#((yes she has strange habits but she will never tell them | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

spiderb00 · 1 month ago

Text

IS IT NEW YEARS YET

Megan Skiendiel X Reader

"After your ex broke up with you a month before Christmas, you lost your holiday mojo. Maybe you just needed to meet new people, a specific redheaded girl”

Genre – fluff Warnings – none fruitcake masterlist

Now playing – Is it new years yet, by Sabrina Carpenter

The feeling of impostor settled in you, as soon as you passed through the door of Lara's house you felt uncomfortable, strange with the environment. Being without the company of your ex girlfriend at parties like this made you feel awkward and out of place. You were never a very sociable person, of course, you were never rude, you just didn't like to leave the house so much. Whether you wanted to or not, your ex had helped with your shyness, always dragging you everywhere, but now, without her, you felt a little lost in the midst of people.

Lara was throwing a party, a small meeting. The commemorative dates were approaching and any excuse for a party was enough for Lara. You and the Indian girl knew each other for a long time, even before she went to Dream Academy, or bonded as Katseye's lead vocalist. Your friendship with Lara has always been strong, you have always supported the girl in everything, while she did the same with you.

When Lara found out about your breakup, she comforted and supported you, as always. She let you have your sad moment, but after a month, the girl did everything to take your mind off the girl who broke your heart before Christmas. When Lara called you to the party, you quickly tried to refuse, making up any excuse not to leave the house. But, when you saw that the red-haired girl wasn't going to give up, you agreed to go.

And now here you are, a plastic cup with energy drink in your right hand, as you sit in one of the chairs outside Lara's house. You knew most of the people at the party, all mutual friends of yours and Lara's, but after a while of talking and laughing, you decided it was time to be alone for a while, just you and your thoughts. Taking the lighter out of your back pocket, you were about to light a cigarette – one of the habits you picked up after the breakup – when someone approached you.

"Hi, do you mind if I sit down? There's a lot of noise inside." Asked a girl, she had red hair and was tall, not as tall as you.

"No, okay, go ahead." You said, putting away the cigarette and lighter before settling back into the chair.

Looking at the girl better, you could finally tell why she looked so familiar. It was Megan, Lara's bandmate. You haven't met all the Kats yet, but you surely recognize them from promotional videos, music videos, and in general. You thought the Chinese girl was beautiful, and you didn't think she could be even more beautiful in person.

"I'm Megan." The red-haired girl said, a faint smile on her face as she waited for you to introduce yourself.

"I know, I mean, I recognized you. I am Yn." You said, fumbling a little with the words.

"Oh, sure. You are Lara's best friend. She talks a lot about you." Megan says. "It's good to finally put a face to the name."

Laughing lightly, you nod. The night was quiet and although you wanted to be alone, the redhead's company was not bad.

"So why are you out here instead of enjoying the party inside?" The redhead asks, settling in the chair and looking directly at your face.

"Well, I could ask you the same question..." You say, making the girl laugh lightly. "Well, but I'm just here to clear my mind, you know."

"Oh, I get it, a lot of people also make me a little overstimulated." Megan says, nodding in understanding.

"Really?" You ask, the conversation flowing naturally. "How do you work? Why, you know... You kind of have to deal with a lot of people. Sorry if this is invasive..." You say, genuinely interested in Megan's words.

"It's not invasive." The girl says, laughing lightly at your concern. "I think I just got used to it, I love what I do, so it kind of becomes natural after a few years." She says, fiddling with the rings that were on her hand. "But I always have time for myself, and it's always nice to have someone who's always with you. The girls are my second family." Megan said. You noticed that the redhead's nose started to turn red, because of the cold.

"You seem very passionate when you talk about all this-" Interrupting your speech, a couple walks past you and Megan, both of them making out. As the guy sat in the chair next to you and the redhead, the girl he was kissing climbed onto his lap, leaving you and Megan dumbfounded.

"Is this serious?" Megan asked, as you stood up, holding out her hand to the shorter girl.

"Come on, I don't think these idiots are going to leave anyway." Standing up, Megan took your hand in hers, letting you guide her to the back door of the house.

"I think we'd better come in, Lara must be looking for us and you're shivering with cold." You said, taking off your jacket and putting it on the shoulders of the shorter girl. "Here, you can take that."

As you adjusted the jacket to Megan's shoulders, the redhead admired your face. Megan already knew who you were, in fact, she always asked Lara to introduce you to her, but that never really happened. Now, with you here in front of her, she couldn't miss the chance to make the move.

"Thank you, that's very sweet of you." Megan said, the jacket hanging loosely from her shoulders, extending to the middle of her thighs.

You and Megan finally entered the house, people talked, drank and others kissed in the corners, it felt more like a fraternity party than a Christmas Eve party.

"Megaann! I looked for you everywhere." A slightly drunk Daniela bumped into you, making you hold her by the waist.

"My God Dani, how much did you drink?" Megan said, approaching the Latina and checking if everything was okay with her.

"Yes, it's me-"

"Shiiiu, don't tell Megan I said that, but she's very into you." The Latina spoke, after interrupting you by placing her index finger on your lips.

"DANI!" Megan screamed, taking the girl from your arms and trying to walk her out of the house.

"Bye, Yn. Thank you for keeping me company, we're going." Megan said, trying to save herself from the embarrassment Daniela had caused her.

"Wait a minute, how are you going to take her like this." You said, holding the other side of Daniela as you walked with Megan.

"It's okay, I'll order an Uber or something."

"Let me take you." You said, making the girl hesitate. "Please, it's dangerous, let me help."

When Megan finally agreed, you helped her put Dani in the back seat of your car, starting and then driving to the Kats' house. When you finally got there, you both started struggling to get Daniela to bed, since the Latina hadn't made the work of the two of you any easier.

"Dani, you have to get out of the car." Megan said, pulling the blonde's arm as she held firmly in the passenger seat.

"NO, I want to stay longer and talk to Yn." Daniela said, pouting and getting a laugh from you.

Getting out of the car, you turned around and stood next to Megan, who was still clutching Daniela's right arm.

"Dani, I'm here. You can get out of the car and talk to me." You said, as the blonde looked in your direction and gave you a drunken smile.

"YN! My friend, Yn." The Latina jumped out of the car, leaning on you as she staggered towards the entrance of the house, causing Megan to roll her eyes and close the door of your car.

"Has Megan ever kissed you or what?" The Latina spoke directly to you.

"DANI! Be quiet, please." Megan spoke, fumbling with the keys to the front of the house.

When she finally managed to open the door, you helped the girl in. Daniela threw herself on the couch quickly, laughing lightly and closing her eyes soon after, not before singing a little to you and the redhead next to you.

"Yn and Megan, under a tree, kissing, la la la la la la."

Rolling her eyes, Megan watched the Latina fall asleep as fast as she had gotten drunk, and you thought that was your cue to go home, so you headed towards your car.

"Thank you for everything." Megan said, crossing her arms and hugging your jacket, which was still wrapped around her.

"It was nothing, if you need it, you know where to find me." You said, leaning against your car, and hesitating a few seconds before continuing. "So, is it true?"

"What is truth?" Megan's face became slightly confused.

"What Daniela said. You know what they say, drunks always say what they wanted to say sober." You said, getting a little closer to the redhead.

Biting her lip nervously, Megan looks down at the floor, before turning her gaze back to you again.

"What would you do if you were?" Megan asked, coming closer to you.

Laughing lightly, you pulled a strand of Megan's hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear.

"You can return my jacket tomorrow night when I come by and take you on a date." You say, a smile painting your lips.

"yes, I think it can work." Megan said, returning your smile.

"Of course. It's not New Year's yet, we have plenty of time."

Hi guys, penultimate chapter of Fruitcake, I'm loving this series, but I really want it to end lol.

The truth is that I want to start finalizing and posting your requests, but things will work out

I haven't proofread it yet, so there may be some mistakes, I'm very tired bc my family is in my house.

xoxo, spider.

#katseye imagines #katseye x reader #kpop gg #gxg #kpop fluff #megan skiendiel x reader #katseye megan x reader #daniela avanzini x reader

162 notes · View notes

matthewswifeyy · 2 months ago

Text

After awhile you went quite, and I got mean 2

Summary: Exgirlfriend!reader lives with S4!rafe. She constantly has to watch rafe treat someone better and it finally gets to her.

Part 1 part 3 part 4 part 5

Warnings: small mentions of ed

Rafe came into my room once later that day. He came in to tell me him and Sofia were leaving for dinner.

I left my room once they left. I walked past the kitchen looking at the food. But I had a loss of appetite. I knew I needed to eat but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

This happens whenever things start going bad for me. Things were already bad enough with the break up and now rafe made it worse.

I walked out into the large living room. I sat on the couch leaning over the arm rest to grab the remote.

As I grabbed the remote a photo caught my eye. It was a framed of me and rafe at midsummers 2 years ago. I knew he had the photo I just didn’t know he framed it and put it in the house. Especially because Sofia is here all the time now.

I turned my head away from the photo and turned the tv on. I turned on a random movie that I found a Netflix.

Rafes pov

The truth is I didn’t want to be at this dinner at all. I wanted to be home and talk to Y/N. I’ve been thinking about it the whole time.

“So how everything with Hollis going?” Sofia asked me.

I sighed before sitting up.

“I don’t want to talk about that right now Sofia” I said picking up my glass and bringing it to my lips.

“Oh sorry” she said looking down at her food as she began to pick at it with her fork.

“Look I’m not trying to be mean or anything okay? I just have a lot on my mind right now”

“I know. It’s just you never talk to me about it. I’m here to listen you know” she said drop the fork on the plate.

“I know baby” I said taking another sip of my drink. “You ready to go out of here?”

“Uh yeah, let’s go” she said placing her napkin on the table.

———

Once Sofia and I got home I saw Y/N passed out on the couch.

“Uh you head on up. I’m gonna talk to her.” I said patting Sofia on the back.

I took my shoes off and walk towards the couch. I sat down next to her. I rubbed her shoulder trying to wake her up.

“Y/N wake up.” I said as I lightly patted her shoulder. “Wake up baby we gotta talk”

“Don’t call me that rafe” she mumbled.

“Sorry. What’s going on with you Y/N?” I asked her.

“What do you mean” she said sitting up.

“You know what I mean. You’ve been distant from like literally everything”

“No I haven’t.” She looked at me.

“Oh really? When was the last time you left the house then.” My voice became a bit louder.

“Please don’t start yelling at me rafe.” Her head fell back onto the couch.

“Then talk to me!” My voice began to raise even more.

“I’m not having this conversation with you right now rafe. We can talk tomorrow when all of the alcohol is out of your system.” She said as she got up.

“I haven’t been drinking.” I said as I watched her walk out of the living room.

“Yes you have rafe.” I heard her say from down the hallway.

God, I hate the way that she know me so well.

Readers pov

I woke up to my alarm going off. I groaned and looked at my phone.

1 text from rafe

I ignored it assuming it was about last night. I put my phone down and walked down stairs. I got to the last few stairs when I heard yelling.

“That’s what I’m talking about rafe! I heard you call her baby!” The feminine voice yelled.

“I didn’t mean to okay Sofia. It’s a habit that I gained from both of you” I heard rafe yell.

“I don’t care if it’s a habit rafe! You are dating me not her”

This argument was strange. Not only was it about me but I have never heard Sofia yell at someone. She was more on the quiet side.

“I am Sofia, I am dating you. But you have to understand that I still care for her okay. It wasn’t like that okay. It was in a comforting manner” Rafes voice became to calm down.

“Okay” sofias voice was quiet.

I walked down the final step to see them hugging.

“Good morning” I said as they pulled apart from each other.

“Uh I’m going to work” Sofia said as she walked away.

“Bye” rafe and I said as we watched her walk out the door.

“Alright uh I gotta go” rafe said grabbing his keys.

“Bye” I said quietly as I watched him walk out the door as well.

Well, another day on my own.

