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roosterr · 1 year ago

Text

love you from afar

note: this has been in my drafts since MARCH. can't decide whether i like it or not lol. @wetsocksinbed angsty fic is up next >:)

pairing: john 'soap' mactavish x gn!reader

wc: 9.5k (oops)

summary: you receive a series of mysterious gifts from a mysterious admirer.

warnings: longing, yearning, pining, best friends to lovers trope, idiots in love, heavy on the idiots part, tooth-rotting fluff

ao3

over the last two weeks, you’ve noticed some odd things happening around you; a good kind of odd, the kind that left you thoroughly confused, but was heartwarming nonetheless.

after going back and forth with it in your mind, you've come to the conclusion that you have a secret admirer. it was odd, and a little hard to believe, but it was the only option that made any sense to you. in all honesty, it was probably just your hopeless-romantic heart clouding your mind with optimism, but one can dream.

the first incident was harmless enough, a small inconspicuous gesture that was so subtle, in fact, that you barely paid it any notice at first.

it was the dead of night, and you’d just returned from a particularly gruelling solo mission, uninjured but bone tired and desperate to collapse into your bed and finally sleep. before you could fall into the blankets, however, you noticed through the darkness of your room something strange.

resting neatly on your pillow, illuminated by the dim light of your phone screen, was a single bar of your favourite chocolate. you didn’t remember buying it, and certainly didn’t remember leaving it there, but it was exactly the kind of pick-me-up you needed after the day you’d had. at the time, you’d chalked it up to you simply being forgetful, devoured the chocolate in record time, and promptly knocked out.

over breakfast the next morning, you'd recounted to the others the mysterious appearing chocolate as a funny anecdote; the five of you had laughed about your terrible memory, and you'd moved on. but now you weren’t on the verge of blacking out, you couldn’t help but think of it as weird.

for the life of you, you couldn’t remember buying the chocolate bar, and it didn’t make sense that you would leave it on your pillow like that. what did make sense, however bizarre it may seem, was someone else leaving it for you – but you had no idea who would do that for you, or why. either way, you didn't imagine that anything else would come from it.

the next incident happened three days later.

during training that afternoon, you were in the middle of running laps around base, when you’d – stupidly – tripped over a ditch in the ground and rolled your ankle pretty badly. it hurt too much to put any weight on it, so you’d sat there in shame with no choice but to wait for a few minutes until gaz and soap caught up to you.

as they rounded the corner, you'd reluctantly waved them over with a grimace at how your ankle was throbbing in your boot. johnny was immediately crouching by your side, abandoning the idea of training to focus completely on you.

"christ, what happened?" he fussed, worry creasing his face and making your own heat up under the attention.

"i tripped…" you mumbled, dragging a hand over your embarrassed expression. it was bad enough that you'd made such a simple mistake, but now the man you were crushing on, hard, was lifting your leg so gently and untying your laces and you were certain you were moments away from cardiac arrest.

he'd ushered gaz away to continue his run, telling him he'd accompany you to the infirmary with a tone that left no room for argument. not that gaz would've, the knowing look he sent you as he jogged away told you he knew exactly what you were thinking.

after making sure nothing was broken, soap had pulled you to stand with an arm around your waist, supporting you with his solid frame when you stumbled.

"sure y'don't want me to carry you?" he'd teased, earning a laugh from you as you wobbled in his arms. as you chuckled though, you noticed a hint of what seemed like sincerity in his eyes. you'd felt your face burning again at the implication that he really would carry you, if that's what you'd wanted, and quickly started dragging him along with you in an attempt to hide your flustered state.

he'd kept his arm around your waist the entire way to the medical wing, only releasing you when you were sat in front of the doctor, which did absolutely nothing to calm your racing heart. to your dismay, he couldn't stay with you – you were still in the middle of training, after all.

"you sure you'll be alright by yourself?" he'd asked as he left, and the concern in his eyes almost finished you off. you were almost glad he didn't stick around to see the effect he had on you.

luckily, after a quick inspection, the doctor concluded that you only had a minor sprain, and you'd be good as new in a couple of weeks. she'd sent you on your way with an ice pack, a crutch, and strict instructions to stay off your feet.

you would've gone back outside to watch the boys (mainly soap) finish the rest of their exercises, but honestly, the embarrassment of what happened had you wanting to curl up with a pillow over your face for the rest of the day; so that's exactly what you found yourself doing.

you must've drifted off to sleep at some point, because once you finally sat up again, the sun had painted the horizon a bright orange, and your stomach had begun to rumble.

as you went to walk out into the hall, you heard the crinkle of plastic under your boot, pausing you mid‐step. when you looked down, you were stunned to find a bundle of three beautiful white flowers – gardenias, you'd found out after googling them later. an incredibly warm feeling blossomed in your chest, and despite your best efforts, your eyes had welled up with tears. you couldn't even think of the last time someone bought you flowers. there was no note attached, meaning you had no way of knowing who had left them for you, which sent your mind back to the chocolate bar from a few days ago.

so i'm not going crazy, you'd thought to yourself, someone really did leave it for me. but still, you had no clue who this mystery gift-giver could be.

you'd carefully picked them up, being mindful of your ankle, and turned back around to put them in your room. there wasn't really anywhere to put them, so you just set them on the ledge of your windowsill and made a mental note to find a vase for them at some point.

when you eventually made it to the mess hall, there were very few people left, leaving the room unusually calm. ghost was sat by himself at one of the far tables, so you hobbled over on your crutch to sit with him while you ate.

you sat down opposite him, and he'd looked up, gave you a subtle nod, and gone back to eating with his eyes fixed on the table in front of him. the two of you ate like that for a while, sitting quietly in each others presence.

ghost had been the first to break the silence, asking you, "how's the ankle?" as he pulled his balaclava back down to cover his mouth.

"just sprained," you'd replied, looking up to meet his eyes. another beat of silence fell over you, before you continued, "did you see who left me those flowers?" you'd asked him; it was worth a shot, you figured not much gets past ghost. to your dismay, he simply shook his head, standing and mumbling a goodbye as he left.

you were only more confused now. if ghost didn't know who it was – and, granted, you wouldn't actually be able to tell if he was lying, but you trusted him – then who would know? the next day, you'd asked the other boys, but they'd all said the same thing, even the captain. so you were left with nothing to do but wonder who on earth could be leaving you these gifts.

after that, it was another four days until your secret admirer struck again.

you'd been in and out of briefings and debriefings and meetings all day, your mind was beginning to numb with all the information that had been unloaded. you were tired; not quite the same exhaustion you'd felt coming back from your mission earlier in the week, though, this time you were at the end of your rope mentally. there hadn't been a moments peace since you got out of bed, and once that excruciatingly long day was over and you were relaxing in the common room, you'd had no energy to actually engage with your friends.

you were nestled into one end of the sofa with gaz next to you, ghost on his other side, and soap in the armchair with a small book in his hands. they were all chatting, with you occasionally saying a thing or two, but you were mostly just zoned out with their conversation serving as white noise in the background.

occasionally, you'd look up and catch soap already watching you, but he'd quickly turn his gaze back down to his book. his attention caused you to be equal parts flustered and confused. if you'd been any more awake, you probably would've asked him if something was wrong, but you were already having trouble keeping your head up as it was.

once you felt your eyes slip closed one too many times, you'd decided it was time to turn in for the night. with a quick 'goodnight' to the others, you'd made a beeline straight for your room – but it was more of a hobble, since your ankle still required you to walk with a crutch.

that night you'd slept like a baby, waking up early the next morning feeling well rested, and thankfully your ankle had even started to feel better. though you still couldn't join the team's training sessions, you had other responsibilities to fulfil, so unfortinately you did have to get up at some point.

you'd just finished lacing up your boots when you noticed it; a single sheet of paper on the ground by your door, folded once in half so you can't see what's written on it. from where it lays, you conclude that whoever left it must've slipped it through the gap under your door while you slept. you'd picked it up and sat back on the edge of your bed to unfold it, your curiosity certainly piqued. it make you wonder, though, what reason someone could have for leaving you a note.

except, when you'd lifted the page it wasn't a note at all. on the slightly wrinkled paper were a number of beautiful pencil drawings – drawings of you. the surprise of seeing your own face staring back at you nearly stopped your poor heart.

the jagged edge on one side of the page indicated that it must have been torn out of a sketchbook, which had interested you even more. you couldn't think of anyone you knew who could draw, let alone who would have a sketchbook dedicated to it.

whoever made this, it was clear that art was a passion of theirs – these drawings were really good. your hair, your eyes, the subtle expression on your features, every line was expertly crafted. it was incredibly flattering, and admittedly boosted your ego a little with how good those sketches made you look.

as you sat there smiling to yourself, you'd glanced up to the three flowers blooming on your nightstand. like the gardenias, the drawings were from your secret admirer, there was no other explanation; and an admirer they were, it was abundantly clear from these sketches that this person had an appreciation for you, if only from afar.

the drawings had been your favourite so far, but unfortunately, it was almost a week until your admirer made another move.

it had been long enough for you to start walking properly on your ankle again, and so you'd been slowly easing back into your workout routine, starting with your morning run. you'd taken it slow with lots of breaks to rest your muscles, but still decided to call it early, which had you back at your locker earlier than usual. as you were rounding the corner to the locker room, you'd heard the door slam closed and a set of heavy footsteps racing down the corridor. you'd only caught a glimpse of whoever it was as they dashed around the other corner, quick enough that you weren't able to see who it was.

you'd been concerned at first, whoever it was had been in a terrible rush, but you'd quickly shaken it off – it wasn't uncommon for people to be rushing around base, especially first thing in the morning. with your own meeting to get to, you'd decided not to dwell on the strange almost-encounter, and carried on with grabbing your towel from the bench and showering.

as you opened the door to your locker to fetch your clean clothes, sitting front and centre on top of them was something you definitely hadn't left there; a bag of your favourite hard candy, unopened, in the space that had been empty not half an hour before. how did these get here? you'd asked yourself, and you stood there confused for a moment or two before the answer came to you.

of course, your secret admirer. you'd felt the familiar giddy excitement bubble up in your chest at the revelation. it had been a while since the page of drawings had been slipped under your door, and it pained you how the gardenias had begun to wilt already. honestly, you'd been slightly worried that they'd given up, or something had happened to them. thankfully though, they seemed to be doing just fine, and you were too with such a pleasant start to your day.

it wasn't until you were sat in the meeting room, munching on your sweets and waiting for the others to arrive, that you realised.

the person, the one who'd been in a hurry as you got back from your run, it was them; that person was your secret admirer. they had to be, you'd concluded, the sweets weren't in your locker when you'd been in there earlier, and you did cut your run short, so they probably hadn't expected you to return so soon – that's why they'd been in such a rush to get away.

the revelation had butterflies swarming in your stomach, the idea of being so close to finding out who it was that held such fond affection for you sparking giddy excitement in you; but at the same time, it filled you with a sickly apprehension.

the problem was that you already knew who you wanted it to be – you had from the beginning – and you worried that uncovering their identity would only lead to disappointment; because there was no possible way john mactavish could feel the same way you felt about him.

soap had always been nothing short of kind and respectful of you, never stepping over the unspoken line if being your closest friend. sometimes, you can fool yourself into thinking he treats you differently – when he checks in on you after missions, when he always saves you a seat next to him in meetings, when he'd practically carried you to the infirmary, all of it ignited a warm feeling in your chest. but then you think about it a little more, and remember that all those nice gestures, that's just who he is. he wormed his way into the heart of ghost, for fucks sake, it was almost impossible not to like him.

you'd been so lost in thought, that gaz sitting in the seat next to you had startled you back to reality.

"gonna share with the class?" he'd asked with a teasing smirk, gesturing to the sweets sitting on the table in front of you. he'd reached out to grab one, but you'd pushed his hand away and snatched the bag to your chest.

"no way," you'd said with a playful glare, sending a quick smile to soap who'd taken the seat on your other side, "these are from my secret admirer, get your own."

gaz paused. "...your fucking what?" he had an incredulous look on his face, and you'd forgotten that you never actually told the others about it. "soap, you hearin' this?"

soap looked almost panicked when you'd turned to him, but he didn't have time to respond, as that was the moment price had walked through the door and announced the start of the meeting.

"i'll explain after," you whispered to gaz, who gave you a pointed look that said 'you better' and turned his attention back to price. you'd stifled a chuckle and looked back at soap, expecting him to have a similar expression, but he was already facing forward. you'd frowned at this; you and johnny would always whisper back and forth during meetings – a way to keep eachother entertained, as well as an excuse for you to sit close to him – but today his face had an odd air of seriousness to it. oh well, you'd thought somewhat downtrodden, just have to talk to him after.

and that's what led you to the present, where you'd been explaining to the boys everything that has happened over the last two weeks. well, you were mostly telling soap and gaz, ghost honestly didn't seem that interested, though the captain did have a rather amused expression as he listened.

"so you have no idea who it could be?" gaz had turned sideways in his chair, leaning forward slightly with his eyebrows raised. he looked to be in disbelief, and you were almost inclined to feel the same.

"nope, not a clue." you sighed, turning from gaz to look at the others around the table. price was standing with his arms crossed, giving you a similar disbelieving look, and ghost had that familiar unreadable look in his eyes.

"someone went in your room while you were gone?" ghost's low voice caught your attention, "bit creepy, innit," he grumbled, his gaze darting between you and somewhere next to you. he did have a point, you supposed, it was a bit weird.

"well… maybe a little, yeah…" you trailed off. perhaps he had a point, but you found yourself not wanting to believe it; all of the mystery person's gestures had been so sweet, thoughtful, it was hard to think they had any ill intentions.

that, and your heart has already made up its mind about who it should be.

"don't be like that, lt., whoever it is meant well, didn't they?" gaz chuckled, the grin evident in his voice.

"christ…" ghost mutters, shaking his head in exasperation.

"it may be a slight invasion of privacy…" you begin; and it's true, but after the first incident, it didn't appear that anyone had been inside your room again. "but it was only once. and it was just a chocolate bar, it's harmless. besides, are you really telling me you've never been in anyone's room when they're not there?" you continued, earning only an eye roll from ghost.

"and you haven't tried to figure out who it is?" price asks from his position standing opposite you, across the table.

"no, i wouldn't even know where to start, it could be anyone…" you try to think of anyone to suspect, but your optimistic mind only draws one name; the object of your affection, who happened to be sitting directly next to you. unfortunately, the two of you were strictly friends – no matter how much you longed for something more.

"i think you should investigate," gaz's smile makes you think for a moment that he knows something that you don't, but you brush it off. he didn't even know about your admirer until you told him, how could he? it wasn't like they were leaving any hints. "whoever it is obviously really likes you."

"you think?" you unwrap another sweet and pop it into your mouth as you consider his words.

"yeah! and, we could even help you investigate," gaz gives the others a hopeful, if slightly suspicious, smirk.

"speak for yourself…" ghost leans back in his chair and folds his arms over his chest, the picture of uninterested, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes.

"could be a good bonding exercise," price had the same entertained tone in his voice as he looked between the four of you, "any thoughts, soap?"

you hadn't realised until the captain brought attention to him, but soap had been uncharacteristically quiet during all this; since before the meeting, actually. he hadn't said a word to you yet today, which had you a little worried. usually the two of you couldn't shut up when you were together. you turn to look at him, and find him looking wide-eyed back at price.

"i don't– ah, maybe…" he stuttered, looking between price and the table rather than meeting your concerned eyes, "...they're just shy? don't want to be known yet?"

"oh, y'think, mate?" gaz fully laughed at that, sharing a look with both ghost and price that held something you couldn't understand. now you're thoroughly confused.

"well, maybe he's right," uncertainty laced your voice, their reactions throwing you for a loop. "if they wanted to be known, they probably would've shown themselves by now, right?" you turn to soap, who looks like he'd rather be anywhere else – but he meets your gaze with a tiny smile.

"so you're not going to investigate?" you look back at gaz, who has that incredulous look back on his face, and from the corner of your eye you see price and ghost both shake their heads.

"they can show themselves when they're ready, i don't want to push them." your mind was made up; if your secret admirer wanted to reveal their identity, then they would, it's as simple as that.

"but–" gaz tries to argue, but price quickly interrupts him.

"right, enough, you lot, clear out, you've all got work to be getting on with." he gestures for you all to stand, and after grabbing your sweets, you follow the others out of the room.

for the rest of the day, you endured endless amounts of teasing from gaz, and he even got some of the people from other units in on it. it had your face burning when they cooed over how romantic your 'mystery lover' was. you could only pray that they got over it soon, in the back of your mind you were slightly worried the attention might scare off your admirer, and you certainly didn't want that. but although you told the others you'd wait for them to reveal themselves in their own time, you'd be lying if you said you weren't practically dying to know who it was.

✹✹✹

"hey sarge," a voice sounds from beside you, drowning out the din of the mess hall around you. turning your head, you see it's a private; one you don't really know, but you give her a polite smile anyway. "i've got a message for you." she continues, producing a folded piece of paper from behind her back.

"a message? who from?" you ask, taking the paper from her when she holds it out to you.

she giggles, giving you a sly smile, "a secret someone," and with a suspicious wink, she turned around and left.

with the note in your hand, you look to gaz and soap, a baffled expression on your face. "does she mean my… admirer?" they both shrug at you, sharing an equally perplexed look between themselves.

"go on then," gaz says, "what does it say?"

you unfold it, and scan the neat handwriting of the message. soap and gaz watch as you read it, their curiosity overwhelmingly present in the way they leaned forward to try and see.

your face falls, and you frown. the note was signed – 'your secret admirer' – but you couldn't ignore the sinking feeling in your heart.

"what's up? what does it say?" gaz notices the change in your expression, standing up from his chair and leaning fully over the table to read the note himself. you hand it to him, your good mood from this morning completely soured.

"apparently it is from my admirer," you begin, not bothering to hide the dejection in your voice, "telling me to meet them outside in five minutes."

the pair don't say anything, too stunned to form words as they continue to frown at the words in front of them. this can't be right, it just can't be, your mind laments, if johnny is sitting here, that that means he's not–

"seriously? just like that?" gaz interrupts your thoughts. he sounded annoyed underneath his shock, and you find yourself feeling the same way. "sorry, but i find that hard to believe – they didn't even leave a card with the flowers, did they? it just doesn't feel right to me."

you look to soap, who has yet to say anything on the matter. he doesn't meet your eyes, boring holes into the table with the anger in his gaze. your frown only deepens at his expression, the look on his face so unlike him it almost has you forgetting all about the cause.

"who knows," you sigh, plucking the note back out of gaz's hand. "this probably won't take long, i'll–"

"wait, you're going?" soap interjects, the frown on his face set much deeper than your own. his sudden question caught you off guard, paired with his irritated expression, and you almost thought he was angry with you.

"yeah, i mean, what's the harm, right? might as well just get it over with." you stand as you respond, folding the note back up. even if you were setting yourself up for disappointment, you still wanted to at least hear this person out; even if it wasn't him.

"what's the harm?" johnny scoffs – at you or at very idea of all this you aren't sure – and joins you in standing up, throwing his arms out with such annoyance, it catches you off guard. he gestures sharply at the paper in your hand, "this– whoever that is, it's pure shite! you can't see that?"

now it's you who scoffs at him; where is this hostility coming from? yesterday he seemed as though he couldn't care less when you were telling everyone about it, and now all of a sudden, he thinks he has all the answers?

"how would you know?" you shove the note into your pocket, your earlier sadness quickly morphing into annoyance.

as you move to walk away, johnny looks like he wants to say something more, to stop you, and you hesitate. you want him to; whoever your admirer was, whoever that note was from, none of it meant a thing if it wasn't him. all you wanted was for him to look at you the same way you look at him. gaz is looking at him too, subtly gesturing for him to do something, but he doesn't speak, doesn't meet your eyes as your face drops again.

"exactly, you don't. i'll be back in a minute." you huff, and without another word from either of them, you turn on your heel and make your way out of the mess hall.

it's safe to say your mood had swiftly and effectively been ruined. the disillusionment of realising that your secret admirer was someone other than johnny was one thing, but his sudden attitude towards you was the final straw. your face was decidedly sour as you trudge through the corridors, still with a slight limp which was only fuelling your annoyance for how your day was going.

the cool air of the courtyard makes your skin bristle as you push the door open, taking a moment to survey the area as you stand in the entryway. to the left stands a lone figure, and you recognise his face, but – like the private from earlier, who you assume is his friend – you can't remember ever having spoken to him. with a deep sigh, you blink away bitterness in your expression and make your way over to him.

his grin is wide as he shamelessly checks you out while you approach, and you instinctually cross your arms over your chest. you come to a stop in front of him, frowning in a look that you hope screams uninterested.

"hey, sarge." he has an overly confident air to him as he speaks, shuffling closer under your scrutinising stare. of course he wouldn't take the hint.

"so it's you, then?" you ask, your voice flat and void of any emotion. you just wanted this to be over with, but it seemed luck just wasn't on your side today.

"it's me," he confirms, the blinding grin still plastered to his face as he inches even closer, "you surprised?"

"yeah, actually. i didn't know you were an artist." you reply, voice flat, and you watch him blink once in surprise. you raise a brow at his bewilderment, your patience already wearing painfully thin. he chuckles awkwardly in an attempt to hide how you so obviously caught him off guard.

"ah, yeah i uh–" he stutters, but you cut him off before he can make too much of a fool of himself.

"in fact, i don't actually know you at all. i couldn't recall your name even if you held a gun to my head." the hiss in your voice reveals just how over this whole situation you are. he opens his mouth to spout something else you have no interest in hearing, the sleazy grin falling from his face, but you hold a hand up to silence him. "so i'd really appreciate it if you left me alone."

"but–"

"and stay out of my room, and my locker, too. if it happens again, you're getting reported." you spit the final words at him, and turn on your heel to leave. before you can take another step, he grabs your elbow and spins you back around to face him, causing your ankle to twist awkwardly, which sends a fresh jolt of pain up your leg. you hold back a groan and fix him with a deadly glare instead.

"hey, c'mon, don't be like that!" you wince as he practically demands, getting much closer to you than was necessary, even with you arching backwards to put some space between you. "at least gimme a chance,"

"just leave me alone." you hiss, pulling your arm out of his grip and before he has the chance to do or say anything else, you hurry back the way you came, your limp noticeably more pronounced than earlier. thankfully, the private – jackson, you’d just about been able to read on his jacket – didn’t follow you back to the mess hall, which proves that he has at least half a brain. you hoped that he’d take the hint to stay away from you, but somewhere in the back of your mind you were preparing yourself to be hassled by him in the coming days; he certainly seemed the type.

you were gone less than ten minutes, but in that time most of the lunch crowd had cleared out, leaving the room a lot quieter than it had been. as you shuffle towards soap and gaz, still sitting at the same table, they both turn to look at you, and you can tell by the way both their expressions drop that they sense something is off.

"what happened?" gaz asks as you take your seat across from them, trying to hold back a wince when you put too much strain on your ankle, "your face says it didn't go well."

you sigh, looking between both of them, lingering on soap who’s already watching you with an intensity that has your face heating up. "it didn’t. it was just some private who can’t take no for an answer." you grumble, resting your cheek in the palm of your hand.

"your ankle okay?" soap asks, holding your gaze until you relent and look away first. you want to tell him not to worry, but you find it's impossible to lie to him, not when he's looking at you like you're the only person in the room. "what happened?" he presses, his voice taking on a dangerous tone.

"its nothing, he just– i just twisted it a little." you trip over your words under his stare, looking to gaz for help, but you find that he has a similar – albeit less intense – look of concern on his face. the silence hangs between you for a moment as you wordlessly try to convince them, but they see through you. "alright, fine. when i was leaving, he grabbed my arm and pulled me back, and i pulled my ankle."

if johnny had been pissed before, he was furious now; his eyes were dark underneath his furrowed brow, his lips turned down in a frown that looked more like a snarl. to see someone usually so easygoing with such a threatening look on his face was almost worrying, the only reassurance being that you know it's not directed at you.

