#they freeze as the seconds tick down to midnight

[almightyshadowchan]

Happy New Year!

(If this were a fanfiction, this would be about the time Sasuke goes Oh.)

[rafeandonlyrafe]

kiss of death

words: 2.9k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, alternative universe, soulmates, grim reaper!rafe, talk of death, superstitions, reader kind of dies (its explained in the fic)

you swallow deeply as you step into the graveyard. the darkness is creeping into every corner, but you know it's not midnight, not yet.

you feel a pang of guilt as you walk through the rows of graves, briefly glancing at the names to distract your focus from the anxiety filling your chest.

it's an old superstition, but you're beyond desperate.

you stop at the hole in the ground and the temporary headstone, ready for burial tomorrow.

“sorry mr. crawford.” you whisper. you barely knew him, the town psychologist currently kept in the morgue. you could probably use him right now as you move carefully to your knees.

you recite the words from the local town lure, the promise of your true love showing up to kiss you awake at sunrise if you laid in the grave at exactly midnight.

all your other friends have found love, love that is so pure and beautiful it makes your chest ache with jealousy and wanting.

you look at your watch and let out a sigh. five minutes of looking into the grave until the hands of the clock point straight up, five minutes to change and regret your decision.

the minutes tick by but your resolve only grows. you're beyond desperate and the worst thing that could come of it is you spend the night sleeping in a hole under the stars.

you climb down the second the minute hand crawls to the 12 and lay back in the grave, blinking upwards towards the starless night sky, the bright sunlight reflecting off the moon blocking out any other suns.

you close your eyes, trying to ignore the fact that you're exposed to worms and bugs and whatever else happens to be lurking in the graveyard at night. certainly nothing you want to come across.

soulmate. your soulmate. your one true love is worth one night in a grave as you fall into a deep slumber.

--

you can feel the light against your eyelids, but before you can open them, it's blocked out by a shadow.

you gasp as lips are pressed against yours, cold but soft lips. you want to open your eyes but they feel so heavy as you kiss back, hands reaching upwards but you feel nothing, just pressing into the freezing cold air despite it being the middle of summer.

you finally force your eyelids open and you realize who you have been kissing as he pulls away, more of a black figure then a true human form.

“no.” your voice quivers. “no!” 

“did you not want your one true love to wake you with a kiss?” he smirks down at you, hovering directly over your body.

“my-my true love is not death.” you thought it was just another superstition, the grim reaper, the one to facilitate your crossing to the other side, but when looking up you know that the mans face that looks back down upon you is nothing but pure and utter death.

“then tell me why i was called to this spot only to find you laying here.” his voice is smooth but deep in tone, not what you expected from the grim reaper as you almost find comfort in his soft words.

“this can't be right.” you look around you, realizing that all light from the rising sun has disappeared, along with the walls of dirt around you, replaced with darkness so thick it's like you could reach out and touch it. “am i?”

you can't make the word out fully. “kind of.” the reaper shrugs. 

reality shifts and despite you not changing positions, you can tell in the inky blackness that you're now on your feet.

“come with me.” the grim reapers legs push out from the black mass, appearing and disappearing as he begins to walk, somehow able to find his way, walking with the purpose of a destination that is unseen to you.

“what if i don't want to?” you question, even though your heart is pulling you towards him, telling you to follow and stay close.

“i will give you this option only once.” the reaper turns to you. “you can turn around and walk away, or you may follow me and be with your one true love and rule the underworld as my queen.”

you know your back should be towards the reaper as you begin to walk, but you can't go back to your earthly reality after discovering the grim reaper is just waiting for you to die, for you to take your place.

as you walk alongside the grim reaper, you begin to make out shapes moving through the darkness.

the first one scared you so bad as you whipped your head to the side, trying to make out what appeared to be someone walking the opposite direction.

“what is this place?” you ask, voice quiet, feeling as though you don't want to interrupt the figures pushing through the dark.

“the place between life and death. the farther we walk, the closer we are to death and my-our kingdom.”

“and the people walking the other way?” you turn to look over your shoulder as your feet continue forward.

“some have been revived. by doctors or desperate loved ones. but most made a choice. most got to the final step and realized it wasn't there time.”

“and is it my time?”

“you will not truly be dead.” he states, and you find yourself swaying to walk closer to him, his cold presence comforting as the only thing around you can truly make out. “i will keep you in the state that you are now for as long as you please. you will be in limbo, in status. your earthly body will still be yours.”

“so no one will know what happened to me?” you can tell that your body isn't left in the grave, that you're whole and complete right here, soul included.

“no.” he sounds almost regretful as the blackness ahead of you turns into a swirl of dark grey, making out the rolling hills as you get closer.

“your final choice.” the reaper says, and you don't mention that he already gave you what he claimed to be your final choice before you began walking.

it hits you then. the reaper is in just as new of a position as you are in, and your nerves don't outweigh him.

“what is your choice?” you parrot the question back. “do you want me… to rule with you?”

“i have waited an eternity for you. so long that the memory of how i came to be the reaper is no longer available to me.” the grim reaper pauses for a moment before continuing. “yes. i want you alongside me always.”

you nod and then take a step past what you can tell is the final film, the one separating you from whatever rolling hills of gray grass await.

a weight you didn't realize you were carrying leaves you as the grim reaper steps out next to you, the black mass of his body gone as he appears as a fully realized man, legs and all.

you don't mean to, but you reach out and touch him, seeing if your arms would move through him as they did before during your kiss, but your fingers just press against the soft fabric of his black long sleeved shirt.

“welcome to the underworld.” he says, taking your hand in his and pulling you to continue walking.

you can make out a castle in the distance, and the closer you walk towards it, the warmer the hand in yours gets and the less gray seems to be blotting out the world as the grass turns green beneath your feet.

you gasp the first time you see one, stepping closer to the reaper.

“they won't hurt you.” he clarifies quickly as the large wolf runs past you in the distance, several hills away.

“you control them?” you question.

“yes.” he nods. “and all the wolves on earth as well. they are part of my domain.”

“i thought it was going to be a three headed dog.” you whisper slightly sheepishly as you realize your hand has been intertwined with the grim reaper the entire walk, feeling so natural that you don't question the fingers snug between yours.

“everyone got something partially right.” he says. “the egyptians, the greeks, the christians. they all had pieces.”

“oh.” you don't care to question more, not yet. you're already overloaded with all the information.

you pause as you get to the door of the castle. it's not dead quite like you expected, you can hear voices chattering inside and when you look up you can occasionally see people passing by windows.

“people do what suits them best after death. what would make them most happy. for most, that's reincarnation. for some, that's helping others cross or serving me in other ways. everyone inside this home is dead.”

you like that he calls it a home and a slight smile stretches across your cheeks.

“do not ask them how they died or their life on earth. if they wish to reveal it to you, it will be on their own time.”

“okay.” you nod, looking to the grim reaper, your soulmate. “what should i call you?”

you certainly can't continue to call him the grim reaper, it would just be an upsetting reminder.

“rafe.” he smiles down at you, not the terrifying soulless being you thought he would be. “you may call me rafe.”

--

the tour of the expansive home is long, but you find yourself only half listening as you look at rafe.

his appearance is so different from when you saw him first, he looks less harsh, kinder, more alive.

“are you tired?” he asks as he pushes the doors open to what you assume is the master bedroom. “i know you just awoke but if you need to rest-”

“how does time work here?”

“there's night and day just as there is on earth. it's still morning.” he places a gentle hand on your back, pushing gently to get you to enter the room.

“this is our chamber.” he explains. “you may rest, or bathe, or eat.”

“i…” you look down at your clothes, dirt still covering your pants. “id like to change.”

a maid ushers in, and you try to see if you can get any visual clue that she's passed, but theres nothing as she opens up a cabinet and begins to grab out various jewel toned options.

“i must attend to some business.” rafe says. “ill be back soon.”

you get changed and dismiss the maid, wondering what kind of person chooses to serve like this for all of eternity and actually enjoy it, but you're too distracted with exploring your surroundings to think too hard about it.

you find a sitting room with walls covered in bookshelves, the grand bathroom, and a door that leads to a balcony.

you step out and look over the rolling hills, seeing as they turn to gray the farther away it is from the castle, seemingly encircled completely by the void.

you occasionally see a wolf running, or a figure floating, but you can tell none of them are your reaper. that must be the other helpers he was talking about. despite not being able to see their faces, you know it's not him.

you take a seat on the lush couch on the balcony. they must not have true weather here or it would certainly be ruined by the rain.

before you notice it, now dressed in clean clothes similar to rafes, your eyes are closing and you're falling into a deep sleep.

--

you yawn as you wake up, stretching as you realize you'd been moved to the bed at some point.

you sit up suddenly only to come face to face with rafe who is sitting in an armchair moved from the sitting room to the foot of the bed.

“did you move me?”

“yes.” he nods as you blink, looking outside, unable to tell how long you've been asleep. like he's reading your mind, rafe speaks. “it's the next morning. you were exhausted from the journey.”

“did you sleep in the bed with me?”

“i do not need sleep.” rafe answers, jolting you slightly before you remember who you are here with.

“then why have this bed?”

rafe gives you a pointed look as you replay his words in your head. of course it's for you. he's been waiting.

“come.” rafe stands, imposing his tall height again.

you slide out of bed, only then realizing that your clothes have been changed.

“a maid changed you.” he says quickly. “i will escort you to breakfast and as you eat i will finish my work for the day. then we can…”

he trails off like he doesn't know what the options are. “get to know each other.” you offer. “since you're my one true love i suppose we should… go on a date?”

a smile stretches across the reapers face. “yes. a date.”

--

“what is it you'd like to know?” rafe asks as you're sat in the front of the boat, moving slowly down a river that winds through the hills.

it scared you at first, but rafe certainly wouldn't be taking you anywhere where you couldn't come back.

“uh…” there's a million questions you have about life and death, about heaven and hell, but that's not what you truly want to know. “what's your favorite color? do you have to eat? can you sleep even if you don't have to?”

“well…” rafe chuckles. “i love deep blue. i don't have to eat but i can, same with sleeping. and your favorite color?”

“also blue.” you swallow deeply, eyes turning upward as the invisible force keeps the boat moving steadily in the water. “but sky blue. like on a warm summer day.” 

you're about to wonder if you'll ever truly see the sky again when you can make out a cloud in the distance.

“i-”

“for you.” rafe says as the color of the sky shifts, matching the exact shade you were thinking of. “everything here can be changed for you.”

the conversation flows naturally, you suppose it should between soulmates. every time rafe smiles, you get butterflies in your stomach, and by the time you're back where the river meets the castle, you have a question brewing on the tip of your tongue.

“can we… can we kiss again?” you need to know what it feels like, if it's the same cold lips despite his hands now feeling warm.

the smile comes back to rafes face, and then it gets closer and closer until he's kissing you, deeply.

you almost instinctively wrap your arms around his shoulders, able to fully touch him now as he kisses you, warm lips gliding against each other's.

you pull yourself closer until you can't get any nearer without climbing onto his lap, which you do next as you cling to him.

you thought your friends talking about the instant connection with their one true love was ridiculous, but you know what is between you and rafe is complete and real and right.

there's a woosh of air and when you pull away, you're still straddling rafe, but now in your bedroom.

“please.” he said softly, and the word comes out a little strange, like he's not used to saying it. “i need you.”

your fingers grasp the bottom of your shirt before you lift and pull it off your body, revealing the bra somehow already in your size that the maid got out after breakfast.

rafes hands stop yours when you go to unclasp it. “let me.” he says.

his hands are large and warm as they undo your bra and push the straps off your shoulders so it falls between the two of you.

“can i-”

“yes.” you answer quickly. “do anything you want to me.”

you take rafes cheeks in your hands as you look in his deep blue eyes. “do everything.”

your reaper transports you again, this time only feet as you're laid on your back, head rested against the pillows as he hovers over top of you.

your clothes as well as rafes are completely gone, and you're both silent, breathing heavily as you admire each other's bodies. if someone would have asked you what your perfect mate looks like, you'd absolutely describe rafe in this state.

“i will spend eternity pleasuring you, but you'll have to forgive me for not being able to wait a moment longer.” 

rafes cock lines up with your entrance, and then he's pushing inside, his eyes shutting as he lets out a moan that makes you surge forward to kiss his lips and swallow the sound as his hips glide all the way in, fitting exactly inside of you like he's been your missing part all along.

“you're so- warm.” rafe manages to choke out. “ive never felt warmth like this.”

it makes you sad to think rafe spent so long as the cold and lonely reaper. you pull him into you, pressing your chests together as his hips begin to move, your moans growing and becoming in sync, creating a beautiful chorus even to your own ears.

you don't know what your future will hold. there will no doubt be ups and downs, hard times and great times, but you will face it all together with your reaper, your rafe.

[twistiraki]

Happy New Year kisses from the Twisted Wonderland Boys

🌹Riddle Rosehearts  

The clock struck midnight, and Riddle, a bit flustered, extended a hand. "Would you care to join me for a New Year's celebration, following all the proper protocols, of course?"

You took his hand with a smile, and he led you to a spot where a perfectly arranged display of lights glittered. "I've planned this carefully," he confessed. "For a Happy New Year under the stars."

As the seconds counted down, he looked into your eyes, blushing faintly. "May I?" Riddle asked, seeking permission for a kiss. When you nodded, he closed the gap, his lips soft and warm against yours. 

❤️Ace Trappola

As the clock struck twelve, Ace pulled you into a dance with a sly grin. "Why settle for an ordinary New Year's when we can make it extraordinary?" he teased.

In the midst of the lively music, Ace twirled you expertly, creating an atmosphere of playful enchantment. "Hold on, I've got a trick up my sleeve," he chuckled, pulling a coin seemingly out of nowhere and flashing it with a cheeky wink. "Happy New Year, my cherry!"

With a final flourish, he dipped you low, and as the world seemed to freeze, Ace leaned in for a kiss that was as daring and mischievous as the spark in his eyes.

♠️Deuce Spade

Deuce, sporting a faint blush, took your hand and led you away from the bustling crowd. "I, um, thought maybe we could enjoy a quiet moment to welcome the New Year," he stammered.

In a cozy nook, he nervously fiddled with his shirt. "I wanted to express my gratitude for everything," Deuce admitted, his sincerity shining through. "You mean a lot to me."

As the clock ticked down, he mustered the courage to press a soft, heartfelt kiss to your lips. "Happy New Year, Y/N," he whispered. He hesitated for a bit “Can, uhm, can I kiss you again?”. 

♣️Trey Clover

Trey found a secluded spot, away from the noise of the festivities. "I've been thinking about this moment all year," he admitted, a shy smile playing on his lips.

He reached for your hand, his touch sending a warm shiver through you. "Thanks for being by my side," Trey said, his gaze softening.

With the first notes of the New Year's song, he pulled you into a slow dance, his lips brushing against your ear. "Here's to more moments like these," Trey whispered before capturing your lips in a lingering kiss.

♦️Cater Diamond

Cater, brimming with energy, handed you a brightly wrapped box. "Open it when the clock strikes twelve, okay?" he chirped, excitement evident in his voice.

As the countdown began, you unwrapped the box to find party poppers. "Surprise incoming!" Cater declared, popping one, creating a burst of confetti around you both.

"Happy New Year, Y/N!" he exclaimed, pulling you into a peppy dance. In the midst of the celebration, Cater whipped out his phone and snapped a selfie of your kiss, capturing the joy of the moment. "Gotta capture the best moments, right?" he grinned, posting the selfie with the caption: "Starting the year right with the best kiss ever! Hashtag #NewYearMagic"

🦁Leona Kingscholar

Leona, with his laid-back demeanor, found a quiet spot away from the hustle. "Another year, huh? You're persistent," he teased, a hint of a smirk on his face.

You chuckled, and he pulled you into a comfortable embrace. "Not a bad way to end the year," Leona remarked. As the clock struck midnight, he pressed a lazy but affectionate kiss on your lips. "Happy New Year. Don't expect me to get all sentimental, though."

🍩Ruggie Bucchi

Amidst the vibrant explosions of fireworks, Ruggie found a quiet spot with you. He smirked, leaning against a fence, watching the colors light up the night sky. "Not bad, huh? Bet you've never seen anything like this back in your world."

You chuckled, appreciating the cheeky grin on Ruggie's face. As the sky burst into another display of lights, he turned to you, his eyes softening. "Happy New Year, Y/N" he said, surprising you with a gentle kiss. "Let’s do this again next year, whataya say?"

🐺Jack Howl

Jack, standing awkwardly at a distance from the fireworks, couldn't hide his unease. He scratched the back of his head, avoiding eye contact. "Fireworks, huh? Not my thing, but if you like 'em..."

You nudged him gently, and he managed a small smile. As the explosions lit up the sky, his ears perked up, and you noticed his tail wagging slowly. "I guess... Happy New Year," he mumbled, almost shyly, stealing a quick glance at you before daring to plant a sweet, hesitant kiss on your cheek.

🐙Azul Ashengrotto

Azul, surrounded by the grandeur of the Mostro lounge festivities, tried to maintain his usual confident façade. "Quite the display, wouldn't you say?" he remarked, nervously adjusting his tie.

As the clock struck midnight, Azul handed you a glass of sparkling juice with a shy smile. "To... um, good times and prosperity," he stammered, his eyes softening. When the last firework lit up the sky, he leaned in, hesitating before placing a delicate kiss on your cheek. "Happy New Year, my pearl. May our paths continue to intertwine."

🍄Jade Leech

Jade, with his cunning charm, led you to a secluded area. He observed the fireworks with a calculating look. "Aren't the explosions fascinating? It's almost poetic, the way they mirror the unpredictability of life."

As a particularly loud bang echoed, you flinched, and Jade's expression softened instantly. Without a word, he cupped your face gently, kissing away the surprise. "Happy New Year, my dear," he whispered, his eyes revealing the genuine affection beneath his enigmatic exterior.

👟Floyd Leech

Floyd, with his wild enthusiasm, couldn't contain his excitement as he watched the fireworks next to you. "This is amazing! Humans sure know how to party!" he exclaimed.

He grabbed your hand, pulling you closer. "Happy New Year, Shrimpy! Let's celebrate under the sea next time!" Floyd chuckled, his eyes gleaming with a wild excitement that only he could muster. As the fireworks reflected in his eyes, you couldn't help but be swept away by the infectious joy of the unhinged yet lovable merman.

🦦Kalim Al-Asim

With boundless energy, Kalim seized your hand, his eyes sparkling with sincerity. "Hey, friend! This is gonna be the best New Year ever, you'll see!" Leading you into the heart of the celebration, he grinned, "I've got a good feeling about this year, and I'm so grateful to have you with me!"

As the countdown began, Kalim's excitement reached its peak. "Make a wish with me!" he exclaimed, his eyes filled with hope. The moment the clock struck midnight, Kalim's warm smile turned tender. "Here's to you, to us," he said, pulling you into a heartfelt and genuine kiss, the kind that made you feel like the luckiest person in the world.

🐍Jamil Viper

Jamil, normally composed, took you aside into the quieter shadows. "The stars are quite beautiful tonight, don't you think?" he remarked, his eyes fixed on the night sky.

His usually stoic expression softened as he admitted, "This year has been...unexpected. I'm glad I had you by my side." The sincerity in his eyes spoke volumes.

When the clock signaled the arrival of the New Year, Jamil leaned in, his lips brushing yours gently. "Here's to more surprises and shared moments," he whispered, a rare smile gracing his face.

🪞Vil Schoenheit

Vil extended his arm with a flourish, his eyes locked onto yours with an unmistakable intensity. "Shall we embrace the beginning of the New Year together?" His voice, silky and confident, hinted at the depth of his admiration.

In a dimly lit corner, Vil's violet eyes bore into yours. "This year has been a canvas of challenges, but your presence has painted it with brilliance," he confessed, a seductive smile gracing his lips.

As the clock ticked down, Vil's fingers delicately traced the contours of your face, his touch leaving a trail of anticipation. He pulled you closer, his lips meeting yours in a sultry and lingering kiss. "To conquering obstacles together," he murmured, his voice a velvet whisper.

🏹Rook Hunt

Rook swept you into a lively dance under the twinkling lights. "Y/N, my heart's greatest treasure, let's waltz through the New Year with joy in our steps!"

In the midst of the celebration, Rook twirled you around, his eyes ablaze with affection. "Each year with you is a masterpiece, and I'm the luckiest artist to have you as my muse."

As the clock struck midnight, Rook recited a poem, his words painting a vivid picture of love and admiration. "To the one who turns life's mundane into magic, Happy New Year, mon Amour!" he declared before sealing the sentiment with a theatrically romantic kiss.

🍎Epel Felmier

Epel grinned with a touch of shyness as he handed you a wildflower bouquet. "I reckon these flowers ain't as pretty as you, but they're tryin' their best."

In a rustic corner, Epel taking you by the hand, a bashful expression on his face. "This year was full of twists, but it made sense with you around. You're my city lights in the quiet night."

As the countdown began, Epel stood a bit taller, puffing out his chest in an attempt to be manly. "Happy New Year, sugarcube," he drawled with a twinkle in his eye, before surprising you with a gentle, sincere kiss that spoke volumes of his affection. 

💀Idia Shroud

In the dim glow of the computer screen, Idia and you were engrossed in a virtual world. "This is the best way to spend New Year's," Idia remarked, his eyes focused on the game. You both laughed and chatted as the clock approached midnight.

Suddenly, Idia paused the game, looking a bit flustered. "I, uh, thought maybe we could take a break from gaming for a moment." He hesitated before leaning in, awkwardly pressing his lips to yours. The digital avatars mirrored the real-life sweetness of the gesture. "Happy New Year, Y/N. Thanks for being a part of my world, both online and offline."

���Ortho Shroud

Ortho, with his usual excitement, handed you a small handmade gadget. "I thought this could be a New Year's memory storage device! We can store all our happy moments in it!"

As the clock ticked down, Ortho held your hand, his robotic fingers gently intertwined with yours. "Ready for the first memory?" he grinned. A burst of confetti erupted from the gadget, and he giggled, "Happy New Year, Y/N! Let's make countless memories together!"

🐉Malleus Draconia

Malleus observed the festivities with curiosity, his bright green eyes fixed on the couples sharing New Year's kisses. Intrigued by the tradition, he approached you with a soft smile.

"May I join in this tradition, Y/N?" he asked, his demeanor gentle. When you nodded, he cupped your face in his soft hand, his lips meeting yours in a tender kiss. The touch of his lips conveyed a depth of emotion, and as he pulled away, he admitted, "I find myself quite smitten by this human tradition. Happy New Year, child of man."

🦇Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia, looking elegant as ever, smiled at you. "Ah, another New Year, my dear. It's not often that I partake in these festivities, but tonight is special because I'm spending it with you."

As the clock neared midnight, he raised a glass in a toast. "To many more shared moments, my dear," he said, his eyes sparkling. Lilia leaned in for a kiss, making the night feel even more magical. "Happy New Year, and may our time together be everlasting."

💤Silver

The soft glow of the moon bathed Silver in a gentle light as he slept peacefully. As the clock struck midnight, you leaned down and placed a delicate kiss on his forehead.

Silver's eyes fluttered open, and he blinked in surprise. "Did I miss the countdown?" he mumbled. You shook your head with a smile. He blushed, a genuine sweetness in his voice. "Happy New Year, Y/N. Thank you for being by my side."

⚡Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek, with his boisterous energy, was louder than the fireworks. "Y/N, I'll protect you from anything that comes your way this year!" he declared, standing proudly.

You chuckled at his enthusiasm and, feeling mischievous, leaned in for a quick kiss. Sebek blushed furiously, momentarily flustered. "Human, not in public!" he scolded, but his eyes betrayed a hint of bashful affection. "But, well, Happy New Year, Y/N. Let's make it a great one together."

🔔Rollo Flamme

Rollo, being at the Noble Bell College, found himself longing for your company. He hesitated for a moment before finally deciding to call you.

"Hey, it's me," Rollo mumbled, trying to sound nonchalant. "I just wanted to say... Happy New Year, okay? Don't think too much about it!" There was a brief silence before he added, "I'll make sure to spend the next New Year with you, got it?"

As the call ended, you couldn't help but smile at Rollo's charm and the genuine affection in his words.

[winterchimez]

Bad Blood | Lee Hyunjae

SUMMARY: you and Hyunjae were the best duo the FBI has ever had, well at least, you used to be. so when you finally meet the man you once loved face-to-face after everything that has happened, you're now left with the question if he is worth putting your faith and trust towards him again.

PAIRING: agent!Hyunjae x f!reader

GENRE: angst, crime

WARNINGS: nc-17, mentions of weaponry (guns, bombs), mentions of blood, violence, action scenes, betrayal (but not really ish; you'll find out as you read it), the tension in this is whew 😮‍💨, minor character deaths, kissing, petnames (sweetheart, princess), cursing

WORD COUNT: 2k

A/N: and so winterchimez makes her writing comeback 🫡 happiest birthday to my sweetest @hcuyk i look up to you a lot and im so so glad that we became close & i hope this is worthy for you my vae vae 🥹 and a big shoutout to @kyaroscuro for hyping me up and beta reading it through i cherish you loads too 💗🫶🏻

You absolutely detested the situation that you were placed in.

It was past midnight when you received an alert about the criminal that you and your team had been tracking down for the past few months and decided to resurface into the light. All agents on duty were given clear instructions to hunt the man down, even if it meant that any of you had to open fire. 

But it seemed as if your agents had underestimated what he was capable of, and there was a good reason why he was placed on the FBI’s top most-wanted list—he was a mastermind at setting up traps, specifically in hiding bombs throughout the city. 

Unfortunately for you and your team, half of your men had already been wiped out and poorly injured only ten minutes into the chase. However, as one of the elite members of the force, you refused to stop and kept moving forward—chasing the criminal up to the docks.

Loading your gun while you were running to aim and shoot at the criminal was a challenge since you also had to avoid harming any of the pedestrians.

Multiple times, the criminal himself has either taken some innocent people hostage or inflicted minor injuries upon them, which only ticked you off even further. You were mentally cursing and wanting just to land a bullet on the guy anytime now. 

It was finally when the criminal himself had moved to a dead-end, and he was taking a few steps back one at a time before he realised that he would fall straight down into the violent waves that would wash one away into the deep ocean. 

Aiming your gun right towards his forehead, you finally took in a deep breath before announcing out loud the consequences of his actions if he were to try anything funny further. 

“It’s over. Quietly turn yourself in, and your life will be spared.” 

Instead of raising his arms, the criminal responded by lowering his head before chuckling—his laughter getting louder and more sinister by the second.

“What’s so funny?” You retorted.

“I’m sorry, princess. It’s time.” 

Right there and then, he pulls out a remote and quickly taps on the red glowing button. An explosive goes off under the bridge, causing the waves to rise rapidly. The last thing you see with your eyes is the waves crashing down upon you.

It was too late for you to run as the waters dragged you down into the ocean, and the current quickly shifted you far away towards the sea. As much as you tried to paddle and stay above the waters, you were buried rapidly by the waves, and little did you know you were deep down in the dark, freezing waters. 

That was it. You failed the mission, and god knows what will happen to you. 

With the last few seconds you had before you knew that you were going to pass out, you could only pray that you would end up somewhere and that your fellow FBI agents would find you and take you back to the headquarters within the next 24 hours. 

But it seemed that help arrived much quicker than expected. 

As you felt half-unconscious, your body was quickly lifted from the waters, and you were back at the docks again. Whoever was carrying you was quick yet gentle, carrying you bridal style before heading towards a dimly lit area between the cargo boxes and placing you down to catch your breath. 

Your saviour wasted no time and quickly performed CPR on you, causing you to spit out a large amount of water that had gotten into your passageways and helped you to steady your breathing again so that you were able to at least talk. 

The moment you tried to focus your vision to get a glimpse of which of the FBI agents came to your rescue, your eyes immediately widened, and you quickly took out your other spare gun that you kept safe and intact behind your bulletproof vest and rested it on his temple. 

You weren’t expecting to see him again. 

“Sweetheart, can’t we just exchange a few words before you decide to pull a gun on me? I even saved your life, you know,” Hyunjae sighed as he slowly lifted your pants to reveal an injury you had neglected while you were on the chase for the criminal. 

“As I’ve said, the next time we meet, I will not hesitate to pull the trigger and kill you off, traitor,” you deadpanned.

That’s right, Hyunjae was a traitor—an ex-FBI agent and your former partner-in-crime.

Both of you were inseparable for years. You trained and deployed on countless missions, and for five years, you were grouped as a duo. Hyunjae was the best marksman, and you were his right-hand-woman.

Together, no criminal out there was a match for you two, no matter how dangerous or well-equipped they were. In reality, whoever dared to provoke you two would not have a great outcome the moment that they were captured and brought back to headquarters. 

He was a soulmate you never knew existed, and the both of you were always together no matter what. At some point, all of your colleagues were convinced that the two of you were a thing, but neither of you wanted to label anything. You both were fine just the way you were, and as long as the bickering and childish acts went on, you were fine.

Until you ran into Hyunjae killing off one of your superiors in his office a year prior. 

This was someone you trusted your whole life with, but at that moment, he was a complete stranger—with splatters of blood all across his face and clothing and those deep, lost eyes as he looked down at the lifeless body on the ground.

As an instinct, you loaded your gun with your trembling hands and moved it up to aim at him, causing the male to direct his attention towards you.

There were no words exchanged for a solid ten seconds, and you could tell that tears were about to stream down your face as your vision blurred. 

There was this bittersweet smile plastered across his face, and he only stood there, not moving an inch, before he finally decided to break the news to you. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” 

Those were his last words before he leapt out of the broken windows, running deep into the forest before the entire building was alerted and a wide manhunt began to capture your ex-partner.

However, the FBI should’ve known that he was one of the top commanders at that point and would not be easily located.

After a few months had passed, the news came to light when it was revealed that Hyunjae was leading a double life—not only was he an FBI commander, but he was also the CIA’s top informant. 

With that, you have distinguished that you two are now on different pages and that things will not end well for either of you the next time you see him again.

So here you were, pointing your gun at his temple, ready to pull the trigger anytime. 

Part of you wanted to surrender so badly and just interrogate the hell out of him instead of resorting to violence, but you knew that being an agent meant that there was no room to let any personal feelings get in the way. 

But it seemed as if Hyunjae wasn’t bothered by your actions in the slightest, and instead, he took out a clean cloth from one of his pockets to clean the wound before wrapping it well to prevent any infections that may happen. 

No. There’s no way you’re going to back down now. “You’re going to get yourself killed if you keep this up; you know that, right?” You pushed the gun forward and added some pressure, but he was not alarmed in the slightest. 

“Alright, the cloth isn’t going to last for long, so I highly suggest that you treat the wound as quickly as you possibly can-”

“Stop playing games with me, Hyunjae. You know you’re part of the FBI’s most wanted list now, don’t you?” You warned. 

There were a few seconds of silence before the male sighed and wrapped his fingers around your gun, yanking it down forcefully. “You’re so gullible, Y/N.”

“What the actual fuck? You sure have the audacity to say that right to my face after what you’ve done-”

“What I’ve done a year prior-” he raised his voice slightly and finally turned to meet eye-to-eye with you for the first time in a while. “-it’s all part of the plan to patch things up and to eliminate any potential harm to the FBI.”

You scoffed. “Bullshit. You’re with the CIA; why bother about the FBI when you killed Chief-”

Before you can finish your sentence, Hyunjae uses one of his arms to push you against one of the cargo boxes, causing you to yelp silently with the sudden force. This time, he rests his forehead against yours, trying his best to tell you something while lowering his tone. 

“Y/N. You can hate me all you want, but I’m not doing all of this for the CIA. No matter what, my heart is always with the FBI, but most importantly, with yours.” 

Wait a minute. 

Did he mean what he said during that last sentence? 

That can’t be true, and you were certain that you were probably hallucinating since you had lost quite a bit of blood and you were literally drowning ten minutes ago in the waters. It has got to be a side effect of all of those. 

But Hyunjae wasn’t done. 

“I’ll tell you right now that you’re in great danger, and you have attracted quite the attention from multiple organisations out there. But I’m not going to let them lay a finger on you, and it will always be a top priority to keep you safe first and foremost.” 

“Hyunjae. I’m not in the mood to be playing games with you-”

“And neither am I, Y/N.” Hyunjae slightly pushes you back against the box, this time moving in close until both of your lips are mere inches apart. “You’re mine, and forever will be.” 

In the blink of an eye, he presses his lips onto yours, devouring them as if there was no tomorrow. It was the first time you exchanged kisses, and you never realised how soft his lips were, and he knew how to cause butterflies in your stomach. He slowly moved his hands up to your neck and held it firmly, allowing him to deepen the kiss even further. 

As much as he wanted for it to last as long as he could, he pulled away and kissed your temple softly before whispering into your ear. 

“You wanted the truth, and I have given it to you. It’s up to you to do whatever you want with the information. But know that I’ll always be lurking in the shadows, keeping you safe from any harm before we can finally meet face-to-face again,” Hyunjae whispered. 

When he finally let go of his grip on you, a soft, sincere smile was plastered across his face before he disappeared into the darkness of the night, leaving you confused as hell as you laid your head back on the box. 

As the sound of the choppers began rumbling in the sky, indicating that the FBI had sent back up to rescue any of the surviving agents, you knew it was time to get up and head straight back to report at the headquarters. 

Before you did any of that, you decided to turn your direction right towards where Hyunjae had run off one last time before a single teardrop fell straight down onto the ground. 

“You have never once left my mind, Hyunjae. And now, you’re just making me go insane with whatever you have up against your sleeves.” 

A/N: i haven't written in months so this might not be the best but i tried 🥹

masterlist

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[nausicaamusiclover20]

Where did you sleep last night?

The apartment feels colder than usual tonight. The silence between us has been stretching longer with each passing day, each unanswered message, each quiet evening. The kitchen light hums softly above me as I stand, alone, waiting for him to come home. His absence weighs heavily on my chest. I've tried to be patient, but tonight, I can't ignore it anymore. The doubts have been gnawing at me for weeks—where has he been? What's really going on? And where did he sleep last night?

The clock ticks steadily, each second stretching longer than the last. My eyes flicker between the time on my phone and the half-eaten dinner on the table, untouched. He promised he'd be home by eight. It's now well past midnight.

I try to calm my racing thoughts, but it's impossible. It feels like the more I wait, the worse it gets. Lately, James has been distant—too distant. At first, I told myself it was just work, that he was overwhelmed, that he just needed time. But the more he withdrew, the more I began to doubt myself.

Maybe I'm overreacting. Maybe he's just busy.

But deep down, I know something's off. The way he avoids my questions, the late nights that stretch into hours, the messages he leaves unanswered, the strange looks he gives me when I ask about his day... None of it adds up. I can feel it in my gut. I just need him to be honest with me.

Finally, the door creaks open. My heart lurches. I don't know if it's out of relief, anger, or something else entirely.

James steps inside, his face tired, eyes shadowed from exhaustion. He doesn't meet my gaze, only kicks off his shoes and hangs his jacket by the door. I stay where I am, arms crossed tightly in front of me.

"Hey," he says, his voice low and strained, but it's the same monotone he's used for the past few weeks.

"Hey," I reply, my voice barely above a whisper. I try to keep my tone neutral, but there's a sharpness to it, a quiet tension hanging between us. He heads toward the kitchen to grab a drink, but I can't let him off the hook this time.

I watch him, the words I've been holding back suddenly rushing to the surface. I don't want to do this, but I have no choice. I need to know what's been happening.

"Where did you sleep last night?" The question slips out before I can stop myself. My voice sounds quieter than I intended, almost like a crack in the quiet we've been living in.

James freezes, his hand hovering over the fridge handle. The air between us thickens. I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenches. He doesn't turn to face me, but I know he's heard me.

"What do you mean?" he asks after a long pause, his voice betraying a hint of defensiveness.

The words catch in my throat, but I push through the fear that tightens around me. "I mean... where were you last night, James? I haven't seen you in hours. And don't say work. You've been saying that for weeks, but I don't believe it anymore. I just want to know the truth."

James finally turns to face me, but it's not the look I expect. There's something in his eyes—guilt? Frustration? He's not angry, but there's an unease that runs deep in him. His face softens, but the distance between us feels like an ocean.

"I'm just tired, Y/n. I've been working a lot. I told you, it's not what you think," he says, his voice flat.

But I can't shake the feeling that he's lying. My chest tightens, and I feel a knot in my stomach. He's been telling me the same thing for weeks—work, work, work. But I know him. I know when something is off.

"No," I say, my voice trembling, but I stand my ground. "It's not just work. It's something else. Something you're not telling me. What's really going on, James?" I take a step toward him, and he takes a step back. I don't care. I need to know. "Where did you sleep last night? Tell me."

The silence is thick now, suffocating. His eyes flicker, and for a moment, I think he might walk away, but instead, he sighs, running a hand through his hair. There's something in his face—something that makes my heart sink.

"I... I didn't sleep well. I was out of town, alright? I didn't think you'd notice," he says, his words stumbling out in a way that only deepens the pit in my stomach.

I shake my head, disbelief flooding through me. "Out of town? Since when? You didn't tell me. You didn't mention any of this to me, James."

His gaze hardens. He opens his mouth to speak, but I don't wait. I've had enough of the vague answers, the lies, the silence. "Don't lie to me," I snap, my voice sharp with a rawness I didn't know I had in me. My eyes burn with the weight of all the unspoken truths. "I know something's going on. You've been acting so distant, and I'm not going to let you keep lying to me like this."

James stares at me, stunned, but it's not the shock of someone caught in a lie. It's the shock of someone who knows they've been exposed, and yet still doesn't know how to fix it.

"I'm not lying, Y/n," he says, but his voice falters. There's a hesitation there. "I've just... I've been pulling away. I didn't know how to deal with everything. I didn't know how to talk to you about it."

Don't lie to me.

Those words echo in my mind. The truth is all I've been asking for. But instead, I've been given pieces—fragments of explanations that don't add up. And I can't keep pretending it's okay.

"No." I shake my head, stepping back. "You don't get to keep doing this. Don't say you didn't know how to talk to me. You've been avoiding me. You've been shutting me out." I take another step toward him, my voice rising in anger and hurt. "You lied to me, James. And I can't keep doing this anymore."

James's face softens with regret, but it's too little, too late. He steps forward, but I raise my hand, stopping him in his tracks.

"No," I say quietly, my heart heavy. "I can't do this. I need you to tell me the truth, James. I need you to be honest with me, or I don't know what's left of us."

There's a long silence. He looks at me, guilt and sorrow etched into every inch of his face, but I'm past being the one who waits for him to figure it out.

"I can't keep doing this alone," I whisper, a tear escaping despite my efforts to stay strong. "You've already pulled away from me. I don't know if there's anything left to save."

James stands there, his face pale, eyes filled with regret and guilt. But I can't look at him anymore. I can't be the one holding everything together when I'm falling apart.

"I need time," I whisper, turning toward the door. "I don't know if I can do this anymore."

As I walk out of the room, I hear him call my name. But I won't stop. I can't stop. The questions still echo in my mind: Where did he sleep last night? And where do we go from here?

The door clicks shut behind me, and the silence in the apartment is unbearable.

[corviiids]

hello ⭐star⭐ for that one post about fanfic director’s commentary, hope you’re having a lovely day

thank u so much!!! i hope ur having a wonderful day too :3 ok hmm let's go with death note this time. let's talk about they both die at the end

(obviously death cw and suicidal ideation cw as well and also it's long again.)

so this one is kind of an undignified wrestle with mortality and legacy. no big dramatic strides made in that struggle, because i think getting satisfying closure about the acceptance of your own death is sort of gauche. i prefer a running stream of consciousness where you kinda flop around in the ring and kind of come to terms with things but in a really damp and hollow and itchy way.

throughout this fic i tried to use L's narration to contrast the source of his panic with the source of light's. both of them are acting sort of out of character in the sense that neither's behaviour is really aligned with the way they act in canon, and the reason i did that is sort of as a response to their own impending deaths. nobody's going to act like themselves in that circumstance. i even have them say it outright:

“I’m not really a nihilist,” says Light. “I wonder what you’d think of me if you’d met me on a normal day.” ... [L:] “I’m not ordinarily apathetic, either, by the way.”

one very simple detail showing that contrast is this:

L closes the door without locking it. He picks a direction at random and starts walking.

...

And it’d turned out they were nearby, so now they’re at Light’s apartment. “I didn’t think I’d be back here today,” he tells L, sticking his key in the lock. “Sorry if it’s messy.”

basically, light is in flight and L is in freeze. L doesn't bother locking his door when he leaves the house in the morning, but light does. L knows/accepts/has resolved that he won't be returning home that day. part of light still refuses to accept that, even though he leaves the house with the intention of ending his life.

i don't think it's fair to say that L's acceptance is more mature or that he's more at peace with his fate. it's more like...

so, L approaches situations with the perspective of looking at what is. he's truth-oriented. he accepts the facts of a given matter and then uses them to extrapolate what comes next. that extrapolation is really key to his character so it honestly bugs me a lot when people try to say that L is a purely logical character. he's not! he's running on intuition like 99% of the time and a lot of his extrapolations are wild and not evidence-based at all, but the reason for that is that he has an incredibly strong intuition based on how effectively he processes information. so L understands based on the phone call that he's going to die today, and there's really no point arguing around that fact. however, he can't actually figure out what his next steps are, because there are no next steps. he's going to die today.

throughout the story he struggles immensely with the fact that there is a piece of information he can't attain using the information he already has: he doesn't know when he's going to die, only that it's going to happen before midnight, and so he is completely unable to plan what he should do next, because he can't see any course of action through to its conclusion:

Two. Three. Two. Three. Four. Three. Two. L shakes his head. Can’t count up. Can’t count down. The numbers keep changing, but he can’t find zero. “No,” he says. Deductive reasoning, by its nature, requires premises—in order to find a fact, you must have a fact to begin with. You cannot begin with a baseline of nothing. With no reference, there can be no inference. L keeps counting, but there is no zero, or rather, there is a zero and he doesn’t know where it is. The next second could be his last, or the next, or the next, and all he can know is that at some point the ticking will stop and there is no way to orient himself to it because that point keeps moving .

this drives L crazy. that uncertainty is being represented by this incessant ticking in L's head which won't fade. ok so have you ever used a metronome? say you're counting in 4/4, so the click would play like ONE two three four ONE two three four. the rhythm is steady, but there's one emphasised beat to orient you to where you are in the measure. or, say, a ticking clock, where you can glance at it to see where you are in the 60 seconds that make up a minute. you can count down to when the next minute begins. or a timer, where you can see it counting down to zero. in L's head, he knows the ticking is counting down to the moment of his death, but he doesn't know what it's counting down to because he can't see it. he doesn't know where zero is, there's no emphasis to orient him, and he doesn't know which second he's at in the minute. he could start doing something and then die in the next three seconds, and it would be abrupt and jarring and unsatisfying, like the feeling you get when you take a breath and get winded. so he's in freeze. L accepts that he's going to die today, but he doesn't know when, and the whole time he's thinking about all the things he's never gotten to experience in his life because he's always sort of taken the concept of existence for granted. but he can't figure out how to take steps to try and check things off, because he's never actually made that list. and why make it now? because he might not get to finish them, and that's really unsatisfying. and how do you prioritise when you know you're not going to get to the end of your list and your list is infinity items long? he can't plan. he can't move. he's stuck. he panics, frozen.

light on the other hand has always had a plan for his future, and he's just watched that timeline rapidly shrink and cut all the opportunities off that he'd always been counting down towards. suddenly everything he's done up until now feels like a huge waste, because it was all a run-up to something that now doesn't exist. and he can't bear the fact that the control he'd always taken care to maintain over his life has suddenly been wrested away from him. that's why he starts the story out trying to kill himself - at the very least, he can control the when and cut the fear off.

Light swallows his mouthful of tuna and says, “If I can’t control my fate, I can at least bring it about myself.” “Does controlling your fate matter to you?” “That’s a stupid question,” says Light. “If you asked me yesterday I’d have had a hundred thousand things to say that mattered more to me than choosing how I’d die. My options have just kind of narrowed today, that’s all.”

L's right, though - light never would have done it. light wants to live more than he ever realised. i think light's had this moment of looking down the tunnel (hehe) and staring down his own impending death and realised he's not finished yet, but that's been taken out of his hands. he's realised that the mark he's left on the world has been so small and insignificant, and that if he dies now, that'll be all that's left of him. he's not willing to accept that. but that's the way things are. so he's in flight: run towards his own death so at least he can control the pace at which he dies? try to outrun the inevitable? try to speedrun a meaningful life to see if he can make some kind of mark before he stops existing for good?

“I don't know what we're walking to,” says Light. “I feel like I'm walking closer to my—to my own—” “We can stop.” “That just means it'll happen here instead. I don't want to die here, either.” “Where do you want to die?” “I don't,” Light says. His face crumples. “I just don’t. I'm not ready to be done.”

this is my favourite part of the fic tbh. it's based on a nightmare i had once that ended up changing my entire worldview. wahoo!

not to be a wanker but to an extent this is kind of what everyone's doing, technically, walking towards what will inevitably be your death, since time only moves in one direction and all that. but unlike everyone in the real world, light can see it. he wants to walk in the other direction, but it's all around him. he can see it growing closer the more he keeps moving, and all he wants to do is stop.

“What do I say?” Light asks desperately. “Hi, Dad. Hi, Mum.” Break. “Sorry I'll never give you grandchildren. Sorry I didn't get to graduate. Sorry you'll have to bury my dreams with me. Sorry for nineteen years that came to nothing in the end. It came to nothing.”

re: light refusing to speak to his family: i think he explains himself in the fic enough, but there's also another level where i think talking to his family about it means he'd have to formulate this fact into words which is difficult when he's not really accepted it himself, and on top of that, he would need to carry his family's grief and he's just not ready to do that. there's like a weird thing about talking to people who are already grieving you. i always felt really weird about that when talking to [friends/relations] who were terminally ill. light's relationship with his mother is kind of unexplored in canon but i wanted to go into it i think because your mother is someone who holds a unique spot in your life, i think, assuming you have a good relationship with her, and there is that reported phenomenon where people who are about to die tend to call out for their mothers. i guess this might be controversial but i think it's textually supported that light really cares about his family. i dont think light is ready to look at them and see them looking at him like he's someone who's already gone, and see all the things he never got to do with/for them. i honestly dont think hed survive it

ultimately it was really important to me that light died for no reason and that he didn't really have any material impact on anything. he dies trying to save a child, but someone else saves the kid first. light didn't have to take action at all. but of course, he did

As L stares, reaching hands scoop the toddler off the street from the other side.

i think in a sense it's up to personal opinion whether light had an impact or whether his friendship with L mattered at all before he died. after all, L died like an hour later, and it's not like he had anyone to pass those memories on to. he didn't even know light's surname. the memories of their last day together only exist with each other, and now they're both gone, so did it really matter? what does it mean to matter anyway? do you have to leave a legacy? is it enough that light managed to be L's only friend in the hours before L stopped existing? probably?

It's dark now. Properly dark. It's a new moon tonight, and though the stars do their best, there's little that can cut through the blackness in its absence.

...

L stares up at the moonless sky.

...

It might have been nice to die with the moon.

ofc light's name is written with the kanji for moon. just a silly joke lol.

L's death is something that's more likely to happen when you're alone, by the way. he gets mugged because he's an easy target sitting alone on a park floor. too bad he didn't have more friends and his only friend is dead.

also, the fact that he's a detective who gets murdered in a random act of crime was sort of another nod to the futility of the whole thing that light struggles with in canon. like, work your ass off, solve crime after crime, bring people to justice, but it never ends. crime continues. so is there a point? (yes, obviously.) but that's just a return to the struggle for legacy and meaning, where it's hard not to wonder whether the thing you're doing matters if it's not permanent / if you didn't solve something for good / if you didn't leave a mark that will never fade. i dunno. i think L did enough good in his lifetime. it wasn't enough to save him, but everyone dies eventually, so maybe it doesn't really matter?

i didn't want to give either of them the dignity of a full final thought. light definitely doesn't realise what's happening in the moment before he dies because he didn't see the truck, so i think he didn't have a chance to formulate one.

L watches a look of relief cross Light's face in the split second before the truck horn blares.

L of course gets cut off mid-sentence, just like he'd implicitly feared he might - trying to check things off the list, tie things off, before he's done:

What might a good final thought be? A final sight? He wonders if he could possibly find a star before

hopefully if you read the fic you got something out of it! it is, i think, intentionally pretty hollow and futile feeling, but not in a way that's supposed to make you feel hopeless or nihilistic. well, i hope not. i think there's something really cathartic that comes with the kind of closure you get specifically from accepting that sometimes there's no closure. that's how i felt writing it, so hopefully reading it is something similar. i dunno!

[hydrngea]

it’s nice to have a friend

a/n : it’s finally here! perfect pick part 2!!! sososososo sorry for the wait. irl stuff got in the way of me working on this. again. severely unedited. sorry 🫣

notes : fic can be read as a one shot or connected to perfect pick 2. part 3 tbd. this one is full of rafe fluff!

summary : maybe rafe was a little bit more than just ur best friends brother.

part one | series masterlist | masterlist

there was a period of time between your tenth birthday and your eleventh where you and rafe were actually friends. real friends. almost comparable to the way you and sarah were.

——

for some reason sleep feels impossible tonight. even though sarah’s deep into her oblivion. even though her ceiling is darkened and even though the room is quiet save for the gentle ticking of the alarm clock on her nightstand.

you decide to blame it on thirst, pulling yourself out of your sleeping bag and carefully slipinhg out her bedroom while walking on the tips of your toes.

you’re familar with the layout of tannyhill. It’s practically been your second home ever since you were born. you’ve had hundreds of sleepovers with sarah and spent many holidays with the cameron’s; your families were just so close.

you make your way towards their kitchen and startle a little when you realize someone else is there,too. you still suck at reading manual clocks but you guess that it’s sometime after midnight.

“ah!” you yelp and the person turns around while agressivly shushing you.

“why are you screaming?” rafe whisper yells as he sets a pint of ice cream onto the island.

“you scared me.” you respond with a much quieter tone, looking down at your feet and avoiding eye contact.

you hear a snicker come from him, “are you wearing unicorn pajamas? aren’t you ten?”

you wrap your arms over your chest, insecurely covering up the horn of the large creature printed into your nightgown.

“isn’t it too late at night to be eating ice cream?” yoy quip back.

rafe gestures to the clock on the wall beside him. “isn’t it past your bedtime?”

“isn’t it past yours?”

you can faintly tell that he rolls his eyes at that, and he brings a spoonful of ice cream up to his lips.

“what flavor it that?” you question, approaching his spot behind the island.

his voice is muffled due to the ice scream still melting in his mouth, “didn’t you say it’s too late to be eating ice cream right now?”

“i’m just asking what flavor, rafe.”

he’s quiet for a moment before responding with a sigh. “chocolate.”

he tells you because he knows it’s your favorite. you’re a chocolate girl through and through- it was the flavor of your birthday cake at your party a couple of weeks ago, as it had been for all your previous birthdays before.

your eyes light up and his chest swells in a weird way he puts off as a delayed brain freeze. “can i have a bite?”

to your surprise he says yes, pulling out a spoon from the drawer besides him and handing it to you. he holds the pint close to you so you can take a scoop, and just when the metal of the utensil touches the cold desert he raises the container up so you can’t reach it.

he’s only a year older than you, but even the slight difference makes him a whole lot taller than you. you hop and chase him all around the kitchen in attempt to retrieve the ice cream and it makes you so angry that he’s having fun in your suffering; almost as much as it makes you feel like you’re gonna melt because he’s having fun. with you.

you let out a huff and stop your chasing, and he finally walks back towards you and let’s you have the pint.

You snatch it out of his grasp, making your way to the kitchen stools with him following closely behind you. he brings his spoon too, and you roll your eyes when he nudges you for some more of the ice cream. you tilt the container in your hands towards him and he digs into it once more.

The lopsided smile he sends you in response is enough to freeze your heart and melt any annoyance you felt towards him.

—————————-

you knuckles rap against his bedroom door. the same pattern as you’ve been doing for the past 4 months, sneaking out of sarah’s bright pink bedroom and into rafes contrasting blue.

he lets you in and you find solace ontop of his large gaming chair, having unofficially claimed it as your own. rafe let’s you take over it without complaint, lately opting to to settle beside the wall across from you instead of his own seat.

you get tossed a dvd case and you barely catch it. your eyes graze over the cover and take in the title. you let out a huff, “why do we always watch the movie you choose?”

rafe pauses for a split second before responding.

“but it’s the dark knight.”

you throw the case back at him, the plastic hitting his arm. “ouch.” rafe mutters, rubbing at the aggictated skin.

“this is a boy movie.”

he snorts. “i’m a boy.”

you cross your arms over your chest. “i’m not.”

it’s true, he always manages to convince you to watch what he picks out. but the dark knight is the best action movie ever. can’t you just let it slide one last time?

you glare at him and rafe relents, as he always does when it comes to you. he lets out a sigh and slides his box full of dvds towards you. “fine. find an alternative.”

it seems like you know exactly which movie you want to watch. you pull it out and feed it into the dvd player, grinning.

“we’re not watching it.”

“why? are you too scared, rafey?”

He scoots on the floor closer next to you. “No. Its just a stupid movie.”

You giggle, pulling his blanket off his bed and wrapping it around your torso. “You’re just a scary cat.” You shrug.

“am not.”

“are too.”

rafe sucks in a tense breath. he knows he can’t get out of this.

“turn it on?”

“are you sure you won’t pee your pants, rafey.”

he reaches forward and grabs the tv remote, clicking the play button.

(surprisingly, rafe proved you wrong. he did not pee his pants. even if there were multiple close calls. you guys made it to the movie without any accidents, somehow shuffled close together and sharing the same navy throw blanket; a comforting warmth shared between the two as he falls asleep with his cheek on your shoulder. his mother catches the two of you in the morning. snaps a picture with her phone without saying anything, and retreating back to her bedroom with a smile spread across her face)

——-

whenever you had sleepovers at the cameron’s, you’d always be the first one up. even if you were the last one asleep.

okay. you were the second one up, after mrs. cameron.

you had an unspoken sleepover routine. you’d usually be up by seven thirty, and there’d be pancake batter on the griddle for you starting at seven fifteen; always the first to enjoy a fresh stack of mrs.cameron’s signature blueberry pancakes.

you shut the door to sarah’s room, rubbing your eyes as you shuffled towards the kitchen.

“morning, mrs. cameron.” you greet while stifling a yawn. you blink a couple times, adjusting to the absurdly bright room.

it’s not mrs. cameron in the kitchen. instead, you’re met with rafe behind the island, again. pouring whole milk into a bowl of cereal.

“moms still asleep.” he says, words rough on the edges.

you don’t respond, opting to climb onto one of the island stools in silence. you watch his brow furrow as he making sure the perfect ratio of milk falls into his breakfast. the feature is similar to the way his mother forhead wrinkles while she meticulously pours a ladle full of bluberry batter onto the griddle.

“what cereal?” you mumble, shifting so your hands settle between the seat and your legs.

rafe tightens the cap of the milk, then shoved it back into the kitchen aid fridge. “pebbles.”

you open your mouth to ask about the flavor, but he responds before anything comes out.

“cocoa pebbles. you want some?”

you nod, begining to pull yourself off the stool so you can make yourself a bowl. but instead, he pushes his bowl towards you.

“have it. i’ll make another.” he offers with a tight lipped smile.

“thanks,” your heart stutters at the gesture. you take the spoon and swirl the cereal around so the milk can become chocolatey. you take a sip of it, enjoying the sweetness on your tongue.

he makes himself another bowl and brings it to the stool besides you.

“why are you up so early?” you question while he settles onto the seat and he shrugs.

“i guess i just wanted to see you before you left.”

the words almost make you choke on your cocoa puffs, the milk almost pouring out your nostrils. you couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

“you really wanted to be blessed with my obnoxious presence this early in the morning?”

“i don’t think you’re obnoxious, y/n.” rafe confesses, voice quiet as if he wanted you to be the only one to hear.

suddenly, it felt like the necklace which laid under your pajamas was burning a hole on your neck. you pull it out and start playing with its pendent in between your thumb and your index finger.

“i don’t think you’re obnoxious either.” you say, because you don’t know what else would be right to say in the moment. he looks expectantly at you with a soft gaze, eyes flickering from your own iris’s to the silver chain you’ve exposed. his lips curve into a smile which mirrors your own.

“yeah?”

“yea.” you confirm, tilting your head towards him with a brightening smile before looking back down at your bowl of now soggy cereal.

“yeah.” he breathes again, bringing his spoon up to his lips to take a bite of his breakfast.

you two remain smiling, even after you’ve departed from tannyhill.

————-

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[twopeoplecanchange]

CALGARY AT MIDNIGHT

quinn hughes x reader

summary: quinn needs a place to stay while going to a wedding in calgary. he gets a hook up from matthew tkachuk, who sets him up in the guest room of your apartment. finally, you won't be spending new years alone.

author's note: this is for @puckmaidens! happy holidays lydia!! i hope you enjoy :)

warnings: nothing just that my jet lagged brain wrote this, so there might be some errors!

wc: 2k

The text comes in on Thursday at 9am while you’re at work. Your phone buzzes on your desk repeatedly until you decide to pick it up.

MATTHEW T.

Hey, you still have extra space in that apartment of yours?

Your brow furrows, wondering why he would be asking this, seeing as he could easily book a nice hotel instead of staying in your dingy apartment.

YOU

Yea, why though?

His text comes in quickly, and it’s not what you expected.

MATTHEW T.

Quinn Hughes needs a place to stay for a weekend or so. Told him I could hook him up.

Of course he would do this. Matt knew of your not-so subtle crush on his childhood friend, and had asked you multiple times if he could set you guys up. You always said no. The first time, you were still with your university boyfriend, the second you just felt that it would be too awkward. Quinn, of course, would know of your crush and you would have no idea if he was even interested in you.

YOU

You’re joking. 

Matthew Tkachuk.

MATTHEW T.

I’m not joking. Get your guest bedroom ready and pick him up from the airport tomorrow.

YOUI hate you.

MATTHEW T.

Love you too 🥰

You sigh, putting your phone down before your supervisor can see. As you move through the workday, which of course just has to be as slow as ever, you can’t stop thinking about how awkward tomorrow might be; having to pick him up from the airport and housing him for three days. Would he avoid you like the plague or make an effort? You could only hope it was the latter.

On Friday morning you take the day off from work and spend the time dusting off every surface in your guest room. You change the sheets and add blankets, seeing that the heater is janky and decides to just not work on some days. You restock your fridge with food you can only hope he’ll want to eat. Then, once it’s the afternoon, you take off for the airport.

You arrive at his gate around 2, no sign, hoping your presence will be enough.

As you stand on your tippy-toes, looking for a sign of the eldest Hughes brother, two texts come in.

MATTHEW T.

Gave Quinn your phone number btw.

UNKNOWN NUMBERHey, this is Quinn. Where are you?

You elect to ignore Matt’s text and instead text Quinn.

YOU

By the coffee shop towards the exit.

You pocket your phone, eyes scanning the crowd when you see Quinn approaching you. He’s even more handsome in person, the tv screen and Matt’s shitty photos not doing him justice. It must be the captaincy. A slight beard grows on his face, his dark hair shaggy but somehow presentable. His eyes are visibly tired, and he looks nervous as he approaches you.

“Y/N?” He asks, his voice quiet and just a tad bit raspy.

“Hey, Quinn. It’s uh, nice to meet you. I mean- I’ve heard stories from Matt but I’m sure they don’t do you justice.” You smile, and Quinn nods, a faint smile on his face.

“Yeah, knowing him they’d probably put me in a worse light.” Quinn jokes as you start to head down to the car park.

“I don’t think that’s possible. You have a pretty good rep.” He nods, cheeks a little bit rosy and his small smile just a tad bit bigger.

The car ride is not as awkward as you expected, you and Quinn fall into easy banter, talking about your memories with Matt, exchanging anecdote after anecdote until you arrive at your apartment. You park and take the elevator up, both of you are silent as you watch the number tick up to the fourth floor.

You quickly both get into your apartment seeing as the hallway is freezing because of the lack of heat. Quinn takes off his shoes and puts them next to yours before settling his bags near the door.

“What would you want to do for dinner?” You ask as you look at your fridge. None of the food looks quite appetizing. Quinn looks into your fridge, his cologne overtaking your senses in the best way. It’s a nice scent, not quite as overpowering as you’d imagine. “Takeout?” You suggest.

“Yeah, sounds good.”

Takeout goes surprisingly smoothly. A Christmas movie plays on the screen despite the holiday having already passed, and the two of you eat in a comfortable silence. When you’re done eating, you ask Quinn questions.

When’s the wedding? Tomorrow

Who’s it for? Childhood friend from Toronto who moved to Calgary. ‘Nothing interesting’.

Are you excited? Quinn pauses for a bit, slowly chewing as he comes up with an answer. “I don’t know. I think they expect me to bring a date because they gave me a plus one, but I couldn’t think of someone to bring.” He gets out, the words feeling stuck in his throat.

You can’t tell if this is some kind of joke, if he knows about your crush and is trying to get you interested, just to leave you in the dust.

“Right.” You nod. You tried to think of something better to say, but what he said was not what you had expected. At all.

“I mean…if you wouldn’t mind being my plus one, that would be great. Better that than being alone.” Yeah, better that than being alone. Alone, thinking of all the girls fawning over you because they most likely know who you are. 

Instead of saying something revealing, you just agree. A simple sure does the trick, and he’s thanking you. When you’re settling into bed later, you can’t help but wonder why. Is he interested in you, taking his chance? Or does he simply just not want to deal with the wedding alone? You pass out before you can even realize you don’t have a dress to wear for tomorrow.

You wake up in a panic, hurriedly making breakfast after realizing you do in fact, not have a good dress to wear to the wedding. Nothing formal, everything is either white or too extravagant. Quinn watches confused as you rush around the kitchen, and lets a small teasing comment slip, “You know we don’t have to be at the wedding till like, five, right?” He jokes and you freeze, stopping your every move.

“I don’t have a dress, and I don’t know the color scheme or the theme, and I don’t want to stand out and wear white.” You ramble without taking a single breath.

Quinn hesitates, “It’s okay, we can just go get you a dress right?” His voice is calming, and you smile slightly, turning around. “After breakfast we have to get me a dress.” Quinn nods before heading farther into the kitchen to help you out.

You end up going to a little boutique a few minutes from your house. The dresses are mainly formal, with a few outlier party dresses. Quinn follows you as you scan the racks, picking out three dresses before heading to the changing rooms.

Quinn waits on one of the chairs outside of the dressing rooms, looking at his phone occasionally. Then you step out in the first dress. Quinn blinks, droopy eyes suddenly much more awake. It’s a pretty dress, you say, but it doesn’t feel right. Quinn just can’t get rid of the thought of how beautiful you are.

“You look great,” He blabs, and you let out a startled laugh, hand covering your mouth. “Right, thanks.” You smile weakly before heading back into the dressing room.

The next dress, a startling red, looks great on you, Quinn thinks. But you huff and sigh, saying you hope the next dress is better. Quinn says it looks great, and you laugh it off.

The last dress is a calm purple. Quinn’s eyes widen. You look great. You play with your hair a bit, looking at yourself in the mirror down the hallway.

“It’s…” You start, looking for the right word. 

“Beautiful.” Quinn finishes for you, making your skin burn.

“Yeah,” You nod feebly, hurrying into the dressing room to change back into your clothes.

When you get home, you start getting ready for the wedding in a rush. Putting on the dress, doing your makeup and hair. When you finally leave your room, Quinn is leaning against the back of the couch, idly scrolling through his phone. He looks up at the sound of your door closing and freezes.

Matt had shown him multiple pictures of you, stories, and begged him to let him introduce the two of you. The photos didn’t quite capture your beauty. The stories were bland, they didn’t recall your humor and your joy. He always disagreed, not quite sure. But knowing you now, if Matt suggested setting you guys up, he’d say yes in a heart beat. He’s just not quite sure what your answer would be.

"Ready to go?" You ask, breaking Quinn from his trance. He nods blankly, extending his arm to you. Your skin warms just the slightest, and you wrap your arm around his, pulling him close. His cologne infiltrating your senses, and you blink, steadying yourself.

You drive yourself and Quinn to the venue, and take seats toward the back. A few people come his way, greeting him and asking him about the season, or congratulating him on the teams success. If one of them were to notice you, they'd ask and Quinn would say you were a friend. The couple, the past friend, fan, or the acquaintance would nod, but have a knowing look in their eyes, like they knew all. They didn't, of course, seeing as you were both attending this as friends. If you were even friends. Friend of a friend?

You shook the thought as you watched the couple do their first dance to a cute song you'd never heard the name of. When the song came to an end, every clapped, including you. You didn't notice, too busy watching the newly married couple fondly, but Quinn was watching you, a slight smile on his face.

Once dinner was served, you learned the true meaning of the couple's, wedding. They wanted the party to go to midnight since it was New Year's Eve. They'd have the count down on the screen, and the couple would share a kiss in the center of the room. Any couple would be welcomed to share a kiss as well. It was cute, you thought. If you had someone to kiss you would. It would be a fond memory to share.

The people at the table you were seated at weren't quite close to Quinn, but you made conversation enough for the both of you. As people at the table drifted off to dance, you found yourself in conversation with Quinn. Talking about everything from his brothers, your family, to hockey.

Then, the DJ announced a couple's dance, and the last two people at the table, a couple, got up. They shared a glance before gesturing for you two to join them. You hadn't noticed, but it was nearing midnight, with just around two songs until midnight. Quinn shared a glance with you, and then you stood up, holding out your hand towards him.

Quinn looked worried, but he gently takes your hand and lets you pull him to the dance floor. You have a bright but nervous smile on your face as you settle your hands on Quinn's shoulders, his hesitantly on your waist. You sway side to side as some sappy love song plays. Your eyes get lost in his, but then the music changes to something more jumping, and your eyes get lost. Lights bounce across the room as a time is displayed on the wall. The countdown.

You start jumping along to the music, Quinn as well with a fond smile on his face. Your smile is bright as you shout the words to the club song that Quinn doesn't know the name of. But then the shouting becomes different The countdown. Quinn blinks, starting to yell the numbers as well. Then it gets to eight, and you're turning toward Quinn, eyes locking with his again. Your hands place on his shoulders again, and his hands go to your hips much more confidently. You're both mouthing the numbers until you get to five, and everything changes. The air is different. Tense, you think. Then it hits one, and everyone's cheering. Hey, maybe you're a little bit off on the time, but you kiss him and he kisses you back, and that's all that matters.

[sirhamburrger]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐥

𝐦𝐨𝐥𝐭𝐨 𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐜𝐞 [𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐚 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

word count: 1251 || prev (ch 2.5) || next

kei has splinters in his fingers.

he sets down his tools, combing an aching hand through his blonde curls. glancing over at the analog clock on the wall, he sees that it's less than a minute to midnight. as he sits and stares, the second hand ticks slowly towards the upright position. signaling the start of the new day, the twenty-seventh of september.

happy birthday to me, he thinks dully.

as if on cue, his phone pings loudly in the dark room, startling him from his half-asleep stupor. he assumes it's probably one of his sleep-deprived contacts wishing him a happy twentieth, but he opens his messages and sees it's from bokuto in the group chat. strange, because he should be getting wasted at the club right about now-

the club she has a gig at.

interestingly, it turns out to be a video of bokuto's wild dancing - kei’s initial questions are answered when the camera pans around to show an equally hammered atsumu screaming something unintelligible into the camera. just as soon as he appears, the camera is flipped to show the stage where the band plays their hearts out to some rock song. “TSUKKI!” he can hear hinata yelling. “IT'S LIT HERE!”

he sends a message of his own: do you have a designated driver? bokuto responds soon after with: hi, this is sakusa. i have my own idiots to bring home. would you mind picking them up when you can?

be there by 1, he types out. don’t think i’m rushing over there just for your dumbasses. he chuckles slightly at his friends’ antics - oh, he’d never be caught dead acting so sappy in front of them - and starts to wish he’d come along with them. even if it meant having to see you.

and even that might not be so bad after all.

his phone pings again. 

it’s tadashi. of course it’s tadashi. he’s a good friend, better than kei deserves, because unlike himself, he hasn’t let their literal and metaphorical distance divide them as best friends. waseda students are crazy busy, and yet he’s the one who’s been leaving his friend on read. 

happy birthday, tsukki! hope everything goes well for you this next year.

and below that:

i miss you, you know. i really do.

that’s enough to make kei feel as if his heart's been pierced by an arrow. 

shaking his head, he picks up his tools and gets back to work. his lithe, slender fingers smooth over the wooden reed when he's done, and he blows into it to find that it produces just the right sound. it’s quickly drowned out the shrill ringing of his phone, though, signaling that an unknown number has called him. sighing, he presses the ‘accept’ button, placing the mystery caller on speaker. “hello?” he says.

“hey, this is tsukishima, right?”

he freezes. 

why is she calling him at midnight on a saturday when she’s supposed to be playing music for about a hundred other people?

“i don’t have all day, tsukishima!” she snaps, derailing his trail of thought. “listen, kuroo got in a brawl with some… some sick creep. i think his nose might be broken.”

“whose nose?” he finds himself asking unsympathetically, a smirk on his face. “the guy’s or kuroo’s?”

she lets out an frustrated sigh, and her breaths are shaky with repressed anger as she murmurs into her phone’s mic. “you think i give a damn what happens to that middle-aged perv? look, just swing by and pick kuroo up, okay?”

“okay, fine, i’m on my way right now,” kei replies testily, stuffing his car keys into the pocket of his messenger bag and slinging it over his shoulder. “tokyo red, right?” 

she confirms, repeating the exact address for him in a clipped tone, then hangs up abruptly.

insufferable brat.

he drives for about half an hour to get there, parking on the sidewalk outside the club where he hears the bass thundering out into the empty street - yaku’s doing, most definitely - and the melodious sounds of a muted electric guitar. getting in is easy enough - the bouncer simply nods at him, and he pushes through the double doors into the building.

she locks eyes with him from across the room almost immediately, yelling something to her bandmates on stage before setting her guitar down and hopping off the raised platform to make her way to him. kei tries to push his way to the front of the room, but he only makes it halfway before she’s slamming into his chest, seemingly spit out by the crowd dancing around them. she pulls back immediately, stumbling as far back as she can go. 

her hair is slightly mussed, and her cheeks are flushed. her skin is radiant and glowing, a flush covering her face down to her bare shoulders. maybe it’s from the excitement of performing, or she’s had a couple of shots. maybe it’s both. “sakusa's already brought kuroo to the hospital,” she tries to say over the noise. 

kei feels a twinge of annoyance. they didn't even think to tell him before he rushed over? “then what the hell am i here for?” he shoots back sardonically.

she glares up at him, her expression saying you’d better stop talking while you can. “he started showing symptoms of a major concussion, so we thought it’d be best to send him off first.”

he nods grudgingly. “what did they fight over?”

her eyes flick down to the ground, then back up again. “a guy threw a beer can at my head, then tried to climb onto the stage to grope me. kuroo was sitting in the front row and just… went to town on the guy.” her expression is equal parts guilty and bitter, and kei decides he'd rather not say anything that lands him in the hospital alongside kuroo. “sorry to drag you all the way down here, birthday boy.” she practically spits the last two words out, tone laced with venom.

how does she know that?

“what, am i not allowed to know things now?” she says dryly, as if she's read his mind. “i suppose i should buy you a drink or something. what do you like?”

“i don't drink,” kei says curtly, but finds himself following her over to the bar anyway.

“just as well, you are the designated driver after all. root beer, then,” she declares gamely, ordering one alongside a tequila shot for herself. they sit in awkward silence together, knees almost brushing as they face each other. kei sees suna staring at them from up on stage. he averts his eyes immediately.

he sips his drink. “did you have fun with kuroo at least?” he watches her expression sour, her eyes narrowing at him over the rim of her glass. “that's none of your business,” she snips.

“looks like you were looking to go home with him tonight, huh?” he jabs, his own tone growing confrontational as a grin stretches his face. “too bad your plans were ruined.”

she lets out an incredulous scoff, downing her shot and slamming the tiny glass down on the table. “gave you one more chance,” she mutters as she hops off the bar stool, brushing past him. “that was my mistake.”

he looks at her departing form, and a twinge of guilt at antagonising her arises in his chest. he pushes down the unpleasant feeling, sipping on his drink. he can’t help but feel it was his mistake, too, coming here tonight.

author's notes:

self-sabotaging tsukki? check!

i was thinking that kuroo needs to get punched at least once in this fic and i decided it has to be now

happy birthday tsukki 😀 have this not-so-happy chapter as a gift

likes, comments, follows and reblogs are greatly appreciated :) don't hesitate to correct any factual discrepancies or ask questions about this fic!

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© sirhamburrger 2024

[listenheresweaty]

Food for Thought: Wilbur Soot Chef!Au

this is unedited. This was also originally an ask I planned to send someone but I ended up posting it here. ——-

Thinking about Wilbur, chef au. like— ratatouille, without the rats. An inexperienced new chef (reader) comes to the 5 star family run restaurant called the Syndicate and is for some reason hired. Wilbur, the sauce chef (third highest ranking, after techno the sous chef and Philza the big man chef— master chef. Idk), is assigned to show them the ropes. He is already cranky for ranking in *third* among his family of four, even though he loves his brother and father very much. And now they dump the newbie into his hands??? Don’t they know he has better to do?

he was going to make your life hell. if only you weren’t so damn intriguing.

the first week, he’s cocky and arrogant, sweeping through the kitchen without so much as a backwards glance to you, giving the most vague instructions to purposefully tick you off. —-

“so the pan over there goes here when the heat is on that level, then that goes there, and there over there.. yknow.. get the bottles from the fridge, put ‘em here, turn the heat on like so—“ he turned the oven nozzle on and then back off again, too quickly for you to see the heat level. He turns to you, hands behind his back. “Any questions?”

he took your gaping silence as a yes. “Good. Follow me. You’ll wash pans for the day, then we’ll see each other tomorrow morning.”

____

Oh you hate the smug bastard. But as you watch him effortlessly dice a variety of vegetables and scrape them into the pot in a matter of seconds, you realize that hatred and admiration is an awful combination.

one late night— when you had received the infuriating assignment of “master high-speed julienne cuts on these onions before you get to go home”—- you tried to replicate his movements, growing increasingly frustrated as the onions stung your eyes, the clock ticked past midnight, and Wilbur snickered faintly in the background. You were so intently focused on getting that stupid onion into strips that you didn’t notice your finger getting in the way. With a yelp, you drop the knife, hissing and staring at your cut thumb. Wilbur looks up sharply, uncrossing his arms and moving away from the counter he had leaned against. “What the hell did you do now?”

“it’s nothing,” you grit out, “don’t—“ but you are cut off by Wilbur taking a hold of your hand, lifting it to his face and inspecting the cut.

“proper safety is important in the kitchen.” He states, not taking his eyes off the cut. “Not only for our sakes, but for the safety and hygiene of those who will eventually eat the food we prepare.”

you know that, but your words die in your throat as he rifled through a medicine cabinet and took out some antiseptic and gauze. the room is silent, silent except for the ticking of the clock and the occasional ripping of gauze and tape as he patches up your thumb. His face remains impassive, neutral, showing no real friendliness but none of the hostility from earlier.

”Right.” He finishes taping down the gauze and steps back, turning to take some fresh onions out of the fridge, and a new knife and cutting board.

“do I have to do the exercise all over again?” You ask in dismay.

He pauses. “No. No, you don’t.”

you let Wilbur maneuver you to stand in front of the new cutting board— and freeze up when he stands close behind you, grabbing your hands from behind and guiding them to the knife. “put your thumb there— no— like that, yes. There. That’s the correct way to hold a chopping knife. Now, since you’ve mangled your hands, follow my lead.”

He gently guides your hands to the onion, positions them, and cuts it smoothly.

“there. You see?” He says, his voice quiet and close to your ear. It’s a lot more gentle too, or maybe that’s just the late hour getting to him as well.

“Y-yeah.” You manage, clearing your throat. “Seems simple enough.”

”hm.” He hums, amused, and lets go of your hands. “I think that’s all for the day. It’s quite late.”

you sigh in relief, dropping the knife on the counter. Instead of walking to the front door and getting your coat, however, you pick up the boards and cutlery and make your way across the room.

“what are you doing?” Wilbur asks.

“Washing the dishes. “ you blink. That was the first rule you learned in the kitchen. A chef always cleans up after cooking, and never procrastinates or postpones the work, no matter how many plates need to be cleaned.

“…I’ll wash up.” Wilbur sighed. “You go on home.”

Who the hell was this guy, and what did he do to Wilbur? “are— are you sure? What about you?”

Wilbur cracked a smile. “I’m sure. Don’t you worry about me. I can manage.”

“alright.” You acquiesced, getting your coat from the hanger and sweeping it over your shoulders. You pause before leaving through the door, and look back. “Good night, Wilbur.”

“good night, love.” Wilbur paused. “And remember to be here at 5:00 AM Tomorrow, at the latest.”

you groaned and shut the door, listening to his chuckles fade into the distance as you trudge your way home.

[thwip--thwip]

dick or treat

itsy🕷️bitsy: DICK or TREAT! 🍬 It's October 31st.... 🎃🎃🎃 U know what that means?? YOU GUESSED IT! 👻👻 Happy SLUT-O-WEEN.💦💦 The last day of COCKtober… 💦😫😭😭 don’t be a bore 😴 ….so make sure you DRESS 👠 like a TOTAL 💅🏻 WHORE! 🤸😈🥵 send to ♋️ HALLOWEEN HOES 👯♀️ before MIDNIGHT 🌚 CUMS or you’ll be CURSED 🌀😱 with a NO 🚫 NUT 🥜 NOVEMBER 😩😩👻

itsy🕷️bitsy: I AM SO SORRY

***

Read on AO3 or below the cut!

It takes Peter nine full seconds to realize he made an earth-shattering mistake.

The thing is, he’s a horrible victim of circumstance, not that it will make any difference to the cruel, capricious universe. He just wasn’t paying attention. Peter was brushing his teeth with one hand, copied the message from Ned with his other, and mis-clicked. ‘MJ😳❤️’ is right above ‘Mr. Stark💡’, and he was so focused on not sending it to ‘May🌷’ that he didn’t realize what his fat thumb had done.

“NO!” His gasp is agonizing and garbled around the toothpaste he’s spitting everywhere as he frantically taps at his phone, trying desperately to unsend the message. He’s panicking, and that’s not good because the app freezes and force closes, and every second counts here because you can only unsend before two minutes are up—the tick of the clock has never sounded louder, oh for the love of—

By the time Peter gets the text message open again, the worst copypasta in the world blazing at him with all of those horrible emojis, the little gray text in the corner already reads Read 8:32AM.

He’s so screwed.

***

“You WHAT?!”

Ned’s yell is loud enough that the entire homeroom turns to look at them, and Peter thumps his head down on the history textbook in front of him. Mr. Harrington doesn’t really care what they do during the morning announcements, but even he looks perturbed by Ned’s shout.

And now Ned’s hyperventilating, which isn’t really helping Peter feel better about the situation.

“You wished Iron Man a happy slutoween.” Ned hisses, and they’re really lucky there’s a Latin test today, or Connor and Alexandra sitting next to them in the back of the room would be paying more attention instead of cramming last-minute flashcards. “Did he say anything?”

“No,” Peter sinks down further in his chair, wondering if Mr. Harrington would even care if he went boneless. If he melted into the floor and just never got up. “But he read it. I’m toast, dude.”

“Oh yeah,” Ned agrees unhelpfully and far too quickly, nodding like a bobblehead. “Do you think Captain America will come to your funeral?”

Braining himself with his history book is looking more appealing by the minute.

***

“Maybe you can pretend someone stole your phone,” Ned offers, as he has been all morning, coming up with less and less plausible excuses. Peter sighs, leaning over their woodshop project, measuring out the piece of wood they were about to cut. “Or you could say you fell on it and the suggested autofill feature wrote it.”

“On what planet could autofill have done that?” Peter looks up at his friend incredulously, and Ned shrugs.

“Through God, all things are possible.” Peter’s expression gets even more bewildered, and Ned throws up his hands. “I don’t know, my lola says it a lot!”

“I think God has abandoned me,” Peter says, mournfully staring into the abyss.

***

It’s 1:46PM when Peter gets a response.

He knows because the vibration almost gives him a heart attack, as it has all day - he turned off all notifications for everything, and the only text he’s gotten all day was from May, about movie tickets for Sunday—but he pulls out his phone like it’s going to bite him, anxiety thrumming like a physical pulse under his skin.

Mr. Stark💡: Joe’s Pizza, 3:30.

“Oh God,” Peter’s sweating, he can feel it rushing over him, making him clammy. He doesn’t have a specific scenario in mind for what’s going to happen in 104 minutes and counting, but every cell in his body is yelling BAD. “Oh my God.”

“What?” MJ asks, appearing over his shoulder out of nowhere like she’s so prone doing, and she sees the text messages before he can do anything. “Oh my God, Peter.”

“I know,” Peter starts, feeling numb, but MJ is laughing, maybe harder than he’s ever seen her laugh, full tears welling in her eyes and rolling down her cheeks.

“How does this shit always,” MJ can’t get through her sentence without wheezing, still fighting through the tears. “happen to you? You’re ridiculous.”

“I know.” Peter’s hands fly into his hair, pulling at it in distress. “That’s the problem!”

***

Tony’s waiting on the roof when Peter flips up onto it, which is already weird. Mr. Stark is never on time to anything, let alone early.

“Mr. Stark, I am so sorry.” Peter starts in immediately, words coming out in a nervous rush. “It was an accident I swear—”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. reads my text messages out loud, kid.” Tony cuts to the chase, eyes are indecipherable behind his sunglasses, and his words stop Peter cold in his tracks.

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes, spiderling,” Tony raises an eyebrow, thumb hooked in his suit pocket. “Want to take a guess where I was?”

He feels like he might faint. Why couldn’t a sinkhole just open and swallow him already?

“A national security meeting.” Tony shakes his head, as if that isn’t supposed to make Peter flip out. “Congrats, kid. You definitely passed on your message to…what was it, sixty-nine ‘Halloween Hoes’? Including the Vice President of the United States of America, naturally.”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. doesn’t screen them for importance?” Peter asks desperately, and Tony huffs out a breath.

“She has an algorithm to detect unusual patterns in personal messages. You know, in case it isn’t you texting?” Peter covers his face with his hands, and Tony snorts quietly. “This one was bizarre enough, it triggered her protocol.”

“If I throw myself off this roof, do you think I’d die?”

“Bold of you to assume I’m going to let you get off the hook that easily.” Tony claps a hand on Peter’s shoulder, warm through the breathable fabric of the suit. “FRI reads the emojis out loud too, you know. Longest sixty-three seconds of my life. I thought I’d seen it all, Pete, but you’ve proven me wrong once again. How the hell did you even come up with that monstrosity?”

“It’s just a thing,” Peter chokes out, and honestly he might actually pass out, the way the blood has rushed to his face. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be another color other than scarlet. “Every Halloween it just—goes around.”

“Slutoween, you mean,” Tony corrects, and Peter would really rather never hear that out of his mouth again. “I already knew you were bisexual, by the way, you have that pin on your backpack and Spidey swung at pride.”

“What?!” Peter shouts, because that’s not where he was expecting this to go, and suddenly Tony is the one that looks a little nervous.

“Well - ‘dick or treat’ kind of seems like a hint, if you know what I mean.” Tony spreads his hands helplessly. “Do we need to have the Talk?”

“What? No.” Peter waves him off frantically. “No, no, no. No. I am good. So good. Beyond good.”

Tony snickers, but at least he doesn’t look mad, and Peter will take his blessings where he can get them. He rubs a hand over his face, looking up at his mentor sheepishly. “…what are the odds we can forget this ever happened and never mention it again?”

“Nope. Not possible,” Tony shakes his head, clapping Peter companionably on the back once again. “You gave me the material of the century kid, and you managed to terrorize me while doing it. This will be paid back in full.”

“Through God, all things are possible.” Peter counters.

Tony laughs.

[red1culous]

Everlasting Things

The party you had left just minutes ago felt like it was a world away. The carnival, as Stark insisted on calling it, sounded the way things would underwater. Muffled and muted. 

Inside the large tent, the lights seemed to congeal around you. You were mired in lights and sounds that had dulled to a slow sticky motion. It was too much. It was suffocating.

You breathe a sigh of relief feeling the slap of the cold air on your face. The night air refreshing. You step through the short creeping grass heavy with dew. In seconds your boots are wet. The moonlight makes it look like frost, you think to yourself. 

With every step there came small but sweet rushes of the odour of freshness. You tell yourself to file the memory away for safe keeping. It’s definitely one you want to recall. 

Walking a few more steps you sit yourself down on the porch swing and close your eyes, using your legs to nudge it into motion. 

The celebration, or your celebration, had started at dusk, and now, at midnight it seemed as though it had only truly begun. 

“What’re you doing out here?” her voice startles you and you snap your eyes open. You can feel your heartbeat thumping against your ribcage. 

She shoots you an apologetic smile. “Sorry” she says as she sits beside you upsetting the motion of the swing. “It’s freezing out here” she states the obvious and you huff out a laugh.

“So?” she nudges your shoulder with hers.

You stare off into the distance. The garlands and the coloured lights were pretty but it did nothing to lift your mood.

“Too loud inside” you answer half heartedly grimacing at a sudden clash of gongs and the shrill plaint of flutes.

She chuckles. “Well Tony does know how to throw a party, doesn’t he” she says and you can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face. She notices.

“He sure does” you answer leaning back. “You should get back in there” you add.

She hums softly. “I’ll wait out here with you.”

“I’m not really in the mood to celebrate” you say.

“Either way…” she doesn’t finish her sentence instead focusing on picking at the fraying edges of her jacket sleeve.

“It’s your party too, Nat, you sh-…” you rush out but she cuts you off.

“…and I’m spending it out here with you.”

You sigh.

She takes your hand in hers and squeezes. For the first time since she joined you on that swing, you turn to look at her and give her a gentle smile.

She returns it but you notice there is a hint of sadness behind her eyes. You look away quickly blinking away any emotions within your own.

“Your hands are freezing” she states.

“Yeah. But that won’t really matter in a week’s time will it” you respond with a chuckle. 

“Don’t talk like that” she scolds chewing on the inside of her cheek. “We’ll figure this out.”

The truth is that all the opioids, antibiotics, painkillers and supplements they had pumped into you was doing little to stop the ticking of the clock. Instead it was binding you to pain. Something you didn’t want to spend the last week of your life experiencing. 

But you relent and apologise anyway.

“Sorry” you whisper she moves closer into your side. “We’ll figure this out” you repeat more for her than for yourself. 

[husbandomail-archive]

December 3rd: waiting up.

Ichiro Yamada is a family man. When you started dating him, his brothers were adopted automatically; you really can’t have one Yamada without the other two. Admittedly, the dynamic took time getting used to— Saburo is a master interrogator, and Jiro is just hardheaded and resistant to change— but over time they grew to love you almost as much as their brother does.

“—move, shrimp, it’s my turn!” Jiro reaches over to shove Saburo out of your lap, but the youngest brother is intent on defending his position. He kicks Jiro’s hand away before angling a second kick towards his brother’s shoulder. The force in his tiny body almost sends all three of you tumbling into the floor.

“No! You got to sit with her during the last movie night!”

“Yeah, but not in her lap—”

“Because you’re too big! You’ll crush her under all that dead weight!”

“Alright, alright— if you two don’t calm down, I’m sending you both to bed.” The bickering ends as soon as Ichiro returns to the cozy living room. He’s carrying a tray with four mugs of hot chocolate; so hot, in fact, that steam is still curling over the rims even as he sets the tray on the coffee table.

You just snicker and wrap your arms around Saburo as if to shield him in your lap. “C’mon, Ichiro, it’s Christmas! Let ‘em stay up!”

“Not Christmas yet,” he says, aiming pointed glares at his little brothers as he begins to pass the drinks around, “and there’s still time for me to return their gifts if they don’t behave.”

Jiro is silent for a moment— but only a moment, because his first sip scalds his tongue and makes him hiss. Saburo snickers and kicks his brother in the shoulder again. “Don’t hurt yourself thinking too hard.”

“—why would Nii-chan be returnin’ things if Santa brought ‘em to us?”

Saburo snorts into his hot chocolate, sending it splashing into his bangs. He groans loudly and leans back against you. “Can you believe this guy—? Santa isn’t real, Jiro.”

“What?!” Jiro’s head whips around so fast that you’re worried he’ll hurt himself. He looks positively betrayed, his eyes flickering from Saburo to you and then over to Ichiro. “Wait, wait, is that true? Santa’s not real? But then who eats the cookies?”

He looks so heartbroken, you can’t decide if you should tease him or support him. “Hey, Jiro, don’t think about it too hard—”

“Obviously Ichi-nii eats the cookies—”

“Saburo, leave him alone, will ya?”

The boys devolve into the bickering you’ve come to know and love, and your attention wanders around their small home as their voices devolve into white noise. Their argument is swiftly ended when you press a quick kiss to the top of Saburo’s head, as if he were your own son; he freezes in your lap, and Jiro’s face quite blatantly shifts into jealousy.

Saburo squirms in your lap, although his grin is smug as he sneers at his brothers. “Hey, what was that for?”

“Merry Christmas,” you giggle, motioning to the clock perched on top of their TV; it’s finally ticked over to midnight. While they’re distracted, you peck Jiro on the forehead too, and he nearly spills his hot chocolate when he tosses his arms in the air to cheer.

The couch cushions shift as Ichiro takes his rightful place next to you. His arm lands around your shoulders to tug you a bit closer, and he leans in until his nose bumps against yours and makes you laugh. “Alright, c’mon now, I think you’re forgetting someone.”

[proofwhisky]

NEVER IN HIS LIFE HAS THE TICKING of the stopwatch in Tommy's waistcoat so thunderously resounded through the cavity of his skull, the imperceptible scratch of thinned metal against gears grinding away in the background of each movement of the second hand. It sounds as though Death himself approaches, growing close enough to let his victim hear the last seconds of their own life through some strange spell. He has three minutes and forty-two seconds to get inside the Garrison and explain five-minute plan to the only person he could expect to be there, and even that is a long shot, this late in the evening. Part of him is mortified when he tries the door to find it locked, his knuckles white as he grips the door handle and shakes the entryway door hard enough to hear the glass warping with the wooden frames.

