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sweetkpopmusings · 3 months ago

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stray kids soulmate aus | s. changbin <3

a/n: finally posting the next skz soulmate au !! i loved writing for sweet baby angel changbin :,,,-) i'm really in my skz feels these days, so hopefully i can write more soulmate aus soon <333 pics not mine~

content: fluff, soulmate au | wc: 1.6k | warnings: none! | pairing: soulmate!changbin x gn!reader | requests: open

every month, you send a package to your soulmate, knowing only your names before you meet.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

“changbin?” chan called from outside the bedroom, “are you ready yet?”

changbin, half-dressed and digging through his closet, answered, “almost!”

chan peeked his head inside, tilting it in confusion, “is something wrong?”

“it doesn’t fit.”

“what doesn’t fit?”

“the new shirt i ordered. i could’ve sworn i ordered it in my usual size…ugh!”

“oh that sucks, but…can’t you just wear another shirt?”

changbin groaned, “yeah, sure, i can. the whole point was to wear that shirt today.”

hyunjin appeared in the doorway, “do you need help picking out an outfit?”

chan explained the vague situation to hyunjin, and, during that time, changbin settled for a plain black t-shirt and denim jacket that matched his jeans. the car arrived to pick them up, so, with a final loud groan, changbin grabbed his favorite necklace from his dresser and headed out for the day.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

as soon as you opened your eyes, you checked your phone to confirm today’s date. earlier that month, your soulmate, whom you only knew as “changbin,” sent you a custom t-shirt in the mail. when you unfolded the shirt, a cute handwritten note slipped out, telling you that it needed to be worn on a specific date because i’ll be wearing one just like it. it’ll be a long workday for me, so knowing that we’re matching will give me the strength to do well! please take a picture, so, one day, i can see how cute you look~~ thank you for being my good luck charm, my love <3

rolling out of bed, you smiled. you had never heard changbin’s voice, but you imagined he always had a bright tone. his messages were always so sweet. even if he sent you a glamorous gift, you cherished the handwritten note more than anything.

with your outfit completed, photo taken, and your mood at an all-time high, you decided to make the most of your day off. hoping the soulmate airwaves connected you, you thought let’s have a good day today, changbin! i’m rooting for you! as you stepped out your front door.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

“all right,” chan sighed, stretching his arms, “i say we move onto the next track, yeah?”

jisung agreed, so changbin checked to see which song they needed to record next, “let’s see…ah, it’s jisung’s song, ‘volcano…’” changbin’s tone dropped, but he spoke again quickly, “who’s up first?”

changbin made a mental note to apologize to jisung later. it wasn’t jisung’s fault that they were recording the song he wrote about his soulmate on the one day when changbin ruined his attempt to have a cute moment with his soulmate. chan, sensing the shift in changbin’s energy, suggested they take a break. even the members who weren’t in a sour mood enthusiastically agreed, all shuffling out of the studio for some fresh air.

“changbin-hyung!” felix chirped, “want to walk with me? i could use some company!”

changbin couldn’t resist the smile that formed on his face. even in his worst mood, felix’s sunshine demeanor would win him over. as they walked, they chatted about the new animation felix was obsessed with, with felix re-enacting the most interesting parts. changbin’s shoulders relaxed, and he was grateful that the evening air and felix’s voice were so healing. standing at the edge of a slightly crowded street, changbin thought that maybe the bad day was behind him.

“what’s been on your mind today?” felix asked.

“it’s going to sound so stupid.”

felix shook his head, “no way! if it upset you, then it’s not stupid.”

“okay,” changbin sighed, “today, i was supposed to wear this one shirt, but i guess i didn’t pay attention and ordered it in the wrong size. normally that wouldn’t be a big deal, but i sent y/n the same shirt. we were supposed to be matching today…kind of like a good luck charm.”

felix frowned, “i’m sorry. it never feels good when a plan doesn’t work out, especially an exciting one!” felix paused, and then grinned as brightly as he could, “you’re wearing the necklace y/n got you though! you’ve been doing great in the studio today, so that must be working like a lucky charm, right?”

“yeah, probably. it’s just…” changbin frowned, “hearing jisung’s song made me feel even worse. i’m so happy jisung met his person, but i can’t help that i’m jealous. i see how much better he feels on his bad days after he talks to his partner, and it hurts to know that i can only talk to y/n once a month through handwritten notes. it’s beautiful, and i love every word they share, but on days like today, it feels like it’s not enough…”

changbin’s voice trailed off, turning his head toward the opposite side of the street. maybe people-watching strangers could counteract the tears forming in his eyes.

felix rubbed changbin’s shoulder, “it’s okay to feel sad. i know you’ll meet y/n when the time is right, but that doesn’t make it any better in the present moment. maybe you can write out your monthly message to them tonight, if that would help?”

felix glanced over at changbin when he didn’t hear a reply after a minute or so, “changbin? are you with me?”

changbin stared down the street, captivated by someone wearing the exact shirt he was supposed to be wearing today. though his heart was racing, he doubted it was real. he had to be imagining it since he was thinking about you all day, right?

your eyes searched the crowd in front of you, as you were unable to shake the feeling that someone was looking right at you. you slowed your steps, scanning every face to find one you recognized. you were about to give up, but then a familiar necklace caught your eye. everything stopped when you met the gaze of the person wearing it.

it felt too good to be true. how could you just run into your soulmate on a random evening, in an area you’d only been to once or twice before? besides, he wasn’t wearing the same shirt as you, which he had planned. but that necklace looked exactly like the one you gifted changbin for his birthday. even as you doubted yourself, looking at the man in front of you gave you the feeling that he was the one you had been searching for all along.

you waved at him and asked, “changbin?”

you knew you were correct the second he started giggling and jumping up and down. you laughed, every cell inside you bursting with joy because there he is!

“changbin? what’re you…” felix followed changbin’s gaze, “oh my god! is that y/n?”

felix deciphered a yes!!! amidst all of changbin’s excited noises, so he nudged changbin, “stop waving and go say ‘hello’!”

changbin bounded towards you, unable to stop his smile from growing bigger and bigger as the distance between you two finally disappeared.

“y/n! i’m so sorry i’m not wearing the shirt! i messed up and ordered the wrong size!”

you giggled at the pout that formed on his face, despite the look of pure joy in his eyes, “it’s okay, changbin! you look cute! besides, that would explain why this one isn’t in my usual size.”

“really?” changbin felt relieved, “so i didn’t mess up as badly as i thought?”

“no, not at all,” you shook your head, overwhelmed by the cuteness of changbin, your soulmate, “i can switch with you–since you must have mine in your closet–so we can match next time!”

changbin shook his head, “no way. you look way too cute in that for me to give you a different one.”

“should we share it then?” you joked.

“why shouldn’t we? we’re sharing the rest of our lives, aren’t we?”

you felt heat rush to your face at his words, bringing yet another giggle to changbin’s lips. you heard someone call his name with the news that they had to leave in a few minutes, which prompted changbin to get your contact information. the smile never left his face, even when he started to say goodbye. in his mind, nothing was more exciting than the fact that tonight, he could finally ask you how was your day, my love?

“i’ll talk to you later then, yeah?” you beamed.

“yes, please! i’m so sorry i have to leave right now, but i promise i’ll make it up to you.”

“i do not doubt that, changbin.”

you waved, watching him walk in the direction he came from. after a few steps, he turned around to look at you again.

“what’re you smiling so much for?” you giggled.

“i guess you really are my good luck charm today, y/n.”

you felt butterflies swarm inside you as your laughs mixed, filling the crowded street with pure joy and endless possibilities.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

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badger-tales · 24 days ago

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Notes//G.W x Reader

Request: would you please be able to write a George weasley x Hufflepuff!reader where he maybe injures her in quidditch or a prank gone wrong and he feels so bad about it and tries to make it up to her???

Word count: 2.2K

By some miracle—or perhaps sheer dumb luck—she had made it six years on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team without breaking a single bone. There had been plenty of close calls: a few bad sprains that kept her limping through Herbology, a fractured wrist after an unfortunate tumble off her broom, and enough bruises to make her look like she lost a fight with a rogue Hippogriff. But never a full break. Not until today. Not until *this* disaster of a match.

Of course, it had to happen in the first game of the season: Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff. A game everyone looked forward to—and one she’d been quietly dreading since she was named captain. Things started going wrong right from the opening whistle, and before she knew it, the match devolved into complete chaos.

It was as if the fates had conspired against her. Her beaters, Pollard and Bennett, were useless, dropping their bats at a crucial moment—who even does that?—leaving her wide open to the bludgers. Her fellow chasers, Arellano and Swanson, somehow managed to track the wrong Gryffindor chaser for most of the match, practically escorting Katie Bell up and down the pitch while Angelina Johnson casually scored goal after goal.

And then, of course, there were the Weasley twins. *One* of them—she could never tell which—sent a bludger hurtling straight toward her hand with an almost artistic precision, as if aiming for maximum pain. In a flash, the bat-sized ball collided with her outstretched fingers, and the snap of bone was loud enough to drown out her own gasp.

The whole disaster played out in less than two seconds, a symphony of unfortunate moments working in perfect, disastrous harmony.

And just like that, she was grounded. Their substitute chaser was out sick with dragon pox, so they had no choice but to forfeit the match. Gryffindor celebrated their early-season win with a chorus of cheers, and she was left nursing her broken arm and bruised pride.

She had only one word to describe the entire ordeal: *shitshow*.

Madam Pomfrey mended her arm in less time than it took to explain what happened—two minutes of wand work, a flick of Skelegrow, and not a hint of sympathy. The real pain came afterward, though, in the form of a twenty-minute verbal lashing she unleashed on her teammates back in the locker room.

“We’ve been practicing this since *September*! Do you have any idea how hard it is to book the pitch for Tuesdays and Thursdays? How many hours I’ve spent drawing up these plays?” she snapped, pacing back and forth like a restless lioness. Her teammates sat slumped on the benches, still in their mud-streaked uniforms, looking anywhere but at her.

“And for what? So you two”—she jabbed a finger toward Arellano and Swanson—“could follow *Bell* around like a couple of lost kneazles? Johnson had the bloody Quaffle!”

Swanson muttered an apology, but she didn’t let up.

“And you two!” she turned sharply to Pollard and Bennett. “I swear to Merlin, if you *ever* drop those bats again, I’ll *personally* find a way to glue them to your hands. I don’t care if it takes a Permanent Sticking Charm.”

Silence fell over the locker room like a heavy fog.

“Get it together,” she warned, her voice low and dangerous. “Or I’ll recruit an entirely new team. The *only* person doing their job out there was Diggory.”

Without another word, she yanked her broom from the corner and stalked out of the locker room, the sound of her boots echoing in the empty corridor. Her arm still ached—Pomfrey’s magic was quick, but it never took the sting out entirely—and the throbbing pain matched the growing frustration simmering beneath her skin.

She hadn’t made it far when she heard it:

“Hey, L/N! Wait up!”

She stopped dead in her tracks, shoulders tensing. She knew that voice. And of course, because the universe *loved* testing her patience, George Weasley came jogging up beside her, looking annoyingly cheerful for someone who’d just shattered her hand.

“Not now, Weasley,” she said flatly, gripping her broom tighter. “I’m *really* not in the mood.”

He didn’t take the hint. “Are you mad at me for breaking your arm?” he asked, easily matching her brisk pace.

She let out a sigh through clenched teeth, her stomach growling irritably. All she wanted was food—something hot, greasy, and fast—followed by about ten hours of uninterrupted sleep.

“No, I’m mad at my team for being a bunch of idiots. Even if I *was* mad at you, what difference would it make?” she shot back, quickening her pace toward the castle gates.

George only shrugged, grinning like he had all the time in the world. “I feel bad.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, it’s Quidditch. I knew what I was signing up for.”

He wasn’t getting the message. No, he kept walking beside her, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his robes, as if they were out for a pleasant morning stroll.

“Still,” he continued, “I know breaking a bone sucks. Let me make it up to you.”

Her patience snapped like her radius. She whirled around, nearly smacking him with the end of her broom. “Weasley. For the love of Merlin, *leave me alone*.”

It was rude, maybe a bit harsh, but at that point, she didn’t care. She just needed him to go away.

To her annoyance, George only grinned wider, raising his hands in a gesture of mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I get it. Message received.”

Finally, he turned on his heel, heading back toward the pitch with that same easygoing swagger that made her want to hex him.

She exhaled heavily. *Thank god.*

---

By the next morning, she had buried herself in the safety of the Hufflepuff common room, avoiding human interaction like it was contagious. She needed space, time to stew—and more importantly, time to fix the mess her team had made.

For two straight days, she holed herself up with her Quidditch playbook, scrawling new strategies until the margins were filled with ink stains and furious scribbles. When Monday morning rolled around, she dragged her team out of bed at 4 a.m. sharp, ignoring their groans and protests. They had practice—and she was *not* in the mood for excuses.

By the time the sun was up, the lot of them were caked in mud, panting and limping toward the showers. She could practically feel their glares burning holes in her back.

Good. Let them be mad. She didn’t care. Early practice always put her in a good mood, and after the weekend she’d had, she needed it.

Humming softly to herself, she made her way to Transfiguration, her hair still damp from the shower and her spirits lighter than they’d been in days.

That is, until George Weasley slid into the seat beside her, grinning like a Kneazle with cream.

---

“Mornin’, L/N,” George Weasley said with that infuriatingly cheerful grin as he leaned back in his chair, balancing precariously on two legs. His red hair was still ruffled from the wind, and a mischievous glint sparkled in his eyes, like someone who'd already caused trouble before breakfast.

She shot him a sidelong glare, her earlier good mood evaporating like steam rising off the dewy Quidditch pitch.

“Go away, Weasley,” she muttered, already regretting not choosing a seat farther from him.

Naturally, George chuckled. The same way he always did—soft, teasing, and just enough to set her teeth on edge.

She had caught sight of the Gryffindor team trudging their way up to the pitch at six that morning, right as her Hufflepuff team was making their way back down toward the castle for breakfast. Her teammates had been dragging their feet, faces twisted with exhaustion, but she? She had practically floated all the way to the Great Hall, feeling fresh and ready for the day. There was nothing like an early win—especially when it came at the expense of her own team’s suffering.

George gave her a sideways glance, like he knew exactly how smug she felt. “Productive morning, then?” he asked, still rocking dangerously on the back legs of his chair.

She smirked. “It was.”

“Ready for Ravenclaw next month?” he pressed, tapping his quill against the desk absentmindedly.

“Always,” she replied curtly, shifting her focus to her Transfiguration notes.

George didn’t seem ready to drop the conversation, though. She could see it out of the corner of her eye—the way his mouth twitched, words forming on the tip of his tongue—but before he could say anything else, Professor McGonagall strode into the room, her sharp gaze silencing even the rowdiest students. The room fell into obedient quiet as she began explaining the logistics of the Epoximise spell, her wand drawing neat, glowing diagrams in the air.

Y/N took the opportunity to immerse herself in the lecture, her quill scratching diligently across parchment. If she could just ignore George, maybe he’d get bored and leave her alone.

But that was wishful thinking.

“Oi, L/N,” he whispered, his voice low and insistent beside her.

She kept her eyes glued to the front of the room, ignoring him.

A soft poke landed on her shoulder. She didn’t flinch, determined to outlast him.

Then a piece of parchment slid across the desk, brushing against her hand. She glanced down, glaring at George through her eyelashes. He grinned, eyes bright with mischief, and gestured for her to open it.

Curiosity got the better of her, and with a quiet sigh, she unfolded the note.

*“I hope you know CPR, ‘cause you take my breath away.”*

A laugh bubbled up inside her, but she pressed her lips together, forcing it down. She grabbed her quill, scribbling a response in quick, slanted handwriting.

*“4/10. I’ve heard better.”*

She passed the note back with a smirk, enjoying the way George’s grin widened when he read her reply. He scratched the back of his head as if deep in thought, then leaned over his parchment again, scrawling something new.

When the note landed in front of her, she unfolded it with a sense of anticipation she knew she shouldn’t feel.

*“I must’ve had some Felix Felicis, ‘cause I think I’m about to get lucky.”*

This time, she couldn’t help it—a short, sharp laugh escaped her before she could clap a hand over her mouth. Several students turned to look at her, and even McGonagall paused mid-sentence to glance their way with a disapproving arch of her brow.

Y/N’s cheeks flamed as she slouched lower in her seat, stifling the rest of her giggles.

She leaned over her parchment and wrote back quickly.

*“7/10. That one was pretty good.”*

George gave a triumphant little chuckle as he read her reply, clearly pleased with himself. She could feel him watching her now, waiting—probably hoping—she’d glance up and meet his gaze. But she stubbornly kept her eyes on her parchment. If she looked at him now, she knew she'd be blushing in seconds. And the last thing she needed was for George Weasley to know how charming she found him.

The next note slid across the desk, folding neatly into her hand like a gift she hadn’t asked for but couldn’t refuse.

*“Can I borrow a kiss? I promise I’ll give it back.”*

A grin spread across her face before she could stop it. Merlin, he was insufferable.

*“10/10. Bold.”*

She slipped the note back to him, her heart doing an annoying little flip when their fingers brushed for the briefest moment.

Before George could dream up another ridiculous pick-up line, the bell rang, signaling the end of class. McGonagall’s voice cut through the air, dismissing the students with a crisp, “That will be all for today. Don’t forget to practice your spells before next lesson.”

Y/N scrambled to shove her books and notes into her bag, suddenly realizing that George had managed to distract her so thoroughly she hadn’t written down anything about the Epoximise spell. *Brilliant. Now I’ve got no notes and new Quidditch plays to plan.*

She slipped out of the classroom quickly, hoping to make her escape before George had the chance to follow. But, as always, he was one step ahead.

She made it twenty minutes into her break before he found her again, sliding into the seat beside her at a table in the library like he belonged there.

This time, she was the one to start the game, sliding a fresh piece of parchment across to him with a smirk.

*“Did you get lost?”*

George’s response came almost immediately.

*“Only in your eyes.”*

She groaned quietly, rolling her eyes as she scribbled back.

*“1/10. Predictable and contrived.”*

George huffed, his quill hovering over the parchment as if he was seriously contemplating his next move. He tapped the tip against the page a few times before finally writing a single word:

*“Hogsmeade?”*

Her heart stuttered. She could feel his gaze burning into the side of her face, waiting for her answer. For a moment, she just stared at the word on the parchment, her mind racing.

Then, slowly, she wrote her response, her hand shaking just slightly.

*“10/10, of course.”*

She pushed the note back toward him, her cheeks warm as she dared to glance up at him for the first time.

The grin on George’s face was absolutely dazzling—and it was all for her.

#george weasley x reader #george weasley #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley imagine #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter

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sillysowa · 1 year ago

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Ask and you shall receive, my lovelies!

ALL MINE!

