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metalandmagi · 10 months

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Romance Anime Starter List

I don’t know about you guys, but I’m sick and tired of seeing “Top ___ Best Anime of All Time” lists that are nothing but shounen. So, with "My Happy Marriage" getting a little attention from the anime community, I wanted to put together a list of some romance anime that I consider good “starters” for the genre. Because if I were just now becoming an anime fan, I’d think all there was to offer was shounen action series.

And by “starters” I mean basic stuff that’s not too…out there, and actually involves the characters getting together instead of just harems or using romance as a side plot (sorry Ouran High School Host Club and My Next Life as a Villainess).

So if you’re new to anime and want stuff that’s not just guys beating the shit out of each other (which is also fun, don’t get me wrong), here are some basics.

Taisho Maiden Fairy Tale- When the pessimistic Tamahiko Shima loses all function in his right arm, his family sends him away to live in the mountains with the cheerful, hard working Yuzuki Tachibana…who was purchased by the Shima family to pay off her family’s debts and basically act as a caretaker/future bride for Tamahiko so they’d never have to deal with him again. It’s a more cheerful version of My Happy Marriage (without the supernatural stuff), except in this one, the guy is the one who has massive self-esteem issues and an abusive family. There are still very serious themes, but ultimately it’s not meant to make you cry every episode. I swear it’s so good, but nobody watched it!

Horimiya- A slice of life in which pretty and popular high school queen bee Hori, finds out her quiet, unassuming classmate Miyamura is hiding piercings and tattoos that could get him expelled. The two gradually find out more about each other and get together in the most realistic way I’ve seen depicted in an anime. It’s also fucking hysterical and genuinely emