#yeah BRING IT AWN

[filmbyjy]

TWITTER SUCKS! > twenty-two! thanks👍🏻

a/n: if you think i’m gonna say I need a man like jay, no I want jay😍

-

synopsis > who knew you could become famous overnight for paying $8 for a single blue checkmark? however, it does come with consequences…what happens when the actual BELIFT Lab comes knocking at your door. all because you simply impersonated your bias.

masterlist | previous | next

series taglist[open]: @lovers-szn @shiguresohmas @moonshoon @byunappetit @strvlveera @rikisly @4lythe @lalalalawon @beansworldsstuff @enhastolemyheart @jaehaki @shinsou-rii @jeanbob @sxftiell @renchai @nyfwyeonjun @invusblog @lhees01 @donghyckl @enhafika @dimplewonie @foxsunoo @luv2lia @lvrjjun @curly-fr13s @bubblytaetae @raikea10 @ce1ight @luvlee1313 @hafsa-hoofsa-heefs @soobisrealgfnotfake @justkatehere @l0tisflower @jseobsky @haerinism @liliansun @kyanmeai @nobodyshallenter @faeryhee @pkjay @mlink64 @luxurystark-jackson @aleombre @yenqa @heestrawberries @soaen @ckline35 @http-gyu @climbingmandevillas @stopeatread @y4wnjunz @aetherlol @whippedforbeomgyu @elisabeth-02

(to be added please send an ask or click here)

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ How you have contrasting personalities but they drop everything for you anyway

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche (separate) 

They say love can change anyone, but you have yet to agree with this statement. You never wanted anyone to alter themselves for you, especially if that someone is your beloved. Instead, you always believed that people should stay true to themselves while maintaining mutual love and adoration for each other. And that's how you and your beloved were - contrasting in looks, attitudes, and habits. Yet it made your beloved cherish you all the more, even if it caused unsuspecting passers to raise eyebrows in shock… Maybe it's because your beloved is actually a dreaded Fatui Harbinger, and people didn't expect him to be head over heels whenever you’re in the same room. But what can you say? He always was a softie for you. 

✧ Pierro doesn’t attend public gatherings. Period. Ask any of the high-rank Harbingers and they would tell you how lucky it would be if he were even present for a Harbinger’s inauguration, like when Arlecchino was declared 4th or when Tartaglia received his Delusion. Nevertheless, it is clear that The Jester does not squander his time with social events or benign pleasantries; he’s present only on important occasions.

If you can define what’s important in his book, that is.

An example being was a certain Fatui party. It is not uncommon for the Regrator to organize lavish evenings, especially in recognition if a Harbinger obtained a gnosis, or if another significant mission was masterfully accomplished. The grander was the task, the bigger the event would be. Of course, Pierro never attends those either. 

During one of those organized events - you, of all people, decided to come. Dressed in your finest, glittering lotus flower silk and white silver adorned your figure while you timidly stood amongst the high nobles of Snezhnaya. Your presence was not an unwelcome sight, but you did not strive to bring attention to you either. Expensive parties with Fatui diplomats and Snezhnayan aristocrats were not your usual cup of tea.

Your presence did not bring awning gasps, but Pierro’s did. 

Unannounced, the Director arrived at this sudden party, bringing hushed murmurs amongst the crowds of subordinates and colleagues. Likewise, he wore his most exquisite suit, a mantle-like cape flowing elegantly over his broad shoulders. Before guests and attendees could greet his arrival, The Jester marched straight ahead, not bothering to gaze at whoever tried to initiate conversation. 

No, the man’s attention was focused straight at you, as he passed through everyone and swiftly approached you. With an outstretched hand, a knowing gaze was cast upon you, as he spoke:

“If I may,” - he brought the back of your hand closer to his lips “Would you honor me with a dance?” 

You obliged. Now everyone in the gala was gaping at you two with grandiloquent murmurs. 

“My most cherished, why did you not warn me you’d attend the ball?” - The Jester whispered to your ear, his gloved hand intertwined with yours as the two of you waltzed elegantly. 

“Well, I just thought it would be futile to bother you. You usually hate such occasions.” - you muttered back, overwhelmed at the prospect of meeting his icy gaze; a gaze that only looked at you in tender love and yearning.   

“Then may I inquire on why you decided to attend this one? You avoid them as well.” 

“Okay, just please don’t laugh,” - you whispered. As Pierro kept a hand on your waist, he danced with you across the ballroom, using his broad form to shield you from the unwelcoming gazes of the guests. “You gifted me this fancy attire that I kept hiding in my closet for many months… I simply didn’t have a reason to wear it. So I forced myself to go out just so I could have the excuse of wearing something nice. U-um, that’s it.”  

“And that’s it, love?” 

“...Yeah,” - you nodded defeatedly “Also because I didn’t want to busy you from work.” 

“Oh, my most beloved.” - The Director emitted a hushed chuckle as you two conversed and danced, making sure his words were heard only by you. “I can make all your attires gala-worthy if you so desire. You do not need to be coy, ask and I shall accompany you on any grand occasion." 

Thus, the jester may not attend social events, as he only frequents important ones - the ones you're in, that is. As he whisked you away with a dance and a dip, he kept his hand delicate around you to escape the company of noisy guests who wished to bother you two. But what would be a ball with his lips gently grazing your cheeks at the end of each dance, telling you: 

“Besides, I cannot allow other attendees to assume you are available, now can I? Not while you look so stunning tonight.” 

✧ When Il Capitano was first spotted with you during workout practice, people didn’t even fathom you were his beloved, the only person equal to the Captain. The two of you were simply so…  opposite. The Harbinger was big and imposing, while you were smaller and approachable; which isn’t even a fair comparison, because Capitano just towers over anyone. Everyone looks small next to him! 

Nevertheless, when Capitano had his usual daily practicum along with his rumored significant other, some Fatui soldiers tried to sneak glimpses. Yet what a jarring spectacle it was to see the immovable, assertive Harbinger dismiss his commanding tone in favor of being patient and attentive. 

“My dear, you’ve already run a set of laps and tried to outbeat me during pushup exercises. You are putting too much strain on your ankles after your previous training. We should-” 

“No, we can still go for another round! Fight me!” 

“But, my love-” 

“Fight me!!!”    

Anyway, the fight abruptly subsided. Not because you lost, but because Capitano swiftly lifted you into his arms the instant you launched yourself onto him, consequently refusing to put you down. Therefore, you find yourself being carried by your partner's muscled arms while your feet dangle.

“Aw man, not fair…” - you mumbled, settling to rest on Capitano's forearms. “It's not even a duel if you're just lifting me like a toddler. Set me down, Cappy!” 

“It’s an effective tactic, one that easily neutralizes a hotheaded opponent like yourself.” - Capitano explained calmly. In reality, his body moved with pride as he held onto you securely, as if you were his prized reward for today's training. 

The captain set you down, his armored hands trailing down to your leg, sending a tingling graze onto your skin. And indeed, his punctilious gaze spotted how you tried to hide a limp when exercising. 

“You sprained your ankle,” - Capitano stated.

“Listen, it's not a big deal. Just a strain, I had worse happen.” 

You tried to defend yourself, but The Harbinger already expected your excuses. The man knew better than to argue with you, and instead settled on removing your footwear and gently checking on your injury.

“This is no condition to continue training, my dear. If I let you continue, you'd stubbornly reach Celestia with bloodied knuckles and broken limbs.”

“Yeah! And you bet I'd win!’” - you retorted brightly. At the sight of your confident smile, Capitano chuckled deeply, his pitch-black helmet pressing into your forehead with tender motion.

“I am certain you will, my love. You'll drag The Heavenly Principles by the ear, and have them weeping by your gaze alone. But now, we should get you to rest and apply some ice to your ankle. Shall I carry you?”

You sighed deeply, having no option but to let your beloved's experienced hands help you with your soreness. “Oh well… fine.”

Capitano's training could wait. There was a more crucial matter at hand, literally. With his massive yet calm form carrying you away, your gaze remained fierce but forbearing. 

If some Fatui soldiers witnessed today's event, they'd have to conceal their inconspicuous glances and smiles. After all, the sight of Il Capitano being the big, loving teddy-bear, while you being a menacing gremlin was undoubtedly shock-inducing.  

Nonetheless, who else is worthy of being carried by the 1st Fatui Harbinger and pampered by him? Only you, of course.

✧ Il Dottore is a destructive, stern man. Hunched over the examination table, his gloved hands were tainted in blood while his jaw clenched in aggravation. His hours of working in the lab easily make him irritated, and this irritation further increases whenever certain scientific experiments do not bear fruit. A tense air of suspension was now lingering in his lab; a sign of an upcoming violent outburst.

“Lord Harbinger…” - one of Dottore's lab assistants began, trying to muster the courage to speak without shaking. “This experiment requires another round of testing, w-we might need to start over,”

The Doctor remained still, but the dangerous clutch of the scalpel in his hand didn't go unnoticed. “Perhaps I did not make myself clear?” 

He straightened his shoulders, his masked expression gleaming with malice and murderous intent with each syllable hissed.

“I have given you one simple task. Bring me the results. If this experiment is not completed by tomorrow at the earliest, I will have to remind you how brittle, and puny your useless bones can be-”

Suddenly, the lab door slams open. From the heavy metal doorway, a hasty but familiar person quietly saunters in, unknowingly saving the poor soul that was about to be Dottore's next target. Of course, the person in question is - you. 

“Dottore?” A small murmur escaped you. You stepped closer to Dottore and tugged at his sleeve. “I’m sorry, I can't sleep…” 

An abrupt silence settled in the lab. 

The unnerving tension of the lab was diverted as if a switch was flipped in Dottore's brain. The man swiftly set his scalpel aside, discarded his bloody gloves, and turned into a softer tone when talking to you. 

“Hm, is it so late already? I apologize dear, time must've slipped past me. Do you want me to brew us some tea and join you in bed?”

“Yes, please… Chamomile. if you're not busy, of course.” - you nodded, a tender smile settling on your face.

The sight was fascinating. The eccentric, mad scientist was instantly replaced by a doting partner, who would lower himself to kneel before you and put his hands on your shoulders as if all his lab work and blood-stained messes were already forgotten. Dottore's assistants were indeed quite baffled when you entered the lab. But what was more confusing is that the sudden change of attitude was so drastic, that they all froze in silence and subordination. The poor, unfortunate underlings; one minute dealing with their Lord Harbinger's harsh demeanor, and the other witnessing him hugging you and gazing at you like a lovesick puppy. 

“Perhaps it’s time to wind down for today. I was about to finish for today, anyway. I'll make your tea as you like it and accompany you in bed, dearest.” - Dottore's hand gently rested on your back, as he leisurely ushered you to leave with him. 

“And as for the experiments,” - just before the Harbinger could leave with you in his arms, he sent an ominous glance towards his assistants, one that even through a mask portrayed lethal resolve - “deal with it.”  

Oh well. Someone is staying overtime in the lab. That's how The Doctor was with his work - cruel and unattached. However, unbeknownst to people, when he's back with you in bed, that man is clinging to you throughout the night, groaning about his research while burying his head against your chest. His face takes refuge against the warmth of your body, arms encircling you in a needy embrace around your torso. 

Sometimes, he just needs a good squeeze from you when you cuddle him, that's all.  

✧ A day cannot be concluded if there wasn’t a single instance where Scaramouche’s grumbles weren’t accompanied by your bright grins. Scaramouche has a reputation for his sour disposition whenever he is discontented, that much is known. What isn't known is that the only person who tolerates his cynicism is someone as bright and cheerful as you. Like two sides of the same coin.  

“Hmph, Pathetic. Just because some flowers are blooming doesn’t mean it requires a whole festival to be commemorated for.”  

“Oh, come on, Scara. You accompany me to every Hanami event.” - you smiled back in response to the Harbinger’s scoffs, but the 6th crossed his arms. 

“They are no different each year. Same cherry blossoms, same food stalls you drool over.” 

“But Scara…! The Dango!” 

That’s how the two of you wind up in a narrow cobble street, protected under the soft shadows of cherry blossom, while cascading pink petals gently fall around you. Well, that is how you wind up here, while Scaramouche was naturally dragged by you. Arms linked with one another, the Puppeteer kept his iconic look of displeasure, a huge contrast to your joyous one. One would assume The Harbinger could easily flee your torment and make you scram, but on the contrary: 

He is the one who makes sure your hand is intertwined with his, says “To keep you from running away like a child in a crowd”. 

He is the one running his thumb over your skin, his hand squeezes yours, and says “Don’t get too excited over the food stalls.”      

He is the one rushing with you to find a good secluded spot, away from the crowd, while his hand pulls you closer by the waist, and says “It’s too loud. Here, stay closer.” 

And of course, he is the one buying your favorite Hanami Dango and says “You asked for it so you better enjoy it. And make sure to chew it properly - dango is sticky.” 

For someone who underlines his disapproval vocally, he sure pampers you with no objection about your interests. You’d muse and tease, saying that it was his way of enjoying flower viewing without saying it. However, before you could utter the words, a strong gust of spring wind blew past the street, sending a plethora of flower petals blowing into everyone’s faces. You shielded your eyes, whereas Scaramouche gently tugged at his ichimegasa hat, pulling you closer to further shield you. 

“See? I told you this yearly custom is a nuance.” - he lamented, but his words came out more as a murmur than a groan, perhaps because he held you directly in his proximity. Your faces were closer, and the veil of his hat served as concealment from any public eyes. 

You’d smile. He sure complained a lot, and Scaramouche didn’t like sweet deserts like you did. But whenever the opportunity arose, he’d make sure he had you under the veil of his hat, pressed flush by the hip to him. And if he was lucky, he might taste the sweetness of Dango through your lips instead.  

Listen, I'm a sucker for fluff, okay?

[thevoidstaredback]

It's always graveyards. Why is it always graveyards? They're creepy as hell and, well... that's it. On the bright side, the Protection Spirits watching the gates recognize him and realize the danger he's in. Well, maybe he wasn't in real danger because the Bats and Birds don't really do the whole purposefully harming civilians things, but they are scary as hell! Chasing him down like a bat straight outta hell- obviously he was gonna run! They cornered him! Maybe he'll invest in getting them lessons in how to interact with people in and out of costume?

Honestly, Nightwing, Danny expected better of you. At least Red Hood and Signal know how to treat innocents.

Here's the thing about Protection and Guardian Spirits, though. They don't like intruders. If you're running from something and you don't have time to ask permission to enter, you best say "thank you" and bring them shiny things on your next visit. If you do have time to ask permission, you ask permission. If they think you're a threat or rude, they won't let you enter whatever they're guarding.

"Thank you," Danny said as he slowed to a walk further into the graveyard, the sound of the gates slamming closed behind him confirmation that the Bat and his gaggle wouldn't be following him in.

Wasting no time, Danny pulled a piece of chalk from his pocket. It was a handy little thing he'd picked up during his stay in the House of Mysteries. Draw and door, tell it where you wanna go, open it, and go through! Beetlejuice style. Though, unlike what the Handbook for the Recently Deceased says, these doors won't actually open a door to the afterlife. He fixed that tiny glitch a while ago.

Anyway, a quick few chalk lines on the side of a mausoleum later, and Danny was opening a door to Fawcett, Philadelphia. Probably not the best choice, considering that he was trying to stay away from the Justice League, but it's better than Metropolis.

"Whoa." Damn it! He should've stayed home. "What was that, mister?"

Danny made sure the door closed behind him, praying for strength. Why did he feel like several deities were laughing at him? "Hey, kid. Can you, um, maybe not say anything about that?"

The kid, short brown hair and a red jacket stood out the most to Danny for some reason, seemed very amused. "You're gonna have to buy my silence."

Again, Danny let out a quiet, long suffering sigh. "Coffee is so not worth it." Looking at the kid, he said, "Alright, fine. I was getting coffee anyway, I'll buy ya lunch. Know any good places?"

Grinning, the kid cheered, "Hell yeah! Follow me!"

Resigned, Danny followed after the kid, easily keeping pace. About a block later, he figured he should probably get the kid's name. "I'm Danny."

"Billy."

"No last name?"

"Fae rules, dude. What's your excuse?"

He had to give it to him. "Touché."

Another three blocks of walking, Billy finally stopped at a cafe. It was a quaint place with stained white brick and a dark grey roof. There were metal chairs and tables outside the building surrounded by a wrought iron fence. The table umbrellas and the awning over the black door were light blue, matching the curtains in the inside.

The inside walls were painted baby blue with a white ceiling and a pinewood floor. The tables and chairs were all stained black with light pink cushions and table cloths. The curtains, as observed before, were all baby blue, tied back with baby pink ribbons. The lights were barely yellow, giving the room a warm feel. The counters were white with black paneling on the outside and white granite as the tops.

"Welcome in," the young man at the register greeted with a smile, "What can I get you two started with today?"

Danny envied the man. He'd obviously not been doing this long enough to gain the veteran's shine to his eye. He turned to look at the menu after telling Billy to get whatever he wanted. A mistake he'll probably pay for. "I'd like a large Red Eye, equal parts coffee and espresso, with cinnamon, honey, chocolate syrup, mint, and vodka, please."

The 'newbie' light in the man's eyes dimmed a little bit. "Um, we don't carry vodka." Glad that's the only thing he's worried about. Priorities.

Danny clicked his tongue. "Oh, well, it was worth a shot. I'd like everything else, though, please. Mix it at your own discretion."

"Alright," he was very valiant to go back to grinning, "Anything else?"

Danny motioned for Billy and the kid stepped up. "Can I get a large mocha, three chocolate chip cookies, and two sandwiches?"

The blond entered the order. "Of course! That'll be $25.37." A quick card swipe from Danny. "Thank you very much, we'll have your order out to you soon!"

The two didn't say a word as they chose a table in the corner. Danny let Billy take the seat that was open to the rest of the cafe so he wouldn't feel cornered. He had a good view of the door, though, so he wasn't complaining.

"So, how'd you do that?" Billy asked after they'd gotten their orders.

"How'd I do what?" Danny sipped his drink.

"How'd you walk outta that wall? It's solid!"

"Magic."

"I guessed that much."

"Then why'd you ask?"

"Will you teach me?"

"No."

"You didn't even think about it!"

"Okay," He paused. "No."

"Not fair." he pouted.

Putting his drink on the table, Danny summed as much fake-it-till-you-make-it energy as he could. "Magic isn't a toy and takes years of practice to get a handle on, not to mention you have to actually have an aptitude for it before you can even try. Besides, I don't know you nearly well enough to trust you with anything else."

Billy finished the cookie he was eating. "I can do it! You just gotta teach me!"

Another sigh that Danny had stopped counting. "Look, you seem like a good kid, but I'm not gonna teach you magic."

"Why not!"

"However," he continued, ignoring the demand, "I'm not gonna leave ya fully defenselessness."

"What do you mean?" Billy backed away slightly, his eyes narrowing as he moved to be able to run quickly.

Another sip. "Based off of the dirt you're covered in, the grease in your hair, and the overall poor condition of your clothes, I'm gonna bet that you're a street kid. So," he pulled a small card from his pocket, very aware that Billy was watching his hand aptly, "I'm going to leave you with this."

Slowly, the brunet took it and turned it over. "What it is?"

The white card had the initials DP in the middle, circled by an Ouroboros. The initials were completely solid, but the snake of the Ouroboros was made up of tiny runes of protection and health and healing and good fortune.

"My calling card. If you're ever in danger, hold that to your chest and ask for help. I'll be there."

Still obviously suspicious, Billy took a moment to scrutinize the card. It was cute to watch the kid act like he knew what he was looking at or for. When he seemed satisfied, he shoved the card into the inner pocket sewn into his jacket. "Thanks."

"No problem, kid," Pulling out his phone, Danny saw the time and stood, "I've gotta go now. I assume I've sufficiently bought your silence on the whole magic thing?"

Billy grinned, "I guess, but you gotta come visit me, okay?"

He chuckled, "Sure thing. See ya."

Part 2 Part 4

(I don't drink coffee, so Idk how that shit works)

Tag list: @zaiothe4th

[ghostfacd]

LIVE LAUGH, SCREAM! | TOM BLYTH

pairing. tom blyth x fem!actress!reader

summary. where one comment could lead into an internet feud between tom blyth and yn avocot, resulting in them falling inlove ?!

author’s note. [ THIS TAKES PLACE BEFORE YN AND TOM STARTED DATING ] thank you to the nonnie that said yn gives off scream vibes bc they’re the reason i even made this post in the first place! 🤭

installment of this au | read for context

ynuser scream bts (you’re welcome!)

view all comments

jennaortega did it hurt when you fell from heaven?

➥ jackchampion no but it might’ve when she stabbed u in the movie

➥ ynuser JACK 😭😭

user1 jenna flirting, jack teasing, I LOVE THIS CAST YOUR HONOR

user2 okay but literally your performance was just chefs kiss 😭 PLEASE tell me you’re starting in other movies as well bae

➥ ynuser oh thank you!! im so honored you enjoyed it ❤️ I will get back to you on your question!! 👀

➥ user3 OMGG YN IN ANOTHER FILM WOULD BE KILLER

➥ user4 well actually 🤓☝️ she was one of the ghostface in the film which means she actually was a killer

user5 @/user4 bye

tomblyth amazing film

➥ ynuser thanks

➥ user6 THANKS?? THANKS?! girl that’s tom blyth

➥ ynuser @/user6 who?

user7 no way this girl just asked who tom blyth is

➥ user8 well can u blame her tho?? he’s in like what, billy the kid or whatever? it’s not that known..

➥ user9 nah girl stars in one film and thinks she’s all that 😭

rachelzegler YOU DID SO GOOD GIRL 💕

➥ ynuser rachel my love 😭😭❤️

tomblyth who am I? well now you know

view all comments

user10 oh he’s so fine

user11 LMFAOO is this a jab at yn not knowing who you are

user12 show that girl 🤭🤭 she thinks she’s all that after getting one acting gig

➥ user13 y’all are so obsessed with her hello..

ynuser sure. now i know

➥ user14 oh im having so much fun watching all this go down

ynuser more bts because i love scream 6 and so should you!

view all comments

tomblyth yeah the movie’s cool and all but how abt i treat you out for dinner?

➥ user15 HELLO???

user16 enemies to lovers era ?

user17 pls lord get these two together

jackchampion say yes to the dinner invite and bring me back steak

➥ ynuser 🤨🤨

➥ jackchampion and a vanilla soda too please

user18 i love jack n yn’s friendship

ynuser and tomblyth both posted a story!

ynuser eating sushi and then putting on some comfy pjs is a great way to spend a day

view all comments

user19 the way tom also posted sushi pics very similar to what she’s eating…

➥ user20 WHY IS NOBODY MENTIONING THE MATCHING HOTDOG STORY POSTS AS WELL 😭😭😭

user21 pjs TOGETHER?! im afraid we’ve lost her

user22 everybody knows.. everybody knows

jackchampion splendid way to spend the day

➥ user23 what if it’s jack?? tom and yn don’t even fw each other LOL

➥ user24 true. he did ask her for dinner tho

➥ user25 who wouldn’t? she’s yn.

Eclaté_Mode On this new episode of BTS With Your Favorites, Tom Blyth dishes on his skincare routine, how he keeps himself productive during breaks, and his internet rivalry with actress, Y/N Avocot. Full video linked in bio

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user26 THE WAY HE COMPLIMENTS YN this is definitely enemies to lovers

user27 “me and yn have exciting need to share soon” excuse me

user28 so they inlove or what

user29 yn fell inlove with a brit man it’s over for US

user30 WAIT WHAT DOES HE MEANNNN

tomblyth well surprise. enemies to lovers much?

view all comments

ynuser nice pic send me it

user31 WAITT RACHEL HIM AND YN IN A FILM?? did not expect this..

user32 hold awn..

user33 is this confirmation they’re dating

➥ ynuser we aren’t dating.

➥ rachelzegler yet.

➥ user34 RACHEL???

rachelzegler you’re welcome for this crossover, i encouraged both of them to audition for the role

➥ user35 WE LOVE RACHEL ZEGLER

jennaortega take care of my gf 😽

[yvesssssssss]

Ajnwwkwijw, I'VE BEEN LOVING YOUR WRITING! And I wanted request a

Nagumo x reader, where the reader has been in a coma for some years and nagumo would always visit her, then during one of his visits the reader woke up, and didn't remember him

He made it his mission to make her remember him by going to their favorite places and meeting old friends

Until the reader finally remembers him and they kiss at the last.

(diko na kaya mag English😭)

That's my request thank you!!!

(⁠*⁠´⁠ω⁠｀⁠*⁠)

Remember me

(nagumo x reader)

Thank you so much for loving my writing—it really means a lot to me! I’m sorry if this feels rushed or took a while, but I truly appreciate you and your support. Your requests are always amazing, and I love bringing them to life. Let me know if you ever want more—I’m always happy to write for you!

Nagumo Yoichi had never been one to stay in one place. His life was a whirlwind of disguises, fights, and narrow escapes.

But for you, he stayed.

Every week, without fail, he came to your hospital room. He talked to you, brought your favorite flowers, left small trinkets on your bedside table—little things that reminded him of you.

Years passed, but he never stopped.

Then, one day, when he was least expecting it, you woke up.

And you didn’t remember him.

Nagumo Yoichi had survived gunfights, assassins, and death traps, but nothing had ever hurt quite like that.

Still, he only grinned at you, as if you hadn’t just shattered his heart.

“Damn,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Didn’t think I was that easy to forget.”

You blinked at him, confusion in your eyes. “I… do I know you?”

He could have told you everything right then and there—how he loved you, how he had waited for you, how he had never once given up hope.

But that wasn’t his style.

Instead, he smirked, tilting his head.

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to make you fall for me all over again.”

And so, he did.

The Journey Back to You

Day One: The Café of Memories

Nagumo showed up the next morning with a box of pastries, setting them on your lap with a cocky grin.

“You used to love these,” he said, popping one into his mouth. “Always made me buy extras, even though you could never finish them.”

You stared at the delicate pastry, hesitant. But when you finally took a bite, your lips parted slightly. Something about the taste—sweet, warm, comforting—stirred something deep in your chest.

“You okay?” Nagumo asked, watching you closely.

You frowned. “I… I don’t know. It feels familiar, but—”

Nagumo only smiled, as if he had all the time in the world.

“Don’t worry,” he said, tapping the tip of your nose. “We’re just getting started.”

Day Five: The Rooftop Under the Stars

The rooftop was quiet, the city lights twinkling below.

“You used to drag me up here all the time,” Nagumo said, leaning against the railing. “Said it was the only place you could hear yourself think.”

You gazed out at the skyline, fingers absentmindedly gripping the railing. A breeze swept past, and for a second—just a second—you felt like you’d been here before, standing right where you were now.

“…It’s nice,” you murmured.

Nagumo hummed in agreement. “Yeah. But you used to say it was even better when I shut up.”

You let out a soft laugh, surprising yourself. He chuckled too, nudging your shoulder playfully.

Maybe you didn’t remember everything yet, but this—this felt good.

Day Ten: The Dance in the Rain

It started with a drizzle. Then, in seconds, the sky opened up, drenching you both.

Nagumo laughed as he grabbed your hand, pulling you under the awning of a small shop. “Guess I should’ve checked the forecast.”

You laughed too, breathless, water dripping from your hair.

He stared at you for a long moment, something unreadable in his gaze.

“You know,” he murmured, brushing a wet strand of hair from your face, “you once told me you liked the rain because it washed everything away. Made you feel new.”

Your heart clenched. The words sounded right, like something you might have said.

Slowly, hesitantly, you reached out, fingers grazing his cheek. “Did I?”

Nagumo’s breath hitched slightly, but he didn’t move away.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “You did.”

Your hand lingered against his skin, warmth despite the cold rain. Something was there—a whisper of memory, a feeling you couldn’t quite name.

And for the first time since waking up, you wanted to remember.

Day Fifteen: The Touch of Familiar Hands

The moon was high as you sat beside him on a park bench, a comfortable silence settling between you.

Nagumo had been patient—far more patient than you imagined a man like him could be. He never pushed, never asked too much. He simply stayed, always smiling, always teasing, but never letting you feel alone.

You glanced at him, your chest tightening with something you couldn’t quite place.

He caught your gaze and smirked. “What? Finally realizing how handsome I am?”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “You really never change, do you?”

His smirk softened. “Not when it comes to you.”

Your breath caught.

And then—

Flashes of memories.

His laughter. His voice calling your name. His hands, warm against your skin. Nights spent talking until dawn. The feel of his lips on yours.

You gasped, hands flying to your head. The memories came rushing in so fast it made you dizzy.

Nagumo’s arms were around you in an instant. “Hey—hey, take it easy.”

Your fingers curled into his shirt, clutching onto him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you stared up at him.

“I remember,” you whispered.

Nagumo stilled, his hands tightening on your waist.

You let out a soft, tearful laugh. “I remember you.”

For the first time, his composure cracked. His smile trembled, his eyes dark with emotions too big to name.

“Yeah?” His voice was barely a breath.

You nodded. “You stayed all this time?”

Nagumo exhaled sharply, like he had been holding his breath for years.

“Of course I did,” he said. “How could I ever leave you?”

A tear slipped down your cheek. Without hesitation, he reached out, brushing it away with his thumb.

And then, slowly, he leaned in.

His lips hovered over yours, waiting—always waiting.

But this time, you closed the distance.

The moment your lips met, everything fell into place.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you flush against him. The kiss was slow, deep, filled with years of unspoken words. His hands cradled your face, holding you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

And to him, you were.

When you finally pulled away, your foreheads rested together, breath mingling in the cool night air.

Nagumo let out a shaky laugh. “Took you long enough, sweetheart.”

You smiled, pressing another soft kiss to the corner of his lips. “I guess I just wanted you to prove you really loved me.”

His laughter rumbled against your skin as he pulled you into his arms. “I would’ve waited forever.”

And somehow, you knew he meant it.

Because even in the time you had forgotten him, Nagumo Yoichi had never once forgotten you.

And now, neither of you would ever have to wait again.

[spiderb00]

- What Is Your Word Of The Day?

Manon Bannerman x 7 member!reader  (request)

"The taste of victory is good, but don't celebrate too loudly” 

Genre – fluff          Warnings – none 

Now playing – Perfect Night, by Le Sserafim 

The night was calm, all the Kats were spread out comfortably in the living room. Sophia, Yoonchae and Megan were watching some movie on television, Lara and Daniela were gossiping about someone you didn't know very well, and Manon, your girlfriend, was listening to all the conversation of yours while stroking your hair. You all didn't have many days off, but when you did, you made it all worth it. The day off was a day with no stress, no complaints and no headache, you unfortunately, were going down a different path.

A few weeks ago, you discovered this word game called Daily Wordle, and you immediately became obsessed with it. You had X number of attempts and if you couldn't get them right, you would lose the game and could only play it again the next day. So, you were very concentrated at that moment, so concentrated, that you didn't even notice the strange looks that your friends and girlfriend were exchanging.

You were quiet for a long time, and that wasn't very normal for you, the girls always said that you and Daniela were the loudest, so when they didn't hear a word if it comes out of your mouth, they were definitely worried.

Exchanging silent glances, the girls debated whether or not to ask if there was something wrong. Your state of stillness was at least a little troubling, and Sophia, as the leader, began to really wonder if anything had upset you.

The girls looked at your girlfriend, silently asking if you were okay. Manon, who just shrugged, tried to look over your shoulder at what you were doing on your phone. When she was close to seeing what you saw so much on that phone, you jumped up off the couch.

"FUCK, YEAH!" You said, jumping up and down, making the girls startle and Sophia glare.

"Yn! Language!" Sophia said as she watched you jump for joy.

"I'm sorry, but I've finally settled the word of the day!" You said, jumping until you got close to Manon and threw yourself into your girlfriend's lap.

"Solved what?" Megan asks, getting confused by what you were saying.

"It's a game, I only have a few tries to figure out the word of the day and I finally got it, at the last minute." You said, laughing and kissing Manon's cheek, showing your happiness. "It was one of the hardest words I've ever caught."

"Why didn't you ask for our help?" Lara asked, reaching out and picking up your phone, to see how the game worked.

"I thought you might think it was silly." You said, slightly embarrassed by your confession.

"Awn, baby. It's not silly." Manon said, putting a strand of your hair behind your ear and giving a little kiss on your lips. "How about I help you next time, huh?" Manon offered, bringing a smile to your face.

"I would love it, love." You respond, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

"Hey, we're still here!" Daniela said, throwing a cushion at both of you. "And we can help too." The Latina said, making you a little surprised.

"yes, it sounds fun. We'll help you next time." Lara said, giving you back your phone.

"Thank you girls." You said, making them smile back at you.

"But don't yell like that again." Yoonchae said, looking at you with a warning look, making you swallow hard and agree.

MY CLASSES WILL START IN A WEEK, I'M FREAKING OUT GUYS SORRY

Stay safe and drink water

xoxo, spider.

[inkbybambi]

best friend!simon riley picking you up from a bad date —

words: 2.2k rating: nothing explicit apart from a brief mention of sex, just some light angst and comfort. my blog is 18+ so minors please dni. warning: hurt/comfort, fluff, pet names, insecurity/doubt/worry, mentions of sex, simon is the softie we all know he is notes: originally written for @ghosts-cyphera ♡ we all need a bestfriend!simon in our lives who's so sweet and gentle with us.

One thing you love about Simon — besides everything — is how reliable he is. Strong, steadfast, there when you need him. Even when he’s not physically there — his work taking him away for weeks or even months at a time — you find yourself reading over the messages he’s sent, the little sticky notes he’s left, whatever memento you’ve kept of him tucked away in the drawer in your bedside table.

Not that you’ll tell him that.

You hate asking him for favors — asking anyone for favors, really, but him especially. Whenever you ask someone for help, it's always accompanied by a long-suffering sigh or a roll of the eyes or some very clear indication that they'd rather do anything else.

Except for Simon.

Which is why you're hesitant to ask him more than you absolutely need to. You don't want to push your luck too far, less he eventually tires of you as well.

Losing people hurts, always assuming it's you that caused the problem. You've come to accept this, even if the dark feelings of being too much or a burden claw at the edges of your mind.

But losing Simon? You don't think you'd ever get over that.

It's just after 9pm, the sky dark and clouds threatening, with thunder rumbling steadily in the sky. Your hand shakes as you fumble your phone from your pocket, trying to hold tears at bay as you scroll through your contacts.

Your call log is all Simon.

Some appointments here and there, but Simon everywhere else.

Fuck.

You hiccup, the tears spilling from your eyes as the sky finally opens up, joining you in your mourning.

You don't have any other choice, really, so you click his number before you can talk yourself out of it and walk home instead, bringing it up to your ear as it rings.

He answers before the third ring.

"I'm so sorry to bother you," you sniffle into the phone, before he has a chance to say anything. You take in a sharp breath, blood turning to ice. "Am i bothering you?" you sound so meek and small and tired. “No, dove, you’re not,” comes his calm, reassuring voice. You’re only half-convinced.

"I'm sorry," you begin again. Your heart falls to your stomach, convincing yourself that this is his final straw. You're overtaken by a wave of nausea, despite not having eaten anything since lunch. "I didn't know who else to call, and I lost my tram pass, and I don't have an umbrella, and — "

“Dove,” he says, his accent soothing to your ears — he's so endlessly patient and kind. You ache.

"I can just walk home, I-I'm sorry," you whimper out, unable to stop the tears blurring your vision, feeling pathetic and weak and so, so alone. “Darling,” he says, a little stern. Not angry, never angry. Trying to focus you. “What’s wrong?”

“U-um, my date stood me up,” you sniff, swallowing hard. "I waited an hour," you mumble, looking to your shoes. "Messaged him too, y'know. He just. Didn't show."

You think you hear Simon curse over the line and your heart lurches, feeling like you're about to be sick. “Where are you?”

There's a rustle of fabric, the clink of keys, the heel of his boot walking across his floor. You manage to tell him the name of the restaurant, voice cracking. “Twenty minutes,” he says, and you’re about to protest but he beats you to it. “Sit there and be good and patient and I’ll pick you up, yeah?”

"Okay," you whisper in agreement, before the line clicks dead and you allow yourself to cry, huddling under the awning as some protection from the rain, now coming down in thick, sharp waves.

Thirteen minutes later, the headlights of his truck shine through the dark, pulling up to the curb. You make a mad dash for the passenger door, still getting drenched in the process.

You can't even look at him, hands shaking as you buckle the belt, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

He says your name gently. You take in a shuddering breath and let it out just as shaky, looking over towards him. He's wearing his balaclava, but his eyes — even in the dark, you can make out his beautiful eyes. Assessing you, worrying.

"I'm sorry," you croak out. You can't help it. It's burned into your tongue, driven into your mind to make him understand you didn't want to bother him. He doesn't have to forgive you, but as long as he knows, that's enough.

"Love," he says, and there's... something in his voice, as he reaches over for your hand, holding it gently in his own. His eyes never leave yours. "'m never gonna be mad about you askin' for help." Your eyes flit away, but he squeezes your hand and you reluctantly look back. "You know me better than that," he says, as if he can read the treacherous thoughts swirling in your head, drowning you and making it hard to breathe.

You can only nod, not trusting your voice at the moment. He hums, bringing the back of your hand up to graze his covered lips over the back, pulling out to drive you back.

"This is your flat," you say, fifteen minutes later as he shuts the car off. You were too busy looking at the window, watching the rain drops race down the glass, to notice that he wasn't driving the familiar route to your place.

"Yes," he replies, as if it's obvious he'd bring you here. "You really think I'd let you stay home alone?"

His eyes are so fucking bright. It startles you, and you hate how your heart twists and thumps at how intently he's looking.

"I..." you start, chewing on your bottom lip for a moment. His eyes flicker to your lips, snapping away just as quick. "I was gonna eat ice cream and drink shitty, cheap wine," you say.

"As if I don't have either of those things here," he replies, opening the door and effectively ending the conversation. You scramble after him, eager to be inside in the warmth and burrow yourself into his couch.

"Go get changed," he says, voice clear as he removes the balaclava and bends to untie his shoes.

You hesitate for a second, until he looks up to you and there's that something lingering in his gaze — the same something that was in his voice.

