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whimsimille · 4 months

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THICKER THAN BLOOD

Chapter 2: "Come home to me, darling."

(Jeong Jin-Man x fem! reader)

"Why are you leaving so suddenly?" You questioned, your voice bouncing off the tapestry that adorned the living room wall of your quaint shared apartment and the oak bookshelves filled with classics.

The comforting aroma of a simmering homemade tomato sauce filled the air, mingling with the sound of sizzling pans and the rhythmic chopping of crisp, fresh vegetables on the polished granite kitchen countertop.

Dressed in a worn-out apricot apron adorned with faded sunflower prints, your hands were occupied with diligently kneading the carefully prepared pasta dough for your dinner, a recipe passed down from your Italian grandmother.

All of a sudden, the living room's normal sounds—the soft purr of Gunpowder, his gray cat curled up on the plush Persian rug, the low drone of the television playing the evening news—were replaced by an eerie silence that made your skin crawl.

On turning, you noticed Honda in the midst of rushing preparations for departure. He was hunched over the suede couch, lacing up his sturdy boots, his face etched with stern concentration. Against the dimly lit backdrop of the room, his figure blended seamlessly, rendering him no more than a transient silhouette.

"Where exactly are you off to? And what's the urgency?" You signed, your hands dancing in the air while you leaned against the wooden door frame. A knot of unease formed in the pit of your stomach at the sight of his hasty departure.

His gaze met yours, a small, reassuring smile playing on his lips as he signed back, "I have to go. Jin-Man needs me. I can't disclose more for your safety. You know how it works."

He continued to pack his bag—a small duffel made of worn leather with patches on the corners and straps slung over one shoulder. As he did so, you caught sight of an old photograph falling out of the side pocket; it was of you both from what looked like a summer festival years ago, grinning widely under colorful umbrellas while balloons swelled around you both.

"But can't it wait until tomorrow? Is it really necessary to depart on the day that we get back together after several months?

The worn-out leather of the couch groaned under his weight as he rose, his tall figure casting a long shadow against the faded brown wallpaper.

Moving towards you, he avoided the cluttered coffee table littered with dog-eared magazines and discarded newspapers. His leather jacket, draped over the back of a nearby armchair, was quickly pulled on, the rusted zipper scraping against the silence of the room.

"No, it can't wait. But I'll be back in time for dinner. I promise." Even as he used a gentle swipe of his thumb to remove a stray splotch of tomato sauce from your cheek, his smile never left his face. “When I return, we can lounge on the couch, munching on popcorn and be engrossed in those old Hollywood classics you're so fond of. You can also show me your progress with that hacking project you've been working on. Maybe try not to fry the motherboard this time?"

"First of all, you better keep that promise. Second, I’ll hold you to it. Third, for your information, that was a one-time thing!"

"First, I will. It's a promise. And second, I remember it being a three-time thing." He chuckled, his laughter warm like a summer's day.

"Shut up. But tell me, why the secrecy? Why can't you share what's happening? Jin-Man usually keeps me in the loop when a mission comes up.”

Despite your persistent questioning, Honda remained resolute, his face as unreadable as a closed book. He gently loosened your grip on his arm. "Stop nagging me like Mama would. I can't divulge any details. It's not safe. But I need to go. Jin-Man needs me. Don’t you have any government sites to hack? Or do you plan on crashing our systems again?"

"Stop it, douchebag. You're being reckless. We need to tread with caution, especially now more than ever. You know that. And that was not my fault; their security was just… upgraded."

However, he simply shook his head as he smiled at your pout, pulling you into a warm embrace. The cold, hard metal of his brass knuckles, concealed in his pocket, pressed against your side. A chilling reminder of the danger that lay ahead. Yet you refrained from voicing your fears, choosing instead to hold him tight, the rhythm of your heartbeats synchronizing.

"Alright," you conceded, swallowing your protests, "at least take some food with you." Gesturing towards a Tupperware container on the table, filled with steaming eggs and a side of kimchi jeon—both staple dishes in your shared meals.

His eyes softened at your concern, and he took the offered container, pressing a quick kiss on your forehead before making his way towards the entrance.

As he neared the door, a rush of childhood memories invaded your mind. Sometimes you stayed up late whispering secrets under the covers; sometimes you felt his pain even when he was miles away, and sometimes you both fell off your bikes and ended up in the emergency room with scraped knees. They dubbed it the twin instinct, but to you, it was a lifeline, a warning system that alerted you when Honda was in danger.

"Honda, wait!" You called out, your voice echoing off the creaking wooden floorboards.

The desperation in your plea stirred Gunpowder from her sleep, her tail twitching softly against the worn-out rug as though caught in a dream of chasing unseen mice. Honda turned, his hand still on the doorknob, his eyes questioning in the pale afternoon light filtering through the gaps in the old blinds.

A knot of guilt twisted in the pit of your stomach, threatening to crawl out through your lips and fill the room with its bitter taste.

The two of you were caught in a moment where petty bickering had canceled all the plans you had carefully added to your shared agenda. Your hands, once intertwined in unity, had become unglued from one another, your fingers now tangled in the strands of hair sprouting from your head. The hateful words you once spat at each other—words that had plunged through the gaps of your milk teeth—had turned into a somber reality. It suddenly seemed oddly appealing to consider dying in order to keep him around.

"I...I love you, brother," you admitted, the words feeling foreign yet so right. It was something you should have said a long time ago, after your parents' deaths, when it was just the two of you against the world. But you had always been afraid—afraid that admitting your fears would make them real.

A soft smile tugged at his lips as he nodded, an unspoken understanding passing between you two. "I love you too, sis," he signed before stepping out into the afternoon, leaving you in the silence of the empty apartment.

While life in the apartment carried on around you—the stove still burning, the TV blaring the evening news, Gunpowder curling around your ankles, licking your calves—you felt tears springing up in your eyes as your thoughts raced.

Come home, Honda. Come home and tell me everything about your day, from the way the sun glinted off the skyscrapers to the way the coffee tasted at your favorite café. Come home and argue with me again, about trivial things like who left the lights on or whose turn it was to do the dishes. Slam your bedroom door like you used to when we were teenagers and stomp around the house in Dad's old boots.

Come home and laugh with me, share those terrible inside jokes that only we understand. Handle your knife in the wrong way, the way you used to when you're not on a mission, when you're just my brother and not a covert operative.

Come home and hold me again while I cry in your lap about the girls and boys that shattered my heart. Come home to fix the TV you always mess up with those greasy fingers of yours, leaving stains on the remote.

Scream at me if you need to; let out all that pent-up frustration that I know you keep bottled up inside.

Come home and tell me how you always manage to burn the pasta, making it stick to the pots. Come home and let me nag about your messiness, about the dirty socks you always leave on the floor and about the dishes in the sink.

But most importantly:

“Come home safe. Come home to me, Honda. Please."

2 months later

Late afternoon light filtered through the window, casting elongated, capering shadows across the glossy surface of your living room's hardwood floor.

Finally, after a whole day cleaning the place and trying to make it more child friendly, you were curled up in the embrace of the vintage couch and a soft, threadbare blanket, a relic from your childhood, was wrapped snugly around you, providing a comforting barrier against the creeping chill.

You idly stroked Gunpowder, who was as much a part of the family as any human member. Her fur was coarse, yet soothing under your fingertips.

Gunpowder was the only other living being that missed Honda as much as you did; her amber eyes held a profound sadness that echoed your own. You were grateful that Jin-Man let you take her from the animal shelter.

She didn't deserve to be alone, not when she had already lost so much.

With the monochrome scenes flickering against the brick wall, the contemporary television set in the room's corner was showing Casablanca.

Nonetheless, your mind was elsewhere, lost in a world of thought, meandering through a labyrinth of candid memories as your eyes were glued to the window, drinking in the expanse of the verdant family farm outside.

In your hands was your favorite cat mug, the one with the chipped ear and faded paint, a sentimental relic from your college days.

It was unusually quiet, the usual cacophony of farm life replaced by the relentless drumming of rain.

Not only was Ji-An nowhere to be seen, but Jin-Man's rusty truck had vanished from its customary location beside the red barn.

A glance at the old, ticking clock hanging on the wall—16:00, way past the time Ji-An usually got home from school—made your anxiety spike.

Just as you were about to pull on your trusty yellow raincoat to go look for her, you saw Jin-Man's truck pulling up the gravel driveway. He got out of the truck, his jacket hanging haphazardly off his broad shoulders, and his jaw clenched in a way that set off alarm bells in your head.

You quickly signed , "Hey! Old man! Good afternoon to you too! Where's Ji-An?" as he stomped past you, heading straight to his office. But he didn't answer; he didn't even spare you a glance.

Following him, you tried to make sense of what was happening, but he closed the office door right in your face. You were left standing there, frustration bubbling up inside you, a sense of foreboding making your heart pound in your chest.

As you paced around the living room, worry gnawing at you, the front door creaked open. Your heart leapt at the sound, and you turned around, expecting to see Ji-An, safe and sound.

But what you saw made your heart drop.

Ji-An walked in, soaked to the bone and covered in mud, carrying her pink backpack—the one her mother had bought for her last Christmas. Her uniform was clinging to her small frame, her hair plastered to her forehead, but she didn't make a sound. Not a sob, not a whimper.

Seeing her, you rushed over, dropping onto your knees to be at her level. "Ji-An, sweetheart, what happened? Why didn't you come home with Uncle Jin-Man?" you asked. A flutter of panic seized you as she remained silent, her eyes downcast. "Did something happen at school? You can tell me. I'm here for you."

“I need a bath, Noona. I don't want to talk about it right now. Is that okay?”

You looked at her for a long moment, the sight of her shivering form causing a lump to form in your throat. Her hair, previously neatly braided, was now a mess; the ties you had made for her earlier that morning were nowhere to be found.

"Yeah… Of course, baby," you reassured her, offering a weak smile.

With a sigh, you slowly rose to your feet and gently took her hand, leading her to the bedroom. You could feel her fingers tremble slightly in your grasp, her small hand cold and damp from the rain.

You then went to the bathroom to prepare a warm bath for her. You quickly grabbed a fresh set of clothes for her—a soft purple cotton t-shirt and a pair of comfortable cartoon pants that had cute little teddy bears printed on them. You placed them neatly on the bathroom counter, within her reach.

Once the bathtub was filled with warm water and a generous amount of bubble bath, you helped her undress the wet clothes sticking to her skin.

While Ji-An enjoyed her warm bath, Gunpowder sat in front of the bathtub. Her amber eyes were focused on the bubbles, her tail twitching with curiosity. Every now and then, she would bat at a stray bubble, her paw slicing through the air with a fluid motion as if it were a game.

With Ji-An safely in the bath and the clothes inside the washing machine, you then went to the kitchen to begin preparing dinner. Using cookie cutters, you shaped the food into fun shapes—a star-shaped sandwich, fruit cut into the shape of animals, a bowl of soup with alphabet pasta. You even managed to make a small salad; the vegetables were bright and colorful. It was a small gesture, but you hoped it would bring a smile to Ji-An's face.

Throughout the days you've been living in this place, you've tried countless times to make Jin-Man and Ji-An eat at the same place, to share a meal like a family. But Jin-Man always avoided you and Ji-An like you were viruses, always eating small things before burying himself on the couch while watching movies all alone or in his office working with Pasin. It was frustrating to see the distance between them, but then again, it wasn't your job to force conversations and lovey dovey moments.

Once the food was ready, you set the table and then sat down in front of Ji-An, waiting for her to finish her bath. She emerged a while later, her hair damp and her cheeks flushed from the warm water.

Gunpowder, having finished her bubble play, twined around Ji-An’s legs as the child sat at the table. You both sat in silence for a while, the only sound being the gentle hum of the washing machine and the occasional clink of cutlery against plates.

Then, to your surprise, Ji-An was the one to break the silence.

"Today, I waited for Uncle Jin-Man to come and pick me up from school. But he was late, and it started to rain. I decided to walk home instead."

You watched as she continued to sign, her hands moving with a quiet determination. " I was walking in the rain when I saw Uncle Jin-Man's truck. He slowed down, but I didn't want to get in. I was upset with him. So, I continued to walk, even though it was raining hard. Uncle Jin-Man stopped and waited for me to get in, but I didn't."

“I wanted him to come out and apologize, to tell me he was sorry for being late. But he just accelerated and went away. I was so angry, Noona. I wanted him to understand how I felt and how it felt to be forgotten."

"It's okay, baby. It's okay to feel upset. But remember, your uncle loves you very much. Sometimes, adults make mistakes too."

Shortly after dinner, you decided it was time for Ji-An to learn a new task: cleaning the dishes.

Filling the sink with warm, sudsy water, you showed her how to hold the scrub brush and guided her hand to clean the surface of the plates with gentle but firm strokes. You made sure she understood the importance of removing all leftover bits of food and how to rinse each dish thoroughly under the running water.

"Remember, Ji-An, cleaning is also a part of cooking. Once you're done eating, always make sure to clean up after yourself. It's not just about keeping your area clean, but also about respecting the people who will use the kitchen after you. See, we're not just cleaning up our mess; we're also preparing a clean space for the next person, " you signed, watching as she absorbed your words and continued washing the plates carefully under your watchful eye.

When you were done and completed with the task, you noticed that the sky had completely darkened, the bright hues of the day replaced by the deep blues and blacks of night. You gently dried Ji-An's small, pruney hands with a plush, soft towel and led her towards her bedroom. The room was bathed in the warm, cozy hue from the night lamp sitting on her bedside table, casting playful shadows that danced on the walls.

You tucked her into her bed. The fluffy comforter was pulled up to her chin, and you couldn't help but laugh at the way Gunpowder jumped onto her lap, purring contently.

"Noona," she signed, her eyes wide and luminous in the dim light, reflecting the soft glow of the night lamp. "Can you tell me a bedtime story? "

"Of course, sweetheart. Do you have any particular story in mind?" You asked, settling yourself comfortably at the edge of her bed, your hand gently rubbing soothing circles on her back.

"No, you choose, " she shrugged, her small body snuggling deeper into the warm covers.

You mulled over her request for a moment, your mind flipping through the pages of the countless stories you knew. Finally, one came to your mind. "There's a sad yet beautiful story from my hometown about two squirrels. They were mates—lovers for life and the town's favorite pair of animals. They were seen everywhere together, always chattering away in their own language, their tails intertwined. "

With each word, you painted a vivid picture of their life together. You told her about the female squirrel's illness and the male's devotion and his refusal to leave her side even in search of food.

As you narrated, you noticed Ji-An's eyes welling up with a faraway look. She interrupted you multiple times. "Why didn't the male squirrel eat?" "Why didn't he find another mate? " "Do all squirrels do this? "

You answered each question patiently, explaining the depth of the squirrel's love and the depth of his grief. You told her about how the male squirrel mourned for his mate, returning to their empty nest alone each year.

As you reached the end of the story, you noticed Ji-An's eyes growing heavy. Her questions became fewer and farther between, her chest moving slower until she slept. Still, she was twitching ever so slightly, hands closed and then jerking open in a rhythmic pattern that spoke volumes.

In an attempt to provide some comfort, you laid down next to her, being careful not to jostle her too much. You wrapped your arm around her small form, pulling her closer to your warmth.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a flash of yellow and red. The hyena. It was lurking in the corner of the room, its eyes gleaming malevolently in the dim light, eager to haunt you too. You didn't even turn to look at it. It was there, but it wasn't real. You knew it.

"Goodnight, Ji-An," you murmured softly, pressing a gentle kiss on her forehead, placing her bunny toy in the place where you'd been seconds before. "Sleep tight, sweetheart," you added, stroking her hair soothingly. "Noona's here. You're safe."

You switched off the night lamp, plunging the room into darkness, save for the faint moonlight filtering through the window.

As you left her room, you closed the door gently behind you, leaving the hyena and the remnants of your past locked away.

Easing back into the worn porch chair, the fabric of Jin-Man's purloined shirt fluttered against your skin in the cool night breeze. A stolen moment of solitude, with nothing but a half-burnt cigarette for company.