#Spotify #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron #outer banks #obx season 4 #exbf!rafe #rafe and sofia #rafe angst #rafe imagine #rafe x reader #rafe x you #rafe fanfiction #rafe fic

156 notes · View notes

midnightarcheress · 10 months ago

Text

Simon has a new assignment.

pairing: bodyguard!ghost x actress!reader 1 | gold rush masterlist.

after years exhausting his body in the military and too many losses to count, Simon decided to retire. goodbye extensive deployments, food and sleep deprivation, constant adrenaline pump in his veins, hours spent washing the blood off of his fingernails. except he didn’t truly retire. life as a civilian again was too strange, too boring. he thrives in following orders and being the best at it. he missed having a purpose, even if it’s far from saving the world.

so, because of that, he agreed on joining a private military company as a contractor. never takes the dirty, mercenary-like jobs though – despite being rusted, his moral compass is still there, so he usually sticks with the security, training, bodyguarding type of work. easy enough to not take a toll on his body, and to not strain his conscience with the worry of ending innocent lives to cover up some bastard’s filth, but demanding enough to keep his mind out of his own life for a while.

the guy on the other side of the line doesn’t tell him much about the new task. bodyguard for an actress, indefinite time, details via e-mail. a few minutes later, the computer screen lights up with the case information and his eyes skim through the text; famous actress, has been receiving threatening letters and who ultimately has a stalker. a seemingly uncapturable one, as the police have not been able to trace them for months. incompetent wankers. in his prime he would locate terrorists with ease; nothing he couldn’t do right now, but his contract was strict – keep her safe and keep to yourself.

he doesn’t recognize the name, but the small picture attached to the message is slightly familiar, maybe from one of the times he spent hours flicking through the channels on the telly while battling a crippling insomnia. his brows knit together when he peers at the set of rules that accompanies the e-mail. no talking, no touching unless extremely necessary, must keep distance at all times.

in the months he’s been working in the company, he never had a job with an actual celebrity – mostly politicians and businesspeople, extremely straightforward and simple to execute, usually for a short period of time. he’s convinced that it will be the longest mission of his life, probably dealing with an entitled rich woman who’s used to having everybody begging at her feet.

dread fills his mind as he watches the trees quickly passing by his window on the car. the drive to the meeting is short enough to contain the rate of the antipathy brewing on his chest, but long enough to make him question accepting the assignment.

he pulls up on the driveway and walks towards a tall, modern building, filled with frantic people walking from side to side. glancing at his phone, he re-reads the details of the reunion; second door on the 23th floor, her manager will be expecting you. his fingers tap on the side of his thigh as the lift raises to the office level, eyes glaring at the mirror in the back of the platform. the image on the glass differs from the one on his past – military buzzcut and skull-printed balaclava replaced by messy blond locks and a neck gaiter, still covering a bit of his face even after all this time. old habits die hard.

the doors pry open right after the number appears on the screen and he walks down the hallway to the office, stopping on his tracks as he notices a feminine voice coming from inside the room. “i’m scared just as much as you, but is this really necessary?” she’s in there too? wasn’t the meeting only with the guy?

“yes, princess, it is necessary. do you want to make the front-page news as a corpse?” another voice can be heard responding, this time, male. must be the manager. “in case you've forgotten, i’m also your friend, and i’m merely concerned about your safety. we cannot let that stunt from last week happen again.” stunt. he recalls part of the information on the file, depicting how she was almost assaulted by a weirdo that followed her on the street; however, the creepy prick was cleared from being the stalker and left the station on bail. great justice system.

“we’ve already increased the security on your house, he was just hired to keep you safe on the outside.” he decides to stop eavesdropping and knocks sharply on the door. “must be him.” the man says, and he listens as footsteps approach the entryway.

“well, hello there. please, come in,” he steps aside, allowing Simon to enter the room. the office is fairly average, leather couch on one corner, portraits on the wall of what he assumes are the man’s clients, but all of the attention goes to the large windows showing a perfect view of the city. “so, i’m Daniel, the great manager as you may know," he smugly speaks, "and of course you already know her.” he gestures to the woman on the armchair.

the woman from the picture. the woman from the late night movie he was absentmindedly watching on a late night. you. you look the same as he'd seen before, but somehow entirely different. the warm sunlight coming through the glass shines on your skin when you stand on your feet, golden flecks twinkling in your irises as you offer him your name and extend a hand to greet him, sweetly mouthing “and you are?”

he shakes your hand with a firm grasp, stirring away the sudden void in his brain and swallowing the lump on his throat that hindered his words. “Ghost.” easy detachment. his gruff voice reverberates in the space as he repeats the orders in his head, the sense of doubt starting to cloud his judgement. keep to yourself. maybe the job won’t be as bad as he thought.

been a bit obsessed with this idea so i decided to write it and see how it goes.

499 notes · View notes

linearao3 · 28 days ago

Text

I don’t have a new Publish or Perish chapter and probably won’t any time super soon because I am very tired and also I hate that I am being accidentally Relevant due to H-1B Discourse. So please accept this tiny little interstitial — probably the only Kaz POV I will provide for this fic. You could say there are spoilers but I think it’s more like foreshadowing? This might not even be canonical to the fic. Who can say. But please enjoy.

—

He reaches for the phone out of habit, because that’s what he does now at night, look and see if Inej has texted him. And yes, she did just leave, but you never know.

She hasn’t texted. She just left; of course she hasn’t.

He thinks vaguely that he might have read somewhere that you should ask people to text you when they get home safely. He can’t remember if this was etiquette advice, or a devious way of making sure they kept thinking about you.

He’d had some notion, in his head, that after he kissed her, she might turn in the doorway and close her hand around his jaw, pull him down to kiss her. She is so warm, and her mouth is warmer, and he imagines — imagines too much, with too much of his time and too much presumption that he’ll ever find out — that it’s even warmer than that in her cunt.

He’s jealous of the stupid toy. He’s so smug that she likes it.

He types

Sex is so strange. I had all these notions of what I wanted to do, and I didn’t do any of them, and what I did do feels like the only good thing that has ever happened to anyone ever. That’s how I felt when you came to my office, too.

He never texts her first. He likes knowing she chose to start it, that she wants it. That she’s lying in bed thinking about him. He keeps typing.

The thing is that my brother died. And that’s the only thing that ever happened to me, really.

He’s forty — okay, no, he’s not forty, but he feels like he ought to be forty — and he’s tried to have sex exactly twice before now, once with Jesper and once with Imogen and they were both so disastrous he tries not to think about it. But he’s forty or thirty or whatever and he’s coming to the end of his debt and he will take care of Rollins soon, soon, pull out the brick of Marya Van Eck and everything will crumble. And then he’ll just be — a professor, he supposes. A professor with a good salary who could get stupid nice small things and could have friends over for dinner and could have a girlfriend. Because why shouldn’t he? Except that there’s a gaping savage maw where his heart ought to be.

I do still want to fuck you. I bought some condoms. I imagined you putting one on me, like a horny sex ed class with Dr. Ghafa, and I’d be so hard in your hand.

He jerked off before she came, with the idea that he might last longer when she was actually there, and he doesn’t know if he can physically manage three in a night but his body seems interested in trying it.

He was never really a teenager, he thinks— he woke up in the hospital whatever thing he is now, which wasn’t a child and has maybe never been an adult — so maybe now he’s doing adolescence as a crash course, an intensive study in constant graceless horniness and short-sighted stupidity.

You’re never going to forgive me. I want you to. You shouldn’t. It’s just that I’m selfish. If you asked me I’ll say that it’s because I promised you but it’s really because I just want to be able to see you sometimes. I want to be able to give you things. I’m not going to send this. I just got so used to telling you things. You are so beautiful and I want you so much and I am so tired. I’m going to sleep. Sleep well, Inej. Come and talk to me.

He force-quits the chat application, drops the phone, and falls asleep. He dreams Inej smiles, bright and vicious and righteous, and tells him he did everything just right.

#publish or perish #kanej fic

54 notes · View notes

goldsbitch · 1 year ago

Text

I could tell them where you were that night

part 3 to I gave so many signs

summary: They shouldn't. They really shouldn't...But they did.

warning: present + flashbacks, mature content, cheating, self pleasure, alcohol and smoking, typos

song fic (disclaimer: rights belong to the respectable owners)

The Alibi - Dylan delicate - Taylor Swift

But if there was a crime If there was a body, if there was a knife If you told a real good, real bad lie I'd be standing by your side

Both of them knew this was not going to end well. This screamed "bad idea" on all levels. He should have just turned and run back home. She should have gone straight back to the bar as soon as she saw his unmistakable figure. There was no one to diffuse the tension, all of her friends were back upstairs ordering another drink. Nobody to play pretend to.

"So you're a smoker now," Charles said with a hint of disgust. She'd cursed herself for ever picking up the habit. He had never made her nervous back in the day, maybe she was cashing it in all now retroactively. Stood there like a lamb waiting for someone else to decide her destiny. Totally at his mercy and he had no idea. "Yeah, for a moment I was. Now just these," she pointed to the latest trendy vape in her hand, which Charles mistook for a cigarette. "Ah. Cool." "Not really," she said and inhaled extra large dose of fruity smoke just to breathe it in his face. The regular rules of proximity didn't seem to apply to to them. If he had been standing closer to her, he'd have to be touching her. "So, you're a runner now?" she took the opportunity she looked him up and down, trying not to let her imagination run too wild. "Always was." "No, you were not," she laughed genuinely. "What are you trying to play at here?" She was right. Charles picked up running with his first real girlfriend. "And what a bizarre thing anyway - to go for a run after a night out," she pointed out and he smirked, as both of them knew she got him with that. "I should not be seen with you for long. Doubt that you'd pass as a fan." It felt like an invitation from him, but she was well aware that he was not inviting her to his home. There was a strange spark in his face, as if he dared her to ask him to come over. Like a shameless devil testing her self control. "I'll take a cab and you can run over to my place. Let's see who'll get there first," she dared him back.

If there was a way That someone at the scene had saw your face I could tell 'em where you were that night You were standing by my side

"You should have told me that you parents were home!" he whispered angrily, as they snuck in like they used to back in the day. Funny how it worked like magic and Charles felt as if he just turned nineteen, terrified of running into Y/N's angry mom. "What? It's not like your place is empty, correct?" she shot arrows at him without waiting for an answer. Shot of guilt went thought Charles and he decided chased that by lying to himself, thinking that this was just a casual catch up with an old friend.

We can't make Any promises now, can we, babe? But you can make me a drink

Charles waited on the balcony adjacent to her old high school bedroom, that remained untouched for years, serving as a perfect door for nostalgia, while she made their favorite Moscow mule. He had tasted many of those since they last saw each other. None of those tasted so intoxicating like this one.

"So, big racer boy. Always wondered. Which out of the cities you go to is the most fun?" "Define fun. I'm sure your taste has evolved over the years." Yes, it had. No longer was she blind towards the god like man sitting across from her. "Ok, where did you fuck the most girls?" "Monaco," he smirked at her. He realized he enjoyed teasing her. No longer was he the shy love stuck puppy dancing as she demanded. "You became quite forward, huh? I remember you avoiding these subjects," he followed up, testing the waters. She gave him a long look, before letting a loud sigh out: "Charlie, it's been years. People change. Mature. Gain experience..." "And then come back to where they started, huh?"

Is it cool that I said all that? Is it chill that you're in my head? 'Cause I know that it's delicate

He leaned a little too close for an old time friend. Slowly, he touched her hand and waited for her to stop him. When she didn't, he tangled his fingers with hers. No longer were they soft baby hands, but adult fingers with tender touch. "I missed you," he said quietly. Old habit kicked in and she avoided his eye contact. But this time, he put his hand on her cheek and turned her face towards him, so that she couldn't just dismiss it, like she had so many times back then. "I missed you too." There was an urgency and a vulnerability that he had never heard from her before. It was addicting and intoxicating. He carefully closed the gap between them and their lips brushed so lightly that one could still pass it as friendly touch, if they really really wanted to. But with every second they kept their lips like that, the gap of morally safe evening kept closing inevitably. They stayed like that for just a few seconds, both of them waiting to see if the other one pulls away. Until finally, her lips moved slightly and then there really was no way back. Charles forgot that there ever was anyone else in his life and kissed her slowly. She took his bottom lip in and let her tongue lick it, breaking the soft kiss with urgency only years of daydreaming can bring.