"Go on now," he repeats, softer, and you ditch your shoes and your uncomfortably wet jacket by his.

His flat is as familiar as your own — you could walk through it blindfolded at night and you wouldn't knock into a single thing.

Well.

You might knock into a corner or two, but that's not a vision thing. It's a you're a bit clumsy thing. Simon finds it endlessly amusing, poking at the bruises that blossom on your skin while you bat his hand away.

His bedroom is familiar as well. Which is why you don't think twice before you're shimmying out of your clothes — undergarments as well — and rifling through his drawers, finding your favorite shirt of his and a pair of his boxers.

You take a moment to smell the collar, taking comfort in the scent that lingers. You’ve been dressed in his clothes many times before this but it feels different this time.

As you pad back out to the living room, Simon’s already on the couch. Your favorite blanket is draped across his lap, two bowls of ice cream and a bottle of cheap wine sitting open, glasses filled far more than you would’ve. You’ll indulge him, mostly because you have the sneaking suspicion that he’ll have you sleep here anyways.

His balaclava is off. The last dregs of tension drain from you as he looks over to you, face soft in the lowlight of the lamp, tv ready with a show you’ve watched a thousand times that he watches with you without complaint.

“Knew you’d choose that one,” he says with a bit of a smirk as you crawl on the couch, burrowing yourself into his side, his arm slinging across the back of the cushion.

“Am I that predictable?” you mumble, a small thank you as he hands you a bowl.

He doesn’t answer, but you feel the burn of his stare before he snorts, flicking the tv to start playing, the familiar theme relaxing you further.

The silence with him is comfortable, lingering in a hazy in-between of awake and sleep, empty bowls and mostly empty glasses sitting on the coffee table.

“Were you going to fuck him?” he asks, three episodes in, bottle empty.

You blink, not sure if you heard him properly as you pull back to look at him. You can’t read his eyes. Something hot twists in your gut.

“I-I don’t know, Simon,” you start, the weight of his stare heavy. “Maybe?”

He doesn’t say anything and you chew your lip for a moment, fingers curling to play with the blanket. “Depends how the date went, I suppose. Doesn’t matter much now,” you snort. His gaze hasn’t changed. “Why?”

His jaw clicks, taking a deep breath. “You deserve better ‘n that.”

A confused frown pulls at your mouth, unsure how to reply. “I know how to be safe,” you tell him, voice soft.

He seems to be weighing his words in his head, lowering the volume of the show. You feel sick.

Dark eyes rove over your face, taking in every minute detail. You bite at your nail, just for something to do.

“Don’t think there’s a bloke in the world that’s worthy of ya.”

Your frown deepens, breaking your eyes from his, twisting your fingers in your lap. Relationships aren’t easy. Being that vulnerable with someone isn’t easy.

You never want someone to pay for you, and even the smallest gestures like opening the car door or pulling out your chair feel like it’s too much. You don’t deserve that kind of attention. After a while, they’ll get tired. You’ll become a burden to them like everything else in your life.

It’s easier to be by yourself. The only person you have to worry about bothering is you.

“Love.” He tilts his head, eyes trying to catch yours. How hasn’t he gotten tired of you yet?

A hand under your chin forces your gaze up, and you try to shrink yourself against the back of the couch. Your voice catches in your throat, words stuck there.

“What’s goin’ on in tha’ pretty head f’yours?”

You swallow thickly, finding it damn near impossible to keep your eyes on his.

“‘s not like it matters,” you start. his brows furrow, but he stays silent. “No one would want me anyways.”

“‘n why would you say that?”

Frustration burns the back of your throat. Isn’t it obvious? You can barely call him in a dire situation without thinking the worst of yourself. How can he think of you as anything but a nuisance? How could he think anyone else would put up with it?

“You wouldn’t understand,” you say, defeated. You crumble back into the couch.

“Make me understand.”

Heat flashes at the nape of your neck. He takes your hands in his, cradling them in his warmth. Your name sounds so soft in his voice.

“How aren’t you tired of me?” comes your whispered question, nose tingling and eyes threatening to water. You look at him. Hesitant. Scared.

The silence is loud. His own frown deepens. It takes a few painful minutes, but you see the moment something clicks in place.

“You know I’d do anything for you, yeah?”

Your lip quivers, sniffling as you beg yourself not to cry.

“Because you do the same for me,” he continues. You doubt it, mind going blank of every time he’s come to you for something.

His touch moves to your elbow, tugging you forward gently until he can arrange you in his lap. He slips his hands beneath the hem of his shirt, thumbs rubbing on your hips just above the waistband of his boxers.

You slowly brace your hands on his shoulders. Firm and broad and safe.

“You apologize so much. You worry so much.” the tears slip down your cheeks, throat aching, but now you can’t look away from him. One hand moves to cup the nape of your neck, thumb rubbing gently at the skin behind your ear.

“You’re allowed to ask for help.”

You shake your head, a no caught in your throat, tears blurring your vision.

“Oh, love.” He cradles you into the curve of his neck, arm wrapping around your waist and keeping a gentle hold at the base of your skull. “You have me wrapped around your finger ‘n you don’t even know it.”

He lets you cry into his neck, dampening the collar of his shirt. His cologne is soothing and you eventually slump against him. You’re so tired.

His lips graze your temple, his soft touch lulling you to sleep. You’ll talk about it tomorrow, but for now you want to stay wrapped up in his arms, held by someone who genuinely loves you.

[aziiori]

STILL SEVENTEEN - KENMA KOZUME

Synopsis Kenma Kozume has moved on, but some memories never fade. When paths cross again, the past resurfaces, and the world that ended back then feels painfully alive once more.

Characters Kenma Kozume x Reader

Warnings Slight angst

Word count 2.9k

A/N Guess who's back after a year!!

You met Kenma in your first year at Nekoma. He was quiet, head always lowered, thumbs tapping against his handheld console while the rest of the team shouted about games and practice schedules. It wasn’t like he ignored people — he just preferred the quiet.

You didn’t think much of him at first. But one rainy afternoon, after practice was canceled, you found yourself sitting next to him under the gym awning, both of you waiting out the storm. He didn’t look up from his game, but after a few minutes, he tilted the screen toward you.

“Wanna try?” he asked softly.

That was the first real conversation you had.

From then on, it became a quiet routine. After practice, you’d sit near the windows while he played on his console. Sometimes, you’d bring snacks. Sometimes, you’d watch the rain. Words were scarce, but it wasn’t awkward. It was easy.

Kenma wasn’t like the others. He didn’t force small talk or make you feel like you had to be someone else. He liked having you around, even if he didn’t always say it. The others noticed too. Kuroo would nudge him with a grin, teasing, “Got yourself a player two, huh?”

Kenma would blush, mutter something under his breath, and turn his attention back to his console. You never teased him about it.

Your favorite memory from that time was during a school festival. Nekoma’s team had set up a booth, and while the others joked around, you and Kenma snuck away to a quiet corner behind the gym. The city lights glittered in the distance, but here, you could still see the stars.

“Do you ever think about leaving this place?” you asked him.

He looked up at the sky, his golden eyes reflecting the night. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “But it’s… okay. As long as I have people I like here.”

He didn’t say your name. He didn’t have to.

That night, you felt something shift. Something gentle, unspoken. A closeness you didn’t have with anyone else.

Neither of you realized it then, but those simple, quiet moments were the kind you’d ache to return to one day.

-----

It wasn’t dramatic when it happened. No big confessions under fireworks, no shouts across a gymnasium. It was just a quiet moment between you and Kenma — the same way everything always was.

It started with him walking you home after practice one evening. The streets were dim, the city humming softly around you both. You were talking about some dumb horror movie you’d seen, and how you couldn’t sleep after. Kenma listened, hands in his pockets, glancing at you now and then.

“I could… uh… stay on call with you,” he mumbled. “When you sleep. If you want.”

You blinked at him, surprised. It wasn’t like Kenma to offer things like that. But something about the way he said it — like it scared him — made your heart squeeze.

You nodded. “Yeah… I’d like that.”

From there, it was a slow shift. Calls after practice became nightly habits. Sharing snacks during breaks turned into holding hands under the table when no one was looking. The team noticed, of course. Kuroo teased both of you endlessly. Yaku pretended not to care but always smiled when he caught Kenma watching you from across the court.

Neither of you said the words “we’re dating”. You just… were.

Your dates weren’t extravagant. It was coffee shops with flickering lights, game arcades where he taught you cheat codes, and sitting by the river at dusk, sharing earphones and a playlist he made without saying it was for you.

But your favorite moments were the silent ones. Sitting in his room, curled up together while he played, your head resting on his shoulder. He’d hum softly to the game’s music, and you’d watch the way the city lights bled through the blinds, casting stripes of gold and shadow on his face.

Those were the nights you felt the safest. Like nothing could touch you.

Back then, you believed it would always be this way.

-----

At first, it was barely noticeable.

Kenma would leave your messages on read. Not because he was angry, not because he wanted to hurt you — but because he’d get lost in a game, or caught up in a new stream, or just forget. You told yourself it was fine. That this was how Kenma always was. That you’d learned to understand his silences.

But somehow, it started to feel different.

There were nights when you’d wait for his call, phone screen lighting up with every notification that wasn’t him. When you finally asked, his answer was the same every time.

“Sorry. I lost track of time.”

And maybe you shouldn’t have cared so much. Maybe you should’ve brushed it off like you used to. But you missed him. Not the version of him you saw through a screen or in passing at practice — the Kenma who used to quietly wait for you after class, who shared earphones with you by the river, who’d glance at you during games like you were the only person in the world.

One evening, it finally boiled over.

You’d both planned to meet after his practice. Just something simple — grabbing snacks from the corner store and hanging out like you used to. But he didn’t show up. No call. No message.

You waited under the awning outside the store, watching the sky darken and the city lights blur into one another. When your phone buzzed an hour later, it was a text.

Kenma: "Sorry. I forgot."

Something inside you cracked.

When you saw him the next day, you didn’t smile. You didn’t ask if he was okay. You just said, “Do I even matter to you anymore?”

Kenma blinked, caught off guard by the sharpness in your voice. He tugged his hoodie sleeves over his hands like he always did when he was nervous.

“Of course you do,” he muttered.

“Then why does it feel like you don’t?”

It wasn’t a fight filled with shouting. It never was. That wasn’t how either of you worked. It was quiet, restrained, the kind of argument that made the room feel heavy with the things neither of you said out loud.

“I don’t get why you’re so upset,” he said finally. “I’m… I’m trying.”

“Trying what?” you snapped, your throat tight. “Trying to pretend like this isn’t falling apart? Like we’re not different now?”

His face shifted, and for the first time, you saw something break behind those tired eyes. “You think I don’t notice it too?”

And there it was. The truth neither of you wanted to admit.

After that day, it became a pattern.

You’d start fights over things that didn’t matter. Which movie to watch. Which snack to buy. How long he spent online. Every little thing was a trigger because deep down, you were both terrified of addressing what was actually wrong.

Kenma would withdraw. Avoid eye contact. Retreat into his games and streams because it was easier than saying something he knew would hurt you. And you… you started keeping track of every time he didn’t text back, every plan he canceled, every glance he avoided.

You stopped going to his games. Stopped waiting after practice. Stopped walking home together.

Your friends noticed too. Kuroo stopped teasing. Yaku stopped asking questions. Even Lev, oblivious as he was, picked up on the shift.

And the worst part? You missed him. Even when you were sitting right next to him. Even when your fingers brushed in passing and he barely looked up.

Because you both knew the person you missed wasn’t sitting there anymore.

And neither of you were brave enough to say it.

-----

You didn’t remember the exact moment it started to unravel completely — just the little ways everything broke down, thread by thread.

The quiet nights you used to share over the phone turned into nights spent staring at your screen, watching his status light up “online” while you waited for a message that never came.

The dates you used to look forward to felt like obligations. Forced small talk over coffee, awkward silences where once there were gentle, comfortable ones. And you started asking yourself when you stopped feeling like home to each other.

Then came the night everything finally collapsed.

It was raining again — fitting, you thought, because it always seemed to be raining when it came to Kenma. The city lights shimmered in puddles on the streets, and you sat alone at a coffee shop, the one you both used to escape to when everything felt too loud.

You’d texted him to meet you there. One last time. You didn’t even know what you wanted to say, just that you couldn’t keep pretending it wasn’t breaking you.

He arrived twenty minutes late, hoodie pulled up, hair damp from the rain. He looked exhausted — or maybe it was just how he always looked these days. You couldn’t tell anymore.

He slid into the seat across from you, avoiding your gaze.

“Hey,” he mumbled.

You stared at him for a long moment, and you realized you barely recognized him. Not because he looked different — but because you couldn’t find the boy who used to wait for you after class, the one who made playlists and played games until you fell asleep on call.

You took a deep breath. “Kenma… do you even want to keep doing this?”

He blinked at you, a flicker of something crossing his face. Pain, maybe. Guilt. You weren’t sure.

“I don’t know how to fix it,” he whispered.

That broke something in you. Because you’d been waiting for him to fight for you. To argue. To get mad. To say ‘I don’t want to lose you.’ But instead, he gave you quiet defeat.

Your throat tightened. “So you’re giving up?”

“I… I don’t know what you want me to say.”

You looked down at your cup, the cold coffee untouched between you. “I wanted you to care.”

The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating.

“I do,” he said, barely audible. “I just… don’t know how anymore.”

And maybe that was worse.

Neither of you said it — "we're done." You just both knew. The conversation dwindled, words running out like sand in an hourglass, and when you both stood to leave, something felt final about it.

You hugged him.

And it was strange because you never did that much. The words in your head echoed “We don’t do that, we never used to do that”. But now you clung to him like it was the last time, and maybe it was. He hugged you back, awkward and stiff at first, but then his fingers clutched the back of your jacket like he didn’t want to let go.

You didn’t say goodbye. Neither of you were brave enough.

After that night, everything changed.

The messages stopped. The calls. The games. The quiet traditions you’d built over years vanished like they’d never existed.

Kenma dove deeper into his streams and tournaments. His name started trending on social media. His followers grew. People loved him. And you watched from afar, feeling like a ghost in his story.

You told yourself you were moving on too.

You laughed with new people. You went to new places. You filled your days with noise because the quiet reminded you too much of him.

But late at night, when the city lights bled through your window and you caught a glimpse of the moon, it was always him.

Sometimes you’d wake up from a dream where you were both seventeen again. Where you still lived down the street from each other. Where you hadn’t said all the wrong things, hadn’t let the best thing you ever had slip through your hands.

In those dreams, you’d say everything you meant to. You’d tell him you loved him. That you missed him. That every day, you hadn’t found what you needed — not in anyone else, not in anything else.

But then you’d wake up.

And he’d still be gone.

The truth was — no one came close to Kenma Kozume. And you didn’t think anyone ever would.

The world kept turning. He moved forward. And you stayed stuck in the moment it all fell apart

Because to him, it was a small thing that happened.

And to you — it was the end of your world.

-----

It had been years since you last saw him — three, maybe four. You lost count. Time blurred between your hands, slipping through your fingers like grains of sand, and yet the memory of him never fully faded. It stayed with you — in the quiet of your room, in the city lights flickering outside, in the way the moon seemed to watch over everything, just like it had all those years ago.

You’d moved on, or at least, you told yourself you had.

You laughed with new friends. You filled your schedule with work, with school, with anything to avoid the stillness that hit you on late nights when the world outside was quiet. When you weren’t distracted, you’d think about him, but you’d never let it take over. You couldn’t.

But then, one evening, there he was. You were sitting in your favorite coffee shop when he walked in — almost the same way he used to, hoodie up, eyes down, looking like nothing had changed. You froze, heart hammering in your chest. The air between you both felt thick, the kind of tension that only time could create — years of silence and regret, wrapped up in a single moment.

He didn’t see you at first. He was too busy ordering his coffee, too absorbed in whatever game or thought consumed him.

But when he turned, his gaze locked with yours. For the first time in a long time, you saw something flicker behind his eyes — not excitement, not joy, but recognition. A quiet sorrow that mirrored your own.

He walked toward you, slow, deliberate. And when he stood in front of you, you felt the weight of everything unsaid in the space between your breaths.

“You,” he said, his voice a whisper. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

You swallowed hard, fighting the knot in your throat. “Yeah… I guess it’s been a while.”

He nodded, awkwardly adjusting his bag. For a moment, it was like nothing had changed. He was still Kenma. But then the silence stretched, pulling at the edges of your memory — the past, the fights, the breakup.

And suddenly, all those old feelings came rushing back. You felt the ache of it, the emptiness you tried so hard to bury. The grief of a love you never truly got to say goodbye to.

“You look… different,” you said, your voice cracking.

“I guess so,” he replied, almost too quietly, glancing down at his shoes. “I’ve been busy.”

There was something in his voice that broke you. It wasn’t bitterness. It wasn’t anger. It was resignation. The kind of quiet surrender that came after years of trying to outrun something you couldn’t change.

You wanted to ask him about his life — about everything. To hear about the dreams he chased, the people he met. To ask if he ever thought of you. But you couldn’t. Because the years had passed, and those questions would only hurt more.

And then it hit you. He had moved on. He was standing in front of you, but he wasn’t the same person. The Kenma you once knew, the one who sat by your side and shared playlists under the stars, was gone. And somehow, in those years apart, you had become stuck. Trapped in a memory that no one else could fill.

“I’m glad you’re doing well,” you said softly, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

He looked at you for a long time, like he was searching for something in your face — a sign that you were okay, that you’d let go.

“I’ve missed you,” he finally said, the words like a heavy weight dropping between you.

You blinked, and for a split second, everything felt like it used to. Like maybe, just maybe, there was still something there.

But then he looked away. And it hit you. He wasn’t waiting for you anymore. He wasn’t holding onto the past. He was gone. He had moved on, found what he needed — someone else, a future, a life that didn’t include you. And you…

You were still holding onto something that had long since slipped through your fingers.

“I… should go,” he said, backing away slightly. “I didn’t mean to drag this out.”

You wanted to reach for him, to say something — anything. But the words stuck in your throat. You knew if you spoke now, it would break you completely.

“Yeah,” you whispered, voice barely a breath. “Yeah, I get it.”

He hesitated for a moment longer, like he was about to say something more, but then he turned, walking out of the coffee shop without another glance back.

You sat there, numb, the emptiness wrapping itself around your chest like a vise. The world outside the window was still turning, the city lights still flickering, and the moon hung there, distant and cold.

You didn’t move for a long time.

The truth crashed over you like a wave.

The person you loved had moved on.

And you? You were still standing in the past, holding onto a memory that had already faded in his mind.

You were stuck.

And it was as if the world had ended when it happened. When he walked away.

I worked hard on this and I do not allow any form of translation, copying, or plagiarism. Cooperation is appreciated.