The embers at the tip flickered, casting an eerie glow in the darkness. Drawing the cigarette to your lips, you inhaled, letting the sharp tang of nicotine coil around your senses and momentarily dull your worries.

Eyes shut, you allowed your thoughts to drift to the intricate web of coding and changes you had to make in Murthehelp.

The only sounds were the distant hum of crickets and the soft rustling of leaves under the night sky's vast expanse. Yet, this tranquility was abruptly shattered by the encroaching sound of hushed footsteps gradually growing louder. Your eyes fluttered open to see Jin-Man standing before you, arms crossed over his chest, eyes fixed on the cigarette nestled between your fingers with a look of distaste as if you had the devil's hands between your lips.

A chuckle escaped you; the sight of Jin-Man, usually so composed, visibly irked by the cigarette, was enough to momentarily diffuse the tension. "Insomnia again?" you asked, flicking the ash off the cigarette with your thumb.

His hardened gaze didn't waver as he retorted, "I was waiting for you to come to bed."

You shrugged nonchalantly. Since your suicide attempt, Jin-Man has taken it upon himself to keep a watchful eye on you. The concept of solitary sleep had become foreign to both of you.

“What's eating at you?" he asked, his gaze softening slightly.

"Why did you abandon Ji-An at school?"

"I got tied up and lost track of time," he replied, but his excuse fell on deaf ears. You scoffed at his words, well aware of the truth. He hadn't forgotten; he probably thought leaving Ji-An to trek home on her own would toughen her up.

"That's a load of crap, and you know it," you retorted, stomping out the cigarette under your feet. "Do you think making her walk home alone in the rain is going to make her stronger? Is that your grand plan?"

His silence was a response in itself, resonating in the quiet night air louder than any words.

"You are unbelievable, Jin-Man," you muttered. The scent of fresh paint and pine filled the air. It was a far cry from the gunpowder and blood that once filled your memory. But you couldn't help but crave it sometimes, even if it meant pain. Pain meant life; it meant survival. "You keep pushing her away relentlessly, like a stubborn child refusing his vegetables. You're so preoccupied with making her tough and resilient that you forget she's just a child. She needs your love and your understanding. You forget that she can't even communicate normally and that her aphasia is only getting worse! You don't even let me talk with her teacher, and don't pretend I don't know about the bullying she's enduring at school! We're not in Babylon , Jin-Man! We're in a small town where everyone knows everyone else. For heaven's sake, grow up!”

He retorted, his voice sharp as a blade, slicing through the heavy silence. “You should be more concerned with managing your own aphasia and PTSD. Ji-An’s not your responsibility. She's not related to you by blood. Drop this saintly act of playing mom. We're not her parents. This isn't a dollhouse and we're not Ken and Barbie.”

"Act? I kept Ji-An alive after her parents died! I trained her to communicate again! And even though it's hard, I've made her eat properly and taught her how to brush her teeth and do her homework again! I've been here for her every step of the way! You just... sit in your office or hide in your room!"

His jaw clenched tightly before he spoke again. "You think that's all it takes? Just feeding her and teaching her sign language?" He spat out angrily. The tip of his tongue traced his bottom lip as he continued speaking harshly, "It's not enough! She needs discipline! She needs structure!"

You shook your head violently. "She has enough structure! She needs us, Jin-Man! She needs our support, our guidance. She doesn't need a soldier; she needs a parent!"

His face tightened, his eyes narrowing into dangerous slits.

"Are you that afraid to care for someone, that afraid to love again? Are you hiding behind your uniform, your duties because you're too scared to face your own feelings?"

"Don't play with fire. You don't know what you're talking about."

"I think I do! And do you think Jin-Suk would like to see his daughter being trained as a warrior rather than growing up as a normal girl?" you challenged, your voice echoing with the strength of your belief.

The mention of his brother struck a nerve. A flash of anger crossed his stony features, and before you knew it, he was charging at you like a wild animal.

Suddenly, Jin-Man's hands shot out, pushing you roughly against the wall. Your back slammed into the gnarled wooden planks, the splintered texture scratching against your skin. The impact sent a sharp jolt of pain through your spine, causing you to gasp as the wind was knocked out of your lungs.

"Why are you doing this, Jin-Man?"

In response, his large, calloused hands wrapped around your throat in a vice-like grip, cutting off your airway. His fingers pressed against the delicate skin of your neck, the strength in his hands threatening to crush your windpipe. It felt like you were sinking into an abyss, the darkness of his rage engulfing you, making it impossible to breathe.

You clawed at his hands, desperate to pry them off. But his grip was unyielding; his hands felt like iron bands around your neck, tightening with every second that passed. As you gasped for breath, your vision started to spin, the edges blurring as black spots danced in front of your eyes. Your lungs felt like they were on fire, screaming for air.

Panic surged within you, a tidal wave that threatened to consume you. Time seemed to stretch, each second feeling like an eternity as you struggled to draw breath.

Finally, his grip loosened just slightly, allowing a sliver of oxygen to rush into your lungs. You gasped; the taste of air was like ambrosia—sweet and life-giving. Coughs racked your body as you struggled to regain control over your breathing, your throat raw and your chest heaving. The salty tang of tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision.

But you refused to back down, to give in to the fear. You locked eyes with him, defiance burning in your gaze. "Go ahead, Jin-Man, continue," you spat out, your voice raspy from the assault. "Kill me. But know this: my death won't change the truth.”

“Jesus, you're so weak, girl.”

A chuckle found its way through your bruised vocal chords. “Yeah? Wanna see who's weak then?”

Summoning every iota of your willpower, you retaliated against his suffocating hold. Your fingers clawed at his wrist, nails digging into his skin as you strained against his formidable strength.

After a fierce and desperate struggle, your adrenaline-fueled power seemed to catch him off guard. With a sudden explosive kick, you managed to wrench yourself free, pushing him violently away from you.

Caught off balance, Jin-Man stumbled backwards. His feet skidded across the wooden floorboards, and his body crashed into the pot of vibrant lilies you had carefully chosen from the local market to adorn the porch. The pot shattered on impact, fragments of terracotta scattering across the floor, intermingling with the uprooted flowers and loose soil.

For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The only sounds were the soft rustling of the brutalized lilies and the quiet patter of dirt falling onto the floor. But inside? Inside of you, the hyenas laughter echoed through your mind, mocking you for getting what you deserved—too used to chaos and violence.

The sight of the destruction seemed to snap Jin-Man out of his rage-induced stupor, his furious gaze softening as he took in the aftermath of your altercation.

"I'm done," you said, breaking the silence. "I'm done with this, Jin-Man. I'm done with your anger, your stubbornness, and your refusal to let anyone in. I'm done with the constant battles, the endless wars. I'm grabbing my stuff and leaving."

“Y/N…” He trailed off as he grabbed your arm roughly, pulling you around to face him. Your bodies were just inches apart now, his breath hot on your cheek as he pleaded silently.

“Don’t. Just shut your mouth and let me go. I'm not your Barbie, right?” Each word was punctuated by the bitter taste of blood as you absentmindedly touched your raw throat.

“You can't sleep alone.”

“I'll manage.”

“You can't remember when you last ate.”

"I'll set a reminder.”

"You can't drive without crying."

"I'll get a taxi."

"Ji-An needs you."

I need you.

"She needs you more."

"And you, Jin-Man," you added, the sting of your words sobering the air. "You need to realize that before it's too late."

----------------

April 3:

"Are you serious? Did I actually have to buy another chip to send you messages? You know, the store owner looked at me like I was crazy."

1 missed call from Ahjusshi

April 5:

"Ji-An keeps asking for you. She asked me to tell her the story about the couple of squirrels. You know, the one about their endless love and devotion."

2 missed calls from Jeong

April 7:

"Pasin showed me the link to the site. It's pretty quick and easy to access. Even an old man like me can make requests for guns, right? Technology these days, eh?"

April 11:

"She asked me to put on Casablanca. It's one of your favorites, right? I remember Honda telling me that you're addicted to Hollywood classics.”

“Gunpowder keeps sleeping on your side of the bed. I hate it.”

3 missed calls from Jeong Jin-Man, son of a bitch

April 22:

"I have a mission for you. It's critical and requires your skills."

"Can you come home so that we can discuss the details? There's something about it I can't trust in a message."

8 missed calls from the son of a bitch

“I guess I will ask So Min-Hye to replace you then. I know you wouldn't want that."

May 7:

“Ji-An's teacher told me that you visited her today. Did you really make two boys eat dirt by grabbing her money?”

“I could've helped.”

May 9:

“Went to the market today and heard Kyung Soo say that you're a good kisser. I had to stop myself from laughing."

“I heard from the locals that he went to the hospital after being knocked out. Strange, right? Or should I say, expected?"

May 16:

"Gunpowder brought a dead bird into the house. I think she's trying to replace you as the hunter of the family."

May 21:

"I saw a girl at the market wearing a dress you would like. It had sunflowers all over it. Made me think of you."

"She was about your age, too. For a moment, I thought it was you ."

-------

As Jin-Man speeds in the direction of Ji-An's school, his heart pounds against his ribs like a war drum. His knuckles turn white as he tightens his grip on the steering wheel, his forehead slick with beads of sweat. He curses himself silently, berating his own negligence.

How could he have not noticed that Ji-An hadn't come home?

The typical view of the small city blurs past him, the houses and trees merging into a hasty collage of colors under the evening gloom. The town's bakery, the park where the children play, and the old library all blur into indistinguishable shadows. But he barely registers any of it. His mind is filled with vivid images of you screaming at him for this oversight.

He imagines your small fists beating at his chest, your eyes—those captivating eyes that he secretly admired—flaring with anger and worry.

“How could you forget her again , Jin-Man? She's just a child!"

The guilt, like a ravenous beast, gnaws at him, driving him to press the pedal harder. The old engine protests, its roar echoing through the tranquil evening.

Suddenly, he remembers his phone.

Snatching it from the passenger seat, he dials your number hastily. The line rings once, twice, thrice, but there's no answer. He fumbles to leave a voicemail, his voice shaking slightly as he speaks into the device. "Hey, I… messed up. Ji-An... I… Just call me back.”

The voicemail ends with a beep, leaving Jin-Man alone with his thoughts and the eerie silence of the empty road. He tosses the phone onto the passenger seat, his eyes never leaving the road.

Nearing the school, his eyes flicked to the digital clock on the dashboard—it read 19:00, the hour when the last echoes of childhood laughter usually fade away. But now, the school grounds were eerily silent and deserted, a stark contrast to the daytime symphony of playful shouts and laughter. The playground, usually a vibrant hub of activity, was painted with somber shades, the swings swaying lightly in the breeze, their squeaky chains the only sound piercing the silence.

As he swung into the school's parking lot, a small figure suddenly sprang from the shadows, frantically waving his arms.

A boy was shouting, his voice hoarse and strained, as he pointed towards the grimy basement door at the rear of the school building. "She's locked there!"

Without a second thought, Jin-Man abandons his car, leaving the engine running as he sprints towards the basement door. The door is locked, but within, he can hear Ji-An's voice, her pleas echoing through the desolate night.

"Jeong Jin-Man! Jeong Jin-Man! Jeong Jin-Man!" she is calling, her voice scratchy and strained, likely from the first use of her vocal cords in months.

Frantically, he scans his surroundings. His eyes land on a fire safety box nearby. Inside, he spots a hammer.

With no time to spare, he smashes the box, glass shards raining onto the worn-out asphalt. He grabs the hammer, using it to break the rusted chains and unlock the door.

In a final heave, he throws the door open, revealing Ji-An inside. Her cheeks were flushed red from crying and her eyes were brimming with a mix of relief and fear.

She doesn't waste any time rushing at him, her small fists pounding against his chest. He doesn't move; he doesn't try to stop her. She's screaming at him, her words punctuated by her furious hits: "Why did you take so long? You promised you were coming back soon! Why did you arrive so late? Why did you let her go? Why did you let Noona go? Why? Why?"

He could only look at her, absorbing her words and feeling each syllable like a physical blow. Her pain, her anger, and her confusion were all directed at him.

Then he did the only thing he could think of—the only thing he thought you would have done in this situation.

He pulled her into a tight, protective hug.

For minutes, he doesn't say a word until he grabs her, holding her close.

Turning to the boy, he nods, "I'll give you a ride home."

The journey to the kid’s home was silent, save for the muted hum of the car's engine and the occasional rustle of cloth against leather.

Ji-An was huddled against the passenger seat, her body trembling slightly. Noticing this, he pulled off his jacket, wrapping it around her small frame in the same way he did for you.

After dropping the boy off and Ji-An finally falling asleep, he drives aimlessly. The city lights flicker past in a hazy blur, their glow casting fleeting shadows on his face. He thinks of you—your laughter, your anger, and your determination. It's strange, he thinks, how the absence of someone can fill a room, a house, or a life.

His thoughts are interrupted by the sudden ringing of his phone.

Glancing at the screen, he sees your name flashing. He hesitates, his thumb hovering over the decline button.

But then he remembers how things used to be and how it felt to hear your voice without the weight of regret and guilt. He misses when your name didn't make his chest ache, when it was just a name he heard now and then but held no significance to him.

He yearns for the days when he didn't know you, when his eyes didn't instinctively scan every room he entered in hopes of finding you there. He misses the sight of you standing among strangers, wearing that ridiculous skirt he used to tease you about but now finds himself missing.

He finds himself longing for the mundane details. How you'd take off your shoes at the front door, placing your keys with care in the small glass bowl on the corner of the kitchen counter. How you'd drape your coat over the back of a dining room chair, your socks left at the foot of the bed next to the sleeping cat.

He misses holding back your hair as you succumb to the side effects of your PTSD pills, your body rejecting the chemicals meant to help you cope. He yearns for the times when you would climb under the white blankets with him, forcefully opening his arms to encase you between them.

He misses how you would place your legs on top of his and let your hands wander to his waist and chest. He misses hearing you say, "I missed you," telling him about your day as you would slowly drift off to sleep. And he longs for the times he would secretly kiss your cheek softly before he inevitably had to leave you for work.

He misses when you were simply strangers—not two people who act like strangers in public but once knew each other better than they ever knew themselves. He misses the simplicity of those days and the innocence of not knowing what it felt like to lose you.

Because, in the end, when the lights are off and his eyes flutter shut, the back of his mind always whispers your name, calling out to you like you are the only place he was ever meant to call home .

When he finally decided to answer the call, he placed the phone on the dashboard, the worn leather creaking under the weight. He switched to speaker mode, the familiar chime filling the small space of the car.

"Hello?"

Tinny and distant over the phone speaker, you responded almost immediately. "You left a voicemail. What happened?" In the background, he could hear the faint, unmistakable sound of a lighter flicking open and the soft hiss of a cigarette being lit.

"Your voice sounds rough," he commented, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere with a touch of humor. "How many days have you been communicating only with sign language?"

"Shut up, motherfucker. What about Ji-An?”

"I…" he started, faltering. The words he needed to say were stuck in his throat, like a bitter pill he couldn't swallow.

“Look, Ji-Man. I have nothing to do with you anymore. I’m calling you back because you sounded like a wounded little bitch and you said her name. Drop the show and spit it out.”

“I failed again, okay?" The confession spilled out of him, the words tasting like defeat. But he couldn't stop there; he had to finish what he started. "But, look, Ji-An spoke.”

He could almost hear your sharp intake of breath and the sound of the cigarette being hastily put out in the background. There was a long, drawn-out silence, the kind of silence that spoke volumes. He could imagine your surprise—the way your eyes would widen slightly, the lit cigarette forgotten in your hand. But when you finally spoke, your voice was quiet, filled with a strange mix of relief and trepidation.

"She spoke?"

"Yes. She called out to me. She used her voice, and she spoke."

"Look, I'm not going to pretend that everything is okay between us," he continued, his voice gruff, "But I'm also not going to pretend that we don't have a shared past. One that involves a little girl who misses you."

"You're such a bastard. You know how to manipulate me using her," you snapped, the sound of a chair creaking in the background signaling your agitation.