"that prick… who was it?" gaz isn't nearly as affected as soap, but he's clearly annoyed by the audacity of the private. you shake your head, urging them to just let it go; he wasn't worth the trouble, after all.

when johnny says your name in that deep, gravelly tone, your heart skips a beat and your eyes snap to meet his. "who was it." he asks, but it's not a question anymore, and every fibre of your being is telling you to just give in to him.

"jackson. i don't know his first name…" you mutter, slightly flustered by the way he's acting. the tension in the silence that follows is nearly suffocating. from where his arms rest on the table, you notice johnny repeatedly clenching his fists, seemingly having some sort of internal battle with himself.

"what a bellend…" gaz grumbles, pausing for a moment to shake the disgust from his face. "so, what about the whole 'secret admirer' thing then?" he leans back in his chair, eyes darting to soap's profile then back to you.

"i don't know…" you sigh, "didn't really seem like something he was capable of, but i guess i don't really know him, so–"

"yeah, he doesn't seem the type, does he?" gaz interjects, with a newfound energy at your words. you narrow you eyes, sensing an ulterior motive, but let him continue. "i mean, buying you flowers, sweets– seems a bit too thoughtful for such a twat."

his jab coaxed a laugh from you, "maybe; i guess i was pretty disappointed when i saw it was him, though."

"oh yeah? expecting someone else, were you?" gaz has a grin on his face, one that has you worried that he's clocked on to your true feelings.

"something like that…" you clear your throat, suddenly feeling a little too seen for your liking. "anyway, i'd better get going, desk duty is no joke," you slowly stand up, making sure to be careful of your newly irritated ankle, and adamantly avoiding eye contact with either of them.

"yeah, me too, cap said he needs my help with something." gaz stands as well, giving soap a pat on the back and a suspicious wink as he walks off, which you willfully choose to ignore.

"you gonna be okay?" johnny comes to your side as you shuffle around the table, his hand brushing over your back to support you. butterflies begin to flutter at the feeling, and you scold yourself for being so easily affected. he seems to have calmed down a lot, the anger from earlier overtaken by his concern.

"yeah, i'll be fine, i think i'll just have to grab my crutch," you smile at him and take a step forward, wincing as you shift your weight from one foot to the other.

"c'mon, lemme help you," he tilts his head to meet your eyes, his worry evident within them. his hand is warm on your back, you have to hold yourself back from leaning into him. "cannae have you hurtin' yourself any more."

"you sure? don't you have work to do too?" you have every intention of taking him up on his offer, but you couldn't help feeling guilty for needing his help like this.

"i'm sure lt. can survive a few extra minutes," johnny gives you a reassuring smile, already ushering you out of the mess hall.

"well, don't blame me when has your head," you grin back at him, relishing in the comfortable feeling of being so close to him. distracted by his proximity, you momentarily forget about your injury and without thinking, you put too much weight on it as you take a step. with a pained gasp, you wobble on your good foot and pause to give your ankle a break.

johnny moves his arm to sit securely around your waist, gently pulling you to lean fully against him. "you sure you don't want me to take you to the infirmary?" he asks, lifting your arm to wrap around his shoulders.

"no, no– they're just gonna tell me to rest, and i'll be sitting down all day anyway," you move to continue on your way to your room, but he stays put.

"you should still get it looked at, might be–"

"johnny." you stop him with a hand on his chest, "i'm okay."

you watch his adams apple bob as he gulps, his eyes flickering to where your hand is touching him and back up to your own, almost too fast to notice.

"right, right. sorry." he dips his head, breaking eye contact. you pull him gently, and the two of you start walking again. "you know jackson well?"

you scoff, frowning as you recall the events of earlier. "what? no, before today i didn't even know his name. he seems like kind of an arsehole, to be honest."

"really? made that bad of an impression, eh?" his lopsided smile feels oddly smug, but you decide not to overthink it.

"like i said, can't take a no." you grumble, pinching the bridge of your nose with your free hand, "i doubt this is the last time i'll have to deal with him…"

"he's not gonna bother you." johnny states, with a finality that is as stunning as it is comforting.

"...if you say so." you don't press any further, wanting to simply move on and forget about the whole thing. you'd gladly never think about that arrogant private again.

before you know it, the two of you are standing in the hall outside your room. his grip around your waist loosens as you push open the door, and you're all too aware of the cold feeling left behind as he lets go.

"thank you, for helping me." you shoot him a grateful smile, grabbing your crutch from where it leant against the wall, propping it under your arm.

"course," johnny pauses, looking past you to something in your room. "you… kept the gardenias?" he asks, his voice quiet, almost disbelieving. you tilt your head, a silent question, but he's still staring at the flowers.

"yeah, they're…" you begin, but his words have you pausing too; he didn't seem like the kind of person to be interested in floristry, you'd certainly never heard him say anything about it before. but somehow, he'd identified the flowers on your end table with no problem. "...they're nice. i like them, even if they do look a little sad now."

when he finally meets your eyes again, there's a distinct redness to his face that wasn't there before, and you feel your heart beginning to race with renewed hope. it could be that he just likes flowers, but if he already knew they were gardenias, maybe he…

"right, i, uh– i should get going, or ghost might actually kill me." johnny's voice had a dazed quality to it when he spoke.

"alright, i'll see you later then," you give him a small smile as you step back into the hall next to him. the two of you look at each other for a moment before you speak again, holding back a laugh, "you gonna go, or just stand there all day?"

your words seem to snap him out of the trance he’d been in, and he shakes his head in an almost comical manner, "right! right, sorry, bye!" he sputters, waving over his shoulder as he jogs away. you chuckle to yourself as he goes, and start walking the opposite direction to get started with your own work.

✹✹✹

you didn't see soap again until the next day, considering that he was strangely absent from mealtimes both last night and today. thankfully the incident from the day before hadn't done any further damage to your ankle, so you were up and about without the need for your crutch after a good night's rest.

you'd just dropped off a folder of paperwork in price's office – which you'd completed in fairly good time, thanks to being stuck behind a desk for nearly two weeks – but as you descend the staircase, you're almost knocked over by someone flying around the corner. you caught yourself with a hand on the railing, blinking away your surprise and glaring at whoever had carelessly bumped into you.

much to your chagrin, it was jackson, and you feel your face naturally falling into a frown at the realisation. you’d been expecting him to try and change your mind about yesterday, but true to johnny’s words, he had yet to bother you about it; actually, you hadn’t seen him at all since then, not even at breakfast or lunch, but it's not as if you were complaining.

though, as you stare down at him from the step above, you notice a deep purple bruise decorating his cheekbone that definitely wasn’t there yesterday. your frown turns from malice to confusion as you wonder how he could have gotten it in the span of less than a day, it looked like he’d taken a serious punch. you couldn’t say you felt bad for him, but it did look painful.

"listen, about yesterday… i- i lied,." jackson mutters, eyes glued to the floor to avoid your own. he was shuffling in place, as if he was preparing to bolt at any second. your eyes narrow as you process his words.

"what?"

he clears his throat. "i lied. it wasn’t me, i just said it was because one of the guys bet me i couldn’t get you to go out with me." he admits. the way he keeps avoiding your eyes, glancing around like he was waiting for someone to jump out at him has you a little suspicious, but your heart still soars when you realise what he means.

jackson wasn't your secret admirer, so your hopeless romantic heart could still dream that it was johnny. the flutter of butterflies even distracts you from the insulting notion that he only wanted to go out with you for a bet.

"seriously?" you ask, your shock evident in your voice as you stare him down. finally his eyes land on your own, an embarrassed grimace overtaking his nervous expression. it's a stark, satisfying difference to his arrogant overconfidence from before.

"yeah. i’m sorry, okay? i don’t want any trouble, it was just–" he cuts himself off, but when you give him a questioning look, he can't tear his eyes from the space behind you, and only mumbles what sounds like a ‘sorry’ before scurrying off back the way he came. you watch him go, thoroughly confused by the whole interaction, but not a moment later a voice from where he was staring brings you out of your thoughts.

"y’alright? little shit wasn’t botherin’ you, was he?" soap's voice cuts through the quiet, and you turn to see him descending the stairs to stand next to you.

you shake your head, "no, no, he just–" you hesitate, your mind going back to yesterday and the gardenias. "he lied, it wasn't him."

"really?" he asks, but his voice doesn't sound surprised at all. you're not sure if you imagined it, but for a moment his expression changes into something like satisfaction.

"yeah, he was about to say something else too, but he just ran off," you sigh, walking down the last few steps. soap follows close behind, a hand hovering near your back. "did you see that bruise on his face? wonder how he got it…"

"looked nasty, eh?" a laugh escapes him, and you admire the way his lips curve, the creases around his eyes as his smile reaches them. "maybe he finally got what was comin' to him."

his face was close to yours, a lot closer than you could reasonably handle without losing your nerve and making a fool of yourself. realising you had yet to respond, you clear your throat and start walking down the corridor, your eyes to the floor and a burning in your cheeks.

"if he never speaks to me again, it'll still be too soon…" you grumble, willing your heart to calm down as he comes up next to you in a few long strides. "anyway, what have you been up to? i haven't seen you all day." with a quick glance, you see the easy smile he has falter slightly.

"i was, ah–" he avoids your eye as he stops himself, a beat of silence passes before he continues "nevermind, i– i was… looking for you." your heart skips a beat, but you scold it for being so eager; the two of you were teammates, friends, he could be looking for you for any number of reasons.

"looking for me? what's up?" you turn your head to face him as you walk, a curious tilt to your brow.

johnny comes to a stop, and so do you a moment after. he looks at you, fidgety and shifting on his feet, with his hands stuffed in his pockets. the look on his face is unsure, uncomfortable, like he was debating running off like jackson had done a minute ago.

he's nervous, that much you can tell. but despite the slightly awkward tension, you you wait for whatever it is he's struggling to say.

"i… uh– y'know what, i actually forgot." johnny hangs his head, pulling his hands from his pockets and scratching the back of his neck.

at his words your heart sinks, and you can't help the disappointed look that takes over your expression. "oh? are you–"

before you can finish, he drops a hand on your shoulder and steps ahead of you, turning around so you're face to face. "listen, ghost is waiting for me, so i gotta run," he smiles again, but it's weaker this time, almost forced as it doesn't quite meet his eyes.

"right… better not keep him waiting."

"right," his reply is short, and the tension between you only grows every moment he avoids your eyes. "i'll see you later though, promise." he flashes you another false smile, gently patting your shoulder, before turning on his heel and swiftly escaping down the corridor.

"bye, johnny." you release a sigh, from longing or exasperation you're not sure, watching his form disappear through the doors.

✹✹✹

despite his promise, once again you don't see soap for the rest of the day. at dinner you'd questioned ghost on his whereabouts, but he only told you that he had no idea either. this time however, you got the strong feeling he was lying to you.

still though, you couldn't find it within yourself to be annoyed with him. you could see clear as day that something was going on with johnny, and if he didn't want to confide in you about whatever it is, then you certainly won't be the one to push him.

having finished today's obligations, you decided to head straight to your room once you'd finished eating. you open your door, a sigh escaping you as you prepare to collapse for the night, and stop dead in your tracks.

a folded sheet of paper lays in front of you, standing out against the emptiness of your floor, crumpled like it had been screwed up and flattened out again. a sense of déjà vù overcomes you, for last week, when you'd received the sketches of yourself in the same way. for a moment all you can do is stand there, staring at the paper, processing.

eventually, you do step into your room, shutting the door quietly behind you and picking the paper up from the floor. you keep it folded until you're sitting on the edge of your mattress, hands shaking ever so slightly with the anticipation.

you're not sure what to think, as you sit burning holes in the paper with your stare. after yesterday, you thought you were done with the idea of your secret admirer; but then again, jackson had admitted to you earlier that he'd lied when he met you yesterday, and the whole reason you weren't as interested after that was because your pipe dream of the mystery person being johnny had been shattered. but now that the identity of your admirer was once again a mystery, you couldn't help but want to dream like that again.

with a defeated groan, you decide to just rip off the bandaid and read the note. you unfold it, immediately noticing the scratchy handwriting – the opposite of the note jackson gave you, so thankfully it couldn't be from him.

you hear your heartbeat in your ears as your eyes scan the words in front of you.

i stayed up all night trying to write this note, but nothing i came up with felt good enough, so i'm just going to say it. i'm your secret admirer. i know you probably won't believe me after that bastard yesterday, but i need you to know anyway. i used to think that love just wasn't my thing, that i'd never find someone i wanted to spend my life with, but that changed when i met you. i didn’t realise it at first, but it's always been you. you're my person, and i can't hide it anymore. i love you. maybe i'm a coward for giving you a note instead of telling you face to face. but if you don't feel the same, you can throw it away, or burn it or something, and i'll never bring it up again. your heart, johnny

the silence in your room borders on deafening as you sit completely still, reeling from what you'd just read. you didn't realise you'd stopped breathing until you release a shaky breath.

all this time, it was johnny.

every longing glance, every touch that lingered just a little too long, the racing pulse every time he says your name; it was all reciprocated.

every time you thought you could never have him as anything more than your best friend, you were wrong.

he cared enough to leave you a pick-me-up after a hard mission, buy you flowers when you got injured, draw you the way he saw you, gift you things he took the time to notice you like.

all this time… he'd felt the exact same way you do.

you set the note down next to you, bringing a shaky hand up to cover your mouth that had fallen open in shock. there was only one thing to do, in your mind, and that was to run into johnny's arms and make up for all the lost time you've spent pining over him.

in seemingly no time at all, you find yourself standing at johnny's door, your fist poised to knock. theres a moment of hesitation, but before your apprehension can cloud your mind, you let your knuckles rap on the wood once, twice, three times, and take a step back as you wait for a response. after a second or two – which felt a lot longer than it actually was – you hear the sounds of footsteps from inside.

another moment passes, and you assume johnny is standing on the other side with his heart in his throat just like you, short-lived before he finally swings the door open.

he looks at you, eyes wide and like a deer caught in headlights, the way he holds himself uncharacteristically shy as you stare each other down.

"the note," you finally murmur, and johnny almost flinches, clearly fighting the urge to look away from you. "tell me you meant it." you continue, taking a miniscule step closer to him. you hear his breath catch in his chest.

"every word." he whispers, gaze flickering down to your lips and back up to your eyes again, and your heart misses a beat.

with no hesitation this time, you hook your arms around his neck and pull him towards you, crushing his mouth against yours in a desperate kiss that's as much teeth as it is lips.

johnny groans into your mouth, his hands flying to your waist as he turns and walks you backwards into his room. the door gets kicked shut behind him once he's got you inside, neither of you breaking apart more than enough to draw a single ragged breath before meeting in the middle again. with another needy whine into you he pushes you up against the wall, caging you in with his broad shoulders and his arms around your waist.

the weight of his arms around you, the feeling of his stubble prickly against your face, the softness of his lips against yours; it's everything you've been waiting for, and now you finally have him, he tastes sweeter than you could've ever imagined.

the two of you stay like that for moments that feel like hours in each other's embrace, only pulling away when your lungs are burning and your lips are swollen. leaning your head back against the wall, his eyes meet yours with such adoration it sends your heart fluttering all over again.

"i'll take that as a good sign," he mumbles, a lopsided grin lifting his features. his joy is so infectious you can't help but mirror his expression as you drop your head to rest on his shoulder.

his chest rumbles with an airy, disbelieving laugh and he tugs you impossibly closer, resting his cheek against the side of your head. standing chest to chest now, you can feel the hammering of his heart against yours and the way his skin burns under your touch.

"you’re my person too," you murmur into him, one of your hands moving up to tangle in the strands of his mohawk, "always have been."

johnny's arms wind tighter around you as he releases a deep, content sigh. he's hugged you countless times before but somehow, this feels different while still staying exactly the same. the heat radiating from him is soothing like it always has been, the knowledge that your feelings are reciprocated only making it that much sweeter.

"why'd it take us so long, eh?" he utters, tender and loving in the way he runs his hands over your back and sides.

"we're just idiots…" you reply, "gaz is gonna have a field day with this."

johnny laughs again, pressing his lips to the side of your head so you can feel his smile. "oh, he clocked us a long time ago, bonnie."

you can't help but groan as you imagine how gaz will tease the both of you for how oblivious you've both been.

he lifts you up by his grip around your waist, carrying you over to his bed and flopping down onto his back with you on his chest. a satisfied groan escapes him as he settles, burying his face into your hair and inhaling a deep breath.

you're enveloped by the scent of him – gunpowder, and the faint smell of something burnt, but it's pleasant and familiar nonetheless.

"yer stayin' with me tonight, non negotiable." he murmurs, running a hand up and down the length of your spine.

"fine by me." you tilt your head up to meet his eyes, and find them already locked on you. "so, about jackson…"

johnny scoffs, lightheartedly frowning in response. "yer gonna bring his name up while yer in my bed?"

"he looked really spooked when he saw you earlier," you begin, smoothing your hand over his chest. his eyes widen at your words, his hand freezing as he looks away from you with a distinctly guilty expression on his face. you narrow your eyes, holding back the amused smirk pulling at your lips. "johnny… did you…"

he clears his throat, and by the way he can't hold your gaze for more than a second you can tell he knows he's been caught. there's no stopping the laugh that bubbles up from your chest at his reaction.

"...i may have, uh– potentially put some fear o'god into the little bawbag…"

"soap!"

#soap x reader #soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #mw2 x reader #cod x reader #141 x reader #call of duty x reader #mw2 #cod mw2 #call of duty #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #roosterr writes #releasing this into the wild like an injured bird

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sorcerersseestars · 1 year ago

Text

LIMERENCE (part I)

Gojo Satoru x gn!reader

"I can't stop loving you, no matter how hard I try."

summary: Your long-time friend stirs feelings inside you that you never realized existed. Of course they bubble up in your chest while he’s in the midst of ignoring you and discovering his own possible romance. Your mutual friend thinks she has it all figured out—or does she?

pairing: gojo satoru x gn! reader

fandom: jujutsu kaisen

genre: hanahaki sickness au, angst, hurt/comfort, drama, slow burn!

warnings: mentions of feeling sick, being stonewalled kinda, usage of the word (Y/N) bc Gojo is too fed up for nicknames (in reality idk what else to use 😶), Gojo being an ass (common theme in my fics oops)

word count: 3.6k

a/n: This is the first part to my hanahaki au! I’ve had this in my drafts for the longest time, but never committed to writing it all out until now. This first bit is kinda slow and maybe confusing BUT hopefully I’ll be able to clear it up next chapter. Not proof read very thoroughly; will probably regret later 🫥

part ii part iii

“DON’T YOU THINK you could be a bit nicer to me?” You try, clasping your hands together as you look up at him with an odd smile—a cross between apologetic and playful. You’re joking, or at least half joking. It’s too difficult to be serious with Gojo; his habit of masking emotion with jest must be rubbing off on you.

Only one corner of his mouth raises. “Good one, (Y/N)-chan. As if I didn’t use to pay your bills.”

He doesn’t look at you when he speaks, and he walks away from you without a single glance. You frown and lightly jog a few steps to catch up to him.

“Ah, and I’m forever thankful for that!” You say, cringing at how overly peppy your tone is. “But that’s not exactly what I meant.”

“Hmm,” Is all he says. His hands are in his pockets, but he doesn’t carry himself with as much ease as usual—his posture is closed off, angular and tense.

“What I meant was–” You prompt your own answer, as he doesn’t make any move to. “We haven’t seen each other in a while. I know you’ve been really busy lately, so I don’t blame you, but I think we should go out and do something. Could help relieve some work stress too, don’t you think so?”

“Maybe,” He says, the word short yet effective in its delivery. The word was sharp in his mouth, clear annoyance shaping his tongue enough for the word to have a bite to it.

You wince. He never used to be like this. Gojo has been in a state of perpetual mirth—and one could argue levity—for the entirety of your friendship, never taking anything seriously and always looking for opportunities to poke fun at you to half-jokingly glorify himself. His expression has always been infectiously positive—never molded into anything hard or serious.

But, lately, everything you thought you knew about Gojo Satoru has faded away into your memories. He never seeks out your presence anymore, which is polar opposite from your high school days, when he would follow you around and pester you until you’d hang out with him. You actually used to get annoyed at this behavior, but you’re sorely missing it now.

You feel like you know nothing about him these days, only hearing tidbits here and there from your mutual friend Shoko. It stings to know that he obviously talks to her, and quite often at that, seeing she always has new details to spill every other day.

It doesn’t make sense to you: him and Shoko were never particularly close, definitely not nearly as close as you and Gojo were. In fact, she thought of him as particularly annoying in high school, and often swore to you that she would cut all contact with him once they graduated.

Back then, you had rolled your eyes at her antics, never believing that anybody could cut Gojo out of their life, seeing as he simply wouldn’t let them. But how else could you describe what he seems to be doing to you?

You bite your lip nervously. “Satoru? Is there something wrong?”

“Not particularly,” He says with a forced smile that’s screaming for you to shut up. You pretend like it’s not the most disingenuous smile you’ve ever seen smeared on his face.

“Are you sure?” You probe. “I mean…what’s been going on with you these days? We haven’t seen each other in forever, and you don’t seem yourself.”

“Are you sure?”

His lips are quirked up, as they perpetually are, but it’s different this time. It’s mocking. A mocking smirk that’s telling you to face reality. Do you really know him anymore?

You pause in your steps, studying his expression. You can’t see his eyes, but you wish you could. He’s hard to read with that blindfold concealing those powerful eyes of his, but it never used to be a problem. It hurts that you’re now struggling to gauge him when your emotions used to feel like one.

Evidently, you can’t answer his question. Not that he seems to care.

“I’ve really got to get going. Students to teach, curses to kill, all that,” He announces, tone low and apathetic. Bored. “See ya.”

Your breath flutters in your throat as you try to bid him goodbye. You choke on your words and only end up tentatively raising a hand. Before you can wave, his form disappears. A gust of wind greets you in lieu of a proper goodbye.

You stay where you are for a few shocked moments, not even registering the hot tears that leak from the eyes he avoided.

You wander aimlessly around campus for a while, the whole interaction replaying in your head several times over. His “Are you sure?” needles its way into your brain even when you push it away, the words hitting where it hurts every time.

Your feet find themselves taking you to an empty break room – ah, this is the one that has your favorite flavor of tea. You turn the kettle on, then eagerly dig through the tea stash. You file through the individual packets quickly and thoroughly, but to no avail. It’s gone.

With a sigh, you grab a random tea bag and throw it into your mug. Frustrated, you roughly begin pouring the now-boiled water into the mug, but it doesn’t seem that was a good idea. Your hand slips for just a split second, but a sizable splash of boiling water still manages to singe your non-dominant hand. A stream of expletives leaves your mouth, and you instantly cradle your hand to your heart.

More tears appear. At least you have an excuse this time—it fucking hurts.

You trudge to the clinic, feeling quite silly, but also seeking some much-needed relief. And you’re not exactly imagining painkillers or an ice pack—no, there’s something else. Someone else.

You hesitantly knock on the door. You feel stupid, but you really have to see her.

You crack a smile at the creak of the door. Your friend and co-worker Shoko strides out with an air of confidence you wish you held.

“What happened?” She asks calmly, eyes lazily taking in your form.

“Spilled some water from the kettle,” You say lamely. “It hurts.”

That doesn’t really constitute a visit to one of the only reverse-cursed technique users in the school, and you know it. So does she.

“Mmhm,” She raises her eyebrows. “Well, come on in.”

You shuffle in a little sheepishly, not able to meet Shoko’s eyes. Now that you’re here, you start to feel unsure about your own motive—do you really want to discuss this? Won’t it just be embarrassing more than anything else?

You stall a little in your steps as the negative thoughts invade your head. You’re startled to attention by a poke to your side—when you look up, Shoko’s playful smirk fills your vision.

“Come on over to the sink and we’ll put that under some cool running water,” She says, gesturing to your reddened arm.

You cock your head, looking between her and the sink skeptically, “No ice?”

She shakes her head, sticking her tongue out at you a bit, “Nope! Running water for burns.”