©aziiori 04/18/2025

[glassmarine]

lost in translation

You meet a man in a bar, in a foreign city neither of you belong to. MDNI!

ship: alex turner x reader, alex turner x you, bar hook-up, implied age gap

warnings: unsafe and drunken sex practices

word count: 6818

note: this was super self-indulgent (tokyo girl here)

“I don’t think this place is particularly great if you’re looking for a deep connection.” This is what you say when someone brings up dating in Tokyo. You’ve been here a while on exchange now, exploring the city as newcomers are wont to do and on a rainy Friday night, you’re in a new bar, surprised by how crowded it is with people you can speak proper English to. Not that you have any trouble with anyone else, but it’s refreshing being able to speak without slowing down your pronunciation or repeating a word or having to resort to your weak Japanese. “Tokyo is like, ever-expanding. I like it. But it’s not great, you know, for connections or something.”

You nurse your drink, taking a sip from it. You’re surrounded by a few people older than you, who vaguely talked about being here for work. You can see their rough hands, the band tees, the worn shoes. Concert or something? you had asked, and they laughed, relaxing at your unsurprised expression, perhaps pleased that you had not immediately started asking when, what, or who.

Truthfully, you’re not incredibly curious. You just want a slow night. You didn’t have any class today, and you had spent last night partying to celebrate the end of your midterms. Now, you’re still slightly hungover as you drift through this little bar in a small alley somewhere in Tokyo, but you’re not really here to drink.

The warmth inside slowly begins to grow oppressive as you engage in mild conversation, alcohol hot in your throat and stomach. The ice in your drink is melting, watering down the sweet liquor. You swirl it in your glass and take the straw out, knocking back the drink.

“I’m going to go for a cigarette,” you say to the woman you’re speaking to, and pat your pockets for your pack and lighter.

“Oh, I don’t smoke.”

You glance around the room. It smells like cigarettes. You smile at her wryly and say, “You’re in bad company, then. See you in a sec.”

It’s not a promise to return to the conversation, but it’s only polite. You set your drink down, thanking the bartender and you walk out to stand under the awning. There’s someone else there, patting their pockets, too.

You frown as you dig through your coat, and try and pat down your pants until you remember you’re wearing one of your skirts with no pockets. You only find an empty pack of Seven Stars. 

“Could I have one of those?” 

You’re startled by the slightly slurred request from the man standing on the far side of the awning. He’s English, you notice. 

“If I had one at all,” you reply, and turn the packet upside down, shaking it. You stick your hand out and feel the rain. It’s not bad. You saw a convenience store a little down the road. “I’m gonna go get a pack, I think.”

The man walks up to you. “I’ll come with.”

“I’m glad you weren’t expecting me to give you one after I got back from the supply run alone.”

He shrugs, languid and loose. “You seem like a ray of sunshine.” He’s very handsome, you realise, with a nice nose and large, intense eyes, the colour of chocolate in the focused lighting under the awning. 

You smile at his comment. “Aren’t I? Come on.”

You pull your coat up over your head and begin walking in the direction of the convenience store, the only sound coming down the street the distant noise from the main road, your boots clicking on the wet pavement, and the rain coming down gently.

“I’m Alex, by the way,” the man says. Alex says. You commit his name to memory. “This th’part where you give me your name.”

You introduce yourself, slowing down to keep up with his tipsy–or maybe drunken–pace. “Are you with the rest of the party in the bar?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I work with them.”

He looks at you in a simultaneously intense and lazy way, as if he’s figuring out a new problem, the likes of which he already knows what to expect. There’s a naked feeling that comes with this, like he knows what he’s seeing.

“Will you be here very long?” you ask curiously. 

He raises a brow. “Need me for very long, love?”

That startles a laugh out of you and you blush, ever so slightly. “No! I mean–sorry, it’s kind of a thing you ask other foreigners. How long they’ve been here, how long they’ll be here for. This place is kinda… transitory, I guess.”

“Just here for a little while, then Osaka,” he says, answering your question, now his unspoken question clear in the air.

“I study here,” you tell him. “On exchange. I do, um, astrophysics. I go to uni in…”

“England?”

“How’d you know?” you ask suspiciously.

“You said uni.”

“I could be going to uni in Scotland. How Anglocentric of you.”

He shakes his head. “Real big words you’re shooting out there, darlin’.”

“Sorry,” you say, the slightest hint of humorous snark in your voice. “I’ll stop, you do need to keep up.”

Alex laughs. It surprises you, how warm it sounds as you go down the cool, dark street. The air is sticky with humidity, but it feels much lighter when he laughs. 

“You’re a cruel one,” he jokes. “Just the kind of girl I sing about.”

“You sing?” Now that you ask, you can see it in the way he carries himself despite his clear introversion–you can see the confidence and the charm, and when you make eye contact, you realise he knows you see it now.

“Here an’ there.”

A cyclist zips down the street behind you, racing the rain and you jump, shocked by how close he had seemed as he sped on. “Jesus.”

“Yeah.” Alex reaches out and you feel his hand on your shoulder, guiding you to the inner side of the road, and then his hand doesn’t leave. Maybe he actually is drunk. “Maybe don’t walk down th’middle right there, love.”

“I thought I’d hear him,” you grumble slightly. “They’re evil, the bloody bikers here. They cycle on the fucking pavement.”

“That’s your sign to start walking in the middle of the street?” 

You look up at Alex. “You’re a cruel one.”

He laughs again, and you finally see the dim glow of the convenience store a little way down the street. He makes a sound of realisation.

“Yeah, I thought it’d be farther,” you say, brow furrowing.

“I don’t know about you, but there’s somethin’ to be said about how everything feels closer at night.”

“That sounds incorrect,” you say. “But you’re a man with no fear of the darkness.”

He shrugs. “I spook easily. It’s closer when you start running.”

You can’t help your giggle at this admission. “Right,” you say, approaching the convenience store and shaking rain off your damp coat. “I’m so hungry. I need a cigarette so bad.”

The fluorescent lighting stings your eyes a little but you head to the counter and ask for a pack of Seven Stars before turning to Alex. “Which one?”

He examines the line-up behind the till. “Whichever you’re gettin’ darlin’, and… Reds,” he says decisively. 

You ask for those, too, and pull your wallet out, but Alex stops you with a hand on your arm as he pulls out a literal fistful of coins. You start laughing. “Oh my god. Why do you have so many?”

“The lads dumped them on me,” he grumbles, and pays for the cigarettes, cutting his coin balance in half. “Ah. Better.”

“Much,” you agree, giggling. “Come on. I can’t stand to see you in this lighting.”

He follows you as you walk out back into the darkness, rain still falling but gentler now. You don’t mind getting drizzled on for a short walk. It’s warm in the bar, anyway.

“You prefer me in the dark?” Alex says lowly, tone light as he nudges your arm with his elbow. 

You blush, letting out another laugh. “Jesus Christ, Alex. Take me out to dinner, first,” you joke. You open up a pack and pull out the lucky cig and put it back in before taking one out. Next to you, Alex opens up his pack of Reds and does the same. You reach into your pocket automatically, expecting to find your lighter, but your hand closes around air and you groan.

“What?”

“Lighter,” you bemoan, turning around.

“Wait,” Alex says, and pulls a really nice, silver one out of his pocket. He looks up at the dark, cloudy sky, and pulls you into an alcove, a locked-up door with the tiniest awning in the world, and he ends up gently pushing you against the wall. “One sec…”

You’re no longer getting drizzled on, but you’re close enough to feel the raindrops on his coat. You swallow nervously. You’re not put off by his proximity, but…

He places his cigarette between his lips, then lights it. His face is bright in the warm glow, his eyes glowing like amber and you’re struck by how handsome he is–and infuriatingly, your face warms, heart beginning to pound harder.

“Wow,” you say, your cigarette between your bared teeth. “Thanks a million, Alex.”

He leans in. If it were not for the cigarettes, you think he’d kiss you. He touches the tip of his cigarette to yours and you remember to breathe, inhaling deeply as your cig sparks to life gently. Your face is unbelievably hot and you’re deeply grateful for the darkness.

“I wouldn’t leave you wanting, now would I, love?”

You roll your eyes. “Evidently not.” You say this with a smile nonetheless.

“We should finish this here,” he says suddenly. “It’ll go out otherwise.”

“Fair enough,” you reply, and take a deep, calming drag. Your limbs loosen almost deliciously and you can’t help the low, dramatic moan you let out as you exhale. “This is addicting.”

“You don’t smoke often?” Alex’s voice is soft and low, the distinct timbre distracting you. 

“I mean, no, but I am just stating the obvious.”

He offers you his cigarette. “Try this.”

You wrinkle your nose. You tend to avoid the Reds. You like your Seven Stars just fine… but his posture is inviting. You reach up to take it from his hands, but he tuts and you flush before realising and you place your face in his open palm, taking the cigarette between your lips and inhaling deeply.

His thumb brushes your cheek. You feel hot when he does that, your chest tightening with a strange want for more. But you have self-control. You look up at him through your lashes and smile as you take another drag.

“Like it, hm?”

You pull back slowly and his thumb brushes your cheek again. Your fingers tighten around your forgotten cigarette, threatening to crush it. Your heart is pounding in your ears, from the hangover, the alcohol, the nicotine, Alex. 

“It’s… passable,” you murmur. 

“Ah. Give me yours.” His eyes flick to your hand, clenched in a fist and crushing your cigarette ever so slightly. He takes your wrist and your palm falls open as he lowers his head, and he uses you almost as a cigarette holder. You can feel his stubble on your hand and his lips on your fingers.

Mother of god almighty.

He takes a drag, then pulls out to exhale, and comes back in for one more, lips closer to your skin now, properly pressing against your palm.

“I think you like that,” you joke, voice coming out only a little weak, and you clear your throat in an attempt to strengthen it, because smoking makes you hoarse. Right. Smoking.

“I think you did, love,” Alex says with a little smirk as he lowers your hand, but he doesn’t let go of your wrist until you move to take a drag from your own cigarette.

“Don’t be vile.”

“Never have been, never am,” he quips, unbothered by your weak rebuke.

You two finish your cigarettes in oddly comfortable silence, you still against the wall and him half-facing you, half-turned to the road. You put it out, dropping it to your feet and crushing it with the tip of your shoe. There’s hesitation as you move away from the alcove under the awning, and you can’t help but wonder if the strange intimacy you shared there would pass.

Alex puts his cigarette out and places his arm over your shoulders, prompting you to start walking to the bar.

You wonder if he can hear your heart beating as loudly as it is right now. You don’t think you’ve ever been so attracted to someone in a while, and the last time must’ve been right as you started uni and a boy you had liked broke up with you because he was moving away to the mainland.

“Rain’s stopped.”

You look up, your thoughts of kissing him and its consequences sharply interrupted by his comment. “Oh. Yeah. It does that.”

He laughs at your reply, shaking his head. “What a fag does to a girl.”

“Hey,” you complain, nudging his side with your elbow and he laughs harder, jerking away but keeping his arm around your shoulder. “I’m trying. Real hard.”

“Right you are, love.”

“You drive me to drink,” you mutter, smiling.

It doesn’t take long to get back to the bar, and even as you enter, his arm doesn’t leave your shoulders as you order a drink at the counter, and Alex butts in, asking for his own and paying.

“You really didn’t have to.”

“All these bloody coins, darlin’.”

You wait for your drinks and you gratefully take yours, thanking the bartender and sipping on it. It’s heady and sweet, and the alcohol hits you harder than you thought it would. “This is good,” you tell Alex, who is watching you, holding a tumbler of whisky in his free hand.

His other hand squeezes your shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“Very good.” Your eyes fall to the clock on the wall as you glance up over Alex’s shoulder. “I’m going to miss my train home, I think.”

He turns to look. “What time…?”

“In ten minutes,” you say with a sharp sigh. “It’s a fifteen minute walk there. Seven if I sprint.”

Alex looks down at your shoes, then smiles. “Guess you’ll be getting lucky at a hospital tonight?”

You laugh, closing your eyes and pressing your fingers to your temple. “Ughhhh. No. Not tonight. I’ll just…” You glance around the room, then look at him. “I don’t know. All-night karaoke.”

He raises a brow. “I’m not surprised they have that here. I can’t say I’m tempted, though.”

“It’s not half bad, but don’t worry, you’re not invited. Can’t let you upstage me.”

“Stay with me,” he blurts out. This is clearly uncharacteristic for him to do–to be so bold and direct, and it shows on his face when he glances away, slightly embarrassed. “If you haven’t got plans to sing all night.”

“Okay,” you find yourself agreeing. There is a certain peculiarity in this, considering the fact that you have never so easily agreed to a man, albeit without sexual innuendos, propositioning you spend a night with him. But Alex comes across differently, his charm subtle and almost excruciatingly calm, like it’s in his skin rather than a look he puts on. 

You finish your drink. The liquor burns sweetly. 

Alex knocks back his tumbler of whisky as if it was a shot, and you wrinkle your nose. “That’s meant to be savoured. You’re like a uni kid.”

He gives you a look. There's still a little left in his glass. “When in Rome…”

You’re a little clumsier under the influence, a little more comfortable being touched with every sip. “Think I should get another?”

Alex checks his watch. “One for the road.”

Someone tells his–yours too, now–party that their last train is in 15 minutes, and their station is closer. 

Alex orders you two more drinks, and when he lets go of your shoulder to point at the menu, he puts it back on your waist this time, hand warm against your body. You hardly resist, one hand coming up to gently squeeze his wrist before you lean in against him. Someone finds Alex, emerging from one of the more crowded corners.

“Alex,” the man slurs. He has one of the most English faces you’ve ever seen. 

You blink. “Miles Kane.”

“Miles Kane,” Miles repeats. “He’s somewhere a… oi, that’s me.”

“You know him?” Alex asks you, surprised. You had never shown any indication you knew Alex, but you know Miles.

“My best friend thinks you’re really fit,” you tell Miles. “She keeps showing me pictures of you.”

“Now, is your best friend in this room, and is she half as fit as you?” Miles drawls out with a grin. “Because, if so…”

“My best friend is at LSE,” you blurt out, surprised, unable to comment on your best friend’s fitness in surprise.

“LS… Oh, Jesus,” Miles whistles. “You’re young.” He looks at Alex, who you are leaning on, who has his hand on your hip.

You shrug. “And you are…?”

“The cheek of this one, Al!” Miles laughs loudly, and Alex laughs at your question. “Alright, alright, won’t comment on it. No need to give me a crisis, gorgeous.”

“I don’t give anything,” you reply, smiling. 

“Right,” he says, and drunkenly points at you and Alex, up and down. “Right.”

Alex feels your eyes on him. “I bought her cigarettes an’ drinks. I gave her things.”

“As I said. I don't give a thing.”

“Riiiiight,” Miles says, laughing. “Alright, join us, love. Your humour keeps me young.”

But with that, Miles wanders off, leaving you alone with Alex.

“You know him?”

“I guess I know you,” you say. “Alex Turner.” You had never seen him live, but you've heard his songs on the radio a few times. You never thought he'd be particularly attractive to you, but you're also not surprised anymore. 

He gives you a sidelong look as he finishes his whiskey. “Does that matter to you?”

You shrug. “Should it?”

There's a look that flashes in his eyes and he says, with a smile, “No, guess not.”

As it turns out, the Japanese interpreter they had brought along was utterly sloshed. You're not surprised by this either, so you end up telling Alex to tell everyone what to do, because you're hardly going to take charge of a group you're not part of. The two of you end up leading the way, anyway, but you earn no curious looks. 

“The rain is gentler now,” Alex notes as you walk, his hand warm on your hip, skimming the edge of your skirt, lifting the hem of your jacket.

“It’s still sticky.”

“Makes you wanna peel your skin right off,” he muses in a way that doesn’t make that sound creepy at all. Or only a little bit, at worst.

You make it down to the station and he tells you which stop. It's a little while away, and when you sit, he places his head against yours. It's been so long since you've delighted in any kind of intimacy. There was no envy when you saw couples do this on the train, sleeping on each other, waiting for their stop.

Now you might be a little envious after tonight, and you have the slightly nauseous realisation that you might do anything to capture this feeling again. The warmth of his body against yours, his shoulder pressed to your own, his soft breathing you ultimately end up mimicking. The train trembles to a stop.

“Our stop,” you say, words slurring as you realise how much you've had to drink when you get the chance to rest.

Alex mumbles something then rises.

“Stop mumbling.”

He shoots you a look. “Mean. I said ‘okay.’” 

Miles, on his other side, says, “No, he didn't.”

“What did he say?”

Alex shushes Miles drunkenly.

“He said, ‘I like the way you say that.’”

You shake your head and smile. It's a short walk to their hotel, a very nice one. You pile into the elevator in groups, Alex giving one of the security detail a look when they try and have you take the next one. 

“You're too confident for your own good,” you mumble to Alex in the crowded elevator, while everyone is drunkenly chattering in low, slurred voices. 

“Confident about what?” he whispers back. His mouth is warm against your ear.

It’s just the alcohol that’s very, very warm in your body. Right. Just the liquor. 

You and the group file out once you reach one of the uppermost floors and you realise that you have almost forgotten who you’re with. The opulence is dazzling and it makes your eyes burn. You sway, and Alex places his hand on your hip again. “Steady on, love.”

“Aye, captain,” you remark dryly. 

He pulls you towards a door and fishes a keycard out of his pocket, and he nudges you in, following and locking the door behind you with a soft click. The room is dimly lit, a suitcase left open on the floor, a few clothes strewn about on chairs, an acoustic on the coffee table. It’s a mess that room service had left behind–his bed is immaculately done up. Your mouth goes dry. Pillows have never looked so inviting before.

“It’s a Japanese thing to take your shoes off,” Alex murmurs from behind you, the hand on your hip casual yet persistent. What an oxymoron that is, but you can’t describe it any other way; his fingers are soft, easily shaken off, but they stay even as he kicks his shoes away, and he doesn’t bother with politely nudging them to the side.

You bend down to remove your boots and you sway even worse than before. 

“You’re like a stalk of wheat in th’breeze.”

“Don’t distract me,” you reply, focused on the laces of your boots. Then Alex casts a shadow in the dim lights as he bends down, deftly undoing the knot and taking your shoes off for you, breathing out a slow, drunken and sighing laugh.

You find that his hand is on your ankle and you look into his eyes—he looks up, he looks beautiful on his knees–and he looks hungry. Starved.

You’re not the type to sleep with strangers. Not with rockstars, especially. Those are the last thoughts in your head before you make the decision to lean down and kiss him. What a good thing that you do–his mouth is soft and warm as you press your mouth to his, pliant and open and waiting. Eager, if there’s anything to say about how his grip tightens around your ankle and his free hand comes up to your cheek and his fingers snake their way into your hair. You sigh into the kiss when he does that–he takes it as the opportunity to slip his tongue in your mouth. Tentative at first, then exploratory. Your head spins at the taste of his mouth, all liquor and Alex at once.

He only draws back to stand up, but in the brief moment you glimpse his face before he is on you again, you see the way he looks at you, like you are a struck match. You can smell him when he kisses you standing now: cigarettes, rain, leather. His hands are grasping your waist, your coat bunching around his fingers as he pulls it off you with what seems to be his oxymoronic attitude about these things: gentle, hurried. Desperate, steady.

“I don’t do this often,” you murmur when you two come apart for a little air. “Or–at all.”

Alex kisses you, then the corner of your mouth, your cheek, your jaw, your ear. “Good.”