Do the girls back home touch you like I do? Long night with your hands up in my hair Echoes of your footsteps on the stairs Stay here, honey, I don't wanna share

This was bad. Ugly, disrespectful and not something a friend would do. Charles was locked in room again having the luxury to spend few weeks in a sunny Monte Carlo. But sunny days at home also meant that he and Y/N were spending a lot of time together. Charles knew he was head-over-heels for this girl, but kept himself at bay. But these thoughts he was having were a little too much. Inappropriate. Made him feel dirty and shameful. He was just a teenage boy and he just came back from a beach day with his crush. It was impossible to focus on anything, he was suppose be studying for his exam, exploring race strategies, anything! He could have been a good son and helped his mom out. But no, instead he was pacing around his room, desperately trying to block all the images that got burned to his memory under that day's bright sunlight. Why did he even suggest a beach day - and why would she ever agree to that. Stupid idea. Charles was mad at himself for being so stereotypically teenage. For a split second, he stopped with the self-shame and allowed himself to recall this afternoon. Perfect Monaco sunlight hitting Y/N lightly tanned skin, her hair falling out of her messy bun, just begging for him to tuck it behind her ear. This was all still pretty innocent. But then there were the shoulders. The collarbone leading way towards her boobs, covered by a piece of bathing suite fabric, that pushed her cleavage up just a little bit, but it felt like a weapon designer specifically to destroy him. He had to stop himself from looking. When that proved impossible, he opted for looking only when he had his sunglasses on. If only he could take his hand and lightly brush over her nipples, which he couldn't forget about since the Moscow mule night. And then if only he could squeeze her boobs while tracing the line of her waste and over to her ass, also barely covered by a bathing suite. If only he was brave enough to do so, to make his wildest dreams come true and to confess his feelings. To have her come over to his place, look him suggestively in the eye, lick her lips and take him in her pretty little mouth. It didn't matter that she was slightly younger, in his fantasy she was the more experienced one, the one to guide him, instruct him and tell him what she likes. And once he learned, he would make her moan like nobody before, because he would adapt himself to any style she'd want. The visuals of a daydream extension of their today's hang out crept in, and there she was, taking her bra off and inviting him to join her in the water. Free, happy and heavenly hot. By some miracle he managed to avoid having a boner in her company. What he didn't manage was to stop stroking himself while drowning in the thoughts about her and her body, no matter how shameful it was for him. The best orgasm of his life yet had his hands covered with his cum and his head with clouded with growing, never-stoping need for a touch from his crush.

It was a different man kissing Y/N than the boy who had imagined it more times that he would ever admit. Yet still, he was getting to live out his ultimate fantasy, one that he almost forgot he had, until all the desire rushed back in and screamed so loudly he couldn't hear anything else. And the best thing? The best thing was that she was responding enthusiastically, felt as if she was hungry for something only he could have. He was a different man now, experienced, understood the spectrums of what touch could offer. The confidence radiated from him and it was Y/N who was now who danced way over the line of self control. It was her, who drank so much cheap wine in the form of men bad at sex, that she could finally appreciate the Montrachet Chardonnay she overlooked the first time around.

"We should get inside, mon cheri," he whispered into her lips. She understood why and did not want to hear him say it. Because in his silence, she could insert any thought and that was probably better than the hard truth - they were too exposed on her balcony. She nodded and slowly opened her eyes. Even with the dim lights she saw the tender spark in the most captivating shade of blue the world can offer.

Oh damn, never seen that color blue Just think of the fun things we could do

He pressed her to the door frame while devouring her lips. Lines have been crossed and the room was filled with unresolved sexual tension. Charles wanted her - naked and moaning in pleasure. She pulled his hair while they made out and each pull was like gasoline to the fire of his desire. He traced her side with his cheeky finger and then slipped his hand under her t-shirt only to trace the line of her bra and then swiftly cupping her breast. "So you're wearing bras now," he let slip out of his mouth, already fucking her in his thoughts. His comment sparked a distant memory of an evening long gone by now. She was shivering his touch and wanted more and more. "Yeah...but now you're not gonna have to touch yourself alone or secretely," she said, hoping he actually had done that in the past, trying to tease him once more, while grabbing the hem of his belt and pulling him even closer. It worked. He was hard as a rock. He pressed his cock against her and started kissing her neck. She wondered if he understood the cocktail of pleasure and arousal he was preparing for her and felt even a bit shameful to crumble so easily. He felt her cave into his embrace as soon as he touched her neck and made a mental note, so come back to this spot once he was inside her. He thought about her devilish finger making her way to his cock slowly, just painfully slowly. She was teasing him and while he was loving that, he couldn't wait a second longer. He grabbed her hand pushed right onto his erection, which cause her letting out a surprised gasp. "I'm gonna fuck you, Y/N. Say yes if you want me to," he whispered into her neck. Not much second guessing went into her reply. "Yes," she moaned out, causing shivers on his neck. "Really?" he said, unhooking her bra. She smiled. This was no shy unsure Charlie. This was a confident man with intension to make her feel good. "Yes..." With that, he pulled away to help her get her t-shirt off and get rid of the cursed bra. Finally, he could stare as much as he wanted to.

He fucked her like there was no tomorrow. For them there really wasn't a tomorrow, because technically, there wasn't suppose to be a tonight. It was to stay as a blank page, moans written in an invisible ink, for no one but them to read. Morning would bring trouble, reason would wake up and start ordering around. As long as the sun wasn't watching, they were safe, hidden in each other and wrapped by desire.

Sometimes when I look into your eyes I pretend you're mine all the damn time

part 4

--------------------------------------------------------- @linnmee @itsjustkhaos @rhythmstars @blueflorals

166 notes · View notes

spectres-n-soap · 1 year ago

Text

Yet the Rain Comes Anyway - Soap x Reader x Ghost

Content warnings - Death, dead body, grief, pregnancy, afab body, afab reader, angst, medical stuff, panic attack, MW3 is canon, I remind you again that SOAP IS DEAD

Series Masterlist

Blog Masterlist

A/N - My childhood cat is being put down this week so brace yourselves for the angst that will be unleashed from my heart when he passes.

You're tapping your foot against the tile floor rapidly. The unnatural smell of a sterilized hospital made the hairs on your arm stand up. Safe to say, you hate the hospital.

You stood in the morgue. It's strange, you had never been in one before. The lights were all turned on but there was no natural lighting to clear up the uneasy feeling you felt. You had asked for this, to see him before they turned him into ash. You could back out, the workers wouldn't judge you. Death wasn't an easy thing to stare down even if you work in a field where death is always right around the corner.

You steeled your resolve. You wanted to see him, you wanted to see your John just one more time. You nodded to the morgue worker and they opened the little cabinet. Was John ever afraid of tight spaces? They slide out the tray he was laid on and your entire body goes cold. He was pale, his wound patched up to the best of the morgue's ability and his eyes closed.

You remembered the way on TV the eyes would go glassy and gray. You're glad his eyes aren't open, you wanted his electric blue eyes filled to the brim with life and mischief to be the only version you know. "Oh John." You muttered as you traced the features of his face with your eyes. "I'm so sorry."

A nurse walks into the waiting room and calls out your last time. You try to stand, it's getting more and more difficult, you think bitterly to yourself. Still you swat away Simon's hand out of habit and stand up by yourself and toddle towards the nurse, hand on your stomach. The nurse glances at Simon, the look she has on her face obscured by the mask.

"He's with me, don't worry." You assure her and she begins to walk, leading the two of you to the hospital room where you'll likely spend the next hour or so. Bless her heart, your nurse, as she goes through the checklist of symptoms to make sure the pregnancy isn't going sideways. She keeps glancing at Simon in what you now understand is apprehension. You smack him and whisper, "Did you have to wear your balaclava?" You hiss.

"I was out of face masks." He replies swiftly. You lift up your shirt on instinct when the nurse moves to the ultrasound machine. This song and dance has been done more times then you would like but, you glance at your stomach and place a hand on it again, feeling the baby kick against you in response. It was for them.

The nurse spreads the gel across your stomach and uses her tool to show you them. The baby, Johnny's baby. "Their looking healthy Mum." The nurse says with what you assume is a smile. "Would you like to know their gender?"

"No." You swiftly respond and Simon glances at you. You didn't want to know if it would be a boy or a girl, it just felt like another weight on your shoulders.

"Alrighty." The nurse says, "Would you like a print out of the ultrasounds?"

"Yes." Simon replies for you and the nurse nods. She tells the both of you that the doctor will be in soon to discuss your labor plan. That comment gets another look from Simon, this time you return the look. The moment the nurse leaves the room, Simon is asking questions. "Why don't you have a birth plan yet?" At least he isn't asking why I don't want to know the gender, you think thankfully.

"I just, I lost track of time." You mutter. Between everything going on within the months of your pregnancy, trying to get out of bed each day. Trying to live with the fact that he isn't here and you're doing this alone.

Simon sighs your name and shakes his head, "Well, then we'll just start planning now."

You're sitting in his truck and looking at the contact for John's mum. She had given it to you, telling you to contact her if you need her. You've been staring at it for minutes, thumb hovering over the message option.

"Would you really come with me?"

Simon looks over at you for a second, "Of course, I promised I would." He says with no hesitation.

You look at the message option and press down on it and begin to type out of the message.

"I'm sorry I didn't get into contact with you sooner and I'm sorry this is the reason why I am. Your son and I slept together a few weeks before he was MIA. I'm pregnant by your son, I didn't sleep with anyone else so I promise this child is your grandchild. I'm 30 weeks pregnant and on leave if you want to meet up."

You turn your phone off, place it face down after sending the message and try to ignore the fast beating of your heart.

Your phone dings while you are sitting at the dining table picking at your dinner. Simon looks at you, raising his eyebrows when you don't pick it up to see the message. You ignore his looks and try to focus even harder on stabbing your mashed potatoes.

"You gonna see what she said?" He asks and you close your eyes.You place down your fork and hide your hands under the table before you lose control of your tremors. Silence hangs in the air until he speaks again, "Would you like me to see what she said?"

You think about his offer for a moment before you slowly let out a breath, "No. I'll do it." You look at your phone, almost wishing it would disappear, then you pick it up.

"Do you still have my address? Let me know if you don't, I'd like you to come here."

You say nothing and show Simon the text. "Do you still have her address?" You nod. "When do you want to go?" You shrug and keep your head down. You wish she hadn't been so vague? Is she going to yell at you? Tell you she doesn't believe you?

Simon rushes over to you when he sees your breathing start to pick up. He kneels next to you, "Can I hold you?" He whispers and you nodded frantically. He takes your hand in his and rubs his thumb over your knuckles as tears begin to drip down your cheeks.

"What if she hates me?" You asked and Simon shakes her head.

"She gave you her phone number, I'm sure she knew something about the relationship between you and Johnny."

You pick up your phone with shaky hands and send a single text.

"Tomorrow?"

She responds with a thumbs up emoji and you set the phone down, looking down at Simon who nods his head at you.

"Don't worry. I'll be with you the whole way." He reassures you and slowly lets go of your hand.

You laid in bed, limbs too heavy to move as you stared at the ceiling. It was odd to no longer have Soap visiting you at night just to share a bed for a few hours. You know he's in the morgue, cold and lifeless, yet you still wait to hear that knock on your door.

You blinked. "He's not going to knock." You said to yourself in the dark, eyelids heavy with exhaustion. Yet you waited and waited until your closed your eyes too long. The grief counselor was unimpressed by your late showing and seemingly even less impressed by your clear lies that you were fine and handling the passing well.

Didn't help that you couldn't even look him in the eyes.

That night you stood in front of his barracks doors just staring at the door. I could go in. No one is here, it hasn't been reassigned yet. I could go in. For a moment, you thought you wouldn't. You took a step back but quickly moved forward and opened the door.

His shirts still hung in the closet, his bed still made to military standard. His desk was covered in a mixture of paperwork and doodles on stray pieces of paper. His second pair of boots sat next to the door. You slowly walked over to his closet and pressed a shirt to your nose.

It still smelt like him. Gunpowder and fresh rain with just a hint of his musk that told you he hadn't washed this shirt quiet yet. He is so weird. You thought to yourself. Why is his dirty shirt hung up?

You walked over to his bed and slowly laid down on it before you turned your head to inhale whatever smell was still on his pillow. It smelt like a generic mans brand you would buy at a dollar store but it was his smell nonetheless.

Your chest began to ache the longer you stayed in his room. The relief you sought here was nowhere to be found, it just felt like each second you stayed hollowed out your chest further. Still, you laid in his bed for hours.

#john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #soap #call of duty #john soap mctavish x you #cod #ghost x reader #mw3 spoilers #simon ghost riley #THYH #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you

169 notes · View notes

rithalie-sideblog · 8 months ago

Text

Okay so

SPOILERS for INSIDE JOB and one more Disney show but I hope I am safe since it’s not exactly new.