PAIRING: HOBIE BROWN X PLUSSIZED!FEM!READER

GENRE: SMUT! PWP

WORD COUNT: 1.9k

WARNINGS: NON DESCRIPTIVE BODY SHAMING, FACESITTING, FACE RIDING, VAGINAL SEX, BODY WORSHIP

AUTHORS NOTE: I TRIED MY ABSOLUTE BEST TO WRITE ABOUT AN EXPERIENCE THAT I AM NOT INCREDIBLY FAMILIAR WITH, PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF ANY OF MY REPRESENTATION OR CONTENT IS OFFENSIVE OR INACCURATE! I WAS NOT COMFORTABLE WITH WRITING DESCRIPTIVE BODY SHAMING. SORRY IF THIS SEEMS AT ALL RUSHED, BEEN HELLA BUSY!

SYNOPSIS: YOU SURPRISE YOUR BOYFRIEND HOBIE AT HIS BIGGEST CONCERT YET, ONLY FOR SOME GROUPIES TO MAKE YOU FEEL LIKE SHIT, BUT HOBIE DOESN’T LET THAT SLIDE—OH AND HE FUCKS THE SHIT OUT OF YOU LATER!

—

Today was a big day. Hobie and his band are going to have a concert at their biggest venue yet, and you’re going to surprise him in the crowd. Originally, you and Hobie were pretty bummed because you had plans that day already, and you were almost positive that you wouldn’t be able to get the day off—but turns out you were wrong. Without telling Hobie, you managed to clear up your day completely, and get VIP floor tickets to the show. You had even gone shopping for a concert outfit that would make you look amazing under the concert lights. You are incredibly confident in your body and how it looks, and you really wanted to show it off.

It was the night of, Hobie left earlier, obviously disappointed that you wouldn’t be there but still understanding that your schedule was busy. The smell of his cologne when he bent down to kiss you, his guitar over his shoulder and his amp in his hands was a sight for sore eyes. The moment he left, you went straight to the nearest mirror and did your makeup, spending all the time necessary to look your absolute best. Finally it was time for the outfit. It was beautiful. It was absolutely everything you wanted and it looked beautiful on you. You couldn’t wait for Hobie to see you, illuminated in the neon lights and done up for him, but you really couldn’t wait for him to fuck you up.

You got to the venue early, making sure you could guarantee that you were front row, and prepared yourself to stand for a very long time. The looks that you were given from the groupies who walked to the VIP line made you roll your eyes. There was always those girls—the tall, stick-thin, bratty—and they always needed to make sure you saw them when they looked at you nastily. You just looked forward, and waited out the time until the doors opened.

When they did, you walked with a quick pace, not running, but definitely not walking. You made your way up to the front row, slightly to the right where Hobie plays—you knew because you saw his guitar propped up. You heard the sound of heels, giggled and snobby sounding voices around you. It was the girls from earlier. They were all around you, and you could hear their whispers. It didn’t get to you before, but god it was starting to get to you now. You tried your best to keep ignoring them when a tall blonde woman who didn’t look like the type to be at a punk-rock concert, leaned over and whispered something gut-wrenchingly rude in your ear before standing straight and chatting with her friends. You stood there, suddenly incredibly insecure and crushed. Your spirits were high before, but now? Now you just wanted to go home…to Hobie. That was when you remembered why you were here. You were here for Hobie.

When the lights came on, there’s a ruckus all around. The crowd squeezes together uncomfortably, the room growing loud and wild. The girls around you throw insults your way when you don’t move, holding onto the railing tight. The first song started, and you heard a flurry of yells from Hobies bandmates, and then Hobie. A chill raced down your spine like a rollercoaster down its tracks, and Hobie raced onto the stage. He looked amazing—A fishnet top with a leather vest over it, dark blue jeans held up by a spiked belt, as much silver jewelry as he could fit, and messy black eyeliner.

The song was going amazing, Hobies skilled fingers that you loved oh so much dancing across his guitar as beads of sweat formed on his forehead, his beautiful smile coming out for all to see. Nothing good lasts forever though as when you excitedly jumped with the crowd, the bitchy girl to your right started hurling insults at you. This time you didn’t take it so well. You started questioning her,

“What the fuck is your problem?”

“You, you fucking skank!” She yelled obnoxiously, “Can you fucking move?” She said with the most audacity you had ever seen in your life. Some of her friends laughed, some of them looked at you with a nasty stare, but you just shook your head,

“I payed for these tickets just like you. I’m just trying to enjoy the show, asshole.” You grunted, facing forward to catch the end of the song and ignoring her when she suddenly shoved you. You stumble for a moment, bumping into the fellow groupie bitches to your left only for them to grunt and get pissy. You turned around, ready to fuck her up when,

“You betta get your grimy hands of my girl.” Hobie spoke into his mic, voice deep and angry. He stared directly into the blonde girl’s soul, causing her to freeze and stare blankly at him, then dumbly point at herself like she wasn’t caught in the act,

“Yeah you, what the fuck do you think you were doin?” He laughs, “Get the hell out of my venue.” He suddenly deadpans, “C’mon, get.” He says, the whole crowd invested and booing the girls. They squeeze out of the crowd and get ushered out by security. You’re incredibly flustered as suddenly there’s a ton of eyes on you, everyone wanting to get a look at the lead guitarists girl.

“Take a peek at my girlfriend, people. Isn’t she lovely? God I can’t wait to tear that outfit off of her later!” Hobie gushes into the mic, his deep voice echoing in the venue. The whole crowd starts cheering and getting hype, the next song starting soon after. You knew you were in for one hell of a night.

—

“Can’t believe you actually came, you cheeky ting.” Hobie smiles as he kisses your neck, your back pressed against the deck of his boat. He had rushed you out of the venue earlier, cock already hard in his jeans and hands all over you,

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Hobie, I love to see you on stage.” You smile, thoughts caught up on what those girls said to you about your body earlier. You wonder if there will ever be a day where you feel confident in your skin without getting torn down by someone. You didn’t notice that you had started tearing up, but Hobie must have noticed because he grabbed your face, your eyes refocusing on him while he’s on top of you,

“Who the fuck were those girls?” He suddenly asks, his tone dead serious,

“Just some random groupies I think.” You say dismissing any conversation that might come up about what had gotten you in a fight with them, but sure enough,

“What caused that scene, love?” He questioned, head tilting and deep eyes analyzing your every move and facial expression—nothing gets past Hobie—especially not things like this,

“They…they made a couple comments about my weight.” You admit, trying to move past it as soon as possible.

“And that’s got you bothered?” He asks, already knowing the answer,

“No.”

“No?” Hobie asks, “I don’t buy that—you’ve got that distant look in your eyes doll. Do I need to remind you just how beautiful you are cause I have no problem doing that.” Hobie whispers, voice growing seductive and needy as he kisses your shoulder, his hands dipping down to cup your pussy. When you shudder and sigh, he chuckles, kissing you and suddenly flipping you both, you on top of him. Hobies strength never ceases to amaze you, and you’re even more amazed when he gently lifts you by your hips, sliding himself to be level with your cunt,

“Sit on my face baby, want your sweet pussy~” Hobie grunts, licking his lips and tearing your underwear off. You gasp and cry out when he pulls your hips down, eating you out like he’s gone mad. You rock your hips into his face, your clit bumping against his nose,

“…So pretty…so fucking good…and all mine…” Hobie grunts while he eats you out, his face buried between your legs and his eyes crazed. The warmth and wetness between your legs drives you crazy, panting and moaning as you thrust your hips against him. Hobies fingers grip your thighs, tongue fucking you while his nose rubs your clit. You feel your orgasm coming, and you can barely warn Hobie,

“I-I’m gonna…” You moan, your hands in his hair, looking down at him. Hobie just speed up his ministrations, hungry for you. When you cum, you shake and whimper, the sound of Hobie’s grunts and slurping overstimulating you almost instantly.

“Hobie~” You whine, writhing to get off of him when he finally gives in, gently helping you get positioned under him. He kisses you passionately, one finger under your chin. The kiss is full of love and passion, and Hobie kisses all the way down your body, whispering how much he loves the things about you that no one else has seen. How much he loves the things about your body that are truly unique, and the things about your body that you might not truly love. Hobie loves it all.

He undoes his belt, the sounds sending need straight to your core,

“I love you baby, y’know that?” He whispers,

“Yeah…I do.” You say, breathless,

“Let me show you, baby.” He groans, lining his tip up with your entrance and gently thrusting in. You wince at the size of his cock in you, and Hobie groans, his head dripping down beside you,

“You feelin’ good doll? Does that hurt?” He grunts out, his hands gripping the wood underneath you. The night is cold out on the water with you and Hobie all alone, and the feeling of him inside you is like heaven. You gasp out into the dark sky as Hobie fucks you, whimpering,

“Feels perfect, Hobie~”

His cock stretches your walls, his moans of how beautiful and pretty you are etched into your skin with each kiss. Your thighs shake and tremble and your head spins from all the praise, Hobie fucking you into the floor.

“You like that? Yeah? Good girl baby so good f’me just keep giving me those pretty moans baby” He moans, kissing you as he speeds up. He’s fucking you with reckless abandon, the boat even slightly shaking. He pulls away from the kiss panting wildly and throwing his head back as he thrusts into you. The noises that spill from your lips are animalistic, and your pussy squeezes around him,

“Hobie!” You whimper, your hands shaking on his back.

“Come on, cum for me luv.” He groans, kissing you deeply as you moan into his mouth. Your eyes widen and then roll into the back of your head, the sounds of both your skin slapping resonating around you. Hobie speeds up impossibly faster and you cum—seeing stars as you squirt all over him. Almost directly after, Hobie spills his cum deep inside you. You can feel the twitching of his cock and the warmth of his semen inside you. Tears spill out of your eye, Hobie breaking the kiss to wipe them away. His thumbs smoothing over your face. Hobie pulls out of you and scoop you up, bringing you to his bed and cleaning you up softly—the whole time whispering sweet praises to you and kissing every inch of your skin for the last time that night. Hobie cleans himself off, helps you into one of your sleep shirts that you left on the boat last time, and slips into bed behind you, holding you all through the night.

No one will ever tear down your self esteem with Hobie around. He was sure of it.

#across the spiderverse #hobie brown smut #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown #spider punk #hobie brown fluff #hobie brown x you #hobie spiderverse #hobie brown angst #spiderman #silly’s fics

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celestiaras · 7 months ago

Text

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ making a run for it ]❜

ft. mysta rias, ike eveland, vox akuma, shu yamino, luca kaneshiro (separate) x gn! reader — luxiem, nijisanji en

╰₊✧ how difficult is it to escape from them?┊3k words

contains: yandere!! obsessive & possessive behavior, kidnapping & isolation, chains, mention of death, delusions, forced physical affection, overuse of the word “love”, overprotectiveness, probably inaccurate vox lore, possibly ooc, not proofread or beta-read, this is a train wreak of sewn together thoughts

➤ author's note: the image quality is so bad ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ i don’t watch luxiem that much and don’t really write for them as a result, but that should change because they are cuties

you lost track long ago of how many days it’s been since you’ve been captured, morning and night blurring together since your enclosure had no windows— it must have been nearly a year since you remember him saying something about your first anniversary coming up. the cold metal cuff around your ankle was just as heavy as when it was first fastened, the chain just long enough for you to reach the corners of the room and the bathroom while being fastened to the leg of his bed. you had every inch of it memorized and explored: the books were worn from being read so many times, the area was spotless without a speck of dust because you kept cleaning the place up, and the most excitement you ever got was from another movie getting added to the streaming service on the television since he didn’t let you have any access to the internet.

just like a bird in a cage, you’ve been locked away and isolated for only your captor’s eyes at night when he comes home from his daily activities. you no longer had any other purpose in the world than to be his to adore and admire, to spoil with material gifts that couldn’t fill the empty hole in your heart, and to be the object of his delusions that you feel the same. the thought of remaining here for the rest of your life as his ‘lover” made you shudder and feel sick to your stomach, a thought that you simply couldn’t get used to even though all hope seemed to be lost. you missed your family and friends dearly, already beginning to forget their faces and the sound of their laughter to your horror. you had to escape somehow no matter what the cost may be, preferably alive and fully intact, but you had no idea if their love for you would be greater than their rage when they found you missing.

━━━ .°˖✧ mysta rias ˚₊ ⊹

╰₊✧ once you had a general idea of what you do, you were a bit hesitant to put it in motion since you didn’t have the specifics in mind and terrified that it would all go wrong with how flimsy it was, but you would never be able to leave if you didn’t take courage. however, if you knew that it would have been so easy and that everything went exactly as you planned, you would have done it ages ago. you couldn’t describe the euphoria you felt when the warm rays of the sun kissed your skin and the gentle breeze welcomed you to the outdoors, practically skipping off to make your long-awaited escape. truly, you were a fool to think it would have been so simple when you were up against a genius detective.

╰₊✧ maybe mysta let you run away on purpose just so that he could drag you back for the fun of it, would you believe it? running away was the easy bit, the real challenge is staying away. despite his laid-back and careless attitude, he’s quite the sadist who loves the image of happiness draining from your eyes and being re-filled with sheer terror when he finds you in the next country over. you’ll be completely helpless against him as he drags to back to his home, tearing you apart from new loved ones just as he did before. it’s so easy for him to destroy all the optimism of being free and sinking back into the despair of being his. it doesn’t matter how much you try to cover your tracks, how far you run, how much you alter your appearance with an identity change, he’ll track you down because the red string of fate always brings him back to you.

you can’t help but feel cold when he holds you, useless as the feeling of desolation rendered you unable to fight against him. you just let yourself be limp and wallow in how pathetic you are, trying to muffle your cries against his shoulder even though you soaked the orange fabric. he didn’t even bother saying any words of comfort and just patted your head your head with his gloved hands, but you both knew that it was an empty gesture that wouldn’t console you in the slightest. there was nothing he could due to make you feel better when he’s the source of all of your woes, so he doesn’t really bother with it.

for any normal person, the tears of their partner would shatter their heart to pieces, especially if they were the reason for it. they would apologize, buy gifts, and do anything they could to show their remorse because they love them. mysta loves you too, he loves you so much, but he loved your misery even more. there’s nothing that he enjoys more than your teary eyes like little crystals brimming over and the cute little sobs you would let out while trying to hide how much he influenced your emotions. he’s sick, so sick, but there’s nothing that could cure him, not even attempts to snap him out of his cruel ways and make him love you in a healthy manner.

━━━ .°˖✧ ike eveland ˚₊ ⊹

╰₊✧ a man with intelligence, but no remarkable prowess to stop you from leaving. he doesn’t have extraordinary deduction skills like mysta, magic like shu, an influence like luca, or inhuman powers like vox, but he has his own charms that work in his favor and keep you by his side. he’s just so… sweet and gentle. you can feel his love radiating in his actions and his words, almost making you forget about the fact you were being held captive entirely. his kindness is the main hurdle, making guilt pool in your stomach because you feel like you were betraying his kindness when he took care of you and treated you like a queen.

╰₊✧ you thoroughly believe that you would have fallen in love with him properly if given the time to do so, but unfortunately, he turned out to be batshit crazy and no amount of bonding is enough to make you completely forget that. once your resolve is solidified that it wasn’t love he felt for you but was instead pure unaltered obsession, putting your plot into action feels more possible. it’s more difficult than escaping from the detective who purposely let you go, but if you manage to outsmart the novelist, you’ll finally find yourself free.

he whistles as he walks down the corridor, holding a silver tray in his hands that has a glass of strawberry lemonade and two decadent slices of cake in your favorite flavor. there’s nothing like spending time with the one he loves the most and a sweet treat in the mid-afternoon, a little pep in his step to show just how excited he is for this routine that occurs about twice a week. in his satchel, he holds a few novels that he thinks you would enjoy and will be asking for your thoughts about the previous books he gave you as he always does. everything was perfect from the weather to his mood to your love life, he doesn’t think anything would be able to ruin it.

at least he thought there wasn’t anything that could ruin it, unable to explain how far his heart dropped when he couldn’t find you anywhere. he ran about the manor in a frenzy, thoroughly searching through every room and crevice while calling out your name. rushing back to your shared bedchamber to properly examine the scene of the crime where he last saw you, he realized that the chain had been broken somehow. he felt dizzy and ill, falling into an armchair and throwing his head back to try and make the world stop spinning.

he couldn’t believe this was happening after everything was going so well! did he do something wrong? did he upset you or offend you in some way? he racks his brain for anything he might have said or done for you to leave him, so deep in his delusions of true love that he doesn’t even consider the fact that kidnapping you and holding you against your will for about a year would have anyone running for the hills. maybe you would come back on your own, finding it in your heart to forgive him and return to be his again? who is he kidding, you’ll never come back unless he looks for you himself! he’ll go and give you flowers and chocolates, and if you still reject him, he’ll simply persist until you remember how much you love him! he’ll follow you to the ends of the earth to remind you of your relationship with him because the two of you were always meant to be together!

━━━ .°˖✧ shu yamino ˚₊ ⊹

╰₊✧ similar to ike, shu is a very smart and clever person, but unlike the novelist, he has quite a few tricks up his sleeve. for instance, his home is laced with so many traps that are installed by his magic, like a temple straight out of indiana jones to protect his treasure. of course, he is the only one who can enter and exit as he pleases— the protection spell isn’t just there to keep you in, it’s also there to keep anyone who may be looking for you out. once he detects that someone is in his property, a simple snap of his fingers teleports you somewhere else until they leave. sometimes you find yourself in an abandoned city or the middle of a grassy field without warning, terrified but unable to find help no matter how far you try to run. wherever you are, he always knows the exact location and can summon you back just as easily as he banished you.

╰₊✧ he acts as though nothing happened, chatting just like he did before you found out his true colors. you can hardly even tell that he has such a manic love for you, remaining awkward as ever while referencing memes that you’ll never understand since you don’t have any interaction with the outside world. he isn’t half as delusional as the other boys, knowing that his affection for you is completely unrequited and will never be reciprocated, yet he still did it anyway because he just couldn’t help himself. you don’t understand this enigma of a man in the least bit, shrugging his shoulders like he didn’t completely alter the course of your life and give you lasting trauma, but at least he doesn’t force affection on you… which is the bare minimum and you are still set on leaving.

the creaking of the door was enough to make you panic a bit, filling the disturbingly quiet house. you weren’t quite sure where shu was, but if he wasn’t with you, then he wasn’t here at all. this was the first time you had left the room and the first time you were exploring the house since you were unconscious when he brought you in. it looked standard, like your average, run-of-the-mill home that you would see in television shows, and impossible to guess that there was a prisoner inside. as a result, it was pretty easy to navigate the place and you found what you thought was the exit within minutes. you found a set of keys hidden in a living room drawer and decided to test them out in the front door, not knowing of the traps and naively thinking it would be simple.

unable to contain your excitement, you prepared to inset the first one into the knob, but before it even touched it, the sound of alarms like a thousand cymbals blaring through your ears and making you drop everything from the surprise. you had no idea where the noise was coming from nor did you know how to stop it, quickly dawning on you that you fucked up. running towards a nearby window, you attempted to push it up to climb out of it, but it only seemed to make the sound louder. when you saw a neighbor walking by with a dog, you tried banging on the glass to grab their attention, but it was like you were a ghost and they continued on with their day not knowing they were being begged for help. clearly, his magic was surrounding and you were too stupid to remember that, seeing flames of purple beginning to form near you and signifying that he was home to see what the commotion was about. you can only hope that he won’t be too upset with you.