It’s very tense silence for a moment when he says that, and then it’s a rush and his mouth is on your neck, sure to leave marks, and you slip your hands into his jacket and Alex takes it off, discarding it on the floor and his mouth–his talented, talented mouth is still on your neck, moving from one spot to another and his warm hands pull your tucked sweater out of your skirt; so many things are happening at once and you can feel him want so many things at once as he slips his hands up your top and his fingers tremble when your cold palms press against the sliver of skin where his t-shirt rides up as he pushes you against the wall, and he is slipping this thigh between your knees and you gasp–good god, you are kissing again, and the heat of his body comes in waves as he kisses you and you think your knees are about to give out and it hasn’t even been three minutes since you stepped into his hotel room and the bed is so close and so far away.

Your hand reaches up for his arms and you can feel the flex of muscle and the warmth of his skin and you don't think you've ever been so hungry before, paralysed with want as his hands reach for your bra—you almost thought he'd be deft with it, with those lovely hands but he's clumsy and he scrabbles for the hooks on either side in a frustrated rush that ultimately has you lifting your top off your head and you hear the hiss of his breath as his open, hot mouth finds the top of your breast while you are in the midst of stripping and he is in the midst of ripping your bra off.

“There,” you say, voice coming out in a hissing sigh as the hand that is not clutching your hip and pulling you into him finds your nipple as his tongue laves at the edges of the peak of the breast he had kissed. “Right—fuck—there.”

His thigh is nudging your weak, ineffective legs apart and you suck in a sharp breath as it presses against that spot, right there, there, there—

“You taste good,” Alex says. What an understatement for his urgency—his teeth scrape and you arch your back with a silent gasp. 

His fingers dig into your waist, nudging your skirt down and you reach for his belt, unbuckling it with shaking hands and he groans against your chest as you undo his jeans, loosening up the tightness and you can feel his cock better now, burning hot through his boxers into the side of your mons and you cannot help the gasping, breathless sigh you release that you didn't know you were holding when he kissed you, and now he kisses you again—short but deep and nearly careless with urgency. Then, somehow, when he pulls away to grind closer, the space between your bodies tighter, you manage to place your mouth on the soft skin of his neck and the heat of his skin is addictive, and the realisation that he's a real person who can feel all of this too is quite nearly too much until he pulls you away from the wall and walks you backwards into the bed, landing the two of you in a messy, hungry heap atop it.

“Ow, fuck—my cock—”

“Jesus fuck, did you have to be so rough—Alex,” you hear yourself say, pleading and demanding and breathless. “Alex.”

“I like it when you say my name,” he says, looking up at you. “Not that Jesus bloke.”

This startles a laugh out of you and he takes it as the opportunity to pounce, his lips sharp on yours, heady waves of pleasure crashing into your body as he reaches for the back of your skirt in an attempt to get it off—he’s successful and you can feel his excitement at that when he kisses you harder, presses his cock insistently into your thigh. Your hands come up to tangle through his hair and he groans into your mouth when your grip tightens, and you decide that you really, really like that sound.

“If I can't get your fuckin’ stockings off, love,” Alex slurs, the warning clearly on the tip of his tongue the way he says it with such sharp urgency, “I’m gonna rip them off.”

“Don't,” you gasp as his mouth finds your neck again and you squirm, pushing your hips up into his in such a way that has him shuddering and with a sudden need for air, “I like these.”

“Get you new ones,” he practically growls against your collarbone.

“I got these in London—”

“Better.” And rip your stockings he does, cleanly from the bottom up and he rips them off until you are finally, finally left in your panties and he pulls back, his eyes nearly black in the lighting and his pupils blown-out. His gaze is hungry, eating one glance of you at a time, almost in slivers as his eyes drag down torturously slow, from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. “Much better.”

“Fuck me,” you tell him, heart hammering in your chest. You sit up and your fingers find his hips, playing with the waistband of his boxers. You can see him closing his eyes, swaying for a second, and then he looks at you like a piece of meat dangling in front of a starved animal when you snap his waistband against his hips for his attention. “Are you gonna fuck me?”

“N… No, not yet. I want you to—unless there's lube—” 

You ghost your mouth over the hard tent in his boxers. “You were saying?” You breathe out, hot and soft over his bulge and his hands find your head, both coming down the side but one placing itself under your chin and the other on the side of your head.

“Fuck.”

“I know,” you say, and you're pulling his boxers off, freeing his painfully hard cock and admiring the reddened, leaking tip, glossy with pre-cum. Your tongue darts out for a lick, his hand finds its way into your hair and tightens there, almost like a warning. You take him in, a bit at a time. First his tip, and then all the way down.

Alex gasps, properly gasps, his hips jerking his cock deeper and nudging your throat. You choke but hold in place, looking up at him through your lashes, eyes glittering and shining with want.

“Good,” he breathes, flushed and hungry.

Your tongue traces the underside of his heavy cock, the tip of your tongue dragging against the sensitive red tip–silky and hot around the red tip and then you swallow him back down again and Alex hisses your name, his hips thrusting into your mouth with barely controlled restraint, one hand coming up to clasp his opposite shoulder and the lower half of his face tucking into his elbow–distantly, you wonder if he’s going to sneeze, god forbid, then in the darkness you make out the red flush of his cheeks and he’s embarrassed, god, he’s embarrassed–

You suck in earnest, taking him in deep and when your throat tightens as you swallow around him, his cock jumps in your mouth, thrusting into the very back of your throat and you choke again and refuse to break your gaze–then Alex makes a decision, one hand grasping the back of your neck, the other on the side of your head. He fucks your mouth, his thumb trembling with restraint as it pads at your cheek, pressing under your glassy, hungry eyes.

Mouth open wide, cheeks hollowed as you suck, bright, teary, starving eyes shining with want—Alex pulls back from you suddenly with a shuddering gasp. “Oh, love, I can’t—not yet—”

You kiss the tip of his cock, tongue darting out like a kitten.

Alex moans, honest-to-god moans all low and deep and lifts your chin away from his heavy, leaking cock. “Stop. I don't—I still want to fuck you.”

You smile, razor sharp but softened by intoxication. Whether it's alcohol or his cock in your mouth, it's hard to tell. Alex looks at your grin and thinks of papercuts.

He swallows, throat bobbing, then he bends down to kiss you, pushing you back down onto the bed and finding your fingers. You think he's just gonna hold your hand and then he is clasping your wrist and pressing it firmly into the bed as his mouth closes on a nipple again. You arch your back, gasping as you push your breast into his mouth and he pushes back, teeth scraping on your soft skin, biting back a gasp when you feel his cock, wet with your spit pressing hard and insistently against the inside of your thigh.

His fingers dig into the soft skin of your thigh, slipping your panties down so quickly you would say you barely noticed if it hadn’t been for his sharp inhale as he pressed his fingers against your cunt, just the outside.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he says, words strained with hunger, drawn out by liquor. “God, you’re so fuckin’ wet…”

“I prefer it when you say my name–ah!” you gasp as he spreads your lips apart, searching for your clit with the rough pad of his thumb. “Better than that God bloke.”

“You’re mouthy,” he observes, and draws circles with his thumb, a smug, lazy grin forming on his face as your hips jerk in response.

“Just like you,” you shoot back, “Just like–fuck, fuck, fuck, that’s good–”

“Just like you,” Alex repeats, and replaces his thumb with his mouth, tongue flat against your clit, slickly flicking and dragging against your skin. He groans at the taste of you. It reverberates through your body, like his laugh when your hips jerk up involuntarily. He clicks his tongue. “Impatient.”

His hand abandons your wrist to loop around your thighs, one on each side, holding you wide open—exposed, so exposed and naked—and mercifully, his eyes are closed as he eats you out like a starving man, all lips and tongue and teeth scraping at your skin hungrily. And Alex moans when you arch into him, pushing your cunt further against his face, his nose digging into your pubic bone—you moan when he moans, begging yes, Alex, right there, please and he only groans and drunkenly laughs at your pleading and he doesn't stop his steady pace, it’s almost punishing how well he does this, and the shockwaves of pleasure turn into a low vibrational hum that echoes from the top of your head to the tips of your toes like standing too close to speakers at a concert, your body too hot, desperate to be pressed against another body, his body to be perfectly precise—and his mouth is perfect precision when he flicks his tongue.

“Good, yeah, cum for me, love. You look so pretty when you’re about to cum—”

You do, back arching, and you feel your teeth click on your knuckles as you stupidly try to hold a cry down but it doesn't work and Alex is laughing against your cunt, not mockingly but with far too much smugness for a man that got too shy to look at you while you blew him. 

Your head is pounding with pleasure, chest tight and breathing stuttering in time with your heart threatening to jump right out of your chest. You look at him, dazed and drunk, and say, “You gonna fuck me now?”

Alex is still laughing—giggling, really. “Yeah. Yeah, I will…” Then as he trails off he hauls your legs to side off his body as he lifts your hips up to match him kneeling on the bed. 

You can’t see what he’s doing, what his eyes are now trained on, but you can feel it–his cock slickly and delicately tracing your seam. And you can see Alex, the trembling in his shoulders, the restrained breaths as he teases himself almost as much he’s teasing you, the way he is biting his lip, brow furrowed with restraint. You see his throat bob as he swallows thickly, silently, the entire motion remaining with his body.

There’s a plea in the back of your throat, your body hot and dizzy, and you want him to just fucking do it, right now, right now, right now–but when his name exits your mouth, it’s coaxing. Warm.

“Alex…”

Then he pushes himself in with a low hiss, eyes falling shut. “Fuck,” he says, strained and breathless.

It pulls a soft gasp from you, the way he fills you, and he shifts forward almost gingerly, leaning forward and bending over you until you are nearly nose to nose and he grasps one of your wandering hands again, fingers closing around your wrist as he pins it to the bed, his weight sinking you into the mattress; your other hand is free to move, it finds the back of his head, his nape, his back and making a map out of his body.

Alex kisses you once, twice, and then he moves. There’s a certain drunk clumsiness to him now, not missing any spots but he’s careless with a steady, building force and your chest is heaving as you are jolted with each sharp thrust of his hips. Right there, you think, holding back a moan, but you realise you weren’t thinking when he lets out a strangled sound as you feel the pressure building, your body tightening up and around him, and he whispers, “Yeah, there?”

“There,” you gasp. 

There, Alex, there, there, there spills from your mouth with each shift of his hips, his head dipping as he kisses you with a wonderful desperation that makes you gasp his name into his mouth and he groans again as you feel his fingers tremble around your wrist and the heat of his body is everything now, coming off him in a sticky way like the hot Japanese rain, the scent of whiskey and cigarettes and clouds in his hair, but you want his skin to stick to yours, you want the pleasure of it–fuck, Alex, don’t–and he says your name, telling you he won’t stop in shaky breaths as he presses his lips to the corner of your mouth, your cheek, your jaw. His eyelashes flutter and scrunch against your neck.

“Good?” he says into your skin, teeth dragging on your sensitive flesh.

You arch into him, hungry for more, and he keeps moving, he said he wouldn’t stop so he doesn’t and you can feel it, the pleasure drumming in your head and your toes, your ears and your heart and your body tenses as if you’re running one last stretch, then Alex moans, low and sweet into your ear again, like he is feeling all of this too. And you’re already sensitive, already on edge from cumming just now, it’s tantalisingly close, you’re tantalisingly close and you only get closer when you feel his pace grow erratic and nearly harsh, and then his right hand which you had nearly forgotten about marks a firm path up your side and then your breast, tugging at your nipple and you cry out his name. Under him, your body twists with pleasure, raw and convulsing as you cum so hard the whole world seems to tremble with you sharply.

Alex groans. “I’m going to–”

“Not inside,” you gasp.

“Right, right, oh, fuck–” He bears down on his left arm, pinning your hand deeper and almost painfully tight into the sheets as he pulls out hurriedly, hand going down as he strokes himself roughly, head lifted and gaze down as he shudders almost helplessly, moaning as he cums, making a mess all over your stomach, warm and sticky and in a surprising quantity. 

You wish you knew him well enough to let him cum inside, now that you think of it through the last, pounding darts of heat that strikes through your brain from your orgasm.

Alex looks up at you, eyes heavy and satiated. “Good?” he mumbles. He sounds like he ought to be drinking water.

“Good,” you affirm with a trembling breath.

He groans and relaxes, slumping down and letting go of your wrist and utterly mindless of the cum that’s going to be a pain to clean up between your bodies. His face is back in the crook of your neck. You can feel his eyelids fluttering shut, as if he’s trying to stay awake.

“‘m so tired.”

“For good reason,” you murmur, fighting off a yawn. It’s a losing battle, and then Alex yawns against your shoulder.

“Don’ do that.”

You yawn again. “Should clean up. It’s so sticky.”

“Always time to shower in the morning.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says so quietly, and then he goes so quiet, his breaths evening out, that you know for certain that he’s asleep.

You close your eyes. There go your plans to leave on the first train in the morning.

[megumiluvv]

It’s Christmas. You’ve almost forgotten about it and rush next door to Choso’s apartment, Yuji’s gifts in hand. You carefully place them under the tree and start to grab your gift for Choso, yet pause to look at the tree.

The ornaments are so pretty and sweet. Mostly items that Yuji has handcrafted for school projects, but also some old ones of Choso’s. An old elementary photo of him catches your eye and you smile. His little kid face is so adorable, but the lack of tattoo across his nose is a little surprising at first. Maybe because you’re used to him with it.

Choso walks into the living room from his bedroom and smiles. “When’d you get here?”

“Just now, still have to bring your presents, so look away.” You smile as he starts to cook breakfast, the Christmas cookies you all decorated a few days ago still in a container sitting on the counter.

You return to your apartment and grab Choso’s gift, you hope he’ll like it. You hide the small box in your pocket and head back to the apartment next door. Choso’s cooking and Yuji’s still asleep, so you continue with the plan you and Choso made last night, grabbing Choso’s boots and a sieve and powdered sugar to make it seem like Santa had visited overnight.

The footsteps lead from the front door to the tree, then lead to the cookies and milk that were set out, then back to the door. Choso looks over and frowns a little.

“Still think the floor will be sticky when it’s time to clean.”

“Quit whining, Yuji has to believe it.”

“The snow would already be melted before he even reached our apartments, we’re under an awning.”

“He doesn’t know any better. He’s too young for practicality, okay?” You huff in exasperation.

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you.” Choso sighs and sets the table. “Sukuna and Uraume should arrive soon.”

Just then, a knock comes to the door. Before either of you could answer, Sukuna opens the door, always walking in like he owns the place. He sees the “snow” and carefully avoids it, knowing better than to mess with Yuji’s image of Christmas.

“He’s still at that age?” He grumbles.

“Huh, speak of the devil and he may come.” Choso mutters to himself. You giggle and help Sukuna set the presents under the tree.

“Is it snowing out there?”

“Yeah, colder than Uraume’s freezer settings.” Sukuna grumbles once more.

“That’s an exaggeration.” Uraume rolls their eyes and sits on the couch beside Sukuna.

You go to wake Yuji and smile at the cute Christmas pajamas the boy is wearing. He clings to you, half-asleep as you carry him out of his room. The moment he sees the presents, his eyes widen, and he believes good Saint Nick stopped by even more when he sees the footprints you created.

“Santa came!” The boy shouts excitedly, hopping from your arms to the tree, looking back at Choso excitedly. “Can I open one? Pleaseeee?”

“Eat first, kiddo, then we can have presents.” You smile and help Yuji to his seat.

He hurriedly eats breakfast and sits at his favorite spot on the couch, trying to hide his excitement for the presents. You set his presents out in front of him, then do the same for the presents for Choso from Sukuna, saving yours for later.

“Woahhh! I got a Human Earthworm poster!” Yuji grins widely. “And spider-man stuff!”

“Damn kid and his spider-man.” Sukuna ruffles Yuji’s hair and smirks as the boy complains.

Choso looks at the present from Yuji, you can see his eyes watering at the little gift. You sit beside him and lean your head on his shoulder, looking at the handmade present. Yuji (with the help of you) made a photo album for Choso, a bunch of pictures from this year’s adventures, and a handwritten note from Yuji saying how Choso is “the best big brother ever in the history of the universe”.

“Yuji, this is so nice, thank you.” Choso barely contains his emotions as he hugs his little brother, much to Yuji’s protests.

You smile softly and stand. “Let’s go play in the snow, yeah?”

Yuji nods excitedly at that and puts his snow boots on. “Yeah!!”

After a long day in the snow and a snowball fight Choso loses, Sukuna and Uraume take their leave and Yuji sleeps in his bedroom. You and Choso clean the wrapping paper mess and the footprints of powdered sugar off the floor. You grab a fake mistletoe plant from the tree and grin to yourself.

“Choso, look up.” You hold the mistletoe over your head.

Choso smirks and places his hands on your waist. “You do understand what that means, right?”

“Mmmhm! That’s the whole point. Now don’t ignore the Christmas tradition, Choso Claus.” You giggle.

He presses his lips to yours and you wrap your arms around his neck, eyes closing and a contented hum escaping your throat. You both hold the kiss for a moment and when you pull away, you place your present in his hands. He opens it carefully and smiles at the locket in the box. Inside the locket is a photo of you and Yuji, you thought it was a little much, but Sukuna said he’d like it.

“…I really like this, thank you.”

Feeling accomplished (and very relieved), you smile and give him a chaste kiss. “Merry Christmas, Cho.”

“Merry Christmas indeed.”

Masterlist

Taglist (ask to join anytime): @samaraxmorgan @cherriee-ee @auor4 @chaotic-ish

@meowsannie

@mediokerrv @flooftoof @dazaisfavgf

@mysteriaqueen @theirlgarfield

@jasminelee324 @t-candy

[f1daydreamers]

𝐑𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐑𝐮𝐧 [𝐌𝐕𝟏]

gif credits: @overtake

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Fem!Reader

Summary: Being caught in the rain without an umbrella isn't fun, but when you're with Max? Fuck it.

Warnings: literally fluff and a tad bit of argumentative banter?

Word Count: 1.1k words (4 mins reading time avg)

…

As you set your glass down, Max straightened in his chair. There was a restless energy radiating from him, a clear sign that he was ready to leave.

"Finished?" He inquired with a subtle hum, and you responded with a silent nod.

With grace, you retrieved your bag from the ground, rising from your seat and tucking the chair neatly back in place. The waiter, ever vigilant, collected your empty plates, and you extended your gratitude with a smile.

As you both made your way toward the exit, you acknowledged the doorman with a gracious thank you, and he obligingly held the door open for you.

However, the moment you stepped out but still shaded by the awning above, the heavens burst open, drenching the world with an unrelenting downpour.

Goosebumps instantly formed on your arms, and you shivered, the chill creeping down your body.

Max shoved his wallet back into his jacket pocket, his gaze shifting to meet your eyes as your head turned in his direction.

"M, the umbrella," you mentioned casually, expectant in your tone.

Max quirked an eyebrow. "What umbrella?" Your head swiveled entirely to face him, a glimmer of hope that his apparent confusion was part of a playful ruse.

"Very funny," you muttered, attempting a strained grin.

"What's funny?" Max inquired, genuinely perplexed by your reaction.

With an audible sigh of exasperation, you pointed skyward for emphasis. "Max, you do know what an umbrella is right?"