You hold up your hands in defeat, smiling, “Whatever Doctor Shoko says.”

“And I do,” She says cheekily. “So get under that water!”

“Aye-aye,” You say with a salute.

She groans, “Ugh. You guys are so annoyingly similar. Hang on a sec, I gotta grab something.”

She turns away before she can see the way your expression drops. The smile is stolen from your face, leaving behind saddened eyes and a slight frown. There’s only one possible person she could be talking about.

You sigh and turn on the faucet—your disheartened sigh morphs into one of great relief as the cold water soothes your burn.

“That better?” Shoko asks upon her return.

You nod, a small smile coming back, “Yeah, thanks Shoko.”

“Is there something else wrong?” She asks, then shakes her head. “No, scratch that. What’s actually wrong?”

You take a deep breath. How are you going to broach this subject? You wait several moments, pondering your exact next words.

“Do you think Gojo is okay?” You finally ask your long-time friend, words coming out almost cautiously.

She eyes you funnily, “Why are you asking me? As if he doesn’t chase you around the school to blab on about himself.”

You smile, but it’s tainted by bitterness.

“Shoko…Gojo hasn’t talked to me for two months,” You admit quietly. “I don’t know what’s going on.”

She stops.

“What?”

You hate hearing the confusion in her voice. You hate the pity that soon fills her eyes.

“He seriously hasn’t,” You affirm, sighing. “I don’t know what I did, or if I did anything, or…or what. I just, I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Have you tried talking to him about it?”

You sigh. “Of course I have, but he didn’t seem to take my concerns seriously. Or consider them at all. It just seemed like he wanted me to shut up and leave him alone.”

Shoko looks at you curiously, lips quirking as if she has something to say, but no words come out. Is she holding something back?

You take a deep breath, willing the horrible emotion that squeezes your throat away. You look out the window to distract yourself, watching the branches of a sakura sapling swaying in the wind. It looks alone and lost, battered by the relentless wind.

“What’s he been like recently with you?” You finally ask, your gaze still on the tree.

“Normal,” Shoko says. “Annoying as ever. Noisy as ever.”

A cluster of pink petals is ripped from a branch, swirling hopelessly to the ground. When they settle on the ground, you look back to your friend.

“He’s really the same?” You ask weakly.

“Unfortunately,” She says wryly. “Besides, why do you care? We’ve both been trying to get him off our backs since waaay long ago. Sounds like a blessing in disguise.”

“Ah, that’s true,” You admit with a weak chuckle, trying to ignore the way your heart throbs painfully. “But he’s also our friend.”

“Since when? More like a thorn in my side. Maybe he finally got the message,” Shoko smirks. “You should give me instructions for that. I’d have a lot better quality of life, you know.”

You know she’s just joking around with you, but she’s truly just rubbing salt in your wound. Not very ethical for a doctor, even if unintentional.

“Yeah,” You laugh, but it’s an empty sound. “Well, I guess I’ll get going then. Hopefully your next patient gives you an easier time.”

Shoko jokes, “Yeah, this has been my toughest job all week. You fiend.”

Your head is filled with so many questions, all of them growing louder as you walk away from your friend. Your friend who you thought would sympathize with you, but only ended up making you feel worse in the end is acting suspicious. It’s not like you’ve ever wanted to actually cut ties with Gojo, even when he used to pull pranks on you in high school. You craved for a strong friendship with him throughout all his shenanigans.

Why is Shoko acting like you hate Gojo, and what isn’t she telling you?

Before you reach the door, you decide you need to know. You stop abruptly in your tracks.

“Ieiri, you’re not telling me something,” You say softly, not looking back. “Why?”

Shoko sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose, “You don’t miss anything, do you?”

You say nothing. The door in front of you is tempting—it’s your way out of knowing the truth. Do you really want to know?

You wait tensely for a few seconds, the silence causing nerves to bubble up in your stomach. But when Shoko begins to speak, they go don’t go away.

“He hasn’t really been acting strange around me, but he’s constantly on his phone. Like always. Whenever he comes to chat, he immediately tunes me out and starts texting or loudly takes a call,” She snorts, huffing out an exasperated sigh. “I thought he was just bored and trying to make me feel disrespected as a sort of cruel joke, but I think it’s something else. I think…I think Gojo is interested in someone.”

Your head whips around, disbelief clear in your features. Interested in someone?

“Maybe that’s why he’s been acting weird. I always thought he was crazy for you, so it didn’t cross my mind until now.”

“Crazy for me?” You immediately echo back, voice hollow and confused.

Shoko shakes her head at you, “C’mon, you can’t be that oblivious. He always followed you around like a lost puppy in high school. He never said anything to me about it, but I really thought he would confess any day for years.”

“He did that to everyone…” You shake your head. “You say yourself he bugged you so much.”

She rolls her eyes. “Trust me, it was different.”

Your heart pounds in your chest. Your vision becomes foggy at the edges, reality fizzling out.

“Why didn’t you want to tell me?” You ask. “It’s not like that matters.”

You try to appear uncaring, yet it was a fight to get those words out.

“You’re a sensitive person. ‘Didn’t know how you’d react since Gojo always seemed to chase after your attention, exclusively. But it’s not like it was the other way around—should have known it wasn’t a big deal. It’s not. Guess he’s just growing up.”

“Yeah,” You agree faintly, voice devoid of emotion. Reality is slipping through your numb fingers, the information turning your world into a nightmare. You should have opened the door and ran when you had the chance.

“It’s not,” You say with a saccharine smile, one so sickly sweet that Shoko gets chills. That’s not your usual smile—not one that Shoko has ever seen you wear. “Of course it’s not.”

When you turn on your heel and rush out of her infirmary, Shoko reaches out a hand and her lips part to call after you. It’s uncharacteristic for her—the cold doctor is rarely sentimental or emotionally affected, but she saw something ghastly in that smile of yours.

The slam of the door answers her call. The truth, now imparted, comes to bite her in the ass.

It’s been a few days. You’ve been moping around the school, around your students—trying to cope with the information that you don’t even know is true. You see him across campus sometimes; he’s so easily spotted with his translucent hair and tall frame. Every time, he’s facing away from you, and your eyes fall on the back of his head. Your chest always tightens and you end up turning away, too.

You have ignored the feelings stirring in your chest, not willing to admit something that clearly isn’t reciprocated. It has been working, you suppose, since you haven’t cracked under the mental weight of possibly being in lo—

No, you can’t even think that.

Everything has been as okay as it can. It’s not until you attempt to visit Shoko again to try sort out your feelings, however, that things take a turn for the worse.

Your hand is raised as you prepare to knock on the infirmary door, but you hesitate once you hear muffled voices.

“I don’t know…I didn’t expect it at all.”

That’s Gojo’s voice. That low but self-assured tone is undeniably his.

“Expect what?” Shoko asks, sounding bored.

His reply is so soft that it passes by as just a hiss of air, so quiet that you physically startle at Shoko’s loud reaction.

“No! What? I can’t believe that!” She shouts, laughter quickly following her exclamation.

You shouldn’t be listening—you hadn’t planned to eavesdrop on your two best friends, but for some reason your ear seeks out the wall, as if magnetized.

The next three words uttered still your heart.

“Utahime kissed me,” Gojo admits quietly.

You feel like you can’t breathe. Utahime, who has always despised Gojo even beyond Shoko’s extent. Utahime, who once cried into your chest after Gojo was harsh with her at an exchange event. Utahime, who always persisted that you and Gojo were into each other during high school.

Shoko’s unbelieving chuckle cuts through your thoughts.

Shoko laughs, “Oh, yeah, okay, as if I’d ever believe that.”

There’s silence. Your heart drops at the lack of response—no teasing refute, no playful faux playboy attitude.

Shoko absorbs his unusual silence, finally interpreting his words for what they are.

She gasps loudly, spluttering, “Oh my God, you’re being serious. What?! There’s no way…”

Gojo’s voice is even and deep. “I didn’t lie. She just did it out of nowhere. I didn’t even know how to react, to be honest.”

“So you just stood there?” Shoko snorts, trying to keep up her usual sarcastic persona. “God, you’re insufferable all the way around.”

“I kissed her back,” He breathes out, voice almost weak.

Another long moment of silence ensues. You hold your breath, terrified that your panicked pants will alert them of your presence.

Shoko recovers quickly this time.

“Still insufferable,” She sighs, and you can imagine her shaking her head. “So what now? You like her or something? This is so random.”

“I…I don’t know,” He admits quietly. “I never thought she’d do that, it took me by surprise. I…I think I liked it?”

Your heart shatters. You clutch a hand to your mouth, gagging yourself, forcing back the pained gasp that’s threatening to leave your lips.

“Oh, is that so?” Shoko says drily, but the usual edge to her voice is absent. You can only imagine her expression: contorted with pity and pain, desperately trying to maintain her poker face.

“Yeah,” Gojo reaffirms. “It was nice.”

There’s silence for a few seconds as Shoko takes it all in. Then, “Is she who you’ve always been calling and texting when I’m talking to you? You’re an ass for that, by the way.”

Gojo exhales out a sardonic sniff, “You’re spot on.”

Why are you still listening? You should leave. You shouldn’t be hearing this. Pain blooms in your chest, as if thorns became lodged between your ribs.

“What about (Y/N)?”

You freeze, eyes bulging out of your head.

Gojo sighs, sounding annoyed, “What do you mean?”

“I’m not dumb, Satoru. There was something going on during high school and frankly in the past few years as well. Are you going to deny it?”

He scoffs, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Shoko. It was never like that.”

You feel like you’re going to be sick. You shouldn’t—there’s no possible way you’re actually in love with Gojo Satoru, is there?

Fuck. The thought you’ve been trying to avoid all this time has finally firmly inserted itself into your head.

You take off swiftly and immediately, and your footfalls are as light as you can possibly manage. If either of them knew you were here, you wouldn’t be able to handle the shame.

Gojo and Shoko are none the wiser to the immoral action that took place just beyond the door—so when Shoko is ready to clock out and opens the door, the presence of a school ID on the ground is nearly missed. She feels something strange crunch underneath her foot and steps away and glances at the foreign object.

You left in such a hurry that your ID flopped out of your pocket. It lays on the ground, your smiling face staring up at Shoko, who looks on in horror. She immediately knows that you heard everything. She quickly steps back onto your ID, concealing your identity with her foot.

With all the sight of his six eyes, Gojo somehow completely missed Shoko’s strategic maneuvers to erase traces of your presence. He whistles nonchalantly, not having a care in the world, apparently.

In contrast, Shoko’s mind is racing. Her eyes roam around the courtyard, searching for your form. She feels rooted to the spot—will she reveal you if she steps away? She almost forgets that she’s not alone.

“You looking for someone?” Gojo asks.

Shoko stiffens, but forces herself to relax and appear nonchalant. “Ah, I was just wondering if…if (Y/N) would still be around.”

Gojo frowns. “Hm. Not sure. Don’t they usually go home right after they get off?”

“Lately, they’ve been staying back to do paperwork,” She sighs. “Masamichi has really giving them too many missions…How come you don’t know that?”

“Haven’t had the chance to catch up, I guess,” Gojo says evasively, then quickly changes the subject. “Besides, aren’t you the same way? You coming or not? I’ve got better things to do.”

He waves his cell phone around playfully, a smirk widening across his features.

Shoko rolls her eyes, “Go ahead. I’m just going to wait here a bit and see if I can text them and get them over here.”

She hesitates for a second before adding, “Actually, why don’t you wait a sec? We haven’t all seen each other in a bit.”

Gojo immediately stiffens. He scratches the back of his head and says, “Ah, I’m actually sort of on a time crunch. Maybe next time.”

What a lie. Shoko thinks, eyes narrowing subconsciously. What is he up to?

As he trails off into the distance, the gears in Shoko’s head continue to turn. He always, always teleports home after work finishes. So why is he slowly walking around campus, head turning this way and that way as if searching?

And you! Why were you there? Why were you so affected? What is going on in your head—or rather, your heart?

Something strange is going on with her two friends and Shoko is determined to find out what.

next part

credit 🩷:

@kiyaedits - baby pink dividers, @sweetxmelody - cherry blossom divider

*note: taglist open!! comment to be tagged in part 2 :)

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo behavior #hurt/comfort #gojo hurt/comfort #angst #jjk #best buddie shoko #sad bc utahime and shoko aren’t together in this one 😤#Gojo is a hater

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upat4amwiththemoon · 2 years ago

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Hellooo!!! If you're not writing anything else at the moment, I was wondering if you could make a station 19 Natasha Ross x Montgomery! Sister reader!!

Brother’s boss

Summary: It’s not a secret if no one asked about it.

Pairing: Natasha Ross x Montgomery!reader

Warnings: none

Word count: 961

a/n: Natasha Ross deserves more recognition!!

masterlists | guidelines

“When do you think you’ll get out of work?” Y/N asks, leaning against her girlfriend’s unofficial work desk. She wasn’t at her own office today, deciding to spend the day at Station 19.

Natasha glances at the clock, them turn to look at her girlfriend with an apologetic look on her face. “Late.” Y/N sigh, throwing her head back. Laye hours weren’t unusual for her, she works at Grey Sloan Memorial after all, but the Firs Chief’s duties seem to be never ending. “I’m really sorry, love.”

“It’s okay. This is your job and your job is important and you’re amazing.”

With a chuckle, Natasha stands up to kiss Y/N. Her hands are wrapped around her lower back, while Y/N’s are on her shoulders. She pushes her against the table. Unfortunately for Y/N, Natasha pulls away before things go any further, which makes her whine.

Giving her one last kiss, Natasha goes back to the desk full of paper work. “Go home, wat something and take a nap. I’ll be there before you know it.”

“Okay.” Y/N agrees, though she doesn’t hide her pout. “Love you, see you later.”

“I love you,” is the last thing Y/N hears before closing the door to the office.

Sighing, she starts descending the stairs, hoping not to run into any of the other firefighters, as none of them are aware of her and Natasha’s relationship. However, luck isn’t on her side today.

“Y/N!” Travis, her brother, runs up to her with Victoria. “What are you doing here?” He looks over the scrubs she’s wearing. “Did something happen?”

“Nothing happened.” She rolls her eyes, stopping in front of the best friends.

“Then why are you here?”

“To see Natasha.”

Travis scrunches his brows while Victoria raises hers. “You were with Chief Ross?” She questions, not understanding why the younger Montgomery would have any business with the fire department’s chief.

“I was.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re in a relationship.”

The lobby turns eerily quiet. Victoria’s eyes are wide as she takes in the sentence. Travis looks like he has frozen on his spot. Neither of them expected to hear that coming out of her mouth. Y/N stares at them expectantly, waiting for either of them to say anything. She doesn’t really care what anyone thinks about her, but this silence was starting to make her uncomfortable.

“You-“ Travis points at her, as if that’d make him articulate better, “you are dating out boss?”

“Yes.”

He doesn’t understand how the word comes out of her mouth so easily. Yes. Like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “Why in the world didn’t you think to tell me, that you are dating my boss?” His voice turns high pitched.

“You never asked.”

“I never-!” He takes a moment to compose himself, rubbing his face. He glances at Victoria, who is quietly laughing to herself. “This isn’t funny!”

She raises her hands in mock surrender, but there’s still a grin on her lips. “I’m sorry, but I think this is amazing. Go baby Montgomery.” She high fives her, making Travis groan.

As Victoria clearly doesn’t see the issue with this, Travis decides to handle it himself. Which is why he starts jogging towards Chief Ross’ office. “Travis!” Y/N shouts, running after him. “Don’t you dare do anything stupid and dramatic, or I’ll strangle you!”

But, Travis has already slammed the office door open. He stands in front of Chief Ross, who just stares at him, and opens his mouth only for nothing to come out. He clearly didn’t think this through. That is his boss after all.

By now, Y/N has caught up to him. “I’m sorry, Tasha. He is being stupid.”

“You’re dating my sister.” Is all he manages to get out.

“I am.”

“Chief, with all due respect, I think it is an inappropriate relationship.” Travis states, making Y/N hit his arm.

“Y/N isn’t part of the FD, I’m not her superior.”

“Well, she’s my younger sister.”

“Adult younger sister.” Natasha argues back, way calmer than Y/N would be capable of when it comes to her brother. “This is a consenting relationship between two adults, who are equal. So, what is the problem, Montgomery? Is it because we’re both women?”

Y/N snorts at the question, and Travis starts spluttering. “Of course not!” His hands wave around the room. “I am very proud that my sister is comfortable with her sexuality, but..but this-“ he tries to come up with anything, but he can’t.

“But this is my relationship,” Y/N steps in front of him, “and I love her and that’s the end of it.”

He sighs. It’s his sister’s relationship, he can’t do anything, no matter how uncomfortable it is to know his younger sister is dating his boss. “I know. But if you do anything to hurt her-“

Natasha interrupts him instantly, “you should remember that I am still your superior.”

“Yes, Chief.” He mumbles, gives Y/N a hug, and leaves the office.

Giggling, Y/N closes the door and goes to sit down on the desk. “That was funny, and kind of hot.” She whispers with a glint in her eyes.

Natasha shakes her head with a smile. “Now, don’t do anything or I won’t get any work done.”

“Can I at least stay here? Now that they know.”

“Of course.” She sets her hand on Y/N’s knee, the other hand signing all the needed papers.

They spend the rest of Natasha’s work day together, though mostly in silence, but it’s the good kind of silence. Where Natasha can work in peace and Y/N can admire her while she works, one of her favorite things to do.

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ambrosialdesire · 23 days ago

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Happy New Year and hope we all prosper and have good life!

I love your yandere Reiner stories and kept them in my likes collection.

One thing I love about Reiner is how unquestionable loyal he is to someone he loves ( Not Marley, FUCK that nation ).

Can u imagine if he loves someone from childhood and if the childhood friend leaves him to move somewhere else, he will be genuinely devastated?? I feel like he can recall the said childhood friend if he ended up bumping into her a decade later, while he hang out with his friends in a cafe. What do you think? How will Reiner react if he recognize her?

happy new year!

tysm!! i always appreciate fellow yandere reiner stans, that man's potential will always be undermined and he will always deserve the hype haha

his loyalty to marley definitely wavered during his time in paradis from how much he bonded with the training corps and his reflection of that time years after he came back from the island. he's also pretty dedicated into marrying historia even after years of not seeing her so 😭😭

if he found that childhood friend to be a source of comfort, yes, he'd be extremely devastated. all little reiner thought about back then was trying his best in the warrior training to get his mother's approval and to win back his father's love, there would basically be no time for him to be just a kid. having this friend that's not involved with warrior training or his familial issues, he'd grasp onto her like no other since it would be the only time he'd feel like a normal kid. then when she moves, there's nowhere else he can feel free from his burdens.

reiner did try searching for her once he came back from the failed mission since he had limited time left, but the task had to be put in the back burner. when after all is said and done after the rumbling and the peacemaking between the two nations, there's a moment in time where he was attempting to find her again, but was unsuccessful once more. reiner didn't want to contemplate in the idea that she could've died in the rumbling, but he had to resign to the thought that he may never see his childhood friend ever again.

he's in his late 20s at this point, meeting up with jean, connie, and armin in a new cafe that connie insisted would be good, when the waitress comes up to him. "ready to order, or are you still waiting on someone sir?"

reiner glances up, ready to say that he's still waiting on his friends, when he stops, mouth hanging open. it's her, it's undeniably her. it may be years since he last saw her, but in his heart, he knows that who he's looking at is his childhood best friend. he utters her name, she nods in acknowledgement and it's obvious that she doesn't recognize him. he's at a lost of words at this point, every memory together rushing back into his mind, and he probably just starts tearing up from the overwhelming amount of nostalgia coming back. she asks him if he's okay and he just laughs it off, saying that he's just happy to see her again and would start bringing up things they've done together back then to jog her memory.

then she remembers him and almost drops everything on the spot, her own tears welling up in her eyes and down her face. she knew that he had became the armored titan and had to go into paradis all those years ago, but she wasn't able to reach him to say goodbye before he went. then when he came back, she had already mourned at the idea that he wouldn't return, refusing to read anything that the marleyan government said about the warrior program so she had no idea that he was alive still. rumbling era, she was in that crowd pushing towards the cliff edge, praying that in the next life if it's more peaceful, she'd be with reiner again, running through the streets with nothing but joy in their hearts.

after crying in each others arms, they both catch up, forgetting that she had a job to do and he was supposed to meet his friends. nothing is gonna stop them from reconnecting, reiner would never allow it and uses his status as one of humanity's saviors to ensure they'll be uninterrupted. it's a very sweet moment i think lol

#love-message

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jabberwockprince · 1 year ago

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since we're all having fun talking about theories and headcanons before the game drops. one thing that i do want for missing link, that is mostly wishful thinking on my part, is a reveal for kairi being a descendant of the player

this is based on their parallels of being shooting stars later found washed up on a beach from the new missing link trailer, plus that one moment from KH1 where kairi's grandma tells her about the age of the fairytales and nothing else lmfao

and i want that so badly because. it would be so fucking ironic and poetic to have kairi be a direct descendant of the one person that raised and cared so much for xehanort. the player, whose memories of ephemer and skuld and chirithy and everyone else influenced xehanort into starting his whole ass spiral and descent into darkness

only for her (and sora) to be the ones to get xehanort to stop in the end. ending a cycle of sorts. for her to be haunted by the memory of xehanort, the same way xehanort was "haunted" by the memory of the player's past life

PLUS. i want it to SPECIFICALLY recontextualize kairi's inheritance of the keyblade from BBS. because kairi's reason to wield a keyblade being nothing more than an "accident" feels like such a disservice to her AND aqua??

if they could recontextualize xehanort into whole new depths in dark road, i dont see why they couldn't reframe that moment as kairi reclaiming a dormant power, her own heritage that her bloodline forgot for centuries, since knowledge about keyblades and wielders began to fade out over time to the point where people who KNEW about them thought they were evil. makes sense that as the age of fairytales is left FORGOTTEN, no one can remember how to summon a keyblade, let alone the knowledge to create one from someone's heart. but having a strong heart (one of the requisites for bequeathing ceremonies) and being in direct contact with a keyblade, could just. help jog the memory a bit

and show that yeah. kairi deserves to wield a keyblade because she has a strong heart, and because this was her heritage that was taken away from her when the worlds began to drift away from each other and so on. not because of an accident

everytime chance, fate and destiny are brought up in the saga to explain why something. happened the way it did. it carries so much weight and so many events that led to That Point. but kairi's inheritance as of right now was just. yeah, an accident. no ceremony at all AND I JUST THINK SHE DESERVES RLLY COOL THINGS OKAY

#khml #DONT GET ME WRONG. THE THEORY AND HC ABOUT #RIKI BEING THE ONE COMING FROM A PRESTIGIOUS BLOODLINE OF POWERFUL WIELDERS #IS ALSO SUPER GOOD #BUT I THINK KAIRI DESERVES SMTH TOO OTHER THAN THE WRITING USING HER JUST TO ELEVATE SORA #their dynamics mean so much to me #some fucking guy named sora and his very cool anime protagonist best friends who actually think HES the coolest protagonist in the world #kairi being stubborn refusing to let go of sora. the same way the player is stubborn in refusing to let their friends die #to the point where they both can just cheat at death many times thanks to their connections with other people #since MOST ppl who came back to life in the saga. they do it by cheating time. or sheer force of will. but rarely thru. friendship and love #looks at luxu. some even refuse to die. kinda wild #YES im delusional #look at me in the fucking eyes right now #sora as a character who keeps being shattered. due to the pressure of his role. things he never asked for and keep happening to him #riki as a character who bends and breaks over and over. as punishment and rebellion. because he doesnt know where he fits in all of this #kairi as a character who keeps vanishing. who continues to have the places and people she loves taken away. and she keeps being left behind

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cymrucwtch-blog · 1 year ago

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Alpine -The first Answer

Bucky x Music Reader

Music Reader who answers Bucky's questions with songs.