"Maybe, but it doesn't change the fact that Ji-An misses you. And you miss her too, don't you?"

A silence followed his words—not an uncomfortable one, but a silence filled with unspoken words and a shared history. And then you sighed, a deep, heavy sigh that echoed with the weight of your unspoken thoughts.

"I do miss her. But you, Jeong Jin-Man, are a pain in my ass.”

He couldn't help but chuckle at your words. "I've been told that before."

"I'm sure you have."

Another silence filled the line, comfortable yet heavy with years of shared experiences.

"By the way," he added, his voice softer now, "the key is still under the cat statue you put by the front door. You can drop by anytime."

"I'll think about it. But don't expect me to come running back, Jin-Man. We're not the same people we used to be."

"I know. But we're still us, aren't we?"

"We're something ," you admitted, a sigh slipping past your lips. "But I don't know what that is anymore."

"Neither do I. But maybe we can figure it out together, old lady."

"Old lady?" you scoffed, a hint of amusement in your voice. "Coming from a man who's 10 years older than me."

"Years are still years," he teased, a smile playing on his lips. "But whatever we are, Y/N, whatever we become, you're still… something to me. And so is Ji-An. Remember that."

"I will. I will, Ahjusshi."

#lee dong wook #imagine #a shop for killers #jeong jin man #lee dong wook x reader #lee dongwook x fem! reader #poetry #jeong jin man x reader #jeong jian #seo moonjo x reader #lee dongwook x reader

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sunatoru · 1 year

Text

a hopeless romantic all my life.

⇒ osamu x hopeless romantic!reader

summary : struggling to find your true love, you decide to give up on searching for a relationship, turns out the phrase “love finds you when you aren’t looking.” has some merit to it.

warnings : none that i can tell!

genre : fluff , self indulgent asf, maybe a little tiny hint of hurt/comfort?

a/n : sick of men disappointing me, literally am never confessing to a guy ever again. WHY ARE THE MEN IN AUSTRALIA SO LAME WAAAAAAAA

w/c : 1.5k

you were first introduced to love through fairytales and fantasies at the age of five. by the age of 8 you believed you’d get your own fairytale love, you’d expressed your biggest dreams and wishes to the pearly white star in the sky. by the age of 13 you were determined to fall in love with your soulmate, full of hopes that he existed and was searching just as impatiently for you.

by the age of 19 you realised fairytales were a scam and that cupid would not be shooting you, or the stranger who offered his parking spot during your parallel parking struggles, with his blessed arrow of love. you’d done everything to make the process easier for that big-cheeked baby with the heart shaped bow. dating apps and school clubs, confessing to every guy you had feelings for, begging your friends to put in a good word with the cute guy in their class, yet nothing ever stuck.

so you gave up, if cupid wasn’t going to give you the romance anime love you craved so badly, you’d stop trying so hard. you resigned from putting any more time or effort into love, so sure that it wasn’t real and was not worth searching for.

and yet, here you are standing in front of the miya osamu, the cute chef in training at the restaurant owned by your uncle. so maybe the onigiri’s he’d given you during every visit were his way of expressing his affections for you, or maybe he genuinely needed someone to try out his recipes as he worked his way through his culinary course and his job at the ramen store. either way, your heart fluttered as he stared at you.

“i- uh…” your mouth opened and closed in shock, as you tried processing everything that just happened within the short span of five minutes.

8 year old yn would be kicking her feet in excitement, and 13 year old yn would be in awe that someone as handsome and as hardworking as osamu was interested in you. 18 year old yn would’ve been certain that you’d never see the day someone would turn the tables and confess to you instead.

“i’m sorry, it was all kind of sudden, i know. a-and i understand if you're off put by it or if you’re just not interested but-” he stopped his rambling as he noticed the wide grin slowly forming on your face, a bright and genuine smile that made his heart skip a beat and his face feel ten times hotter than it did a moment ago.

“‘samu, i’d love to get to know you better, maybe we could go on a date? when you’re free of course!”

“a date? a date! yes, okay— i’ll get back to you on when i’m free, could i- uh, get your number?”

and with that you secured a possible date with the boy who had been nothing more than your uncle’s apprentice. you made your way home with a satisfied smile on your face and a heart pumping loudly with the adrenaline that still courses through you. nothing could ruin your mood in that moment.

—

two weeks of radio silence from the man who confessed, two weeks of false hope and tears in your room, left to comfort and berate yourself all alone. you felt so stupid, to be crying over some guy who just happened to feed you the best onigiri and ramen you’d ever eaten and had made you feel so special, you just couldn’t convince yourself that he wasn’t worth your time or tears.

you avoided your uncle’s shop for a few weeks in hopes of avoiding samu in the process, however, after two more weeks of that, your luck had run out. your mother left you with the task of delivering the aprons she’d fixed up for the cozy little ramen store.

begrudgingly, you picked up the stack of folded aprons, holding them under your arm as you huffed and puffed all through your journey to the infamous shop.

from the outside, the place brought a great sense of comfort, a paper lantern to the right of the door that emitted a soft glow and warmth if you got close enough. the tiles to the roofing were a midnight grey and the two windows on the front of the shop had the curtains drawn halfway, still allowing you to see the orange glow of the interior lights. the smell of the freshly made ramen had you salivating, the strong smell of sesame oil or the sizzling of the meat being grilled had you reaching for the handle before you could second guess your decision.

“uncle! i brought your aprons—” the man on the other side of the door was, unfortunately, not your uncle. instead, samu stood over the grill with one hand on his hip, the other using a wooden paddle to push around the meat in front of him. samu glanced at the door before looking back down at the food.

“he isn’t here today, sprained his wrist this morning and asked me to watch over the store for the night.”

you blinked, once, twice before deflating. “oh… i’ll just leave the aprons in the back then…” awkwardly, you coughed before shuffling past him and the bar into the back room where the security and staff room was.

with a sigh you dropped the aprons on the cluttered table, not paying any mind to what it fell on or knocked over. what a dick you thought as you ruminate over the short interaction you just had with the main cause of all your dilemmas in the past two weeks. he barely even glanced at you!

you huffed, pouting as you pushed the door open, ready to just ignore his existence and scurry home as quickly as possible. but of course, the universe liked using you as its favourite punching bag, and so instead of sneaking your way out of the store that once brought you great comfort, you run straight into the sturdy and broad chest of the one and only osamu miya.

he stared down at you quietly, a furrow in his brows and his lips pursed. he stared deeply into your eyes with a mix of concern and frustration, he took a deep breath before he finally broke the staring battle.

“if you weren’t interested, you could’ve told me that day, you didn’t need to give me a fake number.” osamu’s voice was quiet, the disappointment and sadness seeping through his words.

you gaped up at him, the audacity of this man! he was the one who stood you up, and yet you’re being blamed?

“i messaged you everyday, miya. don’t act like i was the one who wasn’t interested, when you were the one who ignored me.”

“what? what are you talking about, you never messaged me!” he fished his phone out, opening up the messaging app and forcefully pushed his phone into your hands, the message thread between the two of you being left empty save for the few messages he had sent.

“…wait what?” you mumbled to yourself, pulling your own phone out to show him your own messages.

the two of you stared down at the screens in confusion, you opened the contact information for both of you, staring down at the numbers.

“this is your number right, osamu?” you held your phone up at him, while you looked down at his phone to confirm your number.

…confirm that it was in fact not the right number.

“osamu… why is my number wrong?” you look up at the man incredulously, as he reciprocated the look. “i could ask you the same thing.” he grumbled.

you both stood in silence for a few seconds before he let out a relieved laugh. hand wiping down his face as he walked backwards towards the cooking area. you followed quietly, mind reeling at the thought that this was most likely just a huge misunderstanding.

“i guess maybe in the excitement we both just mistyped the numbers? thank god, you almost broke my heart yn!”

your scoff was mixed with a laugh as you sat on the stool by the bar. “speak for yourself, i was crying for a good week, almost two.” you sheepishly rubbed your cheeks in hopes that your embarrassment would disappear.

the two of you talked as he worked throughout the night, ending it off with him walking you home and giving his actual number, double checking that it was right by calling him before he left. when you walked through the door of your house, you kicked off your shoes in the entrance in excitement, hopping up the short platform and sprinting to your room.

you dropped onto your bed with a squeal, feeling all the emotions of love and envy exploding within you like fireworks. you could feel your younger self applauding you for not messing things up and cheering you on as you worked towards accomplishing her dreams.

with a sigh you glanced outside the window, staring at the bright star in the night sky. “sorry for not believing in you, thanks for listening to my wishes…” you smiled softly before reaching for your phone, pulling open samu’s contact.

‘so, about that date. what about a trip to the aquarium?’

#🌀. dizzy cries #osamu x reader #miya osamu x y/n #miya osamu x reader #osamu miya x reader #osamu drabble #osamu fluff #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #hq x reader

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minimomoe · 5 months

Text

Love Bites pt. 2

When two worlds collide…

Baker Fem Reader x Toji Fushiguro (mafia au)

word ct: 15.1k, 11 Chapters

Chapters: I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI.

Preview: “I wasn’t joking about Megumi. He doesn’t smile often but he is one of the kindest kids in the class. He’s like a tiny adult. I think you’d like him.”

“Stop that! I barely know the man. I just—“

“You just add new items on the menu in the middle of the season for him to be the first one to try it. No big deal...”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter Two: Chimayo Chai

Much to your dismay Toji visited the shop at least once a week with the same order. He always wanted to eat two of everything and a new drink to try, a drink that you had to choose for him. Your routine was set to where you had his boxes already waiting for him by the time he came in.

“Can I ask you a question?” Toji stops and stares down at you. You roll the ties of your apron around your fingers to try to calm yourself.

“Why do you order so much? I mean, you come in every week, but you don’t strike me as someone who has a sweet tooth.”

Once again Toji didn’t respond right away but you were used to it by now. Toji seemed to talk more when he was annoyed, so him being quiet was actually a good sign.

“I give them to my son and… coworkers.”

“You have a son?” you perk up. “I didn’t know you were married.”

“I’m not.”

You cringe at his response. You didn’t mean to bring up an unpleasant memory for him but you could never seem to talk to him normally.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I- Here’s your drink,” you sigh and hand him the latest fall drink on their menu, which is a Chimayo Chai. You hold the drink out and he takes it, lingering for a moment before speaking again. “He doesn’t like sweets either. My son.”

Your eyebrows knit together at his confession. “So it’s mainly just your coworkers who like sweets?”

Toji nods and finally takes the tea from over the counter. “They won’t shut up about them.”

“I love to hear that. I’ve been meaning to try more sugar and gluten free recipes. Maybe then you can enjoy them too.” You gave him a soft smile and the word “cute” flashed in Toji’s mind. He couldn’t even remember the last time he used that word willingly. “Oh, one more thing,” you say. “Next week on this day I won’t be here. The shop will be closed actually,” you mutter quietly. The words make Toji’s grip tighten around his cup and he waits for her to continue.

“It’s just for one day! I’m telling you because you always come in on Thursdays so I wanted to give you a heads up. I’ll close earlier on Wednesday but Friday will be open during normal store hours,” you smile and push your glasses up.

“Why?”

You were hoping he wouldn’t ask that question. You really didn’t want to lie to him, but at the same time you didn’t have any idea who this man was, even if your interest in him piqued every time he walked in with his tieless suit and emotionless face.

“I’m… visiting family,” you acquiesce.

“For only a day?”

“Yes, that’s all I need.”

Thankfully another customer broke their conversation with an announcement of their own. “Hey you, feeling old yet?” You smile at your tall friend who reaches over the counter to give you a tight hug.

“My birthday’s next week, jackass. How have you been, Rina?”

“Now I have to be more creative with my learning plans to keep the kids focused on their school work,” Rina dramatically sighs and her eyes trails over to the man she brushed past to say hello to you and her eyes widens.

“Oh Mr. Fushiguro! Funny seeing you here!”

“You know him, Rina?” This was getting ridiculous. How could an elementary teacher know a man like Toji?

“I teach his son, Megumi. He’s an absolute sweetheart. Quiet, but smart. He also loves all things related to frogs. Did I interrupt your conversation?”

“No, not at all. I’m sure Mr. Toji has other things to attend to. I’ll see you next week? Or maybe not, but soon?”

“What drink is this again?” Toji looks down into the cup.

“Chimayo Chai. You’re the first person I’ve made it for so far since it’s new on the menu,” you beam. “Let me know what you think when I see you again, okay?”

Toji nods and leaves without another word and Rina slowly turns to you with a smile pulling at her lips.

“He’s single you know.”

“Rina.”

“And quite a catch. He shows up to all of Megumi’s events and the other PTA moms drool over him from a distance.”

“Rina…”

“I wasn’t joking about Megumi. He doesn’t smile often but he is one of the kindest kids in the class. He’s like a tiny adult. I think you’d like him.”

“Stop that! I barely know the man. I just—“

“You just add new items on the menu in the middle of the season for him to be the first one to try it. No big deal,” Rina smirks and pops a piece of a muffin that she grabbed off of a rack into her mouth.

“Shut up. And I'm charging you for that.”

“Yeah yeah. Anyway, be sure to get ready for the school’s fall festival. Who knows, maybe Mr. Fushiguro will be there too.”

Chapters: I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI.

#minimoe #momowritings #black fem reader #jjk #toji fushiguro #jjk fanfic #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fluff #jujutsu kaisen #bakery au #jjk fluff #kid megumi #minimomoe

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ticklygiggles · 9 months

Text

New Year's Resolutions| Victuuri

Collab with @otomiyaa ✨

A/N: Our first Collab of the year 🥺 Even though Ginny already retired, I keep bothering her, asking her to do collaborations together. Thanks for accepting again, my deeear! I have a blast as always~ I looove you ❤️

Summary: it's the fresh start of a new year and Victor and Yuuri find themselves talking about their resolutions.

Words: 1.8k

The first couple of days of the new year found them curled up in bed, sleeping with their legs intertwined, hugging each other and their faces so close together, breathing the same air. It was warm and cozy, in their hearts they couldn't wish to be anywhere else than in each other's arms. They would stay in bed until their bellies started to rumble and right after breakfast, they would jump back to bed to enjoy each other some more.

A hand sneaking here and there would lead to a giggle or a kiss and then another hand going further down would make one of them let out wonderful pleased sounds that would guide them to consummate their love with kisses and caresses until their bodies got tired and they had to take long naps together.

It was a lazy routine and at first they both felt a little uncomfortable, especially Victor, who really liked to go out and have a good time, but neither of them could resist the other's warmth and kisses.

“Yuuri?” Victor had mumbled one morning, his voice still hoarse with sleep as he comfortably laid on his side with Yuuri snuggling against him; his long fingers carding through his lover's hair.

“Hmm?” Yuuri nuzzled closer to Victor, taking a deep breath when his nose touched Victor's throat.

“When are you going to tell me your new year’s resolutions?”

Yuuri didn't immediately answer him, and after a few seconds, Victor thought he had fallen asleep again, but he didn't and when he talked again, Victor jumped slightly.

Yuuri giggled when he felt Victor flinching and he hugged him tightly. “Are you supposed to share your resolutions?”

“Hmm, I don't see why not. I can share mine with you and maybe you can join me in some resolutions and I can join yours?”

“... I see. Alright.” Yuuri yawned. “You first.”

A charming low chuckle could be heard from his husband. Ah, husband… Yuuri was still stuck in his sweet bubbly feelings when he felt Victor pinch his lower side playfully, making him let out a weird strangled noise.

“Don’t be mean Yuuri, I asked you first,” Victor argued, making Yuuri giggle.

“Okay okay!” Yuuri huffed, and he was very aware of Victor’s hand that remained on his side, but it did not move again, so he held his breath and thought for a moment.

“I would like to try more recipes. Learn to cook more good food for you, Vitya. Also eat good food together.”

“That sounds nice,” Victor agreed.

“I’d also like to visit more places. We talk more about traveling and don’t actually do it. Let’s visit some new places this year,” Yuuri continued, now feeling inspired.

