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omitea · 2 months

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𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓

. synopsis. a halloween night that was supposed to be fun, quickly turned into a bloody mess in a small town named shibuya. one different path leading home and you come to face horror itself in the form of something undoubtedly inhuman. fortunately or unfortunately for you, your fate resides in the hands of the unknown before you.

. ft. vampire! choso x f! reader

. content. 2.9k words, vampire! au, mention of death, description of mild-gore, set in the 1890s (not too detailed), implied stalking, biting, mention of blood, choking, making out in the woods, grinding, palming, just overall highly suggestive.

it was a yearly tradition for the folks of shibuya to celebrate this specific holiday. halloween, is what they named it. suitable for the cold and spooky season. the noisy creaks of wooden carriage wheels sounded throughout the small town that was hosting a halloween festival. innocent children screeching as they reached the scary decorated vendors of boutique stores for trick or treat– often with their parents trailing right behind them.

most of them being occupied by the delicious pastries that some elders were selling on the streets. though it was frequently celebrated by wearing intriguing costumes, that not all preferred to. some think about it as time consuming, including a waste of their hard-earned money. while the rest found comfort in wearing clothes that fit their own selves. and you were amongst those people.

you were adorned in a traditional kimono printed with cherry blossom flowers that complimented your skin tone. along with a neatly wrapped bun, which allowed the fresh night air to brush against the apple of your cheeks. you hummed as you walked down the path where the festival was held. it should be starting soon, you think.

and as if on queue, your ears start picking up the booming music in the distance. music that the folks created with their own home-made instruments. precisely carved with metal and wooden tools that men ought to search for during their times in the country-side. a hard working man always seemed to sweep a lady right off her feet. and you were to agree– but unfortunately in this small town, some men were only thinking with their ‘manhood’, which is what you liked to tell them.

your feet carried you further into town, politely declining the nice elders that attempted to convince you into buying their sweet delicacies. with small bows and a few bumps into strangers, you finally managed to arrive at your destination. the view you had from this spot was perfect.

there was so much to see, such as; dressed up men walking on stilts, horses that carried carriages, and behind those– was a larger group of people. dancing their way up the front, engaging with the crowd and some of them were horrifying, along with a dash of makeup on their faces.

you felt a shiver traveling down the length of you spine– unable to shake off the uneasy feeling. you weren’t a big fan of halloween, but yet you found yourself drawn to the feeling of being scared. maybe it was the thrill or even the anticipation for what could happen next. although it was quite strange to mold the specific sensation into words.

suddenly, an eerie sounding scream could be heard; which caused you to snap out of your thoughts. the group of people who were dancing just now, running for what seems like their lives. the horses that once carried the carriages were neighing out of panic– just like the town folks. people were going haywire.

an awfully carved pumpkin made its way rolling towards your planted feet before being trampled on by a passerby that was running right past you. feeling partially confused and partially curious, you stood on your toes and peeked over the crowd. but to no luck, your view was mostly blocked. this caused you to push your way over; squeezing in between costumed bodies with a mix of alcohol and sweat. some being scented by the strong smell of nicotine.

after a few push throughs, you made it to the center. and in that exact moment you felt something beyond fear. you loved the color red. but this wasn’t the color red that tinted your lips, nor was it the color red that was polished on your nails. this was the color of blood. you felt your heartbeat racing as you stared at the disturbing sight in front of you.

someone, who you could make out as a woman, was laying as still as a stone on the pebbled ground. in her own blood. the dark red fluid seemed to be gushing out of her neck in spurts. chunks of clotted blood stained the tiny rocks, including the shoe soles and the clothes of the people who were too close. and if you’re about to move an inch more, you too, will become unfortunate.

you took a closer look at her white painted skin, meant to represent a ghost. well, she practically is now, you thought. your face turned into one of disgust as your eyes took in the wound on her neck. it looked as if something got caught on the piece of flesh and tugged on it with a harsh force. almost inhuman.

you felt a throbbing pain in your head– causing your vision to blur the slightest. i should go home, you think. trying to forget the image of a bloody crime scene, you took the long road home. you had to take your mind off things. at least for now. and a breath of fresh air should do the trick. maybe pour some delicious hot chamomile tea in your tea cup when you get home.

the cold gust of wind caused the leaves in the trees to rustle back and forth. it was quiet, almost too quiet for your liking if you must say. your footsteps sounded heavy on the brownish fall leaves, making them crunch and wither under your weight.

a small cloud of smoke escapes your parted lips when you let out a sigh you weren’t conscious of holding. still, it didn’t lift a single ounce of the weight that took place on your chest moments ago.

it made you feel sick to the stomach, worse than the stomach flu that comes around once in a while. the frightening screams, the sound of blood gushing out, the warnings parents gave their children to not look. it was all too much. maybe that’s why you weren’t fond of the holiday all along.

a snap of a twig made you halt. you felt the small hairs raise on the back of your neck, including on your arms. this is not what you needed after the night you just had. the woman’s death still seemed unreal– there was absolutely nothing insight that could’ve caused such a tragic death like hers.

you swallowed the saliva that was building up inside your mouth and took a step forward. you’ve heard about certain people’s stories of them getting stalked at night. and as sad as it may seem, you prepared in case the day would come. one punch in the sacks or boobs and you can flee. that’s what you always tried to convince yourself of.

another snap of a twig made you forget all the things you’ve taught yourself. so you ran. your eyes didn’t keep track of your surroundings, and soon, you found yourself in the woods. never go in the direction people won’t find you. especially at night.

heavy rain started to pour like a downfall. beads of water landing on the tree leaves and cascaded down towards the forming puddle of mud below. legs trembling in fear caused you to slow down your pace, but you pushed it aside and tried running faster.

you didn’t see the figure standing eerily still a few feet away and in just a few seconds, you felt a piercing pain and the familiar throbbing against your skull. salty tears mixed with the saltiness of the rain and flowing down to your chin. whether it was the cold that got you shaken up– or the fear, it didn’t matter. you had to get away.

pressing two palms against your temples did anything but soothe the pain. only making you hiss as the ache worsens. you froze when a pair of boots clouded your vision.

no. no, no, no.

not daring to look up, your eyes suddenly found the muddy ground more intriguing than the stranger that stood before you. it felt hard to swallow– to breathe and your hands came up to wrap softly around your neck. ‘’i apologize if i have scared you in some way, miss,’’ a deep voice cuts the silence in the air– most certainly belonging to no one else, other than this person.

and before you knew it, your eyes traveled up out of curiosity– landing on his figure. the sight before you could almost easily replace the one of horror earlier. how come you haven’t seen such a tall handsome man up until now. it should be against the rules of this town.

the said man was wearing a light tan robe that hung loosely on his body, along with a purple vest and a scarf. you could still make out that he had a muscular form, but you shouldn't think twice about it. that wouldn't be very lady-like, after all. his dark hair complemented his pale, almost white skin tone– including the questioning mark he had on his pointy nose.

your eyes regained focus from zoning out on the stranger and they immediately widened. the voice in your head basically yelled at you to pick up your feet and get the hell out of here. and indeed, you should be running away right now– but something feels off about him and it's trying to pull you in like a kinetic magnet. so you stay put. you don’t know where this suddenly came from, although the man in front of you doesn’t seem the slightest bit fazed. he probably has women at his feet all the time, you thought to yourself.

he took a big step forward which made you back away, but you flinched when you felt your back hit the trunk of a tree. he was so close, you could almost feel the coldness of his breath against your cheek. your breath hitched in your throat the moment you held his gaze. “please-,’’ you said– just below a whisper, “i have to go home.’’

he hummed, as if in thought. “are you certain this is the right way?” at that, you felt your eyes almost fall out of their sockets. “what…?’’ you trailed off. “right way? of course it is.”

no. please.

you internally started panicking as a train of million thoughts went through your mind; he knows where you live, he knows your every move, he knew you would take this path, he was waiting for the right time…

he took notice of your state and inched his face closer. from this proximity, you could make out the way his dark eyelashes curled, the bow of his lips and oh— the stench of blood. it was strong. at each breath you took, it felt like the smell was burning through your nose and settling in your throat. but there was no speck of blood to be seen. his eyes darted from your face to your neck, making him part his plush lips the slightest. and that’s when you see it– sharp canines that stick out amongst the rest of his teeth.

a human has never been seen with such sharp teeth. it looked sharper than a blade, as if it could cut through layers and layers of flesh.

you tried to speak, to scream, but to no avail– not even a little sound managed to squeak out. shock and purely terrified topped all the things you were feeling.

his large veiny hand wrapped around your throat– squeezing it slightly only for his breath to shudder just by feeling your blood pulsing through your veins. dark eyes filled with lust the moment he looked at your desperate, teary eyes. shaking with fear, your smaller hands tried to pry his from around your neck, but it only caused him to put a little bit more pressure on your windpipe.

this caused a gasp to escape your throat, which made him quickly shut you up by placing his thumb between your lips. the action caused you to squeeze your thighs together– suddenly aware of the heat that started pooling between them. your chest felt hot– heaving up and down in anticipation. why did you like this.

maybe it’s because you’ve never let a man come this close before, or the inappropriate thoughts of the undoubtedly inhuman being before you.

that doesn’t matter. what you did know for sure, was that you had to go home to do something about the throbbing pain in your panties. but seemingly, the man had other plans for his night. he inhaled your scent in the crook of your neck, closing his eyes when he felt the uncomfortable feeling of something growing behind his robe. not now.

it was supposed to be a quick search for his next victim– but fuck you were too enticing. the bleary look you gave him as you silently begged for him to let you go– but behind those silent pleas, he could see, you too, were getting aroused. poor sweet thing.

you almost squirmed at the feeling of his fangs grazing the sensitive skin on your neck. so you subconsciously tilted your neck back to give him more access– to which he hummed in satisfaction.

a painful whine made its way past your red tinted lips as an indescribable sharp pain shot through your body along with two sharp teeth sinking in. your knees almost gave out, but his grip on you tightened. the vision of trees soon started to become blurry and your eyes felt heavy. you were for sure you were gonna pass out.

but what jumped you out of your dizzy state, was his wet tongue darting across the slope of your neck– cleaning up the warm iron-flavored fluid that cascaded downwards. a small moan sounded throughout the woods when you felt him suck and nibble on the bitten spot. he tilted his head up, heavy lidded eyes asking if you wanted this, if you wanted more. and like a desperate human being, you nod. almost too eagerly.

so he does just that. he presses you harder against the trunk and presses his knee between your thighs. fuck, not being able to feel you soaked through your kimono was torture. his lips meet yours and nothing could have prepared you for the feeling.

it starts a little clumsily from not having too much experience– but you quickly get the hang of it which leads to the kiss getting more heated. you felt his tongue peek out and swipe across your bottom lip. your small gasp gave it the chance to slip through your lips. just as the muscle explored the sweet taste, your eyebrows furrowed in grimace– tasting the iron from your own blood that still lingered on his tongue.