"Babe, I don't know what umbrella you're talking about." Max's bewilderment was written all over his furrowed brows and the slight tilt of his head, as if an invisible umbrella had eluded his understanding.

You replied as calmly as you could, "what do you mean? The umbrella, our umbrella." Unfortunately, the perplexed expression on your boyfriend's face remained unchanged, and another gust of harsh wind ruffled your body.

"I didn't bring our umbrella," Max confessed, his brows furrowing as he patted down his jacket pockets, searching for the missing item.

You crossed your arms, a mix of irritation and disappointment etched across your face. "I told you to bring the umbrella."

Max's shoulders slumped, and he withdrew his hand from his pocket, his expression reflecting regret. "No, you said you were bringing the umbrella."

Your frustration gave way to a puzzled expression as you uncrossed your arms, "I said to bring the umbrella, not that I was bringing the umbrella."

There was a brief pause, during which Max's regretful expression slowly transformed into one of realisation. He replayed the conversation in his mind and finally spoke up.

"Oh, you did say that, didn't you?" He admitted with a sheepish grin, his hand absentmindedly rubbing his neck.

"Yeah," you replied with a sigh, deciding that there was no use in getting mad now.

Max took a step closer, draping his arm around your shoulder, and you couldn't help but smile at the small gesture of warmth it gave.

"We could get a taxi," you looked up at his suggestion and scoffed. "The apartment's literally down the road."

Looking around, you pursed your lips. "We can wait here for a bit, maybe the rain will let up."

Max nodded, and you leaned your head on his shoulder as he sqeezed his arm tighter around your body. But after a few minutes of waiting, the rain showed no signs of stopping, so you both exchanged a resigned look.

Max's lips curled into a grin as his hold on you loosened, pulling his jacket off of his arms and resting it on your shoulders.

"You know what, babe? Fuck it. Let's make a run for it."

You raised an eyebrow, amused by his sudden enthusiasm. "Are you insane?" Max wasn't one to refrain from sharing his weird and wonderful thoughts but this one kinda had you thinking a few screws had loosened.

His expression remained determined. "Come on. We can't stay here forever."

His proposal filled you with a mix of excitement and trepidation, but you'd be lying if you said he didn't have a point.

"Fine, but if I go down, I'm taking you with me." He smiled and extended his hand out to you.

"Deal." You chuckled, shaking his hand before he intertwined them together. As you both left the relative shelter of the awning, the relentless downpour immediately drenched you to the bone.

Your footsteps echoed through the empty, rain-slicked streets, a symphony of splashing and laughter in the otherwise silent night.

Max held your hand firmly, not letting go for a second, as if the strength of his grip could keep you both upright on the slippery pavement. His shirt stuck to his frame, and water streamed from the ends of his tousled hair.

Your clothes were heavy and clinging to your skin. Your laughter, mingling with Max's along with some curse words, echoed through the empty streets as you both raced toward your apartment complex.

By the time you reached the entrance of your apartment complex, Max pulled open the door and shut it quickly behind you.

Your hearts were racing, and you were both completely soaked. Water dripped from your hair, and you could feel it running down your skin.

Max let go of your hand, standing in the lobby of the building, panting and dripping wet. "Well, that was fun," Max said with a grin, his eyes light as he messed with his hair.

You couldn't help but smile back, your heart still pounding with exhilaration. “Yeah, fun."

With a shared chuckle, you both headed for the elevator, leaving a trail of raindrops behind you which the cleaner would probably resent you for in the morning.

He pressed the button for your floor, and the doors shut. The confined space felt cosy and intimate, and you couldn't help but meet Max's gaze with a knowing smile.

He brushed a strand of wet hair from your face, his touch gentle and tender, despite the fact that both of you were absolutely soaking.

His grin widened as you shivered, and he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a slow, lingering kiss. The taste of rainwater on your lips was sweet and refreshing, you smiled as he pulled away.

He didn't move far though, "you know," his whispering voice a little husky, "we should probably get out of these wet clothes."

You met his suggestion with a glint in your eyes. "You think? And whose idea was it to go running in the rain, hmm?"

Max laughed, a deep and hearty sound that filled the elevator. "Alright, alright, it was a team decision."

You hummed and he leaned in again, kissing you a couple more times as the elevator made its ascent.

When it finally reached your floor, you reluctantly pulled away from your boyfriend, knowing that you needed to get out and change into dry clothes.

"Next time, bring the umbrella please," you said, your smile lingering.

Max's eyes sparkled with mischief as he responded, "After that? I'm never bringing it again."

...

Masterlist

[revasserium]

hurricane

sakura haruka; 1,189 words; fluffy fluff fluff, first love, sakura learns the meaning of friendship, no "y/n", lapslock, mindless fluff tbh

summary: after all, the rain is still just... the rain.

a/n: inspired by clementine von radics poem mouthful of forevers, and also wow sakura is adorable

when he tells you that anger is a language that he’s never needed to learn to know, that loneliness and rejection are dialects as near to him as his hometown used to be, you do not run away.

maybe it’s this place — maybe the blue of the sky from the rooftop garden. maybe, he thinks, there’s something in the water here that makes people kinder, makes them so damn comfortable with splitting open their skins to show him their insides, while asking for nothing in return.

“the summers are hot here,” you say, pressing a cool, dripping bottle of water to his cheek, laughing as he jumps and jerks back, holding it out as he looks from you to the bottle and back again, “make sure to hydrate.”

“why do you care?” he asks, because sometimes, it’s the only way he remembers how to say thank you.

“here, take it,” you say, offering him your handkerchief when he comes back from yet another fight, blood still trickling down the corner of his forehead, “it even matches your hair.”

“don’t need it,” he says, glancing down at the black and white checked piece of cloth, but he doesn’t push you away when you reach out to dab at the drying blood, your hands soft and careful. he never knew hands could be such things, but he supposes there’s always time to learn.

“isn’t that what schools are for?” you say, giggling when he plucks up the courage to tell you one day, when the nights slowly grow longer and the days are clipping own tails, tucking in earlier and earlier. the wind is just on the other side of biting and he’d stared down at his own hands for a solid half minute before reaching out to offer you his scarf — a present from the old lady from the musubi store for putting up her brand new awning.

“y-yeah. guess so,” he says, pulling back to admire his handiwork, the thick knit of the scarf now wrapped snuggly around your shoulders. his blush is more than enough to keep him warm the rest of the way home.

when he lashes out — because its the only way his body remembers how to react to the act of kindness — he sees the hurt flicker like fireflies behind your eyes. but still, you don’t turn away. instead, you sit back, you sigh, and you tell him you’ll wait.

“why?” he asks, because it’s the one question that keeps on echoing through him, like the tolling of a hundred thousand bells, reverberating through him till it’s all he can hear — why?

“because,” you tell him, “sometimes people just need time — and lucky for you, we’ve got a lot of that here. so…” you shrug, sitting back with a sweet, knowing smile, “take your time. that’s what friends do for each other — sometimes, we’re there, but sometimes… we give each other space and we give each other… time.”

time, he thinks, turning the words over his head. how long has it been since he’d had to sleep with one eye open, to always look over his shoulder, to wake up knowing that he’s gotta hit the ground running. how long? what was it that he was running away from?

and sure, he still doesn’t quite have a setting between off and a hundred, but he thinks… maybe with enough time, he can learn. and you teach him.

slowly, he learns the weight of laughter, pure and sweet and joyous, the power that tenderness can bring, the way that sometimes a smile is more potent in a fistfight than as well-aimed punch, that somehow, your hits always land harder when you have a thing worth fighting for. and it should’ve been obvious, but maybe it’s not — that love is a thing of viciousness and vengeance, but also a thing of delicacy and light.

when he holds your hand for the first time, he thinks his entire body might burst at the seams, shattering into a million and one pieces if ever you tried to pull away, but still, there comes a time for letting go.

“i’ll see you tomorrow?” you say, the pair of your teetering on the front steps of your house. behind you, the warm glow of your living room lights paints your outlines in gold. sakura swallows, your fingers still laced in his. he reaches for a reason — any reason — not to let go.

“unless… you wanna come in for dinner?”

he whips around so fast he almost cricks his neck, but he nods before he can psyche himself out, and the next second, you’re tugging him into the house behind you. it’s not the first time he’s met your family, but it is the first time you introduce him as your boyfriend. the word has a strange ring to it, a one-two punch that knocks the breath from his lungs every time you say it.

and it’s only really been a week.

later, in the dim halo of your bedroom lamp, your legs dangling over his as the pair of you read manga on the floor of your room, he reaches out to pull you into his arms.

“i — i’m not a — hm,” he clears his throat and tries again, fighting the urge to bury his face in your shoulder from behind, “i’m not good at… this kind of stuff…” he admits, though your tinkling laughter tells him that yes, you know. still, he forces himself to go on —

“so… uh — if i like… blow up over something random just… like slap me or… or something.”

for a second, you’re quiet, your steady breathing and his much less steady ones the only sounds in the room.

then, you twist slightly to face him, peering up at the profile of his face in the burgeoning dark.

“do you remember that one day — when it rained this summer? and it was so, so nice because it was so freaking hot that whole week?”

“uh… yeah?”

“and then… like three weeks later, there was a hurricane warning, and everyone had to stay home?”

“sure. umemiya made everyone run to put away his stupid planter boxes —”

“but… if you think about it, the rain is still just… rain, right?”

sakura frowns, pausing, “i… guess so.”

“yeah. so… it’s kind of like that with you, i think.” you smile, settling with your back against his chest, his arms around your middle, “the rain is still the rain, whether is light or it’s heavy. and… i’ve always loved the rain.”

sakura makes a soft noise, letting his head fall back against your bedframe.

“it doesn’t matter to me… cause, i think i’d still feel the same about you either way,” you say, turning around once more to fix him with a smile —

“i’d love you if you were summer rain… i’d love you, still, if you were a hurricane.”

[porkcutletbowl44]

Gothic muse

John Price x F!reader

(I'm turning the goth gf into a series not sorry) just fluff for Halloween!!!

༄˖°.🍂.ೃ࿔*:･𓃠🪦

Price thinks he's starting to get too old to understand the younger generations, not particularly liking the new music going on mainstream, new styles and sayings that go straight over his head. As long as he can keep up with the technology, everything is fine and there's no issues (no matter how badly it pisses him off when Apple comes out with a new phone every month for no reason).

Price felt that the music got worse and worse as the newer generations appeared. It was just... Noise. There was no rhythm, no actual beat. It was just someone wailing into a microphone with a bunch of random noise in the background. Not to mention the fashion trends... Dear lord. He thought back to his youth when people dressed like real people and not like this. He never made a fuss over it; that person has their own life and choices, could do whatever they wanted. It didn't mean he had to understand why the fuck this random kid was walking around in basketball shorts in freezing weather. 

But who is he kidding? He's just starting to sound like a grumpy old man. Though, it doesn't help that he is growing into a grumpy old man.

Price groaned, feeling his knees and his back crack and ache as he came down a set of stairs. The last mission really did a number on him. He passed by some younger people, dressed in all black and white makeup, bright death hawks and all the works. 

"Bloody kids these days."

He stopped for a moment, realizing he was starting to sound more and more like a old old man, which he was far from. He was still in shape, still in the army, he wasn't that old...

But that didn't stop him from whining about the 'youths'.

"What happened to real music."

But when he sees little ol' you, standing behind a gothic-style taste test stand under a big spooky awning, he stops. You are dressed like the others, makeup, skulls and bat jewelry, flashing customers a happy smile.

Price's eyes scanned the area, pausing on the little stand with the bright gothic decorations. It was different from his normal type in women, but he wasn't complaining.

You looked cute, charming.

The thought put a smile on his face. Price watched for a moment, before deciding to approach the stand, pretending that he wanted to try whatever you were selling.

Price made his way up to the stand, leaning on the counter as he examined you.

You looked far off from 18, which was a but surprising. Most goths were teenagers, or in their early 20s. It was rare to see one who is in her more mature adulthood stage in life. 

"So what's all this then?" He almost cringed at the roughness of his voice, sounding a little too hostile.

"I'm promoting my new drink for my good friends' restaurant opening soon, I'm a learning bartender and I want to get feedback." You smiled nervously, being polite and understanding.

Price's rough demeanor almost immediately softens at the sweet smile and sweet voice. You were just too damn adorable, he couldn't help it.

"Really? So what's the drink called then?" He asks, looking down at the dark purple drink in front of him, examining it closely. "An' the restaurant? Or is it some kind o' pub?"

Your face lights up, you happily gush about your new mix. "I'm calling it Vampire Blood, it's a blackberry-flavored scotch. And the restaurant across the street— It's the Leaky Coffin. It's got a bar, yes, but I hear the food is delicious!"

It was so adorable how excited and happy you were, it almost made his heart melt.

"Vampire Blood," he repeated with a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "Clever name." He pauses, looking at the drink again before looking up at you.

"You make this yourself?" He questions, gesturing to the drink again.

"Yeah! You're welcome to try it, I'd appreciate the feedback!" You happily nodded.

Price gave in, reaching his hand out to take the drink. Bringing it up to his lips, he took a sip. The second the taste hit his tongue, he froze. It was... Actually really good. He took a bigger drink, finishing the rest of the cup.

"Bloody hell this is good." He said, a small smile on his face as he turns the glass on the table, "It's amazing."

"Really? I'm glad you like it," you beamed kindly.

Price gave you a friendly close lipped smile as he watched you practically melt in happiness at his reaction. His heart felt all warm and fuzzy seeing you so happy, it made him forget about the aching in his body.

"'S delicious." He said again. "You 'ave a real talent for this."

"Thank you! I start a week after the restaurant opens, I'll be mixing up more drinks soon," you play with your bat necklace, smiling up at him.

He's never really paid much attention to women who dressed like you or anything like that- normally he was more into the girl next door type, or a more casual, homey style- but you were so adorable and unique. 

Price nods, his eyes locking onto the way you were fidgeting with your necklace.

"Yeah?" He questions, the smile on his face growing a little wider as he continues to watch you, admiring every little thing you did. "When does it open?" He asks, giving you a smile behind his mustache.

"Just a few days! I have some pictures of the interior-" you pull out your phone, tapping on the screen and showing him some pictures. "It's all real gothic architecture, real antiques, a real wine cellar in the basement too-"

The gothic architecture, the antiques, the basement winery- it all looked spectacular. It was unlike any bar or restaurant he'd ever been to.

"That's bloody phenomenal." Price said, looking at the pictures closely. "You're friends have great taste."

He looks up at you again, meeting your eyes with a soft and affectionate smile.

"Thanks! This is a dream come true for us, I'm so excited." You grinned.

Price felt incredibly lucky to have stumbled upon this sweet, kind woman. The fact that you weren't his type at first, but now that he's spoken to you he was already falling for your charm.

"I can tell." He chuckled, still smiling. "What's your name?" He asks suddenly. He should have asked earlier, hell- he should have asked since the moment he walked up to the stand.

You outstretch your hand, politely giving your name. Price smiles as you extend your hand out to him, and he takes it in his own, shaking it gently.

Your name was so pretty.

He wanted to hear it again, but this time in his own voice.

"It's a pleasure to meet you." His hand swallows yours in warmth, "I'm John," he gives you a small smile. "John Price."

"Nice to meet you too, John." You giggle softly. 

Price had never been one to seek out goths or women like you- he had usually stuck with more "normal" people. But something about you was different. The kindness, the politeness, the gentle nature. And the fact that you dressed in black, decorated with skulls and bats didn't make you any less attractive to him. In fact, it made you even more attractive.

He didn't think he'd ever been this attracted to someone before. And god, he could stare into your eyes for hours.

He wanted to ask for your number, or invite you out on a date right then and there, but he held himself back. He didn't want to be too forward and scare you away. But he couldn't stop the thoughts of taking you out on a date, getting to know you. Price cleared his throat, trying to snap himself out of his own thoughts. He had just met you. You weren't his yet. He shouldn't be thinking like this.

He gave you a soft smile, his eyes still gazing into yours.

"Uh— sorry," he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, "what... do you do when your not at your little stand 'ere?"

"Mostly help out with getting the restaurant ready. We have a lot of decorations and painting that has to be done. But on the weekends we attend Sirens Cave." You answered, flashing him a kind smile. 

Price was fascinated by your answers, and the way you spoke. There was something about you that just made him want to pick your brain, and learn everything he could about you.

"Sirens Cave." He repeated, a little familiar with the name. "That's a bar, right?"

"It has a bar, yes, but it's mostly a Goth Club." You giggle.

That made a lot more sense, and it explained the bat and skull attire. Price smiles slightly, amused by the cuteness of your giggle.

"A 'Goth Club'." He repeated softly. "An' you frequent there a lot?"

"Not all the time, I can enjoy the peace and quiet at home. A book, TV show, baking..." You trail off.

Price was practically melting on the inside. You were such a sweetheart.

"You bake?" He questions, his tone almost turning into a cooing.

So you were kind, polite, and you like to read and bake, too?

He was definitely in trouble.

"Yeah, when I was in college I had a little baking business to help with loans." You nodded enthusiastically.

Price’s heart was almost bursting inside his chest. You just kept getting cuter and cuter. Not just that, but you were ambitious and smart.

Bloody hell.

He had never fallen so hard before.

Price couldn't help the little flutter in his chest at the thought of you baking. The fact that you were making money with baking was really impressive. He wanted to know every little thing about you; past, present, future. He would be lying if he said he wasn't already a little obsessed.

"College, huh?" He asks, leaning against the counter. "What'd you study?"

"I did mixology for a little bit, and then I switched over to architecture to help get the building structure what we wanted." You used hand gestures out of excitement, happy to talk about you and your friend's dreams.

He smiled, admiring your excitement. "Architecture." He repeated, nodding. "That's impressive."

Architecture wasn't easy, especially not trying to make a building how you wanted. He could tell how passionate you were about this.

"Did you graduate?" He asks.

"I did! A few years ago,"

You were literally perfect.

"So this little gothic restaurant you're gonna work at- you designed it too, yeah?" He questions, wanting to know everything.

"Most of the design was by me, yes," you answered proudly. 

You had studied architecture, then gone on to design a full restaurant, one that you and your friend were opening soon. He was seriously falling for you. Hard.

"That's incredible." He said, admiring you, maybe even buttering you up in the chances of you saying yes to a date, "Must feel good, seein' your design come alive, yeah?"

"I'm so happy, it's a dream come true!" You couldn't suppress your bright grin, all teeth and eyes crinkling. 

Price was in love. It wasn't even funny. Seeing that bright grin made his heart leap in his chest. If he wasn't falling before, he most definitely was now. He was practically swooning. No one had made him fall for someone this fast. 

"I can tell." He smiles back, that soft, fond smile.

"One of my friends will be the head chef, she does a lot of culinary and her food is delicious! Definitely something I'd recommend to try out- she's trying new dishes for the opening too!" You mentioned. 

Price listened to you enthusiastically rant about your work, your friends, everything. It was the cutest thing imaginable hearing how excited you got talking about everything. He loved the way you'd light up when talking about your new restaurant.

He listens intently as you gushed about your passion, talking about anything and everything about it. It sounded like it would be a good place to eat; good food, good drinks, good atmosphere. He could see you being a very talented bartender, if your little potion is anything to go by.

