#i am going to jump into the void i need to FEEL

[toastywindow]

Dear Soulmate | Big Eden (2000)

am Unwell for this movie I love this movie so much. To the user jay from letterbox that I randomly followed one day and recommended this? Thank you very much..,,.,.,.,.., It's so fucking Good

Big Eden (2000) is the property of Chaiken Films

Music: Dear Soulmate by Laufey

Nothing is owned by me and are the property of the appropriate owners.

[reraen]

I spent a lot of time thinking abt it but fuck it- my confusion around how romance works is a combination of my neurodivergence and being aro

[evilslushy]

PenPal Girlfriend ♡

Hamzah x f!reader

(A/N): (lowkey not proofread lol), reader is shorter than Hamzah. Mentions of depression and loneliness (nothing too detailed), mentions of weird people on weird websites, no usage of y/n, reader is definitely 19+

wc: 20.2k (oops)

Lonesomeness can creep in slowly, but over time, it can become a suffocating force, leaving someone feeling invisible and abandoned. As days stretch into weeks, and weeks into months, the absence of connection amplifies an inner ache, stirring a deep, almost desperate need to be noticed, to matter. This void can cloud judgment, pushing a person to seek out any kind of interaction, even if it’s fleeting or harmful.

It’s a hunger that gnaws at the soul, distorting the desire for genuine connection into a frantic search for anything to fill the emptiness, no matter the cost.

After moving into his new apartment, Hamzah found himself overwhelmed by a deep and gnawing loneliness that settled in like a shadow. The walls, still bare and unfamiliar, seemed to echo with the absence of voices and laughter. At first, it was a quiet discomfort, a subtle sense of isolation that he could brush off with distractions. But as days turned into weeks, the silence grew louder, and the emptiness became harder to ignore.

Yes, he was near Martin and Mandy’s house. He pretty much lives there at times. Still, there was this void. Hamzah began to feel a desperate hunger for companionship, and the more he sought it, the more he found himself grasping at anything that might ease the ache, even if it meant settling for shallow exchanges that left him feeling emptier than before.

Once he shared this concern of his with Martin and Mandy, they both looked at him with empathy. Mandy shared that she had a similar experience once and that her pets helped her through it. Martin agreed, suggesting the idea of getting pets.

And desperation strikes again.

Blue and Red were shortly adopted after. Hamzah's lonesomeness had seemed to fade. Their excited greetings after he goes out with Chase and Claire apparent. He felt appreciated, loved, and cared for. Until they started only playing with him after he feeds them.

This is totally a transactional situationship.

So then here he lies. Bottom lip between his teeth, recording a Fortnite video with Martin for their channel when he suddenly shared his agony. “Martin, I’m feeling lonely again.” It must’ve came out as a bit for the video because all Martin said back was: “dang it.”

“No, I’m being serious.” Hamzah reiterated, Martin clicking his tongue, “guys, Hamzah seriously needs a Fortnite girlfriend. So I think the plan of for this video is to find him a Fortnite girlfriend!” Hamzah can almost hear the sound effects of children cheering in the background, his problems going unnoticed by his friend yet again.

After recording, Hamzah hung up from their discord call. Promising Martin to show up tonight for movie night with Chase.

He stared at his monitor for what almost felt like five minutes, his screen on a movie pirating website to download the movie they’ll be watching tonight. God, this feeling sucks. Like really sucks. He’s literally planning on spending time with his friends right now and still feels lonely.

“Am I depressed?” He questioned out loud. He wasn’t sure if he was finally coming to terms with what he’s currently feeling, or if he’s Tiktok self diagnosing and really needs a girlfriend. Maybe it’s both. Maybe it’s neither.

Blue jumped up his lap, purring at the feeling of his touch. Pulling Hamzah out of his state of constant thinking. Hamzah looked down at Blue, who meowed at the eye contact.

“What’s wrong?” He run’s his hand across Blue’s back, sliding his hand back up and across to cup Blue’s belly, carrying him up to set on his shoulder. The cat stood on his shoulder proudly, slightly shaking to find it’s balance.

“Keeping daddy company?”

Blue had to have felt a sense of disgust at what Hamzah just called himself. Jumping off of his shoulder to ground a second later. Hamzah snarking at the action: “damn, I wasn’t being serious…”

Red must’ve sensed the awkward sadness Hamzah wasn’t ready to address from the rejection of his own cat. The similarly named cat jumping on the table, and standing up right to meet Hamzah’s gaze.

Hamzah smiled, his hand petting red’s head and scratching the bridge of it’s nose. “Are you both hungry?” He asked, more to himself since the cats can’t understand him. His eyes moved to the edge of the screen, reading the time. “You just ate thirty minutes ago…” his eyesbrows furrowed. Uncertain if his cat’s suddenly started considering their situationship with him or not.

When his eyes turned back to Red. The cat’s tail was slithering in a calm manner, it wasn’t hungry, it just wanted some love…? Hamzah’s hands involuntarily gave the cat what it wanted. Showering it with love, petting its head and kissing its face.

“Aren’t YOU acting out of place…?” He mumbled, kissing the cat’s nose one last time before turning his gaze back onto his computer. Only then realizing how much the cat covered his screen. “Okay, wrap it up. I need to finish this,” he pushed the cat towards him, sliding it from the table to his lap.

Red meowed, an annoyed meow. Hamzah looked back down at the cat. “Sorry.”

Red’s tail curled up, Hamzah’s eyes shifting to the tail at the sudden movement—looking at it from base to tip—he noticed something from the corner of his eyes. An ad, Red’s tail weirdly pointing at it. Just then, the cat jumped up from Hamzah’s lap, its face moving closer to the same side Hamzah’s currently looking at and sniffing it.

“Your Next Penpal Is Just a Message Away!” The ad read.

“From click to paper…” Hamzah’s voice barely above a whisper as he read the rest of the ad: “Words create bonds, letters build friendships.”

His face lit up for a millisecond before dropping with a frown. “Who am I kidding… this is totally an affinity scheme.” He thought, rolling as eyes at the fact that such things excited him. A weird feeling of embarrassment rushing over him.

He quickly clicked the ad away. He never really did that before because he never really cared for pop up. But something about this ad (the embarrassment of how excited he got) made his skin crawl; not wanting to see a glimpse of it.

A sigh escaped him. Rapidly clicking on the download button and closing the tabs it would open each time. With a few low annoyed groans and agonizing two minutes; Hamzah pulled off the flash from his PC, grabbing his computer and rushing to put on the nearest shoes he could find to run to Martin and Mandy’s house (since he spend ten respectable minutes doing nothing but petting his cats and mumbling nonsense about a pop up ad he saw on a pirating website.)

“Fuck. Chase.” He squeezed his eyes shut almost like his problems would disappear if he did.

Sending the following message (via Siri) to Martin shortly after: “Just left home. I’ll pick up Chase in a bit. Running late.”

—

The aroma of sweet vanilla filled the room. Mandy and Claire working on their attempt on crumbl cookie’s pink frosted sugar cookies. The came out fairly decent for their first attempt, Hamzah standing beside Martin by the kitchen island both the girls were decorating on.

“It looks like the real deal.” Hamzah commented, Claire sending him a haunting glare at his poor attempt on complimenting their baking skills. “It is the real deal. Probably even better.” Mandy added, Martin nodding his head as he grabbed a freshly frosted cookie and bit into it. Hamzah looked at his face to read his expression.

Martin seemed pleased, which only made Hamzah grab a one of his own.

“You guys are so…” Claire seemed annoyed at their presence with them, like that feeling you get when someone else is in the kitchen with you when you’re making your late night snack. “Everyone just be quiet. I wanna focus.” Mandy said, making Clarie sigh in defeat. If Mandy isn’t on anyone’s side, its pretty much over for everyone.

Martin turned to ask Hamzah, “did you download the movie?” Flicking his head to the side to move his bangs out of his eyesight. Hamzah nodded, eating the last bite of his cookie. “Can you set it up? By the time the finish up we can just start it.”

“I got it. Hand me the flash.” Chase spoke up from the couch, closing his phone, setting it on the couch. Hamzah turned to him, shoving his hands in his pocket and threw the flash towards Chase. Just when Chase caught it, Mandy added: “do you guys want popcorn?”

Hamzah remained quiet, letting everyone answer for him. He must’ve zoned out because he doesn’t really know what they decided on. Only one thing primarily hung over his mind right now. That one weird penpal ad.

“I saw this weird ad today on the pirating website I was on.” Maybe the thought was so heavy it had to slip past his mouth. Martin chuckled, thinking it was going to be a ‘Hannah, thirty miles away’ type of joke—but when he saw Hamzah’s face—his quiet laughter died down.

The rest continued to look at Hamzah with curiosity. The man blinked awkwardly as they waited for him to continue.

“It was like… from click to paper or something like that. A website for meeting penpals—”

“Affinity scheme vibes.” Both him and Martin say at the same time. Dropping the original topic at hand to look at each other with the mouths wide open, giggling like idiots.

“Wait. So it’s like-” Mandy started. “Is it like… tinder but the penpal version?”

“Maybe you’ll find a girlfriend there.” She teased, pulling the cookies away from the parchment paper. Hamzah turned to look at Mandy, “my struggles shouldn’t be a laughing stock.” He responded, a hand on his hip.

Claire smiled at the two, recalling a friend of hers mentioning something similar to her. “I remember a friend of mine mentioned something like that. She said it was pretty nice and like, fully anonymous. Kinda cool.”

“That ad was most likely the bootleg version of the real thing.” Chase added from across the room.

Martin sighed, resting his hip on the counter to hold the balance of his body. “Pretty much knocking two birds with one stone. Meeting someone new and journaling.”

Was it the sugar rush talking or is the idea of this website appealing to him? As Martin said: “Two birds with one stone.”

Meeting someone new and maybe feeling less lonely…!

—

What the fuck is he doing…? Hamzah himself wondered that as he clicked on the website, the forefront of the site was something out of the two thousands.

It must be an old website then. A message from his browser on the top left corner asked him if he allows the website to use his location, he didn’t fully read or comprehend what it said—clicking allow (thinking it was asking if he could allow the website to give him notifications.)

Hamzah clicked on the sign up button. Typing in his spam email and the same password he usually uses on burner accounts, lastly clicking on ‘male’ when it asked for his gender.

His eyebrows raised curiously when it asked him what gender he preferred to speak to. Is this actually like penpal tinder? But he innocently clicked on ‘male’ again. His thought process was that he wanted to make more male friends, he felt like he only had Martin and Chase as of right now, all his other male friends always seem too busy to hang out.

Plus it’ll be cool to say you met your homie on a penpal website.

As soon as he clicked on the done button; it loaded him into a new page, this one asking him to highlight or enter some of his interests. Hamzah’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, thinking about what he should type.

Nothing. Nothing really came into mind except for one thing.

Hamzah started typing it, a circle forming around the word and finally getting highlighted as he pressed enter—validating his interest as one of the many hobbies in the database of this website.

‘Fortnite.’

He smiled at the screen. Happy with what he wrote. That happiness rudely interrupted by a pop up message reading: ‘MUST ENTER AT LEAST THREE ENTRIES!’

Hamzah continued his journey to remember hobbies he has, recalling fishing being one of them seconds later, then journaling lastly. He might be lying a little bit on the last one since he doesn’t feel consistent enough, but it was something he enjoyed doing!

As he pressed the enter button again, it sent him to another page, it took a while to load, though he was shocked to see that it immediately took him to an open chatroom.

It had the same outline as Omegle, but slightly more vibrant and with a feel of mySpace. A loud ding made him slightly jump back; realizing that the sound was a notification for a message being sent. He blinked, looking at the other buttons available on his screen, a skip button beside the send button, a block button beside the username of whoever was on the other side.

Hamzah looked at the message on his screen:

FeetAsianFisher: Age?

He giggled at the name, mumbling: “what the fuck?” Under his breath. “Did he put asian as his interest or asian-fishing?” Hamzah thought, his giggles turning into laughter from his own joke.

FishingFortniteJournalist: 22, what the fuck is that username? LOL

Hamzah noticed his username, realizing the website never asked him for one. And also noticing that his username was a mashup of all his entered interests. The horror washed over him as he re-read the other guy's username.

FeetAsianFisher: 62

FeetAsianFisher: do u like older men?

FeetAsianFisher: i like pretty boys, are you one?

Hamzah almost couldn’t see from the face he was making, his eyes squinted, his mouth forming a frown. Hands frozen over the keyboard. Did he just enter a website where old people get their freak on? His right hand held his mouse, moving the cursor to the skip button faster than ever.

“Ew.” He commented under his breath, turning to Red to see if it also just witnessed what he did. Red only meowed to it’s owner, turning to run to Blue and continue wrestling.

Another ding. His attention back to the screen.

FortniteFeetGamer: Age?

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

FishingFortniteJournalist: WHAT IS UP WITH YOU GUYS AND FEET!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

He didn’t waste time, skipping this guy as well. Absolutely not giving him a chance to respond back.

Hamzah realized that he’ll probably continue on this loophole if he doesn’t change his settings, there must be a filtering system for interests or something. If there is, he's definitely filtering out ‘feet’ first.

He clicked through the settings as quickly as he could, furiously trying to make adjustments to his profile before more creepy messages came flooding in. The website felt more like a maze designed to keep him lost than a genuine way to connect with people. If mySpace was this complicated, how did people like it?

After a few more clicks, he found the “Preferences” section. His face lit up, this must be it! He could change his settings, modify some interests, and maybe—just maybe—dodge the barrage of strange messages and people.

His eyes scanned the options, nothing. Just two buttons: ‘change gender preference’ and ‘change interests.’

Then it hit him. His preferred gender was probably the reason why he kept getting weird messages. He could change it. Maybe, just maybe, if he set his preferences to women, it might filter out some of the weirdos.Without really thinking about it, he clicked.

The forefront reloading again, taking him to a new page. Then loading up a new chatroom. A pop up message on the top read: ‘PREFERRED GENDER CHANGED SUCCESSFULLY.’

The chatroom was quiet. The opposite party didn’t send a message which made Hamzah feel obliged to start the conversation.

FishingFortniteJournalist: hello?

He waited patiently for an answer, a ding alerting him of the other person’s answer.

FishingGirlFeet: ＭＹ ＰＵＳＳＹ ＩＮ 🄵🄸🅂🄷🄸🄽🄶🄶🄸🅁🄻🄵🄴🄴��.🄲🄾🄼

Hamzah could only sigh when his eyes registered the message.

FishingFortniteJournalist: I hate you so much.

He skipped the bot as soon as he pressed enter, going into the settings again to avoid being put in another godforsaken freaky chatroom. His eyes darted at the available options, deciding to click on the profile settings.

It didn’t say much other than his username, email, and gender. The username was unavailable to edit, same for the email (though it had a message written underneath that said: “this email will not be shared publicly.”) The only thing that was available for change was gender.

Hamzah hesitated for a moment, wondering if he changed his gender to woman, and had his preference to women, would things be any different? Or is he still going to get bombarded with weird messages?

Curiosity killed the cat.

A few clicks and he was (according to the website) a lady.

Reloading him back to a chatroom as soon as he exited the settings, his eyes falling back to the center of the screen awaiting an answer from both the person and for his theory.

GamingJournalingReader: Hello???

…normal?

ForniteFishingJournalist: are u a normal person or do u like feet?

GamingJournalingReader: LMFAO

GamingJournalingReader: NORMAL

ForniteFishingJournalist: u have no clue what i just went through

GamingJournalingReader: I think I have an idea… LOL

GamingJournalingReader: WTF YOU PLAY FORTNITE?!

ForniteFishingJournalist: not a lot nowadays but i play it with my friend most of the time

GamingJournalingReader: Cool! I guess the reason why we got paired up was the journaling part.

GamingJournalingReader: How long have you been journaling? I only started a few months ago, honestly it’s been super fun!

ForniteFishingJournalist: around a year ago? but i started taking it seriously a few months ago too

GamingJournalingReader: That’s awesome!! How old are you by the way?

ForniteFishingJournalist: 22

GamingJournalingReader: Taylor Swift age :0

ForniteFishingJournalist: idk abt u but im feelin 22

Just before Hamzah could ask the person for their age, a big pop up message showed up on his screen:

“Did you enjoy your chat with GamingJournalingReader? Take your conversation offline—turn your typed words into handwritten letters! Just write your message, send it to the P.O. Box provided, and we'll make sure it reaches your new friend—anonymously. Your location stays private, but the connection stays real!”

Below that, a P.O box address was given. Hamzah raising a brow, “huh? How would they know my location?”

“Whatever.” He sighed, moving his cursor to the delete button, the tab disappearing as he clicked on delete. The thought of whoever he was talking to being a bot flowed into his mind. A pout forming on his lips, he felt like a loser. Was he that desperate? An online website to meet strangers? Who was he kidding, this was all a stupid idea.

He pushed his chair away from the desk with a heavy sigh, feeling the weight of the night pressing in on him. Red and Blue, sensing his movement, immediately sprang from their spots and bounded toward him. Hamzah glanced at the cats, then at the clock on his desk—it was already 11 PM, well past their usual feeding time.

"Sorry, guys," he muttered under his breath, heading toward the kitchen. The cats trailed behind him, meowing insistently, their hunger unmistakable. "I shouldn't have let this distract me." he added, though he knew they wouldn’t understand.

As soon as he placed their bowls on the floor, the cats pounced on their food, eating eagerly. Hamzah sat beside them, gently ran his hand over Blue’s head as it ate, the soft purrs filling the quiet space.

Hamzah watched them eat for a moment longer, the quiet rhythm of their hunger oddly comforting. When he was sure they were settled, he stood up, stretching his arms.

"Alright," he said softly, glancing down at Red and Blue, who were still focused on their food. "Night." His voice was quiet, but the cats didn't seem to care, too wrapped up in their meal.

With a final glance at the pair, Hamzah turned off the kitchen light and made his way to his bedroom.

—

It had been a long, grueling week for Hamzah—filming, endless hours of talking with Martin. Why? Martin was heading off to visit his family for the next few weeks. They had to prepare. Filming, editing, discussing, then filming some more. Hamzah was relieved that he wouldn’t have to talk at all for a while. The idea of spending a whole month in silence, without the pressure of constant conversation, sounded like paradise.

He kicked off his shoes the moment he entered his apartment, sighing as the weight of the day lifted slightly. Red and Blue immediately began circling his feet, meowing excitedly. “Hello,” Hamzah cooed, his backpack slung over one shoulder. With his other hand, he held a small stack of bill-mail.

“Are you cuties hungry?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at them. Both cats meowed in response, louder this time, their tails flicking in anticipation. Hamzah smiled and nodded. “Coming right up.”

He dropped his backpack by the door, then turned to make his way into the kitchen. Blue reached out and clawing at Hamzah’s sock.

“Ouch! Stop,” Hamzah groaned, wiggling his foot to shake the cat off. Blue quickly jumped back and scampered over to Red, starting a little wrestling match. Hamzah watched them for a second, his lips curling into a smile.

He set the mail on the kitchen counter, then opened the cabinet where he kept the cat food. Pulling out the pre-packaged sleeves of wet food, he quickly split the contents into two separate bowls.

Before he could bend fully to put the bowls on the ground, Blue was climbing up his leg in a desperate attempt to get to the food first. Hamzah laughed and stood back up, carefully setting the bowls out of reach as the cats scrambled over to him.

“Easy!” he said, half-amused, half-annoyed. He nudged them both back a little, enough to give him space to set the food down, but not without a couple of claws grazing his leg.

As soon as the bowls were on the floor, the cats pounced, their meows filling the room as they dug into their meal. Hamzah leaned against the counter, letting out a small sigh as he watched them. The apartment was quiet, save for the soft sound of their eating. For a moment, it was just him, his cats, and the peace that he hadn’t realized he’d been craving.

Hamzah turned his attention back to mail on the kitchen counter, resting his elbows on that same counter to peel them open. He went through seventy five percent of them, the usual billing receipts and ads for local stores opening nearby—that is until, of course—a letter with a sticky note captivated his vision. He pushed the other mail envelope that laid over it, the brown textured envelope standing out not only with its color but with the odd yellow sticky notes attached to it.

His eyes first read the address, a P.O box that seemed familiar but he quickly dismissed it since it didn’t pop up in his mind immediately. Moving his gaze to the sticky note.

“To. FishingFortniteJournalist”

Hamzah let out a breath chuckle at first, the words in front of him not fully forming in his mind. Until it did. Hamzah's heart skipped a beat as he realized the note was addressed to his username. The username that had been automatically generated from his interests. He hadn’t even thought that something like this would actually happen.

How? How did they get his address?!

But then it hit him, like a ton of bricks. His thoughts rushed back to the moment he'd clicked Allow. He’d been in such a rush to sign up for that weird penpal site, too eager to bypass the pop-ups, the terms and conditions, just to see if it could actually be real! Something that would make him meet someone new. The website had asked if he allowed it to use his location. He'd assumed it was for notifications or maybe some setting for the chatroom. But now, with an annoyed realization creeping in, it dawned on him that by agreeing to share his location, he'd essentially handed over a piece of his privacy.

Hamzah cursed under his breath. "Of course, of course… fuck! What do I do?”