The ending to Inside job CRUSHED ME.

You know, Reagan and Ron? The least likely couple to be created? That turned out to be the absolute best pairing I could have ever hoped for? THEM.

I SO wanted them to end up happily, even in Appleton. Hell, they deserve it. So I had a stupid idea.

Maybe there’s a timeline where they did end up together?

The one where they stayed in Appleton.

Because you know what I thought of when I looked at Appleton logo?

SPOILERS!

Yeah it’s very very far-fetched. But just IMAGINE.

Ron and Reagan end up together.

They move in. They argue. They make up. They live somehow happily. They have KIDS.

A boy, who just knows there’s something out there - something he just needs to prove or discover. That’s just out of his reach.

And a girl, whose only idea for life is to be happy - truly, remarkably happy. Against all odds, against the very universe scheming to make her and her family unhappy.

Maybe them?

Like I said, it’s far-fetched but I love the idea for Ron and Reagan escaping the shadow world, only for their kids to almost unleash eldritch horrors upon the earth.

Because if there’s something Reagan’s kids and Randall’s grandchildren would do is make a deal with cosmic horror spirit and turn on strange machines in the basement.

(yes I’m looking at you Mabel)

We know twins are not related to uncle Stan (Hell, he may as well be Owl Lady’s ex from the Owl house - guy has his own set of relationship problems)

And we never saw their parents!

So what if Dipper and Mabel’s parents are Ron and Reagan? Maybe they did wipe their minds and raised the kids without a care about the shadow government?

You can’t tell me that Ron would be a bad father - guy has the father streak a mile long! He is patient with Reagan, he is reasonable, absolutely scared shitless about people he cares about and just wants them all safe! He would instal that hopeful streak in Mabel and keep feeding it because she is just what they need to keep color in their life. He is also snarky and Dipper definitely learned that from someone.

And Reagan? Socially unsure Reagan who has the habit of hyper fixating and losing touch with reality and would definitely pass that on to her son? She would try to be so gentle with Dipper and not crush his hopes and ideas because she would feel bad if she even tried. She could remember her dad as a mad scientist and most of all absent father but he also always nurtured her scientific growth. So let her nurture that in her own kids - most notably her son. And let her daughter make all the friends she could have. Just keep praising her - gOoOood work honey…? (Confused glance at Ron, as their daughter runs around with handmade embellishment gun for her sweaters. Ron just gives Reagan a thumbs up)

Let them just be good parents.

Or even not-so-good-ones. After all, who sends their kids off to a relative on the other side of America for the whole summer without even background checking the guy?

Mayyyyybe parents who were just given their memories back and called to help in saving the world from another crisis?!

Or just terrible parents. Just because Ron and Reagan are great with one another, they still argue and they make mistakes. And they may try to do their best by their kids but also fuck up. They could and they probably would because which parent doesn’t fuck up sometimes?

Maybe they never got wiped and they tried to make their relationship work despite their jobs? And then BAM kids?

Or maybe Ron got wiped, and Reagan was pregnant already and her and Brett raised the kids until Ron came storming back into their lives (because I want them to be happy together - and he could beat the brainwash since he surely build some immunity by exposure over the years)

Man I just love the idea of Mabel and Dipper being Reagan’s kids. And just - living their best summer adventure life while their parents have to deal with one cosmic crisis after the other. And then Ron and Reagan realizing it’s their kids whom unleashed the cosmic horror upon the earth the moment they got some time for themselves!

Yeah, grandpa Rand would be proud.

And for anyone who says that Mabel and Dipper don’t look like Ron or Reagan - there are some possible options that explain the difference in noses (since it’s one of the things that set the kids apart from R&Rs).

Option 1: genetics - Mainly Ron’s parents having round noses.

Option 2: Ron and Reagan unable to have kids and using the donor or adopting (maybe a certain red-head with golden heart is the donor?)

Option 3: Brett being in the relationship with them both (my favorite)

Because look at them:

I run out of space for pictures but puppet master Brett and puppet maker Mabel? They would be besties, if not family.

And the idea of Ron cultivating the optimism in Mabel still stands - he may not be the one who she gets it from but he will surely do his best to make his little girl happy and to keep her happy (her and his son and his wife - he is such a family man)

So…

TL;DR: What if, in one of the timelines, Mabel and Dipper Pines turned out to be Reagan and Ron’s children? :D

#inside job #inside job spoilers #gravity falls #gravity falls spoilers #ron staedtler #reagan ridley #ron x Reagan #fun theories #what if #inside job x gravity falls #Ron x Reagan x Brett #brett hand #fandom musing #rithalie thinks out loud

73 notes · View notes

mylesimeblr · 1 year ago

Note

RDA somehow makes a blight that lowers the amount of food for the Metkinya tribe, and Na’vi cannot survive long without food, not like humans can, so Spider is put on active hunting/gathering duty by Tonowari at all available times and asked by Jake to eat less. Ao’nung notices how Spider is wearing himself doing so.

or Ao’nung notices Spider eating a well know poisonous fruit and freaks, while spider’s tells him to chill, he can eat this. Part of being human.

IDK, I just want something that shows there are benefits to being human. (Making Spider feel better in the process). Every fic so far I’ve read makes humans seem inferior in every aspect minus intelligence.

Here you go, a quick little something!

Spider owes them his life and he would do anything for them to prove his worth and his desire to be recognized as one of them. He didn't expect the Na'vis to be so dependent on food when he can be as efficient as he usual self with only some fish and the fruits he find here and there.

Aonung is very intrigued by the human. He's very small but strangely strong. He's not as affected by their changing lifestyle as he is. And his strange thing on his face makes him very efficient underwater. Plus, he finds him... cute? The color of his hair is something he's never seen before and his body has a lot of muscles. He's becoming kind of obsessed with the stray cat of the Sully clan.

And so Aonung has taken into a habit of following (stalking) the human around.

One day, as it's very hot and they've been on gathering duties for hours, Aonung sees the human reach for some berries in the greener parts of the island. His eyes widen in horror as he watches the human pop those berries into his mouth while putting herbs in a basket for Ronal and chew on them as it's nothing.

He's suddenly alarmed.

This berries are extremely dangerous! Why is he eating those!

Without thinking any further, he storms toward the human, arms high in the air.

"Don't eat that!" he screams.

He grabs the human's small body in his arms and tries to make him spit the food. When seeing the tiny human being manhandled by the tall Metkayina, Lo'ak rushes to the rescue before Aonung breaks him in two.

"Hey! What are you doing to my bro?!"

"Let me go!" Spider yells at Aonung.

Aonung complies, shocked by their reaction.

"What is wrong with you?" Spider asks, not appreciating how powerless he has just felt when being lifted off the ground by someone twice his size.

"Yes, what is wrong with you?" Lo'ak parots.

Aonung frowns, "He shouldn't eat those", he answers gesturing towards the berries Spider crushed in his fist when he was surprised by Aonung's bear hug, "They're really bad."

It's Spider's turn to be confused, "What, those?"

"Yes. They make you very sick," he takes the human by the hand and his heart suddenly misses a beat at how warm and small that hand is.

He starts leading him forward under new waves of protest from Spider and Lo'ak.

"Eh, what are you doing?" Spider asks.

"Yes, let him go!" Lo'ak repeats a bit louder.

Aonung tries to ignore the strange dance his heart his making in his chest, "We need to take him to my mom so she can cure him of the poison before it gets bad."

"What poison?" Spider argues, wiggling his hand into the Na'vi to try and set himself free, "I'm fine."

"No, you're note."

Spider tries to snatch his hand away again from the Na'vi's grasp. Lo'ak looks like a bull ready to charge.

"Yes, I am," Spider insists, "They don't do anything to me."

Aonung stops and turns toward him, "Look, little pink thing-"

"My name is Spider! And I'm not pink!"

"Fine, Spider, I know that finding food has been difficult lately but that doesn't mean you can eat whatever you find on this planet. It's dangerous."

Spider glares at him and Aonung feels a little stupid under his gaze.

"I know what I'm doing, asswhat!" Spider argues and Aonung blinks - there's way too much fire coming from such a tiny frame, "And maybe those berries are dangerous for you, they're not dangerous for me! I can eat them!" he then proceeds to pop a fresh berry into his mouth to prove his point, "See?!" Spider says, chewing on the berry, "I'm fine!"

Aonung watches him with wide eyes, "How is that possible? You should be vomiting your guts out right now."

"I'm human. The food on Pandora doesn't affect me the same way as you guys," Spider explains without much thought to it - he's really nothing special.

But then, Aonung takes an expression of wonder, "Wow!" he says and he sounds suddenly fascinated, "You can breath underwater, you need half the food we need to stay alert and now you can eat those berries without being sick. You're so cool!"

Spider blinks. He didn't expect that. At all. A blush creeps on his cheeks and he doesn't know what to do with himself.

"Oh, uhm.... Thanks... I guess..."

Aonung grins at him and Spider bites his lip, unaccustomed at being flattered and his blush reaches the tip of his ears as he looks away, uncomfortable.

Besides them, Lo'ak stares, a bit confused. The Na'vi and the human give each other a shy look followed by a smile and Lo'ak realizes that Aonung literary is flirting with his bro and it makes him gag.

"So," Aonung asks again, "What other cool stuff can you do?"

Spider blushes all the more, "Uhm..."

Aonung gives him heart eyes and Lo'ak looks at them with a grimace, horrified to have suddenly become a forgotten third wheel. Who did Aonung think he was to dare flirt with his bro?

#miles spider socorro #aonung #lo'ak te suli tsyeyk'itan #spider x aonung #aocorro

168 notes · View notes

blackjackkent · 16 days ago

Text

Ask prompt fill for @astreamofstars from this ask meme: Light and Dark Metaphors Jaheira/Khalid - "ships in the night" This is a prequel to one of the longer J/K fics I've been working on. :D Perhaps it will help me with motivation to get that done eventually.

-----

“No, no,” the Rashemaar tells her cheerfully. “He is a miniature giant space hamster. The name is most clear, is it not?”

Jaheira squints, peering at the small, furry rodent in the man’s hand. It stares back at her with beady, intelligent eyes, casually licking its paw to wash its face. “...Perfectly,” she says dryly.

She cannot quite figure their new traveling companions out. Well - Dynaheir is not so much of a mystery; she is stern with an almost regal air, and not (or at least not yet) much given to casual conversation, but Jaheira can understand that well enough. She herself is not generally voluble with strangers.

But Minsc… Minsc is a puzzle. She was, at first, utterly convinced that he was having a laugh at her expense, with his hamster and his odd manner and his habit of hurling himself directly at any enemy they encounter with a loud cry and remarkably little concern for self-preservation. But as they have traveled on together, she is starting to realize that he is, in fact, just like that.

The hamster is a strange one, too. Despite surreptitiously casting a spell for animal speech on herself, she cannot get a word out of it; it just stares at her with those beady little eyes and then scurries up and down Minsc’s arm.

The whole thing has her deeply on edge - more so than she already was just by virtue of accompanying the two near-children from Candlekeep who make up the rest of their party. When she and Khalid departed on this Nashkel fact-finding mission, they had not expected to end up gathering strays along the way. It makes things far more difficult…

“Minsc would ask if Jaheira also keeps an animal,” Minsc continues with that air of affable good-humor, seemingly unperturbed by Jaheira’s evident confusion. “But Minsc has seen the truth. In battle, Jaheira holds all manner of animals inside her!”

“...That is one way of putting it.” Jaheira has to admit she has never heard wildshaping described quite this way before.

“Boo wonders if you have ever turned into a hamster,” Minsc says eagerly.

“Well, he may continue wondering.” Jaheira sighs. It is not really Minsc’s fault that she is stuck on guard duty with him. This was, in fact, Dynaheir’s request - that the watch be split so that at least one of the pair of Rashemaar travelers be awake at all times. Jaheira can even understand why; in Dynaheir’s place, she would not offer full trust immediately either.

But if she has many more nights spent with only Minsc, followed by an empty bed as Khalid takes his shift, she might quite possibly go mad.

“Are you and Dynaheir… attached?” she asks carefully. Perhaps, if the answer is yes, there might be hope that this state of affairs will not last long.