"You'll be the bartender then?" He questions, raising a brow.

"A week after it opens." You reminded sweetly. 

"Right, a week after it opens." He repeated, a small smile on his face.

He wanted to know if you were single or not. But there's no way someone as perfect as you could be single, you were probably taken...

"Got any... special someone you wanna celebrate it with?" He asks softly.

"No, me and the group might have a celebration together at some point." You shook your head.

He had the chance.

He gave you a small smile, the thought of you being single had him practically dizzy.

"Oh yeah?" He muses, he was calm, but his mind was going crazy with excitement. "When you you think you'll have that celebration?"

"Maybe during the weekend, it's best to not come to run a restaurant hung over," you giggled, tucking hair behind your ear.

The way you smiled and giggled and talked, it sent butterflies through his stomach. This was new; he was normally the one doing the flirting. But you had him swooning. He wanted to just take you in his arms and never let you go.

"Guess that's a good idea." He said, smiling playfully at you. "The weekend then hm?"

"Likely, I'm free the rest of the week." You mentioned casually. 

Price's insides practically melted as you said that. You were free the rest of the week? That meant he had a chance to take you out on a date. A smile spread across his lips, his heart beating a little faster in his chest.

"Are you now?" He teased lightly, raising a brow. "Would you fancy trying your new restaurant on opening day?" He insinuates.

"Oh would I?" You almost squeal in excitement, over joyed at the offer.

It was so cute. You were so cute.

"Yeah," He says, still smiling that big, soft, and fond smile. "Would you? With me?" he adds with a coo in the undertone.

"I'd love too!" You nodded enthusiastically.

You said yes. You said yes to the date. The butterflies in his stomach felt more like fireworks as he looked at your excited face. 

"Great." He affirms, pleased, "I'll pick ya up then yeah?"

"Yeah! Here's my number-" you pull a card over, scribbling on it and handing it to him, the light glints on your nail polish spider web design

He flipped the card over, looking at the number. He was committing it to memory. He looked back up at you, smiling.

"I'll make sure to use it." He said, slipping the card into his pocket.

"See you then, John." You smile all giddy and excited. 

No one had made him smile this much in a while, he was normally the one doing the swooning. Your smile and the way you giggled made his heart flutter like crazy.

"I'll see you then, love."

You were so...different. You knew what you wanted. You knew your passion and executed it.

It was impressive, really. Most people just work with what they have, take what's dealt to them. But you? You went beyond. You decided to make a dream a reality, and by the look of things, it would be a success. You were determined and hardworking and ambitious, and you went after your dream no matter what.

Everything about you was different from women Price was used to. You were a go getter, a dream chaser. You had ambition, creativity, a spark.

But you were also kind, and sweet, and soft.

You liked history, that much was given. You had a interest in gothic architecture and strived to keep it alive.

And that mysterious aura—

Price would admit it; when he first walked up to your booth he had some prejudices. But you proved him wrong. He was completely fascinated by you. He wanted to learn everything about you.

He could tell you had secrets, things hidden beneath that sweet appearance. He was very interested to see how many secrets you had, and what they were.

He liked that about you; the air of mystery.

And the fact that you were just generally so attractive.

When opening day arrives, you are waiting outside the restaurant. You've went a little easy on the gathering make up, allowing John to see more of your natural features for the date.

Price pulled up to the restaurant, parking his car to the side. When he stepped out, he felt his jaw drop. You looked absolutely beautiful. The dress was simple but elegant, and your jewelry completed the look.

You were gorgeous.

Price just stared at you for a moment, his heart doing somersaults in his chest. He couldn't believe how lucky he was to be able to see you like this. He walked over to you, his smile bright.

"You look stunning, love."

You twirled your dress a little, preening and blushing, "Thank you,"

He gave you a wide, fond smile, admiring the way the dress looked on you.

"Of course." He tilts his head. "Absolutely beautiful."

He offered you his arm. "Should we go in then, love?"

You wrapped your hand around his thick bicep, walking in to the restaurant. The sight is beautiful, people at tables, the smell of wood and rich timbre fills the air, warm lights everywhere to make the atmosphere moody and relaxing.

He was blown away; it was like he had stepped into a whole other world. It was relaxed yet elegant, like the people at the tables. The low lights gave it a moody, romantic feel, and Price couldn't help but think how beautiful it was. And you were responsible for it all.

He was definitely taking you home at the end of the night.

"Hi, table for two," you held up two fingers, smiling at the host.

The host smiled back and nodded, grabbing two menus. She lead you too your booth, setting the menus down for you. The table was near a large window that revealed the beautiful view outside, and the low mood lighting was just bright enough to read the menu. Price sat down in the seat across from you, picking up one of the menus. He scanned the menu, eyes practically going wide upon realizing how good everything sounded. He had a hard time trying to pick what to get.

You picked up your own coffin shaped menu, smiling in recognition.

The food names were odd, and a bit blunt to say the least, it was a complete vampire type of vibe in the building.

Price read through the different meals, eyes widening further as he realized it was all vampire themed. A "Bloody Mary" was a type of pizza, a "Count Garlic" was the appetizers. He was even more impressed with what he was seeing. He looked at the drink menu, and saw "Holy Communion", which was their cocktail list. He was thoroughly enjoying this. It was cool that you had turned the menu names into a theme. He set the menu down, smiling at you.

"This is interesting."

"That was the fun part about this, coming up with funny names." You giggled.

Price's heart skipped a beat as you giggled. It was so cute how  excited you were. You were practically glowing with happiness and pride. He was so gone for you.  He leaned forward on the table, propping his chin up with his hand, smiling at you.

"I love the names." He remarked. "Creative."

"I feel like you would really like the 'Dead Cow'." You inquired playfully

Price grinned, raising his eyebrows in interest. Dead Cow? That was an interesting name for a meal. He leaned back in his seat, folding his arms across his chest.

"The 'Dead Cow', eh?" He hums, "That sounds promising."

He scans the menu, eyes landing on the dish.

'A 311 gram steak; typically cooked rare to sink your fangs into! Paired with roasted potatoes, deadly asparagus, and a fresh dead cow on top! Medium rare is fine... If you ask well-done we will ask you to leave.'

Price almost choked on his spit when he saw the description. It was so blunt, and darkly humorous. He couldn't help but bark out a laugh when he read the last part.

"Oh my god," He said in between his laughter. "This is fantastic."

You laughed with him, turning on the back of the menu.

"There's dessert too, if you'd be interested."

God, everything about this place was amazing.  He glanced back down at the menu, turning to the dessert page. He read through it, his mouth almost watering. They all sounded great. He looked back up at you, raising his eyebrows.

"Oh, I'm interested." He chuckled.

"Is it the lava cakes?" You grinned. 

He smiled back at you, impressed. "Yes, it is the lava cakes." He admitted, leaning back in his seat. "'ow'd you know?"

"Lucky guess?" You shrugged, closing your menu when the waitress comes

Price chuckled, shutting his menu as well as the waitress came over. He watched you closely, admiring you as you told her your order. He ordered the Rare Cow, because how could he not? When the waitress left to go put in the order, he looked back to you, resting his chin on his folded hands.

"You did really good with this place."

"I'm so happy it turned out like this," you sighed dreamily. 

You looked so happy, so content. He leaned forward on the table, resting his chin on his hands as he continued to admire you.

"You should be proud o' yourself," he said sincerely. "You did that." He gestured around to the restaurant. "You really did that."

"With help," you added.

It was true that you had gotten help. But most of this was your idea. Your passion. Your creativity. Your hard work and determination. It was all you. 

"Still." He said, his tone gentle and earnest. "It's all you, love."

"Ah! You're here!" A woman squeals, walking over with her arm outstretched for a hug to you.

You gladly accepted, hugging her tight. "The day has finally come!" You said into her neck. 

Obviously a friend of yours.

"I know," the women smiled, pulling back from the hug. "We did it!"

"Oh, sorry—this is John, my...date for tonight." You introduced sheepishly, "And this is Charlotte, the owner of the restaurant."

He smiled, he was getting bits and pieces of your life and friendships. He held his hand out to shake hers.

"Pleasure to meet you, Charlotte." He said, his tone polite.

Charlotte smiled, shaking his hand. "The pleasure is all mine." She said cheerfully, then she gave you a wide grin, wiggling her eyebrows. "You kept this one a secret."

You sputter, trying to keep her voice down, "I did not!"

"You so did!" She teased. She turned her attention to Price. "This girl has never brought a date around us before."

You slap at her shoulder, mumbling something under your breath. Price grinned, watching you get a bit flustered as Charlotte teased you. So, you talked about him. That made him feel warm. Charlotte laughed, letting go of his hand.

"You never told me he was HOT!" She said cheerfully.

"Charlotte!" You whined.

Charlotte shrugged innocently. "What? He is!" She exclaims. 

"Go do your business stuff," you shooed, completely mortified and flustered.

He had his mouth covered with his hand, his shoulders shaking from how hard he was holding it in. Charlotte just laughed, clapping  you on the shoulder.

"Alright, alright, I'll leave you two be." She said with fake disappointment. "I'll have a bottle of wine taken to you guys, on the house." She winks.

"Thanks, now- get, go, shoo," you grumbled, completely embarrassed. 

Charlotte just smiled widely, throwing her hands up in surrender. "Fine, I'll leave you two, lovebirds alone." She teased.

You tucked your hair back, clearing your throat. "Sorry...she gets very loud when she's happy,"

Price finally let out the laugh he had been holding in. He leaned back in his seat, his face absolutely shining with amusement. Charlotte seemed nice. He smiled at you, his heart melting at the way you were.

"It's fine, love."

"I think she's great, actually." He chuckled.

Charlotte was just a little nosy, but it was all in good fun. Besides, he wanted to get to know more about you and your life.

"'ow do y'know 'er?" He asked curiously.

"College. We had a couple classes together, met our other friends and boom, we had a little goth friend group." You smiled wide at the memory.

It was sweet how all of your goth friends stuck together from college. He couldn't really connect with that; he never really made friends in the military. He had colleagues he tolerated, and that was about it besides his team. But you, you had friends you loved and who loved you. It was sweet.

"So...is Goth just the style?"

You shook your head politely, folding your hands on the table. "It's a subculture, the music genre is the classification."

A waitress comes up, dropping off a bottle of wine, "From the owner."

He loved the way you knew so much about this. He knew very little about the subculture, but he wanted to know as much as he could. He could listen to you talk about this all night.

"What genre is it exactly?" He asked, his tone curious and eager to learn more.

You proceed to kindly explain as you poured yourself some wine. The genre of goth has branching styles; there were many. Dark wave, cyber, steam punk, regular old punk goth, metal goth, the goth traditions and having a open mind. He learned about the music, about the traditions, the aesthetics, and everything he could about it. He loved hearing you talk about it. You were so knowledgeable and excited as you spoke. The waitress drops off your orders as you explain, giving her a kind nod of appreciation.

"Damn." He said when you finally finished explaining. "You're a scholar."

"It's just the basics for those who first get into it," you brush off politely. 

Price smiled, finding it cute how modest you were. The basics, yeah right. He bet you could tell people a lot more than just the basics.

"Hm, maybe I should start listening to goth music." He muses, half joking and half serious.

"Maybe you might find something you like," you comment, taking a sip of your wine.

He definitely found something he liked- you. The food on the table looks fantastic, it smells amazing, everything is going perfectly.

"I'm sure I will."

Price finished his first glass, setting it down on the table. The alcohol instantly warmed his body, relaxing him. He looked at all the different food on the table, not sure where to start.

"Everythin' looks great."

"Taste good too," you agree, cutting off another piece of chicken parmesan. 

Price took a bite of his steak. Perfectly cooked. Bloody, but not too bloody, the flavor burst into his mouth. He hummed in satisfaction.

"Holy..." He muttered between bites. "It's delicious."

"So John, what do you do for work?" You grabbed your wine glass, looking over at him with a curious expression.

He took time considering the question. He couldn't tell you everything, of course. But he didn't want to lie to you either.

"I work in private military." He settled on saying.

"Ohhh, that's cool!" You nodded along, interested in the new direction the conversation was going. 

Price smiled. Thank god you didn't ask more. Most people would. They'd ask what kind of private military, what missions he's been on, what his job was specifically. But you didn't ask, you just accepted that and moved on. He was very grateful for that. It was the downside of his job. He was pretty much forced to lie to people, even his loved ones.

"Yeah." He continued, "it's an interesting job."

"So I take it you're off for the time being?" You asked. 

Price smiled again. You really didn't ask probing questions, did you? It was a much better change of pace then what he was used too. Most people wanted all the info, wanted to know everything. It was refreshing that you just accepted what he said without being pushy.

"I am." He replied.

Price couldn't believe it. He wasn't one to believe in luck, but damn, he was feeling lucky. This date really was perfect. The restaurant was amazing, the food was so good, and the company was absolutely out of this world. Talking to you was so easy, he found himself constantly smiling, laughing, and just having a great time.

He never wanted this night to end.

Price insist for you to wear his jacket before you went out into the chilly London night air, that dress wouldn't do much to keep you warm.

You tried to refuse, saying you were fine and that you didn't need it. But he was persistent, and honestly, the way you looked in his jacket was something he couldn't resist.

"Please." He insisted, slipping his jacket around your shoulders, "you'll freeze."

You smiled sheepishly, tugging it around your shoulders as his lingering warmth soothed your skin.

"You smell good," you remarked softly as you looped your arm with his.

He made a mental note to wear that cologne more often. He kept your arm tucked close to his, walking close so you could absorb more of his warmth.

"Yeah?" He asked, looking down at you. "What's it like?"

"I can't really place it, but it's nice." You replied all bashful and giddy. 

His jacket was much too big for you, but you looked great in it.

You were holding his arm with both of your hands, like couples do. He smiled down at you, his eyes absolutely lighting up with joy. No one's ever held onto his arm like that before. None of his ex's, none of his flings.

It was something special that only you did.

Everything was just perfect right now. The weather, the night air, the city lights. And most of all, you.

He loved that, he loved the feeling of being wanted. Being needed. To be touched and held close by someone he wanted so bad. He moved his other hand to cover your hands, his fingers running over yours.

Price slowed to a stop as you reached the parking lot, his heart starting to race a bit. You had an entire parking lot to yourselves. No one to bother you, no one to interrupt. He looked down at you, staring into your eyes. He didn't know if it was appropriate to kiss you right now.

He didn't know where things stood between you two now that he thinks about it.  Did you want him to walk you to your front door? Did you want him to drive you home? This was the moment where decisions had to be made.

"I...had a lot of fun, thank you for tonight," You smiled nervously, teeth shining past your lipstick.

Price couldn't take his eyes off of you. The way the street lights hit you, the way the air blew your hair, everything about you in this moment was just perfect.

"Me too." He replied, his fingers moving to rest against your chin, tilting your head upwards to look him in the eyes.

He loved how those big, shiny eyes of yours looked when you smiled.

"Do you want me to walk you 'ome?"

Where was your head at? Is it okay to pursue?

"I don't live too far, and you drove all the way out here..." You declined politely. 

He could see the want in your eyes as you denied him. It was driving him insane. He knew he should let you go, walk you to the door, like a proper date should.

He needed more time with you.

"Could I see you again?" You both asked in unison, the action makes you snort and truly laugh. 

Price was a little startled, not expecting you to ask the same exact question. But the awkwardness was quickly brushed off as the two of you started laughing. His heart was racing from that. You wanted to see him again. His smile grew wider, his hand falling from your chin to your hip, pulling you in.

"Yeah." He agreed, breathlessly. "Yeah, 'course."

"I would like to see you again, I mean." You clarified with the last shred of shy tension gone, growing bold. 

"Yeah? You'd like that?" He questioned in a low, soft voice, looking down at you intently.

You nodded wordlessly, smile dropping into something less cheery into... Sly.

"Your jacket...?" You tugged on the collar.

Price's smile shifted into something more darker, more hungry. You wanted a bit more then just a goodbye. He let out a hum, his eyes raking over your body, pausing at how you looked in his jacket.

He absolutely did not want his jacket back.

"I think it looks better on you." He replied.

He slouches, his body pressing against you as his head hovered a few inches above yours.

His heart was racing, all the blood in his body pumping south. You smiled wide, making your eyes crinkle. Your hands cupped his bearded jaw, leaning up and— planting a kiss on his cheek. Price's brain short-circuited when he felt your lips touch his skin, and then immediately rerouted all of his brain function to his core. The feel of your soft, plump lips on his skin drove him nuts.

Pulling back, your blush is across your nose, a giggle bubbling in your throat.

"I was hoping you'd let me keep it... Gives a reason for us to see each other."

His eyes were glued to your lips as he let out a low rumble, practically growling in the back of his throat with a knowing smirk at your actions. You were being cheeky, and your little smile tells him you know it too.

"Call me?" You asked, backing away a few steps.

"I absolutely will." He replied, rougher than usual, almost in a trance. 

"I'll be waiting." You nodded, turning and walking down the street.

Price watched you walk away for a minute, his eyes glued to your frame walking down the street. His mind replayed the feel of your lips on his skin, the heat of your body pressed up against his, the sound of your soft, breathy giggles.

He could see the sway of your hips, the way you looked completely wrapped up in his jacket- your sweet, beautiful, innocent face, turned back to him with the promise of a second date- all drove him insane. He swallowed heavily and pulled his car keys out.

But he made a promise to himself, he was going to take this slow, and not scare you away. But god was that going to be a test of his self-restraint.

....It's a wonder how he didn't notice your fangs, though. 

[kxttqi]

ノ [01] THE START OF IT ALL (t. oikawa x f!reader)

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+ content: swearing, suggestive, crack, kys/kms jokes, manga spoilers for timeskip, written and smau

guys i beg ignore the microsoft emojis its a long story 😢😢

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the arrival in brazil had been smooth. yachi had booked a cozy airbnb close to the beach, tucked away in a neighborhood where the scent of saltwater clung to the air and the sound of crashing waves provided a soundtrack to every moment. after a quick power nap—just enough to shake off the haze of the flight—you found yourselves walking along sunlit streets, the kind that felt alive with color, on your way to the beach where hinata was set to play.  

you hadn’t expected to feel so at ease this soon. brazil was bright and unfamiliar, but something about it wrapped itself around you like a warm breeze, coaxing you to settle into its rhythm. what you really hadn’t expected, though, was to run into oikawa tooru at a small café on your first morning.  

the café was tucked into the corner of a quiet street, its awning striped with faded green and white, the smell of fresh pão de queijo wafting out onto the sidewalk. you’d walked into the cafe, still shaking the sleep from your bones, when you noticed him.  

at first, you weren’t sure. the early morning light filtered through the windows at just the right angle to make the edges of everything a little too bright, a little too surreal.   

but it was hard to miss the way he carried himself: tall, composed, every movement so deliberate it felt more like choreography than casual habit. he was standing at the counter, ordering something in fluent portuguese that rolled off his tongue like he'd been born speaking it.  

you knew of him, of course. who didn’t? even if you weren’t religious about every volleyball match, his name was impossible to avoid. he was a figure who existed in stories, in highlight reels, in the corners of conversations you only half-listened to. yet here he was, very much real, very much in front of you.  

your gaze must have lingered too long, because as he turned to leave, his eyes caught yours.  

he smiled.  