you tried to touch him anywhere you could reach. hands traveling from his chest down to his fully hardened bulge. this elicited a deep groan from the back of his throat. he didn’t expect you to start palming him, thinking you accidentally touched the spot.

he bucked his hips and your ears picked up his pretty moans the more effort you put into palming him. the rain that poured, almost drowned out the sounds that escaped his lips– which were still entangled with yours.

not having enough, you lazily started grinding against his knee that was in between your thighs. your eyes almost rolled in the back of your head– panting softly when he pressed into you deeper. “shit,” he sighed, pulling away and hiding his flushed face against the side of your head while his legs started to shake .

everything felt so good, he felt so close– that was until he heard a group of people coming. it was a few meters away, so he couldn’t risk it. not now, not ever. he got what he wanted and should’ve left minutes ago. yet you made it hard for him to leave. he had to taste you more than your blood. places he has never got to taste before.

he pulled away completely, making you whine at the lack of contact. you followed the direction his eyes were looking– taking note of the people making their way towards the depths of the woods. you turned back, brows furrowing in confusion at the sight in front of you.

he was gone, just like that.

you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and placed it on your neck afterwards. your fingers lingered on the two dots he left behind, and everything soon began to sink in. if someone were to ever say you'll end up almost having sex in the woods with a stranger– you would’ve laughed in their faces and called them crazy. especially if that particular stranger almost sucked the life out of you.

you shook your head and started heading home– something you were supposed to do the moment you saw that woman’s neck sliced open.

and as you’re walking down the path leading towards your loving home, you can’t help but think; was he the one who murdered that defenseless woman.

but that was another thought– as for now, you still have to take care of the soaking mess he left you with.

@satorisoup @kiitoru @seneon @sugurustattoo @saturvue @xstom @lapin0u

©𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐀. please refrain from stealing my works !

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teez-the-time · 1 month

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Strawberry and Wine: PREVIEW

Pairing: Consort! Seonghwa x Emperor! Fem! Reader

Genre: fantasy, romance, smut

Synopsis: as an Emperor, you liked to indulge in the pleasantries of life. The shiniest jewels, the best wines, the tastiest delicacies. But in the years of your reign, you had never found something as exquisite as the lips of Park Seonghwa.

Warnings: masturbation (f and m receiving), oral sex (f), breast play, piv sex, riding, dry humping, grinding, a lil food play, alcohol consumption (no drunk characters), pretty vanilla actually, body wordship, my characters are whipped as usual, pls tell me if I miss something

Wc: 7k-8k

Taglist:

Release date: April 21, 2024

A/N. Let's pretend like I didn't disappear for three entire months after promising to have some stories coming soon. College kicked my ass, but at least I have two free weeks before going back to that hellhole. Either way, if you want to be added to the taglist, comment here or DM me!!

The wing reserved for the royal consorts was exquisite and lavish. Several rooms expanded around, forming a circle with a marble fountain in the middle depicting two lovers embracing each other with the utmost intensity. A dome was constructed on top of it, so the lovers were perpetually bathed in sunshine or moonlight. The floors were carpeted with the finest rugs imported from exotic lands in faraway continents. No speck of dust could be found on any corner, and all vases were always kept full with your favourite flowers. All the artwork was seasonally changed and handpicked by the emperors themselves according to their consorts' tastes. After all, it was the emperors' duty to pamper them and keep them content.

Having prided enough in your work at the consort wing, you began walking through the left part of the circle. Despite being able to hold many guests, most of the chambers were empty. In your short reign as emperor, you had only taken four consorts, without planning to add more in the foreseeable future. As a female emperor, it wasn’t a good look for your legacy to be remembered for promiscuity rather than your political achievements. Also, you were quite content with whom you had chosen to be your lovers.

Normally, the consort wing was brewing with life, always full of servants and guards waiting on your partners. While it could be refreshing to breathe that atmosphere, it was undeniable that the emperor’s visit was a cause of drama in the palace. Everyone was always eager to learn who were you coming to see, what you talked about and what to expect, and no doubt the speculation resulted in scheming that you weren’t ready to discover just yet. That’s why you tried to keep your appearances late and spaced in between, just to keep gossip at bay.

And, maybe, add some excitement too.

Seonghwa’s room was the farthest away, much to your dislike. Nevertheless, the wait made your little escapade even more thrilling. You reached the door, softly knocking on the sturdy wood. A few seconds passed and no one answered it. You knocked again, and still no answer. By now, one of Seonghwa’s servants would have opened it to let you go in, but tonight didn’t seem to be the case. Starting to get worried, you grabbed the knob and tried to push it open by yourself. Surprisingly, it offered no resistance and you found yourself inside Seonghwa’s chambers. You were preparing to scold him for his imprudence of leaving a door unlocked at night when the most pleasant of smells inundated your nostrils.

At first, it was just the sweet aroma of vanilla and jasmine, but the more you breathed in, the richer the smell got. Soon enough, your mind was floating along with the scent, making you relax into the atmosphere. It reminded you of something hidden in the depths of the soul. Desire. It wasn’t strong nor overpowering, but it lingered there, just barely out of reach .

When you shook out the initial stupor of the aroma, you scanned the room looking for your companion for the night. Normally, he would be waiting for you in one of the exquisite sofas and chairs of the sitting area before the door, but tonight he wasn’t there either.

Apparently, the young lord had made sure that your night was full of oddities.

#teez the time #ateez #ateez fanfic #atiny #seonghwa #park seonghwa #seonghwa x reader #park seonghwa x reader #seonghwa smut #seonghwa fluff

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rileyslibrary · 1 year

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Campfire kisses

Sometimes, you spot wild berries in the bushes and happily point them out to him. He selects only a handful, careful not to take more than necessary, rinsing them with water from his flask before handing them to you. “They’re not ours,” he reminds you, “the animals here need them more than we do.”

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Word Count: 710

Notes:

Camping with Ghost.

You can read this as a one-shot or a sequel to “Meal, Under-the-Stars”, whatever makes you happy.

A lil suggestive at the end, but overall, it’s fluff.

Oh, and um, Happy Valentine’s day.

What more?

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He steps lightly over the mossy ground, his body weaving through the trees like a dancer who knows the earth’s rhythm by heart. He divides tree branches with delicacy and gentleness like he tucks stray hairs behind your ear to get a better view of your face.

At times, he plucks herbs and flower buds—mint, lemon verbena, and chamomile—from the ground to brew tea when you arrive at your destination. As he picks them up, he describes their distinct flavours and, like a teacher, guides you through their properties.

Whenever a deer passes by, he motions for you to keep quiet and lower yourself to the ground so you don’t scare them away. His expression softens as he stares at the wild animal’s beauty. You spot rabbit traps here and there, and he removes them, explaining that the region is protected from hunting to conserve wildlife. He’s not a visitor to the forest; he’s a protector of its inhabitants.

When you come across a cliff, you are afraid to take the leap. But with his hand clasped in yours, he guides you through the most challenging paths. He encourages you to jump, reminding you he has your back; he always does.

You reach a river, and as you hesitate, looking at your boots, he motions for you to get closer to him. Before you know it, he sweeps you up in his arms and carries you to the other side, weightless, safe, and protected.

You should be tired after all this walking, but you aren’t; your headache is gone and your anger has faded away. You look around, and your eyes soften after spending so many hours hunched over your computer screen. You breathe in, and the stiffness in your neck dissipates like fog in the sun.

It’s almost dawn when you arrive at the camping site, a relatively high point of the mountain you’ve climbed. He sets up the tent with attention and skill as if something deep inside his soul is being rekindled. He handles the tent poles and anchors with expertise and familiarity that can only come from countless nights spent outdoors. He catches you looking at him and offers you a smile. He seems content, pleased to show you his ways. You smile back.

You stare at the MREs he’s brought with him, and your mouth starts to water as if you’re about to eat a gourmet meal. He puts on a silly cooking show for you, carefully opening each sachet and arranging the contents with the precision of a seasoned chef. This is Simon Riley; rugged and brutal to the outside world but a playful and devoted partner to you.

You glance up at the night sky, which is clear of city lights and full of stars. You realise he can’t shine in the city; he can only be himself when he’s out here with you. You’re his sky, and he’s your one and only star.

As you chat and share stories, the sounds of your laughter and the gentle crackling of the fire blend together. He opens up about his difficult childhood, growing up in a broken home with a heartless father and a brother who struggled with addiction. He tells you about the loneliness and fear he felt as a child and how he learned to fend for himself at a young age. Despite your different experiences, you share one thing in common: you’re both troubled individuals who beat the odds to get where you are now.

As the night becomes colder, he draws you close to his chest. He lifts your chin and presses his lips against yours, warming up your entirety. The fire crackling beside you drowns out any moans of pleasure as your hands trace each other’s skin.

Nothing else seems to matter at the time. The cold world beyond the warmth of the fire and your embrace melts away, leaving the sky and its one and only star.

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#simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #simon riley #cod mw2 #cod ghost

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m3hgumi · 9 months

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— their love languages

a/n: apologies for the inactivity! ive been prepping for my first semester of college and i haven't gotten all of my creative juices refilled just yet. for now, take this (i honestly don't know where im going with this but fuck it we ball)

pairings: itadori yuji x f!reader, fushiguro megumi x f!reader, gojo satoru x f!reader, inumaki toge x f!reader

genres: fluff, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, mild angst

word count: 745

ITADORI YUJI is a gentleman in all of the right ways. a spring in his step often leads him to open and hold the door for you whenever the two of you are roaming the busy streets of tokyo, taking in the sights incomparable to those in his life before jujutsu high. during said times, he always has an arm slinging across your neck, wrapped in his embrace, sometimes laying his head on your shoulder as an act of protection. he insists on walking you back to your dorm after dates at night, wanting to make sure you get home safe and sound. when dates are in the comfort of the student dorms, his cooking abilities are put at stake, though he knows that you would not judge and whatever he whips for dinner that day will taste better than the last. yet he strives to get the amount of seasoning on the meatballs just right, because there is nothing more that makes his heart swell than seeing your face light up when you munch excitedly on the delicacies of his cooking.

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI prides himself in actions over words. he's made it his life's goal to protect those he finds dear to him, with you being one of them. though he is not one for physical or verbal displays of affection, acts of service are his vice through which he expresses his love for you. to him, love is just more than "i love you"s and pda. it is also the small distance he keeps between you and him that allows him to protect you at just below a second's notice. it is also the extra change of clothes, a meal, and drinks he leaves in your dorm for you to come back to after a mission. it is also the stinging of the alcohol that he rubs on your wounds when you can't visit shoko after a troubling battle with a curse. it is also the light scolding he gives you after pushing yourself too hard with your technique while training or in the battlefield. though his "i love you"s are rare, his affection is received by you more than you count.