“Minsc is very attached to Dynaheir!” Minsc replies jovially. “By oath and by word - and by spell, at times, when Minsc becomes lost and must be dragged along. She is Minsc’s wychlaran, his witch, and Minsc shall follow her until he dies or the dajemma is complete, and see she comes to no harm.”

He squints at Jaheira curiously. “Is this what you mean by attached?”

“It is not. But never mind it,” Jaheira says, with a sort of weary resignation. She tilts her head, peering past the veil of leaves above them to judge the moon’s position. “It grows late enough,” she adds. “Go wake your… ‘witch’, and I shall wake my husband.”

Without waiting for a response, she trudges towards the edge of camp and the familiar, battered tent that she has carried since before she and Khalid even met. Poking her head inside, she nudges gently at the pile of blankets on the bedroll.

“Khalid?” she calls softly, her voice far gentler than it was in talking to Minsc. “Wake up, my love.” The blanket emits a drowsy groan, and she smiles to herself. “You are called to the watch, Harper.”

“B-be damned to the watch,” Khalid mumbles, muffled from within the bunched fabric.

Jaheira climbs fully into the tent, reaching under the blanket until she finds her husband’s hand and squeezes it tightly. “Shall I tell Dynaheir she shall watch alone?”

“N-no, no, I am up. I am up. I d-do not dare annoy that woman, I th-th-think.” Khalid sighs and sits up, coming fully into view as the blankets fall away. His hair is tousled and messy and his eyelids are still heavy with sleep - but his expression brightens as he catches sight of her face. “A k-kiss before I go?” he asks as he begins to clamber past her towards the tent flap.

As if she would deny it. With the current state of things, this is the only proper moment of privacy she and Khalid are afforded; it feels like clinging to water dripping rapidly out of her hands. She doesn’t even waste time answering, just cups his face in both hands and kisses him so fiercely that he overbalances and falls into her embrace.

One of his arms locks around her waist with eager, thrilling strength, catching him in the fall, jolting their bodies together. He is warm from the blankets and his embrace feels welcoming, safe, wonderfully familiar.

“My love…” she mumbles. She rests her hand for a moment against Khalid’s chest, feeling the beat of his heart under his thin shirt.

He brushes his fingertips against her lips, his eyes bright in the dim light of the fire outside. “Good night, d-darling,” he murmurs. “I will see you soon.”

Then, reluctantly, he draws back and disappears outside, leaving her alone in the tent. With a soft groan, she heaves herself onto the bedroll, stretches out under the blankets, breathes in the scent of him left behind.

She is struck for a moment by visions of a hundred nights in their past journeys traveling alone. It all seems so much simpler by comparison; there was nothing to distract them from each other, no orphaned young wards in need of her protection, no strange new companions carrying hamsters in their pockets.

Grumbling low in the back of her throat, she rolls over and pulls the blanket around her. Perhaps we must simply settle this business in Nashkel, she thinks. And then matters will return to normal…

#ask meme #astreamofstars #jaheira #khalid #jaheira x khalid #khalid x jaheira #jaheira/khalid #khalid/jaheira #minsc #minsc of rashemen #i got a bit goofy with this :P #is fun thinking about the very early days before they all knew each other so well

26 notes · View notes

that-foul-legacy-lover · 9 months ago

Note

I don't think I've ever seen this particular meet up around, and if you've written something like this please kindly point me to it, but...

I'm dying to know. How would Legacy react to the other Harbingers?

We kinda know Ajax's opinion on them from voice lines, but I really wanna know what Moth TM thinks

And, if you wanna go the sagau route too, how would he feel being in a Harbinger only team? (Aka Childe, Scara/Wanderer and Arlecchino, in the present moment, but let's pretend we have a fourth one of them already)

hoohoohoo i got you, this is going to be a long one so bear with me mothlings!!

Director: Pierro is suspicious to Foul Legacy, he smells like the Abyss, yet not. the stars in his eyes match the ones in Legacy's glittering wings, but their light is from Teyvat, not the otherworldly glow from beneath this land. Legacy doesn't like it, the feel of being so close to home but with something obviously wrong that he simply can't put his claw on

First: Capitano is a pillar of strength, someone both Childe and Foul Legacy admire wholeheartedly- but Legacy also sees his nobility, the way he treats even his lowest level agents with respect. he aspires to be like that one day, someone people can look up to and expect kindness in return, so even Foul Legacy will give the First Harbinger a small, polite bow

Second: Legacy detests Dottore with all of his heart. not only does Childe have younger siblings, but Dottore has also attempted to rope him into experiments on his Abyssal half. Foul Legacy hates being treated like a thing, like just a feral animal, and that's not even mentioning what he fears the Doctor could do to you. Childe has to hold him back from growling viciously whenever he passes Dottore in the hall

Third: Columbina is strange, but Legacy is also strange! she's unsettling, yes, but she never tries to harm him or Childe- unless the latter riles her up enough to fight. sometimes when Foul Legacy is particularly homesick for you, nations away from Snezhnaya, he'll listen to her eerie singing as she sits nearby, not paying him any mind at all

Fourth: Legacy regards Arlecchino with both fear and respect. she's cordial enough, keeping her operations quiet and training her children to be the next set of Fatui soldiers, much like how Ajax became Tartaglia. the Knave terrifies Foul Legacy with her calm ruthlessness, but as long as she doesn't raise a finger towards you, he won't do anything

Fifth: Pulcinella is a curious case, treating Childe like a grandson and regarding his Abyssal half with kindness as well. it's a welcome change, and yet... Legacy can't help but feel like he isn't completely sincere. there's the barest undertone of a lie when he tells Childe about the other Harbingers, and Legacy watches the information with a care, suspicious eye

Sixth: ERROR. DATA NOT FOUND.

Seventh: Childe doesn't get the chance to interact with Sandrone that often, so neither does Foul Legacy. but he's very curious about what she does, always tinkering away in her lab- it's less foreboding than Dottore's set of rooms, at least. once she begrudgingly allowed him to watch her work, and needless to say her robots consider Foul Legacy their friend now

Eighth: Signora wasn't Childe or Legacy's favorite coworker when she was alive- they're not happy that she's dead, but it is somewhat of a relief to not have Childe bite his tongue with a vengeance whenever some snide comment slipped from her mouth. still, Legacy almost wishes he knew a bit more, having seen her stare longingly out the window at the silent snow all too often- he knows that longing. it's the type he feels when he misses you

Ninth: Legacy doesn't know much about Pantalone, apart from his love of wealth. he's an elegant man, to be sure, someone who can simultaneously keep his composure while also being entirely condescending. but Childe has a habit of buying you trinkets and gifts during his travels, so he's still grateful for the funds the Regrator provides

Tenth: ???

Foul Legacy wouldn't mind being in a team with other Harbingers- he knows they can't hurt him, at least not directly, and it seems to make the Creator so happy. he basks in your warm words, your loving attention, purring happily whenever he hears your sweet voice praise him- but only when his teammates aren't watching. he just knows that the Wanderer, mysterious as he is, will mock him for it, and Arlecchino always seems to know what's going on even when she's not present. his fourth teammate always seems to switch; he likes it best when it's Sandrone or Capitano. Legacy knows how the rest of them feel, though, how the Wanderer lowers his hat or how Arlecchino's lips quirk when they hear your compliments- the Creator has the adoration of them all

123 notes · View notes

fishermanshook · 1 year ago

Text

"You look, oddly familiar." (surviors! x gn!reader)

INTRO

A prompt where you knew said Survivor before they came to the manor. Your reason for coming here? Probably because of them.

꒰wc꒱ 1.0k words (grammar and spelling warning, mentions of abuse in Female Dancer’s part.)

The Enchantress

You and the Enchantress were together a lot as kids, or has your growing age started to wipe your memory clean? Do you struggle to remember such personal moments the two of you shared? Such a shame, as it's been over 5 years and you've yet to trace her location down. Has she disappeared from the world entirely? Seems like it, doesn't it?

Oh. Wait. There's a memory. An old one for sure, but a memory is still a memory. You and Patricia had spent what seemed to be every waking second together. So much so that Patricia's "mother" had started to see you as her own. Another child to take under her wing, and she gladly would. You understand that, right? Had she not taught you enough? The two of you had made a habit of strolling through New Orleans together, knowing almost every face that inhabited every corner of the city. You'd be down there for any number of reasons. To pick something up, to look for new ingredients, or just to look around the place you know by the back of your hand.

If the two of you had spent so much time with each other, then why didn't she tell you where the hell she went? She never left a note, a letter, or even a single clue as to where she ran off. So yes, when you received a letter stating to know her whereabouts you followed. Was it dumb? Oh for sure. But you would take every chance you could get to find her. You didn't even get to go up to her when you spotted her, she already knew.

"I wish you hadn't come," The Enchantress says with her back turned to yours. "but I can't help but be happy that you did." She chimed, turning around with a smile and a strange-looking artifact in her hand.

The Painter

You were there when it all started. You know, his painting thing. At first, he was a mess, paint slobbered all over his hands and face like a child. But I guess he was a child when he first picked up the paintbrush. Who would’ve known he would never put it down?

As Edgar’s talent increased, he started painting other things. Boats in the river, flowers growing outside, people strolling around the park where the two of you frequented. His drawings decorated his room and cluttered his bedroom floor.

For your 12th birthday, little Edgar (in all honesty) had forgotten about your birthday. The thought of it struck his mind at 1 in the morning as he quickly grabbed for his paints before whisking out a canvas. Throwing himself into his work, he produced his first of many portraits of you. From that point forward, it was a tradition for him to paint you for each birthday. No matter how many fights you had over his short temper or accidental paint spills imported from the other side of the country, you still received a packaged painting. Wrapped in fine silk with a “happy birthday” note tucked in between the folds. For you, he spared little to no expense. That is, until he got older.

It has been over two years since you've seen the man and you haven’t received a single portrait since. Arriving at the manor, you find him in the garden alone, painting a familiar portrait.

“It’s nice that you remember my face, as I’m starting to forget yours.” Your voice nearly makes him drop his paintbrush, as he whips around to meet you. You in all your stunning beauty, god, how you’ve grown from the small child he once knew.

Female Dancer

It is either that you met Nata-Margaretha in Lakeside Village or during your shared time spent in the Hullabaloo circus. Both experiences that you will not forget, but time makes things foggy. It blurs memories that were important to your life that you can no longer recall. But for the sake of going to bed without a piercing migraine tonight, your brain tells you it was during the circus.

Ah, now you're starting to remember things. As memories (some unwanted) come flooding back to you about the circus. A curious place that produced good and bad thoughts. Your mind flashes back to before the accident when time was spent helping Margie (a nickname used widely throughout the circus by many of its performers) tame animals and perform new jaw-dropping tricks to stun the audience.

You remember when your ignorance of what was happening behind closed curtains came crashing down. When Margaretha came crying to you, sobbing that she needed to tell you something. She then began to show you bruises and cuts that littered her body, all deliberately hidden in places that couldn't be noticed unless further expected. To keep it short, you were shocked that "he" could do something this horrible, to decorate her upper body in purple and red marks. It was even more shocking that if anyone noticed, "he" would just brush it off and say that she got hurt while practicing.

At that time, you knew you had to get her and yourself out of there. A lack of knowledge has landed your friend with bruises, cuts, and unwanted love from someone she thought she cared for.

You haven't seen Margaretha since the fire. Actually, you haven't seen anyone since the fire. Not Mike, not Murro, not even Violetta. But following breadcrumbs as to where they all went earned you a one-way ticket to the Oletus Manor, maybe your questions will be answered there.

"Margie?" You almost choke on your words. Seeing her for the first time in so long feels nostalgic. (how old are you again?) She can't even respond, she can’t even believe it's you. All you'll get from her is a death-griping hug and a stained shirt accompanied by her ever-flowing tears.

note: I love you Patricia (writers block is kicking my a rn)

(2024)©️fishermanshook — do not steal, translate, plagiarize, or repost my work on any other platform

132 notes · View notes

mari-writes · 1 year ago

Text

Akaashi Keiji has a secret. One that he’s sure people might be surprised by if they found out.

He has a deep, prevailing love for classical ballet. He’s not sure when it started. Perhaps when his parents took him to a Nutcracker performance when he was barely eight years old. To this day, he spends hours of his free time watching videos online, and reads about the history of the art form. He even convinces his mother to take him to see live performances on occasion.