The website must’ve used that location data, linked it to the profile he’d made—FishingFortniteJournalist, his fishing, Fortnite-loving, journal-obsessed persona. And used a user matching database to know when someone sends in a letter—with a username attached to it—where they have to send that letter to.

And at the end of this all. ‘GamingJournalingReader’ wasn’t some bot chatting with him to keep him engaged with the website. No, no no no. This is a real person. In fact, it’s a person who wrote this letter, addressed to his username, and sent it to the website’s mailing P.O box TO SHIP TO HIM.

‘This is bad. This is really bad.’ Hamzah couldn’t help but think. And even with all these nerves kicking within him. Curiosity won yet again. He peeled open the envelope, careful not to rip the contents inside. Pulling everything out slowly. The letter unfolded, a faint scent of vanilla wafted up, a strange but oddly comforting smell. The letter was written in neat handwriting, the ink smooth and deliberate.

“Dear FishingFortniteJournalist,

I hope this letter finds you well, despite the strange way we met. I thought it was amusing that we connected over Fortnite and journaling—two things I never expected to overlap. I’m glad we were able to chat for a bit, even if our first conversation was cut short. It’s rare to find someone with similar interests, and it was refreshing to find a connection like that!

Something about you being traumatized and trying to have a conversation about Fortnite is still funny to me. But, on the note of our interests. Since you said you just recently started journaling again I included some gifts for you in the envelope! Nothing too crazy, just some washi-tape and stickers I got from a friend of mine a while back.

Anyway, I don’t want to keep my letter too long. I look forward to hearing from you again—if you’re interested, of course.

With love and kisses,

GamingJournalingReader"

Hamzah blinked, rereading the letter twice to ensure he wasn’t seeing things. He sat down on the couch, the letter feeling heavier in his hands than it probably should. He quickly reached into the envelope and pulled out a tag, pink washi-tape wrapped around it, and some Hello Kitty stickers.

“What the hell is going on…?” Hamzah whispered to himself, still trying to process everything. He had forgotten about the whole website experience from all the stress, but now... now there was this letter. An actual letter. Sent by someone who seemed to have taken the connection seriously.

One thing was clear: this wasn’t something he could just brush off. Especially not when the person seemed too genuine to ignore.

Without wasting another moment, he tore a sheet from an old notebook and grabbed a blank envelope from a pile of mail, double-checking it didn’t have his address. He began writing:

“Hey GamingJournalingReader,

I have to admit, this is pretty wild. At first, I didn’t even think you were real, and now I feel a little guilty for not mailing you a letter first. I’m not sure how this works, even though I feel like I should. It’s intriguing, to say the least.

Thanks for the sticker and the tape, I’ll make good use of them. I wish I had something to send back, but I don’t.

Take care.”

He sighed, eyes scanning the letter with a pang of doubt. He definitely wasn’t good at this. The words felt stiff and distant, as if they came from someone else entirely. It felt similar to when he first messaged them; in the chatroom. Normally, he’d be the one making jokes, have this calm yet energetic spark and humor everyone. But with this person, everything seemed to slow down, his usual spark dimmed to something more subdued and thoughtful.

Maybe it was just the timing—talking to them that night after a long, exhausting day (movie night), when all he wanted was quiet and rest. Or maybe it was something about them, this GamingJournalingReader, that pulled him into a calmer, more introspective version of himself. He wasn’t sure which was more unsettling.

He folded the letter, shoving it inside the envelope he grabbed and copied the same P.O box address the person had on their letter. Writing their username boldly in the middle. GamingJournalingReader. The soft rustle of paper and writing filled the room, punctuating the silence. This whole situation felt strange. However, tomorrow morning, this is the first thing he has on his to-do list.

He traced the edge of the envelope with his thumb, the paper rough against his skin. For the time being, with a tired exhale, he sat back and stared at the ceiling, the shadows from his dim lamp shifting in a slow dance. It was late, the kind of late where everything felt heavy and honest. He rested his arms to each side of his body, the envelope slipping past the grasp of his hand and rested beside him on the couch.

Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing, feeling different around this person. Maybe it meant there was something more to this, something worth unraveling, even if it made him uncomfortable.

But as his eyelids drooped and sleep began to claim him, one thought lingered: was it better to stay guarded, or to let himself lean into the quiet curiosity that GamingJournalingReader seemed to draw out of him? Whatever the answer was, it made him feel less lonely since he’s going to sleep with someone in the shadows of his mind.

—

“Dear FishingFortniteJournalist,

God! I feel like a creep now that I was the first one to send a letter. I’m glad you liked the sticker though, matter of fact I’m glad you got the letter safely. Anyway, thank you for going through with this. It’s crazy that you were the first person I talked to!

Enough of the website, I don’t think you want to talk about it… I was thinking of fun things we can include in our letters to get to know each other. We can do playlists!! Obviously written playlists. Now that I’m writing this I think what I meant is song recommendations but regardless! I’d love to hear what you listen to! I attached a note to my letter that has some recommendations of mine.

I hope you had a good week! My week has been super hectic but I was happy to see that you got and responded to my letter. I don’t want to make this too long and bore you. See you next letter.

With love and kisses,

GamingJournalingReader”

—

The soft glow of your computer screen illuminated your small bedroom, casting a pale light over your tired eyes. It was one of those rare, tranquil evenings in Canada when the snowstorm outside created an almost cinematic backdrop. Flakes danced and swirled under the streetlamp’s light, covering the neighborhood in a pristine blanket of white. With a warm mug of peppermint tea nestled between your palms, you clicked on the familiar green icon on your laptop, waiting for the call to connect.

A moment later, the screen burst to life, and there was Mandy’s face, vibrant as ever. Her tanned skin glowed against the muted blues and oranges of what seemed like a hotel balcony. The sound of distant ocean waves crashing against the shore filtered through your speakers.

“Hey, there you are!” Mandy’s voice bubbled, her smile so wide that her eyes crinkled at the corners. She pushed a lock of sun-bleached hair behind her ear, revealing a pair of dangling shell earrings.

You couldn’t help but grin back. “Mandy! Wow, look at you! So… beachy.”

Mandy laughed, the sound warm and contagious. “I know, right? I’m starting to think I’m never going back to winter coats and boots. It’s paradise here, honestly.” She shifted the phone a little, giving you a view of the blue expanse behind her. “Look at this, just look at it!”

Your eyes widened at the sight of the brilliant turquoise sea and the golden glow of the setting sun. “It’s so nice. Where are you now?”

“Somewhere near Tulum. Martin found this tiny resort off the beaten path. He said he wanted to have a week for ourselves before coming back. No tourists, just an endless beach and some hammocks strung between the palms. We spent the whole day exploring the cenotes and eating the best tacos I’ve ever had.” Mandy’s eyes sparkled with the kind of joy that only came from adventure and sun.

“Ugh, lucky.” you pouted, taking a sip of your tea. The rich, comforting tea filled your senses, a stark contrast to Mandy’s tropical paradise.

Mandy’s expression softened a little as she leaned closer to the screen. Clicking her tongue before mirroring your pout. “I know. I feel guilty sometimes, being out here while you’re back in Canada. How’s it going? Heard there’s a snowstorm out of nowhere.”

You set your mug down and pulled your blanket tighter around your shoulders. “Sudden snowstorm is correct. Streets are buried under layers of snow, and I had to shovel the driveway twice today.”

Mandy winced in sympathy. “I don’t miss that at all actually.” Then a memory took over her vision, a giggling leaving her lips before reminding: “Remember last year when we got stuck in that coffee shop when we were trying to have this cute study date?”

“Oh my god! That was last year?”

“Yeah! It was fun, though,” Mandy said, a nostalgic smile curving her lips. “I miss those random little adventures with you.”

“Me too,” you admitted, glancing at the snow swirling just outside the window. A pang of longing settled in your chest, a mixture of missing Mandy and the familiarity of your carefree times together.

Suddenly, you remembered something.

“Oh my god. I forgot to tell you!” You started, setting your tea cup aside to adjust your laptop as you spoke to Mandy. You caught her attention immediately, fixing her posture to move closer to the computer. “I finally got a penpal.” You exclaimed.

Mandy made tiny claps with her hands, leaning even closer to the camera to celebrate. “No way! How?” She asked, continuing to add something before you answered: “That's funny because, a week ago, Martin's and my friends were over for movie night. And one of them mentioned seeing an ad for… uh… like online penpals? Like sending emails?”

You jumped at how similar it is to the idea of the website you used, “oh! It’s similar to the one I used but mine is like, you meet, you chat for like three minutes, then they give you this P.O box address that you can send your penpal letter to. That way it can be fully anonymous.”

“Location?” Mandy tilted her head.

“You allow them to have your location as soon as you click on the website.” You informed. Mandy looked at you like you had cat ears for ears; “and you allowed a random website to have your location?”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“You’re insane.” Mandy sighed.

“Anyway,” you continue. “I met a girl as soon as I was matched to chat, we had journaling in common. She seems nice so far!”

Mandy raised her right eyebrow, crossing her arms, “and what makes you think she isn’t a twenty something year old creepy man that plays video games with his friends all day and can't ever interact with women outside of Fortnite skins?”

“I feel like you described me but with the implications of a man.”

“Point stands.” Mandy warned. You roll your eyes. “Mandy, why would a man put journaling as one of his interests?”

“To fool you.”

“Oh my god. Stop.” You started giggling at Mandy’s resistance against your ideologies. “So what? He doesn’t have my actual address if that’s true!”

“Plus, Fortnite Fishing Journalist? Sounds like a woman.”

“I think hypothermia is kicking in.” Mandy rubs her temple, looking to the beach as the waves crash down into a soft shuffling sound. “Careful.”

“Don’t worry. Probably won’t get murdered.” You reassured. Though, Mandy’s face didn’t seem reassured at all. “You enjoy your time! This is some silly penpal stuff! Tell me what you’ve been up to.” You noted, wanting to derail the conversation away from you since Mandy seemed so tense.

She gave you a half smile. Starting to go on about how she loves the beach waters here, how stray cats are friendly, and how her shopping sprees are becoming bigger and bigger as the days go by.

After an hour of talking about how Martin needs to stop wearing graphic t-shirts when they’re out together at a fancy restaurant or about how much Mandy misses fish; the call ended with a goodnight wish to you. Waving hands and kisses goodbye making a smile linger on your face even after she hangs up.

As you think back about your conversations, remembering what Mandy said about your new friend. Snarking at the imaginary tail of your friend. Yeah, right. A twenty something year old man pretending to be a woman to have a penpal that sends him Hello Kitty stickers, pink washi-tape samples, and song recommendations.

—

“GamingJournalingReader,

It’s me. Hi. How are you? I hope you are good. I’m okay. Song recommendations? I listened to some of yours and so far, I like it. I’ll also add some songs on the bottom of this ripped page. Excuse me, I don’t have sticky notes.

How’s the weather where you live? It’s snowing for me. No fun. I can’t go out to grab sticky notes for our letters. Dislike emoji. Sorry, I’m not used to writing on paper. I kind of wish I had emoji stickers to add.

This is kind of breaking my habit of using Siri for everything. I have a serious problem with that. My friends make fun of me for it. It kind of feels weird to not let Siri write this down for me. (I’m not being serious.)

I don’t know if this is oversharing, I’m just not used to this.

Bye.”

—

Hamzah titled his head as he looked at the neatly folded and decorated letter sent by GamingJournalingReader. The way this person wrote was so detailed and intricate, the signature vanilla lingered in the air for a while after he opened the letter. Groaning when he turned his vision to his monstrosity of a letter. He was reusing old envelopes as his new envelopes, his paper being from an old notebook he bought when he first moved into the apartment to journal (which failed.)

His writing improved, a little less dry and more comfortable. But still, it missed that hidden element.

Whatever! It doesn’t matter. Why does he need to impress this random person on the internet? It’s not the end of the world if his letters aren’t the most presentable, all that mattered was that it was perfectly readable and both parties seem to be fine with it (for the most part on his behalf.)

Hamzah went over to the kitchen to feed Red and Blue before he leaves to meet up with Martin to film another eating in a cultural restaurant vlog.

His lips curled into a smile as he recalled something: “I was happy to see that you got and responded to my letter.” Something about that line—it felt real. Maybe it was the novelty of it, or the way it was phrased with such casual care. The kind of care you get when someone, even on the other side of a screen or a thousand miles away, takes the time to reach out. It’s only been a month or so since they met. He already somewhat felt the companionship he was longing for. The person who was asking him about himself, wondering how he is even if it wasn’t fully genuine. It felt nice to have someone willingly wonder how he is.

Red squawked from his cage in the corner, snapping Hamzah out of his thoughts. He chuckled, shaking his head. "Alright, alright, calm down," he muttered, moving over to the kitchen counter. He filled their food bowls, watching as Blue immediately dug in, while Red took a more dignified approach, nibbling delicately.

As he prepared their water and cleaned their area quickly, he caught his reflection in the microwave door. His hair was a mess, and his shirt—he hadn’t even bothered to iron it. He wasn’t in the mood

Hamzah grabbed his jacket from the couch in his living room, walking past his coffee table where his letter sat. He took a final glance at it, wondering whether he should be embarrassed by his own letter. ‘It’s fine’, he thought. After all, the words would speak for themselves, wouldn’t they? And wasn’t that all that mattered?

Besides, he seemed to get like this every time he wrote his letters. Every single Thursday, he’d sit and stare at his letter—beating it down and comparing it to his penpal’s letter. Or when he twists his lips around while he looks at it, thinking it’s bland and that it needs more decorations like how GamingJournalingReader’s letters would be. “Whatever.” He whispered.

With one last deep breath, he grabbed his keys beside the letter and headed for the front door.

—

“Dear FishingFortniteJournalist,

I get the whole Siri dependency. But isn’t that why they made Siri anyway? You’re just getting your money’s worth. Writing by hand is like an old-school challenge but kind of nice, right? And YES! Emoji stickers would make this 10 times better.

It’s kind of funny because when I got your letter, it was snowing for me too! I couldn’t get to my mail box until two days later, which kind of explains why this letter will also be sent late to you. Sorry, Mrs.FortniteFishingJournalist!

On a good note… I FOUND SOME SILLY SMILEY FACE STICKERS!! I’ll send some to you in my envelope, if you want to make it sad; just draw a pout on its face and it’ll all be good.

My question for this letter is: do you have any pets? You don’t have to share names! Just a yes or no. Or you can ignore my question. It’s okay as well.

I had a pet pigeon for a while, not actually but it would jump on the rails of my apartment’s balcony and pick at an empty ashtray for two hours every morning. Named it: trashy. Because, I’d leave it be then it’ll start trashing my balcony for no reason!

Anyway, how was your week? Mine was still snowy. I hope yours was warmer than before.

With love and kisses

GamingJournalingReader”

—

“Martin’s and my friends are coming over next week.” Mandy announced over the phone, “do you wanna come? It’s a bigger party this time, some of Claire’s friends are coming over.”

You sighed on the other side of the phone, your agony made Mandy frown. “Oh no. Why?” She immediately asked, using her shoulder to hold her phone close to her ear while she fed Fish and Carl. “I don’t know… I haven’t gone to a party in a while.” You message the bridge of your nose, thinking about being in a crowded place where you don’t know ninety percent of the people there.

“Girl. It’s like twelve people max.”

“And only two of which I know!” You argued back, closing the book that sat neatly on your lap. You uncrossed your legs, standing up to walk around the room while you talked to your friend.

Mandy remained silent for a second, seemingly unaware that you would agree if she would just promise that she won’t leave you alone with some strangers. “I haven’t seen you in forever. Just knock it out, it’s in my apartment, you won’t lose me.” And the key answer was declared, allowing you to mumble an “okay.” With a not so convinced tone.

Your friend let out a dramatic sigh on the other end of the phone. “I promise I’ll be your social bodyguard.” You couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought of Mandy as your personal bodyguard in a sea of people you barely knew. Still, the idea of pushing through your discomfort for a night in the company of friends—letting go of the fact that most of them were friends of friends—was oddly reassuring. “Fine, but if I end up hiding in the bathroom, you’ll know it’s because I’m at my social breaking point.”

“You can lock yourself in there as long as you want, I’ll bring you snacks through the door if I have to,” Mandy teased, clearly delighted that you were coming around. “It’ll be fun! You’ve been cooped up in that apartment for weeks now.” Mandy's voice softened, genuine now. “You know I would never drag you into anything you don’t want to do. Just come for a bit. If you need an out, I’ll get you out.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, and for the first time in the conversation, you felt a tiny shift in your anxiety. It probably wouldn’t be so bad. Right?

—

It was totally bad.

You blinked. The living room was dimly lit, with warm golden lights strung up around the walls, the low thrum of music in the background. It was cozy, but too crowded. Mandy’s apartment wasn’t massive, which made this feel a whole lot more uncomfortable. Mandy’s cat, Fish, darted between your legs and Carl was curled up beside you on the couch, blissfully ignoring the humans around him.

Okay, maybe you are totally being dramatic. It wasn’t all that bad but you did feel like the odd man out. Everyone was a little awkward with you, unsure of how you’ll take their humor, trying their best to have the best first impression. All of it ends in them having conversations together about things you won’t get—excluding you without noticing.

Mandy went out to grab more drinks for everyone, NOT keeping her promise about being your PSB (Personal Social Bodyguard.)

That’s an unfair way of thinking. Wasn’t it? She should have fun without you holding her down. You pet Carl to calm your thoughts. The sound of folks mingling around you soon becomes background noise as you smile down at Carl.

Suddenly, the couch dipped beside you, and your head subconsciously turned toward the shift in weight, half-expecting it to be Mandy. Instead, you were met with a guy you hadn’t noticed before, his posture relaxed, with a quiet awkwardness that immediately made him seem more like someone who was trying to fit in. Just like you.

You blinked, a little surprised. He had messy, dark, curly hair and an effortlessly laid-back vibe—like he’d just thrown on whatever was comfortable, and somehow it suited him perfectly. His eyes scanned your face for a moment, his eyebrows raising as if processing your unfamiliar presence.

Oh! You know him! That’s Martin’s friend. “Hamzah?” you asked, the name slipping out before you even realized it. For a split second, the guy’s expression froze, a flash of surprise crossing his face. It was less of a ‘That’s not my name’ look, more of a ‘How do you know my name?’ look. His brows furrowed as he glanced at you, clearly puzzled.

This is so awkward.

“…that’s me,” he said slowly. His voice was low and steady, but there was a slight hesitation in it, like he wasn’t quite sure how to respond to the sudden attention. “How do you...?”

You quickly cleared your throat, hoping to clear up the confusion. “Sorry, I’m Mandy’s friend,” you explained. “That’s how I know you. You’re Martin's friend? I’ve heard her mention you a couple of times.”

He nodded, still looking at you with a quiet curiosity. His lips twitched into a small, almost sheepish smile, but he didn’t seem entirely at ease. "Oh. Yeah," he said, his voice a little softer now, like he was processing the new piece of information. “She doesn’t talk shit about you.” You reassured, although now that you said it; it makes Mandy look guilty with what you accused.

Hamzah let out a short breathy laugh, “Good to know.” His tone was humorous, almost like he sensed your slight embarrassment and tried to let you know that he won’t take it negatively. “I didn’t realize Mandy had a... friend here. I mean, I didn’t know she invited a friend.”

Both of you are doing horrible in wording your statements, everything could be taken backhanded but you both ignored your troubled sentences and continued your awkward conversation.

You shifted your position, trying to make the space between you feel less awkward. “Yeah, I’m kind of the ‘out-of-place’ one tonight,” you said with a half-laugh. “I don’t know anyone here except Mandy and I met Martin only a handful of times.”

Hamzah nodded, biting his lip nervously as he turned to look around for Martin. You noticed what he was doing, letting him know where the couple was: “Mandy and Martin left to grab some drink.” He turned to look at you as you answered, nodding his head again.

You both sat in a brief, awkward silence, both of you still trying to find your footing in the conversation. You could feel the tension in the air, but it was the kind of tension that felt more like a shared experience—neither of you seemed comfortable in the party setting, but at least you weren’t alone in it.

Trying to break the silence, you thought of something Mandy had mentioned earlier, something that seemed like an easy topic to latch onto. “Mandy was telling me you and Martin went camping recently,” you said, your tone a little hesitant as you watched his reaction. “She was saying it was... pretty intense? You know, like, the kind of camping where you actually rough it.”

Hamzah’s eyes flickered briefly, as though he was momentarily caught off guard, but the tension in his shoulders relaxed a bit as he processed what you said. There was a slight smile on his face, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, his voice sounding a little more grounded now. “It was... an adventure, for sure.” He leaned back slightly on the couch, crossing his arms over his chest. “Martin insisted on doing the whole thing the real way—no hotels, no water bottles, just tents and a campfire. It was... an experience, to say the least.”

You couldn’t help but smile, imagining the chaos of two guys trying to make the best of a rough camping trip. “That sounds... brutal, honestly. Like, no luxuries? I’m sure it was fun in some way, but... wow.”

Hamzah chuckled softly, the sound deep and quiet, like he was remembering something particularly funny—or maybe just trying to make light of the situation. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever missed a good shower more in my life. And the food—The food was awful.”

He gave a small, genuine laugh, and for a moment, you both shared a look, a moment of connection over something completely unrelated to the current social chaos. His smile was genuine now, the tension from before slipping away just a little more.