GOJO SATORU is a man of daily affirmations, which includes his "i love you"s multiple times throughout the day, a direct reminder of his affection. whether it is the first thing he does in the morning, right before he has to part from you for work, when he passes by you in the hallways, after he gets home from a long day of rambunctious teenagers and missions, or before his consciousness drifts off for a few hours. though he is no dictionary, his nicknames for you are endless, each coming out of his mouth with a hearty smile that's able to break you from any sour mood. going from a "babe" to "sweetheart" to "darling", he can't get enough of the sweet taste in his tongue when he calls out for you. he is not shy of physical touch either, always having an arm around your neck to keep you close while the two of you are outside. his personal favorite is tickling, usually in the comfort of the sofa in your shared apartment. your laughs as he mercilessly tickles your neck and stomach are music to his ears, escaping from the burdens of being the strongest.

for INUMAKI TOGE, physical touch and acts of service are the voices of his love that cannot be expressed verbally. the silver locks of his hair tickle the base of your neck as he leans closer, keeping his head under your chin as his arms wrap around your waist. he holds you firmly yet gently, almost taking a protective stance in the comfort of your own bedroom. it isn't just cuddles in the early mornings that convey his devotion to you though. you find his love in the items he brings back from his grocery runs, which are seemingly random until you remember that you were in need of it anyways and it always tended to slip your mind when you were already there. the endless tiktoks and memes reminding him of you that are sent, his daily check in texts, his goodnight texts, his scent coming from the clothes that he lends you still sitting the closet of your dorm, forgetting to return them, yet he doesn’t mind; all are signs of his affection, without him having to voice an “i love you”

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ladamedusoif · 5 months

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Snowball Fight (Javi Gutierrez x F!Reader)

A Merry Fic-Mas - December 16

Part of A Merry Fic-Mas: A Holiday Fic Calendar - click for masterlist.

Follow @ladameecrit for my writing updates!

Pairing: Javi Gutierrez x F!Reader

Word Count: 1300

Warnings: Light smut; no use of Y/N; no physical description of reader; established relationship; references to Christmas (secular)

Rating: Mature (18+ MDNI, just to be extra careful)

Summary: His first Christmas with you in London, and Javi is convinced it’ll be a white one.

For @agentjackdaniels, with a nod to her wonderful Strictly Javier series

London. One week to Christmas.

“Javi, are you looking up sleds?”

You blink awake, alerted by the bright light emanating from your boyfriend’s iPad. For a moment you think you’re imagining things. But no - Javi is wide awake and scrolling through a website selling all manner of brightly-coloured plastic sleds.

“Good morning, princesa!” He leans over and kisses the top of your head. “Yes. I thought it would be wise to order now, for when the snow comes.”

You sit up and nuzzle against his shoulder. “Javi, sweetheart…how much snow are you expecting, exactly?”

Javi’s bright smile lights up the bedroom in the morning gloom. “Well, some, at least, no? It always seems to snow in the movies. I have never seen a white Christmas - though I have seen White Christmas, several times.”

You smile softly, thinking of all the chocolate box-perfect scenes from films like The Holiday and Bridget Jones’ Diary of an England where it always seemed to snow at Christmas. The reality, as you knew all too well, was rather different. It had snowed a couple of times, it was true, but you were far more likely to get rain and sleet than the blankets of pure white the movies presented.

“We’ll have a look at the weather forecast before we make any sled purchases, I think, Javi.” You kiss him and he pulls you in close to his warm body, covering you back up with the duvet despite your protestations. “I have to go to work, love, I’m sorry…but I’ll see you later for our big Christmas shop?”

Javi reluctantly lets you go and watches as you climb out of the bed, grabbing your cosy, bright pink dressing gown and popping on your matching slippers. He smiles beatifically at you.

“I am so excited, my darling - it’s all new, all the traditions and special Christmas delicacies here! I want to make our first Christmas together - my first Christmas with you, here - perfect.”

“Maybe don’t get too excited about the food, babe,” you admit. “Hope you like root vegetables, that’s all I’m saying.”

Javi has spent the last week heroically cooking, cleaning, and taking care of you while you finish up the final frantic preparations at work before the Christmas break. Each day he tells you about something new he’s discovered about Christmas here, excitedly sharing his discovery with the kind of joy that makes you realise how jaded your attitude to the season had become over the years.

Today, it’s selection boxes: run of the mill to you, but a marvel to Javi.

“These do not exist in Spain, mi amor! Yes, we have our special sweets but this?” He waves a brightly-coloured cardboard box filled with various chocolate bars at you. “It is wonderful. A wonderful menu of treats to choose from. But you can choose first.” He peers at the labels. “Maltesers or Mars Bar?”

You reach for the Maltesers. “I love you, Javi Gutierrez. You are helping me see the world anew.”

The TV news has ended and the weather report for London begins.

“Bad news for all those hoping for a white Christmas, I’m afraid - looks like we’ll get our usual mix of overcast skies and showers, at least until New Year’s Eve.” The weather presenter looks apologetically into the camera.

“Oh, well. At least I did not order the sled.” Javi chews thoughtfully on the Mars Bar and you lean over to cuddle him, enjoying the feeling of his cornflower-blue cashmere sweater against your skin.

“There’s always next year, darling.”

He hums happily. “And the year after that.”

You look up at him and grin. “And the year after that, and the year after that… but I expect at least a few Mallorcan festive seasons, please?”

He squeezes your hand. “We have a whole lifetime to choose where we celebrate the holidays. As long as we are together.”

On Christmas morning you wake first and peek through the curtains of your flat. As predicted, the sky is overcast, though there’s no sign of the promised showers.

“Feliz Navidad, princesa.” Javi sleepily hauls himself out of bed and walks over to join you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders as you lean in to kiss him.

“No snow, I’m afraid.”

He shrugs. “Another time. Now, it’s still early and we don’t have anywhere to be, so…can I take you back to bed and keep you nice and warm?”

You giggle and race him back to the comfort of your shared bed, immediately reaching for each other under the duvet, hands seeking to remove and discard pyjama pants, nightshirts, and anything else getting in the way of being completely naked in each other’s arms.

Javi kisses you along the side of your neck and down to your breasts, hands holding you tight around the middle as you sigh with pleasure.

“I haven’t even given you your gift yet, Javi…”

He chuckles and flicks his tongue over your nipple, making you gasp. “I have you. I do not need anything else.”

You cook him breakfast - he wants to take charge of dinner, and has spent weeks with various Nigel Slater and Delia Smith cookbooks in preparation - and then repair to the couch, Javi reading through the TV listings magazine and exclaiming happily when he sees a movie he likes in the planner.

It is possibly the most perfect Christmas there ever was, you think, wriggling your toes happily in your new cashmere socks (one of Javi’s gifts to you) as you cuddle up to him and take a long draught from your huge mug of tea. You close your eyes for a moment to feel fully present in the kind of happiness you never thought you’d get to know.

At first, you think it’s a trick of the light, caused by the way you’ve closed and opened your eyes. As your vision adjusts, you realise it’s nothing of the sort.

“Javi?” You nudge him and point towards the window of the flat. “Look. Look, Javi.”

He stands up and walks to the window and you follow quickly behind.

“Is it…?”

“It’s snowing, Javi. It’s a white Christmas.”

Hampstead Heath is already busy with people of all ages when you and Javi get there, snugly wrapped up in your warmest coats and hats. Some children are gamely trying to use their sleds, despite the covering of snow barely being thick enough to roll up.

Javi glances at them and then gives you a pointed look before breaking into a grin. “I know, I know, mi amor. I couldn’t have used the sled anyway.”

“So what do you want to do, baby? I don’t recommend snow angels, not on the Heath - god knows what you’d find on your coat afterwards - and there isn’t enough snow for snowmen, not yet.”

Javi looks around for a moment, honey-brown curls poking out adorably under his dark red knitted hat. He bends forward and reaches for some snow, carefully shaping it in his gloved hands.

“Something else I’ve seen in the movies, maybe? A snowball fight.”

You nod, and he lobs the snowball at you so gently that it barely touches you before it plops sadly to the grass at your feet.

“Oh, Javi, you’re going to have to do better than that.” Your turn to take aim, and the frozen missile lands squarely on Javi’s chest. He gazes down at it, amazed, before making another snowball of his own.

You both run around the open expanse of ground, squealing with laughter and throwing snowballs like raucous schoolchildren (albeit with terrible aim).

Nearby, church bells signal the hour and Javi pulls you to him and kisses you deeply as the snow continues to fall.

Just like in the movies.

Author's Note: I suspect (judging by personal experience) that the selection box may not be a familiar concept to readers outside of the UK and Ireland, so here's an explainer. Basically: imagine a cardboard box filled with a selection of chocolate bars and sweets, usually from a single brand or manufacturer.

#a merry fic-mas #holiday fic calendar #javi gutierrez #javi gutierrez x f!reader #javi gutierrez fanfiction #javi g fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #tuwomt fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal #strictly javier series

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cloveroctobers · 1 year

Text

southern delicacy — RIO x OC x ARMAN MORALES

A/N: I’m going through my list (If i don't give up and redirect the writing to something else lmao! I’m always changing just like the seasons Chile!), so hang on for the ride if you’re up with me! GIFS DO NOT belong to me! Also if you’re into r&b: stream Jai’Len’s album which this was inspired by along with Anna Nicole Smith’s documentary on Netflix + any other celeb documentary—and mystery documentaries that’s out there basically & I can’t wait to see Donna Summer’s soon so anyways!! Feels like the wrong choice of words to say, I hope you enjoy this but…

“One sip of this southern drank and you’ll definitely want another round,” Sahra laughs which is then echoed by the camera crew as she sits in her chair gathering the waves of hair to rest down her shoulder, “but only I get the say so if you deserve another glass." The producer asks, "Is it safe to say Rio and Arman received that chance?" A playful glint shined through her deep brown eyes for a moment as she says, "Question them in a few years to see if they're still talkin' about me honey."

Somali-American Model, Actress, and niece of Business Mogul Omar Elmi: Tissa Sahra Elmi known professionally as SAHRA who's been reported missing since April 18th 2023 is now pressumed dead as of May 8th 2023.

She was 33 years old.

SAHRA was born Tissa Sahra Elmi on July 30th, 1989 in Dahlonega, Georgia to Somali-born Maxamed, a Otolaryngologist and Tanya (nee. Wells) Elmi, a former meteorologist. She was the only child the two shared together and had two older half siblings from each parent. Elmi was later raised in Atlanta, Georgia around the age of three years old since both of her parents found better job oppournities and a better sense of a environment for Elmi to grow up in.

Maxamed often says that he knew Sahra would be special from the first moment she learned how to walk, "She made a show out of taking her first steps, chubby knees buckling but still holding strong. She enjoyed the praise she got from her mother and I. From then on, with everything that she did, she got a kick out of it."

Elmi started out in children beauty pageant’s at local malls at the young age of eight, winning most of her competitions and not taking the ones she lost to heart. Her mother recalls the first one Elmi lost, holding her breath as she waited for the sign of defeat to appear on her daughter's face up on stage...but it never came. "I'm not worried, mommy. I still have time to show them better," was what the then ten year old said as her mother embraced her on their walk back to the car.