━━━ .°˖✧ vox akuma ˚₊ ⊹

╰₊✧ how unlucky are you to be the object of the great voice demon’s affections! he rarely ever lets you out of his sight as being a demon in the modern era means that he too must stay hidden from the public eye. it’s suffocating being under his observant eye, something as much as blinking doesn’t go under his radar. since he isn’t human, his senses are heightened with him being to hear so much as a floorboard creaking or smell the blood of you getting a paper-cut from a different room, leading him to be able to just sense your presence no matter where you are since you’re never far from him anyways. you don’t quite understand it, but what you do understand is that it makes escape much more difficult.

╰₊✧ he’s just so overprotective of you and you get it, having heard the story of his clan and how he lost them when they were all so dear to him, but it’s no excuse for his extremely possessive behavior. you can’t even remember the last time you’ve been outside and touched grass that wasn’t in his garden. he’s always by your side and never leaves unless you need to use the restroom or something, like a guard dog that doesn’t understand boundaries, yet even dogs could be forgiven for not knowing any better. the only time you don’t feel watched is when he’s asleep, with an arm thrown around you, but unconscious nonetheless.

you were more aware of every shift of his body and every breath he took than you would be if he was really your lover, unable to get a second of rest when being coddled like this. you feared that if you squirmed at all, he would automatically tighten his grip around you, but was pleasantly surprised when you were able to wiggle free. hearing him grunt made your heart stop, but he stayed asleep until you tried to get off the bed and stepped on the ground. hearing him ask where you were going made you sweat bullets, but you just said you were off to get a glass of water.

unfortunately, he decided to get up himself to go get it for you, leaving you sitting on the Alaskan king-sized mattress thinking about your fate. you doubt that you’ll ever get away from him, he’ll just track you down and bring you back. the world is massive, but so is he and you won’t make it very far. you can’t hide from a demon, not for long enough to sigh in relief anyway. if walking on wood with bare feet was enough to wake him from his slumber, hearing you open a door or window would be enough to have him running.

━━━ .°˖✧ luca kaneshiro ˚₊ ⊹

╰₊✧ your prison is a palace dusted with gold, you’re served the finest food on silver platters, you’re decorated with jewels that are worth millions, but the splendor isn’t enough to distract you from the fact that you’re a prisoner. normally, you could only dream of living in a place like this where you’re doted on by a lover and spoiled rotten with whatever you want, yet you would do anything to trade this life for the people he had his men wipe off the face of the earth to have you to himself. it can’t be a paradise when you know it’s stained with the blood drawn by a mafia family.

╰₊✧ escape is next to impossible, as expected of the kaneshiro family. hidden cameras watch your every step and guards are lined up in every hallway to make sure that no one aside from their masters gets in or out, armed with weapons that they wouldn’t hesitate to use if necessary. even if they have strict orders not to use them against you for any reason, they are still allowed to use physical force to bring you back and any injuries will be regarded as collateral damage.

your legs dragged across the polished marble floors of the hall since you refused to walk back to your room, carried by two burly men in suits who caught you trying to run away for the -nth time. just like all previous attempts, you were caught within five minutes, which is an improvement to last time yet still not even close to enough to reach the pearly gates of freedom. knowing that you’ll need more then double of that to get out is disheartening, but everyone knows that you’re going to try again. you’ve learned that it really doesn’t cost anything to make a run for it, they don’t even punish you for it since luca loves you too much for that so they just throw you back on the bed before leaving.

there are a few bruises from their rough handling, but nothing too serious. you’d be willing to walk out of there with a broken arm if needed, you just wanted to go home and see the remaining few who weren’t picked off by the mafia again. later that day, you’ll be gifted with new dresses and shoes that shimmer in the light of the grand chandelier of your room to try and convince you to stay, however, there isn’t any use for such items if others couldn’t see it as well. if you keep trying, you’ll make it a little further as you learn from your mistakes, maybe even one of his men will feel pity for you or get sick of your antics and just let you go. you’ll only know if you keep trying.

#📜. her works #ike eveland #ike eveland x reader #mysta rias #mysta rias x reader #vox akuma #vox akuma x reader #luca kaneshiro #luca kaneshiro x reader #shu yamino #shu yamino x reader #luxiem #luxiem x reader #nijisanji #nijisanji x reader #tw: yandere

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chisubi · 4 days ago

Text

a recollection of bellflowers — h. rindō

content. fem!reader, slice of life, implied／referenced infidelity (not by you or rindō), non-linear

word count. 7.4k

note. this is something i’ve been working on for a while because i have no idea how to write rindō . . . >< i wanted this to have a summery shōjo feel to it, so hopefully i was able to capture it well enough ?? (also, sorry, this is a little unedited.)

i had to force myself to finish this or else i would end up forgetting about it again ! there’s only three parts to this, however, updates will be sporadic :x

part one ／ from summer, 1999

Your fiancé has a lover in Tokyo.

He doesn’t tell you, you never ask, you just know — a woman’s intuition is never wrong. Something you learned from your dear mother.

Two nights ago, while you are both lying beside one another in bed, he complains that he has yet another business trip in Tokyo [his last one was just a few weeks ago], he asks if there is anything you would like him to buy — like that dessert you find yourself indulging in a little too much these days, a new novel to add to your collection of unread books that you swear you will get to them eventually, a new set of coffee mugs or a bouquet of your favourite flowers. You tell him, “No, it’s okay. I don’t need anything.”

He doesn’t press when you decline. Instead, he leans down to capture your lips with his before he leaves; the wind rushes by, chilling over the spot he had touched. His “I’ll miss you” never reaches you, carrying with it the ghosts of your past. His “I love you” completely passes you by. Ever-so-fleeting.

It’s been this way for a few months now. You don’t know when it first began, but the signs became more and more obvious as the days passed by. Rather than sadness or anger, you don’t really feel anything anymore. Only regret remains. Those memories and promises you both made together are beginning to fade. And what seems to make your heart shake is that you don’t know what to do, despite change and abandonment seemingly always following after you. Time and time again. Even after all these seasons, you are still lost.

When summer burns, or when fireworks spark up the midnight sky, you feel it on your tongue and skin as the same memories fill your mind once again. That summer night by the river’s edge. And summer nights following that — all of them are unforgettable, always leaving you feeling the bittersweet taste of citrus and honey drowning in the back of your throat. Too sweet, too sour.

No matter where you are in the world, a spirit of a little girl clinging onto the sandbox of an old playground remains in Roppongi. Abandoned, yet not once forgotten. Your flesh, blood, and bones will always be made up of Rindō and Ran from way back then. You hold these memories deep in your heart so preciously like a collection of little treasures as you continue to grow older.

A quarter before midnight, the moon is down and clouded by the fog; you take the train all the way to Roppongi. It’s strangely empty inside, you cannot see what lies outside. Tired and uneasy, the sound of the midnight train running across the tracks lulls you to sleep.

—

You are eleven when your mother drops you off at your grandfather’s house all the way in Roppongi during the summer; miles away from the countryside you grew up in. She doesn’t wait for your grandfather to open the door to come and greet you. She yells out how she will see you in a few weeks, the engine roars, and she is gone.

You have never met any grandparents before. Your mother doesn’t like to talk about them, so you never ask, not wanting to overstep the invisible line (she is scary when she is in a foul mood). You learn to be a good child because you want to see your mother smile again — she stopped smiling for months now, and you don’t know why. However, you believe she will feel better once she picks you up in a few days.

After all, adults need their rest as well (or something like that).

You soon also learn that your grandfather is a tall, scary man. A seemingly permanent scowl, a low and gruff voice that is only heard through a few words. A strong scent of alcohol lingers on the collar of his shirt – one you sometimes smell on your mother’s breath – he looks at you so emptily, then sighs. The chill in the air prickles against your exposed skin, you gulp.

No matter how silent of a man he is, you are a good daughter, so you introduce yourself to him and thank him for letting you stay with him — “I’ve always imagined meeting you, grandpa. I saw you in a picture before!”

These words seem to catch his attention. His tracks stop, he doesn’t look back, and all you can see is his wide back. You hear him mumble something beneath his breath, you don’t catch any of the words — you weren’t meant to. Something sticks out about your grandfather. Something you can’t help, but focus on is his missing a pinky. You try not to stare, and he doesn’t say anything when he catches your innocent, curious eyes. Rather, he doesn’t say anything at all to you and you can’t help but become overly sensitive to every draw of his breath.

You wish you were back home in that little countryside town, tucked far away from this bizarre place. You want your mother to come and pick you up.

You would rather be at home with her than here.

—

Surprisingly, you got more sleep than you expected last night. This is your first time sleeping in a bed that doesn’t belong to you; in a place that is so foreign to you.

And you guess it wasn’t so bad. The mattress is a lot softer than the one back at home.

Breakfast is simple and traditional. A bowl of steamed rice, fried mackerel with a side of nattō (you don't like the smell, but you try your best to swallow the beans without making any faces, and fail). The mackerel on your plate is neatly pulled apart, bones discarded, and you smile to yourself. Your grandfather is more attentive — kinder than he looks. Your teachers have always told you and your classmates to never judge someone based on their appearance.

“Um . . . Grandpa?” Silence is met with your call. However, you take that silence as a sign to continue speaking. “Can I, uh, may I go outside for a little bit?”

“There’s a park nearby,” he simply replies with a few words before directing his attention back onto the television.

Your eyes brighten. “Okay, thank you!”

Quickly shoving down your breakfast, you’re out the door and ready to play.

So, your grandfather isn’t the greatest at giving directions. After some twists and turns and walking back and forth, it is not too hard to find the park he vaguely described.

There's a group of kids playing on the playground, dangling off the monkey bars and sitting around. Too shy to approach, you shuffle over to the swing set, and rock yourself back and forth.

After some moments of swinging, and looking back at them to your feet, you hear a bunch of footsteps heading towards you.

You look up in anticipation and nervously smile at the group of boys in front you. Maybe they want to join you? [Hopefully.] “Um, hi! Did you want to—” Your words are immediately cut off as someone steps right in front of you.

“Get off.”

“H-huh?”

“H-huh?” A boy mocks with a high pitch tone and your cheeks heat up when you hear laughter surrounding you.

“Get off so we can play,” this one stands in front of you, hair short with a red cap in his hand. “You can hear properly, right?”

Someone says, “No, I don’t think she can.”

Another laughs.

The short-haired boy glares at you, hand reaching over and tugs on your hair — hard. You yelp as your hand immediately wraps around his wrist. “We told you to move, so move,” he harshly shouts and you flinch as your ear rings.

You don’t understand why they’re mad or why they are telling you to leave. This has never happened to you back at home before.

You yell at the boy to let go of you, pushing his arm away as hard as you can. However, this action only leads him to pull hard this time. You yelp. The group breaks out into snickers and grins.

Traitorously, your body betrays you as tears gather in the corner of your eyes. You don’t want to cry — you don’t like crying, never wanting anyone to see your tears. But you feel so helpless and lost and alone.

"Hey, wait, you're gonna make her cry. . .” Someone speaks up and for a second, you’re hopeful.

“I’m not even doing it hard. She’s just being a baby,” the short-haired boy scoffs before he accuses, “why do you care? You like her?”

His face flushes, and beneath the thick frames of his glasses, his widened eyes shake. “No way!”

“I bet you think she’s pretty.”

The boy gags as he takes great strides away from you. His arms cross over his chest as he yells, “Gross. Over my dead body.”

“Oh, is that so?”

It’s a voice that comes out of nowhere, causing you to jump. Colour drained from the faces in front of you; awfully, sickly pale.

And it comes fast all too fast — someone running in between you and the group of boys with a flying fist. Another one and another one. Colour falls from your cheeks mirroring the group and unlike them, you find yourself unable to move. To run away. You think you see a drop of red splattered on the concrete as you tightly shut your eyes, your body shakes and you cover your ears in an attempt to block the sound.

Someone cries. Screams, shoes smacking against the pavement, and laughter — one both loud and taunting. Then all of a sudden, everything goes silent. Hesitantly, you slowly open your eyes. Purple fills your entire vision. You jump at the sudden close proximity, you can feel their hair tickling your cheek as he leans in close to you.

There’s glass covering purple gems.

The boy asks, "Are you good?”

You slowly nod, “Thank you for, um . . . helping me?” You say this rather confusingly, unable to comprehend everything that had happened within minutes. You take a step back as you look around, you don’t see any of those boys from earlier. They vanished as if they were never here, the footprints made in the sandpit and droplets of blood remind you otherwise.

Your eyes fall towards his hands that punched those bullies — knuckles all red, you bite your lip to conceal your quivering lips. You turn to the taller boy with no visible cuts or bruises, only a smug grin on his face that matches with the one in front you, and you thank him as well. When you take a better look at him, you notice the two of them sort of look similar.

He looks down at you and waves a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. Those guys were lame for ganging up on you. They always pick fights with people weaker than them.”

“Right, those idiots got what was coming for them,” the other boy adds with a laugh. “Are you not from around here?”

You shake your head.

“Thought so. Haven’t seen you around here before. So, what’s your name? I’m Rindō, and that’s my older brother, Ran,” the boy – Rindō – introduces.

You tell them your name and thank them once again.

“Uh-uh. Just tell us if they bother you again. We’ll deal with it,” says Ran.

You perk up, “You will?”

“Yeah, Roppongi belongs to the Haitani brothers.”

Roppongi belongs to the two boys who don’t seem older than you. Confused, you ask, “Are you guys protectors or something? Like heroes?”

Your words are met with snorts that evolve into laughter. Beside you, Rindō gives you a toothy grin as he readjusts his glasses. “I guess if that’s what you think, then sure.”

The heroes of Roppongi.

The sun is shining and his smile glows.

Meeting the Haitani brothers was probably nothing special, a similar story that could be told by countless people during their youth. However, to you, an eleven-year-old girl being picked on at the playground, helpless and tear-stained, they seemed like your heroes. So bright and blinding. A moment that changes your entire life.

—

Ran and Rindō have come to knock on the door to your grandfather’s house nearly everyday since then. When the old man opens it to see two unfamiliar children, he sighs before calling out your name (which makes your heart jump from your chest from how loud his voice can be). And you’re quick to slip on your old running shoes and bolt out the door.

Rindō tells you he found a cool place the other day, a hidden room at the back of an old shrine, and he wants to show it to you. Keeping up with the Haitanis is hard; chasing after them is even harder. Their legs aren’t that much longer than yours, but their strides are far too long, too fast.

Rindō is kind enough to slow down, only for a moment. “You’re too slow,” he complains before grabbing your hand and pulls you along to keep up with them. Without noticing, you don’t trip over your own feet anymore.

“Careful, Rindō,” Ran lowly warns as his hand reaches out and wraps around Rindō’s wrist, pulling him away from walking up the stone steps. The tall, red torii gate looms above. A crow lingers at the very top. “Don’t you know young children get spirited away here?”

“Huh? Spirited away? Like the movie?”

“No, no. Not the film, Rin,” Ran snickers at his brother’s words, you don’t understand what Ran finds so funny. And Rindō doesn’t seem to know either, but his face is red and he looks mad at Ran. “The legends. Haven’t you heard that the yōkai will come and snatch you up? They take away children who run off alone. They’ll come to get you, dummy.”

Rindō shakes his head, staring up at his brother with skeptical lavender eyes. “No way. You’re just trying to scare me again. I won’t fall for it anymore, nii-chan.”

“Nuh-uh, ‘m serious this time.” Ran says this so lightly, it sounds unconvincing.

Rindō's glare hardens as he crosses his arm. “Okay. Why are you such a liar these days?”

“Am not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No—”

You block out their childish bickering — they always seem to do this. It’s always Ran who seems to start it. And through their yelling, an old memory flashes in your mind. Your head perks up in remembrance as you gasp.

This garners their attention because they both immediately stop their “argument” and turn to look at you.

“Wait, it is true! I heard that Tomoko-chan from the class next door visited the shrine last summer and she never returned . . .” you pitch in with the eerie rumour your classmates had whispered to each other last year — Tomoko-chan got taken away by a monster. Those words reach to the end of the long hallways and snuck into the wooden panels in the room. Kids at school don’t go anywhere alone now.

In the distance, a crow caws.

So, you learn something new: monsters also live in the city. They don’t only reside in the little town you grew up in. Monsters exist everywhere in the world.

The brothers send each other a look, one that you don’t understand, something only they know — only them. You watch as they communicate through stares alone before turning their attention back onto you.

“Really?”

Quickly nodding, you add, “Yup, it’s true. I swear. Everyone said so. She went to make a wish, and then disappeared. Her family isn’t even in town anymore.”

Ran lets out an exaggerated sigh. He crosses his arms with a half smile to his face. “See, I was looking out for you.”

“Right. Don’t you think you’ve been lying too much to me lately? At least, learn to make it believable.”

Ran laughs before quietly saying, “If you’re scared, just say so.”

The crow above the gate caws, careful, you glance up at the noise, to the long steps then to Ran, and then Rindō, who looks up at his brother clearly unimpressed.

Obviously, Rindō isn’t scared of ghosts, or yōkai, or monsters that eat children. He is already too old to believe in things like that. He protests and says this, despite you and Ran telling him otherwise, Rindō is skeptical. He says he still doesn’t believe you, he can’t believe you would make up a lie and follow Ran, and you tell him you would never lie to him or anybody. Only bad people lie.

However, the Haitani brothers are closer than anyone — they told you this when you first met, so it’s to no one’s surprise when they turn around and gang up on you instead. Because you are scared, or so Rindō insists. Ran says it’s okay because you are a girl and you’re just a baby compared to them. It’s true, you are scared of the yōkai who snatch away wandering children. You aren’t scared because of the reasons Ran says. It’s rather annoying how Ran calls you a baby for something like that.

(You don’t tell him that, though.)

The three of you don’t enter the shrine. They show you around the neighbourhood and some spots they like to hang out at, like an arcade and a newly opened ramen shop. The entire time, Ran holds both of your hands tightly, you are sure he is holding Rindō’s even tighter. Your shadows are overlapped, mixing together. The yōkai don’t come for them or you. You are safe together.

As the sun begins to set, you stop by a food stall, the old lady running it tells you that you look so pretty and you remind her of her granddaughter. She gives a discount — 100 yen for six pieces. Ran takes out the coin from his pocket and he divides the takoyaki between the three of you before heading home.

It’s quiet when you enter the house, nobody welcomes you home, but your grandfather sits in the living room watching television again. He spares you a glance, before turning his attention back to the t.v. Static and muffled voices fill the house.

—

A week turns into two, then three. Summer passes by quickly here in Roppongi. Everything moves so fast in the city, it’s exhilarating — overwhelming. Your little body struggles to keep up.