The base seemed abandoned. It was so quiet, almost maddeningly quiet. No one spoke through the coms. The only thing you could hear were your own soft steps through the corridor you were sweeping. You twitched as you saw Redwing through the window of the room you were clearing. A sigh of relief making it through the coms.

“It’s just me, y/n.” Sam reassures you.

“I saw. I never fully expect these old Hydra bases to actually be empty.” You replied truthfully. Moving back out of the room, your rhythmic footsteps continue down the hall. This is the most ridiculously long hall in the history of ever. Your echoing steps jogs a memory. Before you realize what’s happening, you hear Tony on the coms.

“y/n, the humming through the coms is a bit distracting. As much as I love ‘Eye of the Tiger’, we’ve talked about this, haven’t we?”

“Leave her alone. I for one was enjoying it.” Sam snarks back.

“I didn’t realize I was doing it. Sorry.” You speak. It was the truth; you hadn’t realized you had started humming. The end of the hall is getting closer. You must have been humming for a few minutes before Tony even said anything. Bucky rounds the corner and strides toward you. The smirk he’s half wearing is suspicious.

“You’ve worked hard to soften your steps, but the humming I could hear as far back as the stairwell.” He finally confirms what the smirk is for. You both finish clearing the hall moving steadily toward each other. You’re right in front of him when you finally speak.

“We’re clear. Nothing on the south side. Everyone else clear?” A cascading chorus of “clear” comes through the coms.

“Huh. That’s never happened before.” Bucky ponders. And then the other shoe drops. A loud crash from down the hall. “I cleared that room.”

“Sam, if that’s hydra and not Redwing, I’m blacking your left eye.” You threaten as walking toward the sound.

“Oddly specific.” Tony’s voice drifts through the coms.

“Well now I don’t know what to hope we find.” Bucky states, enjoying your returning grin.

“Hey!” Sam states, starting to get defensive.

“Nat, please tell me you have what we need. Before I reach this sound.” You whisper with your finger over the trigger of your raised gun, inching toward the sound. It is time for silence from Bucky and yourself. The tension thickens as you wait for responses in the com. On either side of the door, you lock eyes with Bucky and await his signal.

“I got everything.” Nat says just as Bucky gives the signal. You force into the room with Bucky behind you only to shriek as a giant, grey stray cat comes flying at your head. You duck and cover only for the cat to land squarely in the middle of Bucky’s chest and thud down to the ground. He blinks a few times.

“I thought cats always landed on their feet.” He says, half a question as he studies the cat. It gets to it’s feet and starts nuzzling his leg, and he’s not sure why but he’s wants to keep it already, after having seen it for all of five seconds. You’ve re-cleared the room while he and the cat bond.

“It’s smaller than I thought when it was flying at my head. Sam, you’re safe for now. Lets get outta here. It was just a cat guys….a fierce cat…..the eye of the tiger!!” You laugh and head to the door. Bucky and cat in tow. Collective groans come through the coms causing you to chuckle harder.

----------------------------------------- <3 -----------------------------------------------------------------

Later back at the tower, after decompressing and showering, you enter the kitchen. Side hugging Sam and telling Clint you all missed him on the mission. You grab a bottle of water out of the fridge and turn to see the guys staring at the couch across the room. Leaning to see what they are staring at, you see Bucky sitting and stroking a small white pillow in his lap.

“Did he stroke out?” You ask as it’s a very confusing sight in front of you.

“Na…..” Apparently, Sam can’t figure it out either. That sounds like half question half statement. You raise an eyebrow at him.

“Is that the cat that Nat said scared you?” Clint says, “We have a smaller one like that on the farm.”

“Is it? It was grey. Greige? Beige? It wasn’t white.”

“I gave her a bath.” Bucky has finally had enough and answers you all. Super soldier hearing and all.

“She? She’s blindingly white now. How’d you do that?” You ask.

“You keepin’ it? What are you gonna name it?” Sam adds. Everyone has questions.

“Her. And Alpine. I already got her a litterbox and some food, bowls. Flea shampoo -already used that. A collar. She doesn’t like that. Toys. Scratching post. A vet appointment tomorrow. I feel like we’re missing something. What did I forget?”

“Is he talking to us, or the cat?” Sam whispers. Clint snickers.

Before anyone answers your phone is out and sending your answer to Friday. If Bucky had been watching you he would have known how his answer was coming. But he’s absorbed in Alpine. ‘Satellite Moments’ by Charlie Fink starts playing as you leave the room. Sam and Clint chuckle. They stay to listen for a while. Before the song finishes Clint tells him, “Your good, man. Cats don’t need much.”

#james bucky barnes #sam wilson #fluff #natasha romanoff #tony stark #the avengers

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chaed-ffnet · 11 months ago

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Clintasha Fic Rec

James Barnes was there, a Thompson submachine gun nestled in the crook of his arm. It was pointed at us, and his finger flitted nervously above the trigger.

"Put down that briefcase, lady," he grunted, "or else I'll shoot it right out of your pretty little hands."

I knew right away that he wasn't joking. Natasha must have felt the same way because Stark's attaché hit the ground a moment later.

"Now step away from it," Barnes ordered, giving a sideways flick with the tommy’s muzzle. He flinched as he made the motion, probably from my earlier hit. I hoped that gunshot wound hurt like a bitch. We did as he wanted, though. He stared between us. "Who do you work for? CIA? FBI? You ain’t Brits, and the Krauts wouldn’t dare."

I said nothing. Neither did Natasha. Barnes pointed the tommy at me and fired a couple rounds into the dead grass near my feet.

“That jog your memory, pal?"

The only thing it jogged was my patience. What did he think? That I’d go over my employment agreement with him just because he played the guns game? I’d kept quiet under worse odds. But then Natasha suddenly stepped forward. Barnes immediately pointed the rifle at her, but she calmly gestured for him to back off. She had a slight smirk on her lips.

“Ne strelyat',” she said in an accent I hadn’t heard from her in years. “Moscow sends us, tovarishch. All on Bezukhov’s orders. Now drop that gun or you'll end up getting yourself a free pass to Kolyma. We’re on the same side here."

Barnes didn’t drop it, but the statement threw him long enough for me to pull out my own pistol. I fired two shots in rapid succession, not aiming to hit, just trying to buy us time. Natasha appeared on my left with her Makarov at the ready. Still, Barnes had the Thompson, and thus the trump card in the weapons distribution. A mere twitch of his finger and that submachine gun would pelt us worse than the Swiss did their cheese.

"You ain’t no more Russian than I’m a cotton picker!" he sneered, leveling the tommy back at us. "One last time! Who ya workin for?!"

"A guy with a really bad temper," I said, and shot.

#a walk down lafayette street #clintasha fic rec #clint pov #bamf natasha #read on ao3

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3s0t3ric · 2 years ago

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Excuse All The Asides. We’re in an Adderall Shortage.

Recently I have been diving into the habits I have. One of them being the fact that I indeed, am a post-it note girly. When it’s time for me to organize my ideas the first thing I do is sift through the compilation of time colorful papers that seem to remind me how to live my life. A note from me, to me. If only I always took my own advice.

I’ve been doing this as long as I can remember. I’ll get a thought to add something to my grocery list, and I am certain if I don’t attempt to jot it down, it’ll be gone sooner than it came. I’ve learned my lesson a time or two, so I’ve gotten into the habit of writing things down.

As a person with ADHD/ former student/ person who occupies planet earth I have been influenced by the bullet journal trend. The idea of having a guide to EVERYTHING about my life, my last dentist appointment, when I changed my sheets, my loved ones birthdays and my to do lists all in one place is INVIGORATING!!!!

Once.

Well once it’s complete. It’s just, getting it done that I struggle with. Truthfully, the last thing I wanna do after I’ve wrestled on a fitted sheet (how does it ALWAYS seem to pop off the corner farthest from me???) is document in my 3rd grader handwriting the date of today in a page it probably took me forever to find. I’ll take the pillow breaking me out, thank you.

I was surprised to find these devices for jogging the memory of it’s writers had a name. We really reinvented the wheel during the pandemic with bullet journals (I’ve been forgetful for years but I’ll give it to the bullet journal guys) the original conceptual bubble we are discussing is called a commonplace book. The idea being that all of your thoughts are in a Common. Place. (Really complex I know.)

I instantly jogged over to the wiki page. The article I found this in was discussing Thomas Jefferson’s commonplace book, however the idea of common place books dates back to John Locke, and later Charles Darwin. What this tells me is people have been drawing graphic organizers and forgetting birthdays for centuries. Congrats, it’s generational.

I next thought about all the quotes we’ve received from these important people from history. Were they the initial person having these ideas, or were they just wise enough to write them down?

You see I don’t know about you, but I don’t know annnyyyone that can personally vouch for Locke’s “life, liberty and property” thing or Darwin’s “natural selection” thing with their own two eyes. For all we know it could have been notes taken from a conversation ages ago that’s gone untitled in Charles Darwin’s big ole book of ideas.

Applying this to my current habits, how much have I let breeze out of my consciousness to inspire others without writing it down myself. How often have I proposed an idea, just for someone else to get the credit just because they conveniently decided to have their posit notes handy.

Ever since I’ve had this idea (5 days ago) I’ve kept my pen clicked and my post-its clear. The tumble weeds of post-it notes, pictures, and post cards from the people I love surrounds my intellect with the company it needs to produce greatness. My affirmations around me give context to my abilities and my to do list gives context to how I am going to do it. I am nothing if not capable and I SWEAR I will never miss another doctors appointment because those late fees are beyyyonddddd me.

You know who go with the flow? Dead fish. Write it down.

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morg-among-the-stars · 1 month ago

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I'm losing my fucking marbles, send help, call the cops, help—

I write this soft sweet stuff—

"Payton can't wrap his head around it. He also has to think quickly on what to do about it. Does he buy flowers? Has it even come up whether River would like them or want them in the first place? What does he do? River is great, no doubt, deserving of something great. (He tries to jog his memory on how he commemorated his and Alice's one-year, then throws it out the window, because this is separate and River is separate and Alice is behind him and off somewhere else, happily, he hopes. Vaguely, he can see flashes of himself taking her to watch the sunset on the beach. It was beautiful and so was she, walking barefoot where the sand met the sea, and— he shouldn't think about his ex-lover on his anniversary to the lover who he thought was eternally out of his grasp.)

Speaking of which, River must be able to see all these different gears turning and memories resurfacing, as he feels a swell of love come through him. He has loved this overthinking, witty, soft-hearted, and coyly talented young man officially for three-hundred and sixty-five days; unofficially for around five-hundred and fifty days, give or take a few, before this. Payton doesn't know why River squeezes him into a hug for a few long seconds, but he knows it makes his mind go quiet for a little while. "What's this for?" He asks, letting the thump, thump, thump go in his ear. "I love you." (It's an answer and a statement simultaneously. Payton likes the ease of which he can let River hold him like this.)

They don't have a beach, but they live in the city that never sleeps. It's recently snowed and while the Rockefeller tree isn't due to be lit for another week or two, everything else is bright and glowing. For the pressure Payton swarmed in his mind, River wants nothing more than to wander down the decorated street, hand-in-hand, with him. A year later, Payton can't get over that. That River simply likes him— expects nothing from him and likes his company— enough to want to spend every day with him and is happy with the simple fact that they wake up squished together and go to bed the same way. They're bundled up well, though, the cold has colored them both a little pink in the face; Payton has to steady his body to not slip in fall (he knows River will pick him up if he does) as he feels his own swell of love wash over him. River is talking about... something (he can't really focus with the soft haze floating in his brain) and Payton is grateful for him. That is an understatement, eternally grateful. That doesn't even do it justice.

One year, so long and so short, he wants one-hundred more years. He knows they'll both be long gone by then and he has issues with thinking too, too far into the future. It's nice to daydream, it is also nice to be present, River has taught him. It is all wonderful, wonderful, wonderful; and that doesn't scratch the surface."

—and then I'm looking at my screen like:

Dumbass, YOU wrote that. WHY the FUCK am I giggling and kicking my feet like a teenage girl at this shit?? 😭😭😭

This is a new level of hyperfixation that lead me to make an entire playlist for one fic, completely separate from my other The Politician fics

If I’m going to fixate on one thing it’s River being alive because buddy died too soon rip

#lord help me #the politician netflix #the politician #hobarkley #payton hobart x river barkley

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cno-inbminor · 4 years ago

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iterum vivere (childe/tartaglia)

a/n: wow, it’s been fucking forever. first genshin fic featuring childe/tartaglia!!! a very huge thank you to @suspensin for reading this over and being my rock and support, and i love her so fucking much. I couldn’t have finished this without her!

plot: reincarnation and modern/uni!au ft. afab reader!traveler with she/they pronouns x childe/tartaglia

-- in which meeting childe is a bit of a dangerous game of push and pull

wc: 12.1k; angst + fluff

warnings: DOES CONTAIN IN-GAME SPOILERS (1.5? 1.6? + story quest and idek) and NSFW MENTIONS (mdni to be safe). there’s no explicit smut but thoughts do run a bit wild here and there

EDIT: Altered ChiLumi version now posted on AO3 here!

“Haven’t we met before?”

The shine in your eyes does nothing to hide your curiosity, head even tilting a little in observation. He watches them scan his face for any recognizable features, but attempts to focus on the strange, taut string of déjà vu that pulls him toward you. In a moment of absentmindedness, he had heard a faint voice call out his name from your direction. Confusion overtook him as you weren’t looking at him, but something inside his brain said that it had to be from you. And so his feet redirected his path towards your figure in the student union building, as if on a mission.

“A fucking whale, Childe?”

Oh.

“I don’t think so…?” You trail off, curiosity now replaced by perplexed feelings. “Do we have a class together?”

I think I would’ve noticed you by now if you were.

“Ah, what’s your major?” Childe asks quickly to avoid listening to the little voice in his head.

“History and anthropology, you?”

“Economics, but I’ve taken a history course for core credits. Maybe it was then?”

“With Dr. Zhong?”

“Yes!” He snaps his fingers. Part of his brain decides to usefully function and scan his memories to see if he remembers your face or head of hair in the lecture hall then. “Last year? Tuesdays and Thursdays from 10 to 11:20?”

“Actually, yeah,” you affirm in surprise. You think you would remember the relatively attractive ginger in your class, but honestly, it had all been such a blur and you were often pretty sleepy during class. Dr. Zhong didn’t quite appreciate it, but you made up for it with your exam and essay grades, as well as paying better attention in some of his other courses.

“Did you need me for anything?”

“I’d like for you to come visit and meet my family.”

He’s really not appreciating this extra voice speaking for him.

“Well…uh…” Childe stammers and looks away sheepishly, hand rubbing the back of his neck. He honestly had no reason for approaching you, and now, he just looks like a desperate idiot. Think quick, he tells himself, floundering for some shitty excuse.

“I wanted to, uh, take another history course as an elective and um, wanted to know if you had any recommendations?”

“Oh,” you blink. That’s a first. When he meets your gaze, the swirling shades of sapphire strike something deep within you. Flashes of events you can’t make out go by in the blink of an eye, but then you realize you’ve been staring for too long. Blood rushes to your cheeks because you don’t exactly want this guy to get the wrong idea from you, because how are you supposed to explain, “I’m sorry, but I think we have met before, but just a really, really long time ago, and we might’ve been more than just acquaintances because that’s what it feels like?”

“I think you’d like Teyvat Mythology,” your voice wavers on the verge of cracking. “Dr. Zhong might have a TA this time around, but Xiao’s a great teacher. Doesn’t have long, rambling anecdotes, but explains things well and gets straight to the point.”

“C-cool, I’ll look into it,” Childe replies and smiles brightly. “I’ll head out then,” jabbing a thumb over his shoulder, where he just realized he left a grouchy Scaramouche waiting by a vending machine, newly purchased Starbucks Tripleshot drink in hand. “Nice seeing you, (y/n).”

He scurries off before you both realize that you never told him your name.

“Who’s that?” Scaramouche asks, jutting his chin in your vague direction.

“Someone from my Intro to Liyuean History course last year,” Childe waves off. “Come on, let’s go before the line at the pasta bar gets too long.”

The next time you see Childe is by accident, traversing across an open field of grass that many students like to sit out on to relax with friends, sunbathe, hold events, or play casual team sports if room permits.

You had your earbuds in and were scrolling through social media when laughter rang above all other sound, causing your head to snap up and swivel around to find the source. And while it might’ve been strange to an outsider, your steps immediately slowed as you watched the man of your tiring, vivid dreams sprint in your direction, eyes pinned on a frisbee heading towards him.

He’s wearing a grey sports tank and basketball shorts, headband holding back his bangs as he makes a slight jump in the air to catch the plastic disc between his palms. His feet plant into the grass as he looks for someone to pass it to, and you watch (with embarrassment) the muscles in his throwing arm relax and tighten with practice, frisbee steadily soaring through the air in a beautiful arc towards a teammate. He then lightly jogs to get closer to his group, but then his back stiffens.

Before your instincts kick in for you to turn and bail, he looks over his shoulder and stares straight at your now stunned self.

The sole ruby earring that glints in the sunlight catches your attention, and you recall your dreams of terrifyingly dark, violet electric power, blades of water rushing toward you, and then the stomach-churning sensation of falling from great heights pours concrete into your veins—

Childe looks a little amused for having your sole focus, hand lifting up for a quick wave. And as you numbly return the greeting, your heart beats out, “Run from him.”

And so with the flight response pulsing and firing from your synapses, you abruptly speed walk away, almost breaking out into a sprint towards your dorm. You ignore his pointed, confused look, and pretend you don’t feel the two holes of imaginary fire searing into your back. It isn’t until you’re laying back in bed that you release a huge sigh of relief and pray to a deity you don’t believe in that those eyes of mirth will not haunt you tonight.

But of course, with a deity that doesn’t exist, the prayers go unanswered.

“Do you believe in any of the mythology you teach?” You ask Xiao about a few days later when you stop by his cubicle. Luckily, no one else is around for this conversation, and Xiao has always been kind enough to humor your thoughts. Granted, he might feel obligated because you had asked Dr. Zhong to be your advisor for your undergraduate Honors thesis, and Xiao was directed to be your receiver of some general questions and source of information if he wasn’t around.

A quick scan of your complexion tells Xiao everything he needs to know. Your eyes are overtaken with rumination and exhaustion, haziness clouding them as you seem to ponder over your own question. It’s not often that you ask him anything not related to your thesis or coursework.

“Perhaps there’s some sense and truth to the tales passed down,” he softly muses. “What makes you ask?”

You lift yourself to sit on the clean area next to his computer, legs slowly swaying back and forth. “It might sound crazy but...I’ve been having dreams lately. They feel too real, too natural to be anything that my mind would make up. I’ve never had the most creative imagination by any means, which is why there’s some comfort to me being a history major, but I can’t shake these.”

“So why ask me about the mythology?”

“...the Archons are there. I even dreamt that I met the Geo and Anemo Archons. And they controlled various elements, just like we were taught.”

You don’t notice that Xiao has ceased his rapid typing, fingers hovering over the keyboard before one hand removes his glasses from his face. He uses the other to rub his eyes and softly pinch the bridge of his nose before sliding the frames back on. Dark, golden amber eyes survey you as you grapple with the unfathomable possibilities of your nightly visions, at least until you shake your head in disbelief at yourself and lightly scoff.

“Who am I kidding?” You ask no one in particular. “Maybe I’ve been doing too much research and everything’s mixing together.”

“You’re ahead of schedule, if that provides any consolation.”

“Some.”

It takes Childe a grand total of one minutes and 53 seconds to sign up for Teyvat Mythology for the spring semester.

WInter in Liyue is only slightly miserable, being so close to the ocean. It’s chillier than usual on this dreary day, yet something compelled you to exit your dorm and shakily make your way to the campus coffee shop for a warm drink. Coffee, hot chocolate, you haven’t quite decided yet, but just as you let yourself bask in the warm building, familiar ginger hair and blue eyes wash away the comfort.

Or do they douse you in security?

They remind you of your recent dreams that now have shifted away from stress and violence to easygoing summer days by the oceanside, running barefoot in the sand while collecting beautifully patterned azure starconches. Sometimes, you thrust a hand towards an oversized four-leaf clover on a wooden stake with the power of wind and catch yourself in the air, soaring and looking around to find more of the little shells. Other nights, they consist of climbing steep cliffs, only to sit at the edge in the clouds with fatigue wracking through your system and marvel at the view before you.

Someone’s always with you though, ruby earring and maroon mask and cobalt blue gem hanging from the waist, sprinting with you, playfully tackling you down, pulling you up towards mountain peaks, laying their head on your shoulders, brushing their lips against your cheek--

You welcome the change of peace in those dreams, but only because they don’t leave you quite as tired the next day, as if you’d been avoiding an inescapable dark force.

Part of you wants the burning question of why this person, this man, in all his glory and brightness, affects you so fucking much when you barely even know the guy -- why looking at him sends your heart to lodge itself in your esophagus, why your lungs feel like they’re so close to being completely collapsed under the weight of his stare, why feeling like you’re trapped and caught between wanting to run towards yet away from him. It makes no sense, and you’re tired of trying to make sense of anything you don’t exactly want to remember from your dreams for some, once again, inexplicable reason.

But there’s no time to think as he quickly ambles towards you, your own feet shuffling forward to meet him in a warped reference of a distance that constitutes to “the middle” before you can stop yourself. Your shivering hasn’t quite stopped yet, and Childe seems to take notice of it.

“Pretty cold out there,” he softly states. It’s cute, the way you’re curling in on yourself to retain some warmth.

“Y-yeah, not sure why I decided I really needed something warm to drink right now,” you reply and avoid his gaze. He watches you peer over his shoulder to squint at the menu display hanging from the ceiling, seemingly contemplating on what you should get.

“How about I get yours today? My treat for your class recommendation last time.” Anything to keep you here longer. Childe doesn’t realize how much he’s missed you, which confuses him, and chooses to ignore the fact that he’d been camping himself at the study tables in the building where the history department is located in hopes of even just catching a quick glimpse of you.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” you immediately attempt to subvert his generous offer, hands shooting out from your jacket pockets and waving in rejection. “It was nothing.”

“Please?” Childe puts on his best puppy eyes before reaching for one of your wrists, gently tugging you to the register. “Just this once?”

You want so badly to squash the tiny flare of disappointment that erupts in your chest from the newly acquired knowledge that this was just a one time thing. Do econ majors hate to feel in debt? That they must be even with everyone, or would rather have people indebted to them than the other way around?

There’s no time to think when Childe gives the cashier his order before turning to you, and without wanting to waste anyone’s time, you rattle off your usual beverage. He’s quick in fishing out his student ID to spend some of his campus currency, shooting you a boyish grin when you pout at your half-opened wallet.

“Go take that table over there,” he says, pointing to one in the corner by some windows. “I’m gonna tell my friends to go on without me.”

“I didn’t mean to intrude or pull you away from them,” you slightly panic. The sooner you can leave, the better. Right? “You don’t need to sit with me, I was just gonna head back to my dorm.”

“I insist. Go ahead, I’ll be right there.”

Why your brain takes his orders over your own is a mystery in and of itself, because before you know it, you’re plopped down in one of the lounge seats and staring off into space, mind reeling over the last two minutes. You pretend you can’t hear the way Childe’s friends nudge his arm playfully with their shoulders, wiggling their eyebrows suggestively as Childe tries to get them to stop being nonsensical.

“You’re gonna scare them off,” he hisses at them, hands pushing at their backs so they could finally leave him to his devices.

“Not before you do!” One of them laughs and Childe groans at their antics. “All right, all right, we’ll go. They’re cute though, might steal them if you don’t make a move.”

The darkening of the aura surrounding Childe is too quick for them to fully process, not before he dampens any of their fleeting hopes with a, “Don’t even fucking think about it.”

But it disappears just as fast when his and your drinks are called out, and he gives them one last shove before retrieving your to-go cups. Childe directs all his focus towards the seat diagonally from yours as opposed to the one that’s straight across, and you’re sharply ripped away from whatever reverie you let yourself slip into.

