothers @animechick555 @inthedarkshadows000

@m-arj-1 @julk4e @hadassery @swoozleee @angxlsatvrn

@v1x3n @s-witch-bitch @furgusonn @watyousayin @thechaoticarchivist

@simp-manhwa @5sos-wdw @ffyona1214 @phantombaby @evangel44xxcds

@ukiyodestiny @jasminelee324 @eurydxceorphxus @moonlightazriel @s3rp3ntsssc0ve

@dusty-dweller @wifenanami @bokuatsubro @ayesayman @starry-eyed--dreamer

@gradmacoco @nymphsdomain @whatelsecouldgowrong @myynameisbuckyy @nanamjai

@a-sor @typicalchels @celestialzdiviner @satoru-is-the-way @sannieworshipper

@shibataimu @galagcica @a-cloudy-dreamy-day @aporcelainphantom @monikosman1311

@fashionably-a-hippie

[wandascosmic]

standing by (6)

wanda maximoff x fem!reader

part six of 'you belong with me' series

summary: basically a wanda series inspired by jim and pam from the office

word count: 4292

tags: best friends to lovers, very very special and cute friendship, reader pining after wanda, oblivious wanda it's almost laughable, believed to be unrequited love, toxic vision (unsurprisingly), honestly might be my favorite part i've written so far, also maybe perhaps some jealous wanda >: ), and the pranks are back!!

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9

“Tony,” Wanda knocks on Tony’s office door. “There’s a girl outside who wants to sell handbags.” 

“Kick her out,” Tony responds, barely looking up from his magazine. “No vendors in the office.” 

“Okay, but I told her you’d talk to her at least–” 

“No, Wanda. I’m busy,” Tony cuts her off, putting his feet up on his desk. “Just tell her to go away.” 

Wanda nods, starting to head out the door. 

Once Wanda exits the room, curiosity gets the better of Tony, and he decides to try and see what the person looks like through the window. His mouth parts once he sees that she’s actually rather beautiful. 

“Why didn’t she tell me she was hot,” Tony mutters as he gets up to go and talk to the vendor girl. 

***

You watch in suspicion as Tony smooths his hair back, accompanied by the noticeable bright grin on his face. You follow his gaze all the way to the new girl who came in a few minutes ago, and your mouth forms an ‘o’ shape in realization. 

“Hi, there,” Tony says, making the purse girl turn around and face him. “I’m Tony.” He holds out his hand for her to shake. 

“Valkyrie,” she introduces herself back with a smile. 

“Wow, look at you,” Tony guffaws, clearly checking her out. “You’re, uh, you’re like the new and improved Wanda.” 

Your eyes widen in shock as you and Wanda make eye contact with each other. 

“Um, thank you?” Valkyrie questions. 

“You’re welcome.” Tony grins. “So listen, I usually don’t allow solicitors in the office, but for you, I think we’ll make an exception.” 

Tony was awful at flirting, you quickly realized. 

“Well, thank you very much.” Valkyrie nods politely. 

“Don’t worry about it. But hey, maybe you can make it up to me later with dinner and a movie maybe?” he suggests with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

You snort at his forwardness. 

“Uh–” 

“Anyways, think about it.” He pats her on the shoulder. “So, Valkyrie, you can use the conference room for the day.” He points in the direction of the aforementioned room. “And, I’ll check up on you in an hour or so to make sure you’re settling in. Sound good?” 

“Yes, that would be great, thank you,” Valkyrie responds. 

“Alright, let’s get you settled in then.” He grins, leading her in the right direction. 

Once they’re both out of sight, you go up to talk to Wanda. 

“Ten bucks he ignores all his work for the day to go and flirt with her,” you bet the receptionist, popping a candy from the dish on her desk into your mouth and leaning onto your elbows. 

“Ten bucks he moves the HR staff who are supposed to have a meeting in there into the hallway,” she responds with a smile. 

“Oh, you’re so on, Maximoff.” 

***

“So, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask,” Tony tells Valkyrie, helping her put her bags in place. 

“Well, I guess a cup of coffee would be nice,” Valkyrie answers back politely. 

“Oh! I knew it! I knew I should’ve spotted another addict.” Tony laughs. 

Valkyrie’s brows furrow in confusion. “I’m sorry?” 

“You know, those Dunkin’ Donuts coffee addicts? Man, gotta love it,” he sighs. 

“Regular coffee is fine, honestly,” Valkyrie assures, feeling awkward.

No, no, it’s not,” Tony shakes his head. “Damn it, too bad we don’t have the good stuff here.” 

“No, really, it is,” Valkyrie says. 

“Are you sure?” Tony asks. “‘Cause, you know I could go out to get some for you it’s only like a 30-minute drive–” 

“Really, it’s alright,” Valkyrie cuts off with a small laugh.

“Alright, great!” Tony says, about to head out the door. “I’ll just head on over to the coffee machine in the kitchen, then. Hey, do you want high test or unleaded?” 

“Um, high test?”  

“All right!” Tony says with a grin as he leaves her alone. 

Valkyrie sighs in relief once Tony’s gone. 

***

“So, are you jealous ‘cause there’s another girl around?” Thor asks Wanda as he staples his documents together behind her. 

“No, not really,” Wanda responds absentmindedly, typing on her computer. 

“Are you sure?” ‘Cause she’s prettier than you,” Thor replies with a shrug. 

Wanda pauses. “That’s a very rude thing to say, Thor,” she says slowly. 

You almost laugh at the idea that anyone could ever come near Wanda’s beauty. 

Thor purses his lips and nods, leaving Wanda alone. 

You figure that now is a good time to give Wanda the banana bread you had gotten her this morning after Thor’s comment. Grabbing the dessert from your bag, you walk up to her desk with a small smile on your face.  