You run, run, and run the days away.

Again and again, you fall.

(Rindō and Ran pick you back up.)

“My mom abandoned me,” you tell Rindō one afternoon, weakly adding in, “. . . I think.” Hopefulness seeps through; a child’s innocence, your naïveté.

Underneath the big oak tree, Rindō turns to look at you while opening the blue ramune and gives it to you to drink first — he was supposed to buy two, but he forgot the rest of his change at home. He says it’s fine because he doesn’t mind sharing his drink with you. He shares drinks with Ran all the time. And you don’t mind it either.

“. . . She will,” he slowly replies, “maybe she is just busy working — adults are like that, y’know. What about your dad?”

Adults are like that, at least the ones you know. Your mom is probably busy, but either way, she lied to you and this is what hurts. You don’t try to hide your disappointment in her.

You shake your head, looking down at your swaying feet. “I don’t know.”

You really don’t know.

You don’t remember his face, eyes, and everything is blurred, but you recall his boxy smile and a heavy hand that ruffled your hair.

“I haven’t seen my dad before either. I don’t even think that guy knows I exist.”

“Oh,” you breathe out. “Are you lonely without him?”

He shakes his head, hair bouncing with every movement. “Nah, I have Ran. Even though he’s so annoying these days.”

The two [three] of you are similar in a way. It’s rather comforting knowing you aren’t the only one with a family like that.

Rindō vows to you that he will always be by your side so you aren’t alone anymore, because he has Ran, but you don’t have an older brother like Ran to stay with you.

He holds your hand — one so cold and sticky from the blue ramune. Again, he tells you that you still have him and Ran, because you are his best friend. Maybe he thinks you didn’t hear him the first time. His words are warm, so you don’t mind his cold fingers touching yours — it cools you down from the heat, even if the rest of your body is melting under the summer sun. Somehow, it always finds a way to peek through the little gaps, through the spaces between your fingers.

Together, you finish the ramune with lighter hearts.

At the end of summer, you are still at your grandfather’s house — your mother never comes to get you. That little, big, tiny feeling brewing in you all summer in Roppongi turned out to be right. But you aren’t alone.

Time flows quickly in Roppongi. Months pass by in a blink of an eye.

—

Coming home to the city where everything first began leaves your thoughts in a flurry; too jumbled and twisted. This house hasn’t changed one bit, walking into your old bedroom feels like a dream; both familiar and alien. A few of your old belongings still remain in place, you never have it in you to pack it up and bring them with you. Your mother hasn’t bothered to move them either.

Tonight, you help your mother make katsu curry. A staple in many households; also, the first dish you learned how to make.

You can feel your mother’s nerves as today is the day where you are officially meeting the man she is seeing (whom she had once mentioned as her new colleague over a year ago). He seemed like a normal, stand up man, but you can tell she likes him, so you don’t disapprove of him.

To calm her down (as well as your own excitement and nervousness), the two of you make small talk as you cook.

“Did you love him?”

You immediately stiffen, the knife stops just above the fresh carrots from your mother’s garden, and you don’t press down. She doesn’t say who, but you already know who she is referring to. Your heart aches without the mention of his name. A boy who isn’t your fiancé. Your soon-to-be husband. “Did you love that boy from back then?”

Your face shines in the knife, the glare of the light above makes your reflection disappear. You force yourself to focus, continuing to cutting the carrot into chunks. The sound of the knife hitting against the cutting board echoes in your ears. “Why are you mentioning that? Why are you curious about it now? It’s been too long since then.”

“I used to think you would end up marrying him in the future.”

The sentence has you turning around in surprise. You harshly swallow, forcing a short laugh. Your heart clogs your throat. Emotions twisting like ebbing waves. “You never even liked him,” your voice doesn’t sound less tense.

“Maybe I didn’t, but you did.” Her expression says nothing — no hatred, regret, or sadness; she is only looking at you so clearly — right through to your leaking heart. All you wish is to run and hide from that all-knowing gaze of hers, you wish you never turned around. “For some people, they are only capable of loving one person their entire life. There’s a saying that nobody forgets about their first loves and for those people, sometimes their first love lasts forever.”

Some people, she says. By this, she means you.

The ring that sits prettily on your finger feels too heavy, squeezing your finger.

“. . . That already ended so long ago,” softly, you say.

The doorbell rings, cutting through the tense atmosphere. There’s an exchange of looks — her expression soft as she offers a small smile of condolence.

The man – Mr. Hajime – arrives earlier than expected. You follow behind your mother as she opens the door and you see bright red roses before you see him. Your mother’s cheeks turn red as she bashfully smiles while accepting the bouquet.

He enters the home and when you meet his eyes, you smile and nod in acknowledgment. Mr. Hajime stops in front of you, pulling out a bouquet with a variety of flowers; of blues and whites.

“Thank you,” you say as he places the flowers in your hand.

His smile is awfully gentle. His eyes match that gentleness, too. An old, loving soul. “No, I should be the one thanking you. It’s nice to finally meet you. Your mother often talks about you.”

You smile as a reply.

You wish to know what she has said. And maybe you will ask him another time, you know you will. There’s no doubt you will be meeting him again and again.

Mr. Hajime moves with familiarity in the house as if he has been here many times before (you wouldn’t doubt if he has). He makes his way to the dining room as he turns on an old song on your grandfather’s beloved record player. You don’t know the title, but you remember hearing it play many times back when you were a kid. It sounds so nostalgic.

As the three of you eat dinner, a younger image of your mother and you eating in silence overlap, and the bittersweet feeling at how much your mother has grown begins to hit you. Despite her fading black hair and the grays that replace them, and the barely noticeable wrinkles around her eyes; the look in her eyes seems younger — happier.

You’ve never seen her like this before. Her heart races for her — her love for Mr. Hajime and the happiness he brings to her. You’re happy for her, you really are.

This street and this house bring back so many memories; memories of times that will never come again and new ones are being created. And even more in the future.

Nostalgia continues to devour you. Your heart is aching in many different ways.

—

A year passes by, you don’t hear from Rindō or Ran after a few weeks of sending letters back and forth, and occasional phone calls made on your house line when your mother works overtime on Saturday nights.

Ran had warned you beforehand that he doesn’t do handwritten letters or phone calls or emails [whatever that means], you think he may just not want to talk to you, and strangely, you don’t take much offence in it. Like Rindō has always said, Ran is Ran, he does things his own way. Plus, you had already assumed you would hear updates on Ran from Rindō, however your assumption turns out to be wrong.

Tons of calls and letters left unanswered. You send another one, your final letter to him.

2002 年 4月 22日

Hi Rindō,

I know it’s been a while since my last letter and I haven’t received one back from you either. I make sure to check the mailbox twice a week! I really will be upset if you don’t reply or call me this time for real.

The new year started recently and I’m being forced to join a club this time. Kaa-san is still busy with work, and she comes home exhausted, so I decided to join the culinary club. Coming home to a cooked meal is something everyone likes, right? I am not really confident in my cooking skills though. . .

I miss you and Ran a lot. It’s lonely here without you guys. I hope you haven’t forgotten about me. I won’t forgive you if you did. Write to me soon, okay? I want to know what you have been up to.

And it’s no shocker when there’s no response to it.

Your initial bitterness eventually fades into nothing but nostalgia.

As the years go on, you forget all about the Haitani brothers and Roppongi. Their faces become more and more blurred with each passing month. You must’ve been erased from their memory — a little childhood memory too dazed to remember.

Junior high is harder than it seems — making friends doesn’t come easy, you spend the majority of your time alone. But ever since you joined the culinary club in your second year, everyone there is friendly and supportive, and things begin to change. School becomes a little more fun, and sometimes, you don’t mind waking up so early in the morning.

You find yourself trapped in the middle of a circle. All eyes on you. Ones full of anticipation.

And of course, this could only be one thing — gossiping. They talk about love stories, first kisses, and boys. Unfortunately, the target today is none other than you.

“No, I don’t have a crush on anyone," you firmly state. It’s the third time this week you've been asked this question, you don’t understand why everyone is so curious.

“Ehh, don’t lie!” Sachiko playfully nudges you with a giggle. Eyes piercing into yours, and you inaudibly sigh at her skepticism. You don’t budge when she continues to push and she pouts. “Fine, fine. What about Naoki-kun from the baseball team?”

A chorus of ‘Ahh’s’ and giggles erupt in the room. A telling sign of the boy’s popularity. Even someone like you, who doesn’t care much about boys [yet] knows about him. From what you heard, he spends most of his time practicing baseball and he only dated one girl during his first year for only a week. He’s more serious than he seems, yet he gets along with everyone, parents and teachers included.

He’s good-looking. You aren’t blind, you know this much, but you don’t think you like short hair so much — even if Naoki-kun’s short hair suits him quite well. Still, you end up timidly agreeing with your club members, wishing to get this over with. “Mhm, I think Naoki-kun is kinda cute . . .”

"Oh my gosh . . .”

“Ah, I knew it,” someone says. “I mean, most girls like him, so it’s obvious, right?"

You never said anything about liking Naoki-kun in a romantic way, you just said he was kinda cute (you guess). You just shrug and the topic moves onto how a student in the grade below you had caught the new teacher from class 2-b and the principal on a date. Your married principal. A classic love affair. The rumour echoes down the streets in the town, forever spiralling.

And in the early morning of May, 2003, your mother enters the house again and you think she may have forgotten something before heading off to work. Instead, she tosses a letter on the kitchen table. She says it’s for you. It’s plain. A white envelope with no decorations — you immediately know it’s not from one of your friends from school and your heart races in anticipation even before you grab it. You flip it over to see if it says who it’s from.

And it does. It’s a letter sent from Roppongi — a letter from Haitani Rindō.

Time slows and your heart beats loudly in your ears. The wind leading into summer suddenly doesn’t feel so slow; the morning birds chirp in tune of your heartbeat.

It was already the end of June, you blow out your candles. Another June goes by and you graduate from junior high.

—

You are sixteen when you meet Rindō and Ran again.

They surprise you at the train station, and when you see them, you don’t recognise them at all. It feels like you don’t know who they are. They’re suddenly a lot taller, more mature with matching tattoos and dyed hair that you don’t see people your age with — and to their defence, they have always had dyed hair back when you first met. There’s an intimidating air to them which draws you in. An edge you should look out for. One step and you will fall.

Your grandfather has also changed — barely, but you can see he looks a little smaller than you remember him to be. Older, too. There’s wrinkles around his eyes and mouth — ones due to his permanent frown. Yet his eyes feel warm, they soften when he looks at you.

Ran doesn’t really hang out nor talk to you anymore. During your trip there, he spends most days out and sometimes Rindō tags along with him, in which you stay at home with your grandfather or go shopping. And when you first caught them with bruises on their faces and torn skin on their knuckles, you cried. Catching them two and three more times didn’t make it any better.

You knew from first glance that Rindō and Ran are what people call delinquents, you aren’t blind when faced with the obvious. It feels strange seeing your childhood friends like this — the violence indulge in.

(You couldn’t believe it when you first learned the reason as to why you haven’t heard from Rindō in a long, long time. It’s still hard to believe, but when you see them like this, you can’t refuse it.)

It gradually builds into a routine, always finding yourself in the Haitani home while their mother is away at work. Forcing Rindō down onto his bed as you clumsily clean up his wounds, shaky, and unable to look away. Fretting over the way they’ve been hurt like a mother to her children (this is how their own mother probably feels coming home to be greeted by bruised faces). A burned cd of his favourite songs plays in the background. Quietly, because you’re both afraid of Ran waking up.

“Stop looking at me like that.” His tone is anything, but harsh. His sigh is heavy, yet soft. “You gotta stop worrying at this point. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

You immediately frown as you glare up at him. “I worry because you don’t.”

“You know it’s not as bad as it looks. Can barely feel a thing. You’ve got nothin’ to worry about.”

You quickly retort, “It is . . . Why do you keep saying that? Every time I see you, you are injured. That’s not normal.” Growing more frustrated at his lack of self-care, you softly glare at his tattered hand. You mumble, “What are you and your brother even up to?” More so to you, than to Rindō.

However, he hears you. He laughs, more rather airy than his usual boastful one. “Aren’t you too nice?”

“No, I’m not,” you mutter. “Something like this is normal.”

“I guess that means my world isn’t so normal. I don’t know anyone else like you.”

Those pretty amethyst eyes draw you in. You shake your head, replying, “You will meet others like me. Caring about someone who is hurt is nothing special. It’s . . . it’s human to do so.” You hold his hand carefully in yours, inspecting the cloth to make sure it’s securely wrapped. Thumb brushing over the fabric.

“There’s only you.”

The room falls silent. The track slowly fades into the next. Your heart races.

Rindō coughs into his sleeve. “Um, I meant that I only know you. The guys I know aren’t really like that at all.”

It may be your mind playing tricks on you. The way he looks and sounds — his every gesture feels too tender to be Rindō. It’s odd, not him. Your eyes must be playing tricks on you too because the look in Rindō’s eyes seems too gentle and intimate. You look away.

“You have Ran, who cares about you a lot,” you point out, eyes looking anywhere but at him.

He quietly chuckles, “Yeah. That’s just Ran though. You know how he is.”

You vaguely reply, “I guess so.”

“You know so.”

“Everyone knows so,” you softly add, “just take of yourself more. Please.”

You lift your eyes for a split second, and he meets you within it. Rindō softly smiles, “Okay. I will, so you won’t cry anymore.”

You can’t look at him for too long without feeling your face flush, it gets too hot, and the unfamiliar feeling of butterflies that invade your stomach, pooling, itching to explode whenever he smiles at you. He makes you so nervous and you don’t know how to react. You’ve never felt this type of nervousness with someone before.

“I don’t cry.”

“I sure hope you won’t.”

You don’t know how to act.

That night, once Ran awakens from his nap, the three of you decide to hang outside. Roppongi is not similar to the countryside in any shape or form and you’re no longer surprised to see the city awake during these late nights. This city is always brighter after midnight.

Rindō had run off to the nearest konbini for drinks due to him losing three rounds of rock-paper-scissors [really, who actually chooses rock], and you and Ran are squatting down by the riverbank with sparklers burning in your hands. Rindō will probably be annoyed that the two of you started without him the second he ran off, but it’s Ran fault if anything. He’s the one who made you grab the sparklers and lit them himself.

However, Rindō wouldn’t be surprised by this, because everyone knows how impatient Ran can be at times.

“Y’know, on summer nights like this, the main character and her love interest would light sparklers together—” Ran begins to say with his sparkler dangles above yours, burning so fast and bright, “—and they will become stuck together. It stays like that, and that is usually when something in their relationship changes. . . I saw it in a shōjo anime before.” He pulls the end of his sparkler before his and yours get the chance to become tangled, and smiles softly at you. Ran looks pretty — prettier than most celebrities you see on television and magazine covers. He’s probably popular with girls.

And you assume, Rindō, too. He’s definitely no less popular than his brother. This thought immediately makes everything feel sour, your smile falters and you look back down at the sparklers. A pile of ash building below. The flames are bright, rushing into your eyes and leaves your head dizzy.

It’s quite beautiful; the way sparks flicker and dimming ashes fall around you. Vanishing within moments it hits the ground.

“You learned that from a shōjo anime?”

He replies with a shrug. “I mean, yeah. It’s a popular trope these days. I know you girls are into those types of things. Quite romantic, hm?”

You nod and don’t try to hide your smile. You didn’t think Ran was into anime like that. You didn’t know he was a romantic type of guy.

“Don’t laugh,” Ran scoffs. “You’ve become quite rude, huh.”

“I’m not! I just thought it was cute,” you huff in defense.

“Uh-huh.”

He rolls his eyes in which you mockingly repeat back, and you both laugh.

So, Ran is a little different these days. He’s all grown, almost unrecognisably so. But he is still your friend — there is still the Ran you knew back then there inside of him. And you think, he and Rindō could probably say the same about you. Change is inevitable, it comes hand-in-hand with growing up.

“So, this is something you do with someone you love. . .” you mutter his words to yourself. “Why aren’t you doing it with someone you love—well, uh, have you?”

It’s silent. A croak of a frog, a call of a cicada. His answer lies in his silence and it’s sad to hear, because beneath everything, Ran is someone with lots of love to give. It’s unfortunate how he’s never once liked to wear his heart on his sleeve, hidden away deep in a metal cage. He is a nice guy, really. So sweet to Rindō — sometimes towards you.

Ran shakes his head, redirecting the conversation to you. Something he always seems to do. “Why aren’t you?”

You . . . ?

Attentive with the eyes of a hawk, Ran picks up on your confusion within seconds. He tells you not to mind his words which only makes you feel more lost — heart racing. You think Ran knows something, but you do not know what. The unknown is always terrifying and you want to know.

Ran wants an answer that you cannot provide. Beginning to feel warm underneath your thin clothes, you grow anxious under his heavy stare, yet can’t find it in yourself to look away.

His eyes drift for a second and light from the sparklers fall in. He looks back at you, then cocks his head in the opposite direction. Curious, you follow his line of sight — Rindō.

Immediately, you take this opportunity to run. You hand the remains of your incense stick to Ran as you jump up, dusting off the dirt and ash that may have gotten on your clothes. Running up the stone steps, meeting him halfway (you pay no mind to Ran who yells that you got dirt on him). Your shadows reach before your bodies do, overlapping underneath the flickering lamp post.

“Rindō! Why’d you take so long?” You ask while leaning in, folding your hands behind your back. His blond locks are messy and sticking to his forehead instead of styled in his usual fashion, red cheeks and his chest is raising up and down as he breathes. “Did’ya run here? You’re looking a little red . . .”

He lets out an exasperated sigh, visibly annoyed with a prominent scowl on his face. “This idiot in front of me was taking his sweet fuckin’ time,” he replies, his glasses shift down his nose bridge and you reach your hand up to fix it. However, before you can, he grabs your wrist (a sudden yet gentle gesture) completely stopping you.

You awkwardly mutter, “Um. Sorry . . . ?”

Rindō blinks before letting go of your hand, shaking his head. “Ah, no,” he clears his throat, “I got it. Thanks.”

Opening the plastic bag, he holds a bottle of ramune towards you. The little spot he touched burns, and it’s then when Rindō asks you what’s wrong because you had suddenly froze in your movements. “Did you want a different flavour? I think I saw a strawberry one left,” he offers, “or you can take my drink. It’s beer, though. You don’t drink, right?”

“No, no. I like it. I prefer the original one,” you decline as you take the drink from his hand. Fingers brushing against his cold ones. “Thanks, Rin.”

“I do, too. It’s my favourite.”

His favourite, yet he had replaced it for some cheap canned alcohol — he and Ran aren’t even old enough to drink, but you don’t really care, either. Things like that strangely suit them.

You bite your tongue when you almost reply, I know. However, you do respond with a brief, “Really?”

“Yeah. It’s a necessity on summer days, y’know?”

You can’t help, but agree. “That’s why I like it.”

“Yeah, I know.”