“hey,” he said, his voice smooth, warm. “i think i know you. you’re… y/n, right?”  

it took you a second to process. oikawa tooru not only recognized you, but knew your name. you blinked, fumbling to keep your expression neutral even as your stomach twisted itself into knots.  

“uh, yeah,” you managed, suddenly acutely aware of how disheveled you probably looked after the long flight. “that’s me. and… you’re oikawa.”  

he laughed, a sound that was annoyingly charming, the kind of laugh that made you feel like you were the punchline to a joke you hadn’t realized you were telling. “small world, huh? what brings you to brazil?”  

you shrugged, trying to appear unbothered, though the weight of his gaze made it hard to stand still. “vacation, sort of. i’m here with a friend for a university project.”  

his eyes lit up, sharp and curious, and you had the distinct feeling that oikawa was the kind of person who could make you want to spill your life story without meaning to. “a project? what kind of project?”  

you explained it briefly—the film project, how you and yachi were here to gather inspiration and maybe even shoot some footage of hinata’s matches. he nodded along, his interest feeling genuine, which only made you more self-conscious under the weight of it.  

“that’s impressive,” he said. “if you need any help, let me know. i’m not bad with a camera.”  

he grinned, but there was something in his tone—half-joking, half-serious. before you could decide how to respond, yachi appeared by your side, wide-eyed and a little out of breath.  

“y/n! we need to leave soon if we want to get to hinata’s game,” she said, her voice cutting through the haze of the conversation.  

you glanced back at oikawa, offering a small, apologetic smile. “i guess i’ll see you around?”  

he waved as you turned to leave, his grin softening into something easier, less practiced. “yeah, see you.”  

the two of you stepped out into the sunlight, the warmth of the interaction lingering on your skin like the heat rising from the pavement. as you walked away, you couldn’t help but glance back once. he had taken a seat at one of the decorated tables now with what you assumed were some of his argentinian friends, sipping a latte.   

[ tagging: @stwberri @scoupsworld @x3nafix @kenyuukissme ]

© kxttqi — do not repost, copy, translate or steal my works without permission.

[the-froschamethyst4]

Mud

𖤐Pairing: Husband! Alex x Wife! Reader

𖤐Pronouns: she/Her

𖤐Warnings: Fluff, language, family get together, kissing, married couple,

𖤐Summary: Alex and Y/n go back to Alex’s hometown in Texas

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Heading back to Alex's hometown was always so stressful, he never knew how his family would act, and now with his wife there's still no telling some of his Aunties will act all nice for a hour and then give her shit for the rest of the time they are there.

Alex took his knuckle to his mouth and just held it between his teeth, Y/n sat in the passenger seat, feet up on the dash (in her socks, she's not an animal), and was looking down at her phone, but she did notice Alex's sudden quietness.

"Alex? Everything okay, honey?" She asks, moving her feet to the floorboard.

"Huh? Yeah, yeah, yeah, everything's okay," he says, tapping on his stirring wheel.

"Alex...you're nervous," she says, putting her hand on his leg.

"I am," he confesses.

"Why? It's your family."

"Honey, do you realize when we do visit my hometown, my family can be weird?" He says.

"Yes, I've noticed," she says. "But that shouldn't matter, should it?"

"I just...don't want you to feel miserable or something while we're here."

"Alex, you make it seem like I'm meeting your family for the first time. I'm okay, I'll get over it," she says, leaning over and kissing his cheek. "I'll still love you and only you, if anything does happen, you're your own person, your family can't do that," Y/n says, tapping his thigh.

"I know," he says, through a deep breath.

With the rain it wasn't helping Alex, he wanted to call his mom and say the roads were flooded even though they weren't, Alex just thinks his family will ruin the fun, because they all have their moods.

"Oh your mom texted."

"Can you see what she wants?"

"Sure," Y/n takes his phone from the cupholder and unlocks it, she reads the text out loud for. "When you come down the driveway park in the field."

"Okay?" Alex was confused, no one parks in the field.

Alex could see his childhood home up ahead, the gate was open and the lights were just barely visible due to the rain. He pulls into the driveway and sees all the trucks and cars in the field, he parks next to a red Ford F-150.

"Huh, Uncle Joey is here," he says, pointing to the red truck.

"How come we're parked in the field?"

"No idea, honey. Stay in here, I'll come help you," he says, grabbing his hoodie from the backseat putting it on, flipping the hood up and grabbing the black umbrella from the passenger seats back pocket.

He quickly hopes out, slamming his door shut, he opens the passenger door bring the umbrella over the door so the rain doesn't dare touch Y/n as she gets her boots back on and fixes her shirt, she forgot to grab a jacket when they left the hotel this morning.

"Thank you, Alex."

"You're welcome, honey," he says as they rushed to the front porch. Y/n gets under it and Alex closes the umbrella. He knocks on the door like normal, but no answer.

"Hello? MA!?" Alex yells. He knocks harder on the door as Y/n went to the railing.

"Alex, I hear laughing around back," she says, Alex opens the umbrella and Y/n held onto Alex's arm and they rushed around the back of the house. They saw everyone sitting on the back porch drinking, smoking, eating, having a good time.

"Ma? Pa?"

"ALEX!!" His entire family yells when seeing and hearing Alex. They all rushed to the couple bring them under the large awning.

"Uncle Alex try the watermelon!"

"Alex hows work?"

"You still in the Military?"

"Y/n, darling I love the earings."

"Y/n are you still that assistant for the large company in the UK?"

"Auntie Y/n can you show me how to braid?"

The couple was just getting bombarded with questions, Alex was on one side of the deck while Y/n was on the complete opposite.

"Alex you still drink whiskey?"

"Haven't touch it in a while," he gave an awkward chuckle. They gave Alex a glass and poured him some whiskey. They clinked glasses and downed the amber liquid.

"Y/n, I love your hair."

"Thanks, I just got it done," she gave Alex's cousin a smile.

"Aww~ Y/n, I'm so glad you're here!" Alex's older sister Bree came running to Y/n arms over her neck and hugging her tightly.

"Of course, I wouldn't miss it for the world, but questions, why are we out here in the rain and not inside?" Y/n asks.

"Oh, we do something called a rain party, whenever we have a party and it rains that same day, we come outside and enjoy the rain," Bree says with a smile.

"I've never heard that before."

"Well, it's a Keller thing, I don't know anyone else who does it," she tells Y/n.

The girls talked and talked, and all Alex did was just stare at Y/n, the weather kind of lied and said sunny all day, but when they came close to Alex's hometown it immediately started to rain.

So Y/n was in light blue boot cut jeans, a white shirt that she tied in the front because it was too big on her and some cowgirl boots Alex had bought for her a while ago, and now she had an excuse to where them, and her hair was up in a ponytail.

"Alex? You listening?"

"Huh no, I'm not," he was honest.

"Lookin' at your wife?"

"Well, yeah," Alex eyebrows narrowed while looking at his Uncles and father.

"Leave the boy alone, he's allowed to stare at his love." Alex's father says.

"Yeah, well...y'all seen the debate?"

"And that's my cue to leave," Alex says, walking away and heads to where Y/n, Bree and his mom Lia was.

"Oh Alex," Y/n jumps when feeling his hand on her waist.

"Hey, had to leave the conversation."

"Politics?" Bree asks.

"Yep," Alex says while popping the p. "Can I steal my wife?"

"Go ahead," Bree says.

"You never told me about rain parties your family throws," Y/n tells him.

"Didn't think that was important," he says.

"Uncle Alex you wanna race cars?" His nephew Matthew comes running and asks.

"Sure, bud, come on," Alex takes Y/n's hand and they start heading under the deck, going down the stairs getting a big wet and getting under the deck were all the other kids were. They surrounded the racecar track and started playing with their own cars.

Matthew gave Alex his spare racecar.

"Thanks bud," Alex says as the race was just Alex and Matthew. Alex hasn't played with racecars in a while, and the newer racecars have different controls.

Y/n sits on the wicker couch behind him as one of Alex's nieces sat on her lap and Alex's younger cousins surrounded her, they all wanted to talk to her, ask her questions, and Y/n would answer while braiding all the little girls hair one by one.

"How long have you been married to Alex?"

"4 years."

"How old are you?"

"Shut up, Liz, you don't ask a woman that question," one of the cousins says, while elbowing Liz in the side.

"It's okay, I'm in my mid-twenties."

"Is that old?" Liz was elbowed again by the same cousin but harder and caused a fight between the two.

"Hey, hey, don't fight it's okay," Y/n just laughs. "I guess I'm old depending on how you see it," Y/n says, trying to be positive but deep down it did kind of make her sad that the younger generation sees her as "old."

"Oh well you won," Alex says, he let Matthew win, Alex knows how passionate Matthew is and if he doesn't win, he gonna be crabby the whole night, so he let him win.

"One more round?" Matthew asks.

"Nah, maybe later bud," Alex says, getting off his knees that were hurting and put his hand out for Y/n, she was done with the last little girl. Y/n placed the little girl on the concrete and stood up and takes Alex's hand as they both said their 'byes' to the kids and went back up to the main deck with all the adults.

Y/n saw Bree and Lia and she was handed a glass of wine, the ladies were taking photos for Facebook to rub it in Lia's Church Friends' faces. Lia was the only Keller that went to Church, Bree didn't have time for it because she has her own life to worry about and Alex's father Ben was busy with the farm and couldn't find time for Church so Lia was the only person.

Lia had made friends in the Church but they were all fake, teasing Lia, making fun of her, and they would hold gatherings without Lia and post them on Facebook so now it was Lia's turn to show how much she was having without those so-called friends.

The girls stood in front of the stone fireplace outside giving their best smiles and holding their glasses of wine as one of Alex's cousins took the photo, and every girl was getting cycled out for the next photos, it was first Lia, Bree, Y/n, and a cousin, the next group was Aunties, and more cousins.

Then the rest of the night was just random photos of everyone having fun. The guys drinking, some smoking, other photos were showing off the wonderful food everyone brought.

Y/n sat on the wicker couch, right leg crossed over her left, her elbows resting on her knee, as she watches everyone. Y/n's family never did this, have parties this big, it was like everyone in Alex's family came.

Alex came to Y/n sitting next to her, arm going behind her and she leans into his touch.

"You having fun?" He asks.

"Yeah," she says, looking a bit tired. Alex just chuckles at her, leaning forward and kissing her temple, his arm now going around her waist and tapping her thigh.

"You look so hot."

"Alex," she slightly groans at him.

"What? I'm telling the truth," he chuckles again.

"I know, but I need you to tell me that," she says, pushing on his chest.

"So? They how much I'm in love with you," he says, kissing her lips now. She could taste the alcohol on his breath.

"Alex are you drunk?" She asks.

"Maybe, I am," he says, with red cheeks, and slightly red eyes.

"I think we'll stay here for the night, huh?" she says as Alex just nods. Alex couldn't drive cause he was drunk, and Y/n couldn't drive because she doesn't know Texas roads.

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10:30PM

Alex had his head back as he sat on the couch inside the house, everyone had left and the only people left was Bree, her kids, Alex and Y/n. Y/n had gone to the bathroom to change into some pajamas, she didn't know she was going to be staying the night, so Lia gave Y/n some pajamas that don't fit her anymore.

Alex was just passed out on the couch till Y/n came out tapping his shoulder waking him up. He wakes up with a smile on his face, cupping Y/n's face and kissing her lips.

"Did an angel just wake me?"

"You're such a flirt, come on, honey, we need to get you into bed," she says.

"No, I like the couch, I miss how comfortable the couch is," he says.

"Alex, come on," she says, tugging at his hand to get him up. He does and follows Y/n up to Alex's old bedroom, she pushes the door open forgetting how his old bedroom looked.

It was untouched after Alex had left for college and left the states to live in the UK. Their were posters of half naked girls on the wall, his walls were painted a dark navy blue, his bed was made, and it was kind of messy.

Alex plopped on his back on his old bed. He groans as Y/n starts undressing him to put him in his pajamas which was just his boxers. Alex only slept in boxers because he would get too hot.

She takes his shirt off bring it over his head, he opens his eyes and smirks, his hands go to her waist under her shirt.

"Alex, wait," she says.

"You're taking advantage of me," he whines.

"No, I'm not, I'm getting you out of your clothes," Y/n says. She then starts unbuckling his belt and starts pulling his jeans down.

"Woah, there honey, if you wanna blow me just ask no need to be so demanding," he chuckles.

"Of hush, you're drunk, I'm not going to blow you, I'm not gonna do anything."

"Damn...you should."

"No," she says.

"Why?" He whines like a child.

"Because you're drunk," she chuckles.

"Hmmm~" he hums.

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6:00AM

Alex woke up early, he rubs his temple and looks to his left seeing Y/n laying on her side facing away from Alex, she was still asleep, he rubs his eyes and gently moves his hand and taps her hip, she doesn't move but snuggles deeper into her pillow.

He gets up and grabs his clothes off the floor. He gets dressed and heads downstairs going to the kitchen sees his mom make breakfast.

"Morning ma," he says.

"Morning, sweetheart," she says, placing a plate of bacon on the table. "Is Y/n still asleep?"

"Yep, she's looks really tired," Alex says, yawning.

"Morning," Ben says, coming into the kitchen sitting next to Alex.

They talked and rank their coffee as they waited for Y/n, which wasn't long, she comes downstairs in her pajamas still, she yawns and Alex gets up kissing her temple and walking her to sit across the table from him.

"How'd you sleep, Y/n?" Lia asks.

"Oh you know, had to deal with someone who couldn't handle their liquor," Y/n says as Alex's parents laughed.

"Hey now."

"Don't hey now me, you don't remember anything but you kept accusing me of taking advantage of you," she says.

"You must've," he says, raising his eyebrows and drinking his coffee.

"No, I wasn't," she says, slightly kicking him under the table.

"You two are perfect for each other," Lia says. "Now, let's eat."

[azzifuddworlddomination]

casual pt. 3

paige x azzi fic

yall already knowwwww i did not proof read

this is mostly filler

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“No… no… no…” Colleen replies mindlessly as Azzi holds up different shirts, “Az, I seriously don’t think going to Montana is a good idea. How did you even get your parents to agree to this? They take holidays pretty seriously.” Azzi takes a breath, “I told them I’d spend the entirety of Christmas break with Jon and Jose.” “Yeah? Until Paige comes over,” Colleen says under her breath. “Are you gonna help or no?” Azzi asks her. “Fine,” Colleen says as she settles back onto Azzi’s bed. 

Azzi stands under the awning of their dorm building as Paige pulls the car up. Its cold Connecticut morning and the snow is falling in thick and heavy flakes. After what seems like a very cold forever, Paige pulls around and parks. Hopping out of her car, she goes around to open the trunk. As her hand lands on Azzi’s suitcase, she’s met with resistance. Azzi tugs the suitcase from Paige’s hands, “I can put it in myself y’know.” Paige gives her a confused look as Azzi doesn’t pay her any mind, instead going around to get in the passenger’s seat. “I turned the heated seat on for you, I know you like that,” Paige says, as Azzi stares out the window. 

Azzi doesn’t want to be mad. She would be thrilled to be going to spend Thanksgiving with her girlfriend’s family. But that wasn’t the case. She was going to act as a buffer between her best-friend-turned-friends-with-benefits-in-hopes-of-them-being-together-one-day-in-the-future-but-one-of-them-pretty-much-ruined-that-after-acting-like-what-they-had-was-not-worth-actually-pursuing-and-they-are-just-casually-hooking-up-otherwise-known-as-a-situationship and her mother, who albeit is caring but struggles to connect with her daughter. To make matters even worse, Paige’s mom doesn’t know they’ve ever been anything beyond friends. She figured if Paige could bring her best friend, it would make Montana a little less boring. 

After an uncomfortably quiet ride, which luckily Paige just chalked up to Azzi being tired, they arrived at the airport. Paige watched in the mirror as Azzi grabbed both bags and mumbled something under her breath before she closed the trunk and gave Paige the go-ahead to go park. After finding a parking spot Paige noticed that Azzi had forgotten her unicorn neck pillow on the seat. She reached over and grabbed it. It’s the neck pillow she’s had since high school. Paige had seen it on more flights and bus rides than she could count. And on each on of those flights and bus rides without fail Paige had talked Azzi’s ear off as much as she would let her. Even though Azzi would tell Paige to just shut up and close her eyes, she never stopped listening until Paige stopped talking. She was such a good best friend. After enough reminiscing, Paige grabs the pillow and reaches for the car door. 

Azzi sits near the airport entrance as she toys with the tags on Paige’s bag. Azzi thought having multiple tags on her suitcase was a little redundant, but as she flipped through the tags she stopped at the one with the Hopkins High School logo on the back. It still had Paige’s old Minnesota address. Azzi reminisced on the times that she had gone to Minnesota to visit her, or the times she had traveled to see Paige play for Hopkins. Azzi started to look at the tag with the UConn logo on it, the address almost identical to hers. Only the room number differed. Azzi thought to herself for a moment, what it would be like to finally live together. Would their bedding be pink or purple, or maybe they’d mutually agree on a different color or a mix of the two? It was dumb, Azzi thought, it wasn’t worth wasting her time thinking about. You wouldn’t know how stupid she finds it, if you knew how much she thought about all the hypotheticals in her in Paige’s lives; all of the what ifs, all of the far-off futures, all of the daydreams, and delusions. Azzi flipped to the deep purple tag, it listed her Maryland address. She remembers Paige’s face when she told her that she finally wouldn’t live so far away. She could barely contain her excitement. Finally, Azzi flipped over a pinkish-purple tag, listing Azzi’s house under the address. It was from when Paige stayed with her and her family during covid. She couldn’t help but feel a little sentimental over all the milestones she’s been through with Paige. 

“Stalking me or something?” Paige laughed as Azzi looked up at her like a deer in headlights, “you, uh, forgot this in the car,” Paige says as she hands Azzi the neck pillow. “Thanks,” Azzi shortly responds. Azzi feels caught in the act, wondering how long Paige saw her looking at the different tags she had on her bag while Paige wonders if Azzi can feel that Paige held onto the neck pillow a little longer than she should’ve and reminisced over all the places they’ve been together.

“You know, flying back from Argentina was probably the best flight I’ve been on. To this day,” Paige admits. “Really?” Azzi looks at her. “Yeah, a hundred percent. I’d do a twelve-hour flight with you any day, over a one-hour flight with anyone else. Azzi starts to wonder how bad it would be if she opened up an emergency exit would be, like who says that???? A few beats too late, Azzi responds, “Me too.” As the captain prepares the cabin for take off Paige looks nervously at Azzi, “you know I’m still scared of take off right?” “Still?” Azzi looks at her? “Yeah, still,” Paige responds. Azzi uncrosses her previously crossed arms as she allows Paige to slink her hand under her own and intertwine their fingers.

Paige squeezes her hand as they take off. Azzi squeezes it back as a sign of reassurance. Even as they finally reach their cruising altitude Paige doesn’t remove her hand. As the flight goes on Azzi feels Paige’s hand go limp as she drifts off to sleep. Their fingers intertwined until they touched down in Montana, Azzi couldn’t make up her mind if this trip would be her saving grace or her biggest regret.