"She was too damn smart but confident for her own good," Tanya laughs.

From there Elmi gained the attention of a fashion recruiter, which Tanya was reluctant to get in contact with, "You cant just trust anybody, especially with your child," She says recalling the day the woman handed her a business card. Soon Elmi got the chance of doing photoshoots, runways, and soon had a agency that wanted to work with her full-time at just sixteen years old. Once she signed, her fame was just beginning and seemed to be on-going once it became knowlegde of who her uncle was.

"I was respected enough for people to be aware that I wouldn't take any wrong doings brought to my family, especially a young woman who was coming up in this industry. I love my neice dearly and always wanted what's best for her but I knew I wouldn't always be around." Omar Elmi tells the camera, his words holding just enough weight of what the reality was like for young people growing up in the limelight.

SAHRA found success in the modeling world after finding her place in a agency and spoke out against the colorism and weight restrictions placed on women of color.

Eighteen soon to be nineteen year old Sahra once spoke at a 2008 fashion event, “What I’m speaking on shouldn’t be viewed as a controversy, it’s f—king human decency to let women showcase exactly who they are with no limit to their shades and sizes. I’m physically changing as I step into my adulthood and was dropped once certain designers found out my exact measurements, like how boring is that? I’m too plus sized for you because I’m not shaped like a pogo stick? This is my body and I’m doing you a favor showing how a high-end outfit looks on a body like mine, so it’s their lost. If they keep messing with me I’ll build my own agency, for women, for all people who know what it’s like. see how they like that taste, huh?”

Once she stepped into her twenties she gained her first ever supporting role in a No. 1 box office Drama/Romance film, “The Southern Gothic Hour.”

“I plan on telling as many stories as I can for as long as I live.” A twenty-one year old Sahra beams as she walks the red carpet in a floaty pastel dress, hurrying to get inside to the movie award show.

Elmi kept very busy after her first movie role, continuing her modeling career and was on the cover of vogue magazine, vogue Arabia, and Vogue Italia, for three months straight. She later went on to star in three sitcoms before working on her second major film. By then another controversy was brought on surrounding the Somali actress.

“Aren’t you embarrassed that by being involved with two men at the same time is going to ruin the image you’re building for yourself?” The paparazzi intervene as they follow a twenty-five year old Sahra to the airport.

She stops short after that question, turning to the flashing cameras, “that’s just a piece of my life that you’re dyin’ to tell the world while I’m just living in it. Living in my life with two gentlemen who want to spend time with me and reciprocate some love in return. We understand the nature of the relationship and that’s what matters. Not you or anybody else. I’m having fun in love and what are you doing? Chasing me down to throw some dirt on…well it looks like you failed, aren’t you embarrassed?”

Both Rio and Arman knew not to trust the headlines, especially once they got involved with a public figure but the both of them had a feeling that there was some truth this

Arman was the one to reach out to Rio first, unsure if this information was even true. It wasn't in his nature to keep up with the tabloids-even when he was involved with Tissa-SAHRA (as the world knew her) but it was his wife, Nadia who brought it to his attention, with a tablet in her hands.

He tried to brush it off as fake news but once his own phone started to blow up with tweets and phone calls requesting for comments...Arman found his breathing to suddenly be weak and got to his feet, pacing the outline of the mosaic pool with his phone pressed tightly to his ear.

"Yeah," Rio answered after what felt like the thirteenth ring, sounding as if he was on the move.

"What the fuck is she playing at?" Was the first thing that flew out of Arman's lips.

Rio paused, "Well hello to you too, Mr. Morales."

"Now's not the time for your bullshit either, Rio. Have you talked to her before she disappeared? Is this some big scheme: faking her death just to keep the universe talking? To get us talking? I told her once before she shouldn't play around like that."

"Nah, man it's true. At least the whole presumed part, in their eyes.”

Now was not the time to be vague.

"What?" Arman questioned, "If you're the reason why she’s gone asswipe, just say that—

"Whoa, what we're not gonna do is put this on me when your hands aren’t exactly clean either. You clocked out not too long ago to be with your wife instead. Now you’re here on my line asking about another woman."

"You and I both know she wasn't just that." Arman held the skin in between his brows, "...just tell it to me straight, what do you know and how do we take care of it?"

Sahra was twenty-four when she met Rio first in the summer time, out in the Oak Bluffs where her and her family were vacationing at her uncle's estate that Rio ended up doing business with.

Sahra knew of him through some chatter her uncle talked about over dinner, he liked to inform everyone of all kinds of guests that would be in attendance to this extravagant event but all Sahra cared about was getting dressed up and flirting her way through the night until she got bored and headed out to the beach.

She never expected a conversation about Cape Town to get her connected with Rio.

Never expected him to the type of man who enjoyed going out on dates

and that man sure knew how to plan the most romantic dates.

It felt natural with him and on the oak bluffs was the best kind of privacy Sahra could ask for.

Sure Rio’s seen Sahra’s debut film and instantly recognized her at her uncle’s event but it’s not like he was on some fanboy shit.

He kept that quiet and it only became knowledge once they were friendly.

“I admire everything that you do and are, don’t ever let anybody disrupt that—not even me.” Rio told her as the lounged on the sand, one night, perched on his elbow, focused only on her while Sahra stared out at the sparkling navy ocean.

Amusement was in her eyes as he lightly gripped her chin to face him, “Are you gonna kiss me now, Christopher?”

Rio smirked, long-lash brimmed eyes shifting from her mouth to her eyes, “don’t mind if I do, reina.”

Three months in a beachy but peaceful town surely sounded overkill to Sahra—well it used to in her teen years but it seemed to be everlasting with Rio around.

He departed the island a week before Sahra said her, “see you later’s,” to her family and returned to the stage which happens to be the device you’re probably holding in your hand right now

. Of course she kept her stories updated here and there

But never placed her time with Rio out there!

(She thought about it, posting a intimate moment on her more…raw and uncut insta that she kept on private and only allowed 30k+ to follow her on. Mostly it was just for her friends and close family members that she hung out with but soon supporters came across it. So on private it had to go—you don’t want to know the amount that sat in the pending section let’s just say that)

Why would she ever do that when she wasn’t sure if this was strictly casual or not? It’s like not she heard much from him anyways with him in Detroit and her going back and forth between New York and Georgia.

It’s wasn’t until early October that she went to Vegas to celebrate a friend’s birthday at this well-known club, where she met another business man who went by the name of Arman.

He immediately approached her and her friends, ensuring that they were having a good time and made sure their drinks were placed on his tab—only if Sahra got on the dance floor with him.

Sahra didn’t know what it was with these business men but they always seemed to be somewhere lingering.

“Do you own this place?” Sahra asked, already taking his warm hand as he helped her down from the stool.

“Just cut a deal with the previous owner, so in short terms: soon.”

Literally meaning cut— it’s was a whole bloody mess but Arman always cleans up well and Sahra certainly didn’t need to know the details, considering this is their first time meeting!

“We love a man about his business.” Sahra stated, “Congratulations, Arman.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. I have a feeling that means something coming from you.” Arman let the woman lead him to the dance floor.

She smiled at him over her shoulder, “don’t thank me yet. There’s still plenty of world out there to take over.”

“So, are you telling me you’re a taker?” Arman whispered down into her ear, one hand wrapped around her torso while she sunk into him, arm tossed up and over his shoulder.

“Maybe, it all depends on how this planet chooses to treat me.” Sahra spoke as they began to move in sync to the beat, her back pressed directly to his front.

She remembers how comfortable she felt in his arms that night. How the scratch of his facial hair touched the brown skin of her neck and how tender his hold on her was.

“How do you plan to treat me?” She asked and she could feel him smile from above.

“Like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

And that granted him a kiss so good, he was a bit weak in the knees.

Arman had to stabilize himself on her despite him engulfing her with his slightly taller frame.

She let him. And found that she often enjoyed the weight of Arman over her body.

Her friends were disappointed that she didn’t go home with Arman but she did take his number and there were others that took pictures and videos that circulated the internet

Which was also brought to a certain summer fling’s attention…

Her phone rings as she’s outside the club, her group of friends drunkly screaming a mashup of Tinashe’s, “2 on” and Beyoncé’s, “Drunk in love” she wasn’t sure how they managed to do that but it didn’t sound half bad as they all waited for a Uber.

“Tell my stand-in he shouldn’t bother waiting on your call since I should be the first one you dial.” Rio’s smooth slightly raspy voice was heard as Sahra plugged her other ear to hear him better.

Sahra laughed, “Aw, should I be flattered that you’re watching me all the way out here? What? Are you actually our Uber driver tonight? The phone works both ways, i was starting to think you lost my number.”

“Even if I did, it’s not like me to forget something so significant. I’ll be seeing you next week, brunch on me. And if I hear that you entertained that pushing forty looking cornball, it’s gonna be a problem.”

Sahra was left with a dial tone and a snicker at that.

No man gets to tell her what to do, especially a man who wasn’t her boyfriend.

It was also thrilling to wonder what Rio was gonna do if she went “against” him.

Sahra was a free woman whether Rio liked it or not. It was funny that he was keeping up with her although they haven’t talked in almost two months.

So the next day she went out to dinner with Arman a few hours before her flight back to the east coast.

Arman wasn’t pushing forty. He was only seven years older than Sahra and she was grown, it wasn’t a issue or concern for her. She figured she would end up being with someone older than her anyways.

Rio was four years older than her and you never saw her cracking on his years around the sun…but how did he get access to Arman so quickly when Sahra just met him?

“Business men”

Her interactions with Arman seemed to get more publicized than her relationship with Rio (they were smooth criminals with it, literally 1 out of the 2 but you already knew that) and it didn’t bother Rio—at the start.

It was adrenaline inducing, fiery, and lust filled with Rio. He quickly became a lover and his jealousy definitely showed. He didn’t want Sahra to even think about Arman with his hands and tongue all over her body

making sure to leave his marks that the makeup artists had to rely on photo editors to completely remove them before they were fresh off the press.

Sure Arman was the question mark in the public eye but Rio knew what it was behind closed doors.

The paps didn’t have much information to go off of in the first place since they all lived on different sides of the map but Rio didn’t mind taking flights to be laid up with Sahra.

Yet it was never discussed what they were, although it felt obvious on his part.

Until he decided to pop up and find Arman there in NY, fixing himself a whiskey in Sahra’s kitchen.

“Uh uh,” Rio was ready to put a bullet right in this man’s chest, “think you missed the exit to the club, about three miles back.”

Arman huffed, “Don’t think so, Rio. I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

He already didn’t like this dude and it only amplified with the way he said his name so freely.

“It damn sure ain’t here, man.” Rio’s eyes were in slits at how comfortable Arman was in this Manhattan condo.

Arman raised his hands at the space around them, smug as he raised his glass, “I’m sorry but I’d have to disagree.”