There's something so romantic and expressive about dancing. The way the dancers can convey emotion through their body, with no words at all—it’s absolutely fascinating. Keiji admires them so much. He wishes he could be like that.

He doesn’t tell anyone. He’s not ashamed, just cautious. Dance should not be a gendered interest, but alas, society is strange. His friends and most of his teammates already know he’s gay. No need to push the stereotype further, right?

What he doesn’t predict is that his best friend (and secret crush), Bokuto Koutarou, is apparently also a fan.

“Akaashi!” The older boy exclaims, right over his shoulder. “Is that the Australian Ballet?”

Keiji flinches, scrambling to switch off his phone. “Bokuto-san,” he scowls, “it’s very rude to eavesdrop.”

“Oh, sorry!” Koutarou plops down next to him. Their futons are close, much too close, and Keiji can smell his mint shampoo. It’s distracting. “But seriously, is it?”

Keiji shoots a nervous look around. Most of the training camp attendees are either taking turns in the bath or wandering around campus, enjoying the warm evening. Only Komi is here, casually lounging with a magazine on the other side of the room. “Ah, um, yes,” he nods. “You’re familiar with ballet, Bokuto-san?”

The other boy nods enthusiastically. “My sister does it! My other sister and I tried it when we were younger, too!”

Surprised, Keiji stares. “I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah! I still do exercises I learned back then. It’s good for flexibility and to strengthen muscles. People don’t know how much of a workout ballet is! It’s really hard.”

Again Keiji nods, awkwardly shuffling on his futon so that he and Koutarou are sitting thigh-to-thigh. “Would you… like to watch the rest of this with me, Bokuto-san?”

Koutarou answers with a beaming smile.

They make it a habit of watching dance videos together. Koutarou is surprisingly knowledgable about the different companies, even mentioning specific dancers and performances. It’s odd, only because he never watches or talk about it otherwise. Perhaps he’s shy about his interest, too?

It isn’t until one evening, when Koutarou is staying the night at his house, that he discovers the truth.

Keiji is eager to show his crush the souvenir program her purchased after seeing a performance of La Sylphide two years ago. He carefully passes it to Koutarou, wondering if the other boy will be surprised, or maybe even jealous that Keiji was able to attend such a special, sold-out show.

But instead—

“Oh! My sister was in this!”

Keiji freezes. He turns slowly to look at his friend, unsure if he heard correctly. “What?”

“Yeah, she was made principal ballerina that year!”

Keiji frowns. “Your sister… performed with the National Ballet of Japan?”

“Yeah!” Koutarou grins. “She was there for two years, until she went overseas. I miss her so much.”

“Wait a minute.” Keiji is having trouble trusting his own ears. Because it sounds like Koutarou is insinuating… but no, that can’t be it. Can it? Suddenly frantic, he flips through the program, until he find the cast profiles. He leans in to look at the lead female dancer. A familiar face in the modern ballet scene. He blinks, turning to look at Koutarou, and then back at the woman on the page.

Intense golden eyes. A wide, toothy smile. Silvery hair, with just a hint of black at the roots. “Bokuto-san,” he croaks, “is your sister… Bokuto Kai?”

Koutarou chuckles. “Well, yeah! That’s my Kai! Isn’t she so cool?”

Keiji chokes on nothing. He sputters, enough for his friend to reach over and pat his back consolingly.

“You okay, ‘kaashi?”

Is he okay? Keiji doesn’t know. The fact that his best friend’s sister is one of the most well-known ballet dancers in Japan, the world even, is actively shifting his reality.

“So… I guess you’re a fan?” Koutarou smiles in obvious amusement.

“Y-yes,” Keiji admits, thoroughly shaken. “I am. She’s incredible.”

One year later, Keiji is standing frozen in the threshold of his now-boyfriend, Koutarou’s family home. He’s been here many times, and spent time with most of the family. But the person at the door is not anyone he’s met before.

But oh, he knows her well.

“Ah, you must be Akaashi!” Kai Bokuto is short, the crown of her head barely reaching Keiji’s shoulders, but her immaculate posture seems to expand her presence. She’s wearing a cotton hoodie and leggings, her silver hair tossed over one shoulder in a long braid.

She’s a vision.

Keiji’s mouth drops open. He blinks. “B-Bokuto-san, um, hi! Hello there. You… um, I… well...” His words stumble out of him like dominos. He’s never felt so inarticulate in his entire life.

Kai laughs. “Please, call me Kai! I’ve heard so much about you. Come in, Keiji-kun!”

When Keiji finds his boyfriend inside, he greets him with a light punch to the shoulder. “You could have warned me she was here,” he hisses, “I just made a fool of myself.”

Koutarou snorts. “You’re such a fanboy!”

“Shut it.”

It turns out, Kai and Keiji have a lot more in common than a love for ballet. Both of them love literature, poetry and art history. Kai regales him with stories of her time in Europe—including her recent stint in Paris, thes city Keiji wants to visit more than anything.

They also happen to be quite protective of Koutarou.

“He’s very important to me,” she says, as they watch Keiji’s boyfriend hurry to help his mother in the kitchen. “He means the world to all of us, really. It doesn’t matter how tall or strong he gets—he’ll still be our baby Kou.”

Keiji grins softly. “Yeah.”

They exchange numbers that first night, and stay in touch when Kai flies back to France for her next set of performances. She regularly sends him photos, poems, news articles, and of course, updates on the Parisian ballet scene. They ask each other advice on outfits and home design.

“Ya know, I’m starting to think you like her more than me,” Koutarou pouts, one morning when they are curled up in Keiji’s tiny dorm bed.

“Are you jealous?” Keiji raises one eyebrow.

“Hmm,” Koutarou hums, “maybe a little…”

Giggling, Keiji turns in his hold, leaning up to touch noses. “Don’t worry, love. You’ll always be my number one star.” The comment seems to light a fire in Koutarou, whose face splits into a brilliant smile as he pulls Keiji in tighter. “Promise?”

Keiji smiles back. “Always.”

I love the idea that Keiji gets along great with Koutarou’s sisters, and admires them (almost) as much as his boyfriend. The idea for Kai being a ballerina was inspired by the beautiful artwork of Temari! I just can’t get the idea out of my mind.

Please, if you enjoyed this, reblog and comment! It really helps me out. 🥰❤️

#bokuaka #bokuto koutarou #akaashi keiji #my writing #writing #drabble #bokuto sisters #ficlet #oneshot #haikyuu!!#haikyuu

116 notes · View notes

so-sures-blog · 1 year ago

Text

Kimbaps & Kind Talks

Summary: a girl found a boy being cornered by some bullies. homeless, alone, and starving, the boy asked the girl if she could please buy him some food.

the girl said yes.

***

(Their first meeting isn't really a meeting, but more of a moment where their lives briefly touched then went their separate ways.

But everything starts from somewhere.)

***

She meets him again when she is walking home from school, the light of the sunset dying the sky hues of orange and gold.

They both stop, equally surprised when they see each other again.

“Oh, you’re the…” Dayeon trails off, not sure how to finish that sentence. Homeless boy? Runaway that was starving and asked me for food? Kid who’s all alone? None of those sound particularly appealing, and she doesn’t want to be rude.

While she’s lost in thought, the boy rummages through his pockets before finally pulling out what he wanted— the money she had given him the day before. She notices that half of it has been used.

“H—Here,” the boy holds out the crinkled money. “Thanks for before, you really saved me. This is all I have, but I'll pay back the rest soon.”

Dayeon hesitantly takes it. “Oh, you don't have to do this… will you have anything left for yourself?”

“I'll be alright.” He reassures her.

“Well, if you say so.” Dayeon goes to bow before she suddenly hears a stomach growl loudly. She looks up to see the boy turning bright red.

“Oh?”

“…”

Dayeon can't help but let out a soft laugh when she sees the boy's embarrassed face.

“You know, I'm actually feeling a little bit hungry myself. There's a convenience store right around the corner, care to join me?”

“ … yes, please.”

Dayeon begins walking, and after a moment, the boy follows her. Dayeon glances at him. She can already tell he's a bit on guard and on the quiet side, so she tries to loosen him up.

“You know, now that I think about it, I never got your name last night,” says Dayeon. The boy tenses for some reason, so Dayeon tries to put him at ease by introducing herself first. “I’m Dayeon.”

The boy hesitates, jaw working, like he was struggling with himself. Dayeon turns to look at him, and he meets her eyes. She waits, smiling patiently, and slowly, some of the tension dissolves in his shoulders.

“My name is… Isak.”

“Isak,” Dayeon repeats the foreign name slowly, and the boy gives a strange sort of shudder, like he's never heard his own name come out of another's mouth before. She eyes the reaction curiously and gives him a smile. “That's a nice name.”

The boy doesn't look like he knows what to say to that. “Um, thank you,” he says. His face is still stained with blush.

They walk in silence for a few minutes, and Dayeon steals another glance at him. He’s relaxed a bit more, so he isn't hiding his face under his cap like before, and now she can see the giant bruise swelling on his cheek.

“Hey,” she says, snapping his attention back to her. “Are you alright? You have…” Dayeon trails off and gestures helplessly to his face.

He blinks in surprise, almost as if he's startled she noticed the fresh bruise painting his face. “Oh. Um, yeah, I got into a fight earlier today.”

Dayeon gasps. “Was it those guys again?” She cries, dismayed.

Isak flinches. “Well, I did run into them again…”

Call it a habit she’s inherited from living with Ijin, but Dayeon is able to spot a half-truth a mile away. Her eyes flicker down to his hands.

(His knuckles were split and had fresh bruises. He didn’t carry himself as someone who had been injured. He hadn't been defending himself. He'd been fighting.)

A niggling feeling worms its way into her stomach.

“I see,” she says when she realizes she left him hanging. “You should be careful around here. Seoul is pretty safe, but there are a lot of gangs around these parts. Lots of rich kids try to pick fights with each other and get away with it because they have money.”

“Alright,” says Isak. He suddenly flinches like a thought has come to him and turns to her. “Will you be alright?”

Dayeon blinks, surprised. At first, she has no idea what he is talking about, but then she realizes what he means. She’s a teenage girl walking home all by herself in an area where she said there is a lot of criminal activity. And she knows firsthand how much men like to harass teenage girls.

His red-colored eyes stare into her, and it feels like he’s probing her soul for answers.

“I’ll be fine. I’m a fast runner,” Dayeon reassures him. “Lots of experience.” That probably wasn’t the most reassuring thing to say, but it was true. All the times of outrunning her bullies, drunk old men harassing her, and teenage boys who wouldn’t take no for an answer has practically turned her into a professional track star.

Gaining a brother had decreased those problems significantly, but old habits die hard.

Isak nods silently, and Dayeon somehow feels like he's more aware of what those experiences are than most boys are at their age.

They walk into the convenience store together, and Dayeon immediately sets out to ask Isak what he wants. He gives her a noncommittal shrug, so Dayeon is left nervously deciding what to pick out for him and second-guessing each item. Isak is hovering over her shoulder and trailing after her like a lost puppy, but every time Dayeon asks him what he would like he keeps on shrugging and saying variations of “I don't care” which inadvertently makes her more awkward. Finally, she suggests that they'll have better luck picking out items if they split up and choose.

Dayeon fingers the mouth of the cold soda, eyeing Isak across the store. He's studying the packages of kimbaps, looking a bit overwhelmed and flinching every time he meets the employee's gaze.

(Sometimes. Sometimes Ijin would flinch whenever someone called his name. Like he wasn’t used to it. Like he didn’t recognize it. Like he didn’t know it.

Like he was never called it.)

“ISAK!” Dayeon calls across the store, and he jerks so hard he knocks down the rows of food-filled plastic containers on the floor.

Dayeon is shocked. She didn’t know what she was expecting, but she didn't expect that reaction. Spotting the cashier scowling, she hurried over to Isak, who was hurriedly picking up the food.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he mutters. His whole face is red with embarrassment.

“It's okay,” soothes Dayeon, helping him pick up the mess. “It's my fault for calling you so loudly in public. I didn't mean to startle you.”

Dayeon neatly stacks the meals on the shelves while Isak picks them up from the floor. She glances at him when he isn't looking. She doesn't even know why she is wary of him, but it's just something about this boy that is sending some sort of signal to her.

He's different. Not in the way of a foreigner, but of something else. He walks like he's half-expecting to be stabbed than be offered a handshake. His words are mindful, but not in the way of not knowing the language but of carefully wording out information.