“Thank you,” you murmur, hands cupping the drink and feeling the heat seep into your fingertips. “You really didn’t have to, it was nothing big.”

“Can you blame me for just trying to find an excuse to finally talk to you?” He asks without a skip and you can’t tell if the quickening of your heartbeat is from a looming sense of doom or excitement. Those eyes, the tiny swirls of the ocean, blue like those shells buried in the sand--

It takes three seconds too long for you to understand where he was going with in his words, and part of you feels unamused at his smooth talking. You’ve always guarded yourself against guys like Childe, devilishly handsome who know their way around language semantics, ready to pull you in and just as ready to push you away. That (possibly unfair) bias, coupled with everything else you’ve been feeling for him, sounded the alarms and set the walls up around your heart. Perhaps you need to stop wearing your heart on your sleeve, because Childe immediately retracts his forwardness.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I promise I’m not looking for anything in return and you don’t owe me anything, but I really did just...want to sit and talk and...get to know you?” Childe trails off a little towards the end. Your body loosens up and relaxes just a tiny bit, feeling bad for your snap judgment. Let the guy do something nice, don’t look into it too much, you tell yourself. It’s a coffee, not a five-course dinner.

You reach out a hand towards him, small smile across your lips, ready for his to join yours in a quick handshake. “I’m (y/n), senior history and anthropology double major. It’s nice to meet you.”

The pounding of your heart against your ribcage has nothing to do with the shimmering of his eyes, nothing to do with the fact that his hand fits with yours just right, and nothing to do with the fact that an eerily similar voice from your dreams whispers, “I love you.”

You learn a number of things about Tartaglia in the four hours, like his family members and their respective interests, which classes he did and didn’t enjoy taking, certain takes on Schnezhnayan politics, his own various hobbies, crazy accidents from the occasional college parties, and more. He’s a bit of an open book, probably telling you way more than any regular person would, and definitely more than anything you revealed during all this time. Everything you tell him seems surface level, nothing too deep. The walls are still there to protect you from the unexplainable, profound feelings his presence seems to elicit, and luckily, he doesn’t prod any further. Childe feels the resistance and respects it, which just adds more brownie points in your book, and you almost feel bad for having given so little in return.

“I wish we were taking Teyvat Myth together,” he sighs when walking you back to your dorm, hands stuffed in his pockets. His ruby earring catches the light from the sunset, the shade almost complimentary to the golden amber rays that streak across the sky. “Would’ve helped having a history major in there.”

“Is that all I am to you, an answer bank?” You jokingly ask, but he watches concerningly as you shoot your gaze to the ground, mindfully stepping over the cracks between concrete slabs.

“Of course not,” a gentle sincerity reaches you, giving you the confidence to make eye contact with him. “I’m sorry for making it sound like that, it wasn’t my intention. I really just meant it as a way of saying if the professor or TA ended up being a total bore, then well, having you would make it more fun.”

“I’m sure I’d bore you even more,” chuckling, speeding up to get away. You’re growing too comfortable in whatever atmosphere Childe has created, like an enclosed air bubble bobbing gently in the depths of the sea and letting the waves carry you both to whichever ends of the earth.

“Hey,” he interjects, hand reaching out to stop you with a soft yank of your wrist. There is no resisting force from you, feet stepping backward until he meets you eye to eye. It’s unfair in the way that he can render you motionless by standing just an inch from you, arms brushing with his head tilted closer to your own. “Seriously, I’m glad we did this today. Are you?”

No, because now I don’t know what to think, I don’t know who you are, I’m not any closer to figuring out why you terrify yet leave me so enamoured with you, I’m torn between punching and kissing you and--

“Yes,” you subconsciously answer, brain immediately short-circuiting to scold yourself. “I had fun.”

His grin, charming, devilish, is so so bright, bright enough to rival the Liyue sun that sits on the pier, on the edge of the ocean, bright enough to rival the love that your fraternal twin showers you with on a daily basis. You want time to stop right here because you’re almost sick of the voice settled deep within your heart that screams, “Don’t get comfortable, you must run from him!”

“Good. Let’s do this again?” And you nod, of course you do. Foolish you. “Don’t be a stranger!” He calls out as he turns on his heel and waves over his shoulder, hand raised in the air, and you’re suddenly transported to another scene, a less refined version of the Liyue Harbor, watching as the head of ginger hair with a red mask in a flashier attire of grey and maroon walks away from you and onto a roaring, magnificent ship; big, ivory sails only seen in books and museums. It’s the same gesture of “see you later”, and just before he turns, you blink, and you’re back to seeing your campus again.

But Childe does look back once, warm and content that you’re still standing there, watching over him, and he can’t help but think about when he can spend time with you again, because suddenly, it truly feels like there’s not enough of it anymore.

“Excuse me, what’s a Red Bull?”

The last thing, or person rather, you expect to see on the last day of finals for the fall semester, is a small boy who looks way too young to be here, tugging on the sleeve of your windbreaker. He’s at most eleven, ten maybe, but he has eerily similar characteristics, as well as an accent that doesn’t quite belong to most Liyue natives. Still gathering your bearings from your own perusing of the fridges that hold all the possible beverages a college student could consume, you kneel down until you’re at eye level with the child.

“Repeat that for me? Are you looking for a Red Bull, you say?”

“Yes!” He beams and holds out a student ID that most definitely doesn’t belong to him. “My brother asked me to grab him one because he was busy with something.”

Your eyes flit over to the top shelves where the aforementioned cans of caffeine are located, and definitely too high for someone of his height to reach. “I’ll grab one for you. Did he ask for a specific flavor?”

“Nope, he said regular. Thanks, you’re really nice! Do you know my brother?” He asks, waving the ID at you so you can get a better look at the name. That’s definitely a face you recognize, but the name leaves you confused.

“Yeah, um,” glance over again, “I know...Ajax…”

“He’s the best toy seller in the whole world!”

Somehow, it suits him much better than Childe or Tartaglia, and you’re not quite sure what toys have anything to do with the matter at hand. Speaking of hands, the little boy grabs yours in sheer delight. “Can you take me back to his room? I kinda forgot the directions he told me, and everything’s so big around here.”

“Sure, just let me buy something, too, and I’ll take you.”

“Okay!”

The cashier isn’t the least bit fazed by the little brunette at your side -- it’s always common for family members to come in around the end of semesters to pick up kids or visit, and being an open building with snacks and drinks and a stopping point of most tours, they’ve seen it all. You even let him pick out a bag of chips and a candy bar for himself for being so polite and not a complete menace, paying with your own campus currency.

Teucer, as you’ve learned in the last two minutes, likes to point out things and ask you questions. Luckily, you have answers to most of them and do your best to pad the time, enjoying the feeling of a tiny hand wrapped around three of your fingers. It’s sweet to any normal passerby, believing they’re witnessing an older sister doting on their little brother around the holidays, but to Childe, seeing the tender sweetness on your face as you nod along to whatever Teucer is rambling about to you, sets his heart aflame. He’s already constantly on the verge of wanting to hug and kiss you and never let go, but you haven’t made any indication that you could potentially like him back, and this is just torture.

“Look what they bought me!” Teucer shoves his rewards in Childe’s face as if he had extremely poor eyesight, and you can’t help but laugh a little as you set his Red Bull down on his desk, clutching your own preferred beverage while looking around his room. Finals must have gotten to him with the unusual lack of tidiness in the small space, some laundry strewn here and there, a couple boxes of eaten microwave dinners in the metal wire trash can, some textbooks left open and marked with more sticky notes than you’ve ever seen. You’d only been here once before to drop off some food that he desperately messaged you about, stuck doing a project that he just couldn’t step away from.

“Pretend you don’t see the mess,” Childe pleads, handing a kid tablet to his brother but holding on before Teucer can take it. “What do you say to our nice friend here for buying you these snacks?”

“Thank you!”

“It was nothing,” you shyly smile, ruffling his hair. “I enjoyed meeting you.”

“Wait, what’s your name again?”

“It’s (Y/n).”

“Okay, (y/n)! Wait…(y/n)..as in…”

Teucer trails off and gives a look to his brother, one that spells curiosity and trouble, before he grabs your hand and pulls you into a corner. Any movement Childe makes to leave his desk chair is immediately squashed by Teucer’s disapproval, and the older man is left to helplessly worry when you’re told to squat down so secrets can be whispered into your ear.

“He talks about you a lot whenever he calls home,” and you want to laugh at Tecuer’s attempt to sound as scandalous as possible. “All the time! I think he likes you, like, like like.”

Oh. Oh dear.

“What makes you say that?” You whisper back, indulging both yourself and him, yet also internally snickering at how troubled Childe looks.

“Sometimes, he video calls mama, but we’ll all sit around and talk, and whenever he’s talking about how he saw you or something, he just looks...happy. Really happy.”

The surprise on your face does nothing to settle Childe’s nerves and he’s about to start wringing his hands together. Whatever Teucer was telling you couldn’t be good, probably embarrassing, like the one time he unceremoniously fell on his ass while ice skating over a frozen lake, or when he tried fitting fifteen marshmallows in his mouth and nearly choked on them when their mother caught them in the act, or--

“I think he just thinks of me as a good friend,” you try to inform Teucer, not letting yourself get any semblance of hope. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

“If you say so,” Teucer pouts. But then he stops whispering and bounds over back to his brother, grabbing the tablet before plopping down on the half-made bed.

“Look, I was overconfident and thought I could execute a perfect single loop on the ice, but there was a rock and I lost balance and--”

“I wasn’t being told any stories about you falling on ice, but do tell me more,” you chuckle and take some joy in watching the blush spread across his cheeks. It’s easy to tell that he’s mentally berating himself for jumping to conclusions.

“Well, first off, thanks for buying him all that, and my drink, too,” he sighs. “I spoil him enough as it is.”

“I can see why it’s hard not to,” you smile knowingly. “So is it just him here? Where’s the rest of your family?”

“Funny story, he somehow managed to convince my parents to let him come here on his own as his first ever plane flight, so I had to pick him up yesterday from the airport. He’s flying back with me tomorrow.”

“And the RA?” You ask with an eyebrow raised.

“Ah...well...what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him? Speaking of, what was Teucer whispering to you about?”

There’s a pensiveness that overtakes you when you look at Teucer again, who’s happily playing some sort of game and completely oblivious to the rest of his surroundings. You won’t, can’t, take his words to heart, and will take them with a grain of salt at most.

“Nothing important. Although I did learn something new...Ajax?”

“Say my name -- fuck, say it, please--”

“I guess cat’s out of the bag,” he chuckles and looks away, absolutely unaware of the flare of heat that swirls in your stomach from the fleeting vision just now. “I came up with other nicknames as a kid to seem cooler, and they just stuck with me. Plus, the business world is full of people who just want something from you, or just a transactional relationship. I’d rather not give my real name to them, if you know what I mean.”

“That’s fair,” you nod and lean to sit on the edge of his desk. A thought pops into your head and you turn the words over in your head like a washing machine on the spin setting, teeth gnawing on the flesh of your bottom lip. If Teucer hadn’t been in the room, he would’ve been this close to kissing you.

“But if it’s worth anything,” your voice slowly, softly starts, cautious and wary of your thoughts. “I think...Ajax suits you best.”

Curse fate. Curse the legendary Archons. Curse karma and deities and spirits because all he wants to do right now is stand and tower over you, trap you between himself and his desk so you can’t escape, take those pretty lips between his until they’re bruised and swollen because of him, hear you call out his name in the throes of pleasure so he can finally replace his fantasies with tangible memories. The unnatural, magnetic pull that draws him to you is unbearable now -- he feels like he’ll lose the last tendrils of his sanity if he doesn’t do something.

You can’t stop him from slowly reaching out to grab one of your hands, lifting it towards him until he’s close enough for you to feel his breath ghost over your knuckles. It sends a shiver down your spine and blood is pounding in your ears because you can’t begin to fathom what he’s thinking about while doing this, even more so when his lips make contact with your skin and your breath hitches, stuck in your throat as he languidly peeks at you beneath his eyelashes with a heated gaze, then lowly confessing, “My name sounds best when you say it.”

Good heavens.

It’s difficult to swallow and keep your composure, especially when Teucer yells out in glee over, what you can assume, beating something in his game, and Childe drops your hand. But his dilated pupils don’t retract in the slightest, refusing to let you look away so that maybe, you can understand what he’s trying to convey to you. He’s taking the first step because he’s terrible and can’t contain his self-control anymore, pushing the ball into your court, ready for you to either play or exit into the sidelines.

When you do blink, there’s a vision of your naked body wrapped around another, limbs clinging desperately to a sturdy and panting frame. Lips, much like the ones that have seared themselves onto your knuckles, are at your neck and sucking, biting, before moving to your ear and laying filthy words into them that drive you closer to the edge. It all happens so fast that you feel you’ve just experienced whiplash, yet also feeling secondhand embarrassment at how lewd some of these thoughts have been.

You can’t stay here any longer.

“I-I have to go,” spills off your tongue before you can really think about it. The way the haze shatters in his eyes is heartbreaking in its own way, but there’s no time for you to explain. Your brain is in overdrive and eager to run, run, run. It detects danger on all fronts, but you muster out a, “H-have a good break, come find me next semester, mmk?”

And you’re out the door with inhuman speed. When the door clicks shut, only then does Teucer look up from his screen and frown at the lack of your presence. “Where’d they go?”

Chlide doesn’t seem to hear him, and Teucer has never seen his big brother look so sad and confused before.

He holds on to that last tendril of hope, because mark his words, he will find you come January.

After about a week at home, enjoying the festive time with his family and mildly unconcerned about next year’s courses because that was a problem for another day, Childe has his first, crazy, nonsensical dream.

At least, that’s what he tells himself when he snaps awake and his body aches with exhaustion. Not only are his joints in agony, he also feels like he’s sporting unforeseen bruises, which makes absolutely no sense because he hasn’t done anything that would warrant them, no matter how much he and his brothers do some rough-housing. His night of sleep was all consumed by flashes and scenes of weapon fighting, lucid enough to remember feeling his arms flex and wield bows and double-headed polearms and being cognizant of all the enemies??? surrounding him. They ranged from deranged looking monsters, floating beings with soulless masks, and large humans in electricity-padded armor, to behemoth machines in the sky that could leave you within an inch of your life thanks to a drill for a hand?!

But what’s even worse is that you seem to have managed a deal with Morpheus himself and infiltrated his dreams. You were there, too, sometimes fighting with him, sometimes against him, much to his dismay, and while it was nice, he just didn’t get it. Why the friendliness and hostility? Why was there an anger that overtook him when looking directly at you, parrying your blade and sending harmful arcs of water toward your figure?

Why did he relish the fear in your eyes when he darted towards you with electricity cracking through the air?

There’s an overwhelming sensation now to grab his phone to text you and apologize -- for what, he can’t fathom and there are no words to accurately convey what he’s thinking. “Hey, sorry for wanting to kill you in my dream :( “? Or “Sorry for being a friend but then stabbing you in the back, but then being nice to you again”?

And the only thing that really made sense was the serenity and contentment that would course through his veins as the two of you danced around on ivory sandy beaches, picking up shiny blue starconches and taking down more weird creatures; the breathlessness when you would fall back into the water and re-emerge to reconfirm his beliefs that you were one of the most beautiful humans he’d ever laid his eyes on; the love--

Hold the fuck up.

He doesn’t love you. He likes you a whole lot and he’s severely and deathly attracted to you, but he doesn’t love you. Your existence has only been made known to him for about two months, and he didn’t really start talking to you until three weeks in. So no matter how comfortable he feels with you, no matter how much he wishes that you were sleeping peacefully next to him so his nights wouldn’t feel so lonely, it was too early, too hasty, to say that he loves you.

“I’ve been wondering, why didn’t you bring them home?” His mother asks him out of nowhere during breakfast, all to add to this extremely tumultuous roller-coaster morning he’s been having. All he wants to do is eat his bowl of milk and cereal, then potentially go back to sleep before fulfilling his promise to go with his siblings to the nearby skating rink. It takes everything in him to not choke on his spoon of grains.

“Agreed, didn’t you mention they didn’t really have any family to go back to and that the move to Liyue was semi-permanent?” His father chimes in, laying a quick peck on his wife’s temple. “It’s never fun to spend the holidays alone.”

“They would’ve felt like they were intruding,” Childe replies quietly, stabbing his bowl a few times before scooping up another spoonful of cereal to his mouth. “I know we’re friends, but we haven’t known each other for that long, and maybe they’d be uncomfortable because that’s a lot honestly…”

“You don’t know until you try,” his mother sings and pats him on the shoulder. “We do have a guest room after all.”

“For them and their twin?”

“And quite a comfortable futon with enough blankets.”

Childe smiles fondly at his parents’ kindness. He can only imagine what this winter break would’ve been like now -- you and your twin floating around, trying to help out with certain chores, sitting by the fireplace and watching TV, huddled up with mugs of hot chocolate, playing board games with everyone and engaging in all the shenanigans…

Laughing. Loving. Grinning. Basking.

Handing over one of his hoodies to you as a sick way of torturing yet blessing himself for seeing how lovely you look in his clothes, standing silently in the doorway as you attempt to help out with mealtimes next to his mother, watching you run around in the backyard and dodging his siblings’ snowballs while lodging a few of your own -- how wonderful it all would be.

But he squashes it down as quickly as possible, because you escaped his grasp. You ran away from his advances temporarily and even though you gave him permission to seek you out come the spring semester, he worries that you might take it back. Something will wake up inside of you to keep him out of your heart and your life, and he’s not confident enough at this point to believe there’s a good chance you will come spend the holidays with him and his family next year.

“Maybe next year, ma,” he sends her a hesitant, yet somewhat broken purse of his lips that’s just the least bit curved. It tells her everything he’s thinking, and the quick patting of his cheek lets him know she understands.

Half an hour later, Childe finds himself curled up on his side under the sheets, phone in hand as he stares at a blinking cursor. It shouldn’t be so hard to send a text to convey his holiday greetings, because that’s all it is -- part of him is becoming desperate and aching for some interaction with you, even if it’s just a text sent back for conventional social pleasantries. He’ll take it for now, right?

Before he can totally chicken out, his thumbs quickly type a, “Happy Holidays, (y/n) :)”, and it’s a little embarrassing how quickly after he hits the ‘send’ button that he tosses it over his shoulder so he’s not directly looking at it anymore. His heartbeat is too quick and he prays for no phantom vibrations or phantom sound notifications to avoid any disappointment of thinking he got a reply. It was a harmless text, yet he’s treating it like he just got assigned on a mission to go and murder someone for the first time. What will he do if you never text him back? Does that mean you really don’t want to talk to him? Are you dead in a ditch somewhere? Did you change numbers and not tell him? Did your twin get all the details and make the executive decision to block his number? Will he never get a chance to talk to you again, even if it’s about something in the Teyvat Mythology class next semester? Will you--

His shoulder screams in protest when he quickly flips himself over at the text notification sound, hands shakily unlocking his phone and opening up your conversation again. His heart rate significantly decreases, reaching back to its normal pace, especially as he reads the little words on his screen.

“Happy Holidays, Ajax ^^”

There is hope.

“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?”

You’re huddled under the comforter of your twin’s bed, phone just peeking above the edge as you stare at it with a brightness in your eyes. For the most part, you had been sulking there, apart from meals and going back to your own room to sleep, and mentally berating yourself for the way you reacted to Childe the week before.

“He just texted me to say happy holidays,” shrugging to put on a facade of indifference. It’s stupid that you’re trying to hide your feelings from your twin of all people, who could pick apart and identify your emotions in a heartbeat. A roll of his eyes lets you know that you haven’t fooled him at all.

“So you think that whatever comment he made, which was very suggestive and indicative of clearly non-platonic feelings, was just something...friendly? Remind me again how you came to that conclusion?”

“I don’t know what I was thinking!” You whine, looking around to see if there was anything you could toss at him. “It’s just, with everything, all the dreams and stupid gut feelings, I just -- I don’t know, okay?? I can’t tell you enough how much I wish I had just kissed his stupid face and see where it goes from there.”

“Okay, gross, but don’t beat yourself up. Though...I do have a good idea on how to maybe get a good reaction out of him. You wanna go to the New Years’ celebration at Xiangling’s?”

“I think she’d threaten me with a knife if I didn’t. She wanted to go shopping at some point, too.”

“I’ll drop the overprotective brother act for one night, okay? One night, just to let this happen, and for your peace of mind.”

He does a fair amount of conspiring with Xiangling, a friend they met one time at a restaurant a couple years ago, even tagging along on the shopping trip. Together, the three of you find yourself a dress that Xiangling swears would make any person drool over you, including Childe, because at the end of the day, he was a person with the possibility of being attracted to you.

You think it’s a bit silly, but honestly, what do you have to lose at this point?

At 11:57PM on New Years’ Eve, Childe is standing outside in the freezing cold with his family, arms lifting up bags of sparklers and fireworks. They’ve driven out closer to the wild like they do every year, and everybody excitedly gets lighters ready, making sure someone’s got a clock out there that tells the seconds. As the younger kids open up the packaging and argue over which one to set off first, Childe’s phone vibrates in his coat pocket.

It’s 11:58PM when he manages to fish the device out and thank himself for buying gloves that are touch-screen friendly, excited to see that there are two texts from you, the latter reading, “Happy New Year!”. It doesn’t matter that you’re a little early, but he’s mainly intrigued by the fact a photo came before it. In his mind, you’re probably curled up with your twin brother, hopefully a selfie because wow, he misses your face.

He gets something else instead, and he is so glad that it’s dark outside and the electric lamp they have is too far away from him to draw any attention.

You have your arm around your brother’s waist and another girl’s that he doesn’t recognize, but it’s a full frontal view of your outfit, one that hugs your curves beautifully and shows more cleavage than he’s ever seen from you, sophisticated and elegant, yet fun and leaving enough to the imagination. There’s a bright smile coming from all of you, and you look like you’re at someone’s house or apartment with plenty of other people milling around in the back, but they don’t matter, not when all he can focus on is you.

Gorgeous, breathtaking, arousing, mind blowing, and gods, he wishes he could teleport to Liyue at this moment, find you, and kiss you right at midnight. Fuck the fact that he doesn’t exactly believe in superstitions like, “Kissing your significant other at midnight means you’ll last forever!” but he’s willing to take the chance with it on this night and the ones after, if he’s allowed. He tries not to think too much about pinning you against the wall and letting the world dissolve -- wants to be the one with the privilege to drag down that zipper and feel his bare skin on yours, and --

As Teucer starts yelling there’s only a minute left, he instinctively locks his phone and shoves it away out of anyone’s view. The last thing he needs is his family teasing him about ogling at your photo for a straight 50 seconds, wide-eyed and pupils on the verge of dilating, the visible breath leaving his mouth just a smudge more dense and prominent than usual.

The only thing he can do to distract himself from popping a boner in front of his parents is to join in on the countdown, making sure all the fireworks are set up correctly and grabbing a sparkler for himself. He waves it around with Tonia and promises to fulfill her wishes of taking one of those pictures right as she draws a pattern in the air. Their excitement is palpable and addicting, and even though the larger fireworks set off a few seconds after midnight hits, the nostalgia fills his lungs with fond memories and future wishes that they only continue this tradition for as long as possible, and hopefully, with you at his side.

When it’s 12:04AM, you get a picture message back of Childe bundled up in a black paletot coat, matching beanie and all, a gloved hand holding a sparkler and lips curved upwards, with a caption that says, “Happy New Year’s! See you soon :)”. You show it to Xiangling and your brother, both taking it as a win in their books, although the former does tipsily protest that there should be a better indicator of Childe’s brain breaking at how amazing you look right now. Maybe she’s prophetic, because another text chimes in and the words set you aflame, as well as suggestive whoops into your ears.

It’s a simple, “You look incredible btw”.

If you didn’t want to properly savor this moment, you would’ve found the nearest shot of the strongest liquor and tossed it back with abandon. But you want to remember the warmth in your veins that wasn’t from the alcohol or the heating, the fluttering of your heartbeat, the teeth-baring grin that you couldn’t fight off, the constant re-reading of those four words -- because they’re so different from everything you had been feeling before with him, the need for protection, the need to escape. Instead, you’d like to be in his arms right now and see for yourself how he’d look at you in this moment, and if he would take any action.