And you wonder if Rindō remembers everything that happened the summer the both of you first met — you do. Those summer days spent underneath the shade side by side sharing melting popsicles and ramune, running around Roppongi and challenging each other at the arcade games. Aiding new cuts and bruises that appear on the brother’s bodies, Rindō would place a bandaid on your hands and knees every time you had fallen down trying to catch up to them, and whispering secrets only meant for the two of you to know [ones Ran comes to know, unsurprisingly]. You miss those summer days, and you don’t want to see the end of this one too.

Days with the Haitani brothers are unforgettable — so special, a feeling nothing can replace. Your hometown has never once felt like this.

Nobody has made you feel this way before.

You bring the ramune to your mouth, sweetness dissolves on your tongue, your lips tingle, and your heart burns and burns and burns.

—Bang!

A sudden sharp noise causes you to jump, droplets of your drink splash onto your thin shirt and down your chest. The culprit is none other than Rindō, who had bought firecrackers along with the drinks — setting it off a little too close to him and Ran, bursting right beneath their feet. Rindō laughs uproariously due to your surprised expression — so loud and clear, it cuts through the cicadas’ callings, passing cars, and the booming of firecrackers. His smile is like the warmth of summer; brighter than sparklers and the sea of little stars above. Your cheeks heat up, and all you can see is him.

At this moment, it’s two a.m. at the end of July when everything hits you like a huge tidal wave. Oh. You understand it now.

This feeling burns into you.

Everything feels like summer.

#tokyo revengers #rindou haitani #rindou haitani x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo rev x reader #haitani brothers

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adventuringblind · 10 months ago

Text

Fair Play

Oscar Piastri x Reader x Logan Sargent x Liam Lawson

Genre: fluff and crack (Look! I can write fluff!)

Summary: The quartet try to have a fun night out which lands them a trip to the emergency room.

Warnings: a hospital trip and Liam being an absolute menace

Notes: For @bad268, I hope you like it! I would like to point out that I've been to maybe two fairs in my life so this might be inaccurate.

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

Going to a fair is not something the group gets to do often. The racing season keeps them all busy. The quiet moments are few and far between.

But it's summer break, and they have time to indulge themselves for a night. A nice relaxing night to forget about things and just enjoy each other's company. Like nothing could possibly go wrong.

How wrong they were.

"Haven't been to one of these in forever." Logan pulls his sweatshirt over his head. The colder air of the night breeze ruffling his hair.

Oscar, determined to stay in his eternal summer, is in his usual attire. "Have any of us ever been?"

"I've been a couple of times when I was younger." Says the female. Liam is spinning her around as they attempt to walk forward. "I was terrible at all the games and never won anything, though."

The three boys stop in their tracks. There is a playful smirk on each of their faces. "I swear, if you three make this a competition, I will lose it."

Liam drops his mouth open in feigned exasperation. "What if the intent is to be corny and win you a prize or something!"

"Well then, that's fine. I won't say no to being spoiled."

Liam hands her off to Logan as they make their way inside. The American is the gentlest of the three. He always makes himself available for comforting hugs.

The boy's beeline straight to where the games are. Not even sparing a glance in the direction of anything else. Typical competitive spirits. Three weeks with no racing means they have to get it out somehow.

She looks at Oscar in a desperate attempt to get his attention. Liam and Logan have launched themselves into another game and are not currently paying attention.

"What do you say to ice-cream, Osc?"

"I say lovely."

The two signal to the other boys and say they'll be back. Already wrapped up in their activity, they pay them no mind. Liam is gesturing wildly with his hands. A good indicator they won't notice they are even leaving.

"I feel like this is a bad idea."

"What is?"

"Leaving them on their own."

Liam and Logan are staring down some kind of bebe riffle shooter game. Not because of the game itself, but because of the prize they could potentially win.

The massive teddy bear sits behind the counter, taunting them. It's begging to be in the arms of another. Specifically, in the arms of their girl. It's begging to be cuddled by her.

"This should be easy for you, Lo!" Liam snickers and takes up a spot. "Being American and all."

Logan rolls his eyes, face completely blank. "Yes Liam, your over used joke is so funny and I'm laughing so hard." He can't keep the straight face for long and both boys end up laughing at themselves.

Liam picks up the rifle and is instructed to take a test shot. He attempts, with nothing to show for it. Logan descends further into laughter.

"Would you like a hand from someone who knows guns?" Liam groans as Logan takes a step forward.

"Maybe it's jammed-"

The plastic gun makes a clicking sound. Logan lets out a yelp and clutches his wrist. "Liam..."

"Logan, listen, we can talk this out!"

"You asshole! You shot me!"

In the distance, the other half is carrying back ice-cream for them. The sudden yelp causes the female to startle and nearly drop the two cones she is holding.

Oscar is somewhere between a laugh and a pained sigh. "I told you it was a bad idea."

She takes another lick from her ice-cream and look directly into Oscar's eyes. "I regret nothing."

Liam is trying desperately to fight back a laugh as the group converges together.

The female ditches her ice-cream in Liams hands and inspects Logans wrist. "You hurt the baby, Liam! How could you?”

“Y/n, he’s the oldest.”

“Doesn’t matter! Liam hurt the baby.” She begins to walk away with the boys in tow. “We’re heading to emergency because I don’t feel like hearing about this from Alex if Logan is hurt.”

Liam is trying to drive while Oscar sits passenger side still holding ice-cream. It’s dripping down his fingers at this point. An entertaining sigh to the two in the back.

Liam looks over at a red light, leans in obnoxiously close, and wiggles his eyebrows. “Hey Osc, can I lick it off your fingers?”

“Liam, I swear to god-“

The light turns green and Liam is once again speeding off to the nearest A&E.

The wait inside is long enough for them to actually finish the melting treat. People give them weird looks, but they are wrapped up in their own little bubble and couldn’t care less.

The nurses all giggle as they retell the story of what happened. The injury is hardly serious, but they wrap it all nice anyway. They ask if Logan would like a band aid at one point and he just groans (he whispered yes right before they left).

“You realize nobody is ever going to believe us, right?” Oscar looks towards Logan’s hand with raised eyebrows.

Logan groans again. “Do they have to? Could be our secret.”

As the female lifts Logan’s hand to her mouth to ‘kiss it better’, she leans over to whisper to him. “I don’t we can hide this one, babe. You have a crayon band-aid on.”

“Yeah, no, I’m telling everyone about this.”

“It was your fault!”

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winterrrnight · 1 year ago

Text

wish I had you

PAIRING: rafe cameron x fem!reader

SUMMARY: rafe made a huge mistake and lost the love of his life.

WARNINGS: angst, angst, angst! Absolutely no fluff, it's all angst, swearing, drugs, drug overdose!, heartbreaks, very small mentions of s*lf h*rm

EDITH SPEAKS: I'm back!!!! My exams were, something, but now I'm finally back and writing again 🥹 oh I'm so happy! I'll be getting onto my requests too, but for now, requests are back open! So get in any and all ideas you may have :)

This is so so so sad, and yes, Rafe is pretty much the one doing all the wrong here. No, it doesn't have a happy ending, it's pure angst. It's the reason I'm breathing right now, and also the reason I'm breaking inside. I hope this makes you feel a roller coaster of emotions :')

The fic is inspired by one of my favourite artist, Ruel makes insane music and please check his stuff out if you want to 🫶🏻 and also listen to this track while reading this so the level of sadness and heartbreak just 📈📈📈📈

Please please please like and reblog if you liked this!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💝

navigation || join my taglist || requests

I watch her on the sidewalk, her hand intertwined with his as he sways their arms, both of them laughing. I feel the same pain in my heart which I experience each time I see them together.

Each time I see her so happy with someone who isn't me.

He's the one who gets to take her to little dates, click her pictures, surprise her with flower bouquets, when it is supposed to be me. I am the one who should be taking her to little dates, clicking her pictures, and surprising her with flower bouquets.

He kisses her cheek after pulling her closer to him from her waist the same way I used to do. She giggles just the same way she used to do with me. Her eyes sparkle and the most beautiful smile pulls her lips, and my heart used to flutter each time her irises gazed into mine.

But I don't get to experience that anymore. I don't get to see her smiling at me. Instead, each time we come across each other in public, she pretends she doesn't know who I am. Like I don't exist in her world anymore. And her boyfriend makes sure to pull her even closer to him and give me a glare if I even glance at her.

And I completely deserve that. Everything we had went down the gutter because of the way I am.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

I slowly open the door to try and make as less noise as I can. I creep up the stairs, each move of mine calculated, but when I peek inside the room, i notice she's awake, sitting on the edge of the bed with her head in her hands.

I notice her body is moving as she is crying, the sobs escaping her silently. I feel my heart break at the sight. What have I done?

"Babe, hey..." I say softly, as I push open the door. She looks up at me, her eyes wide and red. Whenever I used to open the door after coming home from a long day, she would look at me with love in her eyes, but right now, there is nothing close to love in those eyes.

"Don't, just don't-" she whispers, her voice shaky and strained. Her cheeks are stained with her tears, and as she steps away from me, her footsteps are just as shaky as her voice.

"Just hear me out this one time, I was-"

"NO!" She yells, cutting me off. Her yell takes me by surprise, causing me to flinch slightly. "I don't have time for your excuses Rafe, I'm done with you, I'm done with this all. There's nothing you can say or do which can help defend you. Go back to your drugs, and Barry, I don't care," She moves towards her closet and gets a bag, and starts to put all her belongings in her bag.

I want to go ahead and stop her, get on my knees and beg her to not leave me, but my feet remain glued to the ground. I look at my feet, and hear the sounds of her frantically throwing stuff in her bag and trying to stuff it all in.

Suddenly, it is all silent. I look up to see her back towards me, and her arms at her sides. The bag she is stuffing is kept by her side on the ground, its contents spilling out.

"You know what today is?" She whispers.

I look at her back with my eyes wide, trying to comprehend what she is saying. What is it today? I rack my brain for answers but it turns up with nothing.

"It's our five year anniversary," she whispers, "and you promised to take me to Paris, where you and me will get on top of the Eiffel Tower to kiss just as it strikes midnight for today."

I want to jump off a 20 storey building.

This is too much.

I never knew how capable I was of fucking perfectly curated relationships up.

"But you forgot. Just the way you forgot about me. You've forgotten me completely, Rafe. All you care is about stupid shit, about your drugs, and your gold, and whatever the fuck it is. But I know you stopped caring about me a long, long time ago." She turns around now, her eyes looking everywhere but at me. "I waited, waited for as long as I could. I thought you'll come back to me. I thought you'll realise you're in the wrong and you'd want to correct it. But that moment never happened. I was just giving myself false hope." Her voice cracks towards the end and more tears stream down her face. She moves her hand to wipe them, and I have this sudden urge to hold her face in my hands and wipe her tears.

But I've lost all privileges to hold her, fuck, I shouldn't even look at her anymore.

"I'm ending this all here, I cannot hold onto this short thread of a relationship which you cut off so long ago. I need to let go, solely for me and my health." She sniffs and bends down to stuff everything in her bag messily and zip it up. She picks it up and hangs it on her shoulder.

My vision starts to get blurry as tears form in my eyes, as I watch her walk out of this room. These walls saw us share our most intimate moments together, and now they're seeing it all fall apart.

"Bye, Rafe."

Her last words echo in my ears as she leaves this house.

I've lost her forever.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

As I watch her walk away with her new boyfriend, I have this urge to rip everything apart and bang my head against a wall until it bleeds.

Since she walked out that door, I have been a mess. I don't know who I am anymore. I was so in love with her, I wanted to marry her. I loved showing everyone that I got the best girl one can ever get. She loved me beyond the human capabilities, and made sure I was doing okay at all times.

My addiction to drugs worsened as I find myself each night either in my home with my cocaine or at some party with as many alcohol cups I can down. And it all continued getting bad when I blacked out from the drug consumption at a party and woke up in a hospital bed.

I lost my entire business, I lost my entire soul. I lost who I am, and at this point, I don't know how I'll continue to live life.

Because I want her.

I want her to hold me and run her hands through my hair, and remind me all is okay.

I want her to kiss my forehead and whisper sweet little nothings in my ear.

I want her to rub her hands on my back and tell me she'll always be there for me.

But I don't deserve anything good in life. And I certainly don't deserve an angel like her.

I will always love her.

close my eyes but what's the use, cause my mind still dreams of you.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

TAGLIST: @runningfrom2am @saccharinesammie @maybankslover @totalswag @madelynie @chenslucy @ietss @elle-mp3 @viawritesstuff @wallsdreams @tahliac11 @sadfury

#Spotify #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron imagine #outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron oneshot #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe obx #rafe x reader #rafe outer banks #written by edith! 🪄

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bingoboingobongo · 2 years ago

Text

the right thing to do (i)

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley (Call of Duty) x Reader

Type: Fluff

Summary: You’ve become a distraction to Ghost, and so he’s started keeping his distance for the sake of the team. But when a mission goes awry, he finds himself stuck with you.

Word Count: 7.3k

Warnings: explicit language, mentions of/allusions to sex, brief mention of dacryphilia, brief mention of blowjobs, canon-typical violence, mentions of injury, forced proximity, pining

A/N: hiii, ngl i’m actually really proud of this fic, like deadass this shit had me giggling and kicking my feet in the middle of starbucks. anyways i was thinking of including smut in this but changed my mind bc that shit’s hard to write so it’s pretty pg-13. i plan on making this a bit of a series (with smut hopefully) so while this chapter is gender neutral now (i think, don’t quote me tho) in the future the reader will be written as a girl. as always, likes/reblogs and constructive criticism are always appreciated, enjoy :)

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Part 2

It wasn’t right for Ghost to be paying you as much attention as he was. It felt right, and he wanted it to be right, but that didn’t mean it was. What was right was what kept the most people safe. What was right was what kept the most people alive. Usually that was what Ghost did. Ghost did what kept most people safe. He did what kept the most people alive. The problem, however, was that doing the right thing and indulging in his feelings for you were two diametrically opposing things. Indulging in his feelings — indulging in you — was wrong.

It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with you; there could never be anything wrong with you in his eyes. How could there be, when he was seeing you through rose colored glasses? Although in his case, he supposed, they were more dark red than rose. Trivialities aside though, the real problem wasn’t anything that you were doing, it was what he wasn’t doing.

He wasn’t peering around every corner anymore. He wasn’t focusing on covering his tracks as well as he should. He wasn’t triple checking every piece of intel the task force got their hands on. He tried to, he really did, but with a thousand thoughts running at a hundred miles per hour — and a large majority of them having to do with you — it was only expected that a few things slip through the cracks.

For the most part, nothing too bad had happened as a result of his carelessness. A few scrapes and maybe one-too-many close calls, but nothing that would have gotten anyone in trouble. Maybe, if he weren’t a lieutenant or if he were in a completely different field, he would’ve been content to let it slide. But as corny as it sounded, he was part of a team, and he wasn’t going to let more people get hurt on his watch. Not again.

So for the safety of the team, Ghost started avoiding you. It always hurt him to push past you in the hallways, ignoring your little attempts at small talk; or to use Gaz as an example for takedown demonstrations, when in reality all he wanted was to be able to savor the warmth of your skin, even if it was with you pinned under him. Although, if he were being honest, he wasn’t opposed to pinning you down in other contexts. But as much as he hurt, he knew he had to do it. It wasn’t fair to you or the rest of the team if he wasn’t at his full capacity at all times.

He had made that decision two weeks ago, and it was already starting to get to him. Sleep was harder to get by, he was snapping at his teammates more, and when he rubbed the eyeblack off, it was only replaced by the sunken shadows under his eyes. He missed you too. Missed the way you would always offer him a bite of your food during dinner even though he would never eat it; missed the way you would always shoulder him to get his attention while you were walking to the training room, your hands in your pockets as you began telling him about something you had read the night before; missed the way you would grip onto his arm and try to goad him into taking off the mask or telling you what he looked like. Always the utilitarian though, he shouldered the problems in stride. They were nothing, he told himself, he had been through worse and he would go through worse. That was just how it was in the military. Besides, Laswell had just told them about a new mission, and a new mission meant new problems and new distractions.

It had gone fine in the beginning, but after a certain point everything started going to shit. On paper, their mission was simple; extract Krasimir Zhelyazkov, an arms and ammunition dealer with the Bulgarian mob who had allegedly dealt with one of Makarov’s right hand men, Demyan Solovev. Zhelyazkov would take them to Solovev, and Solovev would take them to Makarov. Simple. Of course, nothing was ever that simple when it came to war.

For one, Bulgaria in the middle of winter was cold, and with cold came snow and ice and wind. And of course, with snow and ice and wind came slippage and extra gear and low visibility. Ghost had been worried about the weather going into it; while all the members of the 141 had training in multiple environments, it was never easy going into a fight with snowfall as thick as blanks in a lottery.

The other problem was Zhelyazkov. While Ghost and Laswell both confirmed the validity of the intel they had received, there was no guarantee that Zhelyazkov would turn. Makarov was an intimidating man, and the stories of what he did to snitches were not pleasant. Either way, Zhelyazkov was unlikely to make it out alive, Ghost just had to make sure he got the information out of him before he died.

And of course, the other problem — which Ghost admitted was not unique to this mission but was still a problem just the same — was you. Even though he had tried to put distance between the two of you, he couldn’t help himself from stealing a glance in your direction every once in a while, just to admire the way your breath condensed in the frigid air or how you scrunched up your nose as if to make sure it was still there.

Ghost knew about these problems before they happened, and so he prepared for them. Worried about slipping on the snow covered ground? Request boots with better traction. Worried about Zhelyazkov not snitching? Get his family involved; it was unethical, yes, but if it was what it took to get the information then so be it. And you. Ghost knew he couldn’t afford spending anymore time eyeing you in the field, so he only increased the distance between the two of you.

Typically, if a target heard that someone was coming for them, they tucked their tail into their legs and ran — usually to a foreign country or some sort of island. But with Zhelyazkov, there was nothing to tip the 141 that anything was amiss; no sudden airplane rides, no sudden stoppage of shipments, nothing. Zhelyazkov kept living and doing business as he always had, seemingly unaware of the intel the 141 had on him.

Which is why when they approached Zhelyazkov’s compound, they expected it to be an easy takedown. In order to save personnel and to preserve stealth, the task force only sent one team out. For this particular mission, the team included Ghost, Soap, Price, Gaz, and of course, you. Ghost was conflicted about your inclusion on the team; on one hand, you were a valuable asset to the mission, but on the other hand, seeing the way you rubbed your hands together for heat in the cabin of the helicopter filled him with an aching urge to reach out for you and was an obvious distraction that impacted his ability to protect his team. In the end though, he couldn’t hold his inability to focus over you and besides, you had experience from your time before the 141 working in similar conditions, not to mention the general tactical expertise you brought to the table.

The mission had started like any other routine extraction would. A chopper flew the five of you to a forest on the edge of the compound, the thick snowfall helping to cover you. Once on the ground, Price did a quick headcount to make sure everyone had landed alright, before readjusting his rifle and leading the group forward. The five of you traveled in a line, with Price at the head and Ghost at the rear. You were positioned behind Price, but even with Soap and Gaz in front of him, Ghost was still acutely aware of every step you took.