And his eyes.

Watchful and wary, darting around like he is looking for something— or hiding from it.

He reminds her of Ijin, and she wants to know why.

And then she does.

It happens in an instant. So unnoticeable that Dayeon would have missed it if she was paying less attention. Isak hands her the final plastic container, and as he does so, the sleeve of his red hoodie slips up.

And she sees it.

There, on the inside of his left wrist, written in small fine-print black ink, is:

032.

Suddenly, the air just leaves her lungs. Her ears can hear nothing but a high-pitched ringing. Dayeon suddenly feels dizzy and faint.

(Her brother had a tattoo on his wrist. It was small and he tried to hide it, but they lived together so it was impossible to, really. Sometimes, when they washed dishes together, he would pull up his sleeves and Dayeon would catch a glimpse.

Inside of his right wrist was the number 001 .)

Dayeon tries to force herself to think it's a coincidence. This boy was likely a runaway, and that's why he wasn't used to his name. He was so jumpy and careful because he had likely lived on the streets, not because he was looking out for something. He had the tattoo because — because — just because!

(Something tells her it isn't.)

“Hey, are you okay?” Somebody asks. Dayeon snaps out of her daze to see the boy — Isak — staring at her with concerned red-colored eyes. His brow is furrowed, and it causes a crease in his face.

“Yes, I'm fine,” Dayeon's heart is pounding, and she doesn't know why. She forces a smile. “Sorry, I just blanked for a second.”

Shame and guilt sweep under her skin. Who is she to throw her half-baked suspicions onto him? She's probably on edge from Yeona’s kidnapping and seeing that blond foreigner that had thrown Ijin off for days. Right now, she’s just jumping to conclusions about who or what this boy is with only a gut feeling and circumstantial evidence.

From now on, Dayeon would just treat him as a— a normal boy.

In recompense, she offers him the ice-cold soda and he takes it confusedly. “We still have to pay?”

“It's for your bruise,” she says, gently tapping the side of her own jaw.

He blinks, startled. “Oh. Thank you.”

“No problem. Did you want to buy this or are you ready to pay?”

“Pay, please.”

Isak trails after her, soda to his cheek as he watches her pay. They make their way onto the porch, and as soon as she dumps all the food on the table, Isak gobbles it up like it's his last meal.

"You should leave some for spending next time. I wasn't expecting you to pay me back,” says Dayeon as Isak chomps down on the kimbaps.

"Of course I should pay you back. You're not supposed to wait until you have extra to pay someone back for their help." Isak scoffs.

"True," Dayeon counters with a smile. "But haven't you ever heard the saying, 'kindness is free'?"

The boy lets out a sharp, barking laugh like she’s said something hilarious. “Not from where I’m from.”

“Well, then clearly you didn’t grow up in the right place,” says Dayeon.

Isak stares at her, a curious, surprised, studying look appearing as he takes her in consideration. After a moment, his mouth twitches into something of a smile. “Maybe,” he agrees softly.

There's a beat of awkward silence as the two teenagers stare at each other until Dayeon clears her throat and gestures to the food. Isak flushes and digs in.

Dayeon can't help but stare at him while he's busy eating.

She didn't really notice the last time they met, but this was her first time seeing the boy in a real light instead of being cast in shadows or the dim glow of the convenience store.

His face is fair and slender, wisps of blond hair escaping his black cap. His lashes were blond, but they were long and thick and in the dying sun, cast shadows under the startling red-colored eyes that Dayeon first noticed.

He was actually… really pretty.

Dayeon knows that pretty isn’t really something that should describe a boy, but she didn’t know how else to describe him. He just… was.

Were all Western boys this pretty?

His eyes flick up questioningly, and Dayeon practically jumps when she meets his gaze.

“So, how old are you?” Dayeon blurts out the first question that comes to mind.

“Me? I'm seventeen…”

Dayeon gasps, a pleasantly surprised smile blooming. “You're my age.”

“R-Really? We're the same exact age?” Isak looks up, shocked, like he’s never spoken to another person the same age before.

“Yup, I’m seventeen years old too!” Dayeon beams. “Let’s speak comfortably now!”

“O-Okay. Do what you want…”

Dayeon looks at the kimbap he’s eating longingly. She’s feeling kind of hungry right now, but it would be rude to eat the food she had bought for Isak when he was likely much more hungry than she was. Isak notices her staring and nudges a kimbap towards her with a slight smile.

“You’re from overseas, right?” Dayeon asks, gratefully taking the kimbap from him.

“Yeah, I’m traveling right now.”

“With your friends?”

“By myself.”

“By yourself?” Dayeon exclaims, far too loud.

Isak flinches. “Y-Yeah.”

Dayeon had to physically bite back the concerned questions rising up from her tongue. Why on earth was a kid her age traveling all alone? Where was his family?

(Who even was he?)

“Oh wow. You’re traveling all alone? How many countries have you been to?” Dayeon asks once she’s sure the concern won’t leak into her voice. At least her question is genuine in its awe and curiosity.

“I dunno, I never counted, but probably over twenty countries…” Isak trails off and shrugs, obviously relieved she isn’t pressing his traveling alone-ness.

“Whoa… you must really like to travel,” comments Dayeon.

“Not really, I just sort of ended up with this job where I usually have to travel to different countries to complete different assignments.” Isak fiddles with the cap of his soda, and Dayeon clocks in on the nervous gesture instantly.

(Not telling the full truth, then. Hiding something.)

“What about you?” Isak asks, and Dayeon snaps out of it.

“Huh?”

“You seem really interested in going abroad. Your eyes lit up,” says Isak, then seems to immediately regret admitting to paying that much attention to her. His face turns bright red, and he stutters, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s alright. You’re right anyway,” Dayeon laughs good-naturedly. “What person wouldn’t like to travel to other countries? I’ve stayed in Korea my whole life. I’ve never even left Seoul.”

“Why not?” Isak asks curiously.

Dayeon shrugs. “Money expenses, mostly. Going abroad is pretty expensive, and I don’t have that kind of money.” She thinks of the first time she and Yeona had met up after she’d returned from America and how she had devoured the stories Yeona had from overseas. She had brushed off the question of wanting to study abroad, but secretly, in the darkest corner of her heart, she wanted to go.

But then if she did, her grandpa would be all alone… and Ijin too…

“Not to mention, my family’s here. I would get homesick.” Her lips curl in a slightly wry smile. Maybe she just wasn’t meant for traveling.

“Oh,” says Isak quietly. He looks like he wants to say something else, but ultimately stays silent.

Dayeon studies him for a bit. He looks lost in thought, forlorn, and runs his slender finger around the soda can again and again. Strangely enough, she finds that she doesn’t like that expression on him.

“What about you?”

“Huh?”

“You must speak a lot of different languages if you're traveling all over the place,” says Dayeon. “You’re Korean is very good. How long have you been studying?”

The boy flushes but can’t hide the proud smile on his face. “A few months.”

“A few months?” Dayeon splutters, and the boy laughs.

(He has a nice laugh.)

“Yeah. I also speak English, Mandarin, and Arabic. I know a bit of Spanish, too. And—” he cuts off when he sees the slack-jawed look on her face and laughs again.

“You know that many languages?” Dayeon stutters, disbelief written all over her face. "And you learned Korean in just a couple of months? How is that even possible?”

“To be fair, I knew a bit of Korean before I started to learn it. There were a couple of Korean missionaries in the place I grew up, and I had a… friend, who spoke it when we first met, so I sort of understood the basics. To be honest, the one who knew the most Korean was my broth—”

Isak stops, his smile freezing as his fingers tighten around the soda until indents appear in the metal. He suddenly looks lost, red-colored eyes flickering, and biting down on his lip so hard she’s surprised it’s not bleeding.

Dayeon swallows; a sudden knot in her stomach.

Oh. She’s hit a sore spot, hasn’t she?

“I’m sorry,” she offers, quietly. She recognizes that grief-look on his face.

The boy snaps his eyes up, looking like he is about to snarl, ‘What does sorry even do?’ when he sees her eyes and realizes how genuine she is; how honest. She knew, better than anyone, that sorrys couldn’t take back the time spent in pain from loss. But as she grew older, she realized that people said them because they were offering condolences, showing their sympathy, offering support to ease the burden of grief. It wasn’t to make them magically feel better, it wasn't meant to do anything, it was—

It was just meant to tell them, subtly, that they cared.

He nods, and the grip on his can slowly relax. Silence grows between them, and she feels awkward and guilty for being the cause of it.

“So how long will you be in Korea?” Dayeon asks.

Isak pauses, a strange expression crossing his face. “... Until I'm done with things here,” he says, like something final.

Dayeon can sense the undercurrent of something but decides not to press it. “I see. You must be staying nearby since I ran into you again.”

“No, I just had something to take care of here… but I guess you live around here?” He suddenly straightens, eyes wide as a hand covers his mouth. “Ah, that's a rude question, isn't it?”

Dayeon laughs. “No it's not. My school is nearby—”

The next following moments happen in the span of three seconds.

Dayeon screams as out of nowhere Ijin tackles Isak, sending the food tumbling to the ground and the table flying as they grapple.

In the blink of an eye, Ijin snatches a single chopstick and tries stabbing it into Isak's eye. Isak grabs his wrist, barely blocking it, and Ijin snatches another chopstick with his other hand and slashes at him. Isak twists his neck to dodge, releasing his grip. The air shrivels up in her lungs when Isak kicks Ijin right in his broken ribs. Ijin falters with pain, and Isak is able to push him off and spring to his feet, her brother doing the same.

Dayeon’s feet are frozen to the ground. The whole fight happened so fast, and it was lethal. If Isak hadn’t dodged the slash to the neck, it would’ve hit an artery.

Ijin would’ve killed him.

Over her brother's shoulder, Dayeon meets Isak's eyes wildly. His eyes flicker to her before turning back to Ijin.

And then he begins speaking in a foreign language.

Dayeon feels her heart stop.

The language is guttural, tongue-twisting, and undeniably unlike any language Dayeon has ever heard. But she recognizes it. She recognizes it because she’s heard it before.

(Yeona’s kidnappers spoke it. That blond foreigner man spoke it.

Ijin spoke it.)

Dayeon finally finds her voice.

“Ijin?”

They both stop.

“Ijin, what are you doing here? What's going on?” Dayeon says desperately.

Ijin doesn't turn to look at her. “You should get out of here, now.”

“Huh? What do you mean…” Dayeon's voice drifts off as she notices the dangerous look in his eyes. He's looking past her, right at Isak, like he’s a threat, like he’s dangerous. She recognizes that look… it was the same one he had worn when he rescued her from Yeona’s kidnappers.

Cold and ruthless, just like how he fought.

Dayeon's eyes drop down to his shirt, and to her horror she sees it bloodied, his side slashed. Was he stabbed?

“Ijin, you're bleeding…” she whispers.

“You two… know each other?” A voice breaks through her panic, and she turns to see Isak staring at them.

“Huh? He’s my brother.”

“As in…”

“My older brother.” Dayeon says.

Isak struggles to keep his face from showing anything and fails spectacularly.

“I'm sorry, he's not usually like this. There must be some sort of misunderstanding…” Dayeon falters off when she sees the look on the boy's face. It's harsh and disbelieving. The boy looks nothing like the one she'd been happily chatting with a minute ago, and it makes Dayeon come to a chilling realization.

Right. How well can she know a boy she only met a day ago?

Ijin moves in front of her, protecting her. “Can you give us a moment, Dayeon?” He speaks up.

Dayeon jolts. “Huh?”

Ijin stares at the boy, hard and intense as he glares right back. She can feel a fight rearing up, the tension crackling in the air.

Dayeon wants to say no. She wants to argue. But as she gazes between the two of them, she knew she had no place here.

“… Okay.”

Dayeon walks off the porch, her heart racing and legs numb as she leaves the two of them standing there. Even though they’re busy glaring at each other, she can still somehow feel their eyes burning into her back until she rounds the corner of a building and leaves their sight.

As soon as she does she doubles over, gasping. Her heart is pounding out of her chest and her legs are weak and shaking.

The fighting skills. The mannerisms. The foreign language. The tattoo.

This boy was a part of Ijin’s past.

And she had left him alone with him.