Before Rio could say anything else, the slapping of slippers entered the white and nude modern kitchen. His eyes remained locked on Arman, itching to punch that smile right off his face, while some arms circled around his waist along with a chin pressing into his shoulder.

“You made it,” Sahra’s soft voice announced as Rio finally turned to her to press their lips together, eyes shooting back to Arman’s as he tried to slip his tongue into her mouth.

Arman tilted his head to the side, simply analyzing but expression remained neutral.

Sahra stepped back with a squeeze of Rio’s sides, “No need to show off, you both know what I like and it’s not a competition.”

“I’mma need some clarification, Reina. What’s the bozo in the tight blouse doing here during our quality time? I thought that was squashed.” Rio jabbed his thumb at Arman who rolled his eyes.

Arman muttered, “it’s clear communication isn’t the strong suit on your side of the relationship. She wanted us both here to propose the bright idea of us being a trio.”

“I’m not letting this dude anywhere near my shit, that’s for you only. You know that.” Rio was firm with his response and wasn’t sure what Sahra was on at this point.

This would turn out to be false once he revealed his attraction to a certain preppy busty strawberry blonde a little down the timeline of their soon to be poly relationship but—just make that a side note if you will!

“Listen it’s just a thought since I’m actually getting tired of having the both of you as my sides—

“Your what?” Arman immediately furrowed his brows, which clearly irked his nerves just as Rio felt that familiar itch to start knocking shit over.

Sahra raised her hands in surrender, “whew! Sorry honey bee’s, wrong choice of words. There isn’t a third option or anything like that, I’m just sayin’ I’m with the both of you majority of the time and I know you men are smart enough to figure that I wasn’t going behind your back about it—

“Well that’s a lie because I told you from the jump I wasn’t feelin’ him.” Rio told Sahra, who let out a sigh.

Arman barked, “The names Arman. My name, learn it and use it. Properly.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Rio sized him up with a shove of his hands into his pockets, unfazed.

Sahra let out a low whistle at the rising tension in the room before saying, “okay just hear me out—there’s already been some talk about Arman and I. Slowly it’s back on the rise on the gossip blogs and channels since he’s been here for about a week now but we’re been sorta careful. Half of my heart feels extremely tied with his and then there’s the other side that wants to be around yours Rio. So it just makes sense to at least see what you two think about being in a relationship with me at the same time. It’ll be a union.”

Arman’s eyes shot back to Rio’s at this, brows raised. It was clear she’s been thinking about this for some time and the fact that he’s already been here for a week probably listening to her tell him this, didn’t sit right with Rio.

“I don’t think your part-time lover likes me enough to share.” Arman informed Sahra, hand going up to caress her back.

Rio raked his teeth over his bottom lip in frustration, “don’t speak for me.”

“Well, what do you think?” Sahra asked, curiosity in her eyes.

Rio expressed, “I think that you want the best of both worlds with no regards for anybody’s feelings. The glimpses that you’re showing the world with Arman ain’t reality, it’s got to matter behind closed doors too. What we have is much better than that, just us two.”

“I know that the both of you are different but love me in just the right way that I need and want. I’m picking the both of you to love back at the same time, my hearts big enough to do so, so just let me show you.” Sahra declared, allowing Rio to hold her stare for what felt like a lifetime.

He was always trying to figure her out and spoke with his eyes quite a lot. He knew he adored Sahra but how much of this was an act? He couldn’t be too judgmental since he was often calculated himself but not with his heart.

“How do you feel about this?” Rio kept his eyes on Sahra as he aimed his question at Arman—it’s not like he cared about this random guy’s perspective but he wanted a sense first-hand on what his relationship was like with Sahra since he threw a jab at them earlier.

Arman kept his hand on Sahra’s back, “we don’t have to like each other but I know a good thing when I see it. We absolutely don’t have to be in a romantic relationship with each other but we can respect each other for Tissy—Sahra. I’ll do just about anything to make her happy and if this is what she wants…fine.”

“I knew you were soft,” Rio smirked, “she’s got that effect on you…but not me. I need a few days to get my head around this bullshit so enjoy your time together or not. I may be back.”

“Christopher,” Sahra called out to him feeling her heart race, “don’t waste this moment because of your ego.”

He paused, “my time’s never wasted on you.” Was all that he said before his exit.

And that was the first time Sahra shed a tear in a very long time.

It was Arman’s job to cheer her up while Rio took what was his lengthy leave of absence.

Arman was always in tune with his emotions, had enough compassion but Sahra knew Arman had a touch of a dark side as well. She sensed it when he would hide his cut up knuckles or when he was snappy on the phone with people that worked for him.

Sure she had her diva moments but that didn’t mean she was nasty to any of her employees.

Yet they both have two very different professions.

Which is why she heard her publicist out who weighed the cons of going public on her relationship with both Rio and Arman.

That’s right, the tatted man eventually came around because he also wanted to be part of Sahra’s happiness.

Although the downfall of the relationship felt timely, Sahra was surprisingly still friendly or rather had a love and hate relationship with Rio.

At least enough for him to do what the damn detectives couldn’t.

On the other hand, The relationship turned sour between Sahra and Arman once he began to get tired of constantly being in the flashing lights.

That was a shock to Rio since he knew he was the flashiest one out of the two of them but Rio would never compare himself to him. Fuck him.

Rio was better at keeping his cool in the public eye while Arman started to disconnect.

He found Arman engaging with another woman, a pretty Argentine girl named Nadia who looked like a model herself—yet she was no Sahra—who seemed loving towards Arman at the club.

Rio wasn’t gonna put his shit on blast, especially since he knew how hurt Sahra had been when he revealed that he did have some attraction towards Elizabeth but didn’t act on those feelings.

Here Arman was, acting on his feelings. It was evident that the touches were intimate and it would explain why he was distant so Rio checked Arman about it one night when Sahra was out with her girls.

Which resulted in them getting into each others faces about it.

“Did you cheat?”

“That’s not your damn business!”

Loud and defensive. Dead giveaway.

“I think it is. Be honest, what you thought this was going to be, fizzled out for you much too fast. You need to Tell her instead of being a liar.”

“Oh so you can get the award of being the best partner? As if you aren’t still around the soccer mom that you probably have wet dreams about like some sort of prize? You’re no better than me.”

“Wrong, I know I am. But at least I don’t lie to my girl’s face.”

“Fuck you, big whoop!”

“You got twenty-four hours to come clean.”

“Or what?”

“It’ll come out eventually and then your ass is gonna be done for.”

Arman battled with himself on his side of the condo and knew after the breakfast he prepared that he would tell Sahra.

He was shocked to find Rio not in the home, that the man actually granted them some privacy.

Rio was usually not one for Patience.

When Rio returned, Arman was gone, hopefully on a flight to Vegas and Sahra was seated on the couch staring out the large window behind it.

“You knew, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I did.” Sahra whispered before turning to Rio with wet eyes.

He dropped the duffle bag on the floor, pulled his hood down and plopped down beside her, hand resting on her thigh. “I’m here and I adore you.”

Sahra laid her head in his lap as he straightened out on the couch giving her shoulder a squeeze, “I love you too.”

“And I’ll never let anyone hurt you again.” His fingers following the swoops of her edges, soothing her.

She closed her eyes, not believing that this time.

“Why are you two choosing to speak out now when you’ve been quiet during this entire investigation?” A producer asks the two men sitting side by side.

Rio licks his bottom lips, hands clasped together, “it’s better to set the story straight instead of people constantly picking the narrative.”

“What narrative is that?”

“That Sahra is this or that or the notion that we contributed to all of this happening. When we also knew her better than anyone behind closed doors.” Rio informed.

Arman was side-eyeing the man, which the camera picked up on, “I actually didn’t want to do this interview because it’s common knowledge that disingenuous people like to be exploitative on people in the public eye. Sure Tissy loved what she did but to victim blame is insane.”

“She shouldn’t be some tragic story. Especially when we only know bits and pieces.” Rio stated.

Flashes of a ransacked home, believed to be Sahra’s are shown on screen along with some black and white footage of Sahra being led down a hallway by a hooded figure, object pointed directly at her spine, to a airport with a woman with the same physique—hair gone or either stuffed underneath a cap and with shades on stood at the front desk with a hand gripping the back of her neck, to finally a news clip of the supposed flight reportedly missing off the coast and later some airplane wreckage was found in a desert that cannot be located on a map.

“What do you mean by that?”

“She always talked about a place in South Africa with Rio,” Arman started as he glanced over at the brooding man, “we’re still hopeful since they didn’t officially retrieve a body.”

“Don’t you believe that’s giving false hope to not only yourselves but her fans, especially when her family already processed this? It’s been over ten days.” The producer had clear confusion in their voice.

Rio lifted his shoulders, “we’re not trying to do that at all but I know neglect when i see it. It’s easier just to come to a quick conclusion especially when it comes to Black, Latin, Indigenous, Asian and other people of color right?”

“So you believe there’s negligence on the department’s part?”

“Without a doubt,” Arman answered, “Tissy was supposed to be on vacation the week she went missing…why are we getting footage of her disappearing two days after when she was supposed to be on a flight? Was she held up in that condo for those two days before someone took her to the airport?”

The producer was intrigued at their viewpoint, “they arrested the guy they suspected to be stalking her: Oliver Dumouchel who created one of the most well known fan pages about her. He was said to have engaged with her on the early hours she was leaving for her flight. Could it be him that forced on her on that flight?”

This Rio and Arman already knew. Getting their hands stained themselves as they snatched Oliver off the streets and beat him down to get some answers. He ended up telling them what sounded completely different from what he previously told the detectives. Yes he did manage to get up to the top floor on the early hours of April 16th but he left out the part where he had a scuffle with Sahra in the hallway. He did assault her with a vase, hitting her over the head with it and he left with a bloody nose, scared some residents would call the police. Where was the footage on that?

“So you think he switched her off with someone else? That doesn’t exactly make sense since he was found dead yesterday—apparent suicide.” Rio informed as the other crew had hushed whispers that filled the room.

“Was he the only one running that page?”

Arman confirmed, “Yes.”

“Listen we don’t want to feed into the conspiracy bullshit that’s out there but Sahra always knew how to take care of herself.” Arman said, “she always knew how to pick herself up after feeling what needs to be felt.”

“You’d know that better than anyone.” Rio jabbed.

Arman cleared his throat, resting his elbows against the arms of the chairs, “We love her and just want her to be okay. If it all got to be too much and she wanted to tap out then fine but no one should be able to make that choice for her in such a violent unanswered way.”

Rio dipped his head, a little slouched in his chair, “we’re doing our part in getting some answers, trust that. We won’t elaborate more but hopefully Sahra’s out there safe and relishing the thought that we still care about her wellbeing.”

[Some time in March 2022…]

[Detroit, MI]

Sahra is seen standing in front of a hooded Rio, dressed in loungewear as they hold a conversation with Rio leaning back against his G-Wagon. The conversation is hushed but it’s evident it turns serious as the previous smirk on the taller but thin framed man’s face went away the second Sahra is face to face with him.