“Oh, and pick up my old workout routine. Maybe you could help me, coach,” Yuuri said playfully. He tingled when Victor’s thumb rubbed his side in approval.

“I’ll help you, student,” he said.

“Another resolution is… To tell you that I love you, more than I did last year. Hmm… Yeah,” Yuuri said, and he yawned sleepily.

“I’m touched, Yuuri,” Victor said fondly.

“Now, tell me yours?” Yuuri moved closer against him if that was even possible. He was pressed tightly against Victor and nuzzled him like a cat.

“My new year’s resolution…” Victor thought out loud, and Yuuri could feel his hands on his body climb up - the one on his side trailing up his ribcage, the other moving from his waist further up as well, and he tensed up.

“Victor?” he whispered curiously, but Victor was still humming, deep in thought.

“Ah, yes. My only resolution is to tickle Yuuri more.” And suddenly his fingers dug into Yuuri’s sensitive torso, drawing out a loud pitchy laugh from him.

“Vityahaha! Nohoho!” he howled, but he had given himself quite the position in his lover’s arms and it seemed he was going to be stuck there for a while as Victor continued to tickle him with quick and playful scribbles.

“What do you mean no, Yuuri?” Yuuri’s cheeks flushed hearing Victor's teasing tone as his fingers wiggled against his ribs, making him throw his head back with loud laughter. “You have to help me with my resolutions since you're in them!”

Yuuri shook his head, shrieking as Victor moved down to his tummy, under his shirt. “You tihihihickle mehehe plehehenty ahahalreahady!”

Victor only hummed and Yuuri cackled, jumping and jerking as his lover's hands jumped from spot to spot, gently squeezing, scratching, poking and jabbing at his warm, ticklish skin. No matter how hard Yuuri tried to cover his weakest spots, Victor already knew the map of his body by memory and his fingers found every little patch of skin that had him shrieking.

“Yuuri!” Victor whined when Yuuri almost caught his hand. “Stop trying to stop me! I'm trying to do something here!”

“Dontticklemethere! Dohohon't tihihickle me thehehere- ahahaha!” Yuuri squeaked when Victor grabbed one of his wrists and pulled it above his head, exposing his underarm. “Plehehehease, Vihihihictor!”

“Don't act as if you don't enjoy this, my love,” Victor purred and so his fingers finally touched his very vulnerable underarm.

Yuuri’s eyes widened before squeezing shut and he threw his head back, howling hysterically. It tickled so bad! It was way too early for this! And yet… he felt warmth and happy tingles spread through his body. Victor wasn’t wrong, it’s not like he didn’t enjoy this particular feeling. Laughing at his relentless husband’s mercy.

“Lehehehet go ohohof my ahaharm ahahahaha!” Yuuri kicked his legs when Victor wouldn’t stop tickling his helplessly exposed underarm.

“Alright, but promise you won’t move.” Victor was quick to agree and buried both hands under Yuuri’s arms, thumbs rubbing into the center areas of his armpits and tickling Yuuri so bad he was shrieking.

“Nahahaha Vityahahaha!” He flailed his arms and instinctively tried to push him away.

“You promised not to move!” Victor gasped.

“I dihidn’t prohohomise ahahanything huwhaha!” The last bits of sleepiness were completely gone as Victor pinned him down and tickled Yuuri’s sides and ribs with admirable determination.

Yuuri tried to keep in his laughter in an attempt to make Victor lose interest, but that was an impossible task when he was already laughing like a mad man, especially when he felt Victor chasing after his hips. He shrieked, panicking, trying to squirm away from those mean fingers wanting to dig into the soft and terribly ticklish flesh of his hips.

“Hey, what are you hiding from me, huh? Why do you keep moving away, Yuuri? Am I going for your best spot?”

Yuuri shook his head, but he then screamed with laughter when Victor finally grabbed at his hips and started squeezing them. He jolted and squirmed wildly, tears of laughter falling down the sides of his face. Victor laughed too, teasing Yuuri with comments about how ticklish he was and saying that his resolution was going just fine.

Yuuri could barely speak as he was cackling his lungs out, his hands uselessly trying to catch Victor's, but noticing that wouldn't work, he gather the bit of strength he had left and moved both his hands under Victor's arms, his fingers wiggling into the warmth of his armpits. The sound that left Victor's mouth was inhuman and Yuuri laughed even harder as his lover's hysterical laughter replaced his own.

“Oh my god, Yuuri!” He said in English before throwing his head back in ticklish hysteria. “NAHAHAT THEHERE! YOU TRAHAHAITOHOR!”

It was actually hilarious that Victor tickled him so much when he was this ticklish himself. Yuuri blushed at the reconfirmation: he really didn’t mind Victor tickling him to death sometimes. However right now…

“Traha-traitor? Me? N-now why would you say that, honey?” Yuuri teased breathlessly as he managed to overpower Victor with tickles. Victor fell back, and Yuuri chased after him and continued the tickle attack under his arms, taking along some of those sweet spots on his upper ribcage as well.

“YUUREhehehe! Nohoho! Hohohonehehey!” Victor could return the pet names or anything, but nothing was better than this. Yuuri smiled fondly and wiggled his fingers mercilessly against his husband’s tickle spots.

“You’re the one training me, coach. Don’t tell me you forgot I’ve got stamina for two?” Yuuri asked, still out of breath a little but handling his teases toward Victor quite well. Victor cackled and squeaked, flopping adorably underneath him.

“I knohohow! Buhuhut my rehehesolution - ahahaha!”

Yuuri cocked his head and concentrated on that great spot between Victor’s ribs. “Your resolution?” he asked dreamily, staring at the blush on Victor’s cheeks as he tickled him.

“Tihihickle you - wahhaah! Nohohot thihihis!”

Yuuri nodded, taking in that sweet laughter. “But I like this a lot, too. I might add one more resolution,” he said. “Also, didn't you say we could join each other's resolution? I might want to tickle you more this year as well!”

Victor shook his head as he shrieked with laughter. “Mehehercy on thihihis old mahahahan! Ack! Yuhuhuhurihihihi!”

Yuuri giggled, “now you're an old man? Don't act as if you don't enjoy this, Vitya,” Yuuri giggled brightly, seeing Victor's cheeks flush pink. It was true that Yuuri was the one that really liked being tickled, but maybe after so much time together, Victor had started to like it as well and that made Yuuri's heart jump excitedly inside his chest.

“I dohohon't- ahahahah, Yuuhuhuhuri! Leheheave my poohohohor ahaharmpihihits alohohone!”

“Sorry, didn’t catch that,” Yuuri said, and he couldn’t hold back a giggle at his own bad joke. He could hear and understand each word Victor sputtered through his hysterical laughing fit, but that didn’t stop him and his fingers from enjoying this game a little bit longer.

Only when Victor started to sound really tired, Yuuri slowly stopped his attack, and he smirked. “Mercy?” he asked, poking Victor one more time. Victor nodded tiredly and snorted.

“Yeheheah whahatehehever!” he laughed. Yuuri finally moved back in their previous embrace. They were now both all messy; messy hair, sweaty, teary and blushy faces, and each wearing a huge smile as they caught their breath while staying in each other’s arms. They both sighed deeply and looking at each other's eyes, they couldn't help but break into loud laughter again.

Yuuri thought holding each other like this, laughing and giggling and sneaking some tickles here and there, was the perfect way to start the year and he hoped dearly inside his heart that he could spend all this new year with Victor like this, loving each other and enjoying silly little moments together.

“Yuuri?”

“Hmm?”

“We'll have a great year,” Victor said softly, his eyes a bit droopy, feeling sleepy after their little tickle fight. “We’ll go to new places and eat yummy food together and I'll tickle your little head off every chance I get.” Yuuri giggled, feeling fingers walking up the curve of his waist. “So be ready, Yuuri, because we'll have a blast! People will get mad they only see our pictures on Instagram.”

Yuuri smiled and nodded before kissing Victor's lips gently. “I love you, Victor.”

He knew every year would be enjoyable if Victor was with him.

#yuri!!! on ice #yuri on ice #yoi #katsuki yuuri #victor nikiforov #victuuri #ticklish!Yuuri #ticklish!Victor #tickle fic #mia's things #mia's collaborations

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feyburner · 3 months

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hello mr feyburner sir i really want to get into baking but i am scared to mess up and recipes terrify me. i only know one simple sponge cake recipe that my mom taught me anyway point is what were the things you wished you knew before you started baking? i know it’s a lot of trial and error but would you let us know what to start with and how to not get completely overwhelmed by the fact that i am not immediately good at it…

(Also if u have a sponge cake recipe of yours i would love it!!!)

The first step to being less scared is accepting that you are going to mess up. In fact, the more you bake, the more you will mess up; you can’t fuck what you’re not doing. There is no avoiding it. Sometimes your fuckup will be fixable. Sometimes it won’t be fixable but you can still eat the end result. Sometimes it won’t be fixable and also the end result is garbage, and now you’ve wasted 3 hours and a bunch of ingredients, and it is the most frustrating thing in the world. That is just how it goes. I’ve been baking since I was a kid, baking very regularly (like, averaging 1-2x per week) for 5-6 years now, and I fuck up all the time. I fully expect to keep fucking up on a regular basis until the day I die.

What years of practice have given me is not the ability to never fuck up—it’s the ability to understand why I fucked up, what I did wrong, and how to hopefully not do it again.

One of the most common things out of my mouth is: “This is good, but I know what I’ll do differently next time.”

Next time I’ll shape the dough tighter. Next time I’ll let it rise longer. Next time I’ll check for doneness earlier. And so on.

Taste is subjective. Everyone’s kitchen is different and everyone likes different things. Some people want thick, chewy chocolate chip cookies and some people want thin, crispy ones. Some people like a very tight crumb on their sourdough bread and others want air holes so big you can’t butter it. There’s no such thing as a perfect recipe because the point of food is the person eating it.

This is why it’s so rewarding to learn basic techniques and basic baking chemistry as you go. Once you get more comfortable in the kitchen, you can start going off-book. “This looks great but I think I’m gonna want a chewier texture. I’ll use half bread flour and mix the dough a bit longer to really activate the gluten.”

Don’t just pick a random recipe. Especially in the age of 1 million recipe blogs. I always, always read at least 4-5 recipes for the thing I’m trying to make. I read the reviews. I compare and contrast them. If you’re looking at 5 recipes for chocolate chip cookies and only 1 says to add kale, there’s a good chance that’s not the one you want to start with. You can experiment with it later—maybe kale is the secret to the best cookies ever!—but typically you’ll want to start with the standard and deviate from there.

I often take notes on the 4-5 recipes, noting not just differences in ingredient ratios but in technique as well. A good recipe blog will explain to you WHY you’re doing something a certain way. If it doesn’t explain, look it up! Reddit r/baking and r/AskBaking are super helpful. Often someone’s random comment is the reason I learn something incredibly useful that can be applied to tons of recipes.

(I love King Arthur Baking and America’s Test Kitchen for learning technique—the ATK cookbooks are some of my most-referenced. Sally’s Baking Recipes never lets me down for good old American basics. Serious Eats is also very informative, though their recipes are often overly complicated or finicky.)

Often, I won’t simply pick one recipe—I’ll use a little of Recipe A, a little of Recipe B. I did this for a brownie recipe that ended up going viral on Reddit/Youtube which was pretty funny. I don’t necessarily recommend combining recipes when you’re first starting out, but keep it in mind as you go.

No recipe is set in stone. You can always adjust it to your tastes, to what works for you in your kitchen. Make it a little less sweet, a little sweeter, a little denser, a little lighter. Whatever you want. That’s what technique, and understanding how ingredients interact with each other, is about—like artists who learn realistic anatomy but paint in abstract.

It can be hard to compare multiple very similar recipes. This recipe says to use 3 cups of flour and 1/2 cup butter and this recipe says 2 cups flour and 1 cup butter—but Recipe A makes 12 cookies and Recipe B makes 24 cookies. (Or, Recipe A uses volume measurements and Recipe B uses weight.) What does that mean? How do you draw a meaningful comparison?

Math!

Baker’s percentages are your best friend. They’re super easy. Just pick one ingredient to be your baseline—typically flour. That’s 100%. Then calculate the ratio of each ingredient to your flour ratio to easily compare different ingredient amounts.

For example, from my croissant recipe:

500g bread flour

10g kosher salt

150g milk + 100g water, room temp (70°; microwaved 10-15 seconds)

50g white sugar

10g honey

10g active dry yeast

30g (2 Tbsp) butter, softened

309g (remainder of 3 sticks after -30g; 62%) butter for lamination, softened, sliced 1” thick

BAKER’S PERCENTAGES:

100% bread flour

2% kosher salt

50% hydration (milk + water)

10% white sugar

2% honey

2% yeast

6% butter

45-62% butter for lamination

How to calculate:

500g flour is my baseline 100%.

What percentage of 500 is 50 (50g sugar)?

50/500 = 0.1 = 10%.

It doesn’t work as well for volume measurements. But many recipes include weight and volume—and you can always convert volume to weight using tools like King Arthur’s Ingredient Weight Chart.

Finally, start with the basics and build. Don’t attempt making a Napoleon or macarons right out of the gate. Start with simple, beginner’s recipes, look up techniques as you go, watch lots of videos, always try to understand the why. Baking is chemistry but it’s also art. It’s whatever you want it to be. Mostly it’s about the house smelling like cinnamon rolls.

In summary, you’re going to fuck up and that’s okay. Baking is beautiful, and there’s nothing like the satisfaction of pulling something incredible out of the oven. You will learn and improve as you go, like anything else. You will eat lots of ugly cakes and pastries. But taste is what matters anyway.

Good luck in your baking adventures. Feel free to ask questions anytime. I love sharing what little knowledge I have.

I don’t have a sponge cake recipe but I do have these cake recipes. Let me know how your sponge cake turns out. You got this! 🍰

#feyburner ask #baking

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pinksturniolo · 4 months

Text

Cinnamon

Matt Sturniolo x Fem Reader (AU) Series

Part Two: Iced Vanilla Lattes

Intro:

Spring 1981

Cambridge, Massachusetts

Harvard University. The only ivy league school in the state.

Acceptance rate: 14%

Graduation rate: 97%

Tolerability of your mostly fake, pretentious peers: 0%

But your best friend Matt?

He makes it worth sticking around.

content warnings for this chapter: none really, some swearing and suggestive situations. mentions of depression.

read part one here <3

Two days after Matt climbed through your window, he decided it was time to go back to school, to try to get into his regular routine again. He had received a warning letter last week, with mentions of his scholarship being revoked if he was going to continue being frequently absent.

He had gotten up extra early this morning, putting on his usual pair of khakis and collared school shirt. He walks through the courtyard to the library, intending on getting some studying in before his first class of the day.

He has your journal in his hand, the green felt cover with matching ribbon wrapped around, securing it shut. It was about 150 pages or so, and halfway filled with writing between you two. He’s had it for well over two to three weeks now. Longer than he did last time.

At the end of freshman year, he came up with the brilliant idea of sharing it, the color and material of it catching his eye as it sat upon your dresser.

“What is this, your diary?” Matt snickers, snatching the journal. You two are sitting on your small bed, the mid day sunlight filling the room.

He holds it in the air as if he’s inspecting it before pulling the ribbon between his fingers and opening the cover, seeing a short paragraph of words, and flips through the rest of the empty pages.

You rip it from his hands, a disapproving look on your face. “Excuse me!” Your eyebrows furrow in anger as he laughs. “There’s not much in it anyway.” He responds.

“That’s because I just bought it.” You tell him and open the book to skim over your first entry.

It wasn’t anything too revealing, just a recipe for your mom’s cinnamon rolls.

A faint memory of when you were a little kid crosses your mind. Laughter and the smell of them baking. Sticky frosting on your fingers, your legs wobbling on the wooden stool as she helps you knead the dough.

“Did I see a recipe in there?” Matt asks, a grin plastered across his face. “Yeah. Do you like cinnamon rolls?” You respond. His smile only grows wider, the way he squints his eyes annoyingly adorable. “I love cinnamon rolls. Its my favorite desert.”