Dayeon pokes her head out from the pillar she is hiding behind. Right now, her brother and the boy aren't currently fighting, but if they did, Dayeon had one hand on her cell phone, ready to call the police. While she doubted they could do anything, at least it would break up the fight and send the boy running.

Ready to duck if they looked her way, Dayeon watches as the tension slowly works its way out of the atmosphere. Suddenly, Ijin bends down… and starts picking up the trash? Dayeon blinks, hardly able to believe her eyes as the boy he had previously tried to murder, the one who had been glaring daggers at her brother like he was his most hated enemy, bent down to help him.

Dayeon gapes, rubs her eyes, and wonders if she’s dreaming.

The two finish cleaning, and the boy begins walking away before he suddenly looks up— and meets her eyes. Dayeon startles, and even he looks surprised. Ijin joins the boy, and they exchange a few words before Ijin makes his way towards her while the boy hangs back.

Dayeon hurries over to Ijin. “Are you okay?” She asks urgently.

Ijin looks down at her, at the worry pouring off her in waves, and softens. “I'm fine,” he says.

“Is… he okay?” Dayeon glances at the boy, who is anxiously hovering a few feet away. He jumps when he meets her eyes.

“ … Yes. You don't need to worry, Dayeon,” says Ijin.

“Good. Then I want to talk to him.” She looks up at Ijin boldly. “Alone.”

Her brother looks like he's about to argue before he stops. He takes in the stubborn set of her shoulders and the way her lips draw into a firm line and knows there's no dissuading her.

Dayeon takes a deep breath, looks over at the boy, and refuses to show her nerves. He was fine. She was fine. Ijin wouldn't allow him near her if he was going to attack her, nor would he be acting all buddy-buddy if they weren't friends.

Dayeon slowly approaches the boy, giving him plenty of time to panic.

“So.” Dayeon says. Just because he and Ijin were on good terms now doesn't mean she's about to go easy on him.

“So.” The boy echoes. He looks mildly afraid of what she's about to say next.

“Would it be wrong of me to assume that you were the one who stabbed my brother?” Dayeon goes right for the throat.

The boy pales. “Um—”

“And would it be a shot in the dark to assume that your business in Korea has suddenly ended and you have to leave?” Dayeon arches her brow.

The boy looks like he quite possibly wants to die on the spot. Dayeon wonders if it's possible for the blood to both rush to your face and leave it at the same time.

“I—I'm sorry,” the boy blurts out almost desperately. His hands wring nervously. “It was a misunderstanding.”

Dayeon says nothing but shows that she's listening. The boy continues rambling. “I thought— I thought your brother had something to do with my brother, and I was angry and impulsive, so I came here without thinking. But it turns out I was wrong and my brother is alive. But, um— I'm sorry for attacking your brother. And dragging you in it. It was— I didn’t mean for it to happen.” The boy’s eyes are wide and sincere as he fumbles through his apology.

Dayeon studies him for a long time. “... I believe you,” she says, and means it. From the look on the boy's face, she can tell he's surprised she does too.

“I just have one question,” she says, and he tenses. “Your name.”

“Huh?”

“The name you gave me. Isak. Was it your real name, or a fake one?”

The boy stares at her.

Dayeon had just blurted out the question and now immediately felt embarrassed under the boy’s gaze. Heat rises to her cheeks.

Well, too late to take it back now.

To be honest, Dayeon wasn't really sure why she asked that. She has lots of questions, and he likely had lots of answers. She doubted he would have told her the full truth, but the point is that she could have asked him anything.

But for some reason, the only thing she can focus on is his name.

(She knew, vaguely, that names were important where they came from. It was the only thing that couldn't be taken away from them.)

The boy stares at her, studying, suspicious, like he is trying to see if she has any ulterior motives. Dayeon keeps her eyes genuine and posture open, letting him see she isn’t hiding anything. Her heart is beating rapidly, and she’s strangely nervous, but she hopes he can see her.

Finally, he relaxes, and a small smile crosses his face. “Yeah, it is.”

“Really? That's your real name?” Happiness bursts from her chest.

“Yeah,” Isak smiles.

(He has a nice smile, too.)

“Right.” Dayeon sighs and leans back on her heels. “Well, that's all I wanted to ask. Thank you for answering my question… Isak.”

“No problem… Dayeon.” Isak turns scarlet when he says her name.

“Good luck in whatever you have to do,” says Dayeon. “And take care.”

“Thank you,” replies Isak. He hesitates, then almost sheepishly, adds “... you too.”

Dayeon beams.

Ijin approaches, and Isak jumps in what looks like fear and before backing up from her. Dayeon raises a hand to wave goodbye, and with a small smile hidden under his cap, Isak does the same.

Now for Ijin.

“So you two knew each other?” Dayeon asks once Isak leaves.

Ijin jumps. “Yeah.”

“Then why were you so harsh earlier?” Dayeon watches him closely. She knew she had said not to ask anything about his past, but she wasn’t really breaking her promise. He had attacked a kid out in the open and then made up with him in the next ten minutes. Surely he was expecting her to ask some questions about that?

But she had literally seen him try to stab someone’s eye out with a chopstick, so she was curious about what kind of excuse he would come up with—

“I thought some weird guy was hitting on you because you are pretty,” Ijin whips out, cool as can be.

Dayeon’s jaw drops. “What?”

She stares at Ijin.

Ijin stares back.

They both just stood there, staring at each other blankly for what feels like forever.

“Let’s just… let’s just go back home,” Dayeon manages faintly.

“Alright. Are you going to tell Grandpa about this?”

“Only if you don’t let me stitch up that wound, I will.”

***

It isn’t until much later when it hits her.

After Dayeon had done an appropriate amount of fussing over Ijin’s wound and had cleaned and bandaged it before he had kindly but firmly kicked her out of his room so he could brood, she was sitting in her room contemplating the day.

Meeting Isak had revealed a lot about Ijin and his past today. She closes her eyes, her thoughts flying around like a whirlwind in her brain: comrades and numbers and fighting; quick-to-kill hands, secret names, and tattoos. Even though there was animosity, it’s clear there’s some sort of innate trust in each other. Bonds are hard to break, after all.

That blond man that came before Isak— he’s another one of Ijin’s old comrades. Yet when they saw each other, they were eyeing each other like predators ready to kill one another instead of friends. Old comrades — friends — but ready to kill each other on a moment's notice.

(Who’s notice?)

Dayeon sighs and opens her eyes. It seems the more conclusions she comes to leave more questions to be answered. It feels like there is a string being drawn in her chest, slowly becoming tighter and tighter the more Ijin’s secrecy piles up. She fears one day it might snap, and whatever emotions she has carefully stored away will come breaking out.

Dayeon absently scrawls 032 in her notebook. She wonders if he’s somehow managed to leave the country yet, or if he’s still in the city. It would be hard to leave Korea without any money—

Her brain screeches to a halt. Wait. He didn't have any money. He was broke. Which means he likely wouldn't be able to eat for who-knows-how-long again.

Dayeon jumps to her feet and begins knocking on Ijin’s door frantically. “Ijin! Ijin, open up!” She whispers.

After a moment, he pokes his head out, dressed in new clothes. “Dayeon? What is it?”

“We need to go to the convenience store. Now.” She says urgently. “Do you have your wallet?”

To his credit, Ijin doesn't question her even though he looks extremely confused. He nods, and soon he and Dayeon are on their way to the convenience store by their apartment.

“Why are we going to the store in the middle of the night?” Ijin asks.

“Your friend,” Dayeon begins, and ignores the way he subtly tenses. “He's broke. I forgot to mention it to you, but that's the reason you found us eating together. He was starving so I offered to pay for his food.”

Whatever Ijin is expecting her to say, it certainly isn't that.

“Oh,” he says. “You gave him food?” For a split-second she can see fondness for his old comrade — no matter what history there was — play on the shadows of his face.

“Yeah. And we’re going to buy him food now. Do you have any idea where he’s staying?”

“A couple but…” Ijin hesitates. “You can’t come.” It might be dangerous, is what’s left unsaid, and she doesn’t argue.

“So I won't be able to see him again?” Dayeon asks. “That's too bad. I thought he was pretty cute.”

Ijin trips on the curb as they enter the convenience store.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No!”

“Yes!”

Dayeon laughs at the scandalized expression her brother wears as he buries his face in his hands. He looks like he regrets this entire conversation. Dayeon flits around the store, grabbing food and drinks from the shelves like a storm. Ijin watches her and pulls out his wallet when she joins him by the cashier.

The lady begins scanning and bagging the items and Dayeon’s hand lingers on one of the packages. It's one of the meals she had spotted Isak wanting, but didn’t buy because she was paying.

Dayeon stares at the packaged meal, and in a split-second decision, digs into her bag and pulls out a sticky note. Ignores Ijin, who has given up all pretenses of busying himself with paying and is blatantly staring, and writes down a note.

Dayeon caps the pen, forces down her embarrassed hesitation, and smooths the sticky note down on the plastic. She fixes Ijin with a stern look. “No. Peeking.”

“What’s so important about that note that I can’t even see it?” Ijin scowls— no, sulks.

“It’s nothing,” Dayeon says quickly. “Really. Just… an inside joke.”

Ijin raises an eyebrow about that, likely wondering how Dayeon and Isak had gotten around to sharing inside jokes, but thankfully doesn’t press the issue.

The woman who was checking out their items — and Ijin, by default — looks jealous of her boldness.

Dayeon avoids each of their gazes.

***

Isak finally threads the last stitch through his flesh and gasps in pain. It’s been around half an hour since 001 had come and saved his life, and he had finally managed to patch up all the injuries Aiden had left him.

He eyes his blood-soaked hoodie crumpled in a corner and scowls. Aiden, that bastard; that was his favorite hoodie. Blood took forever to get out. That coward had almost managed to bring him down with an ambush— if he had fought him head on, there was no chance the mercenary would’ve been able to land as many hits as he did.

He pants, giving himself a moment to calm his heart and settle his thoughts. He had to get back to The Camp quick, before whatever assholes they sent next decided to fuck him up even more. He is in no condition to fight, and the thought of moving caused him physical pain right now, but he has to get out of here before whatever shady cleanup crew 001 got his hands on in this country came over.

Isak eyes the plastic bag on his right. 001 had said his sister had told him he was broke and had bought him food.

… Maybe he can stay for a quick meal. Now that the immediate danger is gone and his pain has subsided into a dull ache, he’s actually feeling kind of hungry. 001 had already dragged Aiden’s ass out of his hideout, and it would take some time before someone came to clean up the evidence. He has time.

With a groan, Isak reaches over and hooks his fingers into the plastic to drag it forward. The bag is bulging with the amount of food stuffed into it. Isak roots through the packages and recognizes some of them as the food he had been eyeing at the convenience store when he was with 001’s sister.

His fingers brush against something odd. Frowning, Isak pulls out a plastic package of food— with a sticky note attached. He peels off the note.

Don’t forget kindness is free, but if you really want to pay me back, then remember to come back and say hello!

— Dayeon

He can’t help but laugh. He laughs until his ribs hurt; until he’s breathless and his cheeks ache from grinning ear to ear.

Holy shit. That girl is something else.

From the very beginning she’s made an impact on him; he doubts he can ever forget her if he tried. She paid for his food when he was starving— and went even more by leaving every piece of money in her wallet for him because she knew he needed it more than she did.

When they met again, she was still kind, still caring: offering him companionship, sympathy, care— even though they were practically strangers. He thinks of her kindness that is so rare from where he’s from, her knowing eyes, her secret smiles.

It was so weird; in the short time they met, he’d been so aware of her. She had gotten him to let his guard down in such a short period of time; she’d gotten him to talk about his childhood, about his brother—

Even when he had almost fucked up and killed her brother, she gave a chance to explain himself and apologize— and she accepted. She forgave him, and now, was leaving him with a final gift.

Haven’t you ever heard the saying kindness is free?

He rubs his thumb over the ink on the sticky note. He still didn’t believe that, still believed that kindness can still be used as a way to stab someone in the back, but—

He guesses with Dayeon, it might be true.

***

#teenage mercenary #mercenary enrollment #yu dayeon #yu ijin #032 #032 & Dayeon #just wanted to expand upon their meeting a little more #dayeon knows because she is sweet not oblivious #dayeon is sassy #dayeon is basically a detective #if you can't tell i love dayeon yu #i imagine 032 has one of those faces that turn into a tomato when embarrassed… which is a lot. his face is so readable

75 notes · View notes