The shutters from the cameras are going haywire since they’re used to only seeing Sahra out with Arman more than Rio. Her head turns, hand going up to block the bit of hazy sun that greets her skin. She turns back to Rio whispering something to him, in which he barely glances at the paparazzi before moving to open the backseat, revealing a fluffy white goldendoodle ready to leap from the car.

Rio interrupts, one hand going out to bury into the dog’s fur, keeping them still while the other hand waiting for the leash Sahra’s holding to hook onto the dog before handing it back over to the woman. She wraps the leash around her fist just as Rio places a kiss on her cheek then moves to climb into the car.

Sahra leaves the driveway first, now waving as the paparazzi begin to fire away questions.

“How are you doing today, Sahra? Rio buy you that dog?”

She breaths out a laugh, “nope. This is Amnati, “Nati” for short by the way. She’s my new baby. Rio was actually babysitting for me until I arrived back on his side of town.”

“Speaking of babies are you planning on having any with your two partners?”

“Arman is no longer in the equation, come on keep up with me now.” Sahra teases, making one of the paps appear sheepish.

The other laughs as they toss in, “but you’re still holding up well and got the part of this brand new upcoming thriller film, congrats. Any details you can tell us?”

Sahra spins walking backwards down the sidewalk now, a small smile on her lips as she says, “think of the film ‘when a stranger calls,’ but make is jordan peele if you will and that’s all I’m gonna say on that without getting replaced/fired.”

The paparazzi laugh, “that sounds pretty interesting, we’ll be sure to see it.”

“no one would ever dare to replace you!” The other says while Sahra coos and fans her hand at them.

Sahra then says, “you’ve got the right attitude about that! I might just be a lot, but we gon’ be alright, darling.”

She winks at the camera before sending them a wave and glanced down at Nati who barks up at her with her tail wagging, encouraging the shaggy dog to set off into a jog down and around the street, away from prying eyes and everyone’s view.

.ೃ࿐ .ೃ࿐ .ೃ࿐ .ೃ࿐ .ೃ࿐ .ೃ࿐ .ೃ

Continue along with my spring anthology series here.

#Spotify #manny montana #rio good girls #manny Montana x reader #rio x black!reader #rio x reader #the cleaning lady #the cleaning lady fox #arman morales #Arman morales x reader #adan canto #queued #spring writing

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amjustagirl · 2 years

Text

chapter 7: one step forward (a million steps back)

chapters: 7 / 15 pairing: miya osamu x f! reader genre: romance, angst, fluff, inarizaki shenanigans wc: 2.8k summary: miya osamu does not dare set fire to his heart. it burns anyway.

(prev / next)

Swapping the backdrop from the rural countryside to the bustling metropolis does not dampen your feelings for Miya Osamu in any way.

You’d always thought he was attractive with his strong chin, the sturdy sweep of his shoulders but now your gaze lingers on him more and more, appreciating the openness of his smile, the warmth of his eyes. His heart is too big to cram into his chest, and you like him all the more for it - the consideration he pays to his staff (and you), the gruff love he shows his family, the genuine care he gives to his guests. It scares you, how much you love - like him, craving for his attention, his friendship suddenly insufficient when you want more. Your name sounds beautiful when he says it, even though you’ve always hated it (a relic of your past), and you stand a little taller, smile a little wider when he’s anywhere near you.

“So, the boss huh.” Suzuki states with a motherly pat to your shoulders. “Finally.”

The rest of the staff seem to share her sentiment, nudging you forward whenever they see the opportunity to leave you and Osamu alone, elbowing you with grins whenever Osamu smiles at you, nodding approvingly whenever he offers to walk you home (or to the night shift) after late nights at the restaurant.

You’re a terrible liar so you just shrug helplessly, biting your bottom lip. “Not that I know what to do”, you admit.

Which is true. You’ve had crushes before - handsome boys who accompany their parents to your father’s sushi restaurant, classmates who were unattainable, out of reach but you’d put them on a pedestal, imagining how you’d enjoy being one half of a couple, holding hands, sharing smiles. But this is different. You’ve never had anyone you actually, truly, really like for who they are, and there’s so so much to like about Miya Osamu.

Suzuki’s expression turns sympathetic when you confess all of this to her, your voice small, unsure. “I’ll help you”, she promises. “The boss needs something more than just work in his life, and I bet he probably feels the same way about you. From the way he looks at you, at least.”

“You think so?” you ask, but she doesn’t bother giving you a response, sending out texts on her phone at machine gun speed, and the next thing you know, she’s roped in Kaiyo and the entire staff (who’s itching to get involved anyway) to aid in the mission of capturing the elusive heart of one Miya Osamu.

Step one - feed the chef.

Suzuki-san and Kaiyo unanimously pronounce that the way to Miya Osamu’s heart is through his stomach. A tired saying, but one that rings true for the chef-owner of Onigiri Miya.

“But what am I supposed to cook for him that he can’t already cook for himself?” you protest, though whatever you say falls on deaf ears.

You consider baking something, but your parents’ old house lacks a working oven, understandable since your parents (and yourself, nowadays) would only retreat home for rest. You consider buying him some upscale delicacy, some sort of expensive cake or mochi or sweet treat of sorts, but it seems needlessly expensive and it’s not like Osamu’s a food snob to begin with. Then you overhear Osamu complaining that he can’t find the time to travel to the Kobe fishmarket to check out what’s on offer this winter deep sea fishing season, and an idea forms in your head.

He doesn’t have the time, but you do.

So you call in favours from your father’s old business acquaintances, pop down into Kobe before dawn in long unworn wet market boots, returning back to Osaka with your bounty. You stare at the array of fresh seafood. Kani, a whole hairy crab, splayed old, pincers wriggling out at you in an indication it’s still alive. Pearly grey oysters, all unshucked. Yellowtail, the fish still gasping, Madai, the red seabream’s gills glistening in the light. A bagful of shrimp, each impossibly long, perfectly pink.

You’re not quite sure what to do with them, so you present them all in their box, packed with ice. Like a floral arrangement, a bouquet of seafood to your intended conquest.

He gapes silently, eyes wide as dinner plates, darting between the box and yourself. “Surprise”, you say needlessly, weakly.

“It’s too much”, he says at first, but thanks you with boyish enthusiasm, when you explain he’ll only let the food go to waste if he doesn’t take it from you. He throws an impromptu party with staff and family that night with the spoils from your gift, unabashedly asking if you’d show him the best way to prepare the fish. It’s gratifying to watch everyone ooh and aah as the course after course of decadent seafood emerges from the kitchen, more so when he slumps beside you, head down on the countertop in an obvious food coma at the end of the night.

“What’s the occasion for all of this?” he asks, almost lost to sleep.

It’s just three simple words, but you chicken out. Courage has never been your strongest suit. “To thank you for being my friend”, you say instead, which is kinda, sorta true.

“You never need to thank me for that”, he says, before laughing at himself, at the cheesiness of what he’s just said.

You think otherwise, but you just echo the cadence of his laugh.

(one step forwards, two steps back)

Step two - show him affection.

You’re instructed by Kaiyo and Suzuki-san to express your affection for him.

“Physically”, Kaiyo says, “since you seem incapable of doing so with words.”

You feel like telling her that you’ve grown up without the blueprint to showing human affection, especially romantic affection.

“Okay look”, she adds after a few beats of you staring goggle eyed at her. “Just follow what ‘Tsumu and I do, k? You can try hugging him when he walks you home - don’t look at me like that, as if I don’t know that he does, honestly - the two of you act like you’re in high school, but act on your feelings and maybe hold his hand too - “

“You don’t hug Atsumu”, you point out. “You smack him and poke him and tickle him, and occasionally exchange kisses.”

“That’s what passes for foreplay in his mind -”

You wince. “I did not need to know that.”

“But if you wanna kiss Osamu, hey, you do you, I’m a great believer in goin’ out there and taking life by its balls.”

“Baby, I’m sittin’ right here when you’re talkin’ about me and - please don’t take me by the balls”, Atsumu pleads, covering Shoma’s ears with large hands. “Sounds painful.”

Kaiyo’s grin is shark-like. Yet Atsumu just gazes at her like a lovelorn puppy. You…admire their marital bliss, but you probably should not take them as role models in lessons of physical affection. Perhaps you can try your best to channel the Kitas instead with their open affection and gentle care for each other.

So you brush past him in the restaurant when you pass him dishes, greet him with a side hug which he returns with a chuckle when he comes to your place to bring Kombu-chan yet another treat, ruffling his hair when he does his best at baby-talking your haughty cat. You lean into him, chasing the heat his body emits when you leave his shop to fetch some item that’s run out, returning with your shirt translucent, clinging and wet with rain.

“Shoulda made sure you went out with an umbrella”, he mutters, frowning as you shiver.

His frown deepens as you lose your balance and nearly topple backwards, mind fogging up as he rubs his hands together to generate even more heat before clasping yours between his, so careful and gentle almost as if he’s afraid you might shatter. “I’m okay”, you breathe, but that doesn’t seem to reassure him, because your goosebumps line your flesh, your teeth chattering.

“Time for you to go home”, he says flatly.

Suzuki-san gives you a conspiratorial grin when he takes your elbow to escort you home, his arm heavy on your shoulders. “Take care of her”, she calls after him. He doesn’t respond, but the determination in his stride indicates he fully intends to.

His closeness grounds you and knocks you off your feet at the same time. You don’t even realise that you’re at your front door until he extracts your spare key from beneath your floor mat, Kombu-chan peeping between the gate to investigate.

“Shower, now”, he orders and you obey without a fight.

When you emerge, hair towelled dry, skin damp and warm from steam, there’s a warm cup of ginger and honey on the table. Your rice cooker hums, a glistening, perfectly fried egg waiting for you to plop it in your mouth. Ceramic clinks in the metal sink, a pair of wooden chopsticks line your bowl. “Eat, and then sleep”, he says again, mouth pinched. “Don’t want you t’come down with a cold or somethin’ worse.”

Usually when he shows you any sort of kindness (which is almost too often, because Miya Osamu is the best man you know), you just thank him with varying degrees of politeness and awkwardness, unable to express how actually grateful you are that he’s found you worthy of being nice to, but today, after freezing in the winter’s first rainstorm and dragging yourself through puddles and mud, your reserve peels away.

“Won’t come down with a cold”, you murmur before winding your arms around Osamu, the man frozen as you pull him into a semblance of a hug.

You wonder a half-second too late if you’ve overstepped before he relaxes, shoulders carefully settling. You could too easily get used to this, learn to be addicted to this - the feeling of him in your arms, large and strong and sturdy, basking in the heat of his body like sitting cross legged before a fireplace. He smells a little like rain himself, earthy and damp and there’s a hint of sesame oil, fragrant and nutty.

Then he disentangles himself from you, hands under your arms so he can hold you carefully away from him. You shudder from the sudden loss of warmth, whining under your breath.

“You’re definitely gonna get sick tomorrow”, he says, brushing a large palm against your overheated forehead, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Bed, now.”

He keeps you at a polite distance, hovers by the threshold to your room as you settle into bed, only crossing it once to bring Kombu-chan in, dropping her onto your lap. “Goodnight”, he murmurs before leaving you behind in darkness, thunder rolling in the horizon.

You crawl on your knees, tugging the curtains open, letting the tiniest sliver of light into your room as you lie face-up on your bed. Count the cracks in your ceilings, even though you already know the answer. Kombu-chan ends up deserting you and you stay awake for hours, only dropping off to sleep when the rain clears and the moon peeks out behind clouds.

After that, you’re unable to find any reason to show Osamu any physical affection whatsoever. It’s as if he’s constructed a force field to keep you out, the hair on your arms rising, almost crackling when he skirts around you, as if - as if he’s wary of you.

Oh, you conclude. You overstepped.

You apologise the next opportunity you get, but Osamu scrunches his eyebrows together, as if he’s trying to decipher whether he should be confused or offended that you even brought it up. “Don’t be silly”, he waves you off. It’s not clear whether he means it’s truly fine, because he goes back to normal after a while, reaching out to ruffle your hair when you bump his elbow with yours, but you’re not sure what to believe so you just - you just respect the distance he’s put between you.

(one step forward, three steps back)

“You two are hopeless”, Kaiyo says crossly after zero progress is made on the chasing Miya Osamu front. “Maybe we should just lock you both in the store room until proximity and time makes you desperate enough to just spit out that you like him, it’s not rocket science, y’know -”

Atsumu just shakes his head, balancing Shoma on his lap.

“What!” she exclaims peevishly. “Maybe you could contribute some suggestions, since you and Osamu shared the same womb.”

“Just grab him and kiss him”, he chortles, dodging a swat from his wife. “Worked like a charm for me.”

You just look at him with distrust. “I think I’ll pass, thanks”, you demur politely.

Step three - date night, just him and you.

“Maybe you should just be direct and ask him out on a date”, Kaiyo suggests. Suzuki-san nods with approval, and you agree readily, because you’d been facing their ire for failing to tell Osamu your feelings which is far easier said than done, but neither are going to listen to you anyway. So you do, asking him out for dinner on Monday, the only day of the week he’s willing to take a break (enforced by me, Suzuki-san tells you smugly), and he accepts without question.

It’s a last ditch attempt, a final shot before you’ll throw in the towel, give him up completely.

“Did you specify it was a date?” Kaiyo asks, face-palming when you admit with a sheepish smile no.

“It should be obvious!” you protest, because why else would you ask him specifically out for dinner at a fancy restaurant booked out weeks in advance by couples, serving fine French food and good Italian wines, but Osamu proves you wrong.

First, it’s bad enough that he turns up fifteen minutes late, but he sticks out like a sore thumb in jeans and a t-shirt. Second, he looks around and wonders aloud about the coincidence of everyone around you sitting in pairs. Third, and most egregiously, the sin that Kaiyo will slap the back of his head for as punishment, to which he’ll just frown at her, arguing his innocence -

“D’you mind if a friend joins us tonight? He’s havin’ a tough time.”

He doesn’t need to look at you with puppy dog eyes, doesn’t need to pout because you’re weak, unable to refuse anything he asks of you.

“Sure”, you reply.

That’s how Suna Rintaro, middle blocker of the EJP Raijin and soon-to-be divorcee and single father of one, ends up at your table, an awkward trio in a room full of cooing couples. He sulks through appetisers, pronounces that romance is overrated when the couple next to you shows off their engagement ring to their thoroughly unimpressed waiter, and eyes you with contempt when Osamu slips off to the washroom.

“He’s not interested. You should take a hint, like the rest of the women clamouring to date him.”

You splutter into your glass of water, choking out coughs. “I’m not - we’re just - I mean -” He levels a stare at you through feline eyes, decidedly unconvinced.

“Yeah, right.” Sharp, concise.

Shame burns through your veins, spreading like quickfire. You regret all of this immediately, whispering your excuses to Osamu when he returns to the table, confused by your sudden haste to leave. The nip of the early winter chill only serves to inflame your regret, making you want to drown yourself into a rain filled puddle.

Kombu-chan noses about your ankles when you stumble home, a bedraggled, sad creature wearing the tatters of her ego, the dregs of her dignity. “At least one of us is happy”, you tell her when you feed her a treat.

She meows and steps all over you as you lie facedown on the floor.

Osamu turns up at the end of your shift when you fail to turn up at his shop again, armed with his usual bribe of onigiris and mochi. “Was Suna rude to you, that lil’ shit?” he asks without preamble, face contorting into something ugly, harsh beneath artificial fluorescent lights.

You lie through your teeth, murmuring a no as you stare at your feet. You don’t even dare to look up at him, not when you’re still smarting from being seen right through by a close friend of his.

“He said somethin’, didn’t he?” Osamu persists, sighing when you match his stubbornness, shaking your head to pretend otherwise.

Osamu’s too busy, too distracted to spend much time trying to draw out exactly what’s wrong, what’s ailing you (the restaurant’s renovations are almost complete, he tells you, and he’s preparing a soft launch for family and friends, you have to be there of course), so he just walks you home, patting your back and saying “don’t mind Rin, he’s a piece of shit right now cos’ life is kinda rough for him”.

“There’s nothing to mind, Osamu. Really, I’m fine”, you reply with a cheerfulness that’s decidedly forced.

“Really?”

Your stomach always burns when you lie. You pick up Kombu-chan, burying your face in her fur, willing your innards to stop tearing itself into shreds. “You don’t have to worry about me, ‘Samu.”

You’re lying again, but he doesn’t need to know the truth.

(one step forward, a million steps back)

a/n: oh 'samu. oh suna. oh, poor, poor reader. i put her through the wringer ><

#Haikyuu x reader #Hq x reader #miya osamu #miya osamu x y/n #Haikyuu angst #miya osamu x reader #miya osamu x you #osamu x you #osamu x reader #osamu x y/n #miya atsumu #suna rintaro #haikyuu romance #haikyuu fluff #inarizaki #set fire to your heart

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facelesswrittes · 1 year

Text

Summery: The story revolves around Kim y/n, a hardworking and honest teenager who unwillingly enters a to-the-death tournament called the oddinary season. where combatants fight with magic and Heroes from throughout history for a chance to have their wishes granted. Through this new experience she's pared up with a certain red hair boy who I may add has a thing for red apples.

Word count:

Paring: hwang hyunjin x f!reader

Warnings: cursing, death, fighting, blood, romance and grief?

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

He had a Mohican cut and scythe-shaped eyebrows, almond shaped sea rover-blue eyes. defined cheekbones that went perfectly along with his sharp nose. His hair was a quite the odd color, red. Bloody red. He moved with a leopard-like grace that somehow send shivers down your spine. “So, I think it’s pretty safe to assume you’ll be my master for the time being.” His voice hadn’t been any different for what you had imagined. He had a deep voice. Not one that was to deep, but just right. An earthy scent swirled around him. And it took all your will not to stutter.

“Yes, that’s right.” You stood only a mare foot away from the taller male. And somehow his presence made you feel expose, as if he could read you like a book in a matter of seconds.

“Well, princess.” He stepped even closer, his hot breath now on your skin. “This is no child’s play. So don’t joke around and bring me my real master.” His plump lips turned up into what you assumed was a smirk. If it hadn’t been for his previous statement you would have found his behavior dangerously attractive.

“Well I’ll have you know that I am no child. You and me have been linked, and as your master you well, wether you like it or not, Fallow my rules and orders.” You confidently exclaim, putting up the hand in which the marking of your contract was made. As to prove your point, silencing any other doubts the man could possibly have.

His sharp gaze was fixed on the back of your hand which held the mark. Then he looked back at his own hand to find the same symbol written down. “You have to be kidding me… a little kid out of all people?” He mutter to himself, however you heard it clearly.

“I’m eighteen years old!!” You grit your teeth, practical shouting at the man before you. Although he didn’t bother caring, instead he stand up putting a hand to his chin.

“Okay we can make this work.” He began. “Just stay out of my way and I’ll make sure to win this war, easy right?”

This made your chest explode with anger, this guy has really been testing your patience. It didn’t take you long to know that he was the exact opposite of what you wanted. Might as well through out the whole list of “server must not.” Out the window.

How did a well behave student such as you end up in this situation anyways?

Well…

Born and raised in a family of maidens, you have had to experience far more things then any teenager should have. As though fate had wished the worst upon your innocent being.

You where there when grief had eaten your fathers soul away. You where there when your mother had fallen to bed. And you where there, shearing the feelings of your father as he took the gift from the gods to bring delicacy and luxury as well as health to your family’s lives. Saving a precious soul from being taken away from his grasp. But at what cause.

Your family had been stained, stained with blood that wasn’t yours. Trapped in an endless loop of participation in such a cruel event. And now it all came down to you. The day to come when you would turn 18, you would participate much like your father in this blood thirsty games.

When an envelope showed up at your front door a week after your birthday, on a much normal day, you hadn’t thought much of it. Until you saw your fathers horror while reading the small paper. You knew it was finally your time to participate.

And upon summoning a noble phantom to fight along side you, you were graced with the unfortunate luck of being pared up with probably the most arrogant cocky person you have ever come across with.

But being the natural heartwarming person you where you had a little spark of hope. “May I know what type of noble phantom do I have the pleasure to meet?”

This made his smirk return only this time it was double the size. “Caster.”

Suddenly everything clicked in. His behavior, how cocky he was, it all made sense now. Of course he had to be a caster.

“Right.” You clear your throat before continuing. “I’ll put it to you this way. Casters are know to be bad luck. There powers are a mystery, not to forget there behavior is unacceptable.”

The mans eyes widened before placing a hand to his chest in a dramatic attempt for you to feel bad.

“There also known for betraying there masters, I will not allow that from you.” You pointed an accusing finger. “If so I’ll take my own life and you well disappear.”

“Smart girl.” He chuckled stepping back from your figure. “I got you all wrong, maybe you are a proper mage.”

“Of course I am, who do you take me as?” Crossing your arms around your chest, you took a step back. Your eyebrows pulling together while your eyes scanned the male from the tips of his hair all the way down to his shoes, which where a pair of nice black leather boots. This man new how to dress. When it came to fashion he must really be on trends. His black jeans matched perfectly with his motorcycle black jacket with the letters H.J. Printed to the side of it.

That reminds you, you didn’t quite catch his name…

“So we agreed that your a caster, should I call you caster from now on or would you prefer your real name?” They say curiosity killed the cat, but you where too intrigued to find out more about him now.

Letting this opportunity go to waste would be a sin. Plus, this was just a normal step that would be necessary for your future bond as master and servant.