“Maybe I’ll make it sometime…” You tell him, a soft smile on your face as your eyes drift back down to the pages.

“Plan on writing more in there soon?” He says and you smooth your hand over the felt on the cover, the velvety feeling soft under your palm. You nod, and look back up at him, his eyes on your face as he waits for you to elaborate.

“I bought it at that little bookstore, you know the one across from Flagstaff Park?” He nods.

“There was a stack of them by the register. But there was only a few with this color left… and I loved how it looked so I had to get it. My mom kept a journal when she was younger… she said it helps to write down all the thoughts in your head.”

Matt’s face has a focused expression, looking at the way you run your hands over the book as you tell him why you got it.

“But I don’t know… It feels weird to write to no one. To just jot down every thought or feeling I have. Like I’m talking to myself.”

“I have a suggestion.” He says, his eyes lighting up. “Why don’t we share it? You can write down whatever you’re feeling in the moment or when I’m not around to talk to you. And then you can pass it to me. I’ll write my thoughts too and then give it back.”

“You want to share custody of my journal?” You say, a laugh escaping mid-sentence. The idea is amusing to you, but you’re interested.

“Sure. Like writing letters to each other but instead it’s in a book.” He responds, and you can’t help the heart warming feeling it gives you to see the playful smile on his face.

You smile back at him and decide it would be a fun thing to do. “Okay, why not.”

You sit in your desk, the third class of the day, pencil drawing mindless circles on your notebook. European history was your second to last favorite subject and your professor was extremely monotone, his certain style of teaching being one that writes out each and every lesson on the blackboard. His voice drones on as you continue to doodle, your attention now peeked by the conversation between two classmates in front of you.

“Did you see Matt Sturniolo this morning? He was walking to class with Vanessa Henderson. She’s so fucking lucky.”

“I know right? And he’s been looking especially good lately.”

You almost scoff out loud at their blatant gossip. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve heard girls in your school fawn over him. You’ve even heard rumors of you two, students giving you dirty looks whenever the two of you first started hanging out. But they soon died down after they realized you were just friends and Matt had no intention of anything romantic with you.

But what did irk you was the fact that he was walking with Vanessa. She was one of the prettiest girls in your grade and practically every guy wanted to hook up with her. From what you knew, she was vapid and uninteresting, her personality made up of one sole purpose. Being the most popular girl in school and head of the cheerleading team.

Still, you weren’t the type to judge someone and if Matt, your best friend, was taking the time out of his day to talk to her, then there must be some redeeming quality about her.

You tune out their conversation as they continue, eager to get to your next class.

By the time lunch comes around, you’re starving, grabbing one of the ready-made meals from the cafeteria and sitting at your usual spot at the table under the oak tree in the courtyard. It’s peak weather for springtime, the sun warm outside but the cool of the breeze in the air making it enjoyable. Students chatter around you, some lounging on the lawn, others sitting under the shade of the brick awnings.

Just as you’re pulling out your history textbook from your bag and placing it on the table, a figure stands over you, creating a shadow over your view. You look up to see Matt, that signature smile on his face and two iced vanilla lattes in his hands. “Brought you your favorite.”

Matt used to make fun of you every time you would get the overly sweet, caffeinated drink, calling your coffee addiction “a serious problem.” But once you convinced him to try it, he was instantly hooked.

He sits next to you on the bench, setting the drink down by your book. You smile and grab it immediately, taking a sip. “Thanks Matt. Glad you decided to show up today.”

“Right well, apparently I have to start being present more if I want to actually keep my scholarship. Who would’ve thought?” He says, taking a sip of his coffee as well.

You chuckle, setting the drink down and pulling your pen and notebook out of your bag. You make notes from the chapter of the history textbook you’re currently studying. Matt picks the apple from your lunch tray, taking a bite out of it.

You told yourself you wouldn’t bring it up, but you just couldn't help yourself. The few moments of comfortable silence between you two are broken as your curiosity takes over. “You know I’m not one for gossip, right?” You say, keeping your eyes on your notes. But you don’t miss the smirk on his face from the corner of your vision.

“Vanessa is… nice. I was only walking with her because we’re partners in Biology. And she happens to know a lot more than I do. I needed a recap on the past few lessons I missed.” He responds, knowing exactly what you were going to say. He’s undoubtedly heard the rumors already swirling around campus.

You look at him and put your hands up in defense, a sheepish smile on your face. “Hey, I was only wondering. I could’ve sworn you said she was spoiled and boring last semester.”

“Like I said, I needed some help.” He shrugged, laughing lightly and took another bite of the apple, his eye contact with you playful.

You ignore the subtle green of jealousy that worms its way inside you, the thought of Vanessa tutoring him for Biology. That was usually something you two did together, and you’re a little upset he didn’t just ask you for help. Sure, you might’ve had a different professor than his for that class, but you’re certain the coursework wasn’t much different, and you would’ve gladly caught him up to speed. If he would’ve asked.

“Don’t sweat it, kid. I was just wondering. Apparently, every girl in our sophomore class thinks you’re screwing her so… just thought I would get the inside scoop. Get ahead of the curve.” You tell him, unable to restrain the teasing tone in your voice. You focus your attention on your studies again, taking another sip from your latte.

Matt simply laughs, rummaging through his backpack for something. “If I had I a dollar for every bullshit rumor made up by our class, I’d be rich.”

And then he’s sliding your green journal across the table, his hand reaching out for you to take it. “I’ve been meaning to give this back to you.”

You take it from him, shoving it into your bag. “Does this mean I get it for however long I want? Since you kept it hostage and all.”

Another warm smile from him, as bright as the sunshine in the spring air. “As long as you write something good for me.” He says, winking at you and then standing up, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “See you in English.”

The end of the day couldn’t come any faster, and it made your heart stutter slightly in your chest when you saw Matt in his spot beside you as you walked into your last class.

Students chatter loudly as you make your way to the back of the room, settling into your desk. Ms. Ellmore’s voice rings out shortly, silencing the noise as she instructs everyone to open their books to today’s chapter.

It’s silent reading time, the room quiet except for the buzz of the AC. You’re focused on the words until you feel Matt’s presence closer to you, and turn your head a little to see him leaning towards you.

“Wanna help me study for Biology tomorrow morning?” He whispers, his voice low and deep in your ear.

Your desks were close enough to where only you could hear him. You can almost feel his breath on your neck. You keep your eyes on your book, and his are still on your face as he waits for your response.

“You know I’m not a morning person, Matt.” You say and can hear the smirk in his voice.

“Great, so my dorm? An hour before first period.” He tells you and you can’t fight the matching smirk on your mouth as you look at him now, his tongue poking into his cheek, coy expression on his face.

“Don’t look at me like that. I haven’t even said yes yet. And what about your other study buddy, hm?” One of your eyebrows are raised at him, jaw set in defiance.

"What other study buddy?" He rasps. He lets his eyes trail over your face briefly before resting on the collar of your shirt, noticing the way your pulse picks up, the thrum of your vein underneath the skin of your neck all too enticing suddenly.

Was he really that close to you? He now realizes his arm is fully on your desk, his whole upper body leaned towards you. He catches the blush on your face from the sudden tension before pulling back, Ms. Ellmore’s voice cutting the silence.

“Is there the something the both of you would like the share with the rest of the class, Mr. Sturniolo?” She says, a smile on her face as she looks at the two of you, making you shrink back in your seat, propping your fist up on your head so your arm can act as a barrier between you and Matt.

You fight to hold in your laughter as you hear Matt’s response. “No mam. It’s a private matter actually.” Ms. Ellmore narrows her eyes in fake assertiveness at him, smile never leaving her face. “Let’s save those for after class, thank you.”

Ms. Ellmore was your stereotypical "cool" English teacher. She was usually easy going and as long as you weren’t disrespectful and got your work done, she wasn’t very strict.

You don’t look at Matt again until you get up to leave once class is over, telling him you’ll be at his dorm tomorrow morning, practically rushing out of the door as he watches you, confusion all over his face.

You’re not sure what caused his borderline flirty nature earlier, but you hated the way it made you so flustered.

Once you get to your dorm room, you relax as you sit on your bed, slipping off your doc martens and book bag. The cover of your journal peeks out of the top as you grab it, untying the ribbon and opening the front. You hadn’t read it since Matt gave it to you at lunch and you were curious to see what he had written.

When you’re done going through it though, your heart is racing, your breath a little shaky. You let his words soak in, turning them over and over in your head.

What he wrote was about ten pages long, some writing in long paragraphs and others in fragmented sentences, like he took his thoughts straight from his head and displayed them on the old pages.

It started off as usual, he wrote about his family and how his Mother was doing each time he visited her over the past few weeks. He wrote how hard it was to see her grieve, and to in turn deal with his grief, unsure how to manage both. With his father out of town so often, he did the best he could.

He wrote about how he was losing interest in school, in people, in life in general. He was struggling with motivation, feeling like he was lost.

Matt was the smartest and most talented person you knew, always pushing you to do your best in school. You knew he had issues with mental health, something you could relate to, but the way he goes in detail of his emotions in his writing this time has you worried. He’s never been this upset before.

No wonder he missed so much school.

And then, he wrote about you. Or rather, to you. He mentioned how much he missed you, hearing your voice, or even eating lunch with you. His thoughts matched everything you were thinking or feeling while not seeing him these past few weeks.

I was thinking about that one time we went to Plymouth beach with Celine for the weekend. Remember? It was last summer, I can’t believe its already been a year. I just think about the way the ocean smelled, the blue shell you found under the sand the gelato we got on the way back. You told me you hadn’t felt that happy in a long time. I realized I haven’t felt happiness since that day. Its funny how I’ve felt so much sadness since the funeral, everytime I go to visit my mom, yet every time im with you… I know you can’t depend on another person to determine your happiness in life. But I feel like its always been better when you’re around.

His words are raw with honesty, tears threatening to spill from your eyes as you wrap the book closed, setting it inside the drawer of your nightstand.

Matt’s always been emotionally intuitive, not afraid to say what he’s feeling in the moment. And he’s always made it clear to you how much he enjoys being your friend, the relationship between you two pleasant. But there’s something different about this entry, like the way he looked at you in English class earlier, something that’s shifted that you don’t quite grasp the understanding of.

You let his words fill your thoughts for the rest of the night, until you’re willed to write some of your own in return to him, pulling the journal back out of the drawer.

taglist: <3

@sturniolopepsi @tillies33ssss @whicked-hazlatwhore @riasturns @christhopersturniolo @junnniiieee07 @sturnsjtop @seahorsie11 @inveigledvex @mattslolita @certifiednatelover @glassesmattsbae @eryismum @sturncakez @wh0resstuff @ribread03 @sturniololoco @75sturn @mattscoquette @h3arts4harry @chrizznmetswife @bambi-slxt @streamermattsgf

[if you would like to be added/taken off pls reply to this post or comment on my masterlist. and if u weren’t tagged, it wouldn’t let me add you :/ ]

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #matthew sturniolo fanfic #cinnamon

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kikokus · 7 months

Text

I had asked for fic prompts for Sanji's birthday and @woodenela had suggested "maybe Sanji cooking some North Blue dishes? Either his favourite for himself or something Sora liked" and "some good old straw hats pampering Sanji on his birthday despite him fighting it tooth and nail" so I kind of...combined those and came up with this!

(And I didn't quite make it for his birthday but I hope you enjoy regardless... No pairings, just Strawhat-centric fluff, set at some point shortly before the time-skip)

A frustrated shout from the galley was what greeted her as she pushed the door open, and while that level of volume on the ship wasn’t necessarily abnormal, usually Luffy was somehow involved and Nami had seen him a mere five seconds earlier tinkering with one of Usopp’s inventions so she knew he couldn’t be the culprit this time.

The sight of Sanji hunched over the table, running one hand through his hair with enough fervor to completely tousle the golden strands, was far more unnerving than if Luffy had managed to sneak into the fridge again.

“Sanji-kun?”

“Ah, Nami-san!” he sat up immediately, his face brightening, but it still lacked the normal enthusiasm he would typically address her with. “Do you need something from me, my darling?”

“I was just coming in to grab some water…”

She barely had the words out before he was zooming past her, and the protest that she could have gotten it herself died in her throat when she saw what was on the table.

It was a piece of paper, a hastily-scrawled list of ingredients and a few haphazard star-shaped drawings littering the sheet, and somehow she knew that this was the cause of Sanji’s emotional outburst.

And while she doubted that asking about it would result in any kind of a straight answer, that wasn’t going to stop her from trying.

“What are you working on?”

“Oh! Ah…” Sanji paused, fingers gripping the edge of the countertop like a lifeline. “Just coming up with some new recipes! Nothing you need to worry yourself with, my dear!”

“Okay,” she decided to let the subject drop, though she didn’t believe him for a second.

“He’s from the North Blue, right?” Usopp tilted his head, trying to decipher the words written on the page.

“Why is that important?” Nami was shuffling through books in the library, the pile beside her increasing in size as she quickly discarded almost every one that she opened.

“Well, his birthday’s tomorrow,” Usopp replied, idly scratching his nose. “Maybe it’s some sort of traditional dish? Or something he remembers from his childhood?”

“His birthday?” Nami stopped stripping the shelves of all their books and blinked at him. “How do you know?”

“He mentioned it once and that’s the sort of thing I remember,” Usopp leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. “We do talk, you know.”

“Right,” she heaved a sigh and dropped down beside him. “Okay. We’re set to make landfall in the morning, so what are the chances we can pull this off?”

“Well, it’s not really complete,” Usopp went back to looking at the sheet. “But this combination of spices can’t be that common. If we could just find a reference that’s close…”

“Usopp, you’re brilliant! I’ll talk to Robin,” Nami snatched up the sheet and zoomed away, leaving Usopp to realize in slowly-dawning horror that it was now apparently his responsibility to put the books away in the same order she’d removed them.

Robin wasn’t exactly expecting the local Grand Line bookstore to have a book specifically on North Blue cuisine, but the employees were decidedly unhelpful and couldn’t even point her in a useful direction so she was stuck scouring the shelves by herself.

Since Nami’s search of the library had been fairly fruitless (and Sanji would have likely started there anyway), she’d volunteered to do some research while the rest of the crew kept Sanji thoroughly distracted until dinnertime.

They’d managed to come up with a decently long list of spices from the outline Sanji had provided, and Robin’s best guess was that it was meant for some sort of stew or curry.

Luckily, the shop did have books on that, but she was running out of time and--after a quick glance to make sure the shopkeeper was otherwise distracted--using her abilities to page through several books at once seemed like the best option.

She was about halfway through a rather dense edition entitled Stews of the Four Blues when a page with a photo of star anise caught her attention, and thinking back it did bear a striking resemblance to the doodles that Sanji had added to the original sheet…almost like he was trying to picture that exact page in his mind’s eye.

The rest of the spices lined up as well, and given the time…

Well, they’d have just long enough to get it ready before dinner.

“I can take those.”

“You what?”

“The bags, idiot,” Zoro immediately regretted his choice of words because Nami had made it clear they had to be nice to the cook today, but that wasn’t exactly his normal way of interacting with him.

“Why?” Sanji took a step back, immediately suspicious, and Zoro briefly considered knocking him out with the hilt of one of his swords and dragging the bags away by force but that seemed like the opposite of ‘being nice’ so he quickly dismissed it.

“I’m going back to the ship anyway,” he tapped the toe of his boot against the ground. “I need a drink and I don’t have enough extra money to buy more booze.”

“Well, I’m not buying you any, so whatever you drink you’ll have to replace,” Sanji still wasn’t passing over the damn bags and Zoro was reaching the end of his patience.

“Yeah, yeah,” Zoro held out his hand and Sanji slowly--eventually--handed them over, prompting Zoro to make a hasty retreat so as to avoid prolonging the conversation any more than it already had been.

Nami owed him big time for this.

“Saaaaaaanji! Food!” Luffy wasn’t exactly a master of distraction, but all Nami had told him was to keep Sanji away from the ship and lunch seemed like a great way to do that.

He launched himself at Sanji, wrapping him up in a rubbery hug.

“Food! Food! Food!”

“Okay; okay,” Sanji had been looking at a stall selling some fresh fruit but he staggered awkwardly away with Luffy still wrapped around him. “Can’t you bug Usopp or something?”

“He’s busy,” Luffy pouted, and honestly, he was pretty proud of his acting job right now.

“You’re paying for your own food,” was all Sanji said, and Luffy finally unwound himself enough to grab Sanji’s hand and lead him in a direction that he hoped was away from the ship.

Mission complete.

“Hey, Sanji-bro!”

“Franky?”

And okay, maybe Franky shouldn’t have just stopped in front of him since walking into a wall of metal would knock anyone back, but he managed to catch Sanji before he landed ass-first on the pavement.

“You busy?”

“Not exactly, but I was…”

“Cool! You know how to play guitar, right?” Franky had seen him plucking away at his guitar more than a few times when he was sure Sanji didn’t think anyone was looking, and the flush on his pale cheeks only confirmed what he already knew.

“I mean, I…”

“Nah, don’t worry about it!” Franky clapped him on the shoulder, again realizing that any normal human would probably be thrown off-balance by the force of his hand and hauling Sanji back to his feet. “Found a music shop and I was looking at grabbing some new strings. Wanna come with?”

“Sure?” Sanji still seemed more confused than anything, but he didn’t protest, so Franky guided (see: probably pushed too hard again) him into the shop.

“Sanji-san!”

“Hey, Brook,” Sanji walked over, the slightest slump to his shoulders the only indication that his energy was low. “What’s up?”

“Nothing to worry about! I just discovered a lovely tea shop around the corner, and since you’re one of the only people on this crew that appreciates a good cup of tea, I was wondering if you’d like to join me?” he half-bowed, extending a skeletal hand in the direction of the shop.

And Sanji looked…relieved, almost, which made Brook wonder what sort of ‘distractions’ the rest of the crew had tried to implement.

Still, there wasn’t anything inherently stressful about drinking tea, so he was sure Sanji would be able to relax for the next little while.

“Yeah. Thanks,” Sanji smiled at him, hands stuffed in his pockets as he followed Brook to the shop.

“You’re sure I can grind all of these?”

“Yep!” Nami had the book open on the table, reaching to tie her hair back while she studied the recipe. “Some of them have to go in whole but all of those should be good to go.”

“Okay!” Chopper grinned, happy that he could use at least a bit of his medical knowledge to help out here. Sure, it wasn’t exactly the same, but he knew how to use a mortar and pestle and he wanted to join in as soon as he heard Nami’s plan.

Usopp was working on the rice and Robin seemed to be generally supervising, and between the four of them Chopper knew they could pull this off.

He added the mixture of cardamom, peppercorns and fennel seeds to the mortar and set to work, determined to do a good job.

Sanji was going to love it.

It was nearing dinner by the time Sanji made it back to the ship, and while he hadn’t seen anyone from his crew since leaving the tea shop with Brook, they’d been unusually persistent all day and he was starting to wonder if something was up.

The galley lights being on only furthered those suspicions, and while his first instinct was to be annoyed that someone was invading his space without his permission, the smell wafting through the door was startlingly familiar and he had to clutch the door frame to keep his knees from getting weak when he realized what it was.

Because it was something he hadn’t smelled in over ten years, and before he could think to collect himself he was already pushing through the door, hands fumbling for his lighter because he really needed a cigarette right now.

The first breath he took once he was in the galley proper almost brought tears to his eyes, and he barely registered the joyful shouts of ‘Happy Birthday!’ or Luffy’s high-pitched explanation that there was cake, too, and flatbread but they didn’t make cake or the flatbread because ‘Nami said we couldn’t bake anything so we had to buy it and…’

“So who said you could use my kitchen?” he finally managed to clear his throat enough to talk, his voice noticeably shaky, but then he had to fend off Luffy, Usopp and Chopper from trying to tackle him and eventually he just gave up and let them drag him to the table.

“Sorry, Sanji-kun,” Nami looked a little sheepish. “Robin was overseeing things, though!”

“Ah, well, if there’s anyone I would trust in my domain, it’s my lovely ladies,” he was speaking almost on autopilot, his senses still overwhelmed, and if he closed his eyes he could imagine himself sitting at the table while his mom…

Yeah. Unless he wanted to start sobbing, maybe now wasn’t the best time to get lost in those particular memories.

“Thank you. It smells amazing,” he said honestly, leaning into Usopp when the sniper threw an arm around his shoulders, and he knew how lucky he was to have friends who were willing to do this just to make him happy.

Maybe he wasn’t ready to tell them everything yet--about how meals like this where his mom could prep in advance and let it cook on its own for a few hours were one of the only things she had energy for as her body continued to weaken--but that didn’t mean he was any less appreciative.

And maybe one day…

Well, maybe one day he’d be able to.

But for now, he could just enjoy the evening.

…After he reminded them that the star anise had to be removed before the dish could be served, of course.

#one piece #opfanfic #sanji #strawhats

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mikeisthricedeceased · 1 year

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Lick 👅 with Frank castle 👀👀👀

To make up for my misunderstanding last time, this one is mostly about Frank’s tits lmao I also got carried away so this took longer than I expected (I know there’s a lot of biting in this too, I just have my own kinks for Frank and I can’t help it lol)

It began with a little impromptu ice cream party.

Frank had brought home a big bottle of chocolate syrup for some dessert recipe you were going to try making tomorrow. You dug out the big tub of ice cream left over from the last birthday you’d celebrated and Frank managed to reach the jar of cherries that had found its way to the very back of the fridge’s top shelf. You also snagged the small bottle of strawberry syrup that was stuck amongst the other condiments, glad to add more options, even if the whole selection was still pretty basic. No bananas or waffle cones, not even a can of whipped cream.

It was nice, chatting and laughing, making sugary abominations before settling on the couch and putting on an old show you’d been rewatching lately.

You’d both overestimated how much could fit in your bowls, which became a slight problem when everything started melting.

Frank got a glob of ice cream on his shirt because it was barely solid enough to stay on a spoon, and your generous syrup drizzle had dripped down the sides of your bowl and onto you. You missed a good five minute chunk of the episode while trying to clean the drops off the coffee table and rinse some of the stickiness from your hands.

Once everything was reasonably cleaned up, you paused the show and followed Frank into the bedroom so you could both change out of your (hopefully not permanently stained) clothes.

That should’ve been a pretty quick and easy process, but you were feeling giddy and happy and maybe a little frisky.

A very nice night combined with a suddenly shirtless Frank Castle often had that effect.

“Honey?”

Frank didn’t look up from where he was trying to pick a shirt from his drawer, but he tilted his head to let you know he was listening. “Hmm?”

You toyed with the hem of your own shirt, eyes tracing the lines of his back and shoulders. “Would you be willing to try something really quick?”

He paused in his search and you could see the beginnings of a smirk on his face as he tilted it just a little bit more. “I might be.”

“It might get a little…sticky,” you told him, taking a step closer. “And I kinda lied about it being really quick.”

He pushed the drawer shut and turned to face you fully, arms crossed over his bare chest. “Listening.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, knowing that he was completely aware of what he was doing.

He wore that small, self-satisfied smile he got whenever he guessed where your mind was going.

“No restraints,” you said, silently pleased when his brows lifted in mild surprise. You loved tying him up. “But I do want you to lay down with your hands over your head.”

“No touching?”

“Not unless I say so.”

He nodded, his gaze flitting to follow every move you made as you stepped closer again. “And?”

You made a show of trying to decide, lips pursed. “I think… I’ll make some art,” you drawled, taking a step. “I’m gonna go get those bottles of syrup” another step “and use you as my canvas.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “Do I get anything out of this deal?”

“My endless love and devotion,” you said sweetly. With a shrug, you added, “Maybe an orgasm.”

A small grin pulled at his lips even as he shook his head. “I’ll grab a towel.”

You beamed and quickly went to get the syrup back out.

When you got back to the bedroom, a very nice sight was there to greet you.

Frank had stripped down to his boxer briefs and was lounging on the bed, towel already spread out beneath him.

You took a moment to simply admire him, mouth watering at the thought of what you were about to do. Cool, sticky-sweet syrup on warm skin.

“Didn’t know if you wanted me fully nude,” he said, a hand tucked behind his head as he looked you up and down.

You shook your head, stepping forward to put the bottles on the bed. “This is good, for now.” You stripped down as well and climbed onto the bed with him, scooting the syrup bottles onto the towel so they would be within easy reach. Swinging a leg over him, you straddled his hips and rested your hands on his broad chest. “I always get so many ideas when I see you like this,” you told him, fingertips pressing lightly into his skin. “Makes it hard to focus when we first get started.”

“Just means there’ll be more fun in the future.” He slid both hands up above his head, arms flexing with the move, muscles in his chest and shoulders shifting in the process.

It did nothing to help you focus.

He was only doing what you’d told him to.

You cupped his face in your hands and looked him in the eye. “I know you’re the hottest man alive and everything, but can you give me a second to think because I had a plan.”

His eyes widened. “You told me to lay like this,” he defended, laughter edging into his voice.

“Yeah, but you’re being sexy about it.”

“Because we’re about to have sex!”

“No,” you corrected, “I’m painting. You’re making it about sex.”

Frank rolled his eyes but said nothing.

You took it as an opportunity to figure out where you wanted to start. You had a vague plan for what you wanted to ‘paint,’ but the first move wasn’t as clear. Picking up the strawberry syrup, you popped the cap off and leaned over Frank, assessing the planes of his chest, his stomach, his neck.

Your gaze settled on his collarbones. Tipping the bottle, you traced a careful line across his skin from the curve of one collarbone to the other. It ended a little shaky and you bit your lip. You could leave it. You could wipe it off with a corner of the towel. Or…

Leaning down, you swiped your tongue through the end of the line of syrup. It was still cool, and sweet as candied fruit.

Frank stilled, breath halting for a moment before he exhaled slowly as you rose back up. “Didn’t know you were gonna tease me,” he grunted.

You scoffed as you fixed the line. “I’m not teasing. You’d know if I was teasing.” Squinting, you considered your next move.

“Well, I was expecting something like temperature play but sticky, and now you’re licking me.” He shrugged. “I feel like licking is a tease.”

“A tease for what? Biting?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

You scowled at him. “Rude.”

He grinned. “Never said it was a bad thing.”

With a huff, you closed the strawberry syrup and grabbed the chocolate. You had it open and upturned quickly, squeezing a generous amount of the syrup onto the center of his chest.

He jolted, letting out a curse as goosebumps rose on his skin. “Jesus! That’s fucking cold.”

“I thought you wanted temperature play,” you said sweetly. You didn’t miss the fact that, even with the shock of cold, he had kept his hands up. He was usually very clear about when he wasn’t on board with something, and his continuing to follow instructions was a good sign that he liked where things were going.

Leaning down, you slowly dragged your tongue through the chocolate until you could taste the salt of his skin. Cold, followed by warm.

He was still again, chest not moving at all while you licked him clean. As you sat up, there was the faintest shiver that ran through him, his eyes dark.

“Do you like when I do that, honey?”

Taking a deep breath, chest expanding under your hand, he nodded. “Yeah.” The word was an exhale, long and low.

You abandoned the idea of making some big, specific design. This was better.

Making another line, this one from the center of his chest and across a pectoral, you gave multiple little licks along the length of chocolate, taking long enough that he couldn’t hold his breath like he had before. Once the syrup was gone, you pressed a kiss to his chest. “Good boy.”

“Fuck,” he grunted, adam’s apple bobbing.

You swapped back to the strawberry and made a circle around his nipple. The sound of the sheets shifting made you look up from your work, only to find that Frank had a tight grip on the pillows above his head. The sight made you smile. You kept your eyes on his face as you trailed after the syrup with the tip of your tongue.

A small, desperate sound left him and a twisted kind of delight warmed your chest. Letting your teeth graze the peak of his nipple had the sound drawing out until he was breathless. You kissed and licked and nipped at his skin for a long while, your hands soothing and gentle whenever he got restless from the sensations. Then, you switched to the other side of his chest.

You still made little dots of syrup here and there, but it had become more of an afterthought than the main focus. Frank became more sensitive every moment, squirming and shifting under your mouth and hands, making low, debauched noises and higher pleas for more.

It wasn’t until you bit harder into the meat of his pec, just beside his nipple, that he actually arched up, his loud moan filling the small bedroom.

Your whole body prickled with heat, the steady waves of arousal you’d been feeling coming to a crest at the sound. Rising up, you caught sight of his flushed face, his heaving chest all speckled with little bruises. He no longer had a death grip on the pillows, his arms resting limp on either side of his head instead. You glanced down and any doubt you’d had vanished at the sight of a wet spot on his dark underwear.

Cupping his jaw, you turned his face toward you. “I thought you were just humoring me with the biting, honey. I didn’t know you liked it so much that you’d come if I did it hard enough.”

“I didn’t—didn’t know,” he huffed.

You traced your other hand over his abused chest, brushing across one of his nipples and making him groan. “Or maybe you just got so sensitive that you couldn’t help yourself,” you mused. You’d have to remember that. Making him come without taking his pants off, without even having to touch him below the belt in any way, could lead to some interesting scenarios in the future.

He blinked heavy eyes up at you. “Can I bring my arms down?”

“Yes.” His shoulders would probably be stiff for a while. Maybe a little massage would help. “I’ll get you cleaned up.”

A hand on your thigh kept you from getting up off of him. Frank was shaking his head. “Let me take care of you first,” he insisted.

You smiled and leaned down to kiss him for being such an unrelenting sweetheart. “I’ll make a deal with you,” you told him. “We can either stay in bed, all sticky and sweaty, while you take care of me. Have a great time until we both realize we got syrup all over the bed because we rolled off of the towel. Then we have to strip the sheets and remake the bed. Or,” you ran your fingers through his sweat damp hair, “we kill two birds with one stone and hop in the shower. You can take care of me in there, hmm? Get clean while we get filthy?”

He hummed in approval. “I like your idea better.”

You laughed and pulled him upright. “I thought you might.”

~*~*~*~

Prompts & Headcanons Masterlist

#frank castle #frank castle x reader #the punisher #one word prompts

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simslegacy5083 · 2 months

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NSB (Straud Legacy) Gen 9

Today's (8/1/2024) Episode: Aging Up Is Hard To Do

After Noemi joined Luigi in adulthood, the pair struggled to settle into their new, older, stage of life.

Luigi had been busy after aging up, first grieving and then trying to make Noemi’s birthday perfect. When the vain sim finally checked his mirror, he was horrified by how OLD he looked. Wrinkles and bags under his eyes…!? The self-absorbed sim hated the marks time had left on his face.

It didn’t help his outlook that his eczema and anemia seemed to be getting worse, despite religiously sticking to his tried-and-true maintenance routines. He’d also begun to struggle with excessive thirst. None of it made it easy to meet his own high standards. Luigi was officially in a funk!

As for Noemi, she had finally set a date to start the job that Skye’s birth and her health issues had postponed, but it was messing with her head.

She worried that her social struggles would prevent her from making a good impression on her bosses and new peers. On top of that, her inability to exercise the way she wanted to since Skye’s birth due to her surgeries had left her carrying a lot more leftover baby weight than she liked.

The idea of facing her new co-workers and clients when she feeling far from her “best” kicked her anxiety into high gear.

When Luigi admitted his unhappiness with his new, older look and recent ill health it prompted his fiancée to admit to her own concerns.

Noemi suggested that, since Luigi was feeling under the weather, they start trying to tackle things with a visit to their doctors.

Hopefully, his primary care provider could help him figure out what to do to get his chronic conditions back under control and Dr. Valasquez could help her brainstorm ways to manage her anxiety.

Sadly, the outcome of Luigi’s healthcare appointment only worsened his outlook.

His symptoms and answers to questions about his general dietary habits quickly prompted the doctor to order a panel of bloodwork. This revealed that Luigi’s recent fatigue and dry skin weren’t the worsening of his long-standing medical issues, but a sign that he needed to overhaul his lifestyle once again to deal with a new chronic condition: diabetes.

To keep his blood sugar in a healthy range Luigi would now need to avoid many of his favorite breakfast foods and mixology recipes. He hung up the phone in shock, his natural cheerfulness unable to find any bright side to the grim news. Why did these things keep happening to him!?

Noemi didn’t fare much better. Her therapist wasn’t able to suggest anything she didn’t already know, leaving her no better off than before.

Grabbing a late dinner after putting Skye to bed the couple compared notes and tried to brainstorm. Luigi’s first idea came as he remembered how empowering it had felt for him and his cousins to curate their “new looks” after moving in together. Maybe, he told Noemi, they couldn’t change what was at the heart of their problems, but with a little “fashion magic” they could cover over them a bit. She agreed it was worth a try.

When he went on to bitterly joke: “At least my seldom sleepy trait keeps me mostly awake and alert. If only there was a satisfaction potion of chronic-illness-be-gone!” a lightbulb went off in Noemi’s brain. No satisfaction reward would help him, but there was definitely one for her weight concerns.

When Luigi saw the “Insta Lean” potion pop out of his fiancées inventory he placed a hand on her arm to stop her from chugging it down.

“What?” she asked him “It’s a perfectly safe one time reset. Now that I can exercise again, I’ll easily maintain a weight that makes me happy. Come to think of it, exercising more would be good for both of us. Didn’t the doctor say a regular fitness routine would help you manage your sugar levels?”

“Yes, he did” Luigi replied, “and that’s a great idea. If you’re spending points, do you have enough to pick up Seldom Sleepy too?” At her nod he smiled and continued. “Grab that, and we can burn the midnight oil together, going for late night jogs on the beach and early morning swims!”

Gesturing back at the potion his face got serious as he continued: “I just wanted you to know, before you drink that, that you are beautiful and loved just the way you are. If your new bosses or your bathroom mirror don’t appreciate you, I hope you realize how much I do.”

Noemi leaned across the table and kissed him softly. “I love you too. However much your love completes me though, I want to go into my new job feeling on top of the world. This expensive little cocktail will boost my confidence in the office Monday morning, when I’ll need all the help I can get!” With that, she tipped the glass back, letting the magical concoction slide down her throat with a cool tingle.

With their “fixer upper” plans in place the pair looked forward to a fashion makeover to highlight their new, more mature, and soon sleeker bodies!

View The Full Story of My Not So Berry Challenge Here

#sims 4 challenge #sims 4 #sims 4 legacy #sims4 #sims 4 nsb #sims 4 not so berry #sims4nsbstraud #sims 4 let's play #sims 4 lets play #sims 4 gameplay

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everybodyknows-everybodydies · 1 year

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Dear Ma,

I made it to Morrowind! Not the part where Mournhold is, but there’s lots of stuff to see and I can get there eventually. I hope you’re not too mad about me getting in trouble, I’m REALLY sorry. (Don’t tell Dexion I said I’m sorry though because I’m not sorry at him and I think probably he should get lit on fire more often to build character. I promise he didn’t even get hurt he’s just a big baby and a s’wit. You can tell him I said that part.)

I saw they have a courier’s office in the place they dropped me off but they said I have to deliver a package for them before I can send anything myself. I think that’s a weird rule to have but probably Llaalam just forgot to tell me that’s how the mail works here. I don’t think it’s drugs because it looks like pretty official Imperial business but they did tell me to be really secretive and discreet about it.

---

Don’t worry I’m not a drug runner!

---

I think maybe I gave drugs to that old man.

---

Ma,

They have guildhalls for the Mages Guild here too! I was going to tell them I haven’t gotten my recommendation letters from everywhere else, just the one in Chorrol, but the lady in charge here in Balmora was really nice and said I could help as an Associate! So I made a new friend and I’m helping her study mushrooms and flowers and stuff. There’s a lot of plants here we don’t have back home. I pressed one of the flowers we picked for you—I hope it stays nice in the mail. Ajira says this one’s called stoneflower. Do you think when I come home we could plant some in the garden?

Are you doing alright? Is someone helping you with the laundry and the dishes and the cooking? Is it someone nice? I hope it’s Helene. Remember you aren’t supposed to bend over because of your knees so don’t let her put the big pot under the sink. Ajira’s showing me how to use some of the plants we found to make this tingly salve that’s supposed to be good for joints, so when I come home I’ll make it for you.

---

It’s me again, Ma,

I haven’t been sleeping well because

---

I’m sleeping GREAT and you don’t need to worry at all about

---

I am getting the normal kind of sleep and food and they’re letting me stay here in the guildhall while I’m helping Ajira. The food isn’t as good as yours. I’m trying to get this soup recipe from them though because I think you’d really like it if we used some of the spices from the mudhopper stew. Ranis said I have to be higher rank to learn guild secrets (this is a VERY good soup) so tomorrow I’m going to see what she says I have to do to get promoted to Apprentice.

The old guy I delivered the package to says he needs help with something too, and I feel bad because he doesn’t seem like he has any friends, but learning about all the flora has been keeping me pretty busy. I think maybe I’ll ask Ajira if she’d come with me to see what he needs help with. I have to make sure he told the courier’s office that I gave him his package anyway so I can send your letters.

---

Dear Ma,

I know you said I probably wouldn’t ever be able to hear it but I think being closer to Black Marsh made something click? Sometimes I feel like somebody’s whispering even when I’m by myself

---

I miss you. I’m sorry again.

Love,

Your Hallie

#writing tag #Haldryn Elora #I don't do a lot of epistolary form so this was a fun exercise :')#there wasn't really a good early place to put a cut though for this one so the cutoff is weird lol sorry

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willshipanything-blog · 1 year

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Breaking the Rules- Chapter 14

Surprise early posting! Been getting these out every couple of weeks, but this was short and sweet and got done quickly, so enjoy! Y/N needs some advice, so turns to Max- who else does she have?

As usual, minors DNI for content in other chapters, full tags can be found on AO3, along with the fic if you wanna read here.

Complete chapter index here.

Enjoy lovelies 💜✨✌️

Chapter 14- Lay It On The Line

“Yell-lo?”

“Hey Max, it’s me, how’s it going?”

“Scout! Great timing, I just got my phone set up this morning. Ya know, if I’d have known you were gonna miss me this much I wouldn’t have moved out so soon!”

“That’s rich! What was it, one full day before you came back to visit?”

“Ah, touché. Thanks again for dinner. I’d ask for that lasagna recipe, but me trying to make it wouldn't end well!”

“Aw, that’s ok Max. I’ll make double next time so you can take some home.”

“Awesome, you’re the best! So, er- how you doing?”

You weren’t ready to answer that question yet. Mainly because you weren’t really sure of the answer. After pacing restlessly in front of the phone all morning, you finally snatched it up and dialed Max’s new number without really thinking about what to say.

You did want to catch up with him, see how he was getting on in his new place, and you knew he was off work today. And, despite it only having been three days since he’d vacated the spare room, and only two since you’d last seen him, you missed him. You forgot how lonely and quiet the house could be during the day. No long walks with Samson, no lively (though somewhat incessant) conversation on every topic that came to mind. Max was just so easy to talk to, and you hoped his breezy conversation and effervescence might rub off on you. Still, you dodged answering his question with more of your own:

“I was just ringing to see if you got settled in ok. Are you and Samson liking the new place?”

“Oh sure, those four cardboard boxes were a real workout to unpack. You know I do appreciate Al letting me have some furniture from our old room. It feels… weird, having my own place. But it’s been great so far! But you didn’t answer my question, Scout. How’re you? You sound a little- down?”

Max really was sharper than he looked. Despite his disheveled appearance and hopeless track record on all the 'Jeopardy!’ episodes you’d watched together, he could always sniff out if something was wrong emotionally. Even with a few miles between you, it was like he could sense the disquiet down the phone cord.

Truth be told, there was another reason you’d rang Max. You wanted to talk about things, and you couldn’t do that with Al. Not right now. You’d looked deep into those soft blue eyes the other day, wanting to ask so many questions- and you’d crumbled, toppling like a house of cards when confronted with those steel blue eyes full of fear. Those unasked questions still hovered on the horizon, like an approaching black cloud, distant but inevitable. You needed a few more sunny days with Al yet, before that storm hit.

Not that Max would know any secret his brother was harboring (aside from some wonderfully embarrassing childhood stories), but he did know more than most: about who you were, that young woman from the missing posters and the newscasts that most people thought of as a runaway, or else dead and buried somewhere. Max at least knew of some of your anxieties and the emotional strain you’d been through. Even if what he thought you were hiding barely scratched the surface of the secrets between you and his brother, reaching far deeper than he could possibly imagine.

As long as you didn’t mention anything too specific, surely Max could offer you some solace from your worries about Al. And maybe from your own guilt too- the guilt of staying despite what Al had done, the fact that those things were so easily forgotten when you lost yourself in the intimate asylum that you and Al inhabited. No, if you talked in vague terms, Max might just see those worries as a rocky patch between you and Al- a lover’s tiff, not awful fears about those dark, arcane truths that even you hadn’t quite delved to the bottom of.

“I’m- I’m ok, Max. I just feel a little funny sometimes. I don’t really have many people to talk to about everything."

“Sure, sure, I get that. You’re meaning the things about you on the news, right? Your family history? I guess that kinda stuff must be tough to try and process?”

“I mean, it’s not just that, though. The situation with me and Al. People wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh, ‘cause of the age gap? It’s no big d-”

“Not that. It’s- well, it’s all just a little fucked up. It’s sorta hard to explain when it’s all so- so wrong.”

“Wrong?”

Shit. Had you said too much? You tried to recollect what you’d said in the last couple minutes, analyzing whether any little phrase or wording might have Max questioning the sheer insanity and potential truth behind your relationship with his brother. Trying to replay the conversation in your mind, you must have zoned out when Max filled the silence that stretched across the coiled phone cord.

“Hey, um, Scout- this isn’t about those masks, is it?”

Your heart dropped in your chest. The cream phone nearly slipped out of your grasp and you felt your face blanch at Max’s bombshell. You’d been pacing with the phone, carving trodden circles in the shag carpet, but that question stopped you dead in your tracks. You were too winded to let out any response other than a shaky, whispered “What?”. As far as feigning ignorance went, it wasn’t wholly convincing, but Max could tell how much that revelation had shocked you, and began backpedaling immediately, racing to explain himself in his hasty, bumbling way.

“Oh, shit, please don’t be upset Scout! Look, I know I shouldn’t have been snooping and I’m sorry, ok- but it was when I had a job interview, I was running late and outta clean shirts, so I went to borrow one of Al’s and I couldn't ask you because you were in the shower-”

“Oh, god. Max…”

“But it’s ok, really! Please don’t be embarrassed. I mean, it’s just sex stuff, right? I don’t want you to think of it as ‘wrong’ just because it’s a little, um, what’s the word…. unorthodox?”

Max hadn’t equated those devilish masks with the Grabber. And why would he- who even knew that the Grabber, the shadowy specter that no longer haunted the streets of Denver, even wore such a disguise? The masks had never even appeared outside, Al only having chosen to sport those masks inside the house: the ghastly smile; the deep-set frown; the unreadable blank mouth; the horns that crowned each of those wicked expressions. As gruesome as they might have appeared to Max, he’d only linked them to the salacious games that you and Al reveled in. After all, you figured, they were stashed away with Al’s box of tricks, right beside the rope and handcuffs and other little toys Al had picked up over the months…

You were almost too relieved by Max’s assumptions to feel mortified by his discovery of some of your most intimate, shameful games. He wasn’t entirely wrong, after all- he just wouldn’t know the previous role the masks had played for Al’s dark persona. As you thought about the misunderstanding, you wondered if you could use it to your advantage. If you could speak to Max about your guilty conscience, but have him think it was about your unconventional love life rather than your unforgivable choices. Just like you’d planned, where talking in vague terms might still end up with Max consoling you, providing some relief to your sullied conscience.

“Uh, thanks Max. I guess that’s a part of it, you know? Like, sometimes I feel I’m doing the wrong thing, like I should stop.”

“Do you want to stop, or do you want to be there?”

“I want to be there, but-”

“Then that’s all there is. That’s your decision. Not anyone else’s, okay?”

“You’re right. But if other people knew, they’d judge me, or think I was sick or something.”

“Fuck other people, Scout! You can’t live your life doing what other people expect is the “right thing” to do. Otherwise I wouldn’t have slept with half the people I have!”

“Huh?”

“Come on Scout, you saw those photos. I… I like women and men, alright? There’s plenty of people around who think that’s wrong, but honestly I don’t give two shits about other people’s opinions in general. Neither should you.”

The silence was so palpable you could practically hear the electricity buzz down the telephone wire. You were floored by Max’s admission, even if it did make sense, given those photographs he’d mentioned. Perhaps he’d had the comforting distance of the phone line between you to tell you that fact. Regardless, a small part of you was touched that he’d trusted you with that admittance. But mostly, you just felt even more guilty now.

Max had made that heartfelt confession on a misgiving, thinking you were wracked with guilt about your own sexual activities, comparing it to his situation, and how people would always hate what they didn’t understand. But they weren’t similar; they weren’t even in the same fucking ballpark, because you’d had to once again skirt around the truth to talk to Max. It felt as if you’d tricked that information out of him. You weren’t really talking about sex, but how was Max to know that? Once again, Max broke the silence.

“You, uh, you still there Y/N?”

“Sorry, yeah. I’m here. I didn’t know that Max.”

“Well, I don’t advertise it to everyone, ya know? I thought it might help you- I don’t want to feel ashamed at doing something that small minded people think is wrong, when that’s just bullshit.”

“Thanks, Max, for telling me. For trusting me with it. Does Al know?”

“Nah- it’s never felt like the right time, and I’m not a hundred percent convinced he’d understand.”

“Oh, ok. I won’t tell him or anything, because it’s not my place to. But Al’s maybe not as… old school as you might think.”

“Yeah, no shit ya kinky fucks!”

“Jesus, Max!”

After that, Max swerved the conversation to lighter topics, even beginning to arrange his next visit to the house (which, thankfully, would be in just a few days- Max had Saturday off to spend with his two favorite people, he’d said). You suggested he bring groceries, and you’d teach him how to cook a few basic dishes, so easy even Max might not mess it up completely.

“Sounds good, Scout- but how do I know you’ll be home?”

You wondered if Max could hear your eyes rolling sarcastically on the other end of the phone. Of course you’d be in- when weren’t you? Even if Max still didn’t know the exact reasons why that was the case, when he joked about it, it somehow made it feel more normal, less weird and suspicious than it actually was. Strangely, you welcomed the lighthearted teasing about it, but of course had to meet his ribbing with some of your own:

“Don’t worry Max, I’ll be right here and waiting for you- unless you skip town on us before then.”

“Oof, guess I shoulda seen that one comin’”.

“Hey, you made fun of me for being a hermit, I can joke about you being flaky.”

“I guess we all have our flaws, huh? I’ll see ya soon, Scout. Miss you.”

“I miss you too, Max.”

I miss you too, Max. At least you’d told him one truthful thing.

The dial tone flatlined as Max hung up, and you slowly lowered the phone into its cradle on the side table, still pondering the advice Max had given you.

You felt simultaneously shittier and better after the phone call.

Shittier, because you’d wanted some reprieve from all the suspected mistruths surrounding Al, yet had only fallen deeper into your own deceptions with Max. Once again, Max was opening himself up, laying bare his vulnerabilities to assuage your own. He’d opened up about his own sexuality to quell your own doubts about being perceived as ‘weird’ or ‘wrong’ in other people’s eyes. And you’d allowed him to think that your situations were similar, your heart panging in your chest at another necessary lie. Like weeks ago, when he’d told you about the abuse suffered at his father’s hand, telling you about his past after assuming your own family had hurt you when he saw remnants of the scar carved below your collarbone. When you continued to use your damn doublespeak to avoid revealing too much of the real truths, it made you feel dirty. It made you feel like a bad friend, and Max didn’t deserve that in the least.

But some of what Max had said really had helped, despite him not knowing what had really been bothering you these last couple weeks. Regardless, his advice still seemed sage- it was your decision to stay, and you confirmed that you did want to. Those choices were given freely these days- though a ridiculous part of your brain actually wondered if it would be easier if they were taken away, like before. When Al had removed the choice, you didn’t have to make any impossible decisions. But that was madness, and you weren’t under the illusion that things had been better when you’d resided in the basement against your will.

Freedom meant making difficult decisions, then. You loved Al enough to make those tough choices. For now, he’d given you no cause not to believe him about the house across the street. That worry was only an itch in your brain, a tingle up your spine. No proof, no evidence that he was lying, even with his villainous distractions. After all, Al had always liked to concoct new games to keep things interesting. Perhaps it was time to initiate one of your own, if only to keep your mind from straying into dangerous territory again.

#the grabber #the grabber x reader #the grabber x you #the black phone #black phone fanfic #the black phone fanfic #albert shaw x reader #albert shaw #albert shaw x you

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cherienymphe · 9 months

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My sister has a married (separated but they’re still pretending they’re together for the kids) man over and she’s gone an fucking waited for us all to go to sleep and she’s in the living room with him. It’s the second time she’s done this.

I want to cry. I know that sounds so ducking stupid because it’s none of my business but I literally haven’t sat on my sofa for months because of when she has him over the first time. I don’t want to sit on a sofa where they probably fucked. And like, I get up at the middle of the night for cereal most nights but I literally can’t now because they’re down there.

All I wanted to do is sleep but I can’t because there’s a man in my house who I’ve only met ONCE. It’s genuinely making me want to go and sleep in a hotel. I want to leave. I was trying to be a cockblocker and I was in the kitchen for ages pretending I couldn’t sleep, and she was just there watching me, texting him and laughing. (I know that’s bad, but tbf I was thirsty)

He’s a fucking scumbag (I pretend I find him okay but reality I fucking hate him). I know I need to work on myself because this is probably jealousy or some shit. Like I know this isn’t healthy for me. It’s not like any of what I’m typing right now my sister knows. She thinks I either 1. don’t know, or 2. that i’m fine with it.

She’s 35. She hasn’t got kids or a husband and I understand he’s the first person to be obsessed with her for years, but he’s already done the kids and marriage thing for 12 years so… Is he really looking for that again? I doubt it. I just don’t like that he’s making her wait, like you’re either with your wife or you’re not.

But at the end of the day it is NONE of my business. It’s just making me feel sick right now and I was planning on having a nice sleep but I have this problem where I literally cannot fall asleep when there’s other people in my house.

I know I sound deranged but she’s my only reason for living some days and when she’s ignoring me to text him constantly it’s literally so fucking soul sucking. I should probably move out but leaving my mom and my sister together is just recipe for trouble and if I moved out my mother would literally be homeless because she can’t pay for rent on her own. I’m the youngest (20) and always wanted to travel but I’m scared of leaving because I’m scared of coming back and being alone for the rest of my life. I don’t want my family to break apart.

Anyways, my GAWD that’s long. I’ll leave this here if you want to read it. I know you’re not a therapist lol so you don’t have to reply. Just had to rant because I haven’t got anyone to talk to. Okay, I’m going to either read gothic fiction or watch Buffy to distract me 💜

Hey I don't think you're wrong to be bothered by some strange man being in your house at all hours of the night. I get that everyone's family is different, but I wasn't raised in an environment like that so I too would be bothered. Yes, she has just as much right to the space as anyone else, but it's not solely her house. You have a right to feel comfortable too.

As for your sister, you have to let her make her own decisions/mistakes. While I personally don't think it's wrong for separated couples to see other people, it's almost always a recipe for mess when no one has officially filed for divorce. Are the chances pretty great that he and his wife will reconcile and leave your sister in the dust or maybe even a dirty little secret? Yeah probably but that's her problem not yours lol. Especially since she's way old enough to not be so dumb.

As for you...babes you're 20! I understand the pressure to make sure your family is alright, but you're telling me that if you leave and live your life, your fuckass 35 y/o sister can't keep the bills paid and help your mom out? At 20 y/o, I just don't think that's your responsibility. That's supposed to come when you're older and borderline decrepit and you have to help your mom to the bathroom in her old age 😭

I won't flat out tell you what to do bc it's your life and you're the one who has to live with your decisions but if I was in your shoes...ain't no way

#asks

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ansbobcar · 1 month

Text

EP 5. Omens of the future

WORD COUNT.

Link to overview

_ _ _ _ _

Dear Diary,

I find these meals odd. It’s always freshly made every morning. No shortcuts. No nothing. Just fresh produce and food is used. Apart from the salt, pepper and spices, each meal I’m given doesn’t seem to use anything preserved.

Like today for example, she made sizzling fried rice that was extra hot still when I had it for lunch.

She then added apple slices too after I told her I liked fruit punch. when I answered her question about my favourite food.

She tends to make me whatever unless I suggest her something but when I check the recipes myself, they’re always made in large batches. What does she do with the leftovers? Does she give them to her friends? But she was only friends with Rayne Ames and Max Land. Decent students. But not girls.

Maybe I’ll get her to give me Foie Gras for Friday. It’s been a while since I’ve tried it.

Fortunately, nothing too terrible has happened. It’s still guaranteed that I’ll be ranking 1st for the finals although I’ve been bested by a 1st year in this little prestigious group known as the Magia Lupus. His name is Abyss Razor. He seems a bit obsessed with Abel but it’s easy enough to ignore as long as he covers his Evil Eye with a bandage. So I’ve now become the 3rd Fang.

Dear Diary,

I can’t tell if it’s because of the letter my parents sent about the change to my bedroom’s curtains or if it’s because of the pickled radish soup that I had for lunch, but I’m feeling like dirt again.

I get it, Mudorus is mud and I should make jokes to cheer myself up but I don’t feel like it. I think I’ve spent more time studying recipes and looking at cuisine books instead of studying for the honour rolls exam over the summer break. If I miss it again, I don’t think I’ll be able to look at his eyes again when I go back.

The thought of going back leaves more than a sour taste in my head. It makes me remember expired milk.

Maybe I should ask her for more dessert. She’s been curious about who I usually hang out with. She seems eager to cook. What is she trying to become? A baker?? A patissier??

Thankfully, I write this whole diary in a cipher instead of a lock. So only I can read it.

Dear Diary,

SHE PUNCHED MY ARM!!! SHE PUNCHED IT THAT SHIT HURTS!!! Thankfully, she still had some of that ultra healing potion we bribed the nurse of. If you’re wondering why she punched it…

I’m not telling you. You better forget this future me.

Dear Diary,

I think I severely underestimated her capabilities. She knows how to make anything to fill a stomach. Anything. ANYTHING.

Surprisingly, she doesn’t know how to make potions.

Dear Diary,

… news.

_ _ _

Every Easton student was gathered in the auditorium for an assembly. It allowed for the entirety of the Middle School and High School sections to be placed inside comfortably. The teachers held grim faces as they ushered the students to quiet down. The air already heavy as they drew close the curtains and Wahlberg walked up to the stage.

“Students and teachers, thank you for allowing us to have this sudden assembly,” he began before taking a deep breath; “Unfortunately, the matter I have to discuss is rather important and I would like everyone to think first and hold back on their words and audible reactions as I’m sure there have been rumours and word going around already by those who have gone to the nearby towns last weekend,” carefully eyeing certain individuals from the crowd.

“It pains me to say but…”

‘But?’

“The Divine Visionary Alexa Ivona, known as ‘The Voice Cane’... has been murdered.”

Audible gasps were heard yet no one dared to speak from the old man’s warning.

Darren simply crossed her arms at the news. ‘What happened over the weekend?’

“All that has been disclosed by the Bureau are the following statements,” Wahlberg then began to list the following:

Her body was suddenly displayed at the venue of her postponed charity concert on the 5th of June around 2 o’clock in the afternoon.

The Hysteria that ensued following the reveal of her deceased body caused a stampede. Fortunately, only 12 people were injured out of more than 2,000.

“Thankfully, none of you were caught up in the investigation.”

The Bureau has confirmed that Alexa Ivona was not killed by any of the witnesses at the scene.

‘That sounds like bullshit,’ Darren told herself, on the verge of tapping her feet impatiently. ‘Whoever put her there was definitely there to see it.’

‘There’s no better satisfaction for the killer to display her like that,’ she tried to concentrate on the old man’s words. ‘The young children who had their dreams crushed by that sight…’

“Let this be a reminder for those considering to be Divine Visionaries that you will be expected to risk your life for society’s benefit, like I myself have once before,” he added with a more sombre smile.

‘This rule is absolutely ridiculous,’ she held her tongue; ‘Especially considering the future someone like Alexa and all the other Visionaries had if they didn’t choose that path.’ Becoming a Divine Visionary is stupid. If only she could resurrect Adam Jobs’ soul and consciousness for him to see the mess his unfinished actions brought him or talk to his ghost, she would do so in a heartbeat.

Glancing to her left she is only greeted by conviction. ‘But why?’ she grimaced. She’ll have to ask him. If anything, that girl’s death should waver people’s willingness as the reality of such a terrible job would dawn upon them. ‘What’s your goal with such a position?’

“That is why we have our coin system in order to find candidates for our candidate exam, and only the top few will be considered as candidates. Each school is only able to pick 3 suitable candidates for the Final Trimagicathlon Stage.”

‘So that’s why he was shocked when I gave him a coin,’ readjusting herself. ‘It was a good thing I raked quite a bit of the coins in those practices. Might trade them for a favour or 2.’

“Unfortunately, we will be continuing classes right after this assembly as nothing has been postponed. Thank you for your understanding.”

That means… finals are in 3 weeks. ‘I should focus on that first.’

_ _ _

“Rayne,” she nudged him with her elbow as she finally caught up to him, “why are you interested in being Divine Visionary?”

He seemed more sour than usual with his gaze fixated behind him in the crowd. “I don’t want orphans to be discriminated against,” he uttered under his breath as the large swarm of steps disappeared as they continued walking. Her face was visibly wondering the reason and he continued. “I have a younger brother in the middle school section, we’ve been unwanted since we became orphans in the capital.” His fists tightened, imagining their harsh experiences once again as he turned his face away from her.

Discrimination against young orphans, she looked down. ‘Such a thing didn’t exist in the periphery regions ungoverned by the elite.’ Cryptically she muttered, “Perhaps if we had met earlier, things would’ve changed for the better,” much to the half-blonde’s confusion.

“Let’s head back to class.”

‘At least over there they could be adopted and have nothing to do with the dangers of the capital.’

‘But that can only exist in an ideal world.’

_ _ _

“Marshtomp,” she called out like a child crankily, frustration evident on her boorish face. “Do you even have friends?” she eyed him sceptically as she used her quill to continue writing down the key ingredients of the base formulas she didn’t learn. He seemed to hum while sipping on his fruit punch. She doubted it was handmade. Probably used additional sugar to make it sweet. “What do they like to munch on?”

Abel liked Cherry Tomatoes, Abyss always carried around rice balls with him, the newbies seemed to eat a lot of things, he remembered. Pancakes, Hamburg steak, and he didn’t remember any more. “They don’t seem to like sweet things. They always talk about savoury dishes.”

“But sugar gives dopamine right? Dopamine is the happy hormone,” she reasoned, passing over the sheet. “Plus my aunty says that eating savoury things can be tastier after eating something sweet.”

‘That’s some wild ass aunt logic,’ quickly skimming through the sheet before circling the incorrect answers.

“Then something that isn’t too sweet,” he reluctantly suggested, passing it back.

“Sure.”

"Woah," Love Cute, a recent addition currently in the 6th fang in their club, ogled at his packed lunch. "When did you get the time to make that?" curiosity bubbled in her tone as she looked at the brightly patterned clothed box he took out to the table.

A whole meal. Light snacks were at the top section, sliced bunny apples along with a row of omelette, rice and vegetables each. Followed by a flask of warm soup and another container with cake that didn’t smell of margarine. This feels like overkill.

Snatching the cake, she smiled with glee before she slowly scanned the outside. A note. "'Share with friends.'?" She read aloud. ‘With friends’? Wait a minute…

"GUYS," she called out, to the others in the room with haste. "WIRTH HAS A GIRLFRIEND???"

He whipped his head back towards her words, shoulders tense. "WHERE'D YOU GET THAT FROM???"

"WHO ELSE WOULD FUCKING WRITE THIS IF IT WASN'T YOUR GIRLFRIEND??" She pointed at the note aggressively. "AIN'T NO WAY A TRYHARD LIKE YOU PULLED SOMEONE BEFORE ME!!!" She gripped onto his cloak with another hand. “I’M CUTE YOU KNOW THAT???”

"If you want the cake, you can have it,” he shrugged off.

"This isn't about the cake anymore," she gritted, releasing him. "It's about who made it!" Immediately popping open the lid. Her eyes watered as she chowed down on a slice. "It's so fluffy and light, I... NEED TO KNOW WHO MAKES IT!!!"

"Ain't telling."

She lightly slapped his arm before holding onto it tightly as he tried to walk away, "Tell tell tell tellllllll!!!!"

“No!” Quickly flicking his wand out of his predicament, immediately he traversed to the spot and sighed. ‘Why did that egotistic pink bitch have to bring everyone’s attention to that note!!!’ It wasn’t obvious to him that his face had heated up at those words.

“Who else would fucking write it but her?” He argued, exasperated by the situation, as his mind ran back to her face. Bitter evident on his face but if they knew it was her… yeah he didn’t want to hear it. His reputation was at stake.

Why would they of all people want to meet with someone like her?

It doesn’t make sense.

No.

He’ll figure it out for sure this time, dashing out through mud.

_ _ _

Having just left her extra catch up lesson, she noticed Rayne at the door and greeted him with little worry. “What’s up? Bunver’s not cold right?” Trying to figure out if the issue was with his bunnies, but his expression was more aloof than usual instead of stern. Rigid too as he silently listened to her words. She just stood infront of him, eyeing him like a puzzle, as she folded her arms and tapped her foot patiently.

‘He’s taking a while to respond.’

He seemed to be deep in thought, she told herself as she waited.

And waited.

“Can you have a normal conversation with me atleast?”

“... supplies,” he uttered blankly. Puzzling her further.

‘I don’t even know a mind reading spell, what’s he trying to say?’

Fortunately for you readers, Rayne Ames had a hard time assembling obvious yet not obvious words for his simple proposition: “Me and Max were wondering if you wanted to go out with us, this weekend. I was supposed to do so last week but you were gone so it slipped by mind. I’m buying stuff for the bunnies.”

Unfortunately, his social brain crashed and foamed at the words he had to process.

“Supplies,” he croaked again. “In town. You. Me. Max.”

If it wasn’t for Darren’s ability to understand such simplistic words, Rayne would’ve been left to sleep in dust. She nodded with little problem.

“Sure. In the morning? I’ll make sure to double check what to get.”

With a pained yet oddly guttural battle cry, a familiar student appeared. Mudkid, interrupting their conversation. “YOU PSYCHO! I WANT A REMATCH RIGHT NOW!” He puffed without another moment to spare, wand pointed at her.

A rematch?

“Darren,” Rayne sternly called to her, but she put her hand out to stop him.

She scoffed at his attitude with a smile, “Even if I beat you again? I’ve improved if you think I’m only going to beat you with a single spell like last time.”

_ _ _

HIIIII It's like Friday 16th when I copy and paste it onto tumblr. If you follow me on ao3 (ansyuhadzi fancily) then you'll see it's updated till ep 7 cuz I'm... impatient and stressed.

I've got coursework and studying to do so I will prolly update less frequently here and might update on ao3 out of sheer convenience becuz of the tags... they're a pain to update ngl.

Hopefully I'll still do every other week updates.

#mashle #mashle oc #mashle x oc #mashle fanfic idea #rayne ames x oc #wirth madl x oc #wirth madl #rayne ames #mashle fanfic #love cute

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