His rising panic is quenched at the sight of Grace's silhouette filling the lace-covered windows, and she bends to unlock the bolt in the ground barring him from entry. As soon as the lock is undone, Thomas shoves his way inside, too focused to roll his eyes at the attempted protests from Grace.

" W-We're closed, Mr. Shelb- "

Thomas cuts the barmaid off with a dizzying sort of intensity, almost manic in a sharp gesture with his flat hand. " Leave the door unlocked. I don't have much time and I need a favor. When the clock at St. Andrews' chimes at midnight, two men will come through that door. They plan to kill me. Are you alone.. ? "

His voice fades to something that sounds much more like panic than he'd have liked when he turns and sees Ariadne standing awkwardly like a bad thief caught with her hand in a safe. He freezes completely, the cold blue of his eyes darkening to something frenzied and angry as he turns sharply back to the barmaid with a demand. He points a long, calloused finger at Ari.

" What the fuck is she doing in here ? "

Grace, stricken, looks to Ariadne as if she expects the woman she'd invited ( convinced, rather ) to stay to have access to her own reasons as to why she'd done it. Her shoulders jump and her gaze returns to the man in the entryway when he barks at her again.

" Don't fucking look at her. I'm asking you, Grace. "

She opens her mouth to respond but the second hand of Tommy's pocket watch begins to quiet down in his head, and a cold flash of dread returns him to reality just in time. He has less than ninety seconds left.

Thomas presses the heels of his hands to his eyes and heaves a sigh that sounds so exhausted you'd think he'd been up for days. Perhaps he has. He's... looked better.

It takes him a moment to compose himself, but he withdraws a pistol from the inner pocket of his overcoat, checks to ensure that it is loaded, and turns back to the barmaid. She seems as unsure as anyone as to his intentions with the weapon, and could not appear more shocked when he offers it to her, grip-first, to carry for herself.

" When the church bell strikes midnight, two men will come in through the front door. I will be sitting there. You will be hiding back there. When I make a toast, you come out with that thing cocked and loaded. You just point it. Don't shoot. "

He uses his finger to point out each location and the weight of their significance with seconds left to enact a shaky plan that has been thrown off entirely by the presence of Ariadne, through no fault of her own. That makes it worse.

Another victim to being attached in any way to Thomas Shelby, through no fault of their own.

" Fuck, " he hisses, doubling over with his head in his hands, hiding a face twisted with sorrow. His breath hitches once, as if he is about to cry ; but as if nothing had happened, he quickly rights himself again to look at Ariadne with eyes so full of fear and guilt that it hurts to see. " You need to leave, Ari. There's a back entrance some ways past the stock of new kegs in the cellar... "

You don't have enough time. The cellar door is probably already being covered by IRA snipers.

" ... But... it isn't safe. " Fifty seconds left before the bell. " Upstairs, or behind the bar, or into the snug... "

Cogs turn in his head and he cannot bear to imagine the consequence of choosing the wrong order to give, to have her be caught up in all of this shit of which he's been so determined to keep her out.

Tommy has had his suspicions about Grace for a while. She asks too many pointed questions, asks for too many specifics. She doesn't mind her own business. She seems intent on getting Thomas to speak to her like he trusts her. None of it had been anything even close to damning, easy to write off as a mixture of her curiosity and his paranoia. But this...

This is a bit different.

" Hide somewhere, and stay quiet," he says, then steps forward and lowers his voice, switching instead to Turkish to keep Grace in the dark.

" The police are due at the sixth chime of the bell, and I do not want you seen here when they arrive. "

Like he's cast a spell the second hand of his watch stands eerily still, and he seems to spring to action, loading his own gun only to tuck it away again and rushing to carry a bottle of whisky and a pitcher of water with three glasses to a nearby table. In English again, he shouts over his shoulder at the woman standing in front of the bar, no doubt consumed with confusion and fear.

" Ari, go. Now. Now. "

@paramoira

[loversj0y]

⬇️want to add a flirting scene eventually but I don’t know how to flirt. ——

Thinking about Wilbur, chef au. You know how good hee look like in one of those white chef uniforms? Without the goofy looking hat.

like— ratatouille, without the rats. An inexperienced new chef (reader) comes to the 5 star family run restaurant called the Syndicate and is for some reason hired. Wilbur, the sauce chef (third highest ranking, after techno the sous chef and Philza the big man chef— master chef. Idk), is assigned to show them the ropes. He is already cranky for ranking in *third* among his family of four, even though he loves his brother and father very much. And now they dump the newbie into his hands??? Don’t they know he has better to do?

he was going to make your life hell. if only you weren’t so damn intriguing.

the first week, he’s cocky and arrogant, sweeping through the kitchen without so much as a backwards glance to you, giving the most vague instructions to purposefully tick you off. —-

“so the pan over there goes here when the heat is on that level, then that goes there, and there over there.. yknow.. get the bottles from the fridge, put ‘em here, turn the heat on like so—“ he turned the oven nozzle on and then back off again, too quickly for you to see the heat level. He turns to you, hands behind his back. “Any questions?”

he took your gaping silence as a yes. “Good. Follow me. You’ll wash pans for the day, then we’ll see each other tomorrow morning.”

____

Oh you hate the smug bastard. But as you watch him effortlessly dice a variety of vegetables and scrape them into the pot in a matter of seconds, you realize that hatred and admiration is an awful combination.

one late night— when you had received the infuriating assignment of “master high-speed julienne cuts on these onions before you get to go home”—- you tried to replicate his movements, growing increasingly frustrated as the onions stung your eyes, the clock ticked past midnight, and Wilbur snickered faintly in the background. You were so intently focused on getting that stupid onion into strips that you didn’t notice your finger getting in the way. With a yelp, you drop the knife, hissing and staring at your cut thumb. Wilbur looks up sharply, uncrossing his arms and moving away from the counter he had leaned against. “What the hell did you do now?”

“it’s nothing,” you grit out, “don’t—“ but you are cut off by Wilbur taking a hold of your hand, lifting it to his face and inspecting the cut.

“proper safety is important in the kitchen.” He states, not taking his eyes off the cut. “Not only for our sakes, but for the safety and hygiene of those who will eventually eat the food we prepare.”

you know that, but your words die in your throat as he rifled through a medicine cabinet and took out some antiseptic and gauze. the room is silent, silent except for the ticking of the clock and the occasional ripping of gauze and tape as he patches up your thumb. His face remains impassive, neutral, showing no real friendliness but none of the hostility from earlier.

”Right.” He finishes taping down the gauze and steps back, turning to take some fresh onions out of the fridge, and a new knife and cutting board.

“do I have to do the exercise all over again?” You ask in dismay.

He pauses. “No. No, you don’t.”

you let Wilbur maneuver you to stand in front of the new cutting board— and freeze up when he stands close behind you, grabbing your hands from behind and guiding them to the knife. “put your thumb there— no— like that, yes. There. That’s the correct way to hold a chopping knife. Now, since you’ve mangled your hands, follow my lead.”

He gently guides your hands to the onion, positions them, and cuts it smoothly.

“there. You see?” He says, his voice quiet and close to your ear. It’s a lot more gentle too, or maybe that’s just the late hour getting to him as well.

“Y-yeah.” You manage, clearing your throat. “Seems simple enough.”

”hm.” He hums, amused, and lets go of your hands. “I think that’s all for the day. It’s quite late.”

you sigh in relief, dropping the knife on the counter. Instead of walking to the front door and getting your coat, however, you pick up the boards and cutlery and make your way across the room.

“what are you doing?” Wilbur asks.

“Washing the dishes. “ you blink. That was the first rule you learned in the kitchen. A chef always cleans up after cooking, and never procrastinates or postpones the work, no matter how many plates need to be cleaned.

“…I’ll wash up.” Wilbur sighed. “You go on home.”

Who the hell was this guy, and what did he do to Wilbur? “are— are you sure? What about you?”

Wilbur cracked a smile. “I’m sure. Don’t you worry about me. I can manage.”

“alright.” You acquiesced, getting your coat from the hanger and sweeping it over your shoulders. You pause before leaving through the door, and look back. “Good night, Wilbur.”

“good night, love.” Wilbur paused. “And remember to be here at 5:00 AM Tomorrow, at the latest.”

you groaned and shut the door, listening to his chuckles fade into the distance as you trudge your way home.

o hohohohoh i LOVE chef stuff (i watched the bear the other night, fantastic show btw) and let me tell you, i LOVE this idea.

i also love the enemies to lovers kind of vibe going on. wilbur being snarky bc he's annoyed since he feels like this is beneath him, but also, in any small workplace, you come to care for the people around you so him just being so completely worried and helping patch up your hand for you and <33333

[toiletwipes]

Thinking about Wilbur, chef au. You know how good hee look like in one of those white chef uniforms? Without the goofy looking hat.

like— ratatouille, without the rats. An inexperienced new chef (reader) comes to the 5 star family run restaurant called the Syndicate and is for some reason hired. Wilbur, the sauce chef (third highest ranking, after techno the sous chef and Philza the big man chef— master chef. Idk), is assigned to show them the ropes. He is already cranky for ranking in *third* among his family of four, even though he loves his brother and father very much. And now they dump the newbie into his hands??? Don’t they know he has better to do?

he was going to make your life hell. if only you weren’t so damn intriguing.

the first week, he’s cocky and arrogant, sweeping through the kitchen without so much as a backwards glance to you, giving the most vague instructions to purposefully tick you off. —-

“so the pan over there goes here when the heat is on that level, then that goes there, and there over there.. yknow.. get the bottles from the fridge, put ‘em here, turn the heat on like so—“ he turned the oven nozzle on and then back off again, too quickly for you to see the heat level. He turns to you, hands behind his back. “Any questions?”

he took your gaping silence as a yes. “Good. Follow me. You’ll wash pans for the day, then we’ll see each other tomorrow morning.”

____

Oh you hate the smug bastard. But as you watch him effortlessly dice a variety of vegetables and scrape them into the pot in a matter of seconds, you realize that hatred and admiration is an awful combination.

one late night— when you had received the infuriating assignment of “master high-speed julienne cuts on these onions before you get to go home”—- you tried to replicate his movements, growing increasingly frustrated as the onions stung your eyes, the clock ticked past midnight, and Wilbur snickered faintly in the background. You were so intently focused on getting that stupid onion into strips that you didn’t notice your finger getting in the way. With a yelp, you drop the knife, hissing and staring at your cut thumb. Wilbur looks up sharply, uncrossing his arms and moving away from the counter he had leaned against. “What the hell did you do now?”

“it’s nothing,” you grit out, “don’t—“ but you are cut off by Wilbur taking a hold of your hand, lifting it to his face and inspecting the cut.

“proper safety is important in the kitchen.” He states, not taking his eyes off the cut. “Not only for our sakes, but for the safety and hygiene of those who will eventually eat the food we prepare.”

you know that, but your words die in your throat as he rifled through a medicine cabinet and took out some antiseptic and gauze. the room is silent, silent except for the ticking of the clock and the occasional ripping of gauze and tape as he patches up your thumb. His face remains impassive, neutral, showing no real friendliness but none of the hostility from earlier.

”Right.” He finishes taping down the gauze and steps back, turning to take some fresh onions out of the fridge, and a new knife and cutting board.

“do I have to do the exercise all over again?” You ask in dismay.

He pauses. “No. No, you don’t.”

you let Wilbur maneuver you to stand in front of the new cutting board— and freeze up when he stands close behind you, grabbing your hands from behind and guiding them to the knife. “put your thumb there— no— like that, yes. There. That’s the correct way to hold a chopping knife. Now, since you’ve mangled your hands, follow my lead.”

He gently guides your hands to the onion, positions them, and cuts it smoothly.

“there. You see?” He says, his voice quiet and close to your ear. It’s a lot more gentle too, or maybe that’s just the late hour getting to him as well.

“Y-yeah.” You manage, clearing your throat. “Seems simple enough.”

”hm.” He hums, amused, and lets go of your hands. “I think that’s all for the day. It’s quite late.”

you sigh in relief, dropping the knife on the counter. Instead of walking to the front door and getting your coat, however, you pick up the boards and cutlery and make your way across the room.

“what are you doing?” Wilbur asks.

“Washing the dishes. “ you blink. That was the first rule you learned in the kitchen. A chef always cleans up after cooking, and never procrastinates or postpones the work, no matter how many plates need to be cleaned.

“…I’ll wash up.” Wilbur sighed. “You go on home.”

Who the hell was this guy, and what did he do to Wilbur? “are— are you sure? What about you?”

Wilbur cracked a smile. “I’m sure. Don’t you worry about me. I can manage.”

“alright.” You acquiesced, getting your coat from the hanger and sweeping it over your shoulders. You pause before leaving through the door, and look back. “Good night, Wilbur.”

“good night, love.” Wilbur paused. “And remember to be here at 5:00 AM Tomorrow, at the latest.”

you groaned and shut the door, listening to his chuckles fade into the distance as you trudge your way home.

Sweaty. SWEATY.

eye just- rocking back and forth AAAAAAAAA