At the moment, it seemed as if there was nothing to worry about. The snowfall was heavy of course, but not too heavy that it hampered the team and besides, it covered their tracks and kept them hidden. At least it should have.

The sudden shower of gunfire actually wasn’t the first thing that tipped Ghost off that something was wrong. It had been their radios. Laswell had told them she would be checking in on them after they landed, but five minutes had already passed with no sign of communication. At this point, they had left the forest and Ghost tried calling in, but to no avail. His radio provided nothing but crackly static, buzzing and impatient. He knew something was wrong and he tried to call for Price, but that was when hell started raining down on them.

The thing about gunfire is that you could actually see the shot happen before you heard it. It had always been an odd phenomenon to Ghost, the slight delay between sight and audio. For a brief moment, Ghost watched the snowy skies in front of him become aglow with a barrage of flashing lights. In a weird sense, it was dreamlike. Mesmerizing. And then the sound hit him. Even with earmuffs on, the gunfire was deafeningly loud. It was like watching a fireworks display, except the pops were louder, harsher, and there would be no delighted children looking up at the air in awe.

He tried screaming at the others to take cover, but the combination of winter winds and cracking bullets was hard to cut through. Somewhere to his right, he heard Price yelling, but his words were constantly interrupted by the enemy’s fire. Ghost tried looking for the others, but suddenly the snow was too thick, the bullets too loud, his teammates too far away. He did the only thing he could: run to the treeline for cover.

Between the sheer magnitude of bullets being aimed at them, the time Ghost spent looking for his team, and the time it took him to get to the treeline, Ghost had taken more than a few hits. Nothing detrimental, thankfully, but he could feel the familiar sting of a bullet that brushed him a little too close than he would have liked. He keeled over against a tree, listening as bullets flew past his face or struck the thick wood behind him. He tried using his radio again but it was no use; he couldn’t get a signal.

He tried to turn around, but the gunfire was too constant. He couldn’t get a clear look. He swallowed down an unceremonious groan as he considered the situation. Returning fire was an option, of course, but not a smart one. Considering his lack of a decent vantage point and the fact that he couldn’t even clearly see where the shots were coming from, even the best sniper on the force — which was him — wouldn’t be able to get a clear shot. Besides, he only had so much ammo on him, and if the attack was coming from Zhelyazkov, which he assumed it was, then he was seriously outmatched in terms of equipment. The man was an ammunition dealer, for Christ’s sake, if he couldn’t shoot Ghost, he could certainly keep him waiting long enough for hypothermia to set in.

“Shit, Ghost!” he heard from his right. He turned to look, and there you were, sitting with your back against a tree and your rifle in your hands. He was overwhelmed with relief at the sight of you, before cursing himself under his breath. He was in the middle of being fired at, why was he letting you distract him? “Where’s everyone else?” you cried, your voice barely carrying over the roar of bullets.

“Safe, hopefully,” he yelled, “I didn’t see where they went.” He watched you shake your head, you were probably cursing to yourself right now.

“Did you see who was with Zhelyazkov?”

“There was someone with Zhelyazkov?”

“Not just someone,” you yelled, looking at him grimly, “Fishers.”

Ghost turned away from you, leaning his head against the tree. “Fucking hell,” he muttered to himself, before turning to look at you again. “You sure?”

You didn’t say anything in response, only giving him a grave nod.

“God damn it,” he muttered. “Well, we don’t have time to worry about that, understand? Right now we just have to get somewhere safe.”

You nodded again, turning back to look at the source of the fire. “Most of the fire is coming from an MG3,” you called out, “they’ll have to change the barrel soon, we can move then.”

Ghost nodded at you, briefly looking back as well. It wasn’t long before the gunfire began to die down and the two of you moved from your positions in the trees, running further into the forest. But whoever was operating the gun was well-trained, and it didn’t take long for them to replace the barrel of the gun and restart the fire. Ghost ducked behind another tree, his eyes watching you do the same as he took a breath.

That was the only way the two of you could move for a long time. Waiting for what felt like painstakingly long minutes for the barrel to have to be changed, just to be able to run maybe a few yards before the spray of bullets picked up again and you had to take cover. It was a painstakingly slow process, and throughout all of it, Ghost couldn’t help but worry that you wouldn’t get to cover in time, and he would have to watch as you died in front of him. He also couldn’t stop worrying about the rest of the team. It concerned him that you were here but Price, Gaz, and Soap weren’t. If they had died when the gunfire started he would have been able to see their blood in the snow, he supposed, as if that thought was supposed to comfort him. It didn’t do much, and he could only hope that the three of them had at least found each other.

Finally though, the deafening roar of gunfire began to quiet down, either due to distance or to lack of ammunition, and Ghost felt like he could breathe again. “Are you alright?” he called out to you, quickly scanning over your body.

You nodded, your chest heaving as you gulped in the freezing air. “You?” He nodded. You sighed, rubbing your hand over your face. “What the hell happened back there?”

“I don’t know,” he sighed, stomping to you through the thick snow. “You get hit anywhere?” he asked, his hand reaching tentatively for a scrape on your face.

You reached for your own face, freezing his hand in its tracks. He might have been a weathered war veteran, but even he got nervous in front of people he liked. He watched you wipe the blood off your face and stare at it, “It’s fine,” you told him, “it’s just a scrape. Motherfucker must have clipped me.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t scar.”

“I don’t know, I think I’m pretty enough to pull off a face scar. What do you think?” you asked, the minx-like grin on your face providing a sharp contrast to the sheer gravity of the situation the two of you were in. That was another thing you did that distracted him. Those snarky quips and sly suggestions that made Ghosts stomach flip and his cheeks heat up.

“Stop worrying about appearances,” he chastised, trying to regain his focus, “we don’t have time.”

“You were the one that brought it up!” you cried, throwing your hands up.

“Quiet,” he said, “just because they stopped firing doesn’t mean we’re safe. For all we know they could have men on the ground looking for us.”

You dropped your hands to your side, “So now what do we do?”

He pursed his lips, surveying their surroundings. “We make our way to the secondary location as planned. Look at the tree branches,” he said, gesturing above him, “trees will grow their branches towards the direction that gets the most sun: south. The secondary location was north of the drop site and we’ve been traveling in a relatively straight line. If we keep moving in this direction we should come across it in an hour or so.”

You chewed on your lip, “Do we even know if it’s safe? Fishers was with Zhelyazkov, for all we know we could be walking straight into an ambush.”

“You sure it was Fishers?”

“Yes, it couldn’t have been anyone else.”

“Are you one hundred percent sure?” Ghost asked again, “the snow was thick, I couldn’t even see anything besides Gaz and Johnny.”

“I’m sure,” you insisted, “Me and Price were at the front, we saw the wall of Zhelyazkov’s compound. One of his cronies was up there with Fishers. He was standing next to an MG3 and pointing at us, I know it. I would recognize that stupid cowlick anywhere.”

Ghost groaned. Fishers wasn’t someone Ghost had known very well, so at the very least he was spared the painful feeling of being betrayed by someone he cared about — not that his feelings mattered. The traitor, Colten Fishers, was an American soldier. A veteran to military service, no doubt, but still considered a rookie in special operations. The official report would probably say that Fishers turned in exchange for some quick cash, that he was a cowardly traitor who betrayed them, but that answer didn’t satisfy Ghost.

Honestly, Ghost wasn’t even sure how Fishers had gotten onto the task force in the first place. Compared to the rest of the people on the team, Fishers’ resume was weak, his experience was subpar and his track record was a little too spotty for his liking. The fact that Fishers’ was even in a place to betray them worried him, almost more than the actual betrayal, because if Fishers was able to get on the task force with his lackluster résumé then that meant he had bad friends in high places.

“God damn it,” he muttered, “you have a point, but there’s not much else we can do. The more time we spend out here the more likely we are to get shot.”

“Or get hypothermia,” you said.

“Or get hypothermia,” he added. He reached for his radio, clicking it on only to be met with static again. “Bravo team, this is Bravo 0-7, do you copy?” No response.

“They probably set up signal blockers,” you pointed out, “either that or the storm is so bad it’s messing with our signal.”

He groaned, “Does yours work?” he asked.

“No,” you said, gesturing lamely at the damaged radio next to your chest, “motherfuckers clipped it while I was looking for Price. Scared the shit out of me too, thought they had gotten me right in the chest for a second.”

He walked up to you, bending down as he inspected the broken radio. He could feel you suck in a breath, and for a moment he let himself wonder if he gave you butterflies the same way you did to him. “Yeah,” he said, looking up at you, his mask inches away from your face, “this thing’s been shot to hell, there’s no way it’s gonna get a signal, even without a storm.” He lingered for a split second, captivated by the way your eyes stared up at him, large and round like a marble, before pulling back.

“Let’s get a move on,” he said, adjusting his rifle. “We can’t afford to be stuck out here when night falls.”

Walking in the snow was hard, walking in the snow and feeling you glance over at him every other minute was even harder. He didn’t want to look at you, well that was a lie, he did want to look at you, but he knew he shouldn’t look at you. He needed to put on a brave face, that was his job as a lieutenant. He needed to be serious, to have a plan, to not get hung up on distractions, and he couldn’t do that when he was watching you.

Instead, he tried to think about everything that could go wrong from this point. It seemed pessimistic, he knew, but he needed to be prepared. You had a point about the second location. While Fishers hadn’t been told everything about the mission, he knew enough to severely compromise them. Besides, if he did have one of the higher-ups on his side, there was no telling how much he knew. The secondary location had once been a logger’s cabin; it was small, kitted with only the bare necessities. A bathroom, a small kitchenette, and an empty bedroom they had planned to keep Zhelyazkov in. In other words, it wasn’t an easy place to set up an ambush. But they could’ve rigged the outside, set up tripwires connected to shotguns or planted mines along the perimeter. The forest around it was dense, which once would’ve been helpful to keep them hidden but now only provided a wide array of hiding spots for Zhelyazkov’s men to hide in.

Additionally, there was no telling how many men Zhelyazkov would have waiting for them. Even by himself, Ghost could hold his own and with you, their chances only increased. But Zhelyazkov practically had an army, and it would only take one well-aimed shot before it was all over. Granted, some of his men would likely be looking for the others, and if they also went to the cabin, the five of them could probably hold their own.

But there was no guaranteeing the others were heading to the cabin, let alone breathing. For all Ghost knew, their team of five could’ve been cut down to two long ago. “What are you thinking about?” you asked, pulling Ghost out of his thoughts.

He turned to look at you for the first time since you had started walking. There were snowflakes on your eyelashes and your face was tinged red from the cold. He wanted to be able to cradle your jaw, to warm you up until your face was flushed from something other than the cold weather. He wanted to tell you that he wasn’t going to let anything happen to you, that you would always be safe when you were with him, that he would kill anyone who tried to touch you and would do anything for a chance to hold you. “Just thinking about what you said earlier,” he said instead, “about Zhelyazkov ambushing us.”

You hummed, “Me too. I don’t know how likely that is anymore though.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I mean think about it,” you said, “we flew over the cabin on our way here and everything looked fine, no footprints or anything. And by the time we did that and the time they started shooting, maybe ten minutes had passed. That would mean Zhelyazkov had ten minutes to get his men there, and they wouldn’t have been able to take a direct route or else they would’ve ran into us. Besides, why waste his manpower by setting up an ambush we might not even show up for? I mean, the plan was probably to kill us all right from the beginning, so why plan for us showing up at the cabin if we’re not even supposed to be alive? I mean, who in their right mind would do that?”

“Let’s not assume Zhelyazkov is in his right mind. It’s thinking like that that gets people killed,” he said, harsher than he intended. “Not that you don’t have a point,” he added when he saw you look down in embarrassment. He didn’t mean to hurt you, but he had fallen into that mindset before and he knew how dangerous it was. “For Zhelyazkov to waste his manpower on an ambush would be tactically unwise, you’re right, but we don’t want to go in expecting an empty house and get caught off guard.”

“So then what? We go in expecting to get immediately gunned down by another machine gun? How is that any better? It’s not like there’s anything we can do to prepare for that.”

Ghost grimaced, once again, you had a point. “Still, it’s better to be prepared,” was all he could say. You looked at him as if you wanted to say more, but your mouth stayed shut and your eyes turned to focus ahead of you once again.

The two of you walked in silence, with nothing but the sound of crunching snow to indicate that anyone was even in the forest at all. After what felt like ages, Ghost paused, holding out a hand to stop you too. He felt you looking at him, but he didn’t respond. He was studying your surroundings, scrutinizing the snow on the ground before searching the skies.

“What is it?” you finally asked in a hushed whisper.

“Checking for traps,” he said, his gravelly voice so quiet he could barely hear himself. “The cabin should be just beyond that treeline,” he whispered, pointing. You followed his hand, but you couldn’t see anything behind the dense wall of tree trunks. “Let’s go,” he said, “get your gun out.” You complied, mirroring him as he unshouldered his rifle and held it against his chest. He turned to look at you, your lips pursed into a tight line and your hair sprinkled with snowflakes. He wished you weren’t at risk of walking into an ambush, that way he could capture the way you looked with a camera.

He began slowly stalking towards the cabin, cursing to himself at the snow crunching under his feet. He arrived at the edge of the treeline, coming onto an open clearing with the small wood cabin at the very center. His head swiveled around, constantly checking for the familiar glint of gunmetal hiding in the trees. He turned back to you, “Let’s split up,” he said quietly, his voice muffled by his mask. “I’ll go left, you go right. Meet in the back and then sweep the house.” He watched you nod, and his eyes followed you briefly as you began to move in the opposite direction before he returned his focus to the task at hand.

The perimeter of the clearing wasn’t necessarily large, but it still took him a painfully long time to reach the back. “You see anything?” he asked when you arrived. You shook your head, and he cocked his head towards the cabin. “Let’s go,” he said, turning back to check on you as the two of you made your way towards the front of the house.

There was a small porch on the front, with a pair of steps leading up to it. Ghost skipped them, choosing to step over them and go straight to the porch. You weren’t so smart, and when you put your weight on the first step, it squealed and groaned. Ghost whipped around at the sound, and you rolled your eyes back and cringed, “Shit,” you muttered quietly.

The two of you were frozen for a second, you with your foot still on the step and Ghost with his eyes trained on the door. When nothing happened, you lifted your foot and stepped over the stairs, copying Ghost like you should have before. When you were both on the porch, Ghost gestured for you to open the door. You reached for the doorknob, turning it slowly before swinging it open.

Ghost walked in, his rifle swiveling as he made his way to the bathroom. He could hear you following behind him, the snow on your boots crunching slightly as you went to the bedroom. He swung open the door of the bathroom, only to be met with his own reflection in the mirror above the sink. His helmet was covered in snow, only accentuating the darkness of his eyes. When he had confirmed that the room was empty, he exited, watching as you came out from the bathroom.

“It’s clear,” you said, before he could ask.

“That’s a relief,” he said, letting out a sigh, but he didn’t lower his rifle.

“You think the others will be coming here too?” you asked, looking around the tiny house.

He wanted to say yes, but honestly he had no clue. The forest was huge, and he had no idea where the others might have been. They could be looking for the cabin as well, but there was no guarantee they’d find it.

He took off his helmet and cracked his neck. “Night’s about to fall, get some rest. I’ll take the first watch,” he said instead, reaching into his pack and tossing you a bedroll.

You caught it easily, but made no move to set it down. “It’s fine,” you told him, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you sleep, you deserve the rest.”

“That wasn’t a request,” he said sternly, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Yeah, yeah it’s an order, isn’t it? Geez, you sound like Price.”

“Price is right. You need your sleep, a sniper could spot your eyebags from a mile away.”

“Rude,” you shot back, “and by that logic, wouldn’t a sniper be able to see you from, like, two miles away from all of your eyeblack?

“If they see me, they’re already dead.”

“Wow,” you said, rolling your eyes, “I’m so scared.”

“You should be.”

“Whatever,” you sighed, “I’m gonna take a shower then, you got any soap?”

He threw you a small plastic container, “Suave three-in-one? What are you, a high school boy?” you asked, shooting him an incredulous look.

This time it was his turn to roll his eyes, “Beggars can’t be choosers, darling, you want luxury toiletries bring them yourself.”

You were silent for a moment, and Ghost started to feel worry bubble up in his chest. He didn’t mean to say that nickname out loud, it just happened. He was exhausted and paranoid and hungry and he was stuck in a room he could cross in about ten steps and it just slipped out. And if this was how it ended, in this stupid, tiny, suffocating house that could have gone in so many other directions; if he ruined everything because he couldn’t control himself, he would have never forgiven himself.

“You think I’m darling?” you asked with a grin, and Ghost could practically feel a weight being lifted off his shoulders.

“Just go take your shower,” he said, but even he could hear the smile in his voice.

“You sure you don’t want to join me?” you asked, pulling out a towel from your bag. Ghost stilled. He could tell you were just joking, you had to be. But there had to be at least some truth in it, otherwise you wouldn’t have even thought to say that right? Suddenly the house felt uncomfortably warm. It was too small, too cramped, too stuffy. He thought the house’s lack of heating would have been a problem, but for some reason it felt like there were a thousand heaters in this tiny room.

“Geez, Ghost,” you said, giggling, “I was just messing with you. Dang, is it really that easy to get you speechless? Guess I have a new party trick to show the others when we get back.”

He stared at you, trying to come up with something to say. “I’m gonna set up outside,” he said finally, changing the topic, “leave the soap in the shower, will you?”

You hummed, slinging the towel over your back. He watched you step into the bathroom, his eyes lingering on the door as it shut behind you. He could hear the shower turn on, but he made himself leave before he could hear your clothes come off.

The crisp, winter air provided a sharp contrast to the tense atmosphere of the house. The frigid winds nipped at his eyes and he could feel a shiver rack through his chest but he didn’t mind it. It was refreshing, feeling the freezing air fill his lungs and watching his breath condense in front of him. He sat down on the porch steps and reached for his rifle, checking the magazine. He picked out one of the bullets, thumbing it thoughtfully as he stared at the snowstorm in front of him. He put the bullet back and looked back at the house, making sure that you weren’t around before he pulled off his mask. He let out a sigh, thumbing the hard plastic skull in his hands and letting the frosty air kiss at his exposed skin before pulling the soft, black, skull-marked balaclava he wore normally out of his bag and over his face.

Ghost wasn’t the kind of person to let his mind wander. He knew a lot of people did, Soap did, Gaz did, even Price did, but not him. It was just easier that way, he never really had a good place for his mind to wander to anyways. His mind had a tendency to lurk around dark places, and it always left him worse than he started. Once, he had tried to speak to someone about it, and that had only ended up with another dead body to his name. Instead, he distracted himself by focusing on the task in front of him: watching the treeline for enemy soldiers.