“How long have you and Mandy been friends?” He asked, finding footing in the conversation. You hummed at the question, “around a year ago maybe?”

“I lost my phone in this beaten up, old amusement park when I was babysitting. I was lowkey freaking out and she must’ve seen me from afar. Held the kids with me and ran around looking for my phone.”

“Mandy would do that?”

“Only a year ago.”

Both of you giggle at your combined joke. Hamzah’s playfulness coming out, your heart weirdly fluttering at the sight; not weirdly actually… Hamzah was really cute. You knew that since Mandy showed you pictures of him and her boyfriend. But you don’t want to feed that crush too much, you knew you wouldn’t see him a lot—what could possibly tie you guys together anyway? It seems like you guys wouldn’t have anything in common.

The sound of the front door creaking open pulled your attention away from Hamzah. When Mandy stepped inside, you instinctively stood up from the couch to walk toward her. As you glanced back at Hamzah, you caught the subtle flutter of his eyes in your direction, and your heartbeat quickened in response. “It was nice to meet you!” you said, offering a polite smile. “It was nice to meet you too,” he replied, his voice soft, and though the words were sincere, an awkward tension lingered between you two, faint but noticeable.

—

“GamingJournalingReader

My week was cold too but definitely better than last week… It's so funny how similar our weather matches up.

Pigeon? That’s unique. I have two cats, as I have mentioned before I’m pretty forgetful. I decided to name them very common names that won’t ever be forgotten. Red and Blue. Isn’t that so convenient? Never understood the hassle with names. I think our love is one sided, they only love me when it’s feeding time. I’m sure you understand, with your pigeon and all.

I get busy sometimes and can’t be there emotionally for them. That kind of makes me feel like shit, but I need someone emotionally too. You don’t see me complaining like they do. Kidding. Obviously.

The stickers are so fucking cool. You’re a lifesaver, honestly. How do you even have that many different options of stickers? Do you make these? Or do you collect them? So many questions, so little answers. You’re such a mystery…

Mr.GamingJournalingReader,

Teach me your way of stickering.”

—

Hamzah leaned against the counter, sipping from a cup of iced coffee he'd made. The cold, bitter liquid slid down his throat, a jolt of wakefulness that kept the remnants of sleep at bay. His gaze flicked over to the cats, Red and Blue, happily munching on their meals. Their rhythmic chewing was the only sound in the kitchen, and for a moment, everything felt perfectly still.

Then, his phone buzzed on the counter, its vibrations cutting through the silence. Hamzah glanced at the screen. It was a notification from Martin: “Did you confirm with the camera guy for the vlog next week?”

He set his cup down and breathed out slowly, trying to shake off the weight of the message. He glanced back down at the cats again, watching them finish up their breakfast. The silence of the moment was a balm, familiar and comforting, like an old friend who never demanded anything more than your company. It was his life of solitude, his sanctuary.

Hamzah groaned and rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the weight of the question. The vlog was something that had been hanging over his head for a week—something he was technically responsible for (since it was his idea) but had zero desire to manage at the moment. The thought of reaching out to the camera guy, arranging schedules, figuring out who was doing what, made him want to crawl back into bed and pretend nothing exists. The last thing he wanted to do on this quiet morning was deal with anything.

But of course, his mind wasn’t content to stay in that peaceful place for long. His thoughts, as they often did, drifted back to something that had been on his mind more than he cared to admit: a night from last week.

It was last Friday. The day had started like any other—quiet, unremarkable. He'd been lounging around, enjoying the feeling of having no plans, no obligations, when his phone buzzed with a message from Claire.

“Hamzah, are you sure you don’t want to come by? Last minute change of plans, it’ll be chill, I swear. Just us, maybe a few others, but it’ll be super low-key.”

When he showed up, though, he quickly realized the party wasn’t exactly what he expected. The place was louder than he anticipated, a mix of chatter and music spilling out into the small apartment’s entryway. And Claire’s promise of “just a few others” had been a stretch of the truth. The living room was filled with unfamiliar faces. And he had to shake their hands with jorts and a minecraft shirt on. The only laundry he finished this week.

But one thing stood out to him from that whole night; her.

They were both somewhat in the same social hierarchy in that party, weirdly finding comfort within each other's unfamiliarity. He never thought he’d be ‘getting to know someone’ this smoothly before, although it was awkward. She was carrying the conversation pretty well. Remained him of someone but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

And she’s pretty. Did he make a fool out of himself in front of a pretty girl…? He shut his eyes, breathing in to relax himself. “She asked me one question, I asked her. Fair conversation.” He reassured himself, like if he said it outloud he’d feel any better.

He didn’t.

“This is stupid.”

—

“Dear FishingFortniteJournalist,

Mysterious? Me? No way. I think you only think that because you don’t know my name. I feel like I share a lot more than you think. You know about my pet pigeon, and not a lot of people know about that beautiful creature!

Anyway, CATS! I love your cats' names! I get you with the whole forgetting thing, I forget some important things too. Just a part of life, isn’t it?

Random but I really love talking to you. You’re starting to feel like a longtime friend I had since middle school. Can you believe we’ve been talking for two months? Maybe a little under that but LET ME PRETEND LIKE IT’S A BIG MILESTONE! Crazy, feels like yesterday. One tear crying emoji. (I don’t have that as a sticker. I have failed my sticker master skills.)

Oh! I have some TEA. Not really tea but… listen, girl. I went to a party the other day, and I met my friend’s boyfriend’s friend. I know it's confusing. Anyway, he was cute. Not like smash cute, but like… wife me up cute. That could be the same for you, they’re kinda different for me.

I don’t think I can ever date him though… our conversation was short and I don’t think I’ll ever see him again. Unless some miracle happens. Knowing my luck there won’t be any.

Isn’t this such a long letter? Sorry girly pop, got too excited telling you about my party crush.

With love and kisses,

GamingJournalingReader”

—

Hamzah blinked as he read the letter in front of him.

“Holy shit.” How could he forget? Such a small little perfect detail about this whole big ordeal of a pen-pal relationship they had.

“But…listen, girl.”

“Sorry girly pop,”

She thinks he’s a girl. That was the whole reason why they met, he changed his gender to female. Hamzah sat back in his chair, staring at the letter in his hands with wide eyes. The words echoed in his mind. "Sorry, girly pop." and "But... listen, girl" both said so casually, so warmly, and for the first time, it really hit him. ‘She thinks I'm a girl.’

Two months. He hadn’t expected to get this far, heck he didn’t even expect the first letter to begin with, he thought this whole thing was dead and gone as soon as he logged out of that website that night. A week later, when he got the letter, he somehow managed to forget the most crucial part of this whole dilemma. The only reason why she feels comfortable enough to talk to him in the first place is because she thinks he’s a woman. A woman around his age, who completely understands her girl talks and problems.

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.” Hamzah ran his hands through his flattened curls, his hand resting on the back of his neck when he reached it. “Shit.” The only words that managed to leave his lips were no good to his current situation. He can’t do anything. There is nothing he could do to fix this. It’s been two months—as she said—two months built on a lie.

Hamzah exhaled a breath, his eyes skimming over the words as if he could somehow read them differently, like they would magically change if he focused hard enough. But they didn't. The same sentences, the same affectionate tone. Just when he felt like he had something, something that filled the void he noticed within himself, the void he’s been complaining about to all his friends. Everything crumbles on him, over something so silly and stupid. His lips twisted as a splash of guilt pulled on his heart. She thought he was someone he wasn’t, someone he couldn’t be, and there was no way he could fix that. And it was all because of one click, and a forgetful mind.

He glanced at the desk in front of him, cluttered with papers and billing mail—distractions. His mind was buzzing, a loud cacophony of thoughts and what-ifs.

He had to admit the truth: he’d lied to her from the very beginning. The whole thing—it was a lie. Sure, he never outright said he was a girl. But, the tag of female under his name was enough to hold his fate. Fate he wasn’t ready to face. Not yet. He never expected it to go this far. He hadn’t planned on actually forming any sort of real connection, hadn’t planned on actually caring about her feelings. Especially since this whole website was—as he thought—bait for scammers and weirdos. But now, after two months of letters, of laughing at stickers she’d give him and sharing minor intimate details about one another, he couldn’t just pull out. This weird attachment he had didn’t allow him so.

His fingers drummed on the edge of the desk as his mind ran wild with ideas—what if he told her the truth? What if he just came clean and explained everything? But no. No, that would only make things worse. She’d be hurt, probably angry. Never speak to him again. She’ll think he’s some sort of creep, praying on her or something. And what would he be left with then? The same empty, hollow feeling he had now, only worse.

But why does he care? It’s just a random person he met that doesn’t actually know him.

Hamzah leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. His thoughts circled around one word, one solution that was simple but painful, though probably less painful than finding out that the girl you’ve been talking to the past two months was a twenty two year old man that does YouTube for a living.

That word was: ignore.

He didn’t want to do it, didn’t want to just disappear from her life without an explanation, but he could already feel the weight of the lie pressing on him. Ignoring her, pretending like everything was as it used to be and that nothing had happened, was the only way to avoid confrontation. The only way to let this fizzle out without dealing with the mess. It was easy, anonymous, and clean.

He would just stop responding. Stop mailing back. And eventually she’ll forget. Only two months, right? It shouldn’t get her hung up too much… right?

He crumpled the letter in his hand, tossing it into the trash. For the first time in two months, Hamzah felt nothing but disheartenment on a Thursday night. Both the stress and the weight of it all was something he couldn’t shake off.

All he could think about right now was how his friend must feel. It didn’t matter how hurt he was about not being able to contact her again. She seemed so excited, so eager about how deep their friendship was growing in such a short period of time.

He spun his chair around, staring at the darkened window. His reflection stared back, a guy who had somehow stumbled into something real by pretending to be someone else. It wasn’t even intentional—at least, not entirely. When he’d checked that little box on the website, it was supposed to be a joke. A way to bypass the site’s foot obsessed weirdos and see who he’ll meet.

He hadn’t expected her. At all.

Red circling around him snapped him out of his thoughts, turning to the purring cat to carry it. “Let’s feed you, come on.” He got up and walked to the kitchen where Blue also ran to his comfort.

That’s it. Back to square one.

—

Martin huffed, hands rushing to massage his temple. “You can’t be serious.” His tone filled with irritation. Hamzah looked at him with indifference, almost an ‘I told you so’ attitude burned in his eyes.

Mandy overheard her boyfriend's anger grow, peeking from their kitchen. “What’s wrong?” She asked, a frown forming between her eyebrows as her concern (and slight annoyance) grew.

Martin groaned, letting his hands fall dramatically to his sides. “The guy canceled. After a whole week of silence, he texts saying he’s not coming.” Hamzah leaned back against the armrest of the couch, his expression still unreadable. “Told you hiring someone off Craigslist wasn’t it,” he said flatly, crossing his arms. “Should’ve gone with someone we know.”

Mandy walked further into the room, her brow still furrowed. “Wait, what? The cameraman? For the exploring video?” She looked between the two men, her voice rising in disbelief.

“Yes, the cameraman,” Martin snapped, pacing the small living room. “He ghosted us for a week and then decided, at the last minute, that he’s not available. Who does that?!” He waved his phone around in frustration.

Hamzah shrugged. “Probably saw a better gig pop up. It happens.”

“Did you pay him?” Mandy said, her gaze fell on her boyfriend. “No, but we agreed with him on an amount and told him what we’re doing.” Hamzah responded before Martin could, “maybe that’s why he said no…” Martin muttered. “Maybe he felt like we’re under paying him.” He continued.

Mandy glared at her boyfriend in disbelief, “I highly doubt that.”

Mandy crosses her arms as she rests the weight of her body on her left leg. “What if you guys… I don’t know, do it yourselves?”

“Do it ourselves?” Martin echoed, looking at her like she’d suggested they film with a potato. “That’ll be too much work, plus we don’t have a tripod or anything.”

“Why didn’t y'all have back up?” Mandy shot back, her tone defensive. “Don’t you think about what could go wrong when it comes to this?”

Hamzah let out a breath, the sound making both Martin and Mandy turn his way, “look, there’s no point in arguing about anything right now. We should think about another video idea to do.”

Mandy uncrossed her arms, her lips opening to say something but she hesitated. Martin looked at her, tilting his head as he waited for what she wanted to say. “I might… have a friend that’ll be willing to help you. Except, I'm not so sure about her skills.”

Martin was at his wit’s end. “We need to finish this video as soon as possible. I don’t care, we just need a third person to film the both of us.” He turned to Hamzah, seeking his approval. Hamzah still gave him an indifferent look, shrugging.

“Who’s this friend?” Martin asked.

“My friend that showed up to the last movie night we had.”

“The shy one?”

“She’s not shy,” Mandy corrected. “She just didn’t know anyone.”

Hamzah’s interest was piqued at the discussion of such a friend. “Is she the one you told about me and Martin going camping?”

Mandy seemed surprised that Hamzah knew about that. “She talked to you?”

Hamzah nodded. “For a bit, yeah.”

“Yeah. Her,” Mandy confirmed.

Martin spoke, breaking them out of their question and answer session: “Alright. Call her. See if she’s available. The worst she can say is no.” Gesturing to Mandy to go on and call.

Mandy nodded, already reaching for her phone. “She’s usually pretty chill. If she’s free, I’m sure she won’t mind helping out.”

The room fell silent as they watched Mandy’s phone, the tension building as if the entire project depended on this one text.

Finally, Mandy’s phone chimed. She read the message, her expression brightening. “She’s in.” Martin sighed in relief at the news. Weirdly enough, Hamzah felt like he was growing nervous at the thought of meeting her again.

“That’s awesome, tell her to come over later tonight.” Martin pressed, moving to the coffee table to grab his phone. Mandy nodded once again, her thumbs typing out his message.

Hamzah shuffled in his spot. Why the hell does he feel nervous? He talked to this girl once and they don’t have to talk much now, she’s there to film and that’s that. That’s… that. It’s not that deep.

Maybe it’s the fact that he doesn’t know her much. (As if he knew the cameraman from Craigslist any better)

“Come on. We have to go grab some stuff.” Martin nudged Hamzah’s shoulder to grab his attention. Hamzah cleared his throat in response, nodding and following behind him.

—

“Okay! Three, two… one. I’m recording.”

Martin let out a light laugh. “You don’t need to count us down. Just make sure you’ve got a good angle,” he teased.

You clicked your tongue in irritation. “I know. It’s just a habit. Don’t laugh,” you shot back, a little too quickly.

It’s quite interesting that you had a longer conversation with Hamzah two weeks ago than with Martin in total since you met. That made sense with the way you seem to still get irritated at his jabs.

“Why are you staring at me? Just start already,” you pressed, trying to maintain focus on the screen. Hamzah, standing in the corner of the frame, covered his mouth to hide a grin. Watching you get frustrated with Martin was, apparently, very entertaining. The only person who has ever gotten angry like this over his jokes was Mandy.

Now he sees why you guys are friends.

But, it did seem out of character for you to get this riled up, not that he’d know you that much to know that you aren’t being yourself, but the energy around you and the words you spoke seemed off. There was something in your expression—tight, uneasy—that struck him as odd. You weren’t just frustrated. You were nervous. No… anxious.

But this wasn’t the shy or uncertain kind of anxious. It was something sharper, heavier. Fear.

Who could blame you? The house was unnerving. The kind of place that felt alive with all the wrong things—creaking wood, rustling leaves, and the distant snap of twigs that made you whip your head around. And then there was the eerie way the last traces of sunlight bled into the horizon, swallowing the shadows until everything was steeped in twilight. Even Hamzah could feel the chill creeping up his spine to his neck.

Still, despite that, Hamzah couldn’t fully shake the amusement bubbling inside him. A part of him—the part that usually found humor in tense situations—felt guilty for being entertained. But another part, quieter and harder to define, wasn’t amused because you were scared. It was something else entirely. He found it a little cute.

The way you tried to cover your fear, rushing Martin and him to get through the video intro as quickly as possible, only made it more obvious. Your voice was firm, but your eyes darted around, scanning the shadows as if they might come alive. It was endearing in a way; Hamzah wasn’t sure how to explain, even to himself.

So, he looked away, trying to focus on something else. Whatever it was he was feeling, this wasn’t the time to figure it out. Not here, not now.

“Hamzah, can you move to the left a little? You’re out of frame.” Your order ensured his eyes would fall back upon your face. You gave him a flat smile, gesturing for him to move. “Oh, yeah. Okay.” He returned the smile, moving a little closer to Martin.

—

Martin huffed as they approached his apartment, Hamzah beside him with his hands shoved into his pockets. You followed behind them, your fingers delicately wrapped around your old, beat-up camera, a splurge purchase from years ago. “Never thought you’d come in handy,” you mumbled to the device as if it could respond, scrolling through the footage to ensure there were no visual errors with the lens or other issues.

Filming with the two boys was chaotic. Seeing Martin fully in character made you squirm at first, but the chuckle that escaped Hamzah’s lips when you both glanced at each other afterward became the highlight of the experience. There was something about him. Every time you locked eyes, it felt like a reminder of… something. Something you both shared that night weeks ago.

You furrowed your brows, shaking your head slightly in an attempt to steer your thoughts away from this dangerous train of thought. What were you doing? It’s not like that. He’s probably just nice but awkward. It doesn’t mean anything. Those stares don’t mean anything.

“Hello?” Martin’s long, exaggerated drawl of the letter L snapped you out of your daydream. Your head shot up—from the camera to his face—and he asked, “Are you going home?”

You blinked, almost as if you didn’t register his question. You had, of course, but you’d completely forgotten that you’d Ubered to his apartment for the sake of time. Now, it was 1 a.m., and catching an Uber at this hour felt like asking for trouble. You shut your eyes, groaning at your predicament. “Fuck.” Opening your eyes, you looked at the two men standing in front of you. “No. I have to get back home, but…”

You trailed off, not wanting to make it their problem. “Never mind.” You waved your hand dismissively. “I’ll see you guys around.”

Martin tilted his head. “No, no. What’s wrong?” he pressed.

You sighed. “I… it’s nothing serious.”

Hamzah stood there quietly, unsure of what to say since he didn’t know you well enough to bombard you with questions like Martin.

“Do you not have a ride?” Martin guessed.

You smirked at how quickly he pieced it together. “I Ubered here, but I think the metro’s been down all week because of the snowstorm…” Your worries tumbled out like word vomit. Once you started, you couldn’t stop.

Martin glanced over at Hamzah, who remained silent beside him. “Well, Hamzah came by car, so…” He looked at his friend. “Can you take her home?”

Hamzah had never wanted to punch Martin more than he did in that moment.

He couldn’t say no, not without looking and feeling like an asshole. The only option left was to press the big, red button labeled YES. He tried to remain calm, forcing his face into a neutral expression that didn’t betray the fact that he was internally freaking out about being alone in a car with a girl. A girl who was quickly becoming his friend-of-a-friend crush. A total hotshot he couldn’t stop staring at.

“Y-Yeah. Totally,” Hamzah stammered, finally turning his gaze to meet yours.

A smile spread across your face. “You don’t have to. Seriously, I can just call a friend.”

“It’s… too cold out. They might keep you waiting. I’ll drop you off,” Hamzah replied, surprised at how smoothly the words escaped his mouth. His tone was calm and collected—or at least, that’s how it sounded to him.

“Well, thank you.” You smiled, your eyes seeming to sparkle under the dim streetlights. Or maybe that was just his imagination.

“Great. Email me the footage by tomorrow, yeah?” Martin interrupted the moment, walking backward toward the apartment building’s entrance.

“Okay!” you called back.

“Thanks, cameraman. I owe you,” Martin added before turning on his heels and disappearing through the door.

—

The silence was heavy in the car, almost deafening. His cologne mixed faintly with the lingering scent of weed, a combination you hadn’t expected but found oddly comforting. You noticed the steady grip he kept on the steering wheel—calm and deliberate. Maybe he was being careful because of you. The thought made you smile faintly, but you quickly pressed your lips into a pout, not wanting to look like a weirdo smiling at nothing.

Still, the silence grew too loud to bear. You glanced at him, stealing a moment to take him in. ’Well, isn’t he a pretty sight?’ you thought, biting back another smile. Searching for something to say, you finally settled on, “So, what do you like to do in your free time?” The second the words left your mouth, you winced internally. Hobbies? Really? What are you, twelve?

Hamzah seemed a little surprised by the question. His hands flexed on the wheel as if debating whether to glance at you, but his eyes stayed on the road. “I, um…” He paused, as though the answer had caught in his throat. A fleeting memory of him typing his hobbies onto that embarrassing pen-pal site flitted through his mind. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “I like fishing.”

“Fishing?”

“You asked—don’t judge,” he replied, his tone defensive but light.

You giggled softly. “I’m not judging. You just don’t strike me as the fishing type.” Crossing your arms, you leaned back against the seat. “Actually, I met someone recently who also likes fishing, so it’s not that strange.” You shrugged, still smiling.

“What about you?” he asked.

“Me?” you clarified.

“Yeah, obviously,” he added quickly, his awkwardness making your smile widen. There was something so endearing about the way he spoke to you, like he was trying hard not to trip over his words.

“Um… gaming,” you answered simply.

“Like Roblox?”

“Oh my god.” You rolled your eyes, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “What?” His pitch rose in mock indignation, the tension in the car dissolving as his comfort grew.