The man, who paid you barley a glance, was more then indeed gorgeous. Something frightening in your case. However the spark of genuine curiosity from you couldn’t be contained.

“Hyunjin.” He spoke clearly, not wanting to repeat himself with the little lack of patience he seems to have. “You can call me that or caster. I will be satisfied with whatever name my master decides to call me anyway.”

“I’m Kim y/n, but since you and me we’ll be stuck together for quite a while let’s break the formalities, you may call me y/n.” You finished, never breaking the eye contract with the male.

“As you wish, master.” He leaned over the wall just a few feet away from you, his attention openly driving to the door of your house.

“Should we get straight into business?”

Silence.

He didn’t respond instead he focused on staring directly at the door.

It was odd. Very odd at that. But you decided not to question it.

“Hyunjin,”

A blink was all you received from the taller male.

“Hyunjin?!”

His head snap towards your direction, his hand going to his mouth, placing his index finger straight on his lips, a motion to silence you. Which unquestionably worked.

It all stayed dead quiet. Way to quiet for your liking. All there was is your innocent self having a stare down with the older male. The tension that created was unbearable, but you figure this man had a reason for wanting the place as quiet as it is. The thought of that made your heart rate increase. Was there already someone after both of your tails?

After what seem like hours of pure silence you finally took it upon yourself to break it only to regret it in a matter of seconds. “Hyun-“

“Found you.”

An amused laugh fallowed as the, hidden figure emerged from the shadows. “I could sense your presence from a mile away.” It was a boy who spoke. A pair of beautiful light blue eyes connected to your gaze. He was surprisingly tall. His hair was a mix of both blond and white which suited his eyes perfectly, and there sharp shape. Cute freckles adorned his pale cheeks. He was adorable, completely throwing off how deep his voice truly was.

This has to be a joke…. Only a few minutes ago you summon your servant and your already getting attacked? Well… people did say casters where bad luck.

You refuse to believe this is any of your partners doing. Shaking your head from side to side to relive the thought.

“Y/n,” hyunjins voice had a nice ringing to your name, coming out so naturally from his lips as if he had said it millions of times. It almost impressed you how well it fell out of his throat. “Get out of here!”

Right. If something where to happen to you (god forbid) your death. Hyunjin would disappear as well. However if hyunjin was defeated you would have no protection against other mages. Both ways led to a dead end.

The most reasonable thing to do was to fallow what hyunjin said, if you knew what abilities and powers hyunjin has. But you don’t. So there’s absolutely no way that you we’ll leave him where there’s more then a hundred percent chance he we’ll get killed.

It could be a trap.

“I said run!”

If looks could kill you’d definitely be dead with the way hyunjin was staring at you.

For a moment you doubted yourself, Taking a step back. All it took for you to start a sprint was the blond male raveling his swords. He was a saber.

Before you even process it your legs where already taking you elsewhere. Sprinting out the door into the empty streets without a look behind. Being afraid that if you did you’d slow down into his reach.

But you where wrong. Terribly wrong.

There was no screaming, all there was is the smell of burning flesh. And the red warm liquid running down your partners back.

He had taken the hit for you. Wrapping his arms around your frame leaving his back exposed where now a deep cut was precent.

His scent remain the same. Intoxicating despite the metallic smell around the air.

Pain or joy, you doubt it felt it.

He was just numb.

There was no screams of agony nor tears of pain. It was all quiet.

For a moment you wonder if he was a human at all. But the way his eyes glued to yours, making sure you where still intact made your heart skip a beat.

Funny enough, after a while— he stood up. As if his back hadn’t just been pierced by a sharp blade. As if blood wasn’t running down his back.

“Hyunjin..?”

Your voice was filled with worry, making him turn his head to you. But no words left his lips.

“I’m impressed, you are quite fast.” You where so worried about hyunjin you had completely forgotten about the enemy.

Hyunjin looks directly at his eyes, his hands clenched up making a fist. The blonde man swings his sword with intensity that it made a whistle sound.

Making Hyunjin immediately back away, then gives out a hard roundhouse kick to the saber’s face. The blonde man gets furious and stabs Hyunjin’s leg at an impossible speed. blood spilling out, but as this happens Hyunjin punches his side intensely. The saber doesn’t give out a flinch and pulls his sword up more towards his upper legs revealing Hyunjins open skin.

Hyunjin grabs the sword and pulls it out showing the sword with crimson red flowing down onto the saber’s hands. Hyunjin using his other hand grabs the saber’s arm and with barely movement swiftly pushed saber, Sending the saber back in his step.

You run towards Hyunjin, determine to help, but you where meet with his cold expression.”Y/N BACK OFF,” his eyes snapping towards yours. And you knew you had no choice but to do as he said. You’d only get on his way you told yourself. However the blood running down his body told you otherwise. Your inner self screaming for you to help him.

But before you could even get your body to move further, hyunjin was already caught up in an intense fight. Your eyes barely even being able to make out what was happening.

But you knew this was it. A fight between servants. What your father had been preparing you for over a decade. And you where standing there pathetically as your servant fought for your life and his own.

And as always, immediate regret followed suit.

You couldn’t just let what your fathers hard work go to waist. And with the recent found adrenaline you lunched yourself forward, taking a hold of the saber’s sword before he could use his deadly swing again.

Hyunjins voice rang in your ears, but you couldn’t understand what he was yelling. All you could think of was stoping the fight.

“Well aren't you a interesting sight?" There was a knowing smirk plastered on the blonde's face. shiver traveled through Your bones and you couldn't help but stare.

The stranger took a step forward, closing the already tiny gap between you. “I’m afraid my master is already calling for me, we’ll have to continue this another day.” A mere whisper and a smirk shouldn't be this alluring, but it was!

Before you knew it the man before you was already gone. Leaving nothing but the gust of wind and the flickering streetlight in the distance behind.

The only reminder that he was ever there was the bruises and cuts in Hyunjins pale body. Which brings you back to the real important thing.

His body felt heavy, heavier than usual. His weak body was infuriating to him. And there was nothing he wished more then to curse himself for what he was given. Though, should he really blame his body for this?

Maybe it was all merely an excuse to console himself. To not think about his true weakness. But, it didn't redirect his self-anger.

“Shit..” he cursed under his breath, your ears barley able to catch on it. You assumed his body was in a burning pain that you wished to relive. But it wasn’t in your hands.

With a sigh, hyunjin leaned on to your body. Having no strength to carry himself up. He thought of nothing else but how pathetic he must have looked

But seeing your unwavering face as you tried helping him, he doubted he had any saying.

More than anything, he hated being a burden or a charity-case. But having only been summoned he hadn’t quite adjusted to your aura. Which only meant his healing would take longer then it should have.

Only in times like these, did you truly notice From afar the hyunjin was gorgeous...and from up close, he was enchanting.

Even in the state he currently was his beauty remain.

Was it sad? That even knowing hyunjin was nothing but a noble phantom who would disappear when the war came to an end, you still took a moment to gaze at those soft lips?

It was…

⌌⊱⇱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊰⌍

You had done your best to take care of the male. His chest cover in soft bandages that you wrapped. However you had never took care of injuries this serious. You nearly felt embarrassed about the mess you had made trying to help him out. However he gave no comment on it.

Maybe his body was still tired from fighting saber. fighting saber truly took a toll on his body, you doubted the pain had gone away.

“I thought.. servants where able to heal themselves…” the question was stupid, however genuine curiosity took the best of you.

Bad move.

His head turn to your direction, his dark blue eyes forcing a glare. “I was just summoned, my body hasn’t quite adjusted to your aura master. It we’ll take a while for my body to get use to it.”

And there he goes, going back to calling you master when you thought you finally Brocken formalities.

“What about saber? He was pretty strong. You think it’s been a while since he was summoned?”

“I don’t think so, it didn’t give me that impression anyway. His master must have a an incredible amount of aura, He has yet to still reach his full potential.” Hyunjin leaned against the railing of the bed, his gaze locking on yours. “I don’t mean to offend you master, but your aura is a little lacking. So if we wanna defeat saber we’ll have to wait.”

Your cheeks heated up, a huff escaping your lips before crossing your arms. “Jerk.”

“Hear me out, your aura is quite strong. Stronger then any normal mage, maybe that’s the reason I find it hard to adjust to it. Nevertheless your my ideal type for a mage.”

This made your head shoot to his direction. Your cheeks turning radder then they should have.

“However…” he halted for a moment his gaze flickering from your figure to somewhere else. “I particularly dislike your way of thinking.” Waiting for a few moments, the servant expected a response.

But your confused state didn’t allow you to do so. You where unsure what he was referring to.

All you did was stare making him sigh further.

“To you we have already lost. I don’t know what the reason may be, if it’s Because I’m a caster or because saber scares you. But I don’t care. I despise it when people doubt my ability’s. I well win this war, and you well swallow all the discouraging thoughts you may have.” Determined, he pushed himself off the bed. Sending one of his infamous glares your way.

the cautious rays of the moon illuminated his frame. His skin practically glowing under the moons shine. It was a breathtaking sight. You’d be lying to say it hadn’t amazed you. You had almost lost what you had been conversing about, thankfully doe, you had been unconsciously listening. A habit you where forced to get into thanks to constantly having your head in the clouds.

Your lips turn up into a smile, not being able to hold it back with the confident stare he was sending you. “We’ll see about that, caster. Make me root my words.”

You lightly chuckled, pushing the male back to bed. "But for now rest up, we won't advance until your all healed up, so tomorrow I'll show you around the city."

With a hum, he let him self rest in the comfortable mattress. His eyelids growing heavier as a reminder of how tired he truly was. He had been pushing the feeling away as much as he could, but in the end he couldn't. Instead letting his eyes close driving him into a peaceful sleep. A much needed one at that.

Over the past three years, your father had prayed maybe even bagged for you to posses saber durning this season. Knowingly that saber was probably the most powerful and skilled between servants. And now you had taken a look to his power, surely they where no lies.

However.. for some reason, you weren't upset for what you had gotten. You had grown to accept it, seeing that your servant was pretty capable of providing you protection. You where an odd pair, anyone could see that. Polar opposites. But you felt that both your auras where dancing in harmony. That could only mean one thing. Your bond would grow to be strong.

You wonder if your father would be disappointed. Mad even. He had always said you had a much to kind heart. The last thing he ever wanted was the war to ruin that demeanor.

The old lady toma had said something similar. Convincing your father that your inner self would never allow you to win the war, surely leading you to your own death instead.

It wasn't that being kind was much of a problem. In fact it was the in capability of taking another's life.

You had always set your mind to something, a goal you so much wanted to achieve. For your father, for your mother and for everyone in the oddinary season.

You would win the oddinary season, with no blood stained in your hands, to wish upon the gods to end such an event. Saying it was rather simple, however actually achieving it was the tuff part.

Your eyes settle at the man before you. You weren't alone anymore, you where one step closer to your goal. Right now you felt pretty invincible, making a smile take over your lips.

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