You want him to. So, so bad.

Childe spends his last week at home hating the fact that you’re just sitting around somewhere in Liyue, doing whatever you’re doing, probably doing some light preparation for your last semester of classes, and he’s not there to take advantage of all this free time and hang out with you. When classes start, it’ll be busy and hectic. You still have your thesis to finish and revise, and while that won’t eat up all your time, it’s still some that he’d want to fill in with his presence if he could. He debates whether or not he should ask for your schedule and compare it with his, maybe set up meetings every other day or propose that they all eat one meal together every day. Childe’s not quite sure of what you plan to do after graduation, as it hasn’t come up in conversation yet, but either way, he’s determined to stay in contact and make things work out. Long distance isn’t ideal, but with technology now, he’ll take it.

He feels a little bad for how excited he probably looked to be leaving home, uncharacteristic for the most part. His older siblings have already gone back to their respective homes, and it’s mainly Teucer and Tonia that worry and tear up when he starts packing his belongings. Tonia finds it unfair that Teucer got to meet you first and the latter makes sure to rub it into everyone’s faces. It’s hard for Childe to sleep on the plane because he’s thrumming with excitement, yet somehow even more nervous than usual when the plane hits small bouts of turbulence, and he doesn’t seem to relax until he sets foot back on campus.

He’s here. It’s January, and you’re physically closer to him than ever in the last two weeks.

“Found you.”

On the first day of classes, you’re sitting alone with some salad greens in a bowl, poking your fork at some scraps while you watch something on your phone, earbuds in and back towards the entrance of the canteen. It would explain the unannounced entrance of the very person who’s been at the forefront of nearly every thought in the last 96 hours, his fingers gingerly removing an earbud to surprise you as best as possible, and you startle in your seat.

Your heart kicks into overdrive when he hands you back your earbud and pulls out the seat next to you, setting his own plate of food down as he plops down in his chair. But then he says nothing afterwards, instead choosing to send you a cheeky grin before digging in. You’re left to slowly phase out of your state of shock, stuck between either running away or frantically texting your twin to come and save you even though he was off on a date with Keqing.

It’s not that you weren’t elated at the fact that Childe had done exactly as you told him last month, you just weren’t...prepared? It’s a shitty excuse and a cop out -- you’re mainly just having trouble with racking your brain to find the right words. What are you supposed to say? What should you do? Is it socially acceptable to lean over and kiss him on the cheek because that’s what you’d like to impulsively do at this very second??

“So you did,” you settle and steal a roasted potato wedge from his plate. It’s his turn to be taken by surprise, but he gets over it much quicker than you do. In fact, he spears two wedges and drops them in your bowl, smiling at you as best as he can with a mouth full of food. You give them your thanks before the silence settles in again.

“Did you have a good break?” He asks before his next bite.

“I did. You?”

“It was nice. My parents said I should’ve brought you and your twin home to spend the holidays with us. Can’t say it didn’t cross my mind before finals.”

Holy shit, what? “We couldn’t intrude like that, but that’s really nice of you guys.”

“That’s okay, there’s plenty of chances to visit later.”

You tilt your head and furrow your eyebrows. “But we graduate this semester?”

Childe challenges you with one of his own eyebrows raised. “And? Are we never gonna see each other again?”

Honestly, the possibility had occurred to you. You aren’t entirely sure of Childe’s plans after graduation, and if that meant he was staying in Liyue or going back to Snezhnaya or even moving to Inazuma or Mondstat. While people preach on and on about how lasting friendships and relationships are often formed during college, you believe it’s more common to slowly drift apart as life gets busier. And if Childe moved away, or if you did, it’d be hard to consistently keep in touch with 10 hour workdays.

The thought saddens you, regardless. You like him so much and you’re glad that he was even in your life to begin with, because as unbelievable as it sounds, seeing him was almost akin to the feeling of coming home. Amidst all your nerves, your confusion, your spiraling thoughts, something deeply sated in your heart was a comfort that you found with very few people in your life whenever in his presence.

The thought of leaving and never looking back somehow doesn’t feel new -- it’s bittersweet, but the air in your lungs feels like it’s surrendered to something, like it was to be expected.

“You can’t just leave without telling me--”

“It was last minute! I had no choice!”

“You could’ve written up a message, anything--”

“Can you imagine the position you’d be in if the message got intercepted? I wouldn’t have been safe, she’d make you come after me--”

“As if you’d be any safer in Inazuma of all places! That’s the one place I can’t easily get to!”

“I can take care of myself, Childe, I don’t need you to protect me.”

“This isn’t about me protecting you, (y/n) and -- stop walking, will you?!”

“Then what is this about?” You spin on your wheel with eyes aflame. “Why are you so angry with me? It’s normal for me to disappear for weeks at a time, why was this any different?”

“Because you could’ve died!” He yells back in despair, chest heaving. Your silence is his cue to continue. “You could’ve died and I wouldn’t have known until much later. You could’ve died and all I’d ever think about were the things I never got to say to you, and how I wish I had treated every day with you like it was our last.”

It isn’t hard to tell that you’re stunned and at a complete loss for words. Childe often hides behind facades of charm and wit, and only when he is truly weak does he choose to be this vulnerable, baring his heart for you to see.

“I only have two nightmares in this world. One, my family being harmed in any way. Two, reading in a report or hearing from an agent that you’ve been captured and killed.”

“I like to think that we will.”

His hand reaches out to lay on top of yours, giving it a quick squeeze. “Well, let’s make the most of it this semester.”

Conversation afterwards is easy, filling each other in on holiday activities. Childe speaks extensively about several family traditions and you listen with rapt attention, basking in how fond he is of all of them. Even as you both bring your dishes to the return belt and leave, he immediately offers to drive you both somewhere to get boba, noticing your reluctance to part ways. But boba shops have to close, and you both have class tomorrow morning, and you’re both finding any excuse to keep talking, even if that means sitting outside your dorm building on a nearby bench.

You eventually bid each other good night’s and see you later’s, him refusing to walk away until the heavy door locks shut behind you after you swipe your student ID, and you looking over your shoulder to watch his figure disappear into the night.

True to his intentions, Childe makes great efforts to meet you at least once a day, and he can’t get enough. Each parting from you tugs and tugs at his heart, as if there’s a high possibility you’ll never want to see him again the next day, and he wouldn’t know what to do with himself. Your twin and Childe get along well for the most part, and he even meets Xiangling on one of her shifts at her regular restaurant, who sends you a salacious wink and an eyebrow wiggle over his shoulder that nearly causes you to burst from embarrassment.

February rolls over without a hitch, even if you’re a little disappointed that Childe didn’t make a move for Valentine’s Day. Granted, you two still spent time with each other and he’s so darn physically affectionate and he bought you a carnation from the event his dorm held, but you wish you had the guts to fess up and just kiss the man.

It’ll happen some day, you tell yourself. You have time before graduation.

Two days before the end of the Friday that would signal the start of Spring Break, you wake up in a cold sweat, mind reeling and head splitting, heart so so heavy, as a connection is made between your present and your dreams. Not long after, there are tears streaming silently down your face and into your open palms placed in your lap, and you sit in shock as everything comes back to you. Memories are such treasured burdens, you realize.

For the most part, you had gotten used to the dreams, choosing to take charge of what you know and feel now with Childe over succumbing to some strange neurological premonitions. Especially in your dreams when many people’s faces were blurred over and hazy, and the only things you could rely on were voices, touch, and other physical features. You thought that maybe your mind was just playing tricks by transposing Childe’s hair onto a body that was also strikingly similar to his, but for the first time last night, you could see each defining feature on his face as clear as day.

The sight of his figure arching gracefully over yours, the water arrows that appeared out of thin air, the back that protected you from some military men, the voice that said, “Hey girlie, hold still.”

And that was when you had snapped awake to your current state.

Past the initial shock and uncontrollable tears, you soon bent over as sobs wracked your chest, overwhelmed by all the emotions and the pain the memories brought you; losing your twin, finding him to only be left with even more questions after roaming for decades and decades, meeting all your loved ones throughout Mondstat and Liyue, fighting yet falling so hard for Childe, feeling the fear when facing his Foul Legacy form, hating him for Osial, loving him, breathing heavily as the tip of your blade was pointed at his neck and his own just centimeters from yours, tendrils of water inching closer and closer--

Everything makes sense now.

When you meet your twin for lunch at the cafeteria, you pay no mind to the fact that you’re in public and hug him harder than you ever have in years. He’s already a little alarmed that your eyes seem swollen and you look like finals came two months early, but when he asks what’s wrong, all he gets is a shake of your head and nothing more than, “Just a bad nightmare. I love you, y’know that?”

“I love you too?”

“Don’t sound so unsure, now let’s go and get in line before they run out of Jueyun Chili Chicken.”

Even when you meet Xiao later in the early evening to talk about your thesis, you find yourself holding back more tears just two minutes in, reminded of his past and his own life, and he’s moderately concerned, hesitantly handing you a tissue from the corner of his desk when a stray tear escapes. “Is everything okay?” He hesitantly asks, really hoping that he didn’t do anything to make you cry.

“No,” you almost wail and sniffle while dabbing at your eyes. “Sorry, it’s just been a really long day.”

Xiao’s inquisitive gaze softens, remembering how hard undergraduate life could be sometimes. Graduate school was a whole other level, but that shouldn’t discount your own personal difficulties. Plus, in all of the year and a half that he’s known you, you’ve never broken down like this before in front of him.

“You work really hard, Xiao,” you continue, and he’s not sure where this is coming from. “You’re always so helpful and willing to work with me and answer my stupid questions and like-- you practice self-care, right?”

Xiao nods as a white lie, but it seems to comfort you. Maybe too much because you pull him in for a quick and unexpected hug, and you both decide to reschedule this meeting for tomorrow.

As per usual, you wait for Childe to join you for dinner since you finished up earlier than expected. It gives you more time to think about everyone from Mondstat -- Kaeya, Diluc, Lisa, Jean, Amber...funny to think that some things never changed as you compared their past version to the ones you know now.

“Mora for your thoughts?”

There’s a peace that warms your heart when you hear Childe’s voice, one that forces you to smile at him as he sits down next to you. “Just thinking about old friends.”

“I have to admit, I’ll be a little jealous if it’s another guy taking up more space than me in that pretty brain of yours.”

What a flirt. This man isn’t good for your heart. “Who said you had any to begin with?”

He dramatically places a hand over his heart. “You wound me, (y/n). How will I ever recover?”

“You’re ridiculous,” you snicker. Childe reaches over to pinch your cheek and you bat at him in protest. Easily, he grabs one of your hands and simply pulls you towards the food lines, knowing that you’ll stop fighting back soon.

Part of it feels strange now to feel and see his hands with no leather gloves on.

“Childe,” you start halfway through your meal, continuing after he hums back in reply. “Do you believe in reincarnation?”

He freezes briefly, but recovers so quickly that if you hadn’t been watching so closely, you wouldn’t have noticed. “I think it’s neat, the idea of having past lives. Why do you ask?”

What he really wants to ask is if you’ve been having those dreams, too; if he’s starring in your nights like you have been in his.

“Just a thought, especially since you’re taking Teyvat Myth now, too.”

“Do you...do you think if there was a past life, that we knew each other?”

There’s something about the look of content on your face before you meet his gaze -- he thinks that you know more than you’re letting on but you’re holding back for some reason. He wants to know what’s going through your brain right now, why the fondness in your eyes sends a jolt through him like he’s been searching for it all his life, if you know anything about this magnetic pull between you two.

“I like to think that we knew each other well.”

Even though the first day of your returned memories was somewhat eventful, you couldn’t help but feel yourself wanting to pull back from Childe -- at least, until you can successfully compartmentalize which emotions belonged to you past self and which ones belonged to your current mindset. You didn’t quite agree with his duties and his affiliation with the Fatui back then, even if he had his reasons that did make sense, to some degree.

The killing, the threatening, so intent on stealing Rex Lapis’s Gnosis in the name of the Tsaritsa, summoning Osial as a mean to an end -- and you definitely can’t forget how stubborn he was in not listening to your protests, so caught up in his brain that you had betrayed him and sent you plummeting to a near-death experience despite his earlier promise of no intention of killing you specifically.

Everything had been toeing a faint, thin line with Childe then. Undeniable chemistry and tension, guarding yourself for yours and Paimon’s safety, slashing at Fatui agents, whispering out pleas and affirmations of “I’m yours” while riding him, sometimes having to sneak out in the mornings…

The only thing you don’t remember is how everything ends -- maybe it’ll come back to you eventually, but for now, you think you’re okay not knowing.

If Childe still doesn’t remember anything from back then, you think it’d be unfair to spend time with him in all your conflicting emotions, even when it’s spring break, where you have so much more hours in the day to be with each other than normal. Fun plans around Liyue had been made, like a two-day one-night trip to Yaoguang Shoal, and you’re this close to cancelling on him.

But he had been looking forward to it so much, even made most of the preparations for it. Who are you to rob that joy from him when it was you who couldn’t figure out your own shit? Are you self-destructing?

Perhaps.

Before you know it, you’re sitting in the passenger seat of his car, staring out the window at the scenery. Somehow, it pleased you to see that the nature of Liyue had been carefully preserved over the many centuries despite its development into the modern age. You get lost in picking apart the differences between then and now that you don’t notice how quiet you’ve fallen and Childe looks over worriedly when you show no reaction to your favorite songs playing on the stereo.

Even when he calls your name once, twice, nothing gives as you clearly have tuned everything out. So he leaves you be until there’s about half an hour left on the drive, unable to hold back and succumbing to reach over for your hand. You startle so strongly that he almost feels bad for having done it unannounced. But what’s even more disturbing is that this isn’t really the first time.

You’ve been talking to him less, often sitting quietly and staring off into another world that he can’t seem to reach. His texts are answered less frequently and with less wit and enthusiasm, so much so that he just appreciates you still show up to see him. Each time he asks if you’re okay, you always affirm that you are. He’s had a hard time believing you, but Childe believes you’ll tell him when you’re ready, surely.

It’s a little ironic yet fateful that Childe planned to bring you here, of all places. In the past, you had spent many days and nights running around in the sand with him, fighting slimes and hilichurls and collecting starconches for him. You remember laying on a large towel next to him as you both looked up into the sky, pointing out stars and constellations while sharing endless kisses away from prying, spying eyes.

“I’m sorry, I must’ve zoned out,” you sincerely apologize.

“It’s okay, I just wanna make sure you relax while we’re here. This is supposed to be a vacation.”

“You’re right,” you agree and squeeze his hand. “Let’s make the most of it before we become adults who are too busy to have fun like this again.”

And you do. Childe rented a small beach cabin (rich boys) closer to one end of the shoreline, just big enough with two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a small kitchen with a dining table. You help him bring in your bags and some groceries bought the night before, setting them down quickly so you can peer out the window again to take in the view. Childe picked a good time, too. Although it’d be a little chilly at night, the day was still warm and mainly overcast with clouds.

“What do you say we change into our swimsuits and head down to the water?”

“Sure.”

Childe hadn’t really been expecting for you to step out in a large, casual tee and gym shorts, one shoulder exposed. He might have been hoping to see a little more skin, but his mother didn’t raise a chauvinistic pervert for a son.

The light in your eyes as you both approach the water is everything he had been missing the last few days, your excitement and joy contagious. As soon as you place everything down on the sand, you kick off your flip flops and leave him behind to step into the water, giggling at feeling the waves crash over your ankles and bring sand between your toes. Childe approaches you from behind and starts smearing sunblock on the back of your neck, to which you just grin beautifully at him in thanks and he has to fight off the desire to kiss you right then and there.

You’re too caught up in embracing the ocean afterwards to feel the shrinking distance between you two, mistaking his warmth for the general spring air. It isn’t until he’s done with your shoulders that he hands you the bottle to leave you to do the rest of your body, and when you turn to thank him, he’s much closer than you remember. His eyes are gentle, holding your gaze and almost daring you to look away first.

But if there’s one thing you can place without a shred of doubt, it is the unmistakable look of love, because you had seen it many, many times before without knowing until later what it meant.

How so incredibly lucky you were to have Childe back in your life now, loving you all the same, and with no life-threatening barriers. Fate or the Archons have given you a second chance, and you’d be damned to take it for granted.

Childe welcomes your lips against his, wasting no time to bring you into his arms so you’re pressed against him as much as possible. He can’t care for the overt public display of affection because this is everything he’s wanted for months now, waiting patiently for you to give him permission to make you his. Your lips are incredibly soft and pliant against his as you first kiss him patiently, then applying more force and desperation to taste more of him. He mirrors you, one hand cradling the back of your head and the other on your neck with a thumb extended to your jawline, teeth moving to nip at your bottom lip. It’s dangerous, the way you smile against his lips, and when he sinks his teeth in deeper before pulling back, your quiet mewl nearly drives him over the edge.

But you’re in public, and this was an amazing first kiss. You two have a beach to enjoy and a fun night planned, and now that he doesn’t have to hold back on his affections, it’ll be even better.

His lips part from yours regretfully, his eyes languidly opening to meet yours. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots a blue starconch in the sand and freezes.

It’s not that he’s never seen one before, but something clicks. You. The shore. Starconches. Starry nights. His dreams. Monsters. Gods. Fighting. So much fighting. Training. His family. Dragons. You. Falling. You falling. You fighting him. Yelling. Kissing. Loving. Chasing. Him chasing you before you disappear at a teleport waypoint that somehow you only can operate. The abyss. Your twin.

Oh, Archons.

“ -ou okay, Ajax? Ajax?”

He snaps to look at you again. How does he go about this? How does he ask?

“(Y/n)...have you ever heard of the Fatui Harbingers?”

He has to admit that it’s a bit amazing to be able to identify all the emotions that cross your complexion, from curiosity to realization to conflicted. You’re actively trying to piece everything together without revealing too much on the off-chance that you’re wrong, that Childe hasn’t regained his memories and is just asking about something from class randomly and completely out of the blue.

Wait.

“You haven’t reached that material yet in class,” you whisper, heart in your throat at the realization. Could it really be…

“I was once Tartaglia, eleventh Harbinger of the Fatui, who possessed a Delusion and used my Foul Legacy Transformation with you several times,” he murmurs back, tucking a stray tendril behind your ear. “Is it too late to apologize again for summoning an ancient god and letting you fall about five floors with no warning?”

He should’ve been prepared for you wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a tight embrace. “No, never, but I spent weeks after kicking your ass so you’ve been long forgiven.”

Childe burrows his face into your neck, breathing in your scent and basking in this moment. There was so much to talk about, but you two arguably had more time in the world than ever with nothing holding you back. There was no impending war looming over, no one on the run, no opposing forces. His silent wish for a different life with you seems to have been answered finally. If running into you had been the event to set everything in motion, he only wishes he’d done so earlier.

All that matters now is you’re here together in this plane of existence, given a chance to love again, and experience everything you couldn't before.

As written in the stars, take my soul for it is forever yours.

fin

#childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin scenarios #genshin impact scenarios #genshin imagines #childe #tartaglia #childe angst #genshin impact #genshin angst #genshin impact angst #this fic maybe took two years off my life

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delaber · 3 years ago

Text

Remember (Bucky Barnes)

Summary: Bucky doesn't remember much but he remembers blond-haired, blue-eyed man.

Words: 1.3K

Bucky doesn't remember much.

He remembers what he did yesterday. And the day before. A few weeks back too and how he pulled an unconscious blond man away from certain death in the icy river. He doesn't remember why he felt inclined to save the slightly familiar stranger's life and flee to another continent afterwards, but he remembers the feeling of doing the right thing. Disobeying.

Still, he's bitten his nails down to the plate while sitting amongst rattling barrels of barley and wheat, nervously awaiting orders for what to do now that he is across the ocean - but the orders never come. He is a free man. He can do whatever he wants, he reminds himself and almost cries at the thought. He's not sure he likes it yet.

Thankfully, he is blissfully distracted when the freight train's rumbling engines come to a definitive halt, and he sees a sign in neat letters of some European city he's not sure he's ever heard of before. Bucuresti.

He traces the cursive letters with his eyes and hears the beautiful symphony of syllables when the conductor on the other side of the platform rolls it off her tongue. Bucuresti. Something about it emits peace, so without giving it a second thought, Bucky jumps out from his hiding place behind the barrels, tucks away his metal fingers in his pocket, and blends in with the masses of the city.

He keeps to himself while he walks around. He sleeps on benches, in parks, on dirty tiles in subway stations - but he likes the city. For the first few days, Bucky thinks it's because of the rest squeezed in between Bucu- and -i, but suddenly, foreign syllables spill automatically over his tongue and the sweet Romanian grandmother who is subletting a dingy apartment understands him when he in perfect Romanian asks for full discretion.

"I never rat on my own pack, fiul meu," she pats his cheek as if he is one of them. Calls him my son as if she trusts him with her life.

...Is he Romanian? Is that why Bucuresti seems to calm him? He doesn't feel Romanian - he feels more like a tourist, an intruder, someone who doesn't belong - not like someone's fiul.

So he continues his voluntary isolation while searching for answers.

So far, he's done everything he can think of. Yoga. Meditation. Eating the right things; plums, green beans, gagging on pineapple that he realises he hates. Nothing jogs his memory from before the train ride in and a vague memory of being called Soldat. Everything else is blank - well apart from the blond-haired, blue-eyed man from the river. The image of him has edged itself into Bucky's brain and it is driving him insane! He can't let go of the thought that maybe blond man holds the key to his past.

Cross-legged and desperate for answers, Bucky sits in the middle of his one-bedroom apartment while he tries to block out the musky smell of moulded wallpaper as he racks his brain for information on who he is. He sweats, and he grunts, and he gets so annoyed when everything remains blank that he yanks the elastic band out of the stupid bun on top of his head before he stops. Focuses on blending in instead, hoping to dear God that his brain will play along later.

He does what the people around him are doing. Buys a phone. Learns the internet. Meditates. Eats. Sleeps. Repeats. Googles "blond man, blue suit". "Man with star on chest". "Handsome blond". No result.

He knows he's seen him before. He knows!

"Come on, remember" he groans at night and squeezes his eyes shut. Presses in on his eyeballs so hard that he's kaleidoscoping. Sometimes it helps. Sometimes, he gets titbits, small glimpses of what he should remember. Mud. Gashing wounds. Harsh commandoes while his brain is being fried. Pliers. He tries to focus on the other stuff though. The pleasant stuff. Blond hair and blue eyes.

"Remember!" He hisses at himself, "Remember! Come on, Bucky!" It shoots out of him, and he freezes.

His eyes grow wide.

...Bucky?

Bucky?!

His name is Bucky!!! He lets his hands fall to his sides, stops the aggravating kaleidoscope while whispering to himself, "Bucky...". It sounds familiar, like the name of a long-lost lover. His name is Bucky - but that's not all though, is it? It doesn't seem like a first name, so he presses in on his eyeballs again and wrenches his brain. Waits for the other shoe to drop but falls asleep none the wiser.

It comes back to him a few days later. He's staring at the rusty shower head as he tries to wash off the most recent nightmare when suddenly, he remembers. His name is James! James Buchanan Barnes but he likes to be called Bucky! It sounds English. American. And suddenly, he remembers stars and stripes. His own palm pressed to his chest during the pledge of allegiance. He's American. He grew up in Brooklyn.

Excited that maybe pictures online can help him remember the rest, he jumps out of the shower, leaves wet footprints all over the floor while he marches to his phone and searches for pictures of Brooklyn ten years back. Then twenty. Thirty. Forty. But he has to go back almost seventy years before the pictures on his screen begin to look normal; the women are dressed differently, and the buildings look familiar. He remembers a particular street with a barber and a small store, and when he closes his eyes and goes back in time, blond man sitting by his side. He's smaller, thinner - but it's him. No doubt.