“No, like Fortnite,” you said, deadpan.

Hamzah shot you a quick side-eye, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Fortnite? You? Fortnite…?”

You raised an eyebrow, curious where this was going. “You are not defeating the sexist allegations right now.”

Hamzah huffed a laugh, waving his hand as if to dismiss the idea. “No, no, it’s not—,” he said, his grin still in place. “It’s just… you seem like you’ve got your life together, that’s all.”

“What does that even mean?” you asked, laughing at the vague explanation.

“Teenagers, losers, and weird YouTubers—like Martin and me—play Fortnite,” Hamzah teased. “Wait, so you’re saying I fall under the loser category?” you asked, leaning forward slightly, forcing him to glance at you. He stammered, his grip tightening on the wheel as your eyes locked on him. “N-No. I don’t think you do.”

“Right. ’Cause I’m not wearing a Fortnite jacket when I leave my house,” you quipped, a grin tugging at your lips. Hamzah chuckled again, shaking his head. “That—and the fact that you’re too pretty. Pretty people aren’t losers, no matter what they like.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and unintentional. You froze, the unexpected compliment catching you off guard. At the same time, Hamzah’s half-smile faltered as the weight of what he’d just said hit him. His eyes stayed glued to the road, his jaw tightening slightly. He didn’t dare look at you—didn’t want to see your reaction.

“Well,” you began after a beat, your tone light but steady, “you aren’t so bad yourself. So, I don’t know what your point is here.”

The casual way you said it made him glance at you, almost involuntarily. This time, you weren’t looking at him, your eyes fixed on the road ahead. But he caught the faintest hint of a shy smile playing on your lips, your cheeks slightly pink. You turned your head toward the window as if trying to hide it, leaving him wondering if he’d imagined it altogether.

“You’ve arrived at your destination,” the GPS chimed in, breaking the moment. Hamzah slowed the car, pulling over to the side of the road near your apartment complex. You sighed softly, taking in the sight of your building. The conversation had been brief but charged, and the realization that your time together was over left a quiet sadness in its wake.

“Thanks for the ride.” You said, the shyness you once seemed to have changed into a casual expression, turning to face him with a grin. Hamzah fully met your gaze for what it had seemed the first time. “It’s cool.” He responded.

“I’ll see you around, yeah?”

He nodded, the sound of the door clicking open prompted him to look away to get ready to drive off. “Sorry.” His sudden apology made you look back—half of your body already out of the vehicle.

Your confusion caused him to continue: “if I made you uncomfortable.” He paused, “it kinda just—”

“I wasn’t.” You cut him off. “Besides, I meant what I said too.”

Hamzah kept his eyes ahead, too shy to meet your burning eye contact; but he managed to respond quietly, “okay,” a soft smile tugging at his lips. His fingers tapped lightly against the steering wheel, betraying his nervous energy.

You lingered for a moment, one foot still on the pavement, your hand resting on the door. The air between you felt charged, as if both of you were holding back from saying something more.

“Night, Hamzah,” you said finally, your voice softer than you intended.

“Goodnight,” he replied, daring to glance at you one last time. The way the streetlights caught the edges of your smile made his chest tighten. He wanted to say more—but the words never came.

You stepped back, gently shutting the door, and with a small wave, you turned and walked toward your building. Hamzah watched until you disappeared inside, the faintest trace of your perfume still lingering in the car.

—

“Dear FishingFortniteJournalist,

How are you? It’s been a week, and I haven’t heard from you! I hope everything’s okay on your end. Did I say something in my last letter that upset you? Honestly, I can’t even remember what I wrote, but if I did, I’m sorry.

I have news though. Big news. Remember wife me up boy? Well, he drove me home the other day, and we joked around a bit… but here’s the kicker: he called me pretty. Yeah. Out loud. Unintentionally. The context doesn’t even matter (and is way too long to explain here), but just know that I may or may not have flirted back a little.

He’s so cute, though. I could tell he didn’t mean to say it, and honestly, it made it even better. Like, who just accidentally blurts that out? Him, apparently.

But don’t get your hopes up for me—nothing will come of it. I don’t think we’ll see each other again unless fate decides to get dramatic. Plus, our mutual friend would probably hate me if I caught feelings for him, so it’s better to let this little moment stay in the past.

For now, this stays between us. You’re officially the keeper of my secret feelings. I hope you’re doing okay and sending all the good vibes your way. Write back soon—I miss hearing from you.

With love and kisses,

GamingJournalingReader”

—

Hamzah blinked as his eyes followed each word. He promised himself he’ll ignore GamingJournalingReader’s mail from now on, even said he won’t pick it up from his mailbox. But there he is tracing the words back with his index finger, finding himself smiling at the mere mention of his penpal.

After reaching the halfway point, something felt off. Like he heard this story before, deja vu. He frowned, tapping the paper lightly against his palm as he tried to piece it together. The details were familiar in a way he couldn’t explain. The car ride, the accidental compliment, the blush hidden behind casual words. It all felt like a story he already knew… or one he’d lived.

His heart thudded once, hard, as the realization began to settle.

“No way,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head. He glanced back at the letter, the corners of his lips twitched into a disbelieving smile.

Hamzah sat back in his chair, the letter still in his hands, his pulse thrumming in his ears. He read the lines again, slower this time, dissecting every word as if they’d shift under his scrutiny. The way she described him—the car ride, the compliment, the awkwardness—it was all too specific. Too real.

His hand ran through his hair, tugging lightly at the strands as if it would help untangle his thoughts. “No way,” he said to the empty room, but even as the words left his mouth, he didn’t believe them.

The coincidence was too perfect.

Hamzah folded the letter neatly and set it on the table, but his eyes lingered on it. A small laugh escaped him, dry and nervous. His hand reached for the bottom drawer of his work table, as soon as he pulled it open the sight of the crumbled letter of last week greeted him.

Hands running to meet contact with the crumbled paper, grabbing all the letters that layer underneath it. Throwing them on the table, his anxiety at an all time high. If this means what he thinks it means… The thought only made him shiver.

His eyes glazed over each word.

“Anyway, how was your week? Mine was still snowy.”

“I went to a party the other day, and I met my friend’s boyfriend’s friend.”

“Our conversation was short and I don’t think I’ll ever see him again.”

“Sorry girly pop, got too excited telling you about my party crush.”

“Party crush.”

This can’t be real. It can’t be.

His mind raced as each sentence clicked into place, tying together moments he’d lived but never thought twice about. The snowy week. The party. The friend’s boyfriend’s friend. His hands trembled slightly as he reached for the latest letter again, scanning it for more clues he might’ve missed.

It was her.

It had to be her.

The sheer impossibility of it made him laugh under his breath, but the sound was strained, laced with disbelief. His penpal—the girl he’d poured a piece of himself into, letter by letter—was the same person who’d sat in his passenger seat just days ago, teasing him about fishing and Fortnite. The same person who’d made him nervous enough to blurt out she was pretty.

Hamzah leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he stared at the pile of letters. He buried his face in his hands, groaning softly. This wasn’t just some coincidence—it felt bigger than that, like some cosmic joke he wasn’t sure he was ready to laugh at.

Like the universe promised him a fate where he can’t ignore the vague mistake he made when he pressed that ‘female’ button.

This just keeps getting worse.

—

“Dear FishingFortniteJournalist,

Are you dead? I’m actually getting worried now lol. You’re probably busy, aren’t you? This is making me feel like the unemployed friend >:(

Joking. Not really. Maybe.

But you know what I’m not joking about? Seeing ‘wife me up’ guy. My friend is hosting this party for her boyfriend, it’s for a milestone he hit! I was invited. And his friend (cute guy) is most likely invited too. I think you’re putting two and two together. WE ARE SO BACK.

Get back to me when you can! I miss you.

With love and kisses,

GamingJournalingReader”

—

Your lips puckered as you scrutinized your reflection in the mirror. Was this dress a little too much for a casual dinner? You’d had all of last week to plan your outfit, yet here you were, second-guessing yourself at the last minute.

Nothing in your closet seemed to meet your standards. Everything was either too plain, too formal, or too revealing for a winter night out. Frustration bubbled up as you sifted through your options.

You sighed heavily, your grip tightening on your phone as though willing it to stop you from texting Mandy and bailing. You sank onto the edge of your bed, trying to calm your spiraling thoughts.

Why were you overthinking this so much? It was just dinner with Mandy, Martin, and Hamzah—Mandy, your close friend; Martin, her boyfriend; and Hamzah��

Hamzah.

The guy you’d totally flirted with last time, assuming you wouldn’t see him again for months. Yet, here you were, almost two weeks later, preparing to sit across from him at a celebration dinner. A dinner Martin insisted on hosting to thank you for your work on their abandoned house video, which had apparently performed so well that he felt the need to show his gratitude. And the fact that you refused any payment from both boys made his gratitude only worsen. “Great,” you muttered to yourself. “You really can’t back out now.”

This was for you, after all. You couldn’t skip it. You groaned, dragging your hands down the fabric of your dress to smooth it out as you stood. One last glance in the mirror made you hesitate, but you shook it off.

“Fuck it,” you mumbled, resigning yourself to your chosen outfit. A knee’s length, wine-red velvet maxi dress, grabbing a large black leather jacket to cover your shoulders and warm you for the night.

The cold air nipped at your skin as you stepped out into the night, the soft velvet of your dress brushing against your hands as they moved with each step. You pulled your leather jacket tighter around your shoulders, boots crunching against the frosted ground.

The walk to the restaurant felt longer than it should have. Each step was weighed down by the thought of seeing Hamzah again. You kept reminding yourself it was just dinner to celebrate.

The restaurant came into view, its warm golden glow spilling out onto the street. You stopped short, peering through the glass. Mandy and Martin were already seated, laughing together as they huddled close. Across from them sat Hamzah, his hands folded in his lap, his shoulders stiff despite the casual setting. Your stomach twisted. He wasn’t looking at anyone, his gaze fixed somewhere over Martin’s shoulder.

You took a deep breath, adjusted your jacket, and pushed open the door. The chime above the entrance drew everyone’s attention. Mandy was the first to spot you, her face lighting up as she waved. “There she is!” she called, standing to pull you into a warm hug. “You look amazing!”

You nodded shyly, your grin easy. “Stop. Oh my god.”

Your eyes involuntarily peeked at the quiet figure still seated, Hamzah. He had turned toward you, his expression unreadable. For a moment, he looked like he might say something, but he just gave you a curt nod and muttered, “Hey.”

“Hey,” you replied, trying not to read into his clipped tone.

You took the seat Mandy gestured to—right beside Hamzah, in front of Mandy.

The conversation started off easy, mostly led by Mandy and Martin. They gushed about the video’s success, recounting how unexpectedly popular it had become. Hamzah chimed in here and there, but stayed mostly quiet, his eyes focused on his glass of water or the corner of the table.

Every so often, you’d catch him sneaking a glance at you, but the second he felt your eyes on him, he’d look away, his jaw tightening as though he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. It was awkward. Painfully so.

At one point, Martin cracked a joke about the abandoned house shoot, something about you jumping at a shadow, and Mandy let out a giggle. You couldn’t help but chuckle, too, but Hamzah barely reacted. His lips twitched into something like a smile before he took a long drink from his glass, his eyes focused mainly on Martin.

“You okay, Hamzah?” Mandy let out, leaning forward. He shrugged, forcing a casualness that didn’t quite land. “Yeah, just tired. Long day.” His fingers playing with the rim of his glass.

The rest of the dinner continued in a similar pattern—Mandy and Martin carrying the conversation while you tried not to notice how Hamzah barely addressed you directly. It was clear he was trying to act normal, but the stiffness in his posture and the way he avoided looking at you made it impossible to ignore.

Was it something about the car ride? God, maybe it is. Maybe he doesn’t know how to address the fact that you made him uncomfortable and brushed you off thinking he won’t see you again until months later—like you thought as well. You bit your lip as Mandy’s rant about Carl being clingy became background noise to your thoughts. Humming to what she was saying, responding strictly to the only few words that do end up registering into your brain.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of conversation and laughter, though Hamzah’s quiet tension never fully dissipated. By the time the check arrived, you couldn’t tell if you were relieved or disappointed that the dinner was over. As the group began gathering their things, Mandy turned to you with a playful grin. “‘You walking home?”

You nod, putting your leather jacket back on you. “‘Home’s nearby.”

Mandy frowned slightly, glancing out at the frosty street beyond the restaurant windows. “You sure? It’s freezing out there.”

“I’ll be fine,” you reassured her with a small smile. “It’s not a long walk.” Before Mandy could say more, Hamzah cleared his throat. “I can drive you,” he said, his voice quieter than usual, but still firm.

Huh…? you thought he was upset? Were you overthinking this again? I mean, if he was uncomfortable the first time he wouldn’t ask again, would he? Or is he trying to make amends with the tension between you? Whatever it is, it’s driving you crazy.

Your eyes darted to him, surprised. He wasn’t looking at you directly, his focus fixed on zipping up his coat, but his posture was tense, like he was bracing for your reaction. “Oh,” you started, unsure. “You don’t have to. It’s really not far.” Deja vu. You lived this moment before and you can pin-point exactly when, and how.

“I don’t mind,” he said quickly, almost too quickly. And your heart reacted to his insistences. He adjusted his puffy jacket, still avoiding your gaze. Yet your eyes lingered, drawn to the way his hands moved down his torso, smoothing out invisible wrinkles.

“Cool.” Was all you managed to let out, slowly turning back to Mandy who wasn’t paying attention to the crazy situation (according to you) that was happening. She fixed up Martin’s jacket as they talked about something that you definitely weren’t paying attention to.

Her eyes turned to you as though she felt you staring. Smiling. “Hamzah will take you home?” She asked, wondering what you both finally decided on. Once again, feeling too annoyed with yourself for agreeing without a second thought, you just nodded. A half smile on your face.

The walk to his car felt heavier than it should have. You both stayed silent, the space between you filled with unspoken words. When he unlocked the doors, he hesitated for a moment before stepping forward to open the passenger side for you.

You stopped short, caught off guard by the gesture. He hasn’t spoken to you the entire night, where is all this coming from? His hand lingered on the edge of the door, his knuckles brushing the cold metal as he glanced at you. For the first time all evening, his eyes met yours.

It was brief, a fleeting connection, but it was enough to send a ripple through your chest. His expression was hard to read—his gaze uncertain, like he was searching for something in yours. You thought you saw a flicker of hesitation, or maybe it was determination, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

“Thanks,” you murmured, breaking the quiet, your breath curling in the chilly air between you.

He nodded, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “Yeah.” His voice was low, almost inaudible, as he stepped back slightly to give you room. His hand shifted from the top of the car door to the edge of the roof, hovering there protectively, as if anticipating the need to shield your head when you bent to get in.

You slid into the seat, the warmth of the car immediately wrapping around you, but the moment lingered—his presence, his silence, and the unspoken tension that seemed to hang between you like a thread stretched too tight.

Hamzah shut the door carefully and walked around to the driver’s side, climbing in without a word. He started the engine, the hum breaking the silence, and adjusted his seatbelt with deliberate focus.

“Which way?” he asked, his tone neutral, but his hands gripping the wheel tightly.

You gave him directions, and he nodded, pulling out onto the road. His eyes stayed fixed on the street ahead, his jaw tight.

It was familiar. The same hesitation, the same careful distance he seemed to put between you. It was like the beginning of the first car ride. And yet, beneath it, there was something else—something that felt like it was just waiting for permission to surface.

You stole a glance at him, your stomach flipping at the furrow of his brow and the slight downturn of his lips. “You okay?” you asked quietly. A part of you hoping he’ll tell you why he’s been acting so differently around you.

He didn’t answer immediately, his fingers tapping the steering wheel. Finally, he let out a breath. “Yeah. Just…tired. Long day.” And that part of you was crushed in that moment. ‘Yeah, right. Long day my ass.’ You thought to yourself, mentally rolling your eyes at how vague he was being. But, you would never want to pressure someone, you let it go. Resting your back against his passenger seat—averting your gaze to the window beside you.

—

“Dear FishingFortniteJournalist,

I think he hates me. He drove me home that night, but he was so quiet and was avoiding me the whole night as well. Is he trying to say he’s not into me? I don’t get it, he called me pretty. Do people just say that to other people?

I’m reading my paragraph back; what am I saying? I sound ridiculous. People can compliment people. Maybe I read too much into it. Way too much. God, this is driving me crazy. ALSO! Christmas eve is coming up next month and Mandy will probably host a party the night of and invite me. I can’t say no! So, I’ll have to sit there and see him again.

That sounds negative. I don’t hate him. Obviously it’s the opposite. He’s cute. Like really cute. Super nice. Well-spoken. Funny. I like him. And I knew I did since I first met him that’s why I fucking flirted with him when I got the chance.

This is so stupid. Sorry, I usually don’t make boys my main topic for the month—deal with me this time, yeah? Tell me what you think when you can get back to me. Hopefully I wouldn’t have blown everything apart.

With love and kisses,

GamingJournalingReader”

—

Hamzah was trying his best not to open them. He really was. But the itching urge to see your words was unbearable. His fingers hesitated before he unfolded the letter, his eyes scanning each line, the handwriting blurring into something painfully familiar.

It was you. This wasn’t a “maybe” or a “perhaps.” This was you.

His heart sank. The way you described how you felt—it hit harder than he’d expected. He’d already been replaying that night in his head, berating himself for the silence that filled the car ride. The memory of you stepping out of his car with a quiet “Thanks, goodnight” played over and over like a broken record. Now, knowing how you felt about it made him feel even worse.

“I like him.”

The words burned in his mind, clearer than anything else on the page.

Hamzah had always wanted the ability to read people’s minds, to know exactly how they felt about him. But now that he had something close to that, it was too much. Not because he didn’t like you back—God, no. The opposite. He liked you too much. Too much that he hates how much his actions are affecting you.

His thumb brushed over the paper absentmindedly, a weak attempt at comforting himself. This killed every chance he might’ve had. This stupid pen-pal experiment he’d gotten involved in with you. He groaned, raking a hand through his hair.

“Fuck.”

He stood abruptly, needing air, and grabbed his lighter from the shelf beside the balcony door. Stepping outside, the cold air bit at his skin, turning his cheeks pink almost instantly. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it with a practiced flick of his thumb before leaning against the railing.

The problem was spiraling out of control. He needed to do something. Ignoring you clearly wasn’t working. He briefly considered telling Martin he felt “uncomfortable” around you—but that wouldn’t hold up. Not when he’d deliberately offered to drive you home. Twice.

“What am I even doing?” he muttered under his breath, blowing out a stream of smoke.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone, the screen illuminating his face in the dark. His chat with Chase was still open, their last messages flashing back at him.

Chase: What are you doing?

You: mail

He stared at the conversation for a moment before typing a response. Wondering what Chase wanted from him.

You: u ok?

The message sent with a soft chime, and Chase’s reply came almost instantly.

Chase: Yes…?

Chase: Are you okay?

You: no

Chase: ???

Chase: What the fuck happened?

You: idk

Hamzah rubbed his temple. Halfway through him trying to vent, he remembered that no one was supposed to know about this. About you. About how badly he’d messed up. This is annoying.

Chase: Are you nervous about the party?

The party. Of course. Chase was coming, too—an idea sparked. If he could just stick by Chase the whole time, he could avoid you without making it obvious.

You: yea

You: could you stay with me the whole time?

He waited, his leg bouncing as Chase’s typing bubble appeared, then disappeared, then appeared again.

Chase: Okay

Chase: Don’t worry about it too much. It’s in two weeks.

Relief washed over him. A small grin tugged at his lips as he typed a teasing response.

You: u wowwy about me :3?

The ridiculousness of it made him chuckle, cigarette dangling from his lips as he hit send. He stubbed it out in the ashtray and headed back inside, his anxiety eased—if only slightly—as Chase fired back with a string of sarcastic messages.

For now, this would have to be enough. Enough to rest him easy.

—

“Thought you were gonna bail.”

“Almost did,” Hamzah admitted.

Chase raised an eyebrow but said nothing, instead handing him a cookie. Hamzah took it without much thought, his gaze drifting back to the living room. He knew he’d see you eventually, but the waiting was eating at him.

The past two weeks had been strange. Almost unbearably so. Not because the days had been particularly busy or stressful, but because something was missing.

GamingJournalingReader has not sent him a single letter.

At first, he chalked it up to timing—maybe you were busy, or maybe the holidays had gotten to you. But as days turned into weeks, the silence began to weigh on him. It wasn’t like before when your messages arrived sporadically. This was different. And it felt bitter. As weird as it was to admit—even to himself—he missed you.

He missed you.

Not just the you in front of him at parties, or the you he’d driven home twice. He missed the way you rambled about your favorite games in real life, then your little quirks in writing, the warmth that radiated from even your most mundane thoughts. How he felt a safe, steady presence, even if the reality of who you were had started to overlap in confusing ways.

“Hey,” Chase said, snapping his fingers in front of Hamzah’s face. Hamzah blinked, realizing he’d been staring blankly at the ground. “Sorry. Just… thinking.” Chase gave him a skeptical look but let it slide. “Alright, try to relax. You’re gonna burn a hole in the floor.”

Hamzah huffed a laugh, finally biting into the cookie Chase had handed him. But even as he tried to focus on the party, the absence of you lingered like a dull ache.

