#the rendering is impeccable

[dollyyun]

CALL IT WHAT YOU WANT ✧ P.JS [ TEASER ]

PAIRING ✧ sugar daddy!jay x fem reader GENRE ✧ 18+(mdni), adulthood, 12 years age gap (reader is 22, jay is 34), ceo!jay, strangers to lovers, fluffs, soft love kinda, he falls first and falls harder, jay is a huge simp WARNING ✧ slow burn-ish, some dramas, slight misunderstanding and miscommunication, mild angst, explicit themes, 2 smut scenes (smut warnings will be indicated under cut) TEASER WORDCOUNT ✧ 2.4K CURRENT WORDCOUNT ✧ 15K (est 42k)

SYNOPSIS ✧ jay park is famously known for excelling in anything he does, except his mundane love life — it's practically nonexistent. maybe it's the pressure that constantly presses down on him due to being surrounded by his peers who are either engaged or married, but he no longer desires to retain his solitude, yearning to find someone with the intention to settle down. that is when he finally meets you — the perfect woman just for him, and perhaps the one that his heart and soul have been searching for in a long time. but the only issue is that you only see him as your sugar daddy, or so he thought.

FULL FIC HERE

JAY: I’m on my way to your place, doll. Can’t wait to see you :)

That was forty minutes ago, but you’ve been anxiously checking his message every so often, your nerves going erratic to the point where your empty stomach churns unpleasantly that you feel the urge to throw up. You have never felt this extremely nervous before, not even for your finals back in college.

You can still feel the weight of exhaustion in your eyelids that threaten to close, but the thought of Jay ringing your doorbell keeps you conscious. You couldn’t sleep well last night, tossing and turning on your bed, and you knew that it was either the excitement or the nervousness of finally meeting your sugar daddy that prevented you from getting a good night's sleep.

Plus, you had to get up four hours early to do some light chores in order to make your apartment look neat and to make yourself look as impeccable as your skin that is devoid of any unnecessary hair since the dress that you’re currently wearing displays more skin than you intended. You didn’t put in much effort in your makeup, just the perfect volume to enhance your features.

You let out a quiet groan at the realisation of the effort you put in just for a man, an older man at that, which is also utterly ridiculous, because it’s as if you are keen on impressing your sugar daddy, and this is not even a date, or is it?

The doorbell chiming throughout the apartment startles you, prompting you to abandon the couch as you pad across the living room to get to the main door. You don’t bother to check through the peephole, your hand immediately latching on the door handle, albeit your nervousness remains unabating.

Before you can spiral further, your hand has a mind of its own, because the next thing you know, you are greeted by a very handsome man whose stature towers over your figure in an imposing manner, and he’s the very same man who is also your sugar daddy.

You can barely check him out when his dark eyes compel yours, your breath hitching in your throat at the sharp intensity in his dark irises that intimidates you, but in a good way that has your heart beating rapidly. You take the opportunity of the awkward silence to trace every feature of his face with your keen eyes — how strikingly handsome he is with his chiselled forehead and jaw, his flawless nose that evokes envy within you, his dark eyebrows that look naturally refined, and his lips in mutated pink. His jet-black hair is styled impeccably in a slick back, enhancing his striking face. Oh, he’s absolutely the most gorgeous man ever.

Little do you know that while you are in a state of intimidation due to his potent yet irresistible aura that feels overwhelming, Jay feels just the same, his tongue completely tied the moment you opened the door. It is as though he’s seeing an angel, rendering him starstruck. Those pictures of you that he spent almost the entire night admiring did not do you justice, because you look radiantly beautiful up close that even the beautiful constellations in the starry sky pale in comparison.

His eyes roam around you shamelessly, his throat feeling parched while his mind is storming with such dangerous thoughts he has been trying to keep them at bay. You look sweet yet alluring at the same time as you are adorned in a blue floral printed dress that reaches above your knees, revealing the perfect curves of your legs, and the subtle low cut displays your dainty neckline that is bare of any jewellery, to which he makes a mental note to buy you one. He fights off the strong urge to ogle at your defined cleavage and how noticeably succulent the curves of your upper mounds are.

When his eyes return to your face, you are already staring at him with a small smile, your shyness nearly has his knees buckling underneath him. He simply can’t believe that you’re real. Oh, what a wonderful privilege to be able to see you up close.

“Hi.” Jay greets you breathlessly, but you are more surprised at how soft-spoken he is, such a contrast to his unyielding facade that intimidated you earlier.

“Hi.” You reciprocate softly, and it is enough to shoot a Cupid’s arrow to his beating heart. Your voice sounds velvety, a mellow that soothes him.

Jay takes another look at you, blinking his eyes as though you are unreal. “W-Wow. You look—“ He pauses, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallows a nervous lump in his throat. He softens with an awkward smile that completely charms you. “You look really beautiful.”

“Thank you.” You can’t believe how shy you are right now compared to the yapper you were last night when you texted him for nearly two hours. You take another look at him, feeling a strange flutter in your heart as you admire how he looks delectable in a button-down navy-coloured blouse that displays a teasing peek of his toned chest while his gold necklace complements his metal studs on his earlobes. “And you look really handsome.”

Jay is about to combust right here and now at your compliment that he has heard countless times from the ladies that pinned his attention back then, even more so when you beam at him with a slightly wider smile now. The weight in his hand immediately reminds him of what he intended to do after you opened the door before your beauty distracted him.

“This is for you.” Jay extends his hand to you, prompting you to look down at a small bouquet of flowers in his grasp, but you can see the hesitation in the way his hand slowly retracts from you. “Unless you have allergies to flowers, which is totally fine. I can keep it—“

“I don’t have any, so don’t worry.” You reassure him, and without thinking twice, your hand quickly reaches out to accept his sweet gesture, only to feel a faint electricity when your fingers brush against his before you finally grab the bouquet from him. Your heart swells with something unfamiliar as you look at the flowers before meeting his kind gaze. “Thank you for these. It’s the first that someone has ever given me flowers on a first meeting.”

You almost wanted to utter the word ‘date’ because this is certainly not a date but more like a formal meeting with your sugar daddy as part of the first transaction. You mentally berate yourself for hoping for something that you were initially against and the fact that you only intend to regard him as your sugar daddy. 

Jay’s bashful shell cracks when he adorns a smirk on his handsome face that has you swooning on the inside. “You can call me old-fashioned.”

“I love old-fashioned.” You decide to play along as you notice the spark of mischief in his eyes, but really, you do love yourself some old-fashioned.

“Are you ready to go?” Jay asks coolly, hoping that he doesn’t sound too eager as to how impatiently desperate he really is to spend the day with you.

“Yes. Just give me a sec.” You tell him while making your way to the shoe compartment, where you also place the bouquet on the counter, before grabbing your ankle-strapped heels.

As you return to him, you busily place your feet onto the heels before attempting to secure the strap around your ankles, only to be surprised when Jay gets down on one knee in front of you, rendering you flabbergasted. “Please. Allow me.” He insists without looking up at you, putting his hands into the task.

“It’s okay! I can do it myself—“ But your protest goes unheard as he secures the straps for you with such gentleness that it sends the weird flutter to your heart again, while the way his fingers brush against your skin feels electrifying.

Your eyes never leave him even after he’s done, his figure towering over yours again despite the heels that elevate your height. “Shall we?” Jay asks with a smile, to which you nod your head at before stepping outside of the threshold and locking the door.

The two of you proceed to make your way to the elevator, silence wrapping around you once more, but only less awkwardly. You chew your bottom lip out of habit, wanting to say something to dispel this awkwardness, but the heat of his body close next to you sends your head into a frenzy.

“Do you live alone?” Jay breaks the ice, and you silently thank him because you were slowly going insane. As soon as he presses the button, the elevator chimes open, and he gestures to you to enter first before he follows suit.

“Sort of.” You answer unsurely, earning a look of intrigue from him. You decide to explain shortly. “I live with my best friend, but ever since she got into a relationship, she’s rarely ever at our shared apartment, not that I minded. She can be quite a headache.”

His lips twitch into a smile, almost as if he’s being fond of something. “My best friend’s the same too.” He chuckles lightly, but they sound heavenly in your ears. “What about family? Any siblings?”

“And here I thought it was my turn to ask you a question.” You say cheekily, your lips stretching a little wider as you feel inclined to be frivolous towards him after the lingering awkwardness dissipates into thin air.

His eyes narrow at you in a playful suspicion, followed by a broad smirk on his lips. “You’re a cheeky doll, aren’t you?”

“It’s only fair that I ask you a question after you asked me one.” You say in an airily manner, ignoring how his handsome smirk has your mind in a frenzy once more. “But to answer your question, I’m an only child. My parents are divorced, so I’m kinda my own now. Always have.”

Being a natural observant that comes with an ability to heed the tone of voice, even the subtlest intonation, Jay recognises the underlying resentment in the neutrality of your voice and how he catches a fleeting sentiment he knows all too well in your eye, but the radiant smile on your face immediately overshadows any traces of somberness, albeit he is quick to grasp that family must be a sensitive topic for you. 

“It seems that we have a lot more in common than I thought. I’m an only child too.” Jay says lightly in an attempt to dispel any sour feelings within you. He opens his mouth to say something, but the elevator chimes open, revealing the view of the basement parking lot. He allows you to step out first before he follows suit, guiding you to his car. “So what’s the next question you have for me?”

“What made you become interested in me? You could’ve chosen other sugar babies.” You ask with genuine curiosity. The question has been lingering in the back of your mind all night. As he looks at you with an eyebrow raised, you try to search for something in his eyes, any falsehood or that he’s actually a bad guy with ill intentions, but all you see is the pure kindness that reflects the window of his soul.

“I just had a good feeling about you.” He answers with utmost sincerity, his eyes softening before giving you his signature smirk. “Besides, there was no way I would ever pass up a woman as gorgeous as you.”

A part of you feels so tempted to wipe away that handsome smirk off his face with a kiss, but you immediately ward off any inappropriate thought, diverting your attention to the sleek black Mercedes-Benz, his car.

Jay, being the gentleman he is, opens the passenger door for you, to which you shyly thank him before you carefully settle inside. Not too long later, Jay is right next to you, operating the functions of the vehicle that is wheeling towards where the main road is at.

The silence is accompanied by the music emanating from the radio on the dashboard, but it still isn’t enough to allay the newfound tension settling in your bones. You even distract yourself by discreetly examining the impeccable condition of the car that comes with a pleasant lavender smell before you notice the small bottle of fragrance diffuser that hangs in the air from behind the rearview mirror.

Something different flutters within you, how oddly intensifying it is, but one thing is for sure — you find Jay dangerously more attractive than the first time you felt.

You cave into the temptation to take a glance at him, only to nearly gawk at his strong yet flawless side profile, how his angular jawline looks defined up close. His face displays such cool impassivity, exuding an air of confidence compared to your meekness. Your eyes fall to his veiny hands before they travel lower; his sleeves had been pulled to his elbows, allowing the sultry veins that protrude in his arms and revealing a golden Rolex that latched around his wrist. You quickly look away, feeling the gradual heat building up in your body.

You swear that older men are not your type, but Jay may be the first to change that.

“Are you okay?” Jay asks, his soft voice startling you. The way he’s hot, a stickler for cleanliness, and soft-spoken? You must have done something incredibly honourable in your past life.

“Nervous, actually.” You tell him honestly, daring yourself to look at him as he briefly takes a glance at you before refocusing on the road. Though you still feel diffident, something about him compels you to confide your worries in him. “I just don’t want to mess things up on our first meeting.”

Jay cracks into a humorous smile. “Funny, because I had the same thought earlier.” Oh, he really did, worrying incessantly all morning that he might have fucked up by coming off too desperate for your attention.

“Is this a date?” You accidentally blurt out the question you intended to expel, but a part of you genuinely keen that this is actually a date and not just a formal transactional meeting between a sugar daddy and his sugar baby.

As the traffic light turns red, the car comes to a stop. Jay directs his full attention to you, a gentle smile touching his lips. “You can call it whatever you want, doll.”

You hold his gaze for a little longer, unable to fathom the inscrutable emotions behind the window of his eyes despite the unwavering kindness. You find yourself lifting a smile that mirrors his. “A date it is.”

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[rockingbytheseaside]

Hii!! I love your writing sm like you’re literally my go to blog when I get bored and I end up rereading your fics 😋. Not sure if you have rules or anything so idk what I can and can’t request (IF YOU DO AND THIS ISN’T IN LINE WITH IT I’M SO SORRY.. 😭).

Could I request the harbingers crushing on reader? Like I can imagine them being slightly more lenient with reader which confuses most of the soldiers. Again feel free to ignore this 💗‼️‼️

(giggling and kicking my feet rn, this is the type of partially-satirical fluff I headcanon. Hope you like it)

✦ When they secretly have a crush on you

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Childe

✧ The ever-cold and impeccable Pierro – a mystery that even his associates and top harbingers cannot decipher. Not many can be considered as his close confidants, so none is certain of his personal life and preferences. A cold, stern man like The Jester probably doesn’t waste a glance on frivolous affairs or pleasantries. Even if many high-status people tried to approach him - aristocrats, business partners, or noble ladies; his cold gaze shuts off any initiation for close relations. No, he sees their greed for power too clearly to be swayed.

Yet Pierro harbors a deep secret. He does fancy a type… and that type is you.

It’s not simply your physical attributes or style, his ‘type’ is literally everything you embody. The shape of your jawline when you lower your face, the delicate shadow your eyelashes cast on your cheeks, how your chest moves when you take a deep sigh. From the minor and inconsequential attributes, he memorized it to his heart until the only thing his gaze is seeking is you across the room. He was always silently enamored, his eyes watching you with reverence. However, he is a mastermind, first and foremost. Concealing his inner sonnets for his love for you came naturally just as he conceals half of his face with a Khaenri’ahn mask.

You, on the other hand, were oblivious. Nervous, even. Facing off the most powerful man, cursed with immortality just as you all those centuries felt intimidating, especially when you couldn’t grasp why his gaze kept lingering so melancholically.

“It is… good to see you again, Pierro,” – that was your initial words when the two of you spoke formally. In truth, your mind was filled with wistful thoughts: he probably settled down with someone after 500 years of immortality.

In the meantime, Pierro’s mind was at comical odds with his cold exterior as he thought: Hmmm… Yes, I’ve already decided on the name of our potential third child.

But of course, he didn’t say that, even if he looked slightly mesmerized. Instead, he just settled with a polite: “A pleasure, indeed”. It's only a matter of time before he accidentally slips and calls you his spouse in front of people.

✧ Il Capitano was avoiding you like the plague, and you couldn't fathom why. Whenever you crossed paths, his oppressive silence would intimidate you further. He would linger behind you, a looming presence so quiet that at times, you’d forget he was even there. Alas, when you finally muster up the courage to approach him directly, he'd respond with the briefest of words, avoiding any attempts of chatter.

It infuriated you. So much so that you started wondering if perhaps you did something wrong. He sparred with you countless times, the taste of a battlefield is nothing foreign when he trained alongside you. You felt like a stranger. Why he was so eerily silent was beyond your comprehension, and alas, his pitch-black expression did not portray any facial clues on what he was thinking.

The truth of the matter is that Capitano has mastered the art of keeping his head impassively still. With a helmet on his face and lack of visage, no one sees his gaze ogling your form whenever you train. Your movements mesmerize him during battles, your legs swift and your stance is powerful. Of course, he would be silent when he is staring directly at your beauty in action. You rendered him speechless, and now the Harbinger is diverting himself by discreetly peeking at you. Thank the archons for his helmet hiding his gaze.

But the Captain scolds himself. No, he mustn’t! It is improper of him to even lay his eyes upon a being so diligent and strong as you, he must respect-… Nope, his head is automatically turning towards you anyway. Lost in his silent battle of self-reprimand, he didn’t notice you suddenly approaching:

“Captain, we need to talk. What is the reason for your cold shoulder towards me? If I have done something improper you must tell me… You always avoid me, even when we’re supposed to cooperate.”

The same characteristic silence followed him, however, seeing you cornering him so sternly, even the Harbinger had to drop his resolve.

“...You must forgive me. Your beauty had overwhelmed me to such an extent that I felt ashamed to admit how you rendered me speechless to approach you.”

✧ A long time ago, before Il Dottore bore the title of a Harbinger, there was a young boy named Zandik. This little Zandik was trainee Dastur, a prodigy of his field and academic year. But he wasn't the only top student of the Akademiya, in fact, this young man was standing in the shadow of a brilliant senior student whom he always looked up to with innocent wonder – you.

You weren't aware of the younger student with short turquoise hair trailing you. He, however, was aware of you because your portrait often graced the accomplishments of the establishment, thesis research, and any academic honors of the top young researchers. Since you were a senior, Zandik couldn’t share lectures with you, yet it didn’t stall him. Every thesis bearing your name, he read; every book you borrowed from the House of Daena, he memorized meticulously. His revenant studies of everything you did mesmerized his young mind, leading him to linger behind the lecture hall doors, drawn to where you so often spent your time.

It was a harmless habit, the boy believed; surely you never noticed him?

One day, Zandik spotted you chatting with your peers in the hallway. Unfortunately for you, you inadvertently left behind your precious notebook, forgotten in the rush to your next class. The young man didn't have it in himself to run after you and directly return it. Instead, it was his chance to study your secrets. His hands hesitated only briefly before he grasped the notebook, feeling the weight of the handwriting he so admired.

When he first opened the notebook, the first page read in massive writing: “I KNOW YOU'RE STEALING MY NOTES – THIEF.”

That was approximately 400 years ago. So much so that the memories of your student self were long forgotten in your mind. When you later on met the 2nd of the Fatui Harbinger, you expected the Fatuus to coerce you for cooperation. To demand you to leverage your expertise in Khaenri'ahn technology, or perhaps blackmail you into his maddening cause. But none of that transpired.

The grown man, now known as Il Dottore, stood blankly in front of you, eerily placid. His once youthful awe had matured into something far more inscrutable, like a long-buried sincerity breaking through his Doctor’s mask. Without a word, he extended a hand, offering you an old, tattered notebook. It was that same old notebook from your Akademiya days.

“... Huh? Where did you get this?”

“Perhaps a young boy was too excited to pilfer what wasn't his. I apologize for borrowing it. That boy never wanted his idol to think of him as a thief. If it wasn't so arduous to seek you out all those centuries, I would've returned it to you earlier.”

✧ With his face perched on his knuckles, Scaramouche sat down listening to your ramblings. You would think a Harbinger with his temper, would long since exhausted his patience, waving you off to scram from his presence. Yet the moment you start talking, he is obediently listening, like a devoted man waiting for his blessing from the Grand Narukami Shrine

“But I never saw you enjoy any snacks or drinks while you’re out,” – you mused with excitement, launching on a tangent about this mysterious Inazuman beside you. “Oh! How about this, I’ll start guessing your favorite pastime food or beverage and you tell me if I am right or wrong.”

Scaramouche raised an eyebrow, but crossed his arms indifferently - “A futile endeavor but suit yourself anyway.”

Undeterred, you accepted the challenge. You listed each and every single delicacy in Teyvat that you could recall, from Inazuman mochi, dango, and sake to even Mondstadt’s Cold Cut Platter and wine. The Balladeer only scoffed, amused at your silly attempts to deduce him, as if he was some mystery you should decipher.

“Ugh, Okay! My last attempt. Is it… green tea?!”

Scaramouche went silent at the sight of your anticipation - “Hm,”

“No way… did I guess correctly, at last! Are you a herbal tea enthusiast? Oh, I knew it, I knew it!”

You exclaimed with unattained joy, leaving the Balladeer to silently observe your self-proclaimed victory. The truth of the matter is - that wasn't the correct answer. Scaramouche doesn't care for any teas or snacks, not when his artificial palettes found human indulgences to be redundant. Yet, looking at your jubilant face, glowing with delight as if you’d uncovered some profound world secrets, he couldn’t bring himself to confess. How foolish.

“Hah, fine, you got me. You must be thrilled to guess something so mundane.”

“Well, maybe mundane to you, but I was pretty curious what a living puppet would prefer to drink.”

Your sudden words caused Scaramouche to freeze. He never told you he was a puppet by nature, and most people would never guess what he is. Yet here you were, stating it so simply and obviously. Most ridiculously, you didn’t seem crestfallen by the weight of this truth. “You knew…? I'm not sure if I should compliment your keen observation, or if this is another one of your random guesses. What gave it away?”

“I thought it was obvious.” - you eased a sincere smile, your hand reaching to carefully brush a stray hair on his head. “No regular human would have such a perfectly pristine face like yours. Even if they had the most luxurious face-care routine.”

If puppets had blood flow, there would've been a pink hue dusting his cheeks. It seems he was the fool here after all. Ever since that day, he has found the taste of green tea to be rather soothing.

✧ A popular misconception about Pantalone is that he allowed you to walk into his life and pursue him so easily. Trully wrong. In reality, it was this Harbinger who had been pursuing and courting you from the very beginning - like a lovestruck fool, no less.

At first, Pantalone tried to be the charmer. He’d offer you heavy bags of Mora as if it was pocket change and say in his best alluring voice - “Go spoil yourself with something new, dear. I want you to look your best on our next date.”

The issue was you were dense like a rock. Because you blinked at the mora and said simply: “Why? I already have comfortable clothes, I don’t need any right now.”

He wanted to slap himself. Any attempts at spoiling you with riches or gifts were futile, especially when you humbly rejected his monetary help out of casual practicality. You always stated that others in need would require it more. Very well, he won’t sulk just yet. He decided on his next act of refinement. He’d invite you with him to any luxurious events: galas, opera performances, dinner parties; all carefully orchestrated to impress you, showcasing how he can provide you with any wonder from the world, linking his arm elegantly with yours to flaunt how you’re accompanying the 9th of Fatui Harbingers himself.

That didn’t work as well. Whenever a business meeting occurred with vital connections, your gaze bore no interest in the wealth of the higher class, nor did you beat around the bush to dismiss yourself. Instead of marveling at the company of riches and endless champagne flutes, he’d instead find you marveling at the ducks swimming in the pond of a garden – “Look, duckies!”

Pantalone was in visible distress. All this gold that people die for yet you so naively dismissed him. Was he unworthy of your simple love? Was he too pompous for you and forgot his own origins? His self-doubt gnawed at him at night, so much so that his own subordinate would see him pacing in his office with a tremor of restlessness, thinking how he should open this topic with one he so openly treasures.

“My dear, please tell me what your heart seeks,” – he once opened the discussion with you, his hand clasping yours in an act of pleading. “I do not wish you to be uncomfortable with my actions. Just say the word and I will bring you what you want.”

Once more, you blinked at him in that same sweet innocence, but instead, you spoke with a smile: “Oh, you silly, silly man Pantalone. I never wanted your mora or status. I do not wish to be indebted to you, no. I just wish you to be as you are. If you want to take me to a restaurant, take me there, not because it’s a fancy establishment, but because it has your favorite food. Plain and simple.”

The young Harbinger didn’t know it was possible to fall in love even more. It seems he mistook your humble sincerity with naivety, never once pondering that perhaps you didn’t want a partner for the sake of connection or money. That being his true self was something he could even offer you.

In the upcoming days, Pantalone’s subordinate could clearly see was smitten beyond logic or reason. Like a grinning child, resting his chin on his palm when sitting behind a desk, feet almost kicking with excitement. He really was enamored with you from the start.

✧ If there is one thing Tartaglia’s heart relishes, it’s the rush of a challenge. And you, as a whole, challenged this young man on a daily basis. His bubbling persona and eccentricity to rush into action was an antithesis to your blunt calmness and reason. If he is the one launching into battle, you are the one who is yanking him by the collar while maintaining that unimpressed look.

Thus, as a challenge, Childe took it upon himself to make you break that serene attitude from you. At least once, and his heart will soar with victory. Unbeknownst to him, everything he did fumbled.

He started with cheesy attempts to flirt with you, flipping his ginger hair back while leaning on the wall with a captivating smile to make sure your eyes were on his form alone. It might have made you swoon, if he hadn’t miscalculated and leaned against the door instead, stumbling awkwardly when it swung open.

Another attempt was made when he tried to play the savior. The two of you were strolling when a Hydro Hilichurl Rogue stumbled upon your path in the wild, its makeshift scythe warning you two to get away. For the Harbinger, this was an easy opportunity to dispel such a puny target and save you. Except the Hilichurl Rogue kept throwing hydro slimes, which his vision of the same element was useless against. You managed to drag Tartaglia (almost) unscathed.

Everything was going against Tartaglia’s luck and he felt like an utter failure in front of you. He’s the 11th, for crying out loud, he always fairs well when something challenges him. Yet here he is, getting bandaged by you after fumbling countless times in your presence. Your first impression of him must be beyond salvageable at this point.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve thought you’re a problematic teen who gets into trouble all the time. Because you sure act like it,” – you stated to him simply. Securing his cuts and bruises on his shoulder.

“If I confess that such accidents rarely happen, would that change your opinion of me, or is it too late to start from zero? Ouch-” he winced when you tightened the bandages, his bruises not alleviating the sensation. The culpability of it all made him sulk, realizing he was probably putting you into trouble with all his shenanigans. “I’d die for you, you know.”

“That is the dumbest thing I've heard.”

Your words were concrete, his gaze averted with guilt and sorrow. But you continued quaintly.

“Why would anyone say something so senseless? I don’t want you to ‘die’ for me or anyone, even. What about ‘keep living’ for someone? For me… for your family, for yourself. Anyone can blindly plunge themselves to their death, but it takes actual courage and strength to keep living for those you care about. So please, do that for me instead of getting into trouble.”

The once serious expression on Tartaglia's softened with each word you spoke. Now he realizes that perhaps you putting up with his impulsivity stemmed not from frustration, but out of sincere worry. Maybe in his attempt to charm you, you were the one charming him all along. Especially when you sit so close to tend to him, it would feel so natural to wrap his arm around and embrace you.

“You’re right… I suppose it is reckless. Living for yourself seems truly priceless if it means seeing you beside me for another day.”

[emmyc0z]

Can you write something for Sephiroth(pre-nibelheim) or Astarion? Your work is absolutely fantastic btw I’m in love with it ❤️❤️❤️

Not So Subtle

pairing : sephiroth x female!reader

summary : you have a teenage girl level crush on him, that you and zack talk (very loudly) about when you think no one can hear. but he does.

a/n : this takes place pre-nibelheim so everyone is happy and well! in honour of ff7 rebirth :)

“Close your mouth or you’ll catch flies.” You snap your jaw shut, eyes moving to glare at the young, dark haired boy who has decided to break your daydream. 

“It wasn’t even open.” He plops down beside you, shoulder touching yours. 

“Mhm.. and you weren’t drooling over our superior.” 

“Your superior,” you correct, eyebrow lifted with pointed sarcasm. If you could stick your tongue out at him, without it seeming childish to everyone around you, you would.

“Last time I checked, you weren’t a first class soldier either,” He points out, amused. Your elbow makes contact with his arm, and his hand reaches to cover the area as he laughs.

Zack was younger than you, though he certainly never acted like there was an age gap. In his mind, you were the same age as him in some way or another. You had always trained together so you felt much closer in age even though you were at least 3 years older than him. At times, he felt like a younger brother to you.

Even more so when he found out you had a crush on the man he spent everyday training beside. Constant teasing, constant threats to spill your secrets, constant blackmail. You couldn’t even count the amount of times he had used your crush to his advantage on one hand. 

There was a time you had to put your foot down and tell him no more, cause it was wrong of course. But also mostly cause you were running out of money to buy his silence.

“Yeah but I'm older, closer to his age. So I don't have to talk to him like I'm below him, unlike some people.” 

“Can you even talk to him?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then why are you sitting here staring..?” 

“He’s training..” 

“Mhm.” The look on his face tells you he’s not convinced. Right now, it was the truth, Sephiroth was swinging his sword in the domed combat simulator, glass walls clear enough for you to see through. So the excuse of not being able to talk to him, out of fear of being sliced in half by his giant sword, was plausible. 

But any other time that you had sat staring at him, making no effort to speak to him, rendered that excuse inapplicable. 

“Shut it..” You push his shoulder with your elbow once more, and he snorts out a laugh. 

“I don’t get why you can’t just talk to him..” 

“Of course you don’t.. because you're obviously blind. Or you’ve been hit in the head one too many times in combat training.” You turn your gaze away from Zack to look back through the glass enclosing Sephiroth. 

His hair is tied up, hanging loosely against his back. It’s a rare sight, so you indulge yourself and stare a second longer than you should. It’s so relaxed, you think, compared to the seriousness of always having it pristinely down. There are stray hairs, flyaways, falling from the hair tie and hanging against his face. It’s unkempt, a nice contrast to his seemingly perfect lifestyle.

He swings his sword with calculated grace, a grace that you (or Zack for that matter) had yet to achieve. The control he held over his blade was impeccable, it never slipped or moved from his hold even when his hands were moving faster than his body could keep up with. Just another thing that had to be perfect in his life.

“How could I ever speak to him and not make a fool out of myself? For one, he’s first class, I'd totally ruin my chances of making first class if I said something totally outrageous. And knowing me, my mind would be so jumbled, I wouldn't even realize the words had left my mouth before he put me on some kind of ‘do not promote’ list.” 

“Oh so.. the only reason you won’t talk to him is because you're worried about making first class? Not.. I don’t know, maybe, the 12-year-old-girl-level crush you have on him.” Your hand slaps over his lips, eyes scanning around you. For the most part, no one looks at the two of you, and you figure the ones that are looking are doing so because of your hand covering Zacks blabbermouth. 

“Would you shut it?” Even with your hand covering his mouth, he manages to laugh at your widened eyes. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes are a dead giveaway of his amusement. You remove your hand with a pointed look, one that says ‘keep it down’ in a far more subtle way than a hand over his face. 

“You’re so lucky you’re younger than me.” 

“More like so lucky you don’t want to make your boyfriend angry. Besides, you know I’m stronger than you.” 

“Mhm..” You roll your eyes, and with a sigh, you turn back to face Sephiroth. He stands still now and you realize all of the practice dummies have been broken. From your position, he doesn't even seem to have broken a sweat, even though he’s been in there for over an hour. His sword lies on the ground, thrown without care. 

Even with Zack beside you, and the silent teasing that exudes from his body, your eyes remain trained on Sephiroth. You realize it’s childish, to stare and never approach, but the idea of even standing next to him is enough to intimidate you. 

He runs his hand over his back, pulling the hair tie from his hair, allowing it to fall against his shoulders once more. He turns, presumably to leave the combat simulated, and his eyes meet yours through the glass. You knew your staring wasn’t subtle, it had never been before, but you had never expected to get caught. You had never been caught. 

You turn your head away so fast that Zack almost flinches, probably thinking you were going to hit him again. 

“Jesus,” he looks at you with confusion, “What’s the problem?” 

“He saw me.” 

“What?” 

“He saw me! Through the glass! He totally caught me staring at him..” You stare at Zack with wide eyes and flushed cheeks, before you head falls into your lap in shame.

“Would you relax? I guarantee he doesn’t care or he didn’t even see you. Maybe he was just looking at his reflection.”

You look back towards Sephiroth to see him leaving through the doors of the dome, and then you turn back to Zack with a pitiful whine. 

“This is so pathetic…” 

“I agree,” he smiles when you shoot him a glare, “Just talk to him.” 

“Talk to who?” A deep voice sounds from beside you, higher up than where you sit. You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stick up, and Zack's expression is enough to confirm your suspicion about who stands next to you. 

You turn your head to face Sephiroth, and he stares at you expectantly. You think you catch the slightest smirk building on the corner of his lips, but you also think you might just be trying to make yourself feel better. Standing, nowhere close to his height, you hold your hands up. Zack takes this as his sign to stand too. 

“Nobody! Angeal!” You fumble out words, trying to throw out a name before he grows suspicious. 

“Well which is it, nobody? or Angeal?” 

“Angeal. Yeah! Angeal, so.. um.. I should probably go find him.” 

“It just so happens that I have to find Angeal too, allow me to join you.” 

You want to throw the nearest chair at Zack, curse him for speaking so loudly. And you curse yourself for not thinking of an excuse in a reasonable time frame, so you just nod, and excuse yourself from Zack. 

He gives you a pitiful smile, and when you turn to look behind you for support one last time as you walk away he gives you a thumbs up. His face contradicts his hands, and he seems like he’s in a far less teasing mood. 

“Whatever you have to say to him, it must be important.” 

“Hm?” You tilt your head up and to the side to look at Sephiroth, you’ve been walking together for a few minutes now, mostly silently. 

“You're walking fast.” You shrug your shoulders and continue walking. 

At least until your steps are interrupted by him stepping in front of you. 

“Is there a problem?”

“What? Of course not!” He practically glares down at you, arms crossed over his muscular chest. You can see the outline of his defined chest muscles through the straps of his top. And you realize you're practically drooling over him, right in front of him so you force your eyes to meet his once more. But his glare is replaced by a smirk, and amusement in his eyes. 

“I see now..” 

“See what?” 

“Really? Do you think you’re subtle?” Your face flushes and once again you want the floor to open up and consume you whole, but you're stuck here. 

“I don’t know what you're talking about.” Step back, you scream at yourself, but he moves closer and it’s impossible to move your feet. They feel like lead underneath you, not even giving way to a small shuffle backwards.

“No?” His hand reaches up to rest on your cheek, it's gentle, far gentler than you would’ve expected. But the way his fingers tense against your skin has you feeling fuzzy, “You think I don’t notice the way you stare? Hm?” 

He stares at you, thumb moving to the other side of your chin, holding your face in his hand. He maneuvers your face, moving it however he likes. You realize he’s examining the flush in your cheeks, the way your lips part like you want to say something. His tongue gives a humiliating click when your lips close, and the words are lost. 

“I hear you, when you talk to Zack,” he stops his movement, stilling your face to look directly at him, “You’ve never been a quiet girl. Why are you so quiet now?” 

When you don’t respond his eyebrows scrunch, its subtle and almost missable because it’s gone in seconds. He’s not satisfied by your silence.

Sephiroth bends his shoulders, moving closer to your face, “Although, I suppose you’ve never been very talkative around me.” He moves closer still, swerving his nose to the side of your face until he’s able to speak in your ear, “That’s not very nice. You might hurt my feelings if you keep ignoring me.” 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble out meekly, you're honestly not even sure it’s audible at first but he laughs quietly, breath fanning on your ear. His other hand, the one that doesn’t hold your face, reaches up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear before he pulls away. The breath that leaves your body is almost embarrassing. 

“What’re you sorry for, hm?” He stares expectantly down at you, eyes never leaving yours. 

“F…for ignoring you.”

“So you ignore me?” 

“No!”

“So you’re lying?” You shake your head as much as you can within the hold of his fingers, “Then what are you sorry for?” 

“For not talking to you.” 

“And why don’t you talk to me, I'm sure you know it’s rude to stare and never speak to someone.”

“Because..” His grip loosens, hand moving back to your cheek, thumb resting on your cheek bone. 

“Because why? Cmon use your voice, the one you use to talk about me with Zack.” 

You stare up at him pitifully, and the way words fumble from your mouth has you wanting to throw up, “Because I have this stupid crush on you, and I can't talk to you without getting nervous. I know it’s stupid and I should have told you sooner so you could reject me and I could move on and I never meant to offend you or-”

You hadn’t realized he had gotten so close until his nose touches yours, top lip brushing against yours as he tips your chin up towards him. Your words fall flat on your tongue when you meet his eyes, or rather when you see his eyes that are focused on your lips. 

“Offend me.. that’s sweet..” He’s so close to you, that every word has his lips brushing against your own again and again. 

“Sephiroth..?” You suppress the urge to move the tiniest bit forward so your lips can fully meet his. And you're sure your face is impossibly red. 

“You should’ve told me about this ‘stupid’ crush sooner, such a foolish girl. May I?” You're confused, what is he asking for? His eyes flicker up to yours before moving back to your lips. When you realize what he means you nod your head perhaps too eagerly. 

Slowly, to tease, his lips press against yours, palm pressing into the skin of yours to keep you in place. Eyes fluttering closed, your hands find his chest, silently screaming about the position you’ve found yourself in.

His lips overpower yours in every regard, moving languidly against you. His other hand reaches up to the free side of your face, fingers tickling the skin on your neck and thumb resting on your jaw. 

When he pulls away you can only look at him with half lidded eyes, dazed. 

Al he does is chuckle, rubbing your cheek with his thumb and patting your head. One hand holds the back of your head, leaning down to kiss your temple, before stepping behind you, “Don’t be so shy from now on. Maybe we’ll end up here again.”

His steps echo through the empty hall as he walks away.

“Wait… wait.. I thought you had to go see Angeal?” You turn, taking one step in his direction, then stopping yourself in your tracks hesitantly. 

“I didn’t. And I know you didn’t either.” He only turns his cheek towards you to speak and then continues on down the hallway, tall and brooding.

[sscarletvenus]

please stop scrolling for a moment and read.

this happened on wednesday in occupied jerusalem, supposedly the "only democracy in middle east."

israeli police raided the anti-zionist jewish neighborhood, to attack any symbol of jewish solidarity with Palestine, took down the Palestinian flag, brutally assaulted anti-zionist jews by knocking them down on the road, hitting them, and punching them in the face.

zionism is a violent and fascist ideology that doesn't even spare the very people it is supposed to protect. anyone who disagrees with its racist mandate, even jews, are targeted by the entity that falsely claims to represent jewish people.

if they can do this to their own, can you even bear to imagine how they have treated, and continue to treat, Palestinians? except you don't really have to - idf soldiers have, on multiple occasions, documented their own war crimes and violations of the very nature of being human. they have gloated over their own capacity to commit undeniable evil too many times on camera.

does amy schumer care about these people standing up against genocide and getting persecuted for doing so? what does noah schnapp have to say?

what do well-off white jews in the west who record tiktoks with a face full of makeup, impeccably manicured nails, curated fits and ring lights, who have monopolized claims to antisemitism and grief and victimhood while black and other non-white jewish people have been rendered almost entirely invisible from public memory, have to say about this?

israel was never about judaism.

[stellamarielu]

impatient intentions

michael robinavitch x female reader

summary: robby’s innocent obsession with his neighbor takes a turn after a dinner invite that leads him straight into your kitchen and renders him a slave to your touch

content: nsfw, 18+ mdni, cursing, mutual pining, harmless flirting (well i guess not that harmless), illusions to male masturbation, smut with a whole lot of lead up, oral m!receiving, someone needs to get that man a blowjob stat!, we’re swallowing that old man down y’all buckle up

word count: 2.8k

author’s note: take this as a prologue to late night visits, like a deeper view into their little relationship and their first hookup. however, i wrote this so that it could be read as a stand alone, so do whatever you want. written in robby’s pov cause i’m a sick freak who loves getting in the mind of a pathetic man who desperately needs to be touched.

Robby sat with his hands clasped together over the cool granite of your kitchen island. Watching as you expertly moved around the cramped space, pulling spices from your cabinet with an undeniable muscle memory as you cooked him dinner. 

You were cooking, for him. He offered to help you so many times that the slow cadence of your voice the final time you told him to just sit down and relax was almost laced with annoyance. Almost, but not quite; because you were the one who invited him over for dinner in the first place.

Sure, maybe he was the one who offered to help carry your grocery bags up three flights of stairs, but you— you were the one who asked him if he wanted to come over for dinner. Your voice so rich with enthusiasm that it had him agreeing without a second thought.

It wasn’t until he was leaning against the countertop of your kitchen, that he realized this was more than just a conversation in passing outside his doorway. 

After months of living across the hall from one another, meeting face to face in the communal space between your doors, this was the first time he was given the opportunity to bask in your presence for longer than five minutes. 

You were a temptress. One operating in secrecy, naive to your own charm. 

Robby had attempted to brush off his immediate attraction to you by telling himself you were just young and bright-eyed. A girl with a sweet voice, and an equally saccharine smile. It was essentially ingrained in him to take a second look at you. But, your oblivious persuasions persisted through kind words and simple exchanges as Robby got to know you over the course of several conversations strew out over weeks of hallway greetings.

The more moments shared between the two of you, the more he couldn’t pin-point his giddy feelings surrounding your interactions. Was it an innocent infatuation— a harmless little crush that would cause him to steal glances or let his mind occasionally verr off at the thought of you? Or was it deeper; like when he got home late from work and knew he just missed you by the light seeping under your door. The longing to talk to you one last time before turning in for the night could be blamed on his growing need to hear your voice in the evenings.  

The timing was always impeccable when you got home from work; meeting Robby in the same position, both of you exhausted and ready for the tender release of uninterrupted rest. Your “Hi there” and “How was your day” would meet him as his key entered the lock or— if he was lucky, it would find him in the elevator, three floors before he’d come to expect it.

The light rhythm of your words had become essential to his nightly routine. After a day filled with rigorous overwhelm at every turn, Robby would finally head home, ready to hear the pleasant sound of your voice filling the hall and preparing him for a peaceful night on the other side of his front door. The nights he didn’t get to talk with you for those few precious moments before you disappeared to your side of the hallway— those nights, he found it especially hard to relax. It was almost as though a pivotal part of his day was suddenly missing, keeping him from being able to sleep peacefully at night.

Being with you, like this, hearing sentence after sentence fall from your lips in that sugary sweet tone, there was no doubt in his mind he would be getting the best night of sleep in his entire life. 

He couldn’t get enough of you, watching intently as you stood at the stovetop, drinking in all your mannerisms, each movement of your body etching itself into his head. And when your hands reached above your head to open a cabinet, your shirt stretched with them, exposing an inch of your lower back that had previously hid underneath the fabric. He should’ve felt guilty for letting his eyes linger on your skin, but he didn’t. He allowed himself a moment of sinful appeal as he took in the unfamiliar territory. 

He'd thought about you like that a time or two.

Thought about what your soft skin would feel like on his fingertips, or how your body would fit perfectly underneath his. He’d touched himself thinking of you before— shut his front door after a brief conversation with you and gone straight to his bedroom to shove his hand down his pants like a teenage boy. Finishing in his fist to the fictitious version of you that writhed under his touch. They were only ever visions in his head, making him feel sick and perverted seeing as though you’d never shown any explicit interest in him.

It was all his little secret, the way he felt about you. The way you inhabited every last corner of his mind. You continued entertaining him with small waves every day and the naively flirtatious quality of your voice each time you crossed paths, only for it to completely unravel him. 

And unravel him you did— all throughout dinner. You reacted to his every word, hanging onto his anecdotes about work with an entertained sparkle in your eyes. Your attention trailed behind each one of his words as empty plates sat on the table. You swapped stories and delved further into your personal lives, talking in your kitchen for far too long. 

Once you realized how much time had passed, you practically forced Robby out of his chair, apologizing for keeping him so late. He tried to assure you that it was fine, attempting to stay longer to help you clean up, but you were already standing next to him, your hand lightly holding his forearm as you guided him to the front door.

You stood facing each other in the entryway, evidence of goodbye’s hanging on your tongues but neither of you working up the courage to actually speak them aloud. 

Your eyes fluttered up to meet his, intercepting his intent gaze on your hand; the one that still lingered on his arm. Your touch was subtle, but the effect you had on Robby was strong. Taking over all of his senses as his feet weighed him down to the floor. The room felt heavy as you peered up at him through your eyelashes. Your stare holding a curious purpose— lasting far too long to be a simple meaningless glance. 

Neither of you moved. He was reduced to complete immobility with the delicate weight of your hand brushing his skin. Your wishful eyes remained on him, full of impatient intention. 

In a cautious trail, your gaze fell to his lips. He copied you, letting his stare drop to the perfect pout of your smirk— so pure and inviting. His eyes must’ve idled too long on the lower half of your face because the familiar chime of your voice broke his stare as he watched your lips move.

“You could kiss me you know...” It was a confident statement, fixed with a low purr as you put the newfound tension of the room into words. 

It was the permission he so desperately needed, melting into the air between you, assuring him that he wasn’t some sick and depraved old man thinking about his much younger neighbor in ways he probably shouldn’t. You wanted him to kiss you, you were practically asking him to, and all restraint he had swiftly broke loose.  

A hand pulled gently at your waist while the other cupped your cheek, his face meeting yours in a careful kiss. 

The bitter-sweet relief of surrender came to him in the form of your mouth against his. Finally succumbing to his foolish infatuation and getting washed away by the taste of you on the tip of his tongue. 

Gracefully, your hands slid up his torso, resting at his shoulders until they clasped at the nape of his neck, pulling him further down into you. 

Nothing could’ve prepared him for the shock that tore through his entire being at your touch on his body, the way your hands effortlessly floated up his chest, pressing into his neck as your lips moved with his. Your bodies pushed and pulled against one another, the kiss taking a sharp turn as the weight of Robby’s chest had you caught between him and your front door. 

In a whirlwind of desperation, he brought his hold to your hips, thumbs sliding underneath your shirt and relishing in the warmth of your midriff.

A quiet moan simmered off your tongue and into his mouth at the pressure of his fingertips rubbing into the skin just above your jeans, and the sound caused an involuntary jerk of Robby’s hips. All control was lost as his grasp on you tightened, your frame melting further into the door at your back. You welcomed the contact, pulling him further into you with your hold on the back of his neck. Careful open-mouthed kisses trailed down his throat, sweet sounds of approval still leaking from your lips as they nipped and sucked at his skin.

He nearly wasted away at the feeling of your mouth on his neck. Then the devilish touch of your hands slid back down the front of his body, dancing against the material of his shirt and trailing down further until your fingertips threatened to tug at the waistband of his pants. He could feel the anticipation in your touch, the way your fingers curled into the material at his waist. 

“This okay?” You didn’t even pull back to look at him as you murmured into the crook of his neck. 

He was always in command, never afraid to assert his dominance; but something about the way his most private fantasies were playing out in front of his eyes, had him taking on a more docile image. He was completely bent into your touch, leaning forward and hanging onto every sound that left your body with his hands still buried underneath your shirt. He couldn’t find his voice to reply to your question, but he’d be a fool to say anything other than yes as your hands ventured down another inch into his pants, the feeling of your knuckles brushing against his abdomen nearly making his knees buckle. 

He nodded; the movement drawn-out as a breathless “yeah” made its way from somewhere deep within his chest. 

Robby’s hand met the door, now directly in front of him as you descended to your knees. 

The mix of adrenaline and disbelief coursing through his veins sent his forearm extending and his palm pressing into the solid wood to hold up his weight as you were wedged between the two, kneeling on the tile floor. 

With your eyes looking up at him once more as if to ask for a final approval, your hands tugged at his pants, pulling them, along with his underwear, down his legs and Robby pushed harder into the door, his arms flexing under the pressure. He never would’ve imagined that an innocent dinner invitation would evolve into him standing with his pants around his ankles in the entryway of your apartment. 

He should’ve stopped you. Should’ve been a gentleman and insisted on making you come on his fingers— leading you into the next room and spreading your legs open on your living room couch, but your lips met the head of his cock, and every single thought left his head. 

The warmth of your mouth enveloped him after a gentle kiss to his tip, and a raspy groan trickled into the room from Robby’s lips. 

“Jesus Christ.” 

His instinctive gasp had you taking him even deeper, a small hum of pleasure releasing from your throat and buzzing onto his skin.

His hand was splayed out against the wall, fingertips grasping at nothing as he threw his head back in a state of pure paradise. After less than a minute of seeing you on your knees for him and feeling your cheeks hollow in a way that perfectly encased his throbbing length, Robby had to stare up at the ceiling to keep himself from spilling into your mouth. 

His chest warmed with flames of pleasure induced fulfillment with each bob of your head at his hips. Indulgence sunk into his bones and another pathetic pant found its way onto his lips when your tongue flattened against his base, your mouth sinfully stroking him in rhythm. 

“Fuck sweetheart that feels good.”

The nickname found his lips as an incoherent mumble— an attempt of praise floating down to you in a groan. The otherworldly suction of your lips as you drew him toward the back of your throat had Robby letting out grunts of contentment.

He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this good. You were like an angel sent down to to set him free of his daily anxieties, kneeling before him on a pedestal of vinyl flooring. 

You worked him in and out of your mouth, the intricate consolation of your movements making him crave more. He hadn’t even finished yet and he was already itching to get his hands on you. An addiction was forming in Robby’s brain like a mental pathway. Hungry for more of you, needing to find comfort in your body more than just this once. He knew he would be seeking it out, crawling back to you every night in desperation to feel the burning in his core and the peace of his mind he found in your touches. 

You moved faster, his whole body growing rigid from the friction of your perfect lips. 

“That’s it- shit.”

He was already spiraling toward release, one more caress of your plush mouth around his cock and he was done for. His body tensed and little puffs of raspy breath fought against his lips as he felt all the tension in his body culminating in a taut strand that stretched unbelievably tight as he waited for one more pass of your tongue on his length.

“Fuck.” 

With a low grunt he wrestled against his own strength, the arm holding him up at the door threatened to give out, nearly sending him doubling over into the solid structure as relief surged through his body. He pulsed in your mouth, his release dripping onto your tongue and you enjoyed it. Drinking down every last drop of him while he slumped into your touch.  

His vision returned after a few seconds of his senses getting corrupted by overwhelming pleasure, just in time to watch you pull back from him, springing to your feet like you hadn’t just changed the chemical makeup of his brain. 

Your expression was smug, a smile flickering onto your face before addressing him for the first time since you were bowed before him.

“Goodnight Michael.” Like a dribble of honey, his name fell from your lips. Michael. No one called him that. But here you were whispering it like a serpent in the garden of Eden, as you simultaneously reached behind you to pull the handle of your front door, nudging him through the doorway.

“Now hold on-“ He began to protest the push of your hands at his lower back, but you were quick to interrupt him.

“I’ve already kept you from sleep long enough. I can’t have you going to work tired tomorrow- gotta save lives and all that.” You were smiling through your words, leaning against the doorframe and watching in amusement as Robby’s rattled mind swam with possible responses.

He knew he couldn’t fuck you— knew it would be nearly impossible for him to get it up again after the earthshattering release that just ran rampant through his body, but he could repay you. He could finally fulfill his dirty daydreams, worshipping you in ways he’d only ever imagined; really taking his time exploring your body and watching you come undone in front of him. In fact, there was nothing he wanted to do more than spend the rest of the night feeding his newfound addiction to your body. 

But the self-righteous smirk curling on your lips stopped him from pushing you back inside and taking what he wanted. This was just a trial run, the challenging expression on your face confirmed it. So, he would wait. Let you soak in your pride for the evening until the next time an opportunity arose for him to satisfy his craving. Because something in the deceitfully innocent stare of your eyes told him this would be the first of many late-night visits between doorways.  

He surrendered, shaking his head with a low chuckle.

“Goodnight.” 

The word hardly left his mouth when you offered him one last playful grin and shut the door to your apartment, leaving him standing alone in the lonely expanse of the hallway. 

my masterlist

[amaranthineghost]

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🥥 ꒱ in the tumbleweeds ( lando norris. )

cowboy!lando norris x city girl!reader

your car breaks down in the middle of nowhere. just when you begin to lose hope, a big truck pulls up in front of you and out hops two country boys to help you get your car up and running again

authors note: in honor of me going to the austin grand prix in october, here's cowboy lando (ft. cowboy oscar)

“NO, NO, NO,” YOU HAD WHINED as your car had slowed to stop. the tiny dial on the speedometer had slowed bounced its way down, and down, and down until it had hit zero. now here you were, in your mysteriously broken down car on the side of the road! not to mention, you were in the countryside, the middle of nowhere.

all you could do was groan as you twisted the keys out of ignition, after you had smacked the horn with your palm in frustration. you could already feel the heat seeping through the window as the air conditioning had given out—as well as the entire car. 

a frown etched itself on your face, sighing as you used the parking brake—just in case as you would’ve just ended it if your car had begun rolling off after getting out to check. a huffed groan fell from your lips as you struggled with the stubborn brake, which hadn’t been used since you’d gotten the car. 

swiping a hand across your forehead at the strain, you opened the driver’s side door to step out—not before checking the road to see that the way was clear of upcoming cars. 

as soon as the door had cracked open, you could feel the blistering country heat beating down on your body. a soft whimper fell from your lips as the car door slammed shut behind you, raising an arm to cover the sun rays that hindered your sight.

you felt helpless as you turned to look at your car—you had no clue what you were doing! you were not a mechanic, and you were sure as hell not built for this type of heat. you pulled out the phone you had slipped into your back pocket, hand on your forehead as you fingered through your hair. 

your jaw clenched at the no service signal, rendering the device completely useless. just your luck to be stuck, in the middle of nowhere, with no cell service. just you and your broken down car, a few items of belonging in the trunk for your road trip.

hopelessness and panic started to sink in as you bit your cheek to hold back the tears, a hand still on your head as the other went to your hip. you circled the car in ponder—you had no clue where you were. you had no clue where the nearest repair shop was—if there even was one in this barren land. you huffed as you looked at the desert surrounding you—an impeccable view you do admit—with tall mountains in the distance and sparse cacti—and to your surprise, a lone tumbleweed that danced its way across the asphalt road.

your eyes followed the dead bush as it blew, somewhat bewildered at the sight since you’d never seen such in person—only in western movies you’d watch in the comfort of your apartment in the city.

your gaze from the bundle of weeds was torn away when you heard an approaching car from further down the road—actually, you had heard the obscenely loud and blaring country music from the vehicle before the wheels of the car against the road. your brows furrowed on your face as you glanced with squinted eyes at the approaching truck. an uneasy feeling bubbled in your tummy and you felt your hair standing on end at the sight of the big, intimidating truck that was getting closer and closer.

you swallowed thickly as you watched the truck pull off the road right after where you stood in front of your—much smaller and noticeably cleaner—car that looked massively out of place in the dusty surroundings. the music that disrupted the silence was cut-off as the keys were ripped out of the ignition, now met with tranquility as the air around settled.

it wasn’t long after that two guys had opened their respective doors, stepping out of the tall, dirtied, scraped truck. their boots scuffed against the tiny pebbles that littered the asphalt as they slammed the doors shut once again. 

you eyed the pair—but it was the driver who initially caught your eye. with dirtied cowboy boots, tight jeans that hugged his thighs and were speckled with dirt, a button-down shirt with a few too many undone—enough to show off his tanned and toned chest—a dusting of facial hair on his face, and curls peeking out from the cowboy hat that sat a little too low on his head, he walked his way over. alongside him, you assumed was his friend, who wore basically the same thing, except lacking the attempt to be a piece of eye candy.

you were a little stunned as they approached—i mean what if these incredibly attractive and muscled cowboys tried to kill you? it's not like you’d mind, they were hot enough to get away with it, but you just had to trust they wouldn’t—that they had the best intentions at heart.

you watched as the driver had taken the toothpick from between his teeth in between his index and middle fingers, his voice coming out gruffly with a heavy accent, “howdy, li’l lady,” he tapped his hat with a finger in greeting, seemingly too lazy to tip it off after a long days work, “wha’s wrong wit’ y’car?”

you watched his eyes dance between your face—and appearance—and back to your car, which appeared to be fine, but they had seen you standing on the side of the road.

you hummed, pursing your lips as you scratched the back of your head nervously while glancing back at your ride, “uh…” you stuttered slightly, letting out a breathless, nervous chuckle as you grimaced at your inability to get your words out, “it just stopped working.”

“well, tha’s no good,” he mumbled, a smirk on his face as he listened to your smooth voice, another nod to the fact you were not from around these parts, “mind if me and my buddy, oscar, here take a look, ma’am?” 

he threw a thumb in his friend’s direction, who was much paler in comparison, an eye squinted because of the sun as he stood awkwardly with his arms crossed against his chest.

you breathed a sigh of relief, saving you the pain of having to ask for his help—making him go out of his way if he didn’t offer to begin with. you nod, “please, if it's not too much of a hassle for you-”

he waved his hand dismissively, “nonsense, ‘s no problem to help out a pretty girl such as yerself,” he ignored the eye roll from his buddy beside him, nodding his head in gesture to the front of your car, “pop the hood f’me, would ya?”

you nodded quickly with a hum in response to tell him you heard him as you quickly did just that. you opened the car door, another noise surpassing your lips at the heat that had already accumulated in the car. the fact it was humid was just the cherry on top to make you even more miserable. nonetheless, you shook your head and dismissed the heat. Instead, you had done what the country boy had asked—after oscar had leaned against your open passenger side window to tell you how because you had never needed to before. 

a breathless thanks falling from your lips earned a small smile from him, tilting his head in acknowledgement as you once again stepped out from the car. you walked to the front of the car, hands on your hips and eyes squinted as you felt the sweat drip down your face.

you turned your body away from the sun, watching intently as lando had rolled up the sleeves of his button-up, revealing sweat-dirtied skin and veins from hard, strained work. you eyed his hands—already messy from the day's work they had done—and he had noticed, but he decided to not comment on it so soon.

part of you felt bad—they had probably just got done doing laborious tasks in the blistering, country heat and now you were making—they offered—them help you get your car up and running again.

you heard a hum fall from his lips as he settled his sleeves at his elbows, “le’s take a look ‘ere,” he mumbled to himself, taking the gloves that hung out of his back pocket and slipping them on to protect himself from the heated engine. a tinge of disappointment ran through your body at the fact he was covering up his hands, but there was plenty more of him to stare at—what?

you mentally shook your head—you just met the guy! he could probably—he did—see that you were checking him out head to toe. the way his biceps clearly filled out that button-up, the outline of his chest against the loose fitting torso of the fabric, the way the blue denim hugged his thighs just perfectly and fell loose below his knees, the bunched fabric at his elbows, the toothpick bitten between his teeth that slightly indented his bottom lip. you had to force yourself to peel your eyes away from the poor guy before you got lost in the way the sweat dripped down his neck.

his forearms leaned against the front of your car as he hunched over the engine, his gloved hands working through all the possible problems. every now and then, he swiped the back of his hand across his forehead to rid his face of the sweat.

you watched as his friend hovered beside him, offering enlightening suggestions to what could be wrong-

“aha!” his small celebration cut through the silence as your gaze once again settled on him, watching as he stood up, stretching an arm across his chest and his neck to the side briefly, “i see wha’s the problem.”

you looked to him with widened eyes, finding his gaze already on you as you swallowed nervously, “can it be fixed?” you asked, your voice sounding smaller than you would’ve liked—i mean the possibility of you getting out of here relied on the men in front of you.

“no, yeah, ‘ll be able to fix ‘er up in no time, but…” he shook his head, shutting the hood back as he leaned forward on his hands as they rested on the car, “ ‘ll hafta come back t’morrow, y’know.”

you nodded in sullen understanding—even though, no, you didn’t know—you sighed at the thought of sleeping in your hot, humid, broken car on the side of the road for the night, in the middle of nowhere.

oscar piped up, uncrossing his arms to lift his hands as he spoke, “actually, i might have a few tools-”

lando patted his hand against oscar’s chest, chuckling as he shook his head, “don't listen to ‘im ‘ere, he don’t know what he’s sayin’! must be the heat gettin’ to that empty head of ‘is! y’know wha tha’s like, yeah?”

you hum in confused agreement, your lips pulling into a straight line as you nod slowly, “uh, yeah… sure.”

he chuckles breathlessly, raising a hand towards you that says ‘see, you get it.’ “musta forgot we left them tools back at ‘r house!” he shakes his head as his empty chuckles die down, ignoring the glaring side eye from his friend, “now won't you give us a minute ‘ere, li’l lady.” he flashes a smile before grabbing a fist full of oscar’s shirt, hauling him off to the side of the road as they stand off in the dry, dusty dirt.

you watched as they seemed to get into very passionate conversation—and listen in. it's not like they were being quiet in the first place, you couldn't help but hear the words that left their mouths in hushed whispers—though most of it was in a thicker accent than when she spoke to them directly.

“what are you sayin’?!”

“what am i sayin’? what are you sayin’?” he shakes his head with a scoff, throwing a hand back in gesture towards the car, “y’know we can fix the damn car with the tools back in ‘r truck!”

“c’mon, osc, jus’ humor me this once!”

“yer bein’ an idiot, off yer rocker or sumthin’” he shakes his head with his hands on his hips like a disappointed mother as his boot taps against the ground, “yer hopeless.”

lando ignored the last comments from oscar as he walked back towards where you stood as he peeled the gloves from his hands, shoving them into his back pocket once again. he stood before you with his thumbs through his belt loops, looking down at you as he spoke.

he sniffled quietly, his nose scrunching, “we’ll give ya a ride to the next town over, missy,” he nodded his head once, his index finger swiping away the sweat over his top lip.

but before you can respond—tell them that it’s okay, you can sleep in the car—he makes a disapproving noise as he looks towards the sun. your gaze follows his, furrowing your brows as you don't seem to notice what he does.

he shakes his head, inhaling through his teeth, “actually, ‘s gettin’ dark out, darlin’,” he said slowly, gauging your thoughts by the way you react, “next town’s probably quieting down right about now.”

“oh,” you say simply, “well, that's alright, i can just sleep in my car, i guess.”

he dismisses your suggestion, “no need for that, missy. we can set you up at ‘r place?” he offers, an eyebrow raised at the suggestion, sensing the hesitation in your expression and body language.

you shook your head rapidly—they had already took the time to even look at the problem with your car, but now taking up space in their house? you felt like you were being greedy now.

“no, i don’t want to intrude!” you try to decline politely, waving your hands dismissively in front of you, “besides you’ve already helped plenty by even offering to fix my car.”

he chuckles, shaking his head in return, his curls bouncing slightly, “ ‘s no biggie. take yer in ‘r truck,” he nods towards the scuffed up vehicle behind him, “set ya up in ‘r guest room all nice and cozy, have yer car fixed before you even wake up. how’s tha’ sound, darlin’?”

you bite your lip as he looks at you, brow still raised in the question of ‘will you come with us?’ and how can you refuse the nice country boys, with their funny accents and silly words, who just want to get you on your way?

you nod reluctantly—it's not like you didn’t want to go with them, but you still felt like you were being a bit of a leech, “yeah, okay, if it's not too much of a hassle-”

“atta girl!” he smacks a hand down on your shoulder, almost too eagerly as he guides your path towards the passenger side of his beat-up truck. you tense under his hand, glancing back at the car with a frown.

“well, hold on now, lando,” oscar calls out, shaking his head as he mutters something about the eagerness of the man, “she might need to get a few of ‘er things from ‘er car! practically kidnappin’ her with how fast yer tryin’ to stuff her inside!”

lando tsk’s his tongue, pointing a finger in agreement at oscar’s words, “ah, suppose yer right,” he reluctantly drops your hand from your shoulder to let you back to your car. 

you awkwardly shuffle your way to the trunk of your car, acutely aware of their heavy gazes—especially as they studied you.yYou knew they knew you weren’t from around here, that you were not used to being in the weeds as they were and it heated up your cheeks to be so out of place and awkward next to them.

you quickly fill your hands with a small blanket and a change of clothes for the next day before shutting the trunk again, locking the car behind you as you walk back to lando’s side. his hand goes to the small of your back as he convinces you to ride shotgun next to him.

oscar opens his mouth to protest, his hand raised as he’s about to speak when lando feverishly waved his hand next to his neck—cut it out, osc! he could practically hear in his thoughts.

after he had gotten you settled into his car, he handed you his keys to give it a start—it's okay, climb over the center console and put yer foot on the brake to get ‘er started! don't want ya to burn up now!

once again, he grabbed a fist of oscar’s shirt as he tugged him to the side again, glancing back towards the truck as you settled in the seat after starting the car.

“mate, i know what yer doin’,” he spoke in an exasperated tone of disapproval as he too gazed back at the truck.

lando sighed, clambering a hand on his shoulder and massaging the muscle—weirdly enough for oscar to shrug it off with a grimace look of disgust. lando rolls his eyes, his hand falling back down to his side as he huffs out a sigh, “look, i told you-”

“i get it, she’s a pretty thing, but ‘s unnecessary,” he tells him, raising his brows with his head tilted down, “you should’ve jus’ fixed ‘er car and sent ‘er on ‘er way.”

he sniffles, swiping the back of his dirty hand across his nose, “if you don’t want ‘er back at the house, i understand, osc…”

he shakes his head, “it’s not that i don’t want ‘er in ‘r house, i mean she seems like a nice girl, but-” he cuts himself off, pursing his lips as he closes with eyes with a big sigh before looking at lando seriously, “listen, i just don’t want you takin’ advantage of ‘er.”

“y’know me, osc, and you know i won’t.”

“yeah, but that was before i saw you lay yer eyes on her, and saw them bug out of yer damn head.”

“shut up.” he grumbled, rolling his eyes with the shake of his head as he walked back around to the driver’s side door, watching poor oscar who was forced into the backseat of the car because of you—the pretty little thing in their front passenger seat.

the drive back was awkward to say the least. silence hung in the air, the only sound was the heavy hum of the car and the scrape of the tires on the asphalt. you tried to keep your eyes forward, ignoring the man beside you who drove with a single hand on the bottom of the steering wheel. whenever you’d glanced over, you could see the paled skin of his knuckles from his hard grasp on the wheel.

you had to forcibly peel your eyes away from the sight of his hands​​—his dusty sleeves still rolled up to his elbows, which exposed the smeared dirt across his tanned skin from his outside work. you couldn’t see, but a smirk etched its way onto his lips, his thumb swiping across his lips as if to wipe it away before you or oscar would notice.

the truck jostled to the side a bit as the road changed to rough gravel, hearing the crunch under the weight of the car. the house—that you assumed belonged to the two guys—came into view.

your eyes scanned the land—plenty of trees surrounded the property with a few animals here and there, a red barn further back near the edge of the forest, and the house itself. 

you didn't know what to expect when the thought of their house had first crossed your mind—but it hadn’t been too far from what you were seeing. the house looked quaint—a single story with a wrap-around patio, another vehicle parked up outside a good distance away from a red, wood dog house that had a water bowl next to it.

as lando pulled up to the house, parked up next to the other car, he killed the engine before getting out. you swiftly followed by unbuckling your seatbelt as you reached for the door handle, but you were beaten to it by the poor backseat dweller.

you gave him a soft smile—which he returned—muttering a ‘thanks’ as you took the hand he offered as he guided you down from the tall truck. he gave you a nod, dropping your hand as he shut the door behind you before looking over at lando, whose jaw was noticeably clenched. all oscar did was roll his eyes and begin to show you around the property, inviting you into their cozy country home.

lando quickly found himself by your side, gently taking your belongings from your arms with a friendly smile as he interrupted oscar, “ill get you set up in ‘r guest room,” he offered, taking great care in holding your precious belongings, “osc, why don't you go show ‘er them barn cats in the meantime.”

he watched the way your eyes lit up, failing to realize that the smile on his face grew bigger at your reaction—he enjoyed the way the tension slowly filtered from your stance at the thought of seeing some cute cats.

the air had begun to cool now, they had finally finished naming off all the little critters that lived on their property and were now taking you back to their main house for a bite to eat before hitting the hay. you would’ve denied being hungry if it weren’t for your tummy grumbling for nearly ten minutes.

you would’ve denied being hungry if it weren’t for the smell of a nice, home cooked meal that made your mouth water and your tummy growl even most incessantly. it was by far the best meal you had ever eaten in your life, and you started to relax and loosen up a bit more in their presence.

so now you were all sitting around on the couches, one was worn leather and the other some frayed corduroy fabric with several different patches sewn onto it. oscar had his head leaned against the backrest of the leather couch, his cowboy hat over his face and arms over his chest that moved with every soft inhale and exhale. in one of his hands, tucked in his elbow was a green, half drunk beer bottle that was still cold as the condensation dripped down the side.

lando, on the other hand, had taken his spot in the old recliner, a beer also in hand as he sipped causally, eyes glued to the old tv—it still had antennas and you were perplexed on how it still worked. still, you watched whatever old movie lando had claimed was the best movie that had ever existed—it was older than you.

it was late in the evening, the sound of cicadas and other loud insects chirping away as the sun had finally fallen from the sky, painting the sky a dark black with speckled stars. you were confused at first as to why lando had ushered you out onto the porch so late at night, but once you glanced up to the nice sky, it had all made sense.

a view like this was never available to you in the city, but here and now, it was. away from all the light pollution and tall buildings of the city, you stood under the porch, leaning against the white railing in awe at the unfiltered night sky.

lando had smiled at your mumbles, countless words of how pretty, gorgeous and striking the view was, how lucky he was to be able to see this from where they stood. you shook your head in disbelief, “‘s so pretty,” you had mumbled breathlessly, turning your head to find that he hadn’t taken his eyes off you.

he leaned next to you, a beer still in hand—no doubt it wasn’t his first of the night. your arms barely grazed each other, the fabric of his long sleeve against your bare arm sent tingles over your body.

“sure is,” he whispered back, a smug smile tugging at his lips as he glanced appreciatively over the features of your face before tilting his beer bottle towards you. all you did was smile, feeling the heat rush to your face at his incentive—that you were his best view. you hesitantly took the bottle in your hand, swooshing around the liquid before taking a sip.

he chuckled as your face contorted in a grimace, taking the bottle back from you as he watched your reaction with deep enjoyment, “not a fan, eh?” he teased before taking a sip himself.

“definitely not,” you cough out once you managed to get it swallowed, smacking your lips as you still feel the taste on your tongue, “never had been before.”

his brows raised at your admission, “is that so?” he hums, nodding as he looks back over the property, “so what do ya drink?”

you hum, taking a moment to consider before listing off a few fruity cocktails that you had tried during your club outings. you watched the look of confusion come over his face, the sight making you giggle.

“wha’the hell is tha?” he questions, his voice raised an octave.

all you can do is shake your head and laugh as you nudge his shoulder, promising him, “i’ll have to take you to the city someday.”

“yeah, sure ya will.”

instead of responding, you just rolled your eyes and fixed your gaze back at the awe-striking view. you stood contently for a long time before lando had to force you inside to finally get some rest after a long day, muttering promises that your car would be fixed before first light tomorrow.

cock-a-doodle-do!

when the sound reached your ears, you slipped in consciousness, confusion and disbelief as you sat up in the wood-framed bed. you groaned, your shoulders hunched and hair heavily disheveled. you would’ve slept longer if it were for the rooster that had loudly crowed at the crack of dawn. you had hardly believed that it was something that roosters actually do—you were a bit naive. 

you rolled back in bed, shoving a pillow over your head to block out the sounds of incessant crowing until you had fallen back into a light sleep—stupid chicken.

and when you awoke again a couple hours later with a knock to the guest room door, you stirred. again you sat up, groaned at the forceful waking, but this time you stayed up as you called out for whoever knocked to come in.

the door creaked open, and there was oscar, a smile on his slightly sunburned face, as per usual, talking about how there’s some food left over that you can heat up. though, not all the words make it to your sleep-fogged brain so you just hum and nod, adjusting to the bright sun slipping through the curtains.

you sighed when you realized that by now, your car was probably fixed, that this was the last yummy meal cooked by these nice—and strangely attractive—country boys. surprisingly, you felt your heart ache at the thought of leaving. they had been so nice to you, inviting you into their home with nothing, but care and generosity.

but of course, leaving had come all too soon as you were driven back to where your car had broken down—oscar suffering in the backseat after being forced once again to sit back there. being lead to your car with small talk as it sunk in that the pretty little lady who’s car they fixed was now going on her way.

they stood either side of your car, oscar on the passenger side and lando on the driver's side. you had the door propped open, starting the car with a smile on your face, but it quickly turned sad.

as you closed the car door, you rolled down the window to look up at lando as he stood closer, hands in the front pockets of his jeans, a small smile on his lips as he looked down at you. you held out an arm to which he leaned over, allowing you to wrap in around him, his arm snaking around your back. he lightly patted it after a few moments, relishing in the affection before inevitably pulling away.

“thank you again, mr.—” you paused, realizing you hadn’t gotten as acquainted to learn their full names, suddenly feeling a bit red in the face as you blanked.

all lando did was smirk as he leaned against your car door, arm over the window as he bent down to eye level with you. his other hand snaked its way up to the hat that sat atop his head. he revealed the dark curls beneath as he lifted it from his head, situating it on yours the best he could—it wasn’t as secure of a fit on your head compared to his. “norris,” he finished the sentence for you, now holding out his hand for you to shake—which you do—“lando norris. it was nice to meeting ya, darlin’, see ya around.”

—

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proofread by @foreveralbon <333

[levitoni]

Take my soul, leave my body.

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x female reader. 

Warning: smut, NSFW 18+, minors dni.

Content: depictions of grief and guilt, solo masturbation, edging, choking, Levi cumming his brains out .

Author’s notes: Hi! This is my first one-shot ever. I hope I gave Levi’s character justice, as I absolutely adore him and he lives in my mind rent free. Keep in mind English is not my native language, so watch out for mistakes. Thank you for reading and enjoy!

Levi’s left alone in his office, but thoughts of you distract him from his paperwork.

The mess hall buzzes alive in the general uproar of the evening. The smell of wood wafts through the air, dishes being served left and right to greedy soldiers, who converse loudly and eat even more so. The sound of plates clanking together accompany the movement of dozens of people who walk past pushing each other, talking and grinning with the approach of the evening.

Flashes of green and brown pass by Lance Corporal Levi, seated on the veteran’s benches. Not bothered to entertain, the man remains firmly rooted to his spot, seemingly set in stone. A permanent scowl rests on his shapely lips, disturbing his otherwise polished appearance. A porcelain cup, fair like his complexion, rests between his elongated fingers, onyx bangs brushing against his eyelashes, uniform impeccably clean. Despite his still demeanour, nobody seems inclined to approach him tonight.

Not that he particularly cares for it, anyways. In fact, he’s glad he’s alone. Remnants of the day keep sneaking into his mind, confusing themselves with thoughts of his duties, the next expeditions, the upcoming training sessions. He’s annoyed, but most of all tired. His fingers tighten around the rim of the cup as soldiers bustle about next to him, shouting at a considerably high volume.

For him, it is one of those heavy nights: he feels a headache coming on this early into the dusk. He knows the tea won’t help; he’s too preoccupied by his own thoughts, granted to him in the form of discomfort, laced with a feeling whose definition he can’t quite place a finger upon. Typically it seethes deep in his being, reminding him of his past, prompting memories to arise deep in the nightfall; he thinks back to his youth, his companions in the Underground, his mother, alongside a recent addition: you. The emotion always renders him utterly useless, until the burning in his eyes subsides almost completely by the dawn of the following day and it stops washing over him in waves.

That’s why he doesn’t notice when you enter the hall.You’re with your comrades, your smile a bight contrast against the dark atmosphere, delighted at the prospect of finally relaxing in front of a plate of warm food. He doesn’t notice when you deliberately pick the table next to his, and when you sit on the furthest spot on the bench besides his, he feigns indifference until he lifts his gaze. 

Before he can react, you greet him over the sounds of the hall.

-Good evening, Captain- you say, velvety tone wrapping around him.

A couple of beats pass between the two of you. Then, there is a single indication of his acknowledgment: a mechanical nod, along with a look towards your direction.

His stormy irises glint under the dim lights of the room, like gray crystals shining in the moonlight. You don’t miss the gravity of the stare he shoots your way. You don’t think much of it: it seems a regular gesture, befitting of his intense character. 

But you don’t detect the slight tremble of his fingertips, nor the way his gaze runs over you, taking in how you look, your expressions, your every move. He observes the outline of your face and neck even after you turn your head away from him, his slated eyes raking over your jacket. In his imagination, he would like to lean over, so close you would almost be touching, gently grab your wrist and feel the weight of your skin beneath his fingertips.He would be close enough to perceive the heat of your breath, and maybe he’d ask you questions and listen to you intently, without ever missing a word spewing from your lips. Maybe he’d even take you away, if you would let him. 

But Levi is a rational man. He lives his life in the silent promise that one day, his heart's deepest desires will be fulfilled, and yet when anguish catches up to him, irrefutably and achingly, he’s terrified. He wholeheartedly wishes it would be the opposite, but every time he attempts to escape, it doubles down on him, suffocating him entirely. 

So he looks away when your head tilts towards him. He doesn’t want to deal with the idea of you tonight. He’s aware he’s scarred, and all he wants to do this evening is to bask in his loneliness. So he convinces himself it would be wrong of him to trouble you. 

He suddenly feels the urge to leave. The sound of laughter spreads trough the hall, the wood creaking as he lifts from his seat, swiftly and silently. A strange sensation simmers in his gut and engulfs him completely, and the next time you look towards his direction, he’s gone.

****************************************************************************************************************************

Levi walks away. The freezing corridor walls exude quietness, the only discernible sound his boots tapping against the cement floor, creating a rhythmic noise. He opens the door to his office, and he’s greeted by a familiar sight: bundles of paper on his elegant mahogany desk. The moonlight beams though the windows, ensuring a subdued and soft ambience, and the door closes behind him with a soft click. His shoulders drop as he walks over to his chair, exhaling softly through his nose. The rug mutes his boots, providing a muffled sound, disrupted by the squeaking of the chair as soon as he sits down. 

The moon is ever-present, with a warm milky glow in the sky. Levi believes the sight of it could become a song in the eyes of anyone willing to raise their head upward. He’s reminded of his childhood, the moon his exclusive and solitary companion during those restless nights, in the city whose inhabitants sleep, while sorrow doesn’t.

He pinches the area between his brows. The dull headache doesn’t seem to pass, and he opts to distract himself by opening the stack of paperwork and grabbing a report, in order to not sit up late and think about reasons why he shouldn’t try with you. He always feels as though when he moves and speaks it’s his shadow, but he’s convinced when you look at him, it’s him really.

Because of this, Levi sometimes cannot stand himself. He’s certain he despises himself when during the never-ending dusk hours his mind, branded with your image, reels in contemplation of you, like right now.

The pen wavers in his hand as a persistent impulse creeps at the forefront of his mind. 

He hates how much of an effect you have on him. He thinks of you these past few days, and the images his mind comes up with are proof of his longing: flashes of your pale, damp neck during training sessions, when you think he’s not looking. Your eyes, seductive and always welcoming. Rosy, pillowy lips in an almost perfect shape, never set in a straight line, inviting. He would be dishonest if he stated he’d never thought of them wrapping around his own, drawing out his breath, kissing him all over. 

He lifts his hand, rubbing his temples even harder now. Levi’s sure it’s sinful, but he’s been dreaming of giving you highs. Of pleasuring you until you’re stupid, making you thoughtless against his sheets, quivering with satisfaction. 

His mind fogs like the cold unfurling on a glass panel.

He would know how to treat you properly. At least, that’s what he always tells himself when twilight approaches. As the numbing coolness of nightfall imprints itself perpetually on the windowsills, rendering him scornful and estranged, he’s aware atonement is inconceivable.During these moments he’s reminded of everything and nothing at all simultaneously: your presence contained in fleeting fractions of time. Often, when he thinks of you, his heartbeat expands beneath his collar as darkness consumes him.

He’s aware he’s not allowed to have you, of course. Even more certain he’s not entitled to you; he thinks he would hate it if you so much as looked at him spitefully. And yet, he’s imagined your figure in impossible positions, his graceful fingers touching you, reaching spots bound to have you breathless, even better - gasping for air. The palms of his hands caressing the span of your entire frame, rousing goosebumps in their wake. His toned, lithe back spanning in between your thighs, his delicate tongue languidly tracing circles in places only he should see.

He knows you should be bent, but not ruined. Twisted, but not deformed. He has already seen the fire in your eyes, only he longs to feel it inflicted on him. He wouldn’t shun you for it, but most of all, he wouldn’t avoid it. He doesn’t believe he will ever steer clear of it when it burns through him, searing him alive.

He shifts in his seat. He feels hardness prodding at the fabric of his pants. The room is scorching hot, and he leans back in his chair in an attempt to calm himself, closing his eyes. 

His ebony hair appears tousled and soft, inky strands scraping against his bare neck. Heat becomes visible on his cheeks, vividly pink. He’s always loathed how effortlessly his skin reacts; in the Underground, kids would mock him and call him names for being so pale. But right now, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care at all when the only thing on his mind is you. The air is stuffy, and everything on his body seems too tight, too confining.

He starts taking off his jacket, folding it on his desk, but the movement causes his pen to fall to the ground.

-Fuck- he curses, his voice cutting through the stuffy air, sounding foreign even to him. 

But he doesn’t bother lifting it, guilt eating him alive. Would it be so wrong to relieve himself just one time? Levi doesn’t think he will ever be able to answer such a question. His cock throbs in his pants. Levi curses again. As his body betrays him, he recalls how he’s used all his willpower these past few weeks, and one thing he’s certain of: there’s not a single strand left. 

So he values his options: slaving away on the paperwork until morning, or surrendering to his filthy desires. Before he can even follow his reasonings, he shifts in seat again, not realising his mistake.His train of thoughts is immediately interrupted when his bare hand brushes against his dick. He nearly moans from the contact, shivers running down the length of his back.

All rationality is gone out of the window in an instant when he grabs himself through the fabric of his uniform, and the sinful noise he spews will remain forever embedded in his brain. 

He wonders if you hate him now.

In his mind, he begs for your forgiveness. But the need for you grows too strong. Especially when he rids himself of his shirt and cravat, and especially when he unbuttons his pants and doesn’t even bother to take them off all the way. He stops where the ODM gear marks are engraved on the planes of his muscular thighs, and pants wildly as he frees his dick from all kinds of restrictions.

He doesn’t have time to rationalize any of it, and he doesn’t think he wants to.He reels forward as he presses his thumb to his bright red tip, groaning when he rolls it in slow, tormenting circles. He wraps his palm around the sensitive area, huffing through his mouth as he starts moving up and down in sensual motions.

He thinks of having his way with you. He throws his head back as he fantasizes of bending you over, taking you right there in his office against the lacquered mahogany. He dreams of wrapping your hair around his hand and tugging it, forcing you to arch your back and allowing him to pound into you even harder. He moans particularly loudly when he focuses on the vein on the underside of his dick, imagining it’s you between his legs, running your precious tongue all over him, drooling over his round balls and rhythmically taking him deeper into your throat. 

He feels his high approaching too fast. He’s gasping as he bunches up the fabric of his pants in his right hand. To give himself a reprieve, he spits into it, and squeezes his manhood as his saliva mixes with his precum. His abs stretch over miles of skin, and pearly beads of liquid fall languidly on the short, dark hairs of his pelvis.He looks gorgeous like this, deprived and wanton.

And so he whimpers when he thumbs his slit in an upwards motion, and falls apart slowly; he is so needy, but nothing is enough anymore. He wants to cum so bad- the stimulation is insufficient, and he grows desperate by the second.

He lifts his hand up and brushes against his nipples. He thinks of your cunt swaddling him in its wonderful heat, while you ride him on the exact chair he’s sitting on. His hand speeds up, and the only sounds heard in the room are his wheezing and the heavy squelching caused by his movements.A known sensation envelops him totally, and he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop, not anymore.

He’s certain you’ve bewitched him. As he pictures your pussy on his tongue, he experiments by closing his hand around his throat, cutting off his oxygen supply completely. The reaction is immediate: one of his knees comes up and he knocks something off his desk. He doesn’t bother looking. You have him right where he wants to be: weak with desire. He stifles a groan. 

He understands that if you asked him for anything, he would give it away. He would do it, for you, and you only.He’s hanging right there, and for a split second he thinks he might slip and ruin everything. But Levi is not a person prone to making errors. 

Right before his unravelling, he forcefully grasps the base of his dick and pushes down. His muscles tense up entirely, tears prickling his eyes. He heaves.

The sensation fizzles out around his tip, smouldering and taking over him. He cries out, his hips rising up. He knows that If it were you doing this, he would be begging. 

He holds out for another moment, lifting his hand from his throat and grabbing the handles of the chair.Then, he furiously brings his hand down and touches himself.

A single tear escapes his eyes, and he nearly wails.

He chokes as his raging high washes over him, igniting him from the inside out. His muscles tremble though his entire peak as sweat dribbles down his forehead, his face scrunched up in an agonisingly beautiful expression. 

Levi has never come this hard. Deep inside, he wishes you were here to witness it.

When he finally opens his eyes, they’re glazed over. Exhaustion seeps into his bones, milky white liquid sticking his fingers together. Cotton seems to have lodged itself into his ears, and while he would prefer to clean himself immediately, he’s too tired to. 

He runs his hand over his manhood once more, his hand limp, and he almost hisses from the overstimulation. Papers are strewn all over the floor, a picture of his mind, and he gulps as he sits up further on the chair. He hears voices down the corridor, and he lifts his gaze towards his window.

One thing he’s positive of: he knows he can’t be saved. Nobody knows how will end will unfold. None of your gods can redeem him; so, as moonlight whispers pale hues into the dreamy night, he hopes you absolve him.

[matsookawa]

Title: Graceless

Pairing: Dracule Mihawk x fem!reader

Summary: The great warlord stumbling over himself in the presence of a wine shop owner while his two housemates make it worse.

Word count: 1,604

Note: This was requested as a "short story". I clearly do not acknowledge the word "short" in any way.

The single lightbulb flickering above the mirror is beginning to irritate Dracule Mihawk. He stands above the sink, calloused hands gripping the sides, while he scrutinizes every one of his features. He double checks his hat is straightened, his long open coat sitting just right on his broad shoulders, and that his beard was groomed better than usual that morning. He adjusts Yoru, takes a step back, and moves the feather on his hat one inch to the left. He knows Zoro and Perona are impatiently waiting outside the front doors for him to join them, however he can’t bring himself to care. He has to look absolutely impeccable or this will all be for nothing.

It's ten minutes when he finally steps out of the bar, his protégé and their ghostlike counterpart following behind him until they come upon a shop next door, the storefront colored tastefully with gold and black. He takes a particularly deep breath and he can almost hear Perona beginning to smile behind him. ‘Why on Earth did I bring them?’ This is something he would much rather do alone, but alas, he couldn’t trust them not to burn down the estate in his absence. As he ascends the two steps, he considers abandoning them on this island. Once the door is open, he’s immediately welcomed with the scent of wood and herbs. If you asked him, he would say it’s his favorite smell in the world, right after a certain someone’s perfume. ‘Speaking of which’, he thinks. The wooden floors beneath him groan as he moves toward the counter to tap a call bell resting on top. Bottles behind him clink and he knows his companions have begun choosing what they’re going to bring home.

Just as every other time prior, he’s rendered speechless upon sight of her when she appears from the back. The woman, magnificent to behold and perfect in every way, smiles and his hands twitch with the desire to grab her by the shoulders and kiss her until she can no longer breathe. She hasn’t changed since the day he met her and he hopes she feels the same way about him. He’s always been very partial to that day in particular.

It was two years ago when he was stopping for supplies. He decided he should replenish their wine cellar, but none of the larger stores had his favorites in stock (truly a curse for a connoisseur such as himself). After speaking with a few locals, he was directed to a small shop on the outskirts of town. As soon as he entered and saw the selection, he knew he was home. Soon after, the most gorgeous woman showed him to a shelf of wines that were so rare, he had only ever heard rumors and not seen them. After giving her expertise and allowing him samples, he walked out of there buzzed and with plans to visit at least once a month. To this day, he believes that was an ascension into Heaven.

“And where have you three been? I’ve waited day in and day out for my favorite customers and for what? Two months of absolutely nothing?” Perona is the one to answer and an irrational part of Mihawk is angry he didn’t get to speak to her first. “Sorry, [Y/N]. We’ve been training non-stop for the past couple of weeks and haven’t been able to make it out here. We probably still wouldn’t have made it if our entire cellar didn’t run out of wine. Mr. Grumpy here has been sulking for days. We’re beginning to think he has an alcohol problem.”

He wants to kill Perona over and over again.

“Well, you’re in the right place for it then.” [Y/N] responds. Her gaze returns to the group’s leader (the group’s father, more like). She speaks in a low tone and Mihawk believes it is an attempt to spare any teasing from his companions. “For what it’s worth, I do wish you would come more often. I’ve missed watching you swing Yoru around on the shore.” Mihawk swears his heart palpitates for a moment. He longs to rip it straight out of his chest and hand it to her while frantically screaming “I want to spend every lifetime with you!” Unfortunately, no one will ever catch the warlord acting so out of character. “Thank you for your kind words. We have missed you as well.” Perona snickers and Mihawk quickly says, “Your wine, I might clarify. We have missed your wine.” [Y/N] giggles and it’s a sound Mihawk sears into his memory for the lonely days ahead of him. “I must say I’m disappointed it’s only my wine you miss.” She claps her hands together as his throat goes dry. “Alright then!” [Y/N] says loudly. “Let me show you what’s new!”

The two meander the aisles for an hour until they stand once more at the counter. [Y/N] is telling a story about a disgruntled customer from last week. “And then, do you know what he said to me? And I know you would have absolutely killed him, Mihawk. He said to me, ‘Well, don’t you think you’re on a bit too high of a horse to be such a bitch about liquor?’ As if I haven’t spent the last decade gathering the rarest and highest quality wines!” She’s correct. He would have indeed taken that man’s life. How dare someone speak to any woman, much less this one, like that? “Not everyone can appreciate the finer things in this life such as ourselves.” [Y/N] smiles and leans forward, resting her elbows on the countertop. “That’s why I’ve always been fond of you, Mihawk. You always hold your head high no matter what anyone says about you.”

The only thing he heard was “I’ve always been fond of you.”

And so it seems did Perona and Zoro. He feels a breeze as they rush to flank him on either side. “Say, [Y/N].” Perona starts. “What do you think about coming for dinner sometime? We’d love to have you.” Mihawk’s eye minutely twitches. “Yeah,” Zoro chimes in with a smirk. “I’m sure Mihawk wouldn’t mind. Quite the opposite actually. We’ve seen him writing a lot lately. Perona found a notebook where he talked about this beautiful woman who unknowingly has his entire heart. Not to mention how he yearns for her at night when-” The warlord raises his foot and slams it onto Zoro’s as hard as he possibly can. The younger man yells a “Hey!”. It makes [Y/N] laugh and Mihawk swears there has never been a sweeter sound. “Forgive him, [Y/N]. He’s been delirious the past couple of weeks because of illness. He does not know what he’s talking about.” The words are hurried and red creeps into his cheeks.

[Y/N]’s smile falters just a bit. “Oh, if you don’t want me to come, that’s okay. I-“ “No!” Perona and Zoro stare wide-eyed at his unusual outburst. His resolve is crumbling. “Of course we would love to have you for dinner. I- We don’t want to impose, is all. I know you mentioned not having a ship of your own.” [Y/N] tries to hide her smile by pressing her lips together. A beat passes. “Not to say that is an issue. Of course we could come get you, but then your shop would be closed for at least a day, you would lose income, and it could be foreclosed-“ “Mihawk.” [Y/N] places her hand on top of one of his that’s resting on the counter. “I would love to come, if you’d have me.”

The world stops. Perona and Zoro no longer exist and it is just he and [Y/N] holding each other’s hand. A blush explodes across his neck and he stares open-mouthed at her. She holds a soft smile and his skin burns where hers is touching. He can’t bring himself to speak so she does. “Do you have availability this weekend?” The man nods. “Good.” [Y/N] releases his hand and Mihawk wants to cry out for it like a child. “I’ll be at the docks at six.” He’s able to pick up enough scraps of his dignity to recollect himself in front of her. “We will see you then. Today has been a pleasure.”

The bell above the door chimes as Zoro and Perona exit. [Y/N] walks Mihawk to the door and they pause before it. “I meant it when I said you’re my favorite customers.” Now that they’re completely alone, he allows his lips to pull into a small, embarrassed smile. “I must admit, we have grown very fond of you as well.” He turns and opens the door. He begins his descent down the two steps. “Then do me a favor and lose the kids this weekend.” His body halts immediately. “I beg your pardon?” He turns to her while she stands in the doorway, his brows furrowed in silent question. “You heard me. Come on, Mihawk. All this talk of fondness, not to mention the only women you’re close to are Perona and me, so you journal entry could only be about me.” Mihawk’s mouth falls open and for the first time in his life, he begins stuttering.

“Besides,” she teases with a grin. “You’ve been here for the past hour and forgot to buy anything.”

Mihawk goes pale.

“Safe travels!” She shuts the door and he watches her figure disappear into the back of her shop. He hears cackling from behind him and as much as he wants to punish Zoro and Perona for it, he can’t bring himself to.

The only thing filling his head are wedding plans.

Note: Admittedly, I'm not super proud of the end result, but I thoroughly enjoyed writing it. It was hard to fight my personal headcanon that Mihawk wouldn't outwardly show his nervousness, but I now think it's a very humanizing trait for him to do so.

[funeral]

It has always seemed to me that my existence consisted purely and exclusively of nothing but the most outrageous nonsense. As long as I can remember, every incident and every impulse of my existence has served only to perpetrate one episode after another of conspicuous nonsense, each completely outrageous in its nonsensicality. Considered from whatever point of view—intimately close, infinitely remote, or any position in between—the whole thing has always seemed to be nothing more than some freak accident occurring at a painfully slow rate of speed. At times I have been rendered breathless by the impeccable chaoticism, the absolutely perfect nonsense of some spectacle taking place outside myself, or, on the other hand, some spectacle of equally senseless outrageousness taking place within me. Images of densely twisted shapes and lines arise in my brain. Scribbles of a mentally deranged epileptic, I have often said to myself.

Thomas Ligotti, "The Clown Puppet", Teatro Grottesco

[centrally-unplanned]

Ratfic version of Omelas where I take over the city and marshal its perpetually lucky, incorruptibly healthy, impeccably orderly population into a military-economic war machine, perfect process engineering and uncomplaining 16 hours shifts outputting weapons by the truckload to be handled by men with unfailing morale and immunity to battlefield disease and rot. The Omelegions brick by brick conquer the neighboring nations, dismantle their cities, and relocate their populations back to the capital, their complaints magically washed away by the soothing, brackish tears staining the pitted cheeks of our war machine's heart as soon as they cross the border. Dense urbanization is promoted alongside mass-scale hypertransit projects, rendering each new district such a teeming mass of socioeconomic interconnections that the magic of Omelas is forced to extend its blessed embrace mile and after inexorable mile, still powered by the hacking sobs and blood-stained fingernails of a single child. All shall be Omelas, nation by nation, from commercial center to industrial district to residential exurb, until the city coats the entire planet and the Ecumenopolis of Omelas is born. Earth is no more, there is only Omelas, and the despair lancing on loop through every synapse of our Child-Emperor's brain is mathematically, objectively, as officially calculated in the holy ledger of the Ministry of Utility, reduced to infrequent specks of morality in the eyes of the one hundred trillion residents, unnoticed in their bliss.

And then "The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas" will have to choke on their insufferable self-righteous bullshit because they have nowhere to walk EVERYWHERE IS OMELAS NOW BITC-

[thepeaklegendoffirstgen]

CHEST MONSTER

Don’t know what possessed me, maybe it’s the monsoon season or the latest ch , but here I am, with a Samuel fic 💀

The tea sat untouched. The atmosphere was so thick, not even a chainsaw could cut through it.

Your parents had been eagerly looking forward to meeting him, but the tattoos. Those tattoos rendered them speechless.

A man well over six feet, muscles bulging under a perfectly tailored suit, and a chest that could put many women to shame.

Your parents kept exchanging glances, clearly trying to say something. You awkwardly filled the silence with a comment about the weather.

Samuel calmly sipped his tea, seeing no need to speak, at least not yet. But when he finally set down his cup and saucer, everyone seemed to hold their breath.

"You have a lovely home, sir," he said with a measured tone and impeccable intonation.

Your dad immediately looked up, laughing nervously. “Well, it’s all thanks to her,” he said, nodding toward your mother. “She made this place what it is.”

Sensing an opportunity to shift the energy, you added, “Dad, did you know Samuel was once the president of a major company?”

Big mistake. Huge mistake. Why did you open your mouth? Now your father was definitely going to dig, and ask what kind of company would let its president look the way Samuel did.

“That was a long time ago,” Samuel quickly interjected. “Now I’m involved in other ventures, exploring and expanding wherever my interests take me.”

Was that sweat on your father’s forehead? And was your mother picking at her fingers again? A nervous habit. But why were they so nervous? You wondered.

Yes, Samuel had his ways. He certainly had days when things weren’t great. But on those days, he always kept his distance from you. You were relieved, yet a small part of you resented him for shutting you out when he struggled. You wanted to be there for him, even when things weren’t perfect.

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” your mother asked, a bit too quickly.

“Yes, of course. Won’t we?” you replied, placing your hand over Samuel’s. He responded with a polite smile.

Dinner went surprisingly smoothly. The mood lightened, especially after your dad had a couple of drinks. His initial hesitation melted away, only to be replaced by relentless curiosity. He hit him with questions from every direction: how much money he made, why he wasn’t in college, where his income came from, and how he planned to sustain himself in the future.

Now you were the nervous one. Samuel’s patience had its limits, and the conversation was beginning to sound more like an interrogation. Anxiety flared within you.

But what followed eased your nerves entirely.

Samuel answered every question with sincerity. His respect never wavered. He spoke of how real-world results matter more than idealistic preaching . Yes, you caught that subtle dig... and how power and protection stem from influence and connections, which help you climb the ladder faster.

Shockingly, this impressed your father.

Your mother didn’t seem to mind either; in fact, she was practically beaming at you as your man spoke with dignity and grace.

Soon, the evening transformed into an animated discussion about business strategy and empire building. Everyone chimed in, but it was Samuel who kept stealing the spotlight with every word he said.

The night ended on a high note. As you were leaving, your dad even offered Samuel his business card, and he accepted it graciously.

On your way to the parking lot, Samuel loosened his tie and muttered under his breath, “You could’ve told me you were taking me to a job interview.”

Ah, here he was: grumpy, moody, always in business mode.

“It wasn’t a job interview. That’s just how these things go, you know?” you said with a grin. “But hey, if it was, then congrats because you passed with flying colours.”

You reached to ruffle his hair, only for him to playfully shove your hand away. Yet his arm still slipped silently around your shoulders as you walked together, content, happy, and relieved your parents were satisfied. Samuel had truly been a gentleman.

BONUS SCENE

“What a fine young man he was,” your mother cooed. “Sharp, too.”

Your father nodded in agreement. “Big brain, that one. As big as his chest.”

Oops 😬

Your mother turned to him, horrified. Disgusted, she stormed off, nostrils flaring. Your father scrambled after her, trying to explain in vague, panicked mutters.

[kikis-writing-service]

Damage Control (Midoriya Izuku x Reader) Chapter 3

Summary:

You've always been there—Izuku's constant, his anchor, so integral to his life he's never actually seen you. Twenty years of devotion rendered invisible by familiarity. Until his divorce forces him to lean on you again, and a casual revelation about your past with Katsuki makes him suddenly, devastatingly aware of everything he's been taking for granted.

🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤

Parts:  1  |  2  |  3  |  4  |  5  |  6  |  7  |  8  |  9  | 10 | 11 | 12 |

🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤

Content Warning: This fic contains divorce, alcohol use, toxic behavior while intoxicated, unhealthy relationship patterns, and implied emotional infidelity.

🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤

The knock at your office door was exactly as you had expected—three precise taps, neither demanding nor hesitant. Yui had always been like that: measured, appropriate. Even now, in the midst of divorce.

"Come in," you called, straightening papers that didn't need straightening.

Yui entered with that same graceful composure she'd always had, the one that had made something twist in your chest the first time Izuku introduced her. Her smile reached her eyes as she thanked you for seeing her, and that was the problem. There was nothing to dislike about Yui Midoriya. There never had been.

"Thank you for making time," she said, settling into the chair across from your desk.

You'd prepared for this meeting with the same methodical care you brought to everything in Izuku's orbit. You'd allotted precisely thirty minutes, strategically scheduled while he underwent styling three floors away—eliminating any possibility of chance encounters in hallways or awkward elevator rides.

"Of course," you replied, professional tone firmly in place. "I've prepared some information that should help in the coming weeks."

You studied her as she removed her coat, noting the careful elegance of her movements. Her appearance was impeccable—hair styled to appear effortlessly perfect, makeup subtle but flawless. Yui had always been exactly the kind of person you expected Izuku would fall for—intelligent, compassionate, unfailingly kind. The sort of person who sent handwritten thank-you notes and remembered birthdays without reminders.

The ghost of her wedding ring was still visible, a pale band of skin catching the morning light. Five years of marriage erased, leaving only this faint reminder. You found yourself staring at it longer than you should, this physical evidence of absence. The sight stirred something raw and complicated in your chest—not the quiet ache that usually accompanied Yui's presence, but something sharper.

She had what you never could and walked away from it. The unfairness of it cut deep—not just that she'd had him, but that she'd had the audacity to decide he wasn't enough, when to you, he had always been everything. You'd spent years perfecting the art of asking for nothing while she had been free to want more.

"I'm guessing this meeting was your suggestion," Yui said, drawing you back to the present. "Not his."

You maintained your neutral expression. "It's important that you're prepared for what comes next."

A sad smile touched her lips. "I should have known. He gets so wrapped up in certain things that those closest to him tend to slip his mind. Some things never change."

"He didn't ask me to do this," you replied, opening the folder you'd prepared. "But it's what he would want for you."

She said nothing, just looked at you with a quiet understanding that made your skin prickle with discomfort. It was as though she could see right through your explanation to the truth beneath—that every protective measure you were taking for her was actually for him, to spare him additional guilt and worry. You pushed the folder toward her with slightly more force than necessary.

"The reporters won't be allowed near your home, but some might try anyway. These are the names and photos of the most persistent ones. If any of them approach you, don't engage—not even to say 'no comment.' That just gives them usable footage. I've also included contact information for a security service that works with high-profile clients."

"I appreciate the thoroughness," Yui said, her voice genuine despite the subtle tension between you both. She flipped through the pages, studying the faces of the reporters you'd flagged. "You've even included notes on which ones tend to be more aggressive. That's...helpful."

"Social media is the next concern," you continued, tapping your tablet. "For the next two weeks, I'd recommend a complete blackout from your end. No posts, no comments, not even likes. Anything you do will be scrutinized." You slid another document across to her. "If you must use social platforms, these are suggested responses for direct messages. Simple, but firm about maintaining privacy."

Yui reviewed the document, nodding slowly. "You've thought of everything, haven't you?" She looked up, studying you with a thoughtfulness that made you want to look away. "Do you ever sleep?" she asked after a moment.

The question caught you off guard despite her light tone, a small crack forming in your professional veneer. "Excuse me?"

"I've always wondered. I've watched you take calls before dawn, handle his problems until the early hours, even manage emergencies on Christmas Day. Yet every time he calls, you're there with everything prepared." A small smile touched her lips. "It's remarkable, really."

"It's just part of the job," you said. The words tasted hollow.

"Of course." Yui glanced down at the folder, fingertips brushing over your handwriting on the tab. "When we first met, I thought your dedication was professional ambition. That eventually you'd move on to managing other heroes, become an agency director." Her voice remained conversational, revealing nothing but mild curiosity. "But you never did."

Something in your posture shifted—a subtle stiffening you couldn't quite control. The room suddenly felt too warm. "I'm not as ambitious as you might think. I'm content where I am."

A moment of silence settled between you. Yui's attention shifted from the folder to your face, studying you with a quiet thoughtfulness.

"You know, sometimes I wonder if what we call contentment is just what we tell ourselves when we're settling," Yui said. The comment wasn't unkind, just quietly perceptive in a way that made your fingers tighten around your tablet.

It hit you then, with sickening clarity—Yui knew. Had always known about your feelings for Izuku. Your mind raced backward through every interaction: your fingers lingering at his collar during charity galas, how your eyes always found him first in any room.

You'd spent years crafting the perfect mask, perfecting the right balance of professional efficiency and appropriate friendly distance. And all along, she'd been seeing right through it, maintaining the polite fiction of acquaintanceship while knowing exactly what it cost you to watch him say his vows to someone else.

The realization made your throat constrict. All those invitations to dinner, those casual touches on your arm when you arrived at their home, her gentle insistence that you join holiday celebrations "so you won't be alone"—had they been kindness, or something more calculating? The perfect wife who never acted threatened because she knew she'd already won, inviting you into their home to watch exactly what you could never have.

The thought tasted like ash, bitter and invasive. You pushed it away, ashamed of attributing such motives to someone who'd given you no reason for suspicion beyond the crime of marrying the man you'd always wanted. Your resentment was misplaced and you knew it. Still, it lingered—a knot of complicated feelings you'd never allowed yourself to fully acknowledge.

You cleared your throat, forcing yourself back to the task at hand. "If journalists reach out directly, all inquiries should be directed to this office. We've prepared standardized responses for every likely question. The key is consistency. Any variation in your statements will be exaggerated and analyzed for hidden meanings."

"I understand," Yui said, accepting the additional page with a nod. "Single source of truth. No contradictions for them to exploit."

"After today's announcement, we'll be implementing a controlled media strategy. We've already scheduled Izuku for a series of hero-related appearances next week—visible but occupied with work that justifies minimal personal questions."

Yui listened attentively, occasionally making notes in the margins of your documents. The professional exchange almost allowed you to forget the earlier discomfort.

She looked up from the folder, hesitating before she spoke. "I have to ask...how is he handling all this, really?"

Something in her tone made you look up. You found yourself meeting her eyes and seeing genuine concern there—not polite inquiry, but real worry from someone who still cared despite everything. You recognized that particular fear, had felt it yourself countless times.

"He's..." You hesitated, your finger tracing a small circle on your tablet screen. "He pretends he's fine when others are watching. Throws himself into hero work harder than before. Takes unnecessary risks." You paused, remembering the footage from last week's warehouse fire—how he'd stayed inside long after the structural integrity warnings, emerging with soot-covered children and that hollow look in his eyes that scared you more than his injuries. "But when he thinks no one's looking..." You trailed off, revealing more than you'd intended.

"He crumbles a little," Yui finished for you, understanding in her eyes. "He always did that—held himself together for everyone else, then fell apart in private." A sad smile touched her lips. "I suppose you're the one wiping away his tears now."

Something sharp flickered through you at the comment—the way she said it, like you were some replacement, stepping into a role she'd vacated. Your jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

"I was wiping them long before you met him," you replied, the words measured but pointed.

You regretted the response immediately. The possessiveness in your voice was unmistakable, a territorial marker you hadn't meant to lay down.

"It's funny," Yui said with a sad smile, "how you can share a life with someone and still feel like a visitor sometimes."

You forced your attention back to the remaining items, swiping to the next screen with sharp, deliberate movements. "About personal inquiries—friends and colleagues will ask questions. I've prepared some suggested responses that acknowledges the situation without inviting further probing. The key is brevity. The longer your answer, the more they'll feel invited to dig deeper."

"Thank you," Yui said, accepting the document with a small nod.

"It's important to be prepared," you replied, relieved to be back on professional ground. "I've also included guidelines about charity events and public appearances. For the first month, I'd recommend declining most invitations, particularly those that Izuku might also attend."

Yui studies the appearance guidelines, her expression thoughtful. "You've mapped out the next three months here," she observes. "Down to which events each of us should attend or avoid. The level of detail is..." She looks up, meeting your eyes. "You know, I tried to do what you do once—be everything he needed, exactly when he needed it. I couldn't sustain it."

"Different people have different capacities," you replied evenly. "And priorities."

Yui smiled sardonically, accepting the subtle barb with grace. "I always wondered how you made it look so effortless," she said, her voice carrying what might have been genuine admiration if not for the way her eyes lingered on your carefully controlled expression. "Being what he needs, when he needs it, without ever asking for more in return. I never managed that kind of...discipline."

"I've never found it particularly difficult," you said. "Some people train for endurance. Others for sprints. Ultimately, when something matters enough, sacrifice rarely feels like one."

The words sounded rehearsed even to your own ears, polished from years of repetition. A mantra you'd perfected through practice, each syllable carefully weighted to sound like choice rather than circumstance.

"I suppose when sacrifice becomes the baseline, it stops registering as such," she observed.

A muscle worked in your jaw. The words hit closer to home than you cared to admit—nights when you'd found yourself alone in your apartment at midnight, takeout growing cold while you fielded his third call of the evening. When had helping him stopped feeling like a choice and started feeling like breathing? When had you stopped noticing the weight of it?

"There's a certain freedom in stepping back from something you know you can never fully have," Yui added after a moment, her tone shifting to something almost maternal in its gentle wisdom. She offered the words like advice from someone who had learned a difficult lesson and wished to spare another the same pain. "Sometimes walking away is the stronger choice."

Something about the gentle delivery made your skin crawl. The presumption that Yui somehow knew better, had figured out what you couldn't see about your own life, felt infinitely worse than any direct attack could have. Your hands clenched around your tablet, nails digging into your palms. The pain helped you focus, pulled you back from the edge of saying something you couldn't take back.

Before you could formulate a response that wouldn't shatter your professional composure, the door swung open without warning. Izuku stood frozen in the doorway, tie hanging loose around his neck, hair half-styled and disheveled from running his hands through it. His eyes widened in shock as he registered Yui sitting across from you.

"Yui," he breathed, the single word carrying a complex mix of surprise and discomfort. He remained rooted in place, clearly blindsided by her presence.

The composure he'd cultivated as Japan's Number One Hero cracked slightly, replaced by an awkward uncertainty that made him look younger, more vulnerable. His gaze darted to you briefly before fixing on a point somewhere over Yui's shoulder, as if he couldn't quite bring himself to make direct eye contact with her. His fingers fidgeted at his sides, a nervous habit from childhood he'd never quite outgrown. You felt a familiar protectiveness rise in your chest, the instinct to shield him from discomfort so ingrained it was almost a reflex.

The tension that had been building between you and Yui was instantly overshadowed by Izuku's palpable discomfort. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the silence growing heavier with each passing second.

"What are you doing here?" you broke the silence, your exasperation immediate and unfiltered. "You're supposed to be with the styling team."

"I—" Izuku still stared at Yui, clearly struggling to process her presence. "I had second thoughts about some of the wording we agreed on, but I didn't...I wasn't..." He trailed off, hands fidgeting at his sides.

"Well, you're here now," you said, your voice shifting to that particular tone you'd perfected over the years—gentle but directive, designed to pull him back from whatever spiral was threatening to take hold. You moved toward him with deliberate calm, creating a buffer between him and Yui's watchful presence. "And looking like you've been fighting with your styling products." Your fingers reached automatically for his disheveled hair, smoothing it back into place with practiced efficiency. The familiar gesture seemed to ground him, his shoulders relaxing incrementally under your touch.

Yui observed the immediate transformation in your demeanor with quiet attention, something flickering across her features—not jealousy, but recognition, tinged with that same gentle sadness.

"I was just being briefed on media protocols," Yui explained to Izuku, her composure remarkable given the circumstances.

"Oh." The syllable fell awkwardly between them as Izuku shifted his weight, still keeping a noticeable distance from Yui. "That's...good. Thank you," he said, finally looking at you with a mix of gratitude and discomfort. The relief in his eyes when he met your gaze made every moment of Yui's gentle psychological dissection feel suddenly, unexpectedly worthwhile.

"It's my job," you replied automatically, the words worn smooth from years of repetition. "Seriously, you look like you escaped mid-styling."

"Because I did," he said with a slight whine creeping into his voice. "Tanaka and Miura kept arguing about product techniques, and my scalp was starting to hurt, and I couldn't take another minute of sitting there."

"So you thought, 'I know what will help—I'll wander off twenty minutes before a nationally televised press conference?' Perfect. Now Tanaka will blame me for your hair not setting properly."

"It's fine, they were almost done," Izuku protested, visibly relaxing into the familiar pattern. His shoulders lowered slightly, tension melting away. "And my head feels like it weighs an extra kilogram with all that stuff they put in it."

"That's because you still haven't learned the difference between camera-ready and everyday styling," you replied, gathering your notes into a precise stack. "A distinction I've only explained to you about five hundred times."

"Four hundred, tops," Izuku countered with a small smile, momentarily forgetting Yui's presence.

Yui rose from her chair, gathering her purse and the folder. The movement seemed to jolt Izuku back to awareness of her presence. His entire body tensed again, that easy comfort vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.

"I should go," she said, her voice gentle. "You both have a press conference to prepare for."

"You don't have to—" Izuku started, then stopped, clearly unsure what he actually wanted. The conflict was written plainly across his features—obligation to be polite warring with obvious relief at the prospect of her departure.

"It's fine," Yui assured him. "We've covered everything necessary."

An uncomfortable silence descended as she approached the door. Izuku stepped aside hastily, giving her a wide berth as if afraid their sleeves might brush in passing.

"Good luck today," Yui said, genuine kindness in her voice despite everything. "I know these public moments are difficult for you."

"Thanks," Izuku replied softly, his voice strained. "And I'm sorry you have to deal with any of this."

"Take care of yourself too," she said quietly to you. There was a gentleness in her tone that felt almost like forgiveness, though you weren't sure what for.

After Yui departed, Izuku sagged against the doorframe, releasing a breath that seemed to deflate his entire body. "I'm sorry," he said, running a hand through his already-disheveled hair. "I had no idea she'd be here."

"You weren't supposed to be here while she was here," you replied. "I scheduled her briefing during your prep time specifically to avoid an awkward encounter."

"I never make things easy for you, do I?" Izuku said with a self-deprecating smile, the one he'd used whenever he knew he'd created more work for you.

"No, you don't," you confirmed, but something soft threaded through your voice despite the annoyance—a tenderness you didn't allow yourself with anyone else.

He looked down, the smile fading as he fidgeted with the loose end of his tie. "I didn't actually come here because of wording questions," he admitted softly, not meeting your eyes. "I just...needed a minute. Away from everyone staring at me, waiting for me to break. The stylists keep giving me these pitying looks, and I—" He stopped, swallowed hard. You watched his Adam's apple bob, saw the slight tremor in his hands that you'd recognized since you were kids. "I needed somewhere that felt normal."

The quiet confession hit you harder than it should have. You'd always been his sanctuary, the place he retreated to when the world became too much. Not his wife. Not his home. You. The realization sat heavy in your chest—both privilege and burden. To be needed wasn't the same as being chosen. To be steady wasn't the same as being loved. But it was something. It had always been something.

"The press conference is in forty minutes," you reminded him gently. "You can't hide in my office forever."

"I know." His eyes finally met yours, something raw and unguarded in them that made your chest ache. "Just needed to remember how to breathe for a second."

You'd seen this look before—the night All Might died, after his first civilian casualty, the morning of his wedding. Moments when the weight of expectations threatened to crush him, when he needed an anchor to keep from drifting. The realization that you remained that anchor, even through his marriage and divorce, settled in your chest.

"You've faced worse than this," you said, your voice steadier than you felt. "And I'll be right there, three steps behind the podium. Same as always."

The tension in his shoulders eased slightly as he nodded, drawing strength from your certainty the way he always had.

You sighed, already calculating how to adjust the timeline. "Back to the prep room. Now. I'll be there in five minutes to rescue you from Tanaka's artistic vision and fix whatever disaster you've made of your tie."

"You're the best," he said, the simple gratitude carrying a weight of shared history. The familiar words hit like they always did—a warm glow that you immediately tried to extinguish. He hesitated, glancing back toward the chair where Yui had been sitting. "Was she upset? About all of this?"

"She's handling it better than most would," you assured him. "She's stronger than you might think. Now go. We have a schedule to maintain."

He departed with obvious relief, shoulders still tense but steps lighter now that he was back in familiar territory, and you watched him go.

Alone in your office, you allowed yourself a brief moment of vulnerability—eyes closing as you took a steadying breath. The weight of Yui's words settled over you like a physical presence. You kept returning to that final look she gave you, the pity in her eyes as she watched you with Izuku. She'd watched you love him from a careful distance and felt sorry for you.

You straightened your blazer and checked your reflection in the small mirror on your wall, tucking away a strand of hair that had escaped its careful styling. Your composure returned with practiced ease, familiar as breathing.

By the time you reached the prep room, any trace of the conversation with Yui had been carefully locked away. You were an expert at compartmentalization—at storing away difficult emotions to be examined later, or preferably never. Your focus was entirely on the immediate task of preparing Japan's Number One Hero for a press conference about his divorce.

Izuku looked up at your entrance, relief evident in his expression. He sat in the styling chair, tie hanging limply around his neck, hair only half-tamed by product.

"Ready to rescue me?" he asks.

"Always," you reply.

🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤 🖤

The week after the press conference passed in a carefully orchestrated blur—you managing Izuku’s public image with surgical precision while he navigated the strange emptiness of being suddenly, officially alone. Headlines shifted from speculation to sympathy exactly as you'd planned, editorials praised his dignity, and the world moved on to newer scandals. Your strategy had worked flawlessly, as always.

Tuesday brought Izuku to his lawyer's sterile office to sign the divorce papers. The pen felt impossibly heavy as he wrote his name, each letter making permanent what Yui's absence had only suggested. When she'd left their apartment, some part of him had still believed in second chances. But ink on legal documents carried different weight—final, irrevocable, real.

The sadness amplified first, sharp and expected. Five years of shared mornings and inside jokes, of building something together that was now simply...over. He'd loved her, still did—not the desperate, romantic love he'd once felt, but something gentler, more complicated. An affection that stubbornly refused to die just because logic said it should. The grief settled in his chest like a stone, familiar and heavy, the kind of weight that would probably never fully leave.

But walking out of that office, something else bubbled up underneath—relief so profound it nearly knocked him sideways. Not relief that his marriage was over, but relief that he could finally stop disappointing Yui. No more agonizing over whether this emergency was worth missing dinner. No more calculating if this rescue justified another broken promise. The constant weight of choosing between duty and devotion had lifted. For months, he'd been holding his breath without knowing it, and now he could finally exhale.

But the guilt over feeling relieved made everything worse. What kind of person was he, that freedom felt stronger than loss? What did it say about him that the most overwhelming emotion wasn't heartbreak but the ability to breathe again?

The media attention didn't help. Photographers lurked outside his usual coffee shop. Every grocery run required strategic timing. Even his morning jog became a calculated route designed to avoid cameras. You coordinated everything for now, turning his life into a series of careful maneuvers that somehow made him feel both protected and trapped.

When Mina texted about their usual gathering at Yamamoto's, he almost said no. The thought of performing normalcy for even his closest friends felt exhausting. But his apartment had started echoing with too much silence, filled with spaces where Yui's things used to be. Empty drawers that used to hold her clothes. A bathroom counter with only his toothbrush. The absence felt heavier than her presence ever had.

The restaurant wrapped around him like a warm hug the moment he stepped inside. This place had been hosting their group’s chaos since their early pro hero days, back when they were still figuring out how to be adults with responsibilities and reputations to protect. The Yamamoto family never asked questions, never let slip what they overheard, never took photos when someone had too much to drink and got emotional. Trust like that couldn't be bought—it was earned through years of proving they deserved it.

Tonight felt like the first time in a week he could actually breathe.

Their usual group had spread out across the restaurant's cozy interior—some clustered around the bar where Kaminari was regaling anyone who'd listen with his latest mishap, others settled into the low seating area near the windows. People drifted between conversations naturally, the alcohol making everyone more social than usual.

Two hours and several drinks later, the familiar warmth of alcohol and friendship had settled into his bones like a balm. The conversations had flowed naturally—updates on hero work, complaints about paperwork, Kaminari's latest dating disaster that had everyone in stitches. Sero's new apartment horror stories. Jirou's ongoing battle with her record label. Normal things. Safe things. Human things that had nothing to do with divorce papers or media strategies or the careful performance of being okay. For the first time since the divorce announcement, Izuku felt like himself again rather than a carefully managed public figure.

He'd gravitated toward the cluster around the low tables, nursing his third beer while watching you gesture animatedly at something Jirou had said. Your cheeks were flushed from laughter and whatever fruity cocktail you'd been working on, completely at odds with your usual professional composure. The sight reminded him of when you were both teenagers and the memory of it stirred a familiar warmth in his chest.

"Alright, alright," Mina said, slightly louder than necessary as she leaned forward conspiratorially. The alcohol had made her even more theatrical than usual. "Important question time. Why is Bakugou still tragically single? I demand answers."

"Fuck off, Raccoon Eyes," Katsuki muttered from his position sprawled in one of the low chairs, but his irritation seemed more theatrical than genuine. The beer in his hand was definitely not his first of the evening.

"I'm being serious!" Mina continued, gesturing broadly enough that Kaminari had to duck. "When's the last time you brought someone to one of these? Like, ever?"

"Maybe because I don't want some extra bothering me every five seconds."

You snorted, nearly spilling your drink as you leaned forward. "Oh please, like that's the only reason. You have all the social grace of a cactus, Katsuki."

"I'm honest. People should appreciate that," he replied with a lazy shrug, though his mouth twitched upward in what might have been amusement.

"Honest is generous," Izuku said, settling deeper into his chair as he joined the conversation. The alcohol had made everything feel softer around the edges, more comfortable.

"At least I don't fake being nice," Katsuki muttered, taking another swig of his beer.

"It's called having social skills," you shot back, gesturing with your glass in a way that made the ice clink. "You should try them sometime."

"Why? You've got enough for both of us." There was something in the way Katsuki said it that made Izuku pause.

"Lucky me. I get to be charming enough to compensate for your winning personality," you replied, but your tone held the same easy familiarity, like you were reading from a script you both knew by heart.

"You're not that charming," Katsuki scoffed, but his eyes sparked with mischief in a way that suggested this was part of some ongoing game between you.

"Charming enough that people actually want to be around me," you said sweetly, and Izuku found himself watching the exchange with growing fascination.

"You sure about that?"

"More charming than you'll ever be."

"That's not exactly a high bar," Kaminari pointed out from across the table.

"Oi, Dunce Face—"

"Kaminari has a point," Ochaco said diplomatically. "You could maybe...soften the approach?"

"I can be plenty charming when I want to be," Katsuki shot back.

You gave him a look of pure disbelief.

"What? You of all people know I can be," Katsuki said, pointing at you with that same challenging look, a slight smirk tugging at his lips.

You paused, your eyes lingering on his face with a look of consideration. "If that's what you call charming..." You shook your head in theatrical dismay, but there was something almost fond in your exasperation. "Oh my god, no wonder—"

You cut yourself off abruptly, starting to giggle as you exchanged looks with Ochaco, who immediately burst out with "Oh my god!" and started laughing too.

Katsuki scowled, a hint of color rising in his cheeks. "Shut up."

"Wait, what?" Izuku looked between you all, confusion cutting through the comfortable haze of alcohol and friendship. The sudden shift in atmosphere was palpable—secrets hanging in the air like smoke, meaningful looks being exchanged over his head. "What are you talking about?"

You froze, your glass halfway to your lips, eyes wide like you'd been caught in a spotlight. "I—uh—nothing, just—"

"Oh come on," Mina pressed, leaning forward with obvious curiosity. "You can't just stop mid-sentence like that. What were you going to say?"

"Yeah, now I'm really curious," Kaminari added, grinning. "No wonder what?"

You shot a look at Katsuki, who was watching the whole exchange with obvious amusement, clearly enjoying your squirming under their attention after you'd been teasing him.

"We used to fuck," Katsuki said bluntly, his eyes fixed on Izuku with something that felt like a challenge. The words cut through the warm atmosphere like a blade, sharp and deliberate in their casualness.

The words hit Izuku like a physical blow, making his beer slip in his suddenly numb fingers. He caught it just before it fell, the restaurant sounds suddenly muffled. You. And Katsuki. Together. The image flashed unbidden through his mind and something hot and ugly twisted in his stomach.

"Katsuki!" you hissed, shooting him an irritated look.

He shrugged with calculated nonchalance, glancing over to you. "What? Thought I had the social skills of a cactus."

Mina's eyes went wide with delighted shock. Kaminari's mouth fell open like he'd witnessed a magic trick. But Ochaco's lack of surprise registered most clearly—she'd known.

"Wait," Mina breathed, leaning forward like she'd discovered buried treasure. "When did this happen? How long? Why didn't anyone tell me?" Her excitement was palpable, though she pouted slightly at being left out of the loop.

Katsuki's gaze shifted back to Izuku's face. "Nothing to tell. We fucked a few times. Not exactly dinner conversation material."

"Oh my god," Kaminari managed, his voice slightly strangled. "I cannot believe Katsuki and you had a thing going on. Like, at all. You two together is like...I can't even picture it."

"Right?" Mina's excitement was building momentum now, feeding off the shock rippling through their group. "You two are like, the most unlikely hookup buddies ever. Are you sure there weren't any romantic feelings? Because you guys bounce off each other so easily, you're like...really comfortable together."

"God, no. Definitely not. Katsuki's great for...other things. But romance? Hard pass."

"I'll take it," Katsuki said with a smirk, but his attention remained fixed on Izuku's increasingly pale face. There was something predatory in his focus, like he was waiting for a specific reaction.

Suddenly Izuku was seeing your interactions differently: the casual way Katsuki's hand had rested behind you earlier, how you automatically made room for him, the shared looks. His chest felt tight.

"I need some air," he said, his voice carefully controlled as he stood. The warm atmosphere suddenly felt suffocating. His legs felt unsteady, whether from alcohol or shock he couldn't tell.

The night air hit his face like a slap, cold and sharp enough to cut through his buzzed haze. He gripped the railing of the small back patio until his knuckles went white, finally alone with the revelation crashing over him in waves.

You. And Katsuki. Together. The knowledge sat in his stomach like swallowed glass, sharp and uncomfortable. How long? How had he missed it entirely?

He was seeing so many things differently now: how naturally you moved around each other, the way Katsuki would show up with your favorite coffee without being asked, how you never seemed surprised by his visits. All those moments he'd witnessed without understanding what they meant. Had there been nights when one of you left their gatherings early, and the other followed shortly after with some excuse he'd never questioned?

Why did this feel like a betrayal when it wasn't? You didn't owe him explanations about your personal life. He had no claim on you, no right to feel...what was this feeling exactly? It sat in his chest like a bruise, tender and aching. The intensity of his reaction scared him almost as much as the reaction itself.

"Getting overwhelmed?"

He turned to find you approaching, concern written across your softly flushed features. Even now, your first instinct was to check on him. The familiar gesture made something in his chest constrict painfully.

"Just...processing," he managed, studying your face for something different, some sign of this other version of yourself he'd apparently never known existed.

"You can ask," you offered, settling beside him against the railing with easy grace. "Whatever's spinning around in your head."

"When?" The question came out more abrupt than he'd intended, tinged with something he couldn't name. "I mean, Kacchan and you. When did it start?"

"At your wedding reception," you said without hesitation, matter-of-fact as always. "We were both drunk. It just happened."

His wedding reception. He'd felt so sure of everything that night - had his whole life mapped out, knew exactly what he wanted and how to get it. Marriage, love, the future, all of it crystal clear. But he hadn't understood any of it, had he? Not Yui, not what would make a marriage work, and apparently not you either. He'd just been an idiot who thought he had all the answers when he didn't know anything at all.

"And you don’t still…?" he started, but trailed off with a gulp unable to make himself finish the thought.

"Nope. We just messed around for a while—like six months maybe." You shrugged, completely unbothered by his obvious discomfort. "It was casual. Nothing dramatic."

"Casual," he repeated, the word sitting wrong in his mouth, heavy with implications he couldn't quite name. "You think six months is casual?"

There was something in his tone that made you pause, a brittleness that felt almost territorial.

"Sure it is." Your voice remained light, but you were watching him more carefully now. "We weren't dating. We weren't in love. It was just...convenient."

"Convenient." The way he said it made it sound like you'd described something distasteful. "You and Kacchan were convenient. For half a year."

Something shifted in the air between you, charged with an energy that felt dangerous.

"Why are you saying it like that?" You tilted your head, studying his expression with growing confusion. "It's not that weird. People have casual arrangements all the time."

"But you two?" He gestured vaguely, frustration bleeding into his voice. "I mean, how does that even work? What did you talk about afterward? Did you stay over, or just...leave?"

You blinked at him. This wasn't like him—this almost interrogative quality. "Are you asking me for a detailed breakdown of our post-hookup etiquette?"

"No, I just..." He ran a hand through his hair, looking genuinely perplexed. "I don't get how you can be that casual about something like that."

"Izuku, what exactly are you struggling with here?" There was a hint of frustration creeping into your voice now. You'd known him for over twenty years, and this particular brand of stubborn petulance was entirely new. "It's really not that complicated."

"It's just—you're you. And he's him. And you were just...what, texting each other when you were bored?"

"Sometimes," you said with a shrug. "Or he'd show up with takeout and we'd watch a movie and then...not watch the movie."

His face scrunched up like the mental image physically pained him. "And that was it? No weird feelings? No complications? For six whole months?"

"None whatsoever." You shook your head, clearly growing more frustrated with his persistence. "Shocking, I know. Two adults having an uncomplicated physical relationship."

"But how do you just..." He waved his hands helplessly. "How do you go from that back to just being friends like nothing happened?"

"Because nothing did happen," you said, exasperation clear in your voice. "We scratched an itch. The itch went away. End of story."

He stared at you with brows furrowed–with that particular look he got whenever he was trying to figure something out. "That's the most pragmatic thing I've ever heard."

"...Thank you?"

"It wasn't a compliment." The words came out sharp, almost petulant, and he immediately looked embarrassed by his own tone.

Your eyebrows shot up. In twenty years of friendship, you'd seen Izuku frustrated, overwhelmed, determined, heartbroken—but this? This almost childish indignation over your past relationship choices? This was entirely new territory.

"Okay," you said slowly, "what was that?"

"What was what?"

"That tone. You're being almost hostile about this."

"I'm not being hostile," he protested, but even as he said it, he could hear how defensive he sounded.

"You are, though." You leaned forward slightly, watching him closely. "You're genuinely bothered by the fact that Katsuki and I had a casual relationship. Why?"

The question hung between you, sharp and direct in a way that made him feel exposed. Because you were right—he was bothered. More bothered than he had any right to be, more bothered than made sense given the clear boundaries of your friendship.

"It doesn't affect me," he said quickly, but his defensive tone suggested otherwise. "I just...I wouldn't be able to do that. Be that casual about something like that."

"I don't understand why you're making it sound like there's something wrong with what I did"

"There's nothing wrong with it, I just...it's hard for me to understand how you can separate things like that."

You frowned, genuinely perplexed by his reaction. This wasn't like him at all - this stubborn, almost judgmental quality that you'd never seen before. What was he so worked up about?

"Why does this bother you so much?" you asked quietly.

The question hit too close to something he wasn't ready to examine. Because he didn't know why it bothered him. Couldn't articulate why hearing about you with Katsuki felt like discovering a bruise he didn't remember getting. Couldn't explain why the thought of you together, casual and uncomplicated, made something twist unpleasantly in his stomach.

"It doesn't bother me," he said quickly, but his tone suggested otherwise.

"Okay." You stood, brushing off your clothes with movements that seemed deliberately casual. "Well, you're officially being weird about this now, so I'm going back."

As you headed back toward the warm light spilling from the restaurant, he was left alone with the uncomfortable realization that you were wrong. Something had changed—in how he saw all of you. How he saw you.

The silence stretched around him, thick with emotions he couldn't name. His chest felt constricted, like something was pressing against his ribs from the inside. The casual way you'd dismissed his concerns, the matter-of-fact way you'd described six months of intimacy with someone else—it left him feeling displaced. Something about the easy way you'd talked about it, the complete lack of complication in your voice, bothered him in ways he couldn't articulate. It shouldn't matter to him. Your relationship had always been clearly defined—friendship, professional partnership, mutual support through the chaos of hero life. Nothing more.

So why did hearing about you with Katsuki feel like a betrayal of something he couldn't even name? Why did the thought of you together make him want to demand details he had no right to know?

[godricgryffinsnore]

Rainy Day Cuddles ♡ : A James Potter Fan Fiction.

pairing : James Potter x female!reader

summary : On a rainy day at Hogwarts, James Potter finds the perfect excuse to be over-the-top romantic, pulling the reader into his warmth and silliness—all while the Marauders add their signature banter in the background. It’s cozy, chaotic, and full of love.

warnings : Excessive fluff, Overdramatic James Potter antics, Mild language, Light teasing and playful banter, Extreme secondhand embarrassment (courtesy of the Marauders), Tooth-rotting sweetness, Use of Y/N. Please let me know if I missed any.

author's note : English is not my first language, so please forgive me for any grammatical errors or spelling errors. Re-blogging is completely fine with me, but please don't copy my work. I love you all. Enjoy <3.

word count : 1k

main master list <3

banners : @cafekitsune and @dollywons

The storm outside raged with a fierceness that could rival a Hungarian Horntail, the heavy rain hammering against the windows of the Gryffindor common room. Inside, the fire crackled merrily in the hearth, sending dancing shadows across the cozy room. The warmth from the fire was a stark contrast to the cold, dreary world outside, and as you settled into an armchair near the window, a content sigh escaped your lips. You were surrounded by piles of homework, but somehow, the sight of the rain made it all feel less pressing.

James Potter, however, was less concerned about homework and far more preoccupied with a different task: how to make this rainy evening as absolutely perfect as possible. His eyes flickered to you from across the room, where he had been pretending to study. But in reality, he was waiting for just the right moment to do something utterly ridiculous and over-the-top, as he often did.

And of course, his timing was impeccable.

“Y/N!” James called dramatically, sweeping over to where you sat, arms wide like a hero from a Shakespearean play. “My fair lady!” he proclaimed, a wide grin spreading across his face. “I have come to rescue you from the dreadful, dreadful cold! My heart aches to see you in such discomfort.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused by his antics. “James, you’re so overdramatic.”

“Overdramatic?” he gasped, eyes wide in mock outrage. “I am but a humble servant of love, a knight in shining armor, risking life and limb to save you from the very chill of the heavens themselves!”

You chuckled, shaking your head as you patted the seat next to you. “Alright, Sir James, come sit then. I don’t think I can handle all that heroism standing up.”

James lowered his voice to a whisper as he dramatically flopped down beside you, his body practically falling across yours with a sigh. “Alas, my noble heart is but a slave to your company.”

The Marauders, who had been lounging nearby, couldn’t help but overhear the spectacle. Sirius Black, who had been reading an ancient issue of Witch Weekly, looked up, his eyes glinting with mischief.

“Please tell me you’re not going to pull this ‘knight in shining armor’ act every time it rains,” Sirius drawled, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “You’ve got more dramatic lines than an entire play at the West End.”

James grinned, unabashed. “Oh, Sirius, you’re just jealous. Not everyone is blessed with the talent to sweep a lady off her feet with a single glance.” He gave you an exaggerated wink, which only made you laugh harder.

“Really, James? The only thing sweeping me off my feet is your inability to do your homework,” you teased, nudging him gently.

“Well,” James began, adopting an overly thoughtful expression, “if I had any homework, I would certainly attempt it. But alas, my dear Y/N, the burden of your beauty has rendered my brain utterly useless.” He placed a dramatic hand on his forehead, pretending to faint against your shoulder. “It’s all too much!”

Remus Lupin, who had been quietly sitting by the fire with his nose buried in a book, finally looked up, shaking his head with a soft smile. “You’re lucky she’s used to your nonsense by now, James,” he said, his voice steady and calm as always. “If this were the first time, I’m sure she’d run off screaming.”

“Ah, but you’re wrong, Moony,” James replied with a sly smile, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. “The beauty of my charm is that it grows on you. Slowly, like a vine, wrapping itself around your heart until you can’t escape. And then—POOF—before you know it, you’re madly in love with me.” He grinned at you, his eyes sparkling mischievously.

“Is that so?” you asked with a playful smirk. “Because right now, I’m pretty sure you’ve only managed to tie my heart in knots from laughing at your ridiculousness.”

James raised an eyebrow. “Not just laughing, though, right?”

You rolled your eyes, still grinning. “No, not just laughing.”

He leaned in a little closer, his expression softening. “That’s right. Because I know you love me,” he whispered dramatically, as if it were the most important thing in the world. “But I won’t hold it against you... for now.”

Sirius snorted, his voice thick with sarcasm. “If you two lovebirds don’t stop, I’m going to hurl.”

“Not everyone has such exquisite taste in romance,” James replied, winking at you. “But don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ve got enough love for all of us.”

You let out a quiet laugh, reaching over to grab the blanket from the back of the couch and draping it over the both of you. As you did, James immediately wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer, his chest warm against your side.

The Marauders continued their banter in the background, but the sound of the rain outside and the warmth of the fire, combined with the comforting weight of James's presence, made everything feel just right.

"You know," James murmured softly, his voice no longer theatrical but warm and sincere, "I could stay like this forever. Just you, me, and the rain outside."

You smiled up at him, your heart full as you tucked your head against his chest. “I think I’d like that, too,” you whispered.

From the fire, Remus gave a soft chuckle. "I think we should leave them alone before it gets even more embarrassing.”

“You’re just mad no one’s writing you poetry,” Sirius teased, earning a slap on the shoulder from Remus.

“Alright, alright,” James said loudly, lifting his head from where it had fallen onto yours. “Enough of this sweet, poetic nonsense. Let’s get to the real important stuff.” He grinned and pointed towards the pile of homework on the table. “Who wants to help me write a love letter to Y/N? I need some inspiration!”

You groaned, but at least this time it wasn’t because of the rain.

“I’ll help you, but only if you promise to stop with the Shakespearean speeches,” you said, your smile barely contained.

James winked again. “Deal, my fair lady. But know that I shall still declare my undying love for you every day, in whatever ridiculous way I see fit.”

And with that, he buried his face in your hair, his arms tightening around you, and the Marauders continued to bicker in the background—life at Hogwarts, it seemed, was always better when you were wrapped in the warmth of a rainy day with James Potter.

[eriace]

disaster darling ; dazai osamu

oneshot & fluff ↪ in which y/n lets dazai plan their first official date… and regrets it immediately. ↷ dazai osamu ; bungou stray dogs

↳ an order of flat white from @6riix in the comeback cafe event !

IT STARTED WITH an innocent sentence, "Let me take you on a date."

The problem wasn’t that Dazai Osamu said it. The problem was that he meant it. Worse yet—she agreed.

So now here she was, standing in the middle of a narrow alley in Yokohama, next to a man who had just tried to pay a stray cat with a packet of soy sauce.

Rain threatened above them, clouds like damp cotton swabs pressing against the skyline. The scent of grilled fish and mischief clung to the air.

"You call this a date?" she asked, incredulous, as Dazai proudly handed her a single takoyaki ball. Just one. On a napkin. Not even a toothpick.

He beamed like he had just given her a diamond, "Of course! Nothing says romance like fermented octopus, don't you think?"

She stared. He blinked innocently.

"This was your grand plan?"

"Technically, the cat stole Plan A. But this is Plan B! Spontaneous. Unforgettable. Slightly greasy."

There were many things she expected from a first date with Dazai. Mild chaos? Definitely. Unexpected turns? Absolutely.

But dodging a flying pancake during a street performance, narrowly avoiding a surprise rainstorm, and helping him escape a furious vendor after he "accidentally" forgot to pay for a trinket?

That was a new level.

Still, there were moments—slipped between the madness—that caught her off guard.

Like when he quietly shielded her from the splash of a passing car, holding out his jacket without a word.

Or when he looked at her during a streetlight pause, eyes softer than she'd ever seen, the city’s blur reflected in the warm honey brown of his gaze.

Or when he reached for her hand—gently, slowly, like the world might shatter if he held it wrong—and didn’t let go.

"You’re oddly quiet," he remarked at one point, tilting his head. "Have I finally rendered you speechless with my impeccable charm?"

"I'm trying to decide if I want to kiss you or kill you."

He grinned, "Romantic and violent. I adore you."

By the time the evening settled and the chaos simmered into calm, they were both barefoot on a rooftop, watching the city glitter like a shaken snow globe.

The vending machine below had eaten his coins, but he still offered her the lukewarm juice bottle he managed to wrestle out of it.

She took it.

He leaned his head on her shoulder, humming a tune she didn’t recognize.

"So, on a scale of one to ten," he said, voice muffled, "how would you rate our first date?"

She thought about the cat, the soy sauce, the mad dash through the rain, the stolen trinket, the way he held her hand like it was something precious.

"A disaster," she said. "But somehow… kind of perfect."

Dazai chuckled, brushing his fingers against hers.

"Then next time," he whispered, "I’ll make it even worse."

And somehow, that sounded a lot like love.

© eriace ;; don’t repost my works.

[outsideratheart]

A Return Worth Celebrating (Fridolina Rolfo x reader)

A/N: Here’s a little something to celebrate Frido’s return to team training!

Monday’s had the reputation of being terrible but not this Monday. No, today was a good day. Today was the day that Fridolina Rolfö, your girlfriend, returned to team training. 

“You ready?” You ask as you walk out onto the field together. 

“As I’ll ever be” the blonde wore a smile on her face but you knew deep down that she was nervous. The two of you had spent the night previous cuddled in bed discussing what the blonde was feeling and why she was feeling it. 

Before you reach the group you wrap your arm around her waist, pulling her close as you place a gentle kiss on her hairline. 

“You’ve got this. You are strong and you are powerful” 

“What? I’m not beautiful today?” Fridolina knows the mantra well, you had made her say it to herself whenever she was having a bad day. 

“You, Miss Rolfö, will always be beautiful in my eyes. Now let’s get going. I’ve haven’t been late once this season and I won’t have you tarnishing my impeccable record” you jog off towards your team mates. 

“Right because I’m the bad influence out the two of us” the swede says sarcastically. Everyone knew it was you who corrupted her. 

The session goes better than Frido expected. Her passes were accurate, her movement fluid and much to her surprise her fitness wasn’t far off from where it was before. It did come as a shock to find your cubby empty as she entered the locker room. She assumed you had gone for a shower until she saw a note sitting in her locker. 

I had to go. See you at home. 

I love you, always. 

Y/N. 

“What no celebrations for your return?” Ingrid asks. 

“Looks like she had a meeting or something. We discussed our schedules on Friday and she didn’t mention anything. It must be something last minute” Frido defended your actions even if they had hurt her. 

She had been so excited to be back on the pitch for numerous reasons but being able to play with you again was top of that list. You seemed so happy for her this morning and she automatically assumed you would do something together to celebrate. 

Little did she know you did have plans to celebrate. Your celebrations were a little bit more intimate than what was planned with the team. 

As on queue, Frido walks into your shared apartment just as you finish setting the table. 

When the blonde walked through the hallway she smelt home, more specifically a home cooked meal. Then, as she turned the corner, she saw you standing next to the candle light table. 

“Baby, i’m so proud of you” 

She was rendered speechless. 

“Say something, please” you ask politely. 

She says nothing. She lets her actions do the talking and you don’t complain at all. You loved moments like this when it was just the two of you. When you could express your love with kisses and other displays of affection. 

“Is that my —“

“Kött” you pull away from her hold to read the name of the meal of your hand “Köttbullar” 

Frido pulled your hand towards her to see if you had really written down the name of the meal. Lo and behold, you had. 

“I think I did it right. I was this close” you pinch your thumb and index thumb very close together “to going to Ikea and buying some” 

You follow to the take and pull the chair out for her. 

“For you, m’lady” 

“Why thank you” she kisses your cheek as a show of appreciation. 

You watch nervously as she takes a bite of the meatball. It mimicked the nervous energy you feel as you watch a team mate take a penalty. She takes her time and it feels like she chews it 100 times before giving any indication of whether it’s good or not. 

“5 stars” Frido does a little happy dance in her seat “who knew this is what you were preparing for when you ate my Mamma’s Köttbullar by the bucket full” 

“It was all apart of my master plan” you raise your eyebrows playfully. 

“Is that right? What else does this master plan entail?” Frido asks curiously. 

“Stick around and you’ll find out” 

You had a lot planned for you and Fridolina. Some things had been ticked off, some were in motion and others were due in the future. 

[midnight-in-town]

Recap of highlights from the servants' investigations

Rereading the investigation mini arcs before the first chapter post hiatus is released in April. Here are the points of interest to keep in mind :

Mey Rin & Ran Mao

A summary : impeccable investigation, flawless duo, 10/10 cooperation and efficiency 👌

The conclusion : A full success, the operation was 100% dismantled and rendered useless, thanks to Ran Mao's monstrous strength.

The explanation : Baron Heathfield agreed to help the Aurora Society and to hold a blood collect in his basement, because he was "searching for a bride", namely one who would have a soul with a similar shape as his deceased wife's.

We don't know yet what this concept means, but surely it is relevant to a part of the current evolution of the BD project (most likely with the experiments at F.O.L orphanage).

Side note of importance : the introduction of Jane's character, a maid who was hired as security guard at the manor. Jane is not a part of the Aurora society and is probably not one of the Star Lords either. I personally think Jane is John Brown, a demon, investigating the BD project for the Queen's sake, but we'll have to meet her again to get an answer or more hints.

Bard & Lau

A summary : a rather tough investigation, with Ronald on Shinigami surveillance, super creepy Layla/Al kid who seems to be Star Lord Vega and several backstabbing threats from Lau to Bard.

The conclusion : Okay-ish success, with Bard avoiding murder by Layla/Al, thanks to blood transfusions. The operation wasn't dismantled but basically stolen by Lau who wants to relocate them to Shanghai (still hoping for Ada to work with Sieglinde & Wolfram, but Lau has to become a villain soon I guess...). Ciel is aware it's what Lau was after though (ch212), so I guess it's okay.

Also, Layla/Al was taken away by Ronald and Will, meaning the Shinigami Organization can now learn how a bizarre doll functions more accurately.

The explanation : Nurse Ada who wanted the means to work properly in nursing care after coming back from Sudan (kudos to her) made a deal with a doctor from the Aurora society (another Shinigami deserter ?).

However, she started growing afraid of the blood collects when she realized that her business was tied to the blue sect's scandal, but without the Aurora society's funds she couldn't continue helping her patients. Her hands were tied, until Bardroy offered to help.

Side note of importance : Layla/Al fought against Will and Ronald with a death scythe, meaning this death scythe was either stolen from an active Shinigami (who died in duty ?), or given to her by another deserter besides UT working on the BD project, who also kept their scythe when they left the Organization.

Lastly, it's more or less a crack theory at this point, but there is a possibility that Layla/Al is also the undead child of Baron Heathfield. [x][x]

Finny & Snake

A summary : Good duo (the sweetest) who really tried their best, but definitely the worst place to investigate, leading to disastrous developments, because it probably wasn't the best idea to send 2 kids with big childhood trauma at the Orphanage of Horror... T_T (not that Seb & Ciel could have known...)

Also Doll returned, once more involved with child trafficking, like when Kelvin was alive. She seems to be Star Lord Canopus and wants revenge against the Phantomhive household for what happened during the Circus arc. ://

The conclusion : Unfortunate failure. Sadly, Snake died by Doll's hand and might soon be turned into a BD, meaning he will possibly fight against his previous coworkers, whom he cared about a lot </3 T_T

The facilities were not destroyed but Finny, despite being forced to leave Snake's body behind, managed to escape with the 4 elder students : Artie, Theo, Oliver and Mabel. They however lost the evidence to expose the facilities and couldn't save the other children for now. Finny is bringing the 4 kids back to Seb & Ciel.

The explanation : Unfortunately, the truth behind the operation wasn't fully discovered. The 4 groups of students at the Orphanage are apparently made to perfectly match the Star Lords' characteristics : the more a kid from each group matches with their Star Lord, the longer it seems their blood will keep the BD functioning.

When a child reaches "fledging day", they are actually brought into a secret laboratory where they are killed. Yet blood collects may not be the only thing happening in that lab, as the staff mentioned "clinical trials" and the children saw organs being harvested as well.

My personal guess is that this orphanage is trying to make the blood transfusions have a longer effect for the Star Lords, but it may also be a test to turn the BD project into a profitable business [part 1] [part 2].

Side note of importance : It seems the orphanage is run by somebody in particular whom we haven't met during the arc, but whom the 4 elder students came across before. According to them, they are a "pervert".

It should also be noted that the facilities looked "familiar" to both Snake and Finny upon arrival (architectural similarities to the Phantomhive manor ?) and we haven't found out what the acronym "F.O.L" stands for.

So we will probably figure more about these facilities once the 4 elder students meet with Seb & Ciel.

What to expect for Seb & Ciel ?

Not off to a very good start because they were instantly recognized upon arrival at the "Nectar Springs" Hotel. 100% their fault though, because they were not wearing any disguise lmao.

As for what to expect, the fandom discussed the possibility of meeting Druitt [x][x], Joker/Polaris or maybe Soma. Personally, I also hope this mini arc may finally tell us whether or not UT also brought Madam Red back from the dead.

Since we also got all of the servants' backstory, there is also somehow the possibility to find about Tanaka's backstory and arrival into the Phantomhive household (how is the question though).

Thanks for reading. Stay tuned for the chapter in April ! :)