Bucky clicks an article with a vaguely familiar German name in the headline. It instinctively sends shivers down his spine - sounds like something he should remember, and he quickly learns that it is a name of war. That the young men in America were shipped off to the battlefields in Europe. Remembers that he was too. There's a muffled memory of men whispering the twenty-third psalm, of airstrikes and projectiles buried in mud, but when he filters through the rifles and the ear-splitting bombs, ignores the panic they induce, blond man is still by his side. He's bigger then. Taller, burlier, a war machine. Bucky's stomach churns at the thought. He remembers not liking that blond man has been turned into a weapon. He's Bucky's friend, not a symbol.

'That's why I pulled him from the river', Bucky thinks to himself. ‘We're friends.’

Friends. He remembers the feeling of having friends.

He's disappointed when the next few weeks bring him nothing. No titbits. No epiphanies. Not even when he's kaleidoscoping or meditating or splashing his face with cold water. But every night, he whispers to himself what he remembers. "My name is Bucky. I am from Brooklyn. I have a friend." But when he wakes up, he's always disappointed that nothing else has come back.

He walks around in a vegetative state for days, frustrated with himself and his inability to just fucking remember - until one day, he wakes up in the middle of the night after that nightmare. The worst of them all: the one with the free fall. It’s different than usual; this time he isn’t alone, his friend is there too. But Bucky is still bathed in sweat and his heart is pounding a mile a minute while the image of blond man's horrified face is etched in his mind’s eye. He can still hear him crying out his name, can see him desperately reach out from the train as Bucky falls into the abyss.

"It's Steve!" Bucky gasps almost as if he is drowning in it.

The name overpowers him, ties him to the bed while the memories flood his senses. Not just memories of death, and war, and the free fall, but of childhood, and love, and friendship.

Suddenly Bucky remembers every line, freckle, and wrinkle on his friend's face. Remembers his laugh, his scent, his courage, and the way the two of them were inseparable even after he became Captain America. "It's Steve," Bucky repeats and hears how a small, relieved chuckle escapes his struggling lungs amidst all the chaos. He can feel the tears well in his eyes. Tears of happiness and calmness because suddenly he remembers everything; who he is, what happened to him, but most importantly, he remembers Steve. His best friend, his companion, his Stevie.

"Blond man's name is Steve!" he laughs and reminisces who they used to be.

#sebastian stan #bucky imagine #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #mcu bucky barnes #bucky x steve #captain america #steve rogers #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #stucky

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arvinsescape · 4 years ago

Note

Haz and Harry writes two love letters while they are drunk, one for Tom, and one for Y/n, but they made it seem like they wrote it for each other.

Plot twist, Tom and Y/n are dating in secret.

Love letters.

A/N: So I loved this idea!! Thank you so much for sending it in!! I hope you enjoy and I hope it's what you're looking for!! 💕

Haz and Harry were so drunk as they sat on the couch together, everyone else had retired to bed. The alcohol was buzzing through their systems as they talked, hushing their voices and giggling every now and again.

"No, they have to have fucked though right?" Haz asked as he burst into a fit of giggles.

"Gross man, I don't wanna think about my brother and one of our best friends sleeping with each other." Harry groaned as he ran his hand down his face.

"They are so close though." Haz said and Harry laughed.

"Yeah they are." He agreed. "Wait though, they could just be super close, nothing has to be going on." Harry shrugged.

"Nah," Haz burst into yet another fit of giggles. "They are pining over each other." He added before an idea popped into his head. "Harry, that's it!" He suddenly said, voice a little louder. "We do something, make them realise they are made for each other." He said as he sat upright.

"Like what?" Harry asked, brows furrowed but thoroughly on board.

"We should write them love letters. I'll write Y/N's, you write Tom's!" He said almost excitedly.

"So I write a letter to Tom, pretending to be Y/N? A love letter?" He clarified as Haz jumped up from the couch, quietly disappearing into Tom's office.

"Here." He said handing Harry a piece of paper and a pen. "When you're done, put it in his gym bag, I'll put Y/N's in her bag." He said as he pointed towards your handbag that was by the front door.

"Hang on, why do I get the risky one? Tom's gym bag is in his room." Harry exclaimed.

"Well you're his brother, it'd be fine, besides he sleeps through anything."

"Fine." Harry responded as the two of them got to work.

Tom was getting changed after his shower at the gym when he found the letter, addressed to him. He furrowed his brows as he hastily opened it, reading the contents.

Tom,

I want to start off by telling you that I find you really attractive, one of the best looking guys I know. You make me laugh, more than anyone else. You know how to make me feel better when I'm having a bad day.

I love the way you make me tea when I'm sad. Even if you can't make a cup of tea for shit. I love the way you always know what to do to make me feel better, whether that be a hug or just taking me out for the day, it's like you always know what I need and I love that about you.

I love how you always call me and facetime me when you go away to film, how it always seems to be that you're thinking about me. How you always text me emoji's at random times of the day if you have nothing else to say, just so I know you're thinking of me.

I love how much you look after me, even though I'm not yours to look after. You always make me feel like the most beautiful girl on the planet just by looking at me. You make me feel safe when we're out together, always keeping a close eye on me.

I'm too scared to do this in person so I thought I'd write it in a letter. I think I'm in love with you, I don't want to ruin our friendship by saying it to your face. If you don't feel the same way, please, just rip this letter up and never mention it.

All my love,

Y/N.

Tom smiled as he read the letter, stuffing it back into his gym bag as he shook his head with a laugh.

You'd found yours earlier on in the morning, you'd lost something and were rummaging through your bag when you found it, eyes furrowed as you pulled the letter from the envelope addressed to you.

Y/N,

Where do I start? I suppose I should start by telling you how perfect you are. You really really are, everything about you is perfect and I suppose that's the purpose of this letter. I want you to know how incredible you are to me.

I love the way you smile, it's contagious, makes me smile just to see your pretty one grace your lips. I love how you smile even when you're not happy, how you never try and bring the mood down but I want you to know I see through it. I know when you're not okay and it makes me sad.

I hate when you're not okay, I just want to cuddle you, make everything go away for you. I'd take all of the weight off your shoulders, always and carry it myself. Shit, darling, I think I'd do anything for you.

I love how pretty your eyes are, I get lost in them sometimes. Sometimes I just want to kiss you but I can't because we're just friends. I want to be more, I've always wanted to be more.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm in love with you, I want to tell you in person but I always get too afraid because I always think you can do better than me, you deserve the world and I wish I could be the one to make you happy for the rest of your life.

Love you so much darling,

Tom.

You laughed as you read the letter, studying it carefully as you placed it on your bed. Tom came home from the gym and was thankful he didn't see anyone as he made his way upstairs and hastily into your room, shutting the door as he turned to look at you. You had an amused glint in your eyes.

"You were busy last night." You mused as you held the letter up in his direction.

"So were you." He grinned back as he held his own letter up. "Although I appreciate the sentiment, a few things aren't right in here."

"No? Strange that. This letter doesn't quite seem right."

"No?"

"No, darling was a nickname from a while ago." You laughed.

"Yeah, you're usually much more eloquent. Probably drunken rambling this." He mused back. "Do you think we should tell them?"

"What? That their penmanship needs work?" You laughed as you made your way towards him, arms looping round his neck as his found your waist, pulling you in for a kiss.

Harry and Haz both looked like shit when they came downstairs. Harry eyeing the letter's carefully as he sat down, he looked at his brother who looked nothing but amused.

"Good night last night?" Tom asked as you sat next to him on the couch, Tom wrapping an arm around your shoulders and bringing you in closer.

"You were there." Harry said as he gulped down the water Tuwaine had brought in for the hungover lads.

"No, I recall you staying up later than we did." Tom laughed and Haz groaned.

"Tom, keep your voice down."

"Sorry, I'll try and be quieter. I mean, I just hate when you're not okay, I just want to cuddle you." Tom teased as Haz furrowed his brows.

"What the hell are you going on about?"

"You don't remember last night?" Tom asked and Haz shook his head. "You left Y/N a lovely letter, made her morning. Although, I probably should have mentioned that I have a new nickname for her, I haven't called her darling for a while, she's been upgraded to Princess."

"Yeah and Harry?" You mused as the curly haired boy looked at you. "Tom always signs my name off in this cute little way. I also very much enjoy his brews, you outed yourself there mate." You laughed.

"What are you two going on about?" Harry grumbled.

"Maybe those will jog your memories." Tom laughed as the boys picked them up reading through them.

"Who's idea was this?" Harry said, brows furrowed. "This looks nothing like Y/N's writing, it's obviously mine."

"Well I wouldn't have come up with something so ridiculous." Haz said, tossing the letter back on the coffee table.

"If you want pointers for next time, I'll happily lend you the letter I actually sent Y/N a couple of months ago." Tom shrugged and the boys narrowed their eyes at the two of you.

"Wait a second, are you two?" Harry cut himself off.

"Yeah, I told her months ago I was in love with her. Nice try though boys, I appreciate the sentiment." Tom grinned as he leant down to capture your lips in his. "Besides, when you went to put that letter in my gym bag did you wonder at all why I wasn't in bed?" Tom teased.

"No! I don't even remember doing it."

"Harry, on what planet would you think that was ever going to work?"

"Me? This has your drunken stupidity written all over it." Harry fired back, completely lost in their own argument as you and Tom were lost in each other.

#tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland blurb

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user21340 · 4 years ago

Text

the world in her arms

(i don’t own this gif or characters used in this fic)

pairing: natasha romanoff x fem!reader

summary: you and natasha have always had quite a flirty and sarcastic relationship. both of you develop feelings for one another but you both are clueless to what the other feels until nat gets jealous and says something hurtful to you. will you make up (or out)?

warnings: minor angst, fluff, swearing, and a mention of death.

word count: 2.1k

a/n: omg thank you so much for 57 followers love you all 💕. sorry for the lack of content i didn’t know what to write and had almost no new ideas. also i’m a youngin and worked my first 8 hr day yesterday so your girl was exhausted and i have finals coming up soon. k thank you for coming to my ted talk, enjoy!

also this song doesn’t relate to the story at all but it’s underrated imo and also sorry for the weird pov changes throughout the story.

“Hey y/l/n! Where are you headed?” Natasha yells from the kitchen while I’m standing in the living room on our shared floor.

“Wouldn’t you like to know Nat.” I say with a smirk.

“Yeah matter of fact I would.” she retorts.

“Chill, I’m just headed to train some recruits with Clint. But don’t miss me too much, I'll be back in a few hours, Natty.” You blow a kiss her way, and she just rolls her eyes partially from the kiss and the use of her nickname but you see a faint pink tint sitting atop of her cheeks before she turns away.

I’ve been training these recruits with Clint for a couple hours and my session is nearing an end. Something I’ve picked up on today is how touchy and how dumb these recruits are acting just for me to correct their form. I don’t have time for this shit I think as this girl has me correct her jab form for what has to be the fifth time this hour.

Non readers pov

Natasha actually does start to miss you because of how bored she is due to the larger training room being occupied for these recruits. She heads down to see if you are wrapping up yet and see if you’d like to grab dinner with her somewhere. She arrives at the training room and heads to the back room where there is a large one way mirror. Natasha, having nothing better to do, watches Clint and yourself interact with these seemingly clueless recruits.

Minutes pass and Natasha honestly likes seeing your frustration every time a recruit asks you a stupid question or something you’d already answered for the hundredth time this session. That is until she sees this handsy recruit keep asking you to correct your form which she sees you fake a smile at and happily correct it. As if Natasha isn’t jealous already she sees you release a genuine large laugh at something a recruit says. Not being able to withstand witnessing anymore of this behavior from you directed towards anyone else except her. Natasha then storms off into the living room.

Readers pov

I was nearing the end of this session when a recruit comes up behind me and asks, “Soooo, is it true that you and Clint are like a thing?” he asks with no trace of humor or sarcasm on his face. I just bust out laughing because one, everyone or at least almost everyone who knows about The Avengers knows that I’m 100% only interested in women and two, CLINT? I mean he is a great guy and all but I’ll never forget the time I went into a diner to have breakfast with him and the waitress assumed he was my grandfather.

twenty long minutes later...

The living room is lively and everyone seems to strike up a conversation with one another. I decide to strike up a conversation with Natasha who is weirdly acting cold all of a sudden.

“Oh my god! You know what I just remembered the other day? My mom used to-“

“Shut up, y/n/n. I don’t care and I don’t think anyone does at the moment.” she exclaims with a small smirk thinking you’ll detect her harsh-morbid sarcasm.

“Oh.” you choke out, “It’s getting pretty late I-I better head to bed” my voice cracks as I mutter a small, ‘asshole’ agony laced in my voice blinking the hot tears away. I start walking towards my room but it slowly turns into a jog, then sprint. Anything to get to my room and release my sadness.

Non readers pov

The room is frozen. Everyone is staring at Natasha.

“I care.” Wanda states heading to your room because she knows you shouldn’t be alone right now.

“Jesus Nat, that was awful. You know you’ve fucked you when even I say it’s bad. Poor girl’s mom passed when she was around 10.” Tony deadpans.

“Oh my god, what have I done?” Nat says burying her head into her hands.

“I’m not too sure how you’re gonna get out of this one Nat, but you’ve gotta fix this.” Sam says.

Wanda reaches your room and hears loud yet muffled sobs while standing in the hallway. She can feel your grief rippling through her body. The only heartache she can relate to is the moment she lost Pietro which is more than an average person should feel. She knocks on the door softly yet hard enough to alert you of her presence.

Readers pov

I hear three soft knocks on the door. I quickly silence my cries and assume it is Nat. I then clear my throat as the knocking continues and muster up enough energy to speak,

“Go away” into my pillow loudly. The knocking stops but I don’t hear anyone walk away just yet.

“Y/n/n, it’s Wanda. Can you let me in please, so we can talk?” she asks, I stand up while groaning and walk towards the door. I unlock it and open it just a crack to make sure she is alone and not with a certain someone. It is pretty short-lived as Wanda pushes the door open the rest of the way.

“Oh hon, I’m sorry.” She says as she wraps me into a tight hug after closing the door behind her. I crumble into her embrace as she rubs small circles on my back. Wanda has always been such a calming figure in my life since I met her, a major part being that she can feel almost all of my anxieties that try to drown me throughout a day. She also knows how it feels to be alone which allows her to relate to my feelings, so she knows just how much missing someone who is gone for eternity hurts.

We hug for what feels like minutes but when I take a quick glance outside my window it is dark out.

“Is it true?” I rasp.

“What?” she counters.

“Y’know that no one cares. All I wanted to do was share a memory that I remembered of myself with my mom and as you know it isn’t too often that I remember these types of things and when I do I love sharing them, so she won’t ever be forgotten. It just hurts so much to be shut down talking about something you truly care about by someone you care about.” I explain while Wanda looks at me with the softest eyes I’ve ever seen while nodding her head slightly.

“Now that is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. I care and everyone in this compound cares about what you have to say as well as what you are feeling. You know how Natasha can be sometimes with the insensitive comments she makes before realizing what she’s doing.”

“I know but that doesn’t give her the right to j-just say stuff like that. I get how full our relationship is with banter and sarcastic comments but I really thought she was starting to like me.” I frown as Wanda just nods. That’s when exhaustion hits me like a truck.

“Wands, before I ask you this just know you can decline.” I give her a minute to protest, but she says nothing. ” Can you sleep with me?” Wanda’s eyes widen,

”Y/n/n I don’t think that is a good id-“ I realize what I just said and cut her off before things get even more uncomfortable. “Nonono, Wanda, like lay down with me not any of that gross stuff. Ew.” Wanda’s features fill with relief, and she chuckles at my childish comment about sex.

“Of course I will! You just may want to word it a little different next time.” she chuckles as you hide your face with embarrassment. We both get settled on the bed and I feel her two arms pull me towards her and I snuggle closer.

Non readers pov

Wanda slowly gets out of bed after she is sure you are fast asleep and sets off to find Nat. When she does she sees that Nat had barely moved from where she last saw her still with her face in her hands.

“Nat. I know you think you really screwed up, which you did, but it’s y/n/n. You can’t go on without telling her how you feel about her.”

“Wanda, you can’t just look in my mind! We’ve talked about this!”

“Romanoff you know I’m one to keep my promises, so I’d never look without your permission. Maybe if you turned down the volume of your thoughts a few decibels I wouldn’t have heard anything. Also, are you ready that oblivious to the fact the whole team knows you two are like little lovesick puppies for one another when you two aren’t attached by the hip.” she explains, “Now, stop moping around and apologize at least.”

“You’re right, Wands, wish me luck. I hope she can forgive me.”

Natasha gets up and races towards your room. She didn’t want to wait so long to talk to you and apologize, but she thought you wouldn’t want to speak to her after what she’d said.

Similarly, to Wanda’s entrance, Natasha softly knocks on your door enough to wake you even out of your semi-deep sleep.

Readers pov

I jump at the knocks on the door and am confused to see Wanda is no longer beside me.

“Wanda you don’t have to knock, you know that.” I sigh out.

“It isn’t Wanda.” a voice you are able to recognize as Nat sheepishly speaks.

“Oh, what do you need?” I ask, all the heartbreak and ache coming back when I hear the voice I’m usually excited to listen to, as if her speech is my favorite song.

“Can we talk? I need to apologize.”

“Sure,” I softly reply.

Non readers pov

Nat opens the door once she has your permission and sees your usual strong, confident frame look small and fragile. Her heart breaks at the sight of you so broken and in pain because of her own actions. Not to mention your tear stained cheeks when you look towards her. It is silent for a minute or so before you throw your head back onto your pillow staring at the ceiling. This awakens something in Natasha for an unknown reason.

Readers pov

“Y/n, I am so sorry. I know that sorry doesn’t cut it for the amount of hurt I’ve caused you all because I was jealous but I hope we can rebuild what we had but it totally is okay if you don’t want to even though I would love another chance with yo-“

“Nat, calm down. I’m not going to sit here and say I’m fine with what you said because truth be told I love sharing memories of my family when I remember them with you. Not only because I trust you but because I think I care for you and love you more than friends should. I just hope what you said is meaningless or else that is when we can’t rebuild what we had.”

“No y/n/n, I didn’t mean any of it. It was just in the heat of the moment because I saw you laughing at something a recruit said when I was going to ask you if you wanted to go get dinner with me. So, I stormed off like a child and said hurtful things to mask my selfishness because I want you to be mine and mine only.”

“Oh my god Nat. You can’t be serious, I was laughing at something a recruit said because he assumed Clint and I were going out.” Nat bursts out laughing.

“See? Anyone who was told that who knew me would just die of laughter on the spot.” I say as I glance her way while patting the place beside me on my bed. She accepts.

“So you actually like me?” you hopefully ask.

“Possibly depending on if those feelings are reciprocated.”

“They are.” I say.

“Good. Can I also say how sorry I am for saying that to-“ I cut her off but placing a quick peck to her soft lips.

“Uh, uh, uh” I tut, “I don’t want to hear any more apologies come out of that mouth. Could you just hold me?” Natasha is still dumbfounded by the little kiss.

“Of course.” Nat complies pressing your back to her front as she wraps her long toned arms around your frame. I hum at the contact.

At this moment Nat realizes there is no place she’d rather be as she feels like she has the world in her arms.

#natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha romanov x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x reader #Spotify

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may-fanfic · 4 years ago

Text

Falling Hard

Summary: Natasha took you in when you were very young and raised you as her own. You and Wanda become friends when she was recruited, after an argument you have with nat, Wanda is there to comfort you.

Warning: mentions of drug addict parents, small argument, thats about it, correct me if i’m wrong tho

Rating: idk its fluff

word count: 2,311

((feel free to send in any request))

pt 2

masterlist

------

Wanda hadn't expected to find someone she could rely on or relate to anyone when she joined the Avengers. she assumed they were all gonna be older people who had no idea what they would talk to them about, she figured it would be awkward but at least, she had people on her side.

you strolled into the living room to greet the newcomers when Natasha called you. Wanda was quiet and closed off as Natasha made an awkward introduction to the twins as you kinda just stood there, the book that you had been reading tucked to your side as the group simply stared at their feet. "this is useless, mom can I go?" you asked gesturing to the stairs, the woman tucked hair behind your ear before nodding, smiling lightly at you. you often came off as harsh as Natasha even if you had been the sweetest person, at least that's what the redhead spy thought. you were a lot like her, strong, smug with a slight attitude.

"she's not good with new people." Tony explained causing Natasha to glare at the man. "don't you dare talk about my daughter." she pointed a finger before huffing and going away to make some coffee.

"that's where she gets it." Steve chuckled.

----

you had managed not to run into the new pair until one day you had been seated in the kitchen, perched upon the countertop as you swung your legs, all your attention glued to the book at hand until a gush of wind smacked you, blowing your pages causing you to gasp lightly and when you looked up, Pietro had been standing there and he swallowed hard at your cold glare and only seconds later Wanda jogged in, breathing hard as she whined about him cheating, quickly going quiet when her eyes landed on you. "no powers in the tower especially you, buddy!" you pointed a finger at the boy with whitish hair causing him to nod.

maybe you had been a little mean but Wanda didn't understand why she had been attracted to your mean girl attitude but she couldn't help the flutter in her chest whenever you were around her. you were a short, hot-headed girl and she couldn't help but be intrigued by you.

after some time the two of you finally had actual conversations that had been past your snarky remarks. she had been more than relieved to have a friend in you and Natasha were glad that you had been coming out of your shell. it wasn't that you were an introvert, you simply didn't get along with a lot of people.

---

"show me!" you giggled, rolling onto your stomach as the girl rested against your headboard, rolling her eyes playfully before twirling her fingers around, a red glowing light appeared between her fingers causing you to gasp. "whoa!" you admired, a soft giggle slipping from her lips as you stared at the red that moved in between her fingers.

"what else can you do?" you smiled, leaning your head in Wanda's lap, she tried her hardest to focus on anything else but the way her heart fluttered. she cleared her throat, moving one of your books from across the room into her hands quickly causing you to look at her, mouth agaped and she wore a smug smile before pulling a blanket over you with her powers and sweetly smiling.

"let me read to you." she offered, the main light to your room going off and instead the lamp beside your bed turned on and it was all too much for you to process so instead you just nodded and settled completely into her lap, your eyes fluttering shut, warmth and comfort washing over you as her heavy accent filled your ears.

---

Wanda watched as you mindlessly hit the punching bag even Steve struggled to keep the bag at bay as you punched it and you hadn't even used all your strength but you were strong... really strong. "good." your mother spoke uncrossing her arms and nodding at Steve to let go of the beaten bag.

"you're getting better at controlling your strength." Natasha pointed out, handing you a bottle of water and a small towel for your sweat. "you think?" you asked softly wiping at your forehead before grabbing a hold of your discarded t-shirt watching as she nodded with a smile. "when do you think I can start with missions?" you watched your mom's face turn sour and she ran a hand through her redhead. "let's not talk about that right now." she sighed, reaching out for you only for you to step back, a frown taking over your lips.

"you're too young, kid." Steve spoke up causing you to snap your hard glare at him. you were Wanda's age, there was no way that was the reason. "call me kid once more time." you stomped over to him until Natasha caught your wrist.

"that is exactly what I mean.. come on babes... I know what's best for you. after all, I am your mo-"

"you're not my mom." you spoke sharply, her lips parted and eyes watering up. "and you never will be." you turned away from her so quickly before stumbling over to the exit, the witch shooting up and following you.

"I'm not your mother?!" the woman followed closely behind you, anger filling her face. "I wasn't there when your drug-addicted parents were murdered?! I wasn't the one who took you to school every day?! I wasn't the one who was there for you every time you had a nightmare?! you had no idea what a mother was until you met me! so don't you dare ever talk to me that way again! you hear me?!" you bit the inside of your cheek, refusing to let any emotion show.

"I didn't ask for your help. you took me to fill the void of not being able to have children! you were just sad and lone-" you were abruptly cut off but the woman's voice.

"fine, you know what? you're right. I'm not your mom and I don't want to be. not anymore... I give up y/n. I do. I'm done trying to be there for you. I give up on you." she shrugged before turning and stumbling back into the training room, her soft but firm words cutting you like knives and if Wanda hadn't been there and softly grabbed a hold of your hand, you would've crumbled because it wasn't the first time those words were uttered to you.

"come on, возлюбленная (sweetheart)" she cooed, tugging you in the direction of your room, feeling your anger being washed away by sadness. as soon as you were in your room, you couldn't help the sob that slipped from your lips. your back crashed against the wall and slid down it before Wanda met you on the floor, her arms quickly wiping around you and whispering soothing words in your ear.

"Everyone gives up on me! everyone! I'll never have anyone!" you sobbed into the girl's chest causing her to bite her lip, shushing you lightly. "you have me. believe me, when I tell you, I'll never give up on you. I promise.. b-because i-" she paused for a moment, pulling your face from her chest, cupping your cheeks softly and wiping away the tears that poured from your eyes. "because I love you.." she confirmed causing your tearful eyes to go wide. "nothing with ever change that.." she added before a gasp slipped from her when your lips crashed against hers with a hard pressure before it quickly softened when you notice how hard it was and you had been too afraid to hurt her.

"that was a bit harsh, Romanoff." tony mumbled, glancing up at her when she reentered the training room, a hard look on her face. "what do you know?!" she snapped, slightly becoming choked up when she thought about the way your face fell when she uttered out her words coldly. she didn't mean it, she didn't mean any of it but you had hurt her. as a mothe- a caregiver she should've been able to handle it better. she loved you unconditionally and she hated herself for hurting you.

"I know what it feels like for a parent to give up on you, and it doesn't feel good," he spoke sincerely causing her to let out a breath, pinching the bridge of her nose to stop the pain in her head. she should've been the bigger person and threw away her pride when it came to you. her eyes started to water at the memory of you telling her you loved her for the first time when you were much younger or when you first called her mom for the first time and now she had been punching the punching bag hard to avoid her feelings, but then she couldn't shake the feeling that you had been upset and she felt so much hatred for herself at that moment.

Natasha knew you loved her and viewed her as a mother but your vision had been so clouded by anger that you simply couldn't control what you were saying but she could've. with one final punch, Natasha decided that it was her who should apologize. when she stumbled to your room and gently pushed open your door, you had been neatly tucked away in Wanda's embrace, your face nuzzled into her neck.

the both of you had been sound asleep and she didn't have the heart to wake you up from your seemingly comfortable state but then it dawned on her that you were never a cuddly type unless it was someone you really, really liked, and then she couldn't help the small smile and her teary eyes because she realized that her little girl had grown up and had been in love.

you had been incredibly exhausted in the morning. you couldn't believe how emotionally worn out you had become and it hadn't help that Wanda wasn’t with you in the morning instead you met her in the kitchen, a small grin on her face when she spotted you. "I wanted to make you breakfast," she explained shyly, her arm wrapping itself around your lower back and pulled you in for a hug.

"you're too sweet, Wanda." you sighed out conflicted on whether you should be happy because the girl you liked for a bit of time is finally yours or if you should feel upset that you no longer had that mother figure that Natasha provided you with. you planted a soft kiss on Wanda's lips before turning to make some coffee. you and Wanda had been up quite early, leaving the both of you in a comfortable quiet kitchen as you worked alongside each other to get breakfast ready.

you had gone most of your day without seeing Natasha until you and Wanda stumbled into the training room, Wanda bragging about how she could whoop your ass without even using her hands and you protested claiming you could rip her in half using your bare hands. the conversation was lighthearted and playful, you were both laughing and giggling about it until Natasha had come into your sight.

"We need to talk y/n." the older woman declared with a stern look on her face but in all reality, she had been happy that Wanda was making you smile despite the heavy argument you had with Natasha. you didn't have it in you to protest so instead you nodded and Wanda sent you a comforting smile before stumbling out the training room giving the both of you privacy. you let out a sigh, your gaze dropping before you glanced back up at the woman who raised you. "l-listen, mo- Natasha-" the woman stood her head, taking steps towards you and opening up her arms for a hug. "no, stop come here." you stepped into her embrace, sighing softly in relief.

"I would never and I mean, never give up on you. you know why?" you shook your head nuzzling into the woman. "because you're my daughter and you'll always be. I love you very much and I'm sorry that I ever allowed my anger to cloud my judgment. I'm your mom and I should've reacted to the situation better. it'll never happen again. okay?" you let out a half sob, half laugh causing her arms to tighten around you.

"I'm sorry too." she chuckled lightly, pressing a soft and comforting kiss to your temple. "it's just upset when no one trusts you when it comes to something that you've been working hard on, you know?" you explained causing Natasha to push you back slightly, cupping your cheeks and frowned. "you think I don't trust you when it comes to your strength? I do trust you, honey. it's just I want you to be emotionally prepared for what the mission entails, do you understand? plus you getting hurt because of something I allowed you to do would kill me." she uttered out causing you to nod understandably.

once all the heavy stuff had been out the way and apologizes had been accepted, Natasha couldn't help the smug smile that formed on her lips, she moved to hold the punching back for you as you punched at it, focusing on how hard you had been hitting it until Natasha uttered out. "I saw you and Wanda cuddling last night when I came to apologize. I've gotta admit you two are cute together. how long has that been going on?" she smirked when your cheeks flushed over and your eyes widened. the woman had been playfully wiggled her eyebrows at you as your punches stopped abruptly, your cheeks heating up even more.

"oh my god, please stop!"

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff fanfiction #natasha romonova #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x you #the avengers #avengers #natasha romanoff

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mizunetzu · 4 years ago

Note

ok fine i'll bite

what if u made a tamaki amajiki fic but instead he's actually the UA traitor 😳 and he's actually a yandere and his target's a gender neutral 3rd year 😳 omg that would be pog

haha jk.. unless?

don't bully me pls i haven't done this b4

Miss miss miss sylviaaa 😀😀😀 I lov u miss sylviaaa

——————

Tamaki x reader - My Darling’s Pen

⚠️warnings - yandere Tamaki, stalking

Pronouns - genderneutral, they/them

——————

All it took was a pen.

A pen that dropped from their desk, one that rolled over and knocked against the side of Tamaki’s shoe. He hadn’t noticed them at all for the whole school year, but the moment they tapped him on the arm and said,

“Sorry-can you get that pen for me? It’s near your foot.”

With one of the warmest smiles he’d ever seen, he was smitten. Their voice was tantalizing, sweet and not too loud, and it graced Tamaki’s ears like wedding bells. He didn’t know he was staring until the beauty that was this person waved their hand infront of his face awkwardly.

“...Are you ok?” Their voice was full of worry. Worry for him. Tamaki’s heart swelled with the notion that he was being worried over by someone as...lovely as them.

He nodded shyly, and bent down to swoop up the pen in his hand. Their hand brushed against his when they reached over and grabbed it, and he could still feel his hand tingling even hours after. The person smiled another one of those heart clenching smiles, and looked back down at their paper.

Tamaki couldn’t focus the rest of the period.

——

When the bell dismissing them for lunch rang, and students started getting up from their seats, he once again noticed that person walking past him, talking to their friends. He wished he was part of their friend group. He didn’t know why, but that person just seemed so...cool.

The same pen from earlier bobbed from a hole in their bag’s pocket, and Tamaki cursed himself for staring once more. The pen eventually slipped completely through the small rip in their bag. The pen tumbled onto the ground, and stopped in front of Tamaki.

He picked it up. Should he return it? He looked at the door. No one was there. He was the only person standing in the classroom. Tamaki considered giving it back to them when class ended, but he found himself slowly slipping the pen into his own pocket.

‘It’s a pen’, he thought. ‘Surely they won’t miss it. It’s...it’s a pen.’

He didn’t know why he wanted to keep it so much. It was just that. A pen. He had no use for it-he had tons of other pens that no one asked to borrow because he was too shy to talk to them. It was useless.

But he found himself sitting on his bed hours later, staring blankly at the ceiling while he admired the pen or clicked it once or twice.

It was just a pen...

——

Everyday, when Tamaki would open his pencil pouch, he’d have all these other pens and pencils to choose from, ones that probably wrote way better than that person’s pen, but every single time, his eyes would land on that pen he “found on the ground” and he’d use it.

Fidgeting with the pen after class, he couldn’t help but follow this mysterious pen dropper every single day out to lunch. He wasn’t a stalker, no! He was just...figuring out the right time to return the pen they dropped. The pen they dropped a week ago...

Tamaki saw the familiar mop of (H/c)-colored hair, running past him and to their group of friends that Tamaki just so happened to memorize. He stared at them without shame, until he heard one of them speak.

“Hey, (Y/n). It-it uh, looks like Tamaki-kun wants to talk to you there.” The friend pointed at him, but he only tensed up when their eyes drifted from their friends to him and him alone.

“Oh. Uh, that guy from the big three?”

The person, (Y/n), whispered to their friends. Tamaki’s heart swelled. They knew who he was. He felt a sense of pride. He was important enough to take up space in this beautiful person’s memory. He wanted to be more important, and maybe take up some more space like he never used to want before. He wanted attention when he never used to want attention before.

“...hello?” (Y/n) was in front of him now. They looked straight into Tamaki’s eyes, and Tamaki wanted to look away immediately. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t sure if he was just nervous like he normally is, or if it was something else. But still...

They smelled so good.

(Y/n) waved their hands in front of Tamaki’s eyes. He blinked, suddenly very aware of how he was lost in his own thoughts. He was about to apologize, and maybe turn to face the wall, until he heard (Y/n’s) lovely, lovely voice.

“You’re really shy, huh? Don’t worry, I can back up if you want me to.”

Their voice was gentle. So gentle, like something fuzzy tickling Tamaki’s nose. It made him want to crawl inside a locker and just breathe. It was heavenly. He wanted nothing more but to just...listen to this person’s kind voice.

“U-u-uh...it’s fi-ine...” Tamaki hated the way his voice was barely audible. It stood nothing against the kind, smooth, god-like voice (Y/n) graced him with. Still, (Y/n) smiled so, so warmly.

“Alright then. Did you need something?”

Oh. That’s right. The pen. He was going to return it. Tamaki began to reach into his pocket, when his hand stopped. He thought about it for a second, then let his hand rest flaccidly inside his pocket, shoving his other one in bashfully aswell.

“I-no...I was just-just staring off into space and I-I guess I was staring in y-y-your direction...”

It was a lie. A terrible one at that. So he didn’t understand why (Y/n) believed him, bid him goodbye with their angelic voice, and let him keep their wonderful pen. He didn’t understand why he didn’t return it either. He needed to...return it. But there was one thing he did know.

That beautiful angel that sat near him in class was named (Y/n).

——

Once you knew someone’s name, it was relatively easy to find out more about them.

For example, Tamaki knew their full name was (L/n) (Y/n), their favorite food was the cafeteria onigiri that lunch rush would package on the go, but specifically if it was left alone to sit for a few minutes to marinate, and he even knew the neighborhood where (Y/n) lived, and how long it took (Y/n) to walk from there to school. 14 minutes and 38 seconds not counting the times they go buy a snack from the convenience store. Though, he wished he knew their exact address.

That wasn’t it, however. Tamaki found himself ‘discovering’ more and more of (Y/n’s) items, whether it be a small keychain hanging off their backpack he purposely loosened with his scissors so it would fall off, or the strawberry scented chapstick that was sitting so enticingly on their desk when they left to the bathroom one day, Tamaki had them all. Nothing too important, though. Nothing that he knew (Y/n) would miss. Just pens and their old loose paper assignments that they threw away, mostly.

And it didn’t help that Tamaki stopped sitting with Mirio and Neijre at lunch, just to purposely sit at a lunch table near (Y/n’s) so he could hear their pretty voice once again. Not too close, but close enough to listen. When Mirio asked, Tamaki told him he just wasn’t feeling very well lately.

But that didn’t make him a stalker, right? He wasn’t overstepping any boundaries...he was just...finding the right opportunity to give back the pen he borrowed. Yeah. That’s it. The pen he borrowed that he actually didn’t borrow. He figured they’d want it back, even though he had countless other little trinkets in his possession, that once belonged to them.

No, no he wasn’t a stalker. He was trying to be a good person and return their pen.

——

Ok, maybe it was a bit of an obsession.

Most of his camera roll was filled with (Y/n). Pictures from their social media that Tamaki cropped so he could only see them (and not their stupid friends), pictures he nervously snuck during class or lunch, and even the occasional picture he took ‘passing by’ when (Y/n) was walking home.

He cherished all of them, even printing some out and building a small shrine with the items he stole. He didn’t want his parents to see, so he made sure it was in a box he could hide in his closet.

Once again, (Y/n) walked home from school like always. They took their normal route, as always. But this time, they walked alone. Tamaki was planning to sneak some more pictures—nothing too indecent because even he has some boundaries—but this time (Y/n) was alone.

‘Ah...!’ Tamaki shuffled through his bag, pulling out the small pencil pouch he bought purely filled with stuff ‘borrowed’ from (Y/n). He fished out the pen he’d been planning to return for a month now, and looked back at (Y/n). ‘Nows the perfect time...’

...But he wanted to keep the pen. It was his favorite pen. Even though he had countless other pens ‘borrowed’ from (Y/n), he couldn’t help but feel attached to this one. So he fished out another random pen from the pouch of (Y/n’s) things, before stopping again.

He didn’t wanna give up these either.

Instead, he zipped up the ‘(Y/n)’ pouch, grabbed his normal pencil pouch, and brought out one of his normal pens. It looked similar to one of the countless pens he took from (Y/n), so he supposed it would suffice. Wasn’t he such a nice person? Giving them a pen?

His poor heart started pumping when he jogged up to (Y/n). Some part of him wanted to just...keeping watching (Y/n) from a distance, but he knew he wanted more for a while now. He wanted to...talk to (Y/n). He wanted (Y/n) to talk to him. He wanted to crawl inside (Y/n’s) body and just be (Y/n).

“E-e-excuse me...?” Tamaki’s voice went dry as he touched (Y/n’s) shoulder. He wasn’t worthy of touching (Y/n’s) shoulder, yet like the horrible person he is, he did. He dirtied the perfect shoulder (Y/n) had. How disgusting of him.

“Yes?”

Tamaki fumbled and held up his pen. “You uh-you dropped this in class earlier...”

“...you sure? I mean,” (Y/n) took the pen, and their warm hand brushed against Tamaki’s fingers so gracefully. It sent shivers down his spine, and he wanted nothing more than to just collapse into (Y/n) and breathe in. “I’m pretty sure I wasn’t using a pen today. But this looks like the brand I buy.”

“U-uh!” Tamaki broke into a cold sweat. “I saw it...drop...out of your bag.”

“Oh.” (Y/n) look at their bag, and at the small hole that was in its side pocket. “There’s a hole..that makes sense. Uh, thanks for returning my pen.”

(Y/n) smiled. Tamaki felt like he was going to die. He didn’t deserve someone so kind and beautiful and caring. Granted, no one did. Not even him.

“Are walking in this direction?” (Y/n) gestured ahead. Tamaki nodded, even though he knew very well his house was blocks away in the opposite direction. He soon found himself walking next to (Y/n) in silence.

He had (Y/n’s) attention. (Y/n) was walking next to him. It’s almost like they were dating already. That’s what lovers do, right? Walk next to eachother?

He wanted nothing more but to just breathe in the scent of (Y/n’s) hair. He wanted to worship (Y/n’s) fingers, he craved the bones in their body, he wanted to praise every single nerve and atom that belonged to (Y/n). He wanted (Y/n) so bad.

He was brought out of his trance when (Y/n) stopped at a crossroads. “My house is this way,” they said.

Tamaki shot back with a “Me too-!” Almost robotically. He wanted to see (Y/n’s) house...and maybe memorize their address. Not in a creepy way, though.

“Well...this is my house, I didn’t know you lived so near to me.”

“Y-yeah.” Tamaki watched as (Y/n) bid him farewell, with an angelic ‘thank you’, and walked off towards their house. Tamaki silently memorized his surroundings, every small flower and potted plant that belonged to the angel that was (Y/n), and finally wrote down (Y/n’s) address with their pen on his hand.

He didn’t know what he would do with this info, if he was honest. But just having it made him feel high.

——

Tamaki was going to do it.

Today was the day he would return the pen.

He thought about it for a while. He loved the pen, he never parted with it, but he needed an excuse to find a way to get closer to (Y/n). He’d say they dropped it out of their bag again and maybe offer to go out for ramen or something. He’d just leave out the part that (Y/n) dropped the pen more than 2 months ago.

Tamaki walked around the U.A. campus with the pen in his hand. He ran his fingers through the barrel of the pen. (Y/n) was no where to be found. They weren’t sitting with their friends like they normally did during lunch, so where could they be?

Tamaki was about to round a corner, when he heard voices talking from the other side. He stopped, about to turn on his heel and leave, when he heard angelic bells ringing. (Y/n’s) lovely voice talking to...whoever they were talking to.

“I-I like you, Hatsumada-kun!”

Tamaki went rigid against the wall. He loved hearing (Y/n’s) lovely voice 24/7, even recoding candid audios of (Y/n) answering questions in class or talking to their friends to listen to while he went to bed, so this was the first time he wished (Y/n) hadn’t said anything.

He was waiting for this Hatsumada guy to speak. Maybe he’d try to catch a glimpse of his face so he could—what was he saying? Intrusive thoughts began to flood his mind. He wanted to punch Hatsumada. He wanted to beat him up. He wanted to murder him.

“...I’m sorry, (L/n)-san. I don’t really see you that way.”

For some reason, Tamaki was even more angry than he would’ve been if Hatsumada had accepted their confession. He pursed his lips, and walked away as quickly as he could. His poor (Y/n), their feelings must be so hurt. How could he?

Tamaki long forgot the pen sitting in his hand, waiting to be returned to its rightful owner.

——

After the third tree came toppling down, Tamaki was beginning to think he’d get charged for property damage.

I mean, it was school property, and it was in the training grounds. Angrily whipping his tentacles around or bucking at trees with horse feet could qualify as ‘training’.

Tamaki was left huffing, glaring down angrily at the fallen, mangled tree. He’d never felt so angry before. He was usually a submissive, “avoid conflict-y”person, and he didn’t get angry much, but he felt so angry he could die.

His poor (Y/n). Having to get rejected by scum like that. But even if that pig had said ‘Yes’, he’d be equally as angry. His beloved (Y/n) didn’t deserve someone as undeserving as him. No one did. No one deserved (Y/n), not even himself.

Momentarily turning his tentacles back into his regular limbs, Tamaki sighed and curled up next to the fallen tree trunk. His hands were bloodied up, his knuckles peeling from when he started punching and slashing at tree before he decided to use his quirk. It was probably the first time he’d been so angry.

Tamaki leaned back against the trunk, laying down on the uncomfortable wood. What was happening to him? He felt so mad he could die. He couldn’t believe he was imagining trees as Hatsumada, as he brutally destroyed them one by one. That wasn’t the actions of a hero...

Rustling from two tall bushes caused Tamaki to shoot up, his tentacles shooting out from his back, and probably ripping his shirt up. He stood alert, his wide eyes searching sporadically through his dark bangs. Finally, a man, whom Tamaki was pretty sure wasn’t a teacher, appeared from the bushes, holding a cane and his free arm up.

“I come in peace, Tamaki Amajiki-san.”

The man had a stylish top hat on, and his face was masked with a flat, white mask with black trim. He had a long coat on, and dark gloves that made him look like a magician.

“W-who are you? This is private property-!”

The man kept walking towards Tamaki. “Are you angry, Tamaki-kun?”

“I-of course I’m mad! You’re trespassing, so I suggest you leave before I call-“

“I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about that boy. The one talking to that person you fancied.”

Tamaki went silent. He let his tentacles falter from their alert position, before suspiciously bringing them back up. “H-h-how do you know that! You stalker!”

“Frankly you’re one to call me a stalker.”

Tamaki broke into a cold sweat. He raised his fists defensively. “I-I’m not a-I’m not-“

“But you are, aren’t you? It’s fun to watch the people you love, isn’t it?” A girl grabbed Tamaki from behind by the shoulders, making him flinch as she smiled widely. “I love it too-I love it so much I want to see the person I love all covered in blood...”

The girl unhanded Tamaki, and stepping in front of him and standing next to the taller, poised man. “But they don’t understand our kind of love, do they? The heroes. They think the way I love people is wrong, and they would think the same for you...”

Tamaki pursed his lips. This was manipulation. They were trying to get into his head somehow, trying to appeal to him, trying to convince him that he was just like the scum they were...

...and it was working.

Tamaki said nothing, though his tightly clenched fists and hinged jaw told a different story. He loved (Y/n). He loved (Y/n) so much it made him crazy. He loved (Y/n) so much it made him want to murder Hatsumada. Simple as that. He was trying to convince himself he didn’t, but the sight of him all bloodied up and misshapen by Tamaki’s bare hands made him shiver.

“Y’know, people will call you a stalker for sure if they saw this.” The man was holding up Tamaki’s school bag, more importantly the scrapbook pasted with printed out photos and pressed objects of (Y/n) littered inside. The man flipped through the pages with care. “I, however, think it’s lovely that you admire someone so much you’d make a whole book dedicated to them. How romantic.”

He found himself agreeing. It was, wasn’t it? He cared so, so much, so how could it be weird or creepy or stalkerish? Tamaki shook his head, shaking the intrusive thoughts from his mind. “N-no! Put that back! Why are you here?!”

“We want to make a deal with you.”

“Me?” Tamaki snarled, backed up against a tree. He hardened his exterior in hope of masking his utter curiosity, especially after their understanding of his feelings for (Y/n). They understood.

“You see, learning information about U.A. is difficult when it’s such a prestigious school. But it would definitely be a lot easier if we had an...inside man feeding it to us.”

Tamaki’s eyes widened. “You want me to betray my school?”

“In Laymans terms, yes.”

“Now why would I ever-!”

“Because they don’t understand us. Once they find out you sneak pictures of this person from outside their window while they sleep, they label you a stalker for sure.” The girl held up Tamaki’s scrapbook, displaying hazy printed photos of (Y/n) through their bedroom window. “But us? We don’t judge. We understand. You just want to admire them, and love them the way you do and not be judged. I want that too.”

The man chimed in. “Your school is a judgmental, horrible place. So help us fix it, and join the LoV.”

Tamaki looked down at his feet. He continued. “You don’t need to join us physically. You may still attend U.A., and we will contact you occasionally, when we need information. And surely we will spare you from harm if we decide to attack, as well your little crush.”

Tamaki couldn’t believe he was actually considering it. Well, he also couldn’t believe how angry he got seeing someone being confessed to, or how obsessive his feelings for (Y/n) became. It was all new to him.

...So what was one thing more?

“I’ll do it. I’ll do it on one condition.”

His decision was based purely on feelings. Nothing of what he was saying was logical. It wasn’t morally correct. Still...

The man and the girl both smiled, looked at each other, and nodded. They turned back to Tamaki, giving him a look to go on.

“If I...when I decide to do something...a-and it makes a mess, or I need covering up in any way, promise you’ll clean up for me. Evidence and all.”

Was he really going to do this?

“Whatever you need, Tamaki-kun.”

He was.

The man tipped his hat, and the girl placed the book back in Tamaki’s hands. “We’ll be in touch. If you do anything heinous, we’ll be there to help aswell. Anything for our new traitor.”

Tamaki felt sick to his stomach.

“...y-you guys are crazy.”

“And you’re a lovesick stalker.”

“...I know.”

Tamaki watched as the two disappeared behind the brush. His knees buckled, as he sat back against the disfigured tree truck, and reached into his bag. He cradled his scrapbook as he fished out (Y/n’s) pen that he loved so much, and stroked it scantily. He huddled in on himself, pressing the pen to his cheek.

Soon.

Soon he’d return (Y/n’s) pen. Right after he murdered Hatsumada.

——————

If y’all didn’t know the man and the girl was mr compress and toga

-Mr. Mizunetzu

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