“So, what did Thor want?” you ask, knowing the answer already since Thor was anything but soft-spoken. Plus, your desk was only a couple of feet away from hers. 

Wanda scoffs. “Apparently I should be jealous of the purse girl because she spices up the office more than I do.” 

“And are you jealous?” 

“What? No! Of course not.” 

You laugh. “Yeah right, Maximoff. I can see the crinkle you get when you’re upset about something.” 

“I do not have a crinkle.” Wanda leans back and crosses her arms with a pout. 

Your eyes soften at how cute she looks. 

“Fine,” you back down. “But anyways, if you are upset, I did get you something.”

Wanda’s head perks up in curiosity. “What did you get me?” 

You place the white paper bag on her desk. “I may have stopped by that cafe you like this morning and gotten you your favorite dessert.” 

Wanda sits up slightly, peeking into the bag. Once she sees the delectable banana bread she loves so much, a wide smile breaks out on her face. 

“Thank you,” she says softly. 

“Anytime,” you respond, giving her a small wink as you turn around to walk back to your desk. “And by the way.” You stop to look back at her. “No one could ever match how beautiful you are.” You give her a comforting smile before heading back. 

Wanda bites her lip slightly as she watches you get back to work. 

***

“Hey, I’ve got an idea.” Tony knocks on the conference room door to get Valkyrie’s attention. 

“What’s that?” Valkyrie asks, reorganizing the purses slightly on the table. 

“Why don’t I introduce you around? You know, you can kind of get your foot in the door, meet potential clients, stuff like that? Come on.” Tony grabs Valkyrie’s hand as he starts to lead her out of the room. 

“Um, I would love to, but I really shouldn’t leave my purses alone-” 

“Oh! No problem, we can get Peter to watch them. Peter!” Tony calls for the intern. 

“Yes, Mr. Stark?” Peter calls back from the kitchen. 

“Will you watch the purses in the conference room please?” Tony says. 

“Oh, yeah, yeah, of course, no problem!” Peter replies, already sprinting out of the kitchen to go watch the purses. 

“Good kid,” Tony says to Valkyrie who nods in response. “You know, you should sell a lot here.” He says as he leads her through the various areas of the office. “This branch actually made over a million dollars last year.” 

“Wow, that’s impressive,” Valkyrie answers, waving at the people the two of them pass by. 

“Yeah, I know,” Tony brags. “Not that we’re all millionaires though, you know. I’m probably the closest so.” He chuckles.  

“Oh, cool,” Valkyrie replies, feeling slightly uncomfortable. 

“Yup, that’s what we do here at Shield Industries. Oh, here’s Bruce!” Tony introduces a brown-haired man who’s on a call in the break room. “What’s up, Bruce?” Tony punches Bruce’s arm playfully. 

“Tony, I’m on a phone call,” Bruce replies, putting the phone to his shoulder. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, man,” Tony responds, leading Valkyrie to another section of the office. 

***

“So, Y/N, what do you think of the purse girl?” Vision asks you, chewing a bit of his pizza. 

Wanda had invited you to eat lunch with her and Vision, and while you would rather do anything other than have a meal with the girl you were in love with and her fiance, you couldn’t say no to her no matter how hard you tried. 

“Cute, sure, yeah,” you responded, taking a bite of your sandwich. You had told Wanda about your sexuality two years after you had met her, and you assume that the word got out to Vision somehow. 

Little did you know it was because Tony overheard your confession in the break room and despite his lackluster demeanor 90% of the time, he was awful at keeping secrets. 

“Why don’t you get on that?” Vision suggests. 

“Mm, she’s not really my type,” you say, shaking your head and taking a sip of your water. 

“What, you’re not gay anymore?” 

“Vision!” Wanda slaps his arm in shock. “Sorry, Y/N,” she apologizes to you on his behalf. 

“It’s fine, Wanda,” you assure. “I don’t think so, no,” you respond to Vision’s question. 

“Well, what is your type then?” Thor asks from behind you, who had come in to grab his lunch from the fridge. 

You ponder for a moment. “Uh, moms…primarily. Soccer moms, single moms, NASCAR moms. Any type of mom, really.” 

“That’s disgusting,” Vision scoffs. 

“Stay away from my mom,” Thor says as he starts to leave the kitchen.

“Too late, Thor,” you respond, taking another sip of your water. 

Suddenly, you all hear the clack of heels approach, and the three of you turn your head to see Valkyrie walk past you all. 

Vision’s mouth parts slightly as he watches her exit the room. “Man, I would be all over that if I wasn’t dating Wanda,” he tells you, pointing at the doorway where Valkyrie just left. 

Wanda’s stomach drops. 

“Vision,” she states angrily, making him glance down at her. “We’re not dating, we’re engaged.” 

“Engaged, yeah,” he replies nonchalantly with a shrug. 

Wanda scoffs as she drops her fork into her food and storms out of the kitchen, slamming the door shut with a thud. 

Vision rolls his eyes as he takes another bite of his pizza. 

***

“She’d be perfect for you,” you tell Sam, the two of you observing Valkyrie through the conference room window. Truthfully, you didn’t believe an ounce of what you were feeding him. Wanda was still upset after what Vision had said earlier, so you were setting up a prank against Sam in hopes of making her feel better. 

“Mm, she’s been talking to Tony a lot,” Sam says bitterly as he crosses his arms together. 

“So what?” you say as you face him. “You’re assistant regional manager.” 

“Assistant to the regional manager,” Sam corrects you with a frown. 

“Well, you know what, Sam? Sometimes, you’ve just got to go for it. And by the way, Tony’s just your work boss, ok? He is not your relationship boss.” 

“That’s true,” Sam nods. 