Somehow though, you started to linger around the edge of his thoughts, and he didn’t push you away. He kept staring ahead at the snow-covered trees, but in his mind he was seeing you. He was seeing your stupid teasing grin, your fidgeting fingers that never stayed still, that smooth skin on the junction of your neck and your shoulder that he wanted to kiss and lick and bite. He could almost see your lust-drunk face in front of him, starry-eyed and teary, your lips swollen and red from how hard he would kiss you. He could practically hear you under him, all breathy and pitchy, your voice raw from how much he would make you beg for him. God, he knew he needed to stop these thoughts but he needed you more. He needed you pressed against him, your skin warm and soft and supple, he needed to feel you on top of him, to be inside you. He needed to know how it would feel to have your mouth around him, your eyes lidded as you stared up at—

“Hey,” you said, tiredness leaking through your voice. Ghost suppressed the urge to jump, turning to look at you. “You see anything interesting?” you asked, taking a seat beside you.

“Nothing,” he said, hoping you wouldn’t notice the way he had to slightly readjust his pants. You didn’t, thank god, for a special forces operator you surely weren’t the most observant, but he wasn’t complaining. You weren’t wearing much, only a pair of thin pajama pants, a tank top, and a hoodie. He was surprised you weren’t shivering.

He could feel you staring at him, partly because of the way your warm breath fanned over him and partly because you stared at him like he was the most interesting thing in the world. He had to fight the urge to look back at you because he knew if he did, you would be able to see the star-struck in his eyes. “You need something?” he asked, trying to fill the silence.

You turned away from him, your eyes scanning the treeline. “Not really,” you hummed, “but it’s lonely inside, can’t sleep.”

“Lonely?”

“Well— Not lonely, but— I don’t know. It’s just… unsettling, I guess.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” he said, with a slight chuckle.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you snorted.

“It means I’ve seen you do things that would make a grown man cry and you're scared of sleeping alone.”

“Uh, that is not it,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes. “I’m not scared, I’d just rather stay out here. Besides, it’s easier to fall asleep in the cold.”

“Is it really?” he asked teasingly, “or do you just like me that much?”

You yawned, letting your head rest on his shoulder. He tensed up at first, but when he realized how nice it was to feel you against him, he relaxed. “You got me pegged, Ghost,” you said tiredly. He had to suppress a groan when he saw the way you looked up at him. Your eyes were large and slightly damp from the yawn, and he could see the smallest speckle of teardrops on your eyelids. Everything about you was just so damn intoxicating, and for what? It wasn’t like he could act on it like he wanted to. He couldn’t push your slightly damp hair out of your face like he wanted to, he couldn’t run his hands up your body and squeeze you in all the right spots like he wanted to, he couldn’t push you down against a table and fuck you until you cried out for him like he wanted to. He wanted to do so much to you and he just couldn’t.

“What are you thinking about?” you asked, your voice sweet and tired.

He stared at you, it’s not like he could tell the truth but it hurt him so bad to lie to your face. “Why do you ask?”

“Because you’re interesting,” you said simply.

“Am I?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, staring back at him, “are you gonna give me an answer?”

“Not tonight. You gonna sleep out here?” he asked, watching as you let out a yawn.

“Do you want me to?” you asked, picking your head up off his shoulder and staring up at him.

Ghost was silent for a moment, “I don’t have a problem with it,” he said finally. You gave him a sleepy smile which made his heart melt before resting your head against his shoulder again. “Aren’t you cold? You’re barely wearing anything and your hair is still wet, you’re gonna catch a cold.”

You groaned, burying your face into his shoulder, “Now you really sound like Price,” you mumbled, voice muffled by his jacket.

“And Price is right, again. You’re gonna get sick or catch hypothermia, go get a blanket,” he said, nudging you off of his shoulder gently. He didn’t want to have to push you away, especially since you looked so comfortable, but he was worried for your health. In this weather and in this line of work, catching a cold could have unforeseen effects, and god forbid you get hypothermia. Slowly, you pulled yourself off of Ghost, shooting him a pointed look as you turned back into the house. He turned back to the treeline, trying to remember the way your head leaned against his shoulder. He could still feel the shadow of your touch against him, the warmth and the weight of it. He wanted it back again, regretting sending you off.

It wasn’t long until you returned though, carrying a large wool blanket. “Happy now?” you asked, quirking your brow up at him as you returned to your spot beside him. “I stole it from the bedroom, figured nobody else would be using it.” You wrapped the blanket around your shoulders, pulling your knees in so you could cover them too. You let your head fall back on his shoulder again. “The stars are beautiful, aren’t they?” you asked, your eyes fixed on the sky.

He looked up, he hadn’t paid much attention to them, but you had a point. The sky was a dark sapphire blue, punctuated by a canyon of stars down the center. Even with the snow falling, the beauty of the stars shone through, their light bright and blinding. He let his eyes wander down to you for a moment, and he could see the night sky reflected in your glassy eyes. Your eyes flickered to his and you grinned, “Like what you see, L.T.?” you asked.

Ghost looked away, “Go to sleep,” he said, missing the way you scrunched your nose in annoyance at him.

Although he wasn’t looking directly at you, he could still see you in his periphery. He could feel you too. Feel the way you nuzzled into his shoulder, one of your arms snaking up to wrap around his like you were a koala clinging onto a branch. Feel the way your chest rose and fell against him as you breathed, small puffs of air condensing in front of you. He could feel the soft flutter of your eyelids on his arm as you buried your face into his shoulder, trying to shield your face from the cold. It wasn’t long before your breaths began to even out next to him, the puffs of condensed air arriving slower and more evenly.

He turned to look at you again, his eyes raking over your body. The blanket pulled tightly around you, your hair which fell slightly in front of your face, your lips which he swore were pulled in the smallest smile, the bridge of your nose, the ends of your eyelashes, that little scrunch in between your eyebrows. You were the most beautiful thing in that moment, stars be damned. He would’ve given anything to be able to snap a photo of you right now, but he couldn’t, so he resorted to tattooing the image of you into his brain. Not that it was hard, looking at you, admiring you, treasuring you, it was the easiest thing he would ever do.

Ghost shouldn’t have been paying so much attention to you, not here, not when you were so vulnerable and he was supposed to be keeping watch, to be protecting you. It wasn’t right. But wasn’t it? Couldn’t it be? It felt right, and he wanted it to be right. He needed it to be right. He had spent so much time focusing on everyone else; what was safe for everyone else, what was healthy for everyone else, what was right for everyone else. But now, just now, couldn’t he just focus on himself for once? Couldn’t he just be selfish for once, to savor and relish in this moment? You were here and you were safe, and he was here and he was safe, and wasn’t that all that mattered in this tiny moment devoid of reason or time or outsiders? This had to be right. This was right. You were right. You always were.

He looked back at the stars again, taking in a deep breath as he savored the smell of you. You smelled like gunmetal and cheap soap. You smelled like him. He let your fragrance continue to fill his nose as he stared up at the sky. He watched in awe as a streak of bright light arced across the vast canvas of dark blue sky: a shooting star. He thought back to what his mother used to tell him in the backyard of their old flat in Manchester. “Look Simon,” she would say, tracing the path of the star’s tail with her finger, “that’s a shooting star. You make a wish, and you don’t tell anyone, and then it comes true.” Back then, he used to wish for allowance, new toys, a pot roast for dinner, one time for his dad to go away. They never came true, and he knew it was because he always told his mom what he wished for.

This time though, this time would be different. He would keep it a secret until the day he died. Another weight for him to carry, but one that would be worth it if it came true. He wouldn’t tell anyone what he wished for that night, with your sleeping form against him, soft and warm and comforting. He wouldn’t tell anyone that he wished you would love him like he loved you.

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upon-a-starry-night · 11 months ago

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Number Neighbors Pt. 14

Natasha Romanoff x Fem! Reader

Natasha Masterlist Series Masterlist

Word Count: 1k

Summary: When you catch sight of the newest trend going around you know you’re all but bound to at least try it, it was harmless anyway. What could possibly stem from something so little?

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(This chapter takes place a little before last chapter of Nat’s pov)

The taste of the dessert was still simmering on your tongue as you walked home from your date. The thought that Nat had maybe seen you hadn’t left your brain since you got that note. The one you were still desperately clutching in your hand, rereading it over and over again and imagining Nat writing it. Her handwriting fits her personality so much. You wondered if she would be open to the idea of becoming pen pals.

The second you’d read the note you’d scrambled out of your seat to catch the waiter and ask if she was still there but he only shook his head and gave you a pitying smile.

“Can you at least tell me what she looked like?” You didn’t know if you were breaking some unspoken rule of whatever game you were playing with Nat but you had to know. More than anything you had to know.

The waiter picked up a few glasses and plates and put them on his tray before turning to you

“I couldn’t see much, she was wearing a hoodie and sunglasses. You’d think she was a celebrity or something. Is she… your stalker?”

Before he could get the wrong idea you quickly shook your head no at his accusation

“She’s… a friend?” you don’t know why it sounded so much like a question, both of you had agreed you were beyond strangers now but… what you felt towards Nat didn’t always feel like friendship. It felt like those moments when time stood still;

Like when you feel a cool breeze on the hottest day of the summer,

Or when you snuggle under warm blankets in the winter,

Or settling down somewhere with a cup of something warm and a good book.

She felt like all the little moments you loved about life combined into a person.

Your mother would probably call you naive for feeling so strongly about someone you’d never even met but she’d technically already approved of Nat anyway.

“Is there nothing you can remember about her?” you tried to keep up with the guy as he walked to pick up after another table

You felt a few expensive-looking people look your way but you didn’t pay them any mind.

The waiter huffed and stopped in his tracks, turning to you with the patience only a person who works in customer service could have.

“Look- a bit of her hair was sticking out from under her hoodie, it seemed- brownish? Maybe more of an auburn? I don’t really know I wasn’t paying attention. But if you really need to know so badly we have a tech guy coming up in a few weeks, I could have him send you the alley surveillance footage?” You could tell this guy was over you asking a million questions so you nodded your head enthusiastically. Glad to have at least that much. As you scribbled down your email you thought of your number neighbor with brownish-auburn hair. Somehow, you felt like you already knew her hair would be darker.

As you were rounding the corner onto your block your phone pinged with a notification and you were surprised to see Nat’s contact on your screen.

‘It’s about time’ you thought to yourself as you realized this was the first time Nat had texted you first, completely unprompted.

You swiped open the message with a satisfied smile on your face.

Nat🔪:

Enjoy your dinner?

Y/n🍦:

It was okay.

The dessert was the best part.

Nat🔪:

Oh yeah?

Y/n🍦:

Definitely.

Putting your phone away, you unlocked the door to your apartment, entered the flat, and locked the door again before making a B-line for your fridge. You snatched an old grocery list off and replaced it with the napkin. It settled nicely under your baguette-shaped magnet.

You started at the note for a few minutes, unsure how to go about addressing what had transpired.

If you even should address it.

What if it made her run again? You wouldn’t be able to handle her silence like last time. You’d grown too attached.

Shaking your head you decide to just go for it, rip the band-aid right off. If she disappeared again then it was her loss.

But if she was confident enough to text you first this time then maybe things would be different?

Nat🔪:

Y/n🍦:

You were there

The reply took a few seconds and you tried your best to channel your inner monk for some patience

Nat🔪:

I stopped by

Y/n🍦:

You were there.

Again the three little typing bubbles taunted you and you wanted to pull them out of your phone and throw them in a blender but you knew it just meant she was second-guessing every answer she could give you. You’d gotten used to her texting habits.

Nat🔪:

…

I was.

Y/n🍦:

Did you… see me?

Nat🔪:

No.

You don’t know why you breathe out a sigh of relief. Part of you thinks it’s because you want your first meeting to be mutual. To see each other for the first time at the same time. So you can know what she thinks of you by just the look in her eyes.

At least if she had seen you and she was lying you could know that she thought you were pretty enough to continue texting.

Nat🔪:

I never even stepped foot in the restaurant

That much you knew from the waiter, but it still felt good that she was telling you. Like she was validating your unspecified want of seeing each other for the first time together. It always felt like she just knew things about you without you ever telling her. Maybe she was a long-distance mind reader. If that were the case she should really get hired by The Avengers.

The thought makes you huff out a light laugh and reminds you of when the two of you first started talking. It felt like so long ago now. You’d come a long way since then.

Y/n🍦:

Thank you.

It was delicious

It made my night honestly

Nat🔪:

Anytime, Y/n.

I’m glad.

You didn’t know what Nat was doing on her side of the city but you wondered if maybe she was grinning at her screen like a fool the same way you were.

You changed the topic of your conversation with Nat as you began getting ready for bed and not once did it occur to you that you hadn’t thought of your actual date the entire night.

Pt 15

A/n: Y/n learns a little about what Nat looks like!!

I meant it when I said slow burn guys but don't worry this story won't be too long!!~ Starry

---Taglist--

@marvelwomen-simp @cd-4848 @wandanatlov3r @rebeltombraider @ctrlamira @fxckmiup @aliherreraaa @natsxwife @la-douler-ne-finite-jamais @romanoffsgal @moistblobfish @natashaswife4125 @elenimoris @how-to-disappearrr @screechcat @toouncreativeforausername @ordelixx @autorasexy @blacklightsposts

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flovvrish · 2 years ago

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WHEN YOU’RE DRUNK

PAIRINGS: alhaitham x reader, scaramouche x reader, cyno x reader

WARNINGS: drinking, slightly suggestive (cyno)

A/N : This’ll be my first time writing Cyno at all, but I hope I do him justice! Please enjoy!

ALHAITHAM :

Oh he’s definitely laughing at your miserable state.

Face hidden behind his hand and muffled laughter.

He’s been trying to find ways to make you slip up that perfect image you’ve made for yourself, and there you were, out and about in your drunken stupor, swaying from side to side with every step you took.

Such a pitiful sight.

Who knew it would have taken something so simple to make you so air-headed and giddy.

It was all fun and games for the first thirty minutes, watching you from afar as you made a complete fool of yourself.

He’d almost say you were charming.

Almost.

Until some no-good miscreant decided to start hitting on you.

How shameless they were, approaching you in such a manner despite obviously being drunk, hence incapable of making any comprehensible statements, let alone any valid decisions for yourself.

You spoke to them for some time, entertaining their foolish thoughts.

During this time, Alhaitham made his way through the crowd before physically making his way between you two, his eyes giving off a dangerous warning.

“They’re with me.”

He took your hand into his before dragging you someplace safe, effectively separating you from any other dangers that may pose a threat.

He wouldn’t leave your side until he was sure you were either sound asleep, or fully sober.

He’d leave before you realized any of this was real however. He’ll just let you believe that his aid in all this was a figment of your drunken imagination.

SCARAMOUCHE :

Your drinking buddy for sure.

In fact, he’s probably the one who invited you out drinking in the first place.

Despite his youthful appearance, you knew of his past, along with the burdens he’s carried since the beginning of his existence.

He’d spill all of his troubles onto you, while you helped yourself to a generous amount of alcohol. Nodding and slipping in a couple of loose comments from time to time.

By the time he was done talking you’d be half way to the point of no return.

You’d be a giggling mess, pointing out the smallest things that got you laughing even more.

Such as that loose strand of hair.

That one that ruined his otherwise well-kept appearance.

You’d lean forward, tucking it behind his ear where it belonged, an unusually soft expression making way onto your otherwise flushed features.

He’d feel lost in your eyes, the mere action stopping the entire world in its tracks.

If only it could stay like this for eternity.

Just the two of you.

EXTRA

Oh you’d definitely end up passed out over him afterward.

He’ll awkwardly adjust you against his side, an arm wrapped around your shoulder as he planned your route home.

Of course, he would be the one taking you back.

“You’re always so much trouble … “

CYNO :

People often mistaken him for your nanny, with the way he’d silently eye you from a considerable distance.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you. Oh no, he trusted you with the world …

It was everyone else he was weary of.

Being the General Mahamatra, Cyno has seen his fair share of parties gone terribly wrong.

Whether it be of an accidental case of alcohol poisoning, friends who’d gotten a tad too comfortable with each other, or a deliberate attempt at murder, he wasn’t willing to take his chances.

Not with you.

You were one of the few within Sumeru that he felt he had to protect. Your genuine kindness and willingness to help others was hard to come by in this day and age.

You truly were a diamond in the rough.

Once he decided you were no longer conscious of your actions, the male slowly made his way towards you, slipping that extra cup safely out of your grasp.

“That’s enough for tonight.”

You’d pout, a childish whine escaping your lips as you’d attempt to fight your way out of the strong arms wrapping themselves around you.

Soon, you would be hoisted over his shoulder like a potato sack.

As you would shamefully be dragged away by your acquaintance, you’d overhear the suggestive comments made by your drinking buddies.

Some of them would woot, giving you words of encouragement.

Though at the moment you were too dazed to understand exactly what they were hinting at, Cyno would focus his gaze forward, forever denying of the red hue creeping over his face.

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact imagines #alhaitham #scaramouche #cyno #alhaitham x reader #scaramouche x reader #cyno x reader #genshin fluff #am i doing this right??? lol

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jackson-imbecille · 4 months ago

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Dpcaw24 day 1: GIW experimentation

Danny Phantom/Gravity Falls

AO3 FFN

While looking for something to turn into a new attraction for the mystery shack, Stan Pines finds an injured kid in the woods.

(I wasn’t gonna write something for today, but inspiration struck last minute)

Fic under cut

Stan cursed to himself as a thorny vine caught against his pant leg. He shook his leg to try and detach it from himself, but just ended up falling over into the mud. At least his clothes were already dirty. He’d still have to wash them even if he hadn’t just gotten mud all over them. Stan picked himself up and continued to search for something to make a new attraction out of.

It wasn’t that business had been slowing down at the shack, far from it. Ever since that weirdma-whatsit last year, they’d had double the amount of tourists they usually got. But though he hated to say it, he’d also been slacking off almost as bad as the kids since then too. He’d only made two attractions in the past seven months, and neither had been anything super eye catching.

He was starting to feel a bit useless. With Soos managing the shack and doing most of the tours, and then Ford spending time with the kids on all those little adventures, where did that leave him? Stuck on the couch watching tv all day. It was great for the first month, but now he needed to make himself useful.

There had to be something interesting out here. Dipper and Mabel were always finding weird stuff out in these woods. It couldn’t be that hard to find something. But after two hours of searching, he was starting to lose confidence. Sure he’d found plenty of little things. An antler, a weird shaped rock, some sort of animal skull, he’d be able to put something together with that, but it just wouldn’t be what he wanted.

To be honest though, Stan didn’t even really know what it was that he wanted to find. But he did know that all this walking was making his joints ache. He sat down on a fallen tree to rest a while, propping his elbows against his legs and cursing the lack of anything to lean his back against while he rested.

A gnome popped out of the bushes and started to walk past, whistling a tune that Stan didn’t recognize in the slightest. Maybe people would pay to see a gnome? And without those robe wearing freaks, there wasn’t really any danger in showing them one.