He spotted you a long time ago. You seemed to have been here since the afternoon with Mandy. All you did was greet him quietly then went back to mumbling something to Mandy when he first got here a few minutes ago.

Currently. You were standing by the Christmas tree, holding a mug of hot chocolate, your sweater dress catching the soft glow of the fairy lights. For a moment, it was like the noise of the party faded away, leaving just the sight of you.

Hamzah’s chest tightened. This was the first time he took a good look at you since he got here—he understood why he couldn’t bring himself to in the first place; the way your eyes filled with stars when you’re talking to anyone, your tone sweeter than the marshmallow floating around your cup.

You hadn’t noticed him yet, too caught up in a conversation with someone beside you. But when your eyes finally flicked over to his, there it was—that flicker of recognition.

And he knew. He wasn’t the only one feeling the weight of the past two weeks. A hint of something in your eyes he recognized; too fearful to name.

He looked away. Clearing his throat. Chase typing away on his phone; too caught up to notice his friend’s romantic demise. “Chase.” He called, and his friend only hummed in response.

“These cookies are good,” Hamzah muttered, more to fill the silence than anything else.

Chase, still glued to his phone, gave a distracted nod. “Mandy made them.”

Hamzah nodded absently, his gaze flickering back toward you. He didn’t mean to look again, but he couldn’t stop himself. This time, you weren’t talking. You were standing still, holding your mug and watching him. His breath caught in his chest. Before he could decide to smile or look away, you set your mug down on the nearest counter and started walking toward him.

Hamzah stiffened, his grip tightening on the half-eaten cookie in his hand. Chase finally glanced up, raising an eyebrow at the shift in his friend’s demeanor. Not noticing the fact that you were walking over to them.

“Hey, mind if I sneak Hamzah with me for a little?” Your voice was soft, your tone polite, but your eyes darted nervously between him and Chase.

Chase smiled knowingly, nodding. “All yours.”

Hamzah shot Chase a glare, one that clearly said ‘why would you leave me?’, but didn’t resist as you motioned for him to follow. The faint murmur of conversation and laughter from the party seemed to fade as you led the way toward the balcony door.

Hamzah fell into step behind you, his heart thudding in his chest. His mind raced, wondering what this was about, whether you were going to confront him about something or if this was just a casual chat. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, his fingers fidgeting with the lining as he tried to steady his breathing.

You paused and turned to him, your expression softer now, almost nervous. “Can we… actually go outside?” you asked, your voice quieter this time. Your finger pointing at the balcony that was behind you.

Hamzah’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, the request throwing him off guard. “Yeah, okay,” he said, his voice almost automatic.

You offered him a small, uncertain smile before reaching for the door to the balcony. He followed closely, the chill of the winter air biting at his face as soon as you stepped outside. The quiet outside was stark in contrast to the muffled noise of the party behind you, and for a moment, it was just the crunch of snow beneath your boots and the soft puff of your breath visible in the cold.

Hamzah stayed a step behind, watching as you stopped near the railing of the porch. You rested your hands on it, looking out into the yard. The strings of lights hanging from the roof cast a soft, warm glow over you, and he couldn’t help but notice how still you were, like you were trying to gather your thoughts.

You turned to face him, crossing your arms against the chill. “I just—” You paused, searching for the right words.

Hamzah watched you, his own hands buried deep in his jacket pockets. He could see your breath in the cold, the faintest wisp of white against the dark sky.

“I just wanted to… talk,” you finally said, your eyes meeting his.

“Alright,” Hamzah said quickly, his throat dry.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it wasn’t easy either. It hung between you like a fragile thread, ready to snap at the wrong word. You exhaled deeply, your breath visible in the air. “I’ve been meaning to apologize. For the other night.”

Hamzah’s brow furrowed. “Apologize?”

“Yeah. I mean…” You glanced down at your boots, your voice faltering. “I feel like I made things awkward. I shouldn’t have flirted like that if I wasn’t sure you feel some type of way about it. And then—”

“Stop,” Hamzah cut in, his voice soft but firm.

Your eyes shot back up to his, wide with surprise.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said, his words coming out in a rush. “If anything, I should be apologizing. I—I’ve been acting weird, and I know it.”

Hamzah flinched, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I-”

“I was ignoring you. But not because of anything you did.”

Your brows knitted together in confusion. “Then why?” Your tone growing a little louder.

He hesitated, the words caught in his throat. He wanted to tell you everything—that he’d been overthinking, that he’d read your letters, that he felt like the biggest idiot for how he’d acted. But all he managed was:

“Because I didn’t know what to say. To you.”

Your expression softened, the tension in your shoulders easing just slightly. “You could’ve said anything, Hamzah. You didn’t have to avoid me.”

“I know,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just…” he ran his hand through his hair, shutting his eyes in irritation. What does he even say?

‘Hey, by the way! The girl you’ve been talking to for the past few months has actually been me and I know how you feel about me in every nanoscopic detail.’ He rolled his eyes at this own thought.

Hamzah inhaled sharply, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets as if the motion could somehow ground him. He glanced at you, his jaw tightening. You were standing there, waiting, watching him with an openness that only made his hesitation feel heavier.

“Fuck. I don’t know…” Hamzah muttered, his voice strained, his hands running through his hair in frustration.

“Hamzah,” you said softly, taking a hesitant step closer. “Are you okay? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you or anything—”

“I’m fishing Fortnite journalist.”

The words spilled out of his mouth before he could stop them, raw and unpolished. He immediately froze, his heart pounding in his chest as he watched your expression shift from concern to confusion.

“What?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He swallowed, turning his gaze to the other side. He can’t look at you. Not right now at least. This was embarrassing, for the both of you. The way you looked at him only confirmed his suspicions. It was you.

“I know. This looks really bad. But, I promise. I can explain.” He shoved his hands in his pockets again.

“Oh god.” You shut your eyes, pressing your lips into a thin line as you remembered what you wrote the past few letters. “I can’t believe Mandy was right.” You rub your temple, Hamzah turning to you when the mention of his other friends was brought into the conversation.

“What? Mandy knows?”

“Obviously not that you are who you are! God, I didn’t even know that.”

Hamzah’s shoulders stiffened, his eyes flickering back to you, unsure whether he felt relief or a deeper sense of dread. “Then what did she say?”

You crossed your arms, shifting your weight nervously. “She said I was being naïve. That I was putting too much trust in someone that was probably a man in his twenties being a creep.” Hamzah winced at your description. The words of his friend sharp against his chest.

“Why did you…” you started. Even you didn’t know where to start or go with this.

“Just. Listen, okay? I… I kept getting messages from weird porn bots, then I was just testing the settings out—then I met you and I didn’t think it’ll actually go anywhere.” He paused, looking back onto the view over the balcony. “By the time you sent me that letter I completely forgot that I changed my gender to female and kept writing to you.”

“But when I realized that you thought I was a girl. The letter where you mentioned Claire’s party. I freaked out, I stopped replying.” Hearing himself re-explain everything made him realize how stupid he must look right now.

“Then when you kept sending them—and fuck,” he paused. “I don’t even know why I kept opening them—everything I read…it kept becoming more and more familiar. I realized it was you pretty early on. That’s when I started ignoring you.” He sighed, “I don’t even know what I was thinking.”

You stared at him, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. The tension between you was palpable, each word sinking deeper into the weight of the moment. You let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head. “So what, you just thought you’d keep it to yourself forever? Pretend none of it happened?”

Hamzah flinched, his jaw tightening. “No. I was trying to figure out how to fix it. But every time I tried, I just… made things worse. Like when I ignored you at dinner. That wasn’t because I didn’t want to talk to you—it was because I didn’t know how to.”

Your brows knit together, your expression softening slightly despite your frustration. “This is…”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he said firmly, finally turning to meet your gaze. “That was all me. And I’m sorry. For everything.”

You looked at him for a long moment, searching his face as if trying to decide whether to believe him. Finally, you exhaled, your arms dropping to your sides. “This is… a lot, Hamzah. I don’t even know how to feel right now.”

“I get it. You don’t have to say anything,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. He looked down for a second, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

The sincerity in his words hit you harder than you expected. Your heart was still racing, the weight of everything he said mixing with the uncertainty of what you were feeling. You stood there, unsure of whether to close the distance between you or step back. The space between you seemed to stretch, even though you were both standing so close.

He nodded, understanding, but there was a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes as he reached out, his hand almost trembling as it brushed against yours. “I didn’t mean to throw all this at you. I’ve just… I've been thinking about it nonstop. And I’m scared I’ve ruined everything.”

Your breath caught in your throat, the softness in his touch making your chest tighten. For a second, you wanted to pull away, to stay distant because it felt safer. But something in you wanted to believe him, to let the vulnerability between you both have a chance.

“You haven’t ruined anything,” you murmured, your voice quiet but steady. “It’s just… it’s confusing, and I need time.”

“All the time you need,” Hamzah said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to push you.”

The silence between you only got heavier, you thought that once you both addressed everything it’ll all end. Though you stood still, his fingers faintly brushed over yours, the way he looked down at you—there was something there.

“You read my last letter.” It was more of a fact stated than a question.

Hamzah cleared his throat, remembering what you said in that letter. It made him spiral, but he tried to maintain his composure in front of you. “I… did.” He muttered.

You looked up at him. “None of that changes.”

Hamzah swallowed, his throat dry, and for a moment, it felt like the weight of your words had settled on his chest. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words didn’t come. Instead, he stepped just a fraction closer, the subtle movement sending a wave of warmth through you. He was waiting for you to guide this moment, but there was also a tenderness in his gaze that made your chest tighten.

You took a deep breath, your fingers still tingling from where they’d brushed against his. The space between you was shrinking, but there was still a part of you that hesitated—partly because you weren’t sure where this would lead and partly because of the vulnerability in his voice. He was laying himself bare, in a way, and you could feel it. You could tell he was embarrassed by this whole ordeal just as much as you.

His hand moved, almost instinctively, reaching for yours. His fingers brushed over your knuckles, the touch so light, yet enough to make your heart skip a beat. You didn’t pull away. Instead, you let him, your breath catching in your chest as his hand finally closed around yours.

“I really like you,” he let out, his words simple but full of meaning, like he’d been holding onto them for longer than he could admit. He leaned in, a soft sigh escaping his lips. “I just… didn’t know how to say it before. And I’m sorry for all the confusion I caused. But I mean it. I like you. A lot.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, the sincerity in them wrapping around you like a warm embrace. Without thinking, you leaned in slightly, your lips brushing against his. It was gentle, almost questioning, like you were both waiting for confirmation that this was okay—that you were both ready to let go of the doubts and fears that had kept you apart.

“I like you too,” you whispered, your thumb gently caressing his hand. “Obviously.”

Hamzah’s eyes met yours, and the warmth in them was undeniable, a mix of relief and something deeper, something more. Without another word, he leaned in, this time with more certainty, pulling you closer as your lips met once more, the kiss deepening, as if you were both trying to make up for lost time.

When you pulled away, it was quiet. Both your lips meeting the cold air again—your quivering at the temperature change. Your eyelashes flutter as you look up at him; “You’re an idiot.”

Hamzah snorted at your comment, resting his forehead on your shoulder to continue his giggles. “Stop.”

You couldn’t help but smile, the tension that had been building between you two finally dissipating. The warmth of his laughter, the feel of him so close to you, made everything that had come before seem insignificant.

“Seriously,” you said, your voice teasing but soft, “you really are an idiot.”

He pulled back slightly, still chuckling, and looked at you with that same familiar warmth in his eyes. “I know,” he said, his tone light but there was a trace of something deeper, something real. “But I think I’m okay with being an idiot if it means this.”

You raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at your lips. “This?”

Hamzah nodded, the laughter fading as his expression grew more sincere. “Yeah. This. Us. Whatever this is. It’s worth being an idiot for.”

“Shut up.”

“Dork.”

(A/N): is the ending ass… be honest guys. ;( I felt like it seemed rushed ;-; anyway, hope you enjoy it :3 (I literally used AI to proofread—lazy city)

[anaargent]

ANOTHER FIVE PT 2

FIVE HARGREEVESXREADER

parte 1 aqui -> https://www.tumblr.com/anaargent/758436879965274112/the-heaven-is-here?source=share

-Ookay - you say after a long pause, your hands tightly clasped with the new five, who after ending the confusion stated that everything was wrong in this timeline - so shouldn't I be in this line?

-Almost that - he says, still sitting on the couch next to you - you shouldn't be on that five's timeline - with a tone of disdain on his tongue, he points to his five, who was now in commission mode activated, keeping a safe distance from his clone - by the way, you don't look anything like me, I must say my dear.

Five glares at the other, the gears in his head turning, perhaps debating between hitting the clone or listening to him

-so where is she supposed to be, genius? - Diego asks confused, with a defensive tone. Everyone seemed to exist with all the information.

-Max - the new five says unperturbed, his personality was almost as unfriendly as the five from the first Apocalypse - She's part of my timeline, where no disappearance happened.

-So how the hell are you here and she is too "Max"?- Five approaches cautiously - how are we going to trust you?

- As much as I would love to, we don't have time to strengthen relationships here, little brother - Max says smiling as he gets up, pulling me with him - apparently you're not smarter than my family either, so I advise you to hurry up and look for Viktor and Ben, you're coming with me, dear - his tone became softer as he turned to me.

Klaus and Diego stand up together, ready to protest. -Whoa, wait a moment - you say, planting your feet on the ground - where am I going? How will I know you're telling me the truth.

Max keeps a calm look - You'll need to trust me, just like you trusted him - he points to Five. After a few minutes of discussion and a farewell too brief to calm his mind, everyone was ready to try to save the world once again. - Stay sober and take care of yourself - you sniff as you pull away from Klaus' hug, who murmurs a sad "I promise but I don't know if I'll keep my word" - and you too, brother - you jump into Diego's open arms, who was trying his best not to be shaken by the sudden separation.

.

.

-So this is the plan? I'm just going to swallow that shiny thing into the void and that's it? - You mumble in confusion, already sitting in the strange subway with Max - Does it all end?

He turns around smiling, a hint of nostalgia filling his beautiful eyes (focus s/n! This has happened before) - Everything ends, the timelines will be separated, everyone in their places, and you with me.

You let out a nervous laugh and look away from the intense look he gave you to the extremely interesting subway window - It doesn't make sense - You turn back to him - How did I end up on the wrong line?

-Believe me, I've been looking for this answer for years, but you're here now- he answers in a melancholic tone, there was more behind those words, but for now you decide not to press this new five, who seemed more fractured by time than the five you know, as if he had already seen too much of this world, and maybe he had .

.

.

You were standing in front of what looked like a huge slimy ball, with a deformed face and long fingers. Scared wouldn't be an accurate word for what you were feeling right now. Closing your eyes, you put your hands on the ground, where the roots of the giant slide spread everywhere, feeling them move over your fingers. "Come on, girl," you murmured nervously. "It's all or nothing."

Then you felt an intense pain take over your body, tearing your skin to rise to the surface, opening the great void and swallowing everything in that damned mall. Everything was a blurry memory, the void sucking the Durango completely, draining all your strength. When you opened your eyes, you gathered the courage to smile tiredly. It was over, your family was saved. Exhaustion finally set in, taking what was left. You prepared to hit the ground and surrender to the void. But you felt soft hands hold your body, lifting you from the cold floor, pulling you out of unconsciousness.

-You got it my lovely little wife, now let's go home - Max smiled proudly as he wrapped the girl in front of him with his arms devotedly. watching you smile lightly as you rested your head on his shoulder.

[trippinsorrows]

through your eyes + au future

a/n: well, here i am, once again, with some smut for the hoes. 😭

masterlist

words: 2.7k // warnings: roman gets jealous and reminds solana who she belongs to. smuttttt. daddy kink. roman being mean.

The car ride is absolutely silent. The only sound coming from the auditory, muffled noises of city sounds that sneak past the closed windows and serve as a light backdrop against the void of conversation. 

Solana glances over at Roman and nearly melts into the seat. His knuckles are practically white with how tight he’s gripping the steering wheel. His chiseled, bearded jaw is clenched just as tight, and the tension—and anger—is radiating off of him.

He’s livid.

“Roman, I—”

“Shut up.”

And like a child who’s just been scolded for bad behavior, Solana does just that. She knows this tone of voice. Has seen it used with others, but never on her. Not until this moment. And it sucks. 

But, it’s also….also something else.

It’s annoying.

She’s annoyed. 

Roman has more or less ignored her for almost a week, and now wants to be upset with her? She gets why, but still. Maybe if he was around and actually had time for her, she never would have ended up in this mess in the first place.

It’s immature reasoning, almost. She recognizes this. But, it’s just how she feels.

And it’s better and easier for her to feel and think about that vs just how damn good Roman looks right now, even if he is at level 10. He still looks good. Too good.

Roman remains silent for the duration of the ride as Solana focuses on the passing scenery vs the man next to her who has her thinking inappropriate thoughts given the situation they’re in.

And when they pull into the private parking garage of his penthouse, she’s barely able to unbuckle her seatbelt before Roman angrily opens his door and slams it shut with so much force that she winces. But before that can even be processed, he’s ripping her door open as well and yanking her out the car. 

His grip on her forearm is firm, borderline uncomfortable. “Roman, you’re—”

“I said shut up.”

It’s the same tone as before, but instead of feeling embarrassed like before, she only gets more annoyed as he practically drags her into his place, Solana praying she doesn’t twist her ankle having to walk so fast in her heels. 

She manages to stay quiet until they’re in the privacy of Roman’s penthouse as he once again slams the door shut with unnecessary force. 

Kicking off her heels almost immediately, she heads for his kitchen, needing a bottle of water. “You don’t have to be such a dick,” she mutters. Somewhat to herself. Somewhat to him. Solana opens the fridge and grabs a cold thing of water, barely standing back up before the door is forced shut with an intensity that makes her jump away, her ass hitting the counter and bottle tumbling into the floor. 

“What—”

“What the fuck is wrong with you!”

Roman is standing before her, eyes burning with all the anger coursing through his big body, his tone comprised of unadulterated anger, voice bouncing off the walls. 

Solana isn’t sure just how to respond. Nothing she says is going to make him feel better. It’s a lose–lose situation. “You need to calm—”

He smiles, but there’s not an ounce of humor in his expression or voice. Eyes closed, he tilts his head back, warning almost, “I swear to God, if this wasn’t you….” He trails off, and she’s not sure she wants to know the rest of the statement. “What the fuck were you thinking, Solana?”

Again, that chastised child feeling returns as she shrugs, murmuring, “it was just a party—”

Roman reaches past her and swipes his arm clean across the counter behind her, sending random shit flying to the floor. 

“It wasn’t just a fucking party!” He snaps, and she leans further back into the fridge, hating how her eyes seem to be focused not on the fact that he’s yelling at her but how good he looks despite the anger, how good he smells being this close to her. God, she missed that. Missed him. Not this, obviously. But, everything else….yeah. “You were at fucking Kingdom, Solana. You know that’s Nightmare territory!”

Solana knew that. Knew it the moment Jaida brought up the idea of attending a costume party at some club. She recognized right away from the name alone that not only was it in Nightmare territory but that it was owned by Cody Rhodes himself. None of that was or is news to her. 

And yet, she still pulled out her skimpy little costume and went outside, shaking and throwing ass on video with her cousin like she wasn’t playing with an absolute inferno.

An inferno she’s completely engulfed in right now. “I didn’t think—”

“Of course, you didn’t fucking think because if you did, you wouldn’t have been stupid enough to put yourself in that situation—”

“I made a mistake, Roman, okay?” She cuts him off, taking the opportunity to jump in given the fact that his volume has decreased ever so slightly. “I—”

“And then what the fuck is this outfit?” He motions to her costume, and Solana finds herself frowning. 

“What—what’s wrong with it?” It’s a stupid question, maybe even a form of gaslighting, because she knows exactly why he takes issue with the outfit that practically has her ass hanging out and her cleavage on full display.

To his credit, Roman maintains the lowered volume, gritting out. “It brings attention to you. To your body.” She watches the way his muscles flex as he brings his arm above her, hand planted on the refrigerator. “Why do you think Rhodes came up to you, huh? Cause he liked your fuckin’ hair?”

Solana is feeling way too bold for someone in the wrong as she rolls her eyes, looks down at her feet, toes painted white, and murmurs, “at least someone’s giving me attention.”

It’s the absolute worst thing she could have said in this moment. If this was the titanic, her freudian slip was the absolute mega fucking iceberg. She knows it the second Roman’s volume levels down to dangerously quiet with the delivery of his next question.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

Looking away, she barely has time to process the severity of her slip-up when his hand jerks her by her chin, forcing her gaze back on him. “I asked you a question.”

If there was ever a time for an apology tour, this would be it. The time to get on her hands and knees and beg for much needed forgiveness, but that’s logic, that’s reason, that’s sensical. And there’s nothing logical or sensical about the way she’s feeling right now. Roman being so close to her is no good. It’s no good for a lot of reasons, because instead of being present for this very serious conversation, she’s thinking about the last time he’s been just mere inches away from her. The last time he’s been inside of her.

Too long.

It’s why she finds herself answering straight from her Id. “I said at least he noticed me.” Solana digs that grave just a lil deeper, adding. “You’ve—you’ve been back a week and haven’t come to see me.”

Saying it aloud is the recognition and acknowledgment of the uncomfortable truth Solana now realizes is the basis behind all of this. She’s never been one to need attention from men, to feel the need to be around her significant other more often than not. 

And then entered Roman Reigns. Everything about their relationship has been so fast and new and unexpected and raw. She craves him in a way she’s never experienced with any other man.

Not even Cruz.

Because Roman has been traveling a lot the past few weeks, his latest trip to Italy to handle some Cosa Nostra matters and yet, he hasn’t carved out the time to come see her in the almost week he’s been back. Something that’s evidently been bothering her.

And that recognition clearly isn’t something that’s just now become apparent to her. 

It’s clear to Roman as well too. 

Because in a matter of seconds she goes from peering up at him with those big brown eyes of hers to being spun around and pressed into the cool stainless steel of his fridge. ���What—”

“Shut up.” 

This is the third time he’s said as such to her tonight, and on this tres time, she’s had just about enough. “Stop—”

Solana is silenced and cries out when his hand comes down, hard, on her ass. 

“I said shut up,” he reiterates, adding on as he palms her cheeks. “Daddy’s talking.” That should not make her moan the way it does, especially when he moves his mouth to her ear. “How many times do I have to fucking tell you?” She gasps when he spanks her ass once again, squeezing it this time in a way that has her biting down on her bottom lip. “You belong to me. Not him. Me.”

Solana feels her anticipation—and pussy growing wetter—as Roman starts trying to yank her shorts off. “I’ll kill him. Fucking rip him apart with my bare hands.” She winces when he gets the shorts off, somehow managing to rip them clean off her body. “Start a whole war. I don’t care.” Her soaked underwear, big surprise there, is the next thing to go. Solana would give anything to see the look on Roman’s face as he brings his hand to her cunt, cupping it, feeling her drenched and dripping. “Look how wet you are from me. How I got this pussy dripping just from my voice.” Roman tugs her head back and kisses the perimeter of her face. “You think that bleached bitch could do you like I can?” The answer is already no, but it’s a hell no when she feels his erection pressed against her ass. “No. No one can fuck you like daddy can.”

He’s not lying, and Solana finds the excitement building in hearing some shuffling behind her, a belt unbuckling, clothes shifting. And she nearly comes right then and there feeling his thick dick head rub up and down her slit. 

He’s teasing her, and it’s miserable. Solana tries to scoot her ass back against him, not beyond begging, “p–please.”

Roman chuckles against her ear, hissing when he teases the tip of his dick in her tight, gushy opening. “Please what?”

He’s so cruel. So so so cruel. “P-please, daddy.”

“That’s my good girl.”

Solana shouts when he slams into her, the intensity and stretch of him having her claw the cool steel in front of her. His thrusts are hard and deep, nothing slow and gentle like she expected their first time to be after so long. Something she was hoping for given his size, but that’s not what she gets.

Not when she’s been so bad.

And truthfully….it’s not what she wants. Not now, at least. Not when he’s fucking her like this, so rough and thorough. It’s delicious.

Solana’s moans grow louder with each time he slams his hips up against her fat ass, fucking her like the little brat she’s been. 

“You like making daddy angry like this, don’t you?” Solana whimpers as the force of his thrusts continue to push the side of her face into the fridge, her makeup smudging off from the combination of the light sheen of sweat and the impact. “Like me fucking you like this, huh?”

“Y–yes, daddy.” Tears are building in her eyes when Roman somehow pulls her body against his, his thick dick never once slipping out as he switches their positions so that she’s bent over his kitchen island, face now pressed into the granite counter while he slams into her. “Roman!”

“You was missing this dick, wasn’t you?” He taunts, hand on the back of her head, holding her still as he reminds her who she belongs to. “This what you been wanting? Daddy to pound this little pussy with his big dick?”

Her palms are pushed into the stone, her mind absolutely numb and illogical as he switches his angle, somehow even deeper in her. “Oh, shit. Y–yes, baby.”

Roman leans over her, and she’s practically sobbing at this point. He’s slamming nearly repeatedly against her g-spot, driving her to the brink of sexual madness. “Been missing you too, baby.” He groans, slowing down just a bit to kiss on the side of her face. “Fuck, you don’t know how much I missed you while I was gone. Missed being inside you like this.” Roman straightens up and spreads her ass cheeks a bit, moaning at the sight of his dick sliding in and out of her wet ass pussy. Doesn’t matter how many times he stretches her out, her shit grips him the same every time. Tight and needy. “Goddamn, look how wet you are. Shit dripping on the damn floor.”

That visual shouldn’t make her cunt pulse the way it does, the two of them moaning almost in synchronization. “Daddy’s sorry for leaving you like this.”

His verbal apology is appreciated, but his dick absolutely destroying her used and abused pussy is all the contrition she needs. 

Roman grabs her by her hair once again and leans over, resuming his relentless and brutal assault against her spot, that depth and angle having her seeing stars, angels, and everything else ethereal and heavenly. “You’re mine. You understand me?” He growls, voice dark and determined. Solana both hates and loves this. Loves how he can so easily slide back and forth between being almost loving to that possessive, borderline obsessive side that she secretly gets off to. “You ain’t ever leaving me. It’s us till the end, baby.”

Truer words have never been spoken. 

As is with most sexual encounters between them, Solana’s orgasm is the first to come upon her. That wonderfully blissful, euphoric feeling that never could and will never get old. She moans against the counter, whimpering, “Roman, I’m—oh my God.” It should be a sin how good he fucks her, how good he makes her feel, sexually and in every other way. 

He’s most definitely right.

It’s them to the end.

Roman is knowing, feeling the way she’s starting to clench around him. “You gon’ let me come inside you?” He asks, already knowing the answer. The same as it always is. 

“Y–yes, daddy.” 

He slaps her ass. “Damn right.” Plunging into her at that altered pace to account for her pending climax, he reminds. “Daddy always comes inside his pussy.”

Another truth that she can’t and won’t deny. Another secret love. Kink, even. The feel of him exploding inside her, filling her to the brim with his cum. It just does something to her. Something she can’t explain.

And that’s the exact same experience she has when their orgasms arrive upon them both with merely minutes apart. She’s the first, of course, followed by Roman. His body is hovered above hers, his mouth pressing kisses against her temple as they both come down from that delicious high.

Well, he does, because Solana groans a bit when he slides out of her and picks her up bridal style, carrying her to his room. Roman carefully lays her on the bed, completely uncaring of the mess she’s made all over his dick or the fact that her entire bottom half is soaked, his cum leaking from her puffy pussy. 

He lays down next to her, pulling her close to him. 

Solana sighs, so content in this single moment. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs into his chest, finger lazily tracing some of the patterns of his tribal tattoos. 

Roman kisses her forehead. “I just need you to be more careful, alright?” She nods against him. “I can’t ever lose you, Solana…”

“I know, baby.” She kisses his shoulder. “I will.” Eyes closing, they lay in absolute silence for a good few minutes. Her eyes start to flutter shut, Solana prepared to drift off into a peaceful sleep when Roman’s deep voice cuts into the silence.

“You don’t think we done, do you?” Looking up with all the confusion, she watches as he shifts them so that she’s no longer laying on his chest but just on her side. Roman sits up against the headboard. “You wanted daddy’s attention. Well, now you got it.” Her mouth waters as he starts stroking his still semi hard dick. This man is inhuman sometimes with his stamina. “Take the rest of them clothes off, get up here, and throw that fat ass back on daddy’s dick like you was doing in them videos.”

[red-writes]

On a dark and stormy night

professor! izuku midoriya x student! reader

summary: reader is in love with her professor and izuku is weak when it comes to you...

content contains: daddy kink, spanking, squirting, smut, the nickname 'little girl', reader gets her back blown out.

red's note: a little darker than what I typically write also am I slowly developing a daddy kink? who knows

it's pouring outside but you're not willing to turn around now. your hair is sticking to your face, your jeans are clingy and cold and you can't seem to rid yourself of the chill that the poor weather brings you. your finger hovers over the doorbell, hand shaking as you decide to press the small button. you've been to his house so many times but it feels different right now, feels like you're making a mistake. the lightning that cracks in the sky makes you jump and almost solidifies that gut feeling as truth but as you're about to turn around the door opens.

"y/n?" he asks, then he gasps and pulls you inside. his house is warm and yet you still don't stop shivering.

"you're soaking wet-- how did you get here?" he asks as he runs to the sofa and drapes you in a blanket, every time you've come to his house he always drove you seeing as he lived further than any professor on campus. he ushers you from the doorway after you kick off your shoes and you don't open your mouth to respond, instead you grab his arm and he halts in his tracks.

"are you okay? what's going--" his words get caught in his throat as he witnesses you. you've dropped the blanket onto the floor and you begin undoing the clasp on the front of your top before it slides off your shoulders.

"'m cold professor.." you say, voice small and izuku swallows hard as you unbutton your jeans, sliding them down your thighs before kicking them away. you unhook your bra and let your breasts free for deku's eyes to swallow whole.

"please warm me up" you plead as you reach for his hand and place it on your hot mound. izuku swallows yet again and his mouth is held open for a moment before he speaks, shocked at your bold display.

"you don't know what you're doing..what you're asking me to do" he says, but doesn't move his hand.

"don't you want me professor?" you look down at the erection poking against the fabric of his sweatpants. "it looks like you do"

he shakes his head 'no' but again makes no move to push you away and so you walk closer to him, so close that your chests are pressed against each other and he sucks in a breath, he can feel how hard your nipples are through the thinness of his t-shirt. he can't do this, he shouldn't do this. you're his student, someone who admires and looks up to him by indulging in this he would be way out of bounds. he could lose his job, he could lose everything.

"y/n..you're just confused. I know, after having those conversations about your life growing up and your father not really being there for you, having a person like me step into that role has you wanting to cling onto me, to have me fill the void of your dad but I'm not him and we shouldn't be doing this. if you leave now, I'll forget it ever happened. I'll pretend I never saw you like this" he states, firmly although his voice wavers when he feels your wetness soak his fingers from over your panties.

"fine" you say and pull away from him, izuku is relieved, thinking you've finally come to your senses but instead you pull down your underwear and kick them to the side, you bend over the back of his couch and spread your pussy lips open for him to see.

"you're right professor, I want you to be my daddy." you turn your head behind you to look at him and your fingers find your clit as you rub circles onto the twitching bud. "professor, don't you want to be my daddy? please say yes daddy...I need you" you moan and izuku's cock drips pre-cum into his underwear, cock hard and pulsing at your words. his feet are glued to the floor but his eyes are focused on every sway of your hips, every press of your fingers onto your clit.

"daddy, please, come fuck me daddy" you whine as you slip two fingers in your soaking cunt and begin fucking yourself with them. izuku curses under his breath and walks over to you taking your fingers out your cunt, he uses that same arm to pull you up and he smashes his mouth against yours. your hands are quick to find the band of his of sweatpants and shoving the grey fabric down his thighs, just enough to expose his cock. you lean back over the couch and he strokes his cock a few times before pressing the reddened mushroom tip against your fluttering hole. in one even thrust he's fully seated inside of you. the girth of his cock had your hands squeezing the back of the couch for dear life. every thrust he gave you felt like he was knocking the wind straight out of your lungs.

"does my little girl like that? does she love the feeling of her daddy's cock stretching her out?" and your cunt squeezes around his cock at the sound of the nickname falling from his lips.

"yes daddy!" you cry and he does as you ask, his thrusts become harder, rocking your body forward and his cock grinds against that soft spot inside your cunt, making your eyes roll as his fat tip assaults it with ease. he slaps your ass and the sting has your cunt squeezing his cock like a vice and izuku nearly cums at the feeling. he raises his hand and slaps your ass again, this time you cum from the burning sensation left behind on your ass cheek. your eyes roll back into your head and your body trembles underneath him as your orgasm washes over you. but he doesn't stop, he keeps spanking you until your ass is raw and bruised just so he can feel that vice-like grip on his cock. you're well past overstimulated, the feeling of getting your cunt fucked on top of having your ass spanked until it was painful had yet another orgasm drawn out of you a rush of liquid shot out of your cunt and onto the man behind you as well as the floor.

"no..stop daddy 'm squirting! stop stop aah!" you cried but he didn't, he couldn't, not when the girl he'd been lusting after for months finally forces his hand. not when he was so close to cumming. izuku looked up from the place where you two met and looked at your fucked-out face, eyes hazy with drool dripping out the side of your mouth. with a mumbled 'fuck' he felt his balls tighten as he came. his hips didn't stop immediately, his thrusts were shallow and he laid on top of you as he finished emptying his load into you.

he only moved off of you when he felt himself soften inside of you. when he pulled away a mixture of your cum dripped out of you and onto the floor beneath you.

"let's get you cleaned up" he says and you stand back up on wobbly legs and walk until you sit on the couch. he follows you and you pull him by his t-shirt to the floor in front of you and it's clear what you want him to do.

"daddy will you eat your little girls pussy, please?"

izuku gulps. his eyes dart from your eyes to your swollen, ruined cunt. his cock was already beginning to swell with blood once more. you were dangerous but izuku just couldn't resist you.

[maudie-duan]

Series Summary: For nearly two years, Harry has been fighting to keep his relationship with Olivia afloat. At what point does he make the choice to either endure or let the strain of the world defeat his ambitious hopes of a lasting relationship? Or will a single night and a fleeting encounter be enough to change the projection of Harry’s path? Maybe our ‘Mystery Girl,’ Shiloh, will happen to be in the right place at the right time. 

All Chapters Here <-

Tag List: Always Open

A/N: You guys, this is my first series; bear with me. In no way, shape, or form is this meant to follow Harry’s actual life, nor are the facts or timelines real. This story will be from Harry and Shiloh’s POVs. I like switching between them. I’m nosy, and you get more details this way. So, if you like details, you’re in the right place. This story will be a slow burn, so hold tight. I’m glad you’re here!!! ENJOY!!!!

Word Count: 2K

Warning: Strong language, minor angst, eventual smut, emotional. *SLOW BURNER*

I don’t usually think of how my relationships will end, but I’ve been thinking about our ending—the consequence of our beginning looming over our heads as if it were a pleading prayer whispered into the night.

When “I love you” no longer sufficed, the emptiness that stretched out between us and how fickle we were. How we continued seeking tiny moments, desperate to fill that void—A revolving door of new faces and places where we lay tucked away, pressing our bodies together like puzzle pieces, hoping that one day they would fit together—indefinitely.

Surely, we knew this wasn’t going to work, right? From the beginning, we’ve been on two different parallels, trying to make this work, trying to force a path through murky water when neither one of us knew when or how the tide would roll in—and here I am, miserable out of my fucking mind. In a shit head space just waiting for this evening to end because there’s nothing worse than getting into a massive blowout right before an event. I can’t figure out what’s worse, the fight or the forced niceties. The last place I wanted to be was in public, but this is my life.

Olivia was on about something—actually, I don’t even remember what the fight was about this time, and that’s what it’s been lately. These bullshit fights about petty, senseless matters that take more energy to create than they do to fix. It’s just that she’s gotten so jealous and paranoid that I’m growing distant, that she’s the only one fighting to be in this relationship, and maybe she’s right.

—Side note: Before tonight, I really hadn’t been interested in anyone. Honest to god, I was truly in this wholeheartedly.

Anyone who knows me knows I’m constantly in the public eye, even if I think I’m lying low. There’s always a chance that someone will recognize me. The chances of someone taking a picture are even greater because everyone needs proof, or it didn’t happen, right? I personally don’t believe in this—but to each their own—If you know me and who I am, that’s precisely what you get. She knew this when we met, yet she insists that every move I make is for the world, like I can’t comprehend all of the sacrifices that she has made to be with me. Trust me, I know, and as of late, she’s taken every opportunity to throw it back in my face. 

In all honesty, I know that relationships take work, but isn’t there supposed to be balance? Somewhere along the way, we’ve lost that. We both jumped in feet first and now life seems to be catching up even faster—the constant push and pull in every direction is getting old. Everyone wants something, and she wants the most. It’s like she doesn’t understand the sacrifices that I’ve made. It’s not easy being the world’s biggest pop star and falling in love, but I felt she was worth it at the time.

And now she wants more—Roots that I can’t seem to give her. It’s like I’ve only just begun to find my own footing, stepping into the skin that finally feels right, that’s mine, and she wants nothing to do with it—She wants the control. She wants me to align with whatever she thinks our life should be.

I mean, I get it. I understand wanting the security of always knowing your next move or having a better grasp, but surely Olivia knew what she was getting herself into. It can’t be this big surprise that our life together isn’t panning out into what she had imagined, and the shittest part about it is that I don’t even want to try anymore. I don’t want the things that Olivia is trying to project onto me with every fight that ends with her begging me to choose her—is that not what I’ve been doing this whole time?

I’m lost in thought when Olivia whispers something into my ear. She had gone on and on about this Gucci Cruise show and was pissed when I decided I didn’t want to sit front row. I didn’t want to distract from the show or draw unwanted attention. Especially after that fight—God, that stupid fucking fight that left her in tears, her makeup a wet smear all over her face, almost making us late. 

Tonight was supposed to be memorable. How many people get the chance to attend a Gucci show? This was my first. It’s an honor that I wanted to appreciate and take in with the gratitude I feel not only for the brand but also for the friends I’ve grown quite close to.

“I just feel like the whole point of coming to a fashion show is to sit in with the audience and have a genuine experience of the clothes and the people—” Her comment is pointed and sets me off, so I do the asshole thing and walk toward someone I know leaving her alone with her underhanded comment.

Eventually, I walk over to the edge of the curtain, peering out into the crowd, trying to pinpoint faces I’ll see later, making a list of people I want to see or possibly avoid. As I skim the front row, my eyes land on a woman who looks vaguely familiar. Still, I can’t put a finger on it. She sticks out like a sore thumb. For instance, she is one of the few wearing dark sunglasses in a dimly lit room. Making her stand out in all black, except for the few accents that set her apart from everyone else around her, who are dripping with vibrant colors, something you would expect at a Gucci show—wild statement pieces, different patterns, and textures that ebb and flow amongst each other.

She was magnetic in a way that made it hard for me to look away. The light played off her features, creating a soft aura. A delicate ray of pink traced a faint glow around her. I couldn’t tell if it was an illusion or a trick of the mind in my rose-colored glasses. When I lowered my frames to get a clearer view, I found that she was just as stunning without them—and still, to this day, I can’t explain the feeling; it was like my soul took the lead, reaching out, hoping to find a tether. A single piece of thread that could tie me to her.

And there I stood, my mind spinning out of control. I don’t even know how long I stood there. How long I continued watching her, captivated by how the light seemed to dance with the shadows every time a model passed in front of her. Another thing I noticed was her ruby-red lips. How they spread into a shy smile, the light catching the gleam of her white teeth—a sight I imagined could be seen from anywhere in the room if you were fortunate enough to catch it. I observed her as she straightened upright and crossed her legs, almost as if she had suddenly become aware of her surroundings. Was she nervous? 

Her hair was slicked back into a sleek bun, tight against her scalp, making her features more pronounced and giving her a tidier appearance than everyone else. This timeless look could set anyone apart from the crowd, but what really caught my eye was the gilded chain dress that hugged her all-black attire underneath. I wanted to see her stand up. I wanted to know how the light played off the delicate beads draped from the woven metal. I wondered if it was uncomfortable for her or if she realized she stood out more than the celebrities around her. She had to be someone important, right? Not just anyone can sit front row at a Gucci show—Who is she?

As if she sensed my gaze, her head abruptly turned toward the curtains, causing me to jump back and bump into Olivia. “What the hell?” I hissed. 

Olivia stepped back, eyes wide, my words landing with a bite. I thought, “fuck is she about to make a scene?”—and yes, the bitterness was unnecessary, but it came more from defense than anger. I didn’t want to be found out. What was I doing anyway? How long had she been standing there? Could she see what I was looking at? Or could I pretend that I was trying to get a better view of the show, which was technically true, right?

“Can we please start over tonight?” she asks, almost pleading. “I know tonight is special for you.” Olivia runs her hands up my chest and cups my face.

“Okay…” I exhale. I want to have a good time, but a part of me knows I would enjoy myself more without her here, and it’s this very feeling that will haunt me all night, my thoughts like demons filling the room—unwanted guests that I’m no longer sure I want to keep at bay, and I know this isn’t fair. 

I couldn’t tell if it was the after party or the drinks that came with it, but eventually, the mind fog that plagued me throughout the evening began to lift. It was like a breath of fresh air, each drink diluting the pressure; the animosity threaded into every conversation Olivia and I had was evaporating. I could let go of the stress and relax into the theme of the night—and that was to have fun and fucking enjoy myself because I work hard, dammit.

It was getting easier to play into Olivia’s game of putting on for the coward. This was the part she liked; she loved putting on in a room full of people. She fucking thrived on the attention—she loved wearing me like a glove she could take on and off whenever she pleased. 

I was already three drinks in when I spotted my 'Mystery Girl' It surprised me—she was much shorter than I had imagined, but something felt compelling about her presence, her stature, long and lean.

When she finally looked my way, I instinctively put my arm around Olivia, feeding into the lie, feeling like a fool when her eyes flitted over me with no recognition, piercing my ego in one swift look. I didn’t know what I thought would happen…actually, I’ll tell you exactly what I thought would happen. I thought my presence alone would be enough to garner her attention. Instead, I stood there stunned when her eyes lingered on Olivia, sending her a friendly smile as she mouthed the words, “I love your dress,” pulling at the strap of her dress to drive her compliment home.

Astonished, I stood by, holding my breath as the transaction morphed into Olivia mouthing a returned compliment, making ‘Mystery Girl’ beam and my chest swell with jealousy as she turned away, not even sparing me a second glance. She moved through the room effortlessly, like a hummingbird, moving from flower to flower fast yet graceful, donning that beautiful smile that had me begging her to look my way—just one more time. That’s all I would need. 

Was she a journalist? It seemed like everyone knew who she was. She spoke to everyone she encountered with such ease that each conversation I noticed flowed as if they were friends—though perhaps they were, but how was I to know? At some point, I lost her in the night, or maybe I knew I had to release her from my thoughts. I wanted to end the night on a high note, not go home with a suspecting partner to whom I would have to explain myself later. 

So, by drink five, I was being pulled onto the stage by Stevie, duetting a few songs, and as I closed my eyes, singing out the lines:

Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love?

Can the child within my heart rise above? 

Can I sail through the changin’ ocean tides?

Can I handle the seasons of my life?

I opened my eyes as we swayed into the chorus, browsing the crowd. My gaze locked with Olivia’s, who was crying, tears streaming down her face, a pained look of grief stealing her features. We shared a look of understanding. Maybe even realization, but it hit me hard, the sadness creeping up my spine as she turned and moved away from the crowd, and I noticed her bump into Alessandro, who caught her by the arm with a concerned look on his face. I pulled away from the microphone, my voice choking up, and I let Stevie take over. We both knew that our world was crumbling right before our eyes and when I glanced back over, searching for Olivia, she was gone. 

A/N: Yo, Harry, one thing at a time...Ya'll let me know in the comments what you think.

All Chapters Here <-

[redflagshipwriter]

Halfa Cass Chapter 8 part 2 of 3

masterpost

“I will work with Black Bat?” Robin paused, looking between her and their Batdad. Batdad was still in his slippers and sweatpants.

He nodded at Robin. “That’s correct.”

“Finally,” Robin said. “A professional.” He turned on his heel to dismiss their Batdad from the conversation. “I will go suit up.” He waited a moment for her acknowledgement, not approval.

Cass gave him a double thumbs up. When he was out of sight she made eye contact with her Batdad and waggled her eyebrows at him. He did a big sigh. “Thank you for taking care of your little brother,” he said, because he meant well but he was really very silly about things. Robin did not need taking care of. Robin needed a place to jump and scream and bite.

She just nodded. No point in explaining.

Black Bat took the wait time to read through the most basic details of the ongoing case. The takeaway was: boring mission. Look at mechanic with her eyes. Take footage of his face. Find his name or other biographical information. Look at any ongoing projects to determine if anything required immediate action. Do not engage. Do not reveal self. Do not fight mechanic.

Boring!!!

It took very little time for Robin to ready himself. Damibat was a true professional, despite the sentimental wishes of the old people.

He spoke to her in sotto voce when they had gathered. “I admit relief.” Robin flicked his mask into place. “I am weary of being quashed by the authoritarian impulses of my…betters.” His disgust was clear. His tone and shoulders said: 

I miss Richard. My Father is a fool and Alfred is constraining my artistic soul. The regulations are unending. I do not feel confident of my survival in these conditions. I was forbidden to take home the tiger even though I saw it first. I may wilt.

Poor baby. Her face twisted with empathy. He did deserve the tiger. He would love it very well.

“Wanna drive the Batmobile?” Cass asked.

His sorrow lightened infinitesimally. “I cannot reach the pedals in order to operate it correctly. However, we could take the new cycles.” Robin scrolled to the right inventory item. “I took the liberty of customizing the paint jobs.”

Cass peered over his shoulder. “Ooh,” she said. Shiny. Spiky. “Looks fast. Let’s go.”

“No,” said Brucedad, from a distance. “Take a two person motorcycle and have your sister drive it. You do not have a license, Robin, you are 13.”

Robin made a sound of disgust, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “I am beset by enemies,” he muttered. He stomped away towards their limited options.

Black Bat aimed a disapproving look at her Batdad. “You are crushing his artistic soul,” she informed him. 

“That’s a burden I will have to bear,” Batdad said gravely, and put on his reading glasses.

She hissed at him but they took one of the approved models out. 

Robin further debriefed her on a private channel on their ride into town, voices muffled to the outside world by their protective helmets.

“One of the previously uninfluential local gangs has been gaining territory and members in recent months. We have attributed this to an influx of unique tools they have access to, which have so far been unconventional tools.”

“Tools for what?” Cass took a hard left turn at a lean and let her fingertips trail just barely over the pavement.

“Excellent,” Robin said about the turn, and then, “they have been used to commit robberies. However, the designs are concerningly martial.”

He did not sound remotely concerned. He sounded approving. Cass asked for clarification with an upwards lilting “Mmm?”

“There was a bazooka that shot temporary voids,” Robin said, sounding young and excited. “They were used to bypass a bank vault and to intimidate a teller.”

Cass lifted her eyebrows and nodded. She could see why Brucedad would be antsy about bazookas, even if they didn’t hurt people. 

“There was also a device that created a foam which immobilized those it was deployed against by creating a sort of calcification effect. It ended naturally after a period of hours, but no technique we employed before that seemed to have a weakening effect on the substance. We were unable to attain samples.”

Cass hummed, feeling a little depressed about tonight’s mission after all. Science. Evil science. She was a little burnt out on evil science. She felt tired at the thought. This wasn’t fun.

Damibat noticed. He was silent for a few seconds. “After we confirm the location of the workstation, we could go to the docks,” Robin suggested.

She perked up a little bit. 

There was always someone to fight at the docks. Always a drug deal, smuggling big bad things, always something.

“Good plan.” 

“We will inform Batman afterward.”

Black Bat nodded her agreement. He didn’t need all the details of their schedule in live time. 

She felt a lot better driving out into the night with something to look forward to.

[lavenlady]

Hai hello!

I really like your work and the way you present the characters ^^

Would you be interested in writing megatron or Optimus prime (whichever you prefer :3) x Organic/cybertronian reader? Maybe she was previously Sentinel's partner who he got as a gift for killing the rest of the primes? Maybe they knew her earlier as Orion pax or D-16?

I really like your work

I am happy that you liked it! I have decided to do both but more on D-16 side.

The reader will be a minicon - small but powerful!

Enjoy :3

✿Special Gift✿

D16/Megatron and Orion Pax/Optimus Prime

➤ You were 'taken in' by Sentinel Prime

➤ Forged a little after the betrayal so you do not know the truth, but found the perfect Prime suspicious - he was just too perfect

➤ You were a minicon and minicons posses the ability to power up cybertronians, so Sentinel saw usefulness in you and decided to let you keep your cog, even then you only reached the hip of a miner bot

➤ It was a win-win for Sentinel, he just kept getting more and more powerful after his successful 'promotion' - a special gift that made him more of an Icon in Iacon

➤ Oh how many times he showed off with your help and called you his partner

➤ You were usually by Sentinels side in Iacon but were always left behind when the Prime went searching for the Matrix of Leadership

➤ You couldn't really go anywhere, but after the Iacon 5000 race you were intrigued by those two miners - Orion Pax and D-16

➤ You probably saw how Darkwing threw them into Sub-level 50 and decided to follow them

" So you are the miners that took part in the race. I never knew I would see this in my entire onlining! "

➤ You accompanied them to the surface and finally got to know everyone better, mainly D-16 and Orion Pax

" You sneaked into the archives, nearly got beaten and was close to fall into the void?! On a daily basis?! And I thought I had an exciting life! "

" You are on top of the sector and use a steel bag to train?! You are so strong! I bet you could snap someone in half! "

➤ Then finally finding out the truth...

" Ha! I knew it! There was something fishy about him! "

➤ And others finally got their cogs and you got an upgrade, but couldn't really check as you had to run away

➤ Others had quite a difficulty in transforming and thus you decided in the end to cling to D-16

➤ Then High Guard takes you hostage and D-16 takes on Starscream, but you couldn't just sit there and watch

➤ So you jumped to help D-16, transforming into his fusion cannon, but quite more upgraded

➤ Now you can imagine how easier it was to find them when D-16 fired into the sky

➤ Then Sentinel's pawns capture you and you finally met Sentinel again

➤ All is the same, but as D-16 is about to be branded, you finally transform and jump at Sentinels face trying to buy others time

➤ In the end Sentinel breaks your knee joints to keep you in place and that fuels even more D-16's rage - or rather said fury

➤ His new friend used and forced to do as the false Prime says? Not gonna happen again

➤ Then the branding, the fight that you decided to take part in only wishing for the treachery of Sentinel to end, not expecting Orion's actions

➤ And finally Orion gets shot

➤ You and D-16 didn't want that to happen and especially didn't plan on killing their friend

➤ It was D-16 decision to drop down Orion into the void, but you couldn't really find the reason to leave him - you have to get rid of the false prime still, it was his fault after all

➤ You and now Megatron, after getting the Megatronus Prime's cog and a power up, plan to fix Iacon all together

➤ Then Optimus Prime comes and the battle followed by banishment

➤ You didn't know who to choose, you really liked both of your friends

➤ But at the same time....

➤ Not everything can be solved without violence, it was needed to be done and you will - for now - stand by it

➤ Feeling sad that you have lost some of your friends, but at least you still have D- Megatron left

➤ He promised a new, better future and you are going to help in achieving it, even if it ment to offline in process

□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□

(anyway here is the height I imagine the reader having

The cybertronians in Tf One are huge so minicons have to be quite bigger to fit with proportions - at least i think)

(Master list)

[cosmic-ghost-hermit]

What animal do you most resemble and why?

So just so yall know before you go to your piles. The animals in the pictures might not be the creature that you most resemble. I am using the Untamed Spirit Animal Oracle in this reading. Please take what resonates and leave the rest behind but always be open to new perspectives about yourself.

_________

PILE ONE

Astrology: Pisces, Sagittarius, Aries

Song: all i ever wanted by Mazie

Vibes: 🖤💙🔭✈️🕷🦋🕶🎓🐾🌏🌊🫐🍙🧊🎧♟🦽💎⛏🛋📘✒️💤♿️🔊♠️🏁

Cards: Lion, 5 of Cups, 7 of Wands, The Void, Karmic Relationships

Hi, pile 1! Welcome. These cards tell me you look most like a lion. I can see some of you have prominent noses that make your face very lion-like. All of you have the most piercing fierce eyes. I also see you have soft hands and nice nails that you probably get done regularly. You are legit gorgeous and you have this extensive hair routine you do almost every day. You might wear a bonnet to sleep or you have a silk pillow case to protect it. I can also see you are surprised by these compliments. You have some self-esteem issues that frustrate you a lot. These beliefs you have about your physical appearance are built around the opinions of others. First off, they only shit on you cus they are jealous. These cards have a weird undertone of relationships so I think maybe you had a partner at one point who was SUUUUPER jealous of how beautiful you are. Wow, they are pressed about it. They probably said some extremely mean things to you about your appearance that stick with you even though it doesn't look like they are around you anymore. I hear them saying you have RBF or something. You have literally nothing to feel insecure about my dear.. Like you complimented yourself in the mirror around this person and they like immediately tried to knock you down a peg. Dude, that person is SO ENVIOUUS. Don't listen to their words. You need to see through their words to the true emotions behind them. Don't let these jealous people dim you light, girl!!! Their words are not based on reality. It is distorted by their emotions. Just know when they look in the mirror all they hear is their momma tellin them they're ugly as fuck. They were just projecting their insecurities, baby.

PILE TWO

Astrology: Taurus, Leo, Aquarius

Song: Body Talks by The Struts, Kesha

Vibes: 💛🧡❤️💙🎁🧿💰🌅🏖🚦🚚🚎🎯🎭🏅🍹🫐🍂🌊🌈🌏🍁🐠🫂🤖🥶😰

Cards: Badger, 7 of Pentacles, 5 of Wands, The Seven Star Sisters, Jump In

Hey there, pile 2!! You have such an interesting energy. The animal you most resemble is the Badger. So from what I'm reading from the other cards this is less of a physical resemblance and more of an attitude resemblance. The way you hold yourself is like you do not give a fuck what anyone thinks about you. You had many people around you growing up who were considered "conventionally attractive" and for a long time, this bothered you. I think sometimes it does still bother you but you have grown your self-esteem a lot since you were little. You got tired of fighting for attention real quick. You realized how dumb the competition of appearance is and began to explore your expression more for fun rather than to fit in. You have a unique way of expressing yourself, especially with your make-up. Dark eye shadow is your signature look. It makes your already really unique eye color pop like nothing else. You dress very alternatively compared to your siblings and/or friends. The style does have a touch of whimsicalness to it too. I see some of the people who picked this pile have a curvy body type. You keep your hair short for the most part because it's easier to manage while short. You truly have such a fantastic head-turning style. I really do love your energy, my dear. Like, wow you are fucking awesome. I would have looked at you as a kid and wanted to look like you so bad.

PILE THREE

Astrology: Scorpio, Libra, Gemini

Song: The Middle by Jimmy Eats World

Vibes: 🤍🖤🔎🖋🧷📓🩺🔬🔌📷📼🎥🎹🎼🎤🎧🎬🌪🐚🪨🐇🕊🦢🐈‍⬛🕸🐰👟

Cards: Toad, Fox, 8 of Swords, 2 of Wands, Double Mission, Deep Cellular Healing

Oh, pile 3. This is gonna be a kind of shadow work-y kind of reading so just be prepared to be called out okay? Trigger warning for SA. You make yourself ugly on purpose. You hid your beauty from yourself. I dunno exactly what you do to hide it from others but I see you wearing clothes that keep your shape a secret. You do your make-up in a way that accentuates the dark cycles under your eyes. You make yourself look sick and dying. You force yourself to believe you resemble a Toad. I don't blame you, my friend. You went through something truly terrible that made you feel ugly so you express it outwardly constantly. You believe you are ugly because of what happened. What they did to you didn't taint your beauty, homie. You aren't dirty. You aren't hideous or unattractive naturally. You are so scared of what happened, happening again. It makes you put up these defenses in-order to feel safe. My friend you are already safe without these defenses. You might be doing way more harm than good, my friend. If you stopped hiding your true beauty from yourself, you would more resemble a Fox. These cards are encouraging you to heal from what happened to you mentally. Your reaction to what happened isn't wrong but you shouldn't destroy yourself because of how others treated you. You are stunning and so naturally gorgeous. I hear you saying that your feelings about what happened don't matter. That is a lie you tell yourself. That is a lie someone else told you. What happened to you was truly awful. What they did to you was disgusting but it doesn't make you disgusting. It makes THEM disgusting. What THEY did is disgusting. You are beautiful. You are so drop-dead, star-struck glamorous! You aren't a toad. You are a fox. Please embrace your authenticity because you deserve to feel good. You deserve to see your body for what it truly is.

PILE FOUR

Astrology: Cancer, Capricorn, Virgo

Song: Honey And The Bee by Owl City

Vibes: 🤍💖💛🦦😜👄☀️👟🐁👙👑🎂🐱🐻‍❄️🌙🦭🌸🌼🍣🍰⚾️🎗🎟🎲📿

Cards: Otter, Queen of Cups, The Well, A New Earth, Called

Pile 4. You are so fucking cute. Like so cute. Like I feel your energy and all I feel and think is "Awwww~ What a cuuutie!". You most resemble an Otter. Which in my opinion, ARE SO FUCKING CUTE!!! I see you like to color your hair in pastel colors and it's SUUUPER long. Like you have been growing out your hair for a while now. You have this cute little button nose and these super pretty dark eyes. Ohmygods you have no idea how much I think brown eyes are the prettiest eyes. You put a lot of creativity in your outfits so you always look so snatched and dolled up. You like the long flowy dresses and shirts that billow in the wind. They make you look like a fairy. You always smell like incense and sea salt. You probably love swimming or surfing or some kind of sport you play in the water so you are very lean. I see you might be pursuing some kind of profession in the beauty industry. Either that or you just look like a model and people think you are one. You wear these pretty flowers in your hair that give you this gorgeous halo of lavender. You have been absolutely blessed by Lady Aphrodite. She loves you like her child. She blesses you with fashion sense and soft features.

[daydreaming-in-letters]

I don’t have a picture specifically but it is my birthday today! Can you write something with Andrew surprising you when you thought he’d be on tour somewhere else and wouldn’t be able to make it for your birthday? Can start out fluffy but then turn into smut please :)

Well, let me present you with a picture then... (He is on his way.)

Happy Belated Birthday, love. (It seems we share that special day. 😉) I hope you don't mind I kept it fluffy this time. I'm having a mild fever and I couldn't handle more heat than I am already battling with.

warnings: language; a little heartache

 Only fifteen minutes left. Thank god, you thought. You could not wait for this day to be over.

It was your birthday today. And you loved your birthday. But birthdays without Andrew sucked. It did not even feel like a real birthday, much less like a day you wanted to celebrate. And so you had not. 

You had told your friends and family that you would be busy at work all day and that after that, you definitely would not be in the mood for company. And astonishingly, they had all accepted your excuse and taken to calling or texting you instead of coming round to congratulate you in person. 

All the better, you thought, as you prepared to go to bed. Disposing of your empty glass in the sink, you walked over to the open window. The world outside lay in complete silence, slowed by the darkness of night that had settled a while ago. It was time to let go of the day and rest. 

But how could you let go? How could you find peace when a part of you was missing, leaving a void in your chest that seemed to grow bigger with every passing second, like a black hole that swallowed all the goodness you should have felt on a day like this?

You sighed. This was unfair. You knew it was. It was unfair to you as much as it was unfair to him. If there would even be the slightest chance, the tiniest possibility, he would be here with you right now, no doubt. And still you felt like crying.

He had called you, first thing in the morning and you had talked for a long while. He had reserved some extra time for you, more than he usually could, and still you missed him. So much. More than you had ever thought it possible to miss someone. In some moments, the worst of them, when you just could not hold up your walls anymore, it hurt. It hurt to a point that you needed to lie down and roll up into a bundle of misery, and all you could do was just stay like that until the pain had faded. 

Afterwards you always felt a little stupid for being so whiny. He would be back with you soon enough, no time to act like a clingy puppy. But most importantly, he could never know. It would break his heart. And one broken heart was bad enough already. 

You jolted as your ears picked up the harsh buzzing of your phone on the living room table. Probably another message of birthday wishes, you assumed, as you walked over to pick it up. But as soon as you read the name on the screen your heart jumped a little. It was his goodnight text. He sent you one every night. 

Told the moon to hold all my love. So don’t be surprised if it shines a little brighter tonight. Just for you.

Well, someone had clearly been listening to an awful lot of Mitski lately, you thought, and chuckled to yourself. But only one glance outside was enough to make your heart drop, opening the vaults, and letting your eyes spill over. The moon was nowhere to be seen. 

If only he were—

But you did not get to end that thought as the clock made you jump again, telling you it was midnight. Your birthday finally over. 

The wave of relief that washed over you made you sigh through the tears. Time to go to bed at last. With two harsh strokes of the back of your hand, the visible remains of your heartache were gone and you were just about to switch off the lights, when an unexpected noise startled you for the third time tonight. 

Had that been a knock on your door? At this time? It could not be. You had probably misheard. Still you chose to stay for a moment and wait, and it did not take long before it came again. Loud and clear this time. 

This was impossible. Insufferable. Had you not been absolutely clear about not wanting any company today? Well, obviously not. But you would correct that mistake right away.

“I told you I didn’t want to see anyone. Go away!”

But instead of some well-earned silence, there was another knock. 

“For fuck’s sake, can’t you just leave me alone?”

Obviously they could not. Just as they most likely could not read the atmosphere to understand when it was time to leave. And when they even showed the audacity to knock yet again, you felt like you had no other choice. With a huff of pure rage you stomped over to the door, let your hand smash down on the knob and yanked it open. May god have mercy on the poor soul that was waiting outside.

There had been so many words on your mind, all the curses and swearwords your vocabulary had to offer, but as soon as your eyes landed upon the intruder that stood in your doorway, you could not remember even the simplest one of them all. 

“I just wanted to make sure the moon is shining perfectly for you."

This was not real. It could not be. You had probably fallen asleep and your desperate mind had chosen to give you exactly what you needed, what you had been craving ever since he had left through that exact same door, looking back at you from a pair of watery green eyes. But it seemed you were not granted this little treat for long as tears began to blur your vision once again. 

“The moon is not even shining tonight,” you managed to pipe up, your voice breaking halfway through your statement, making it sound awfully shrill.

“So, it’s a good thing I came then. Because how else would you have know how much I love you?”

A loud, clattering noise echoed through the night as his bag fell to the ground. It had taken him less than a heartbeat to decide whether to hold on to it or hold you instead, and as his arms closed around you now, the familiar warmth of his body pressed against yours, back where he belonged, for the first time in months your heart seemed to remember its natural rhythm again. 

“Sorry I’m late, baby.”

You hugged him a little tighter, basking in the way his breath slowly crept along your neck as he spoke, the way even one word from his mouth was enough to silence the white noise in your brain and let you breathe again.

“It would be so out of character if you weren’t.”

You chuckled, and so did he. 

“Happy Birthday, my love.”

[gelakaien]

I disagree when people say there is no romantic subtext in itafushi because, I do think there is. I also disagree when people say there is too little [of romance] to base itafushi on it because that's really not true.

It starts with Megumi saying his type is someone with an unwavering humanity. Which is the very literal meaning of Yuuji's name. It slowly develops from there.

I also don't like how people say itafushi is one sided. IT'S NOT. He cares too much. Fushiguro is always the first one he notices in any room he's in. Even in the time he was hiding his death, he would mention Fushiguro now and then. Fushiguro just doesn't leave his mind, never did. He thinks he's very reliable, he SPECIFICALLY told Sukuna to not say anything to HIM about the fingers-resonance thing in the aftermath of the bridge fight. And the scene at the lake, where Megumi told Yuuji he'd kill him if he died, he defintely took it in a serious way, not just because he said "I better not die then" right after, but like, he even referenced that to Megumi in Shibuya. As a way of reasurance. As a way to say "I won't die on you, I will come back to you." Also thanks Mappa for making this even more gayer with the finger guns thing.

Hell, he even knows Megumi's favorite popcorn flavor and he teached him how to make meatballs. They barely knew each other for a few weeks??? And he was so overly excited to learn he'd be his closest roommate. Sure, you can say he's joyful with anyone and he is indeed, but towards Megumi, it's so much more intense. And yeeessss that could be because they are best friends alright but you can't deny it can work both ways, can you?

Since I touched in the best friends topic, I will quickly say how much it bothers me people refuse to ship two guys because they are two guys the same holds true when it's two girls but I'm mostly talking about a m/m ship. I saw someone yesterday talking about itakugi being endgame and like, sure there was some disapproval, but not as aggressive as it would be if it was an Itafushi post. Because when it's about itafushi, they easily jump on you saying "ThEY arE bEST FrIeNDds, CaN't tWo gUyS bE fRIeNDs anyMoRE??!?!? tHIs is jUst fRIendSHiP sTOpInG mAkInG iT gAy/wOkE!" well, it's funny because these exact people would immediately ship a guy and a gal even though there's so much little going on between them (take Ozawa as an example, sure she is cute and all but people saying they have more chemistry than itafushi is just... lack of literacy, like wtf???? how come a girl that appeared in ONE chapter and then NEVER AGAIN god knows if she is still alive - possible have more chemistry than two guys who went through good and bad shit together since chap 1?). But if it's a m/m, then it's a immediate no-no...? This is not about chemistry, friendship or whatever, there is a very clear name to this, the instict to immediately shut down the idea of two guys or girls together in a romantic way. You know very well what is called, don't you?

Anyway, back to Itafushi.

In the whole Shinjuku fight he's been thinking about Megumi, he went through possible ideas and plans TO SAVE Megumi. He's willing to become Sukuna's host AGAIN to save Megumi. Of course they (including Yuuji) need to defeat Sukuna, stop the Merge and save the world blah blah blah, but until so far, the core of his actions is moved by one objective: to save Megumi.

In post Shibuya he felt so conflicted about whether or not he had the right to live, and when Megumi asked Yuuji to save him, Yuuji's eyes shined again with life. They were devoid of any light until then.

Megumi means so much, so much to Yuuji, he treasures him too much. Way too much!! He would feel lonely without him.

And I don't care the way the translators chose to word this, we can safely assume that to Yuuji, Megumi's absence means loneliness. He would feel a void in his heart (I, the person writting this, am telling this in a romantic way, but you can assume that as platonically too if you like) without him. Megumi MATTERS to Yuuji, and Yuuji MATTERS to Megumi. Hell, Megumi even puts him in the same level of importance as Tsumiki, his sister, the only family he had the whole life. I'm not even gonna dive into the topic of "megumi wanted yuji to marry tsumiki" bc i think that is pure nonsense. plus she's dead. meaning they would never marry anyway.

In conclusion I think there is a lot of room for romance to flourish between these two, it might not be now, it might not be the objective of the whole work (because in the end it's a shonen, so yeah), but it's defintely not weird to think about. Love is a central theme since JJK 0.

Unfortunately people on twitter are mega stupid and I had the unpleasure to see a lot of hate towards itafushi because we apparently are in the wrong for thinking about two guys kissing no matter how much gay chap 266 was. And apparently we are in the wrong for taking Megumi and Yuuji's exchanged to a romantic level even though that shit was gay af (i personally don't talk like that to my best friends but okaaay whatever right) Which prompted me to come to another space (hopefully away from those ppl) to deposit my thoughts.

[8ysharkstar]

hiiii!!! May I request a PLATONIC pure vanilla x quiet/anxious child reader? Reader is going through a lot and struggling mentally… and just needs hugs and comfort lol

[ Sure thing!! ]

( Pure Vanilla x GN!Child!Reader )

“ they don’t really understand what big kids do “

TW; A little Angst, Anxiety (?)

>pv might not be accurate so I tried my best

!platonic

RcmSong; Harvey | Alex G

☆;

I really can't sleep, I just can't. I tried? But anything doesn't help, my body just feels weak. Staying up almost every day is the routine I do, even if I do sleep, it's hard to not have any nightmares. Always in a deep void, filled with blue eyes..?

I used to be a lost cookie, but join apart of the vanilla kingdom, everyone seems very joyous and happy, but I look different from their emotions. I can't seem to communicate properly, nor get myself up, I always feel anxious around other people. I can't really fix myself, can't I?

Being apart of the academics seems complicated for me, always seen to be failing from the others. I just really hope I can get better.

Pure vanilla has found me the lack of communicating cookie, and he decided to schedule himself to talk to me after the session.

Pure vanilla called over my name, which felt like a for piercing through my dough, I felt even more anxious, did I do something wrong in class? Am I failing? Do I have to move out?

I felt a hand on my shoulder, sending a quick jump from me. Turning around to see pure vanilla, seeming to be worried and upset. What did I do? Did I..

"y/n cookie.. are you okay my dear student..?"

... That voice seems to calm me down a bit, but I really don't want to trouble him much because of me.

"yes.. sir vanilla, I'm okay! No need to worry."

As I was about to walk away...

"wait, is anything troubling you, y/n? You always seemed so anxious in class, may I help you with your troublesome..?"

"no need to, sir vanilla. I'm okay, really. I don't want to trouble you some more."

...

"whatever situation you're on, please let me help you y/n cookie. I insist, no need to worry about my work, I always keep my cookies in a good state, and you're one of them."

Hearing those words felt like tears dripping down my icings. Such a small sentence can comfort me? Tears fall out, causing my dough to be soaked.

Pure vanilla seem to help me to stop crying, so my dough doesn't crumble at such a young age.

"please y/n cookie, it's sometimes okay to be quiet. But you can't seal your emotions forever, someone in earthbread is always here for you. I'm here for you, y/n cookie. Your are one of my dearest students."

I hugged myself to pure vanilla as my tears began to stop, he's my only hope I have in earthbread, For now. I really don't know what I don't know on what to do If I loose him.

He showed on how I can improve myself, really helped me with him talking to me. I really improved onto being one with the pure vanilla citizens and pure vanilla cookie's student's.

Sorry for any grammar mistakes! Hope you enjoy reading :3

Yippie!!! First fanfic

[iidgm]

a little something i wrote at 1 am

word count: 1065

—

You sighed heavily, your limbs giving out under you without prior warning.

These chases are exhausting you, and you have no idea for how much longer you’ll be able to keep up with these toys without dying in the process.

Not like you stayed dead, anyways.

Strange voices in your mind ordering you to get up, and somehow waking up moments before your death… You’ve learned to not question it. At least not for now.

You check your surroundings carefully, trying your best to keep your heavy breathing as silent as possible as to not attract any more toys.

Dried pool, giant rubber ducks…

Ominous looking cell doors.

Ah shit, those are the only way forward, aren’t they?

You groan as you lift yourself up with your fists, your GrabPack feeling more like a hindrance than a helping tool at the moment. Damn designers.

You drag your heavy legs towards the cell doors, dread creeping up your spine.

Why are there CELLS on the POOL?!

You enter a dimly candle-lit corridor with a huge hole in a corner. You decide to not approach it, instead you keep going forward.

The putrid, rotting flesh and gore assaults your senses. The smell being unbearable, the sounds it made against your shoes as you walked disgusted you and the dried remains visible made your stomach churn.

But the only way is forward.

You look into the each cell individually, searching for something to help you open the doors at the end of the corridor—

“You… You’re Poppy’s Angel. Come to save us!”

You jump at the sudden deep voice behind you, turning around in panic with flare gun ready to shoot. Then you see it.

See him.

Dogday.

“Nothing left to save, not here…” He continues. “You’re in Catnap’s home, Angel. Their home.”

You try to swallow back the lump in your throat.

Or what’s left of Dogday.

His bottom half is ripped off, only a tight belt acting as a tourniquet preventing his insides to spill out completely. You want to throw up.

“A million pairs of eyes are on you now. Watching, waiting, hungry.” He sounds so defeated. “They want nothing more than to crawl beneath your skin– And eat away at you bit by little bit, fill what feels empty inside themselves.”

Your body moves without your input towards the canine, slowly as to not startle or scare him. Not like anything would achieve that at this point, you think.

“That... thing... CatNap. The Prototype is his God, and this is what he does to heretics.” He moves his arms, secured by shackles to emphasize this. “These little toys follow CatNap to avoid that very fate– and in return, they are fed.”

Your hands slowly move towards Dogday’s face. He doesn’t react.

“We tried to fight it, The Prototype's control.” He takes a deep breath. “I'm... the last of the Smiling Critters.” His voice shakes a little, looking away from you. Your heart breaks further for him.

“I–” You try to start, but he interrupts you.

“Listen to me, you need to get out of this place. You need to live!” He looks at you, his dark voids for eyes locking on your face. His voice cracks again, but he sounds determined. You make up your mind in that second.

“I’m not leaving without you.” You say firmly, before working your way through his shackles as fast as you can. He makes a sound of shock as his arm drops, followed by the other. He falls into your arms, limp and dirty.

“Wh– Angel, I’m a lost cause! You must flee!” He pleads, his hand closing around your forearm with the little strength he has.

“I’m sick and tired of people telling me who I can and cannot save. So strap in, Doggy boy, I’m getting you out of here.” You say with finality, shifting him on your back in a way he can hold himself up somewhat comfortably.

He doesn’t protest any further.

You look around, trying to find a way out of the cellar. The doors you came through somehow closed, so that option is discarded.

“Oh no... OH NO!” You hear Dogday cry out, and you turn your head to see what he’s on about.

Oh shit.

A mass of ruined critters start to crawl their way out of the walls towards you. Before you can react, the floor gives in beneath you, falling through a hole in front of the closed gates.

“Hold on tight!” You warn before running your way through the narrow foam tunnels. Your flare gun manages to scare the little toys that come across your away and gives you a dim light source in the abyssal darkness the Playground was.

You slide down one of the three slides you are offered, and keep running as you can.

And then you see it.

A platform to the surface.

You only have to make a purple hand jump to get there.

The GrabPack was made for only one person, though. Would you be able to make it?

Only one way to find out.

“Be ready!” You shout as you run at full speed, gaining momentum.

'Wait— nononO ANGEL WAIT—' You hear him yell in a panicked tone, but you don't slow down.

With a leap of faith, you press the pressure plate with the purple hand and the world slows down.

For a second, you’re suspended in the air with Dogday’s arms around you firmly, and on the next, you and your companion crash on the platform so hard it knocks the air out of both of you.

You quickly press the button for it to go up before collapsing. Seems like Dogday had let go of you once he saw you’d make it.

You pant in exhaustion, the adrenaline washing off now that you’re somewhat safe. The back of your hand rests on your forehead, your eyes closed to prevent the artificial light from entering your retinas.

You did it.

You hear a deep, husky laugh not far away from you, and you laugh along with him.

You did it!

You managed to save someone!

You two laugh together in a manic manner as the platform lifts you two to the surface level of Playcare.

You’d think what to tell the others once you’re there. For now, you’ll enjoy this short moment of bliss with your new friend.

[gorgeouslypink]

HIIII PINK!!! When I heard you were leaving I was so sad I even started crying and started to doubt myself on entering the void. I was like “how tf am I going to get into the void without pink???” I started procrastinating reading some of your post basically stalking ur page staying up til 4 in the morning (I was desperate 😭). I realized that I already read all of ur post, nd I just was surprised on how much time I wasted trying to get into the void. And I always dreamt abt putting a success story in your inbox. I already had all the knowledge i needed so what’s the point of more? I deleted tumblr and thought of anything that could help me get in the void. I did SATS while listening to my subliminal playlist, i daydreamed abt the void and my desires for fun, i affirmed for my void concept randomly throughout the day, feeling of the wish fulfilled, listened to delta waves when I was abt to sleep, and I meditated once a day for 10 mins. Meditation was optional but whateva 🤷‍♀️. I ONLY DID THAT FOR THREE FREAKING DAYS. And Im still mad at myself for wasting time procrastinating for 9 months. I was going to take a nap and I was in a drowsy state, so might as well affirm for the void right? I started saying affs like “I’m in the void”, etc etc. Once I started affirming, everything was just calm Yk? My body wanted to move but it was like it couldn’t cause the state I was in was calm asf. So I closed my eyes and just repeated the affs in my head over and over and over until I got this feeling like as if my body was floating, then I payed attention to it for a split second then ignored It after. I kept on affirming then I felt like I was being pulled then let go and it was as if I was falling. Everything got darker and quieter. So then I got scared and jumped because that scared me soo bad (I’m a easy person to scare 😔). After that, I felt like I was actually a master at the void, I took a nap again and I had the same feeling but when I felt like I fell I kept my calm. Then I couldn’t hear my fan which was louddd, I opened my eyes to total darkness, I was scared for two seconds and realized I was in the void!! Ngl I had a whole list set up with my desires and I was ready to affirm and goooo!!! But I realized how calm the void is and stayed there for what felt like 5 minutes. I did affirm I had all my desires and that I was able to wake up in the void under 5 seconds. When I woke up from the void it was 9 pm and I took a nap at 2!!! I woke up with all of my desires nd shi. (I would explain in more detail in how I got in and stuff like that but I was in a rush and didn’t want to make this too long 😀)

BUT THANK YOU SMM PINK, IM GOING TO MISS U SM. YOU HAVE BEEN A REALLY BIG HELP WITH MY VOID JOURNEY, I TRULY APPRECIATE EVERYTHING U HAVE DONE FOR THIS COMMUNITY, MAKE SURE TO ENJOY UR SELF 💗💗💖💖💖💗💕

✌️😼

Hi love!!! Omgosh I'm so proud of you! This is so cute and you deserve this so much and I'm genuinely happy for you. 💗

[vampworks]

Satisfaction

Loki x Vampire! Reader

MINORS DNI

Word Count: 1.4K

Warnings: Blood, Vampirism, Smut, language, angst

A/n: the first bit of spice I've written and omg I don't know how to feel about it. Anyway, vampires ima right?

Stalking the halls of the tower, I never felt so lonely until now. The thirst has all but consumed my nights. Sleep had long since been completely off the table as the hunger set in, leaving me with a pair of red eyes and a screaming pit in my core, slowly haunting the same rooms I used to run through with a smile.

Today’s failed mission flashes through my head as I pass the kitchen. Creeping into cabinets and the fridge as I remember the sheer joy ripped away from me as my “meal” escaped. I slammed it shut and heard Steve lecture me on discipline on the jet all over again. It’s like he actually wants me to starve. After all of Bruce’s testing and the grueling rules, my insides seem to rip and tear within me. This was my chance to finally feel even remotely full. All of nothing.

I heard faint snores, hushed voices, and the clink and clang of metal in the lab beneath my feet. One sound rang louder than them all whether it was a blessing and a curse, the soft beat of their hearts. It brought me closer to them most nights. It reminded me that they were all okay.

I found myself silently counting the beats of Bucky's heart on the roof. It was grounding whenever I heard it. His very presence was grounding. He looked at me differently from the rest of the team like he actually understood me. I knew I’d be able to rest with him. The team was still uneasy around me because of my new 'condition' but not him. Im tempted to join him until the sound of a familiar, honeyed voice filled my ears.

"Hello, little bat." He whispered into my ear. "L..Loki," I sighed. He lets out a sly smirk as I shiver. “Out for a late-night snack?" He teased. I can hear his heartbeat slow as he pulls away, but it quickens again when my eyes meet his. “Listen, I won't play games with you tonight. I’m starving and all I can hear in this damn tower is blood rushing through my veins, so please let me just wander around in peace.” I placed my hand on his chest to push him away, but he held it there. His face is void of emotion, but his heart betrays him as it continues to beat rapidly. My eyes trace his sharp features down his face and fall onto his throat. The thought of sucking him dry crossed my mind. Maybe I could play his game this once.

“You’re more like me than you think.” His words brought me out of my trance. “What’s that supposed to mean.” I hissed, and his grip on my hand tightened. “It means, My pet. Neither you nor I will ever be satisfied going on like this.” He cooed. Loki’s other hand traces down my arm, only to rest on my waist. His breath grows heavy and desperate now matching the loud drum of his heart.

I want all of him now. I knew it was the hunger speaking, but I will deal with my own heart’s desires later. I could tell his heart was calling out. Begging for an embrace or at least a source of warmth. He might just be right, satisfaction always seemed just out of reach. A single eternal moment passed before I gained the strength to respond. “What do you suggest we do about that then?” my voice dripping with need as I speak. Loki’s façade of excellence was falling, but the remnants stood fast in his posture and grip on my waist.

Ever the royal gentleman, even in such desperation. He stumbles on his word for only a second before proposing an exchange of warmth. "Genius, is it not?” He stammered. I stifle a laugh “It’s brilliant, Watson.” I tease. His smile was sickeningly sweet, but his dark green eyes begged for something more. I held my breath as I pulled him into me by his collar. "Jump.” He commands. I obey and am pulled into his arms. His heart beats as if it’s a heavy drum threatening to burst through his chest. I waste no time laying kisses upon his lips and down to his throat. The sound that erupts from him is heavenly. “You are mine,” I whisper into his ear. A jolt runs through his body as he takes off into a sprint to his room with me in hand.

In a second, my back falls into his black satin sheets. He quickly crawls on top of me with his left hand, caresses my cheek, and shifts his weight onto his right hand. His knee ever so gently pushed on my inner thigh just to be closer. My own hands wrapped around his neck. My fingers tangle in his long, dark curls. I swear I hear the slightest whimper as my rings tug on a braid within them. Feverish kisses linger as if the next could not come fast enough. His lips, raw with a crimson tint, now begged for me to bite them. My fangs nip at his bottom lip as his left-hand gathers my shirt up my back. The taste isn’t nearly enough, as my senses are clouded by him.

All around me is him. His honeyed voice rings in my ear while his touch burns like fire, despite his skin feeling like ice. My mind fogs as I slip from his grasp and flip him on his back in a single swift motion. I take my seat on his lap, looking into his dark green once more. I find his eyes blown wide, staring back into my red ones as our chests chase our breath in tandem.

“Dammit, every inch of you is breathtaking.” He says in a hoarse tone as his hand takes the purchase of my waist once again. My smile widens and I grind down into him. “God, I say the same for you.” My eyes trail down to his chest as my hands slide up his arms to rest on his shoulders. “Let me be one with you… Please, my love.” He pleads. I can only nod as a whine escapes my throat. “Not quite. Use those pretty words of yours.” He commands, his hand now holding my chin up to meet his gaze. “Fuck...yes, please, I want you.” I pleaded. In a green flash, all the clothes that withhold my warmth from him are gone, leaving only the two of us in a world all our own. “Perfect little dove, all for me.”

Shadows wrapped around my aching body, soothing and teasing anywhere they could reach. They slowly lifted me onto the tip of his length. All that can be heard throughout the room is a string of curses and gasps for air from us both as he sets a ravenous pace beneath me. “Such a beautiful little thing you are, aren’t you.” He rasped. I feel his entire body tremble, and my eyes squeeze as I slam down on him repeatedly. “Good, just like that.” He praises. “Give in to me.” The two of us grew delirious in the thrill of it all as we grew closer to release. "Loki, please” I begin to beg. “Please let me taste you.” My words were barely sensical as my body ached for him. “Oh God Yes, I am yours to devour.” The shadows dissipate as I nuzzle in his chest, and his pace falters as my fangs graze and puncture his skin. I fed from him feverishly as he ruts into me, his grip on my waist is so tight leaving dark red marks in its wake. I moan in pure ecstasy at the taste and feeling.

Time stands still as we reach the very end. A flurry of moans and whimpers ring between us while satisfaction finally sets in. Tears began to fall from my eyes as the hole in my chest filled with warmth. After coming down from the high, Loki begins to unravel the two of us from the sheets. He lays me beside him, only for me to burrow into his chest once again. His arms wrapped around me, and he hummed sweet nothing into my hair.

After a moment, Loki began to lift me into the air. “While I love nothing more than to stay here with you forever, I fear we must shower, my dear.” I only respond with a muffled whine. “My apologies, my sweet. A bath, then? I fear no one is sleeping anymore anyway.”