“Plus, you have so much more in common with this girl than Tony does. You’re both, um, salesmen,” you point out. “I mean that’s something to talk about right there.” 

“True,” Sam’s eyes widen in realization. “Plus, I could talk to her about the origins of my last name!”

“It’s all gold,” you say, emphasizing your point with a wave of your hand. “But here’s the thing.” You beckon Sam closer with a finger. “Even if it goes horribly wrong, you just keep talking to her, alright? If you hit a stall, you have a perfect fallback.” 

“What’s that?” he asks. 

“You buy a purse,” you instruct. 

“I don’t want a purse, purses are for girls,” Sam says, recoiling slightly. 

“Sam, that’s not necessarily true.” You shake your head. 

Sam scoffs. 

“Do you read GQ?” you ask. 

“No,” he mutters, looking away. 

“That’s fine, I do. They’re like mini briefcases, alright? Lots of guys have ‘em.” 

“Really?” he asks incredulously. “Like those?” He points to the purses through the window. 

“Yes!” you confirm. 

“I don’t know..” 

“Listen,” you get his attention. “You are spending way too much time talking to me when you could be talking to her.” You point to Valkyrie over your shoulder. 

“Okay, fine,” Sam agrees, starting to stand up. “I’m just gonna use the bathroom then-” 

“No, you don’t need the bathroom, alright?” you cut him off, standing up as well. “You’ve got this, Sam. Go for it.” You shove him gently in the direction of the conference room. 

You watch him go in until he can no longer see you, and you smile as you run in the direction of Wanda’s desk. 

“Okay, shh, stop.” You run around Wanda’s desk, gently pulling the phone away from her ear and hanging up the call she’s on. Wanda looks up at you curiously. “Stop whatever you’re doing ‘cause this is gonna be good,” you say as you stand behind Wanda’s chair and swivel it around so she has a clear view of the conference room. 

“What did you do?” Wanda asks suspiciously, a smile starting to appear on her face. 

“You’ll see,” you whisper. 

Once you see Sam start to talk, you begin your imitation. “Hi, my name is Sam Wilson and I would like to buy a purse from you,” you mock in a high-pitched voice. “Good Lord, look at these purses! This is something special.” Wanda giggles. “Oh my God, is this Salvatore Daccini Pa….sta,” you say as you see Sam pick up a random purse. 

“Oh, definitely, definitely step in and out of it like that,” Wanda imitates Valkyrie as you both see Sam step in and out of the purse’s strap. 

“Yes, well I want to stress test it,” you continue your impression. “You know, in case anything happens.” 

Wanda smiles widely as she looks at you. 

“Oh!” you both remark, the two of you struggling to hold in your laughter as you see Sam smack the purse against the table. 

“That was really- this is necessary to do to really give it a good workout,” you say in your high-pitched voice. “This is the– ooh. This is the prettiest one of them all,” you mimic as you see Sam pick up another purse. “I’m gonna be the prettiest girl in the ball. Oh, how much?” you break as you finally start to laugh. 

“Oh, god, it’s sad, it’s so sad,” Wanda remarks with a shake of her head. 

“Yeah,” you say through your laughter. “Oh, here he comes,” you inform her as you see Sam slowly start to walk out of the conference room. 

He turns to give you a thumbs up and you give him one in response as well as mouthe some encouraging words. Sam smirks confidently as he struts back to his desk, the strap of his brand-new hung nicely over his shoulder. 

“He did pick a good one,” you tell Wanda with a smile as you look over to observe Sam’s new handbag. 

“You’re horrible,” Wanda giggles as she looks up at you. 

***

“So, how was that coffee from earlier?” Tony asks Valkyrie as he enters the conference room once more. 

“It was good,” she responds with a small smile. 

“Ah, I knew it,” Tony smirks. “I make the best coffee. Hey, can I show you something?” 

Valkyrie nods. 

“Great, I know you are gonna like this.” He starts to lead her towards his office. “Picked it up today for 1000 big ones.” 

He opens the door for her to enter. 

Valkyrie’s eyes widen as she sees the huge coffee machine set on Tony’s desk. “Um, Tony, you spent 1000 dollars on a new coffee machine just today?” 

“Yep,” he brags with a large grin. “They call it a Digital Barista. It’s the absolute best of the best of the espresso maker variety.” 

Valkyrie laughs awkwardly. “Wow, is that for the office?” 

“Oh, I know what you’re thinking.” Tony points a finger at her. “You’re not prying this out of my hands,” he jokes. “But hey, give it a shot and maybe I’ll give it to you.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Valkyrie answers with a shake of her head. Suddenly, she feels her phone buzz with a new message. Opening it, her brows furrow as she sees the content of the message that was sent. 

“Hey, what’s going on?” Tony asks, seeing her expression. 

Valkyrie looks up. “Oh, nothing, just, my ride bailed on me,” she says. 

“Oh, god! I’m so sorry,” Tony says rather passionately. “That sucks. Um, where you going? Nearby? Because I could give you a ride, you know?” 

“No, no, that’s ok, I don’t wanna inconvenience you and I can just take a Taxi–” 

“No, no, no, it’s not an inconvenience at all!” Tony cuts Valkyrie off. “I mean, I’m out of here at 5:00 sharp, and plus, I am the boss,” he says with his hand at the side of his mouth as if he were telling a secret. “I can go even earlier! Like, whatever, out of here…slaves.” He laughs. 

“Well, I guess that would be ok,” Valkyrie accepts unsurely. 

“Really?” Tony grins. “Well, awesome! 5:00 sharp, I will give you and your purses a ride home, sound good?” 

“Yeah, sounds great,” Valkyrie says as she leaves Tony’s office, grimacing slightly on her way out. 

***

“So did we get any mail?” Tony asks Wanda who sits across from him at his desk. 

“Yeah, I gave it to you,” she responds with a nod of her head. 

“Right, just checking. Just double checking,” Tony says. 

“So can I–” Wanda points to the door over her shoulder. 

“Oh, yeah,” Tony responds, letting her go. “Oh, wait, Wanda, one more thing,” he says as Wanda starts to get up out of her chair. 

Wanda pauses to hear his question. 

“How do girls your age feel about futons?” 

***

“A futon?” you ask Wanda who laughs as she leans against your desk. “Oh my god, he’s a grown man.” 

“That’s what he said,” she says, trying to stifle her laughter.

“That’s sad. That’s so sad,” you say, shaking your head and Wanda giggles. “Or it’s innovative. You know, the futon is a bed and couch all rolled into one.” You twirl your index fingers around each other to imitate a rolling motion. 

Unfortunately, your moment with the receptionist is soon interrupted as you look up to see Vision on his way to talk to Wanda. You sit up sharply, starting to type on your computer as you get back to work. 

“What’s up?” he greets her with his hands in his jacket pockets. 

“Hi,” she replies, keeping her eyes on the ground. 

“Are you still mad at me?” he asks wearily. 

“Vision…” she sighs. 

“Come on,” he says as he starts to tickle her abdomen. 

You bite the inside of your cheek.  

Wanda turns her upper body away slightly. “Cut it out,” she says. 

“Come on, are you mad at me?” he continues, starting to make Wanda jerk in various directions. 

“Stop it,” she responds, but giving in slightly as her voice becomes less stern. 

“Are you still mad at me?” he says in a loving voice. 

“Cut it out,” she replies, though a smile is beginning to appear on her face. 

“Are you mad at me now?” he teases, grinning as she starts to laugh fully. 

“Stop!” she says through her laughs. 

“Huh? Come on,” he continues, tickling her harder and making her giggle even more. “Come on, Wands,” he prompts playfully as she keeps laughing uncontrollably. 

“Stop, I can’t breathe!” Wanda musters out, still jerking around. 

You sigh as you get up from your chair, deciding it’s probably best to leave the couple alone. 

“I was just kidding! You know I didn’t mean it,” you hear him say with a smile. 

You put your hands in your pockets as Wanda continues to laugh with her fiance. 

***

You tap your foot anxiously on the floor, bored out of your mind since Wanda went out with Vision on her break. Swiveling around in your chair, you pause as you see Valkyrie on her own in the conference room. 

Maybe you should go and talk to her? 

You bite your lip slightly, deciding maybe it was time for you to make a new friend in the office. 

But no one could ever beat Wanda. 

Against your better judgement, you decide it might be fun to go and talk to her. Taking a deep breath, you stand up from your chair and head in her direction. 

You knock on the door, making Valkyrie look up at you. 

“Hi,” you say, entering the room with a smile. 

“Hi,” Valkyrie responds, matching your tone. 

“I’m Y/N, by the way,” you hold out your hand for her to shake. 

“I’m Valkyrie,” she nods, shaking your outstretched hand. 

“Hi, Valkyrie, nice to meet you,” you say in a friendly manner. 

“Yeah, you too. You sit out there don’t you?” Valkyrie points to your desk through the window. 

“Yes, I do. That’s what I’m best known for,” you joke slightly, making her let out a small laugh. “Alright, let’s talk about purses then.” You drum your fingers on the table in front of you. 

“Okay, um..” She starts to point at the purses on the table. 

“Oh, wait, Valkyrie, but you know what?” you interrupt, causing her to look up at you. “Don’t try to sell me one. Okay, seriously? ‘Cause I’m just here to learn,” you say earnestly before a small smirk breaks out on your face.

“Okay,” Valkyrie nods with a laugh. 

“So, I know about most of these, but..” 

***

“What’s up?” you ask Wanda who leans against your desk. 

“I’m bored,” Wanda responds, giving you a grin. 

“Thank you for choosing me,” you reply amusingly as she laughs. 

“No, I’m kidding,” Wanda says. “So, have you got any plans this weekend?” 

“Uh, well, I think I’m gonna see Valkyrie,” you respond, shrugging your shoulders. 

Wanda’s smile falters slightly. 

“Really?” she asks. 

“Yeah,” you confirm. 

“What are you guys gonna do?” 

“Oh, man, I don’t know,” you sigh. “Uh, dinner, drinks, movie, matching tattoos…” you say the last one with a cheeky smile. 

Wanda chuckles at your joke. 

“Well, that’s great,” she nods, unsure of what the uncomfortable feeling in her chest might be. 

“Yeah, big stuff,” you agree, swiveling around slightly in your chair and pausing for a moment. “What are you up to this weekend?” 

“Oh, um,” Wanda ponders a bit. “I think we’re gonna help Vis’ cousin move.” 

“Okay,” you nod. 

“‘Cause Vis has a truck,” she finishes. 

“That’s cool, that’s really cool, Wanda,” you tell her. 

“Uh-huh. Yes,” Wanda says, suddenly feeling very awkward. 

“But I’ll see you Monday, though, right?” you ask, drumming your fingers at your side. 

“Yeah, uh, you know what? I think I’m gonna head back now,” Wanda says as she stands up, pointing to her desk over her shoulder. 

“Oh, okay. No problem,” you respond with a small smile. 

Wanda nods, turning around and heading back to her workplace. 

Sitting back down, she sighs as she tries to decipher what the uneasy feeling within her might be. 

***

 “Good night, Y/N,” Tony says as he walks next to you and Valkyrie in the parking lot. 

“Good night Tony,” you reply, tossing your car keys up and down. 

“Where you headed?” he asks you. 

“I don’t know, probably grab a drink, I think,” you answer, pointing towards you and Valkyrie. 

“With us?” Tony inquires, stopping in his place as his brows furrow in confusion. 

“Oh shoot, I, um, I probably should have told you. But I don’t need a ride now ‘cause Y/N can take me home after,” Valkyrie tells Tony with an apologetic look.  

“Oh, okay, great,” Tony replies, but you can tell that he feels a bit dejected. 

“Yeah, um, I’m sorry, Tony,” you apologize. 

“No, no worries.” He shakes his head. “Hope you have fun, you two,” he says trying to hide his disappointment. 

Tony starts to turn away, and you frown as you watch his dejected posture. 

“Have a good night, Tony!” you call out, checking to make sure he’s ok. 

“Yeah, you too!” he calls back, though you hear a hint of frustration in his voice.  

“Do you think he’ll be alright?” Valkyrie asks at your side. 

“Yeah, I hope so. If he’s still sad by Monday, I’ll bake him some cupcakes or something,” you respond, grabbing her bags and nodding your head in the direction of your car. 

You start to lead the two of you to your vehicle. “Wow, a baker, huh?” Valkyrie inquires with a smile as she follows your step. 

“Well, I got a lot of free time on my hands,” you respond, opening up your trunk and placing her bags in after moving a couple of your things. 

You don’t notice Vision’s car pull up behind you with Wanda in the passenger seat, immediately sitting up straight as she watches you curiously through the window. 

“All right, I’m gonna warn you. Don’t freak out, okay?” you say to the girl next to you as you shut the trunk. 

“Why?” Valkyrie inquires with a tilt of her head. 

“Well, this is a really nice car,” you say as you walk backward, leading Valkyrie toward the passenger side of your sedan. “In case you haven’t noticed, this is a Corolla, okay?” 

“It’s a very nice car,” Valkyrie compliments with a small laugh. 

Wanda’s sure she wants to slap Valkyrie across the face. 

“So you’re not gonna freak out?” you ask, opening the door for Valkyrie to enter. 

Valkyrie shakes her head with a smile as she sits down in your red vehicle. 

Vision starts to drive away, and Wanda continues to watch the two of you until you disappear from her sight. 

part 7

[torueater]

rush hr ⭑.ᐟ

⋆ ꩜ ⋆ pairing: coworker husband!nanami x reader

wc: 1210+ ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

a/n: attempt at a ficlet/drabble whatever 🙌 first spark of non angst inspo in a week, i love husband nanami i'm gonna scream

Your bed somehow always feels warmer on the days where you actually have important things to do, it’s almost infuriating.

The first thing you register on rising out of hours of unconsciousness is warmth and the weight of corded muscles against your frame without much separation. You’d somehow gotten tangled up with your husband again in your sleep despite him running far hotter than you do – great.

Against your current wishes to sink back into sweet slumber, you crack an eye open, head tilting to glance back at a half dressed Nanami. Already in his dress pants and undershirt (cheater). Thick arms remain banded around your waist under the covers, fingers rubbing the lightest circles into your stomach. He’s clearly not in much of a rush to move, chin propped up on your head watching the food channel. Which is funny, considering you both should’ve been up fifteen minutes ago.

“Kento,” you murmur, voice still thick with sleep. “What time is it?”

"Eight thirty," he says, without looking down, hands sweeping lightly up and down your midsection in soothing motions, “We’ll be late if you don’t get up now.”

And his tone is so casual, as though you don’t have to be at work for 9:10 at the latest inclusive of the 10 minute grace period.

You groan and try to bury yourself back into the pillow, tugging the covers closer to your body, “Five more minutes.”

“See, I’d allow it if this wasn’t the second time you’ve asked for an extra five minutes in the last half hour.”

You breath out a low groan, rolling to face him properly, “Mm..” In your defense, he tucks you closer like you’re meant to be there almost immediately, how are you supposed to want to leave bed when he’s doing all of that? “I meant fifteen more minutes the last time. I may have misspoken.”

He hums as though he understands where you’re coming from, fingers playing in your hair and massaging your scalp, thumbs circling over your temples with the lightest pressure. It’s dangerously easy to stay like this.

He barely looks away from his little cooking show too, seemingly allowing this extra five minutes as though the two of you aren’t meant to be getting ready now. The sheets shift as he dips to press a kiss to the side of your head, warmth lost as he slides away from you and out of bed. “5 more minutes. Then I’m waking you up.” You hum your acceptance, already half asleep and waving him off, curling into the warm spot he’d left.

                                                       ⊹.✮₊⋆                                                          

“C’mon, Nanami. Time to get up.” It feels like a only 2 minutes have passed when Kento’s back bugging you, large hands sliding under where you’re rolled in the covers to hoist you up like a burrito, ivory sheets still around your frame. “Kento..” You groan, cracking an eye at him, brows knitted at the center. “Why are you kidnapping me? Hasn’t even five minutes yet.”

“Wrong, it’s been six. I made you coffee.” You hum, eyes still shut, turning your face into shirt covered shoulder. The sheet falls a little loose on your frame when he sets you down on the barstool up against the counter, free hand sliding a steaming cup in your direction. “You looked too pretty sleeping, I gave you an extra minute out of the goodness of my heart.”

“Mm, thank you husband. Ever the generous being.” You take a long sip out of the steaming cup – 2 sugars and a splash of creamer like you always take it. You glance over to the clock fixed on the wall just as it changes to 8:39 “Shit. I should’ve gotten out of bed the first time.”

He laughs that time, low and rich, the kind that crinkles the corners of his eyes. “I thought this would happen, so I set out your clothes last night. Lunch is already packed.”

You glance up at him over the rim of the mug as you take another long sip, heart stupidly full. Of course he’d go and prep your outfit and lunch for you, it’s so like him. “You’re just the sweetest, aren’t you? I could marry you right now.”

He’s already shrugging his blazer on, leaning down to your height to drop yet another kiss on you – right at the top of your head this time, “Already did. Your suit’s over the chair in the bedroom, lunch is in the fridge. Go get ready.”

                                                       ⊹.✮₊⋆                                                          

The next ten minutes feel like the shortest ten minutes of your life – you’d showered in the early morning after rolling about in the sheets with him, so you don’t feel too icky taking a shorter shower. Your hair isn’t much to deal with, pulling off the layer of silk keeping it protected, merely needing to fix some stray strands. Brushing your teeth so you don’t have bad breath? Check. Makeup? Check, even if it’s a bit rushed. Not having to pick out an outfit makes things so much easier, slipping into your suit suspiciously close in colour to Nanami’s. You barely have time to question it, already being walked out the door with a hand low on your back and both your lunch bags in your hold.

By some miracle (aka, Nanami going just a little above the speed limit) you both make it to the office with three minutes to spare.  

He’s already expected for a meeting at the beginning of the workday, the elevator ride being the last you’d see of him for a bit you guess. His hands straighten out your collars and lapels like he can’t help it on the way up, brushing your hair out of your face.

You’d barely gone your separate ways before you’re pulling your phone out to shoot him a text.

[you]

9:02 am

Dearest husband, did you match our outfits on purpose?

[kento kento 🥸]

9:03 am

Did I?

I labeled the bowls in the kit. Hopefully the interns don’t steal it this time.

As if labels would stop someone’s will to steal. The effort is appreciated though.

[you]

9:03 am

How scandalous. What will the workers think of the VP matching with his worker?

[kento kento 🥸]

9:04 am

Sweetheart, I doubt they'll notice. They’re technically two different shades of blue, yours is lighter.

Also, I don’t really care. You’re my wife.

So much for no flirting at work. You don't even hide your grinning and internal swooning all the way to your desk from the message alone.

[saturntosatoru]

a not-so-cute meet cute || nanami kento x corporate slave!reader

summary: Nanami Kento just wanted a coffee break. God forbid capitalism gives him a break; your company refuses to pay for elevator maintenance and upkeep, and he has to deal with the consequences. Good thing misery loves company!

warnings: f!reader, elevators

a/n: finished my degrees 30 minutes ago and am now trying to romanticize the 9-5 suffering i'll be subjected to daily. also, i know the summaries have sucked Ass lately but believe me when i say i sometimes spend more time on them than the piece 😭

masterlist

Nanami Kento throws his head back in exhaustion, pushing his hair up and out of his face. Another day, another passive aggressive email exchange—this time with a random girl from the Risk Analysis department.

(It’s the first time he’s hearing about this branch, so can anyone blame him for marking the first four emails you sent as phishing attempts? He paid attention during the HR trainings; he knows how to recognize the signs. Plus, you sign your emails off with a Microsoft Teams smiley face.)

That said, if he’s forced use corporate jargon in one more email when he’d rather say “I have a finance degree and have been on this case for six months. Give me your credentials and then fuck off”, he might lose his mind.

Sweeping his blazer from the back of his chair, he takes off to the elevator, hoping to get some coffee from the complimentary café downstairs. One of the perks of selling your soul to capitalism, he supposes.

The elevators are blissfully empty until the 6th floor, where Nanami notes a smaller, worse-for-wear figure enter the elevator. You slump against the wall, weary eyes flickering over Nanami’s figure.

“Rough day, huh?” You note, obviously a victim of small-talk culture.

His crossed arms must not be indication enough that he doesn’t want to talk. He resorts to his best ‘fed-up voice’. (At least, that’s what Nanami’s deskmate, Tanaka, calls the tone whenever Nanami employs it on the phone.) “Could be better. Could be worse.”

Floor 5.

Silence.

Floor 4.

A high-pitched whining—the squeal of metal scrapping metal—and the elevator lurches to a stop.

Fantastic. And Nanami was so close to clocking out. Now he’s stuck in an elevator with Little Miss Sunshine.

Oh, and you’ve begun running your mouth.

“Oh, shoot. Was that the elevator?” Your hands fiddle with your left sleeve, wide doe eyes looking at the screen as if willing the elevator to fix itself.

The elevator does not move. Nanami thinks that’s answer enough to your question. He does pull his phone out to call for help, only to see an SOS instead of signal.

Yeah, no shit. SOS, indeed.

Nanami sighs, eyes scanning around for other options. The elevator doesn’t have an emergency phone—both a safety violation and a way for the company to save money—so the only option is to wait for someone to notice the stalled elevator and call for repairs.

You do not seem to be processing information at the rate Nanami is. You are still staring at the display.

“We’ll have to wait for someone to call the repairman and fire brigade,” he says, hoping to speed up the stages of grief you’re going through.

You turn to him, same panicked expression as before, but now with furrowed brows. (Puppy dog eyes, Nanami thinks to himself in the back of his mind.) “Are you sure? Can’t we pry the door open or something? Call for help?”

“There’s no service, and I don’t care enough about this job to fix the elevator myself.”

“But this is the fourth floor!!” You wail, dropping to the floor in anguish. “We’re going to die! I knew it! I don’t even have a life insurance plan! I don’t even have a legacyyyyy...”

The rest of your breakdown is muffled by your hands, punctuated with a short scream. Nanami watches you take a deep breath, push your hair away from your face, and get comfortable squatting on the floor.

You look up at him. (Nanami decides he has a personal hatred for your eyes. They’re gooey and warm, and they make you look oh so gorgeous under these godawful LED lights.) “Well, aren’t you going to take a seat?” You pat the spot next to you. “If we’re gonna be here for a while, we may as well get comfortable.”

Nanami squints at the spot as if it personally affronted him. He does, however, compromise and lean against the wall.

A beat. Two. Nanami starts counting the seconds in his head. He makes it to 31 before you break. “So,” you start again. “Nice weather today, huh?”

“I wouldn’t know.” A startled noise on your end that you try to disguise as a cough. It doesn’t work, so Nanami continues. “Been busy. End of the quarter is soon.”

Those 11 words are enough for you to latch onto, and Nanami observes how your posture lights up—back straightening and lips curling (and fuck are they pretty, too. Is everything about you slightly breathtaking? Maybe each feature apart could be weird, but altogether, the completed picture is mesmerizing. Maybe it’s these sent-from-Hell LED lights playing tricks on his mind.)—as you finally have tinder to strike up a conversation.

“Tell me about it!” You throw your head back, wincing as you ding it against the metal wall. “I would kill for some sun and fresh air. I thought I could treat myself to some outdoor time, but I guess life had other plans.”

A chuckle forces itself (much against his will, he’d like to note) from his throat, and the glee on your face makes the minor humiliation of finding you entertaining worth it. “Ambitious. And here I thought a coffee break was living on the edge.”

Your head rolls to the side to meet his gaze, lips curling at their edges. “A coffee break? Kettle meet pot; that’s a bit bold, too, if you ask me. Though, getting trapped in an elevator at work? This is everything I dreamt of as a child and more, all wrapped up in endless meetings and bureaucratic red tape.” Sarcasm drips from each word, but they hit a little too close to home for Nanami.

“Is that so? And what did you dream of as a child?”

You pause, visibly taken aback that the stranger before you took your lighthearted quips seriously. “Oh,” a gentle smile softens your face, eyes nostalgic and dreamy as they trace the tile lines on the floor. They snap up to meet Nanami’s when you exclaim, “I wanted to be a pilot! I dreamt of traveling and see the world.” A beat. Two. Not as awkward this time. “What did you want to be?”

Nanami thinks of gruesome curses, screams during missions gone wrong, friends walking away or dying, but never leaving peacefully. Nanami thinks to his earliest memories; was there ever a moment without a nightmare-shaped curse hovering around the edges?

“I’m not sure,” he fibs, knowing fully well he only dreamt of a life of peace. “But I think I wanted a normal life. I would see superheroes on tv—” Gojo slaving day in and day out in a thankless job, Geto changing irreversibly and never finding peace before leaving, Haibara. “—and all I could think of was how exhausting it was. I think I just wanted to make the world easier to live in.”

Your eyebrows are raised, dissecting his answer. “Wow…what a…profound…kindergartener you must’ve been.”

“My parents were called into many parent-teacher meetings.”

Your laugh is bright, unrestrained, and Kento feels a lick of satisfaction weaving through his chest.

“Oh, I would’ve paid to be a fly on the wall for those.” A giggle, two. “I used to work as a kiddie tutor during high school—we had so many conferences, but I don’t think we ever had a conversation like that!”

“Mm, their suggestion to my parents was to monitor the content I was exposed to. My parents only allowed cartoons until I reached puberty.” Really, it was until the curse conversation (which was followed by the birds-and-the-bees conversation), but you don’t need to know that. Not when your liberal smiles reward Nanami so easily.

“Really? That was it?” Your arms are crossed on top of your knees, content with just listening to him. “For the sake of science, I must know: did that actually help?” You’ve got a hand fisted, pointed in his general direction like a microphone.

(When was the last time someone looked at him like that?)

“Well, they did the same for my younger sister—” It’s been weeks since Nanami reached out. He should call her. “—and she turned out perfect—” No cursed technique powerful enough for her to contribute to the jujutsu world. A window, at worst. Normal, at best. “—my parents were quite pleased with the outcome.”

Again, your laugh echoes through the elevator. “Okay, I’ll keep that in mind for the future: Spongebob keeps kids on the straight and narrow of—”

 You cut yourself off with a sharp yelp as the elevator starts creaking downwards. You bolt up, suddenly remember the situation you were in.

“Holy shit, is this it? Are we going to die?”

“No, I think they’ve got the system working again.” A quick glance at his watch reveals it’s only been about 10 minutes. “Good timing on their part, though. I can still go home like normal.”

“Oh, perfect! I don’t think I can stand another minute in here—not ‘here’ as in with you! I just mean here as in this building.” Your hands start flapping in a damage control attempt.

Nanami laughs, deep and rich stemming from his chest. It feels good. It’s been a long time since he’s laughed, huh? “Don’t worry, I understand what you mean.”

The elevator is moving at a snail’s pace, but you both sense your confinement is coming to a close. “Well, I don’t think I ever got your name, coworker.”

Nanami reaches out a hand. “Nanami Kento. Finance.”

You, however, don’t shake his hand, brows furrowed as if you didn’t quite him hear correctly. “Sorry, Nanami Kento? From the finance department?” Your voice gets louder, a controlled edge creeping in. “You wouldn’t happen to sign your emails with ‘N.K.’ would you?”

He lifts an eyebrow, intrigued at where this might be going. “Yes, I do. Do we know each other?”

You’ve taken his agreement as permission to continue, again. “So you’re the asshole who keeps ignoring my emails and then tells me to recheck basic formulas I’ve known since high school?”

Oh no.

Taking his silence as an answer, you spit out, “Yeah, I’m Y/n. From the Risk Analysis department.”

A beat. Two.

“Oh, that’s unfortunate.”

“But now that I have you here: my formulas aren’t wrong! You need to check your spreadsheets, because my code has been vetted by at least two different levels of management.”

The doors slide open, granting Nanami freedom. He looks at you, mid-tirade and too passionate past 5 PM. “Well, that’s my cue.”

He walks out. (A solution HR would approve of, according to their trainings.)

notes:

You and Nanami are heading in the same direction, so while he’d planned a suave exit in his brain, in reality it’s you chasing him for two minutes before his abnormally long legs finally give him the lead. You send him eight emails the next day, all of which get marked as spam the moment they hit his inbox.

Both of you lied out of your asses in the elevator. While you may not be a sorcerer, you had wanted to be a pilot because you thought curses were a Japan-exclusive problem. Unfortunately, you did not pay enough attention in class growing up to get the grades for a full-ride university scholarship abroad.

You start panicking when the elevator stops on the fourth floor because 4 sounds like the word for death. (You really should stop binge-watching horror movies at night, but it’s better than soppy romcoms that remind you of how single you are.)

© 2025 saturntosatoru on Tumblr, all rights reserved

[aidaita]

Oreo’s urgent Vet Bill

Hi everyone, this is the proper post I promised a few days ago and I apologize for the delay, the last 2-3 days was stressful but I’m emotionally stable to type everything down.

I’ve made an update post on my Ko-fi a few days ago if you haven’t seen it.

To start off, Oreo is my male cat son I’ve take care of for the past 9 years since that fateful day I encountered him 8 years ago. At the time, I was in a dark place mentally as I was heavily depressed from losing a dear friend and in an effort to cheer up, I went outside for a walk with a close friend to the canal two streets down from where I live, and that was where I saw a pair of eyes staring at me. A month old kitten I named Oreo and from that day, Oreo has brightened my world and I’ve taken him in as my precious fur baby ever since. My family unfortunately lost our other cat, Blueberry, last year to cancer for the medicine and treatments weren’t enough to ease her suffering from the cancer, so when Oreo’s second blockage on the evening of February 28, 2025 occurred, I was absolutely terrified.

That night, I skipped dinner, I stayed up half the night watching over Oreo and had a fitful sleep of a few hours, waking up in between the few hours to the noises Oreo was making from the blockage. And so on March 1, I went directly to an animal hospital I normally go to for his check ups, exams, previous surgery he had, but unfortunately they had to turn me away for being fully booked, so I was forced to go to another vet clinic that accepts emergency visits and that’s where I ended up in VCA Knowles Snapper Creek pet hospital and the very expensive vet bill.

The initial estimate is the one I originally posted on my other post which I’ll upload here for 48 hours observation.

I was also given an estimation for 24 hr observation but in both estimations, it was super expensive and I work at a $13 part time retail work shift and I could not afford it whatsoever. The last surgeries were paid for by my mom but this time she could not pay for this, and she has other health-related financial payments to recuperate financially and that was when I begun to get very stressed and panic. It was made worse and broke me into an emotional panic when my mother suggested that we may have to put him to sleep as we cannot keep paying $3k every time he gets a blockage.

My heart sank, I was not ready to let Oreo go yet. I became so distraught.

What can I do to save Oreo?

I’ve been frantically looking online what to do, looking into pet insurance, frequently asking for payments plans, asking what they can do to reduce the prices, etc. all while I’m on a time limit as I had a work shift in the next 2-3 hours and with this emergency situation, I absolutely needed every hour I can get. It was the most horrible position to be in the middle of.

Oreo could not qualify for pet insurance because it does not cover for pre-existing conditions/treatments (this is his second blockage), the pet hospital (both the first I went to and the second) do not have payment plans, every new estimations they gave me in an effort to help me and Oreo came with high risks such as one that is the bare minimum (just unblocking Oreo) but there’s a big possibility he could be blocked later that day or the next day.

Secondly, Oreo has already been on a treatment plan with his strict diet of prescription Urinary Care food with Science Hill’s ever since his first blockage sometime last year (or 2? I’m not sure, I don’t have the papers from the first one as my mom took him to the vet that time). And the doctors told me that it seems despite the strict diet he has been in, he still got the blockage from built-up sediments. On top of that, in the last vet visit on January 25, 2025 with the first pet hospital, Oreo has IVDD, or at least the beginning of it that the doctors told at the time said “it’s not a big deal right now,” so it will be a problem to look out for as he’s still young.

My mother’s comment of possibly putting him to sleep loomed over my head over all this…

And that was when I decided I can’t do this alone, I’m not ready to let Oreo go yet, not like this, not so soon. So for the first time, I’ve come to you all on the internet for help.

Due to the time constraints, I have no choice but to open a credit line with CareCredit just for this bill for Oreo but the fact he could get blocked again, issues with IVDD possibly rearing its head more urgently so soon, and with this massive bill to pay with my $13 part time retail shift, I knew that if another emergency or urgent vet visit occurs, I will have no choice but to put him to sleep.

That is why I’ve come to you all for help with the emergency vet bill on March 1, 2025 and… my goodness, within 24 hours, we have reached a little more than 1/3 of the $4000 goal (41% reached as I post this) and I could not be anymore thankful and grateful for all of you kindness and generosity to save my baby in this difficult time.

Yesterday I got to visit Oreo, he’s unblocked and appears to be urinating fine, recovering seems to be going well although he does have UTI so there’s a bit of blood in his urine (doctors reassured me that the UTI and blockage are not linked) so he’s getting treatments for that as well.

Today, Oreo will be discharged later in the afternoon or evening so he’ll be coming home soon.

The bill is still stressful but with all of you kind words, encouragement, generosity, and advice, it doesn’t feel as heavy as before. It is still a lot left to pay off so if you can, please donate to my Ko-Fi here so I can focus solely on strictly ensuring Oreo stays with me much longer such as wet food, running water fountain, new litter box, etc.

All donations received will be used solely for the bill and any additional expenses that may come up in the last few hours as I type.

And to everyone who donated so far, thank you… Truly, thank you. The tears I’ve shed the past 2 days were of stress and huge relief.

I will keep posting updates as they happen.