“Hey you!” The gnome stopped in its tracks. His tracks? Yeah, probably, and stopped whistling to stare at Stan. Stan put on an award winning smile and brought himself lower to the ground to offer his hand to the thing. “How would you like to dance in a cage for money?”

The little thing’s eyes widened and it slowly walked backwards back into the bush.

Stan let out a sigh and moved back into a comfortable position. Or as comfortable as he could get out here. “Yeah, I guess I should’ve expected that.

This was hopeless. He should probably just glue an antler onto a rock and call it the hybrid offspring of a mountain and a moose. People would believe that. People would believe anything. He looked towards the sky. It was afternoon and he had been walking west for the most part, so all he needed to do now was walk away from the sun. At least there was that. He really didn’t want to be blinded today.

He didn’t notice it at first, but after a while of walking he realized that it had gotten real quiet. He could still hear the wind in the trees, and the sounds of birds far away, but the close by insect calls that he’d gotten so used to had completely vanished. He continued on, now more wary of his surroundings.

It could be anything that spooked them, but if it happened to be something weird or extradimensional or whatnot, he wanted no part of it. He kept his head high and powered through the feeling of wrongness licking at his skin. That was, until he tripped on something. He looked down to see a ditch dug into the ground, like something had crash landed, and when he followed it with his eyes he could see a tangled mess of limbs and dirty fabric at the end.

His curiosity and concern won and he rushed over to see what was going on, maybe even help if he could.

It was a kid. Maybe a year or so older than Dipper and Mabel. He was emaciated, his hair was caked with grime and overgrown, he was covered in scars, and he was wearing a white hospital gown and numbered wristband. How did he get here? The kid looked like he wouldn’t be able to walk two steps without dropping dead, and there wasn’t a hospital anywhere near here.

Stan grabbed his glasses from his face and brought them over to the kid’s mouth for a second before putting them back on. He wiped the fog off with his sleeve. Yep, still breathing. But if he didn’t get the kid some medical care, he wouldn’t be for long. He gently scooped the little guy into his arms, disturbed by how light he was, and started running back towards the shack. There was a hospital around ten miles from there, he’d be able to drive the kid there in 9 minutes once he got to the car, but he had to hurry.

He tried not to think about what must have happened to the kid for it to get this bad, tried not to think of who could have done this to him, or what would have happened if he hadn’t found him. He just kept running.

When he felt like he couldn’t last much longer, the shack finally came into view. He kept running towards the door, all he needed to do was get the keys, and he could take the kid to the hospital. Everything would be fine.

But when he pushed himself through the door, something felt wrong. It felt like he was moving through tar. The kid’s eyes opened wide, revealing a bright toxic green, and he screamed.

It was loud and grating, he almost felt like his ears would start bleeding, but he pushed through and suddenly it all stopped. He was inside the house and the kid was unconscious again.

The hospital was probably a bad idea.

#dpcaw24 #danny phantom #danny fenton #gravity falls #stan pines #fics #crossover

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miraculouslbcnreactions · 17 days ago

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I feel like this is a horrible thing to say, but when I'm shown examples of when Marinette is having a hard time, it's hard for me to feel bad for her.

It's not like I think she deserves it and I certainly don't draw any joy from it, but I just don't feel any sympathy for when she's struggling.

My theory is that the show has toted her so much as the all-important one-and-only, all while ignoring everyone else's important moments and struggles, that I'm struggling to feel sympathetic for when Marinette is going through some sort of misfortune. Every single one of her struggles are always highlighted in such a way that it's supposed to be this incredibly-important thing that makes Marinette look so sad, but then she's comforted and validated until eventually, this struggle eventually gets resolved and she's all happy again.

But then there's Adrien. No closure about his mom, his dad, Natalie—nothing. He's slapped with all the responsibility of comforting and validating Marinette, who eventually gets her personal conflicts resolved without lasting impact.

I'm not saying Marinette hasn't done anything to comfort and validate Adrien, but his conflicts just feel largely brushed aside and/or downplayed in comparison to Marinette's, which are highlighted and emphasized as significant events.

I don't know if this makes me a bad person or something, and I do kind of feel bad about it, but I just struggle to sympathize with her when the show tries to make us feel bad for her.

Marinette is a fictional character. It's totally fine if the bad writing has completely turned you off to her and drained you of sympathy because the entire purpose of her existence is to entertain people. She's not some meaningful representation that you should want to connect with and understand to improve your world view or something like that. She's just a poorly written teenager in a bad kids show. As long as you're able to acknowledge that fact and own that this is mainly a writing issue - and it sounds like you are - I wouldn't stress about it. The writers have done a lot to make her unlikable! I totally get why someone would not want to watch a show starring her canon self. I struggle at times and I genuinely like Marinette! Her writing is one of the many reasons I just don't know if I'm going to watch season six.

I don't defend Marinette because she's done nothing wrong. I defend her because her faults are so clearly just bad writing and not some grand plan for the character where she's going to learn something, which makes me feel protective of her because I genuinely love the base character concept and what she could have been. It's annoying to see people treating her like she's the problem and not the writing because she's literally not allowed to learn lessons and change, so of course she keeps coming across worse and worse! Her flaws are genuinely fine for a serialized story, they just have no place in an episodic one where the characters stay largely stagnant.

For example, nothing about the season five conflict and final naturally follows the BS season four conflict where she supposedly learned to trust Chat Noir. As much as I don't agree that with that synopsis of what the conflict was, it is how Ladybug sums it up in the final:

Ladybug: Why don't you just give up on me? I've lost ALL the Miraculous! I'm the worst Guardian EVER! I wanted to control everything, I didn't listen to you, I lied to you, I kept you at a distance! Every time you offered me a helping hand, I never took it! I really made a mess of EVERYTHING! Cat Noir: We're gonna get them back one by one…until the very last. And we'll make sure this never happens again.

And yet none of this seems to impact season five. Chat Noir and Ladybug maintain all their secrets and they do absolutely nothing to track down the missing miraculous because the plot won't let them even though it really doesn't fit Marinette's character. She certainly hasn't given up controlling things because, once again, the show literally will not let her do that. The rare episodes where it happens always see her punished like when Alya handing out miraculous lead to SentiNino which almost lead Gabriel to knowing Ladybug's secret identity. Adrien suffers for similar reasons. So does Alya and so many other characters! I totally get why someone would not be able to look past canon's writing since it's not like the flaws are minor. I have the same problem with both Lila and Nathalie.

I just cannot stand Nathalie even though I know that she's as much of a victim as Marinette and all the other characters. None of Nathalie's flaws are her fault because she doesn't exist. It's just that Nathalie's bad writing hits me in a way that makes me despise her while Marinette's hits in a "protect and defend" way. There's no wider logic here. It's just a matter of what characters I connected with enough to look past the bad writing. The type of fanfics I read probably also helped...

My only real piece of advice on this topic is to watch your mental health and take a Miraculous break or even leave the fandom all together if you notice that your Marinette hate (or hate of anything in canon) is really messing with you. I've mentioned before that I'm debating about watching season six and a big reason why is that I don't know if it's going to be good for my mental health. Lila's writing has consistently got on my nerves, but she was a minor enough character that I was still having a good time. Given that Lila is our new big bad with the added bonus of how shitty season five was and the show may have hit a point where it's just not fun for me anymore.

Previously, I had issues with the overall writing, but genuinely enjoyed watching the show as the writers are pretty good at short form story telling, so canon was a nice mix of genuinely enjoyable moments and writing issues that were fun to talk about. That was not true for season five and I just can't picture how it will be true for season six. The only reason I'm even considering it is because I watch the show with my SO and he has a lot of fun listening to me rant about bad media, so I may still have a good time with season six. It would not be the first time that I suffered through a piece of bad media for the sake of a loved one who really wanted someone to rant about it with.

I'm not the kind of person who will tell people they're not welcome in a fandom unless they like X. That sort of gate keeping is ugly and often straight up bullying, so don't read this as me saying that you have to like Marinette to enjoy the show or that you need to disengage if you don't like X% of canon. As long as you're having fun and not forcing your dislike on others by sending clearly unwelcome asks or engaging with sugar posts in an antagonistic way or anything like that, then I'm going to defend your right to be in fandom even if we personally aren't going to get along and need to stay in our separate fandom bubbles.* All I'm saying is that it's important to know when to disengage from a piece of media. To keep track of when something starts consistently bringing you more sorrow than joy. When that line is crossed? It's time to move on.

The sad fact is that, while you may utterly adore a piece of media, you have no control of what that media will do, so you need to be very careful about trusting your mental health to total strangers. It's part of why I tend to be so critical of media. Analysis and plot pitches like I do on this blog are genuinely fun for me, but they're also a much healthier way to engage with a story than just trusting it to be good and getting burned when it isn't. There's a reason I avoid theory crafting. I've gotten really into that in the past and wound up hurt because I put way too much faith in strangers who ended up sucking at their job.

*Btw, the line about separate fandom bubbles was not aimed at you. It's just a general statement about how fandom works. All are welcome, but all do not need to directly interact. Curating your fandom experience is important self care. Blocking someone isn't some sort of value judgement. It's just sometimes a thing you need to do in order to keep from seething when you accidentally see their asinine hot takes.

#blckwhtepersona #ml writing critical #ml writing salt #My best friend has “please read this bad book for me” privileges and uses them #But notably only for stuff she's read/is reading #She gets one a series from me because I love her that much #Her latest ask was an absolutly horrendous book called Fourth Wing and it sucked so much...#But I did have fun ranting about it with her! So it was a genuinely positive experience.#Not positive enough to get me to read the second book though #She hasn't even been able to finish it and it's been like a year now #I am much nicer to Nathalie and Lila in fic since I don't enjoy writing salt fic #But when taking about canon?#No mercy!!!

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simp-ly-writes · 20 days ago

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begging for some more trev fics when u have time !! 💙

Cookbooks & Love Letters

─────── · · A Mythical Kitchen Fanfic

Pairing: Trevor Evarts x Chef!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: You are a celebrity chef, rivaling gordon ramsay himself online and when you come to Good Mythical Morning to star in one of your favourite childhood youtubers videos, you find yourself falling in love as well out of all things!

─ · · TAGS: gender-neutral pronouns, light swearing, mutual pining, strangers to friends to lovers, mentions of anxiety, fluff.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 1,780

─ · · A/N: I fully support Trevors IRL relationships, this is fully fictional and meant for entertainment purposes! Thank you for the ask, kinda got carried a way with writing this hahaha!

─────── · ·

You were are a very famous culinary youtuber (on track to surpass Gordon Ramsay... not that you didn't like to brag about it or anything...) but you loved your job and the community you had built on youtube

There are many fan compilations and edits of you online detailing you forgetting just how popular were from becoming a three-times New York Times bestselling author for your various cookbooks to hosting your own private panels at creator clash

And you are embarrassed to admit how much you have fanboyed/girled in front of your favourite youtuber's you had grown up watching, such as Ian and Anthony alongside Rhett and Link... little did you know, they were all big fans of yours as well that lead you to meeting Trevor Evarts.

At first, you did not think he liked you very much as he refused to make eye-contact with you or hold a handshake for more than a second. In all honesty, you felt a bit subconscious that he knew more than you, having had a formal education while you worked yourself from the ground up. He also seemed so confident, more than you did when you first started working in front of the camera only a few years ago, he was so natural about it that you couldn't help but admire him, his smile, his humour, and then you realized you watched every video of him ever while doing some totally quick research for todays shoot at GMM... I hope he dosn't notice me stareing...

─────── · ·

Trevor was shitting himself internally, the whole office could see it as he practically skipped around the office at the announcement you were doing an interview with Rhett and Link on Good Mythical Morning. He had packed all three of your cookbooks and a sharpie, waiting for you to sign them. Especially your most recent one, he swore by it in almost every recent video and the fans caught onto this, shipping you ever since them... but you were too famous to know this... right?

Josh had to sit the younger man down and calm his nerves. "You both are incredibly sweet people, I'm sure even if you did say something completely off they would forgive you-"

"You sound so confident that I'll say the wrong thing, Josh."

"Well... I would be nervous too if I were in your shoes..."

"and why are you not nervous, they are like the biggest creator on the platform for food!?"

"Well... I don't exactly imagine myself going on a date with them outside of work." And Trevors cheeks were now painted a bright red and in that moment you decided to enter the kitchen space, eyeing up all the appliances and gadgets before introducing yourself and Trevor froze himself in time.

Your smile, the ways your eyes slightly crinkled at the ends and the feeling of how perfectly your hand fit into his own. Trevor struggled to introduce himself, feeling his hands begin to sweat and kicked himself from pulling away so quickly. That spark of a connection fading as for a split second you looked saddened before introducing yourself to Josh and the rest of the crew.

'I really like your cookbooks," Trevor blurted out, eyes going wide as he questioned why he said that only to find answers when your eyes met his once more, your cheeks started to warm, a chuckle escaping your lips as you shuffled your feet. "Um, thank you... I see you have them here-erm do you want me to sign them? Wait forget that, that was really rude of me to assume," you ramble, starting to pick at the skin by your finger tips as Trevor rushes to pick up the stack.

"Yes, I brought them here since I knew you were coming. I really like your one-pot pasta bake, really saved my ass during the first few weeks or working here at Mythical and I really just adore all your work and I really like you-" Trevor speaks at a mile a minute, the room seeming to fade around you both as staff begin to room, catching onto the moment you both were having.

"... I really like you too Trevor, you seem like a really great person. I'm happy I get to work with you. Maybe we could go out after we're done filming? I'd love to get to know you more with more time," you reply in an even tone as Trevors heart begins to slow, thankful that you didn't take his rushed words in a bad way.

"I would really like that," Trevor smiles, watching as you sign every book carefully yet take extra time on the last. Trevor starts to lean in, curious as to what you are writing only to find the book slammed in his face and placed at the bottom of the stack. Handing them back over you add softly, "Please read the last one later..."

"Okay," Trevor replies in an equally soft turn before a scream from Josh has you both remembering the jobs you needed to get done.

─────── · ·

🔔 cookingwith(name) just posted to instagram!

─────── · ·

Liked by trevorevarts, goodmythicalmorning, bffs_username and others

cookingwith(name) if you told me 10 years ago that i would be cooking for THEE Rhett, Link, and Good Mythical Morning Staff... I would not have believed you- I still don't believe it.

View all 7,342 comments

goodmythicalmorning we were so happy to have you (and your cooking) on the show, please come again! (we realize how much Josh's cooking now sucks)

↳ mythicalchefjosh hey! 💢 you were not saying that last night when I barbecued those handcrafted veggie burgers!

username09 king/queen of the kitchen, please teach me your ways!

username88 what I wouldn't give to taste some of your cooking, these people just don't now how good that have it!

bffs_username looked so cute in todays video! or well that person in the background did, you look fine I guess...

↳ cookingwith(name) i'm really out here getting slandered on main 😭

username17 anyone else notice how quiet Trevor was in this video? kinda adorable how chef (name) and Trevor kept looking at one another through the video. 💗

trevorevarts send me the recipe from todays video, please, i'm begging! 🙏

↳ cookingwith(name) and what would i get in return? 👀 ↳ trevorevarts uhhh... i'll pay for dinner tonight? ↳ cookingwith(name) you have yourself a deal, sir! 🤝 ↳ username01 AHHHH WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!??! WHY IS NOBODY TALKING ABOUT THIS AND OR FREAKIN' OUT>!>>!>?!?!?!

username22 I don't know about you, but i'm really feeling (name) ad Trevor together. Their slight anxiousness and constantly helping one another clean and grab materials was so sweet to watch 🥰

username30 I keep messing up your potato salad dish, help?

username41 I just adore your cooking dear, please follow me back.

gordon_ramsay come on my show next!

↳ cookingwith(name) last time you kicked me out, Gordon. ↳ gordon_ramsay then just don't get yourself kicked out this time, darling. ↳ cookingwith(name) 🙄 no wonder i'm becoming more popular than you ↳ gordon_ramsay don't start saying stuff like that now. I still have the highest subscriber count ↳ cookingwith(name) but not for much longer~ ↳ gordon_ramsay hmm sure. ↳ cookingwith(name) hmm. fine. ↳ gordon_ramsay fine.

username61 not (name) out here beefing with THEE Gordon Ramsay LMAO 💀

─────── · ·

🔔 trevorevarts just posted, check it out!

─────── · ·

Liked by cookingwith(name), goodmythicalmorning, mythicalchefjosh and others

trevorevarts dinner w/ @.cookingwith(name) :)

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cookingwith(name) this was super fun, we should do this again sometime when we both get the chance to next :)

↳ trevorevarts yes, definably, totally, one-hundred precent. ↳ cookingwith(name) okay, cool! ↳ trevorevarts awesome hahaha ↳ mythicalchefjosh you both are too awkward for your one good.

username27 never would have seen this coming on my 2024 bingo card, but im not not here for it.

username01 you two are so cute! I don't know if I rather eat you or your food. maybe both...

spennser woah dude, those flowers for me? I hope you know I'm allergic though.

↳ trevorevarts gosh darn! thought i really nailed them.

username60 this post made me smile.

goodmythicalmorning does this mean we get more good food? because then we are all for this.

username40 calling it now, they are getting married!

─────── · ·

After your date, Trevor could not keep the smile off his face as he walked back into his apartment and took off his jacket and shoes before remembering the stack of cookbooks on the kitchen counter.

Fingers trailing over your signature and short sweet notes, complementing his cookings and to his surprise, writing down a joke of his you linked and nevertheless remembered had his heart fluttering yet again. But even as he was taking his time to observe every curve to every letter of your handwriting, he was anxious to read the last message.

"Trevor, by the time you read this after what I considered to be our first date (and I hope you do too lol). I just want to you know that I'm really excited about this and where it will go. And that I haven't felt this way about anything or anyone in a really long time. I hope you feel the same way, - (name)"

─────── · ·

A few years later...

🔔 cookingwith(name) just posted to instagram!

─────── · ·

Liked by trevorevarts, goodmythicalmorning, bffs_username and others

cookingwith(name) 10/10/30.

comments have been limted

cookingwith(name) longer message: thank you for being my support, the love of my life, the greatest chef and the even greater friend. I could not have imagined life before or without you and I am so glad that we now share this inseparable bond that I will cherish until the end of time. I love you. ❤️

↳ trevorevarts I could not imagine another person I would rather marry and spend my life with than you and your incredible ability to make me forget how to speak for my love for you is inexplainable even if I used every word ever known to humankind. I love you. ❤️

mythicalchefjosh now where do I get one of these magical cookbooks??

goodmythicalmorning so happy for the two of you, everyone here at GMM wishing you both a lifetime of happiness together! (and then some!)

BFFs_username OMG WHAT THE HELL??? My bestie just got married today everyone! and to the only person as kind as them ❤️

gordon_ramsay a beautiful ceremony for an even more beautiful couple. you two have something many only think to be in movies yet make that a reality, wishing you both nothing but success ❤️

─────── · ·

─ · · A/N: love some fluff every now and then!

─ · · TAGLIST: @lisiliely @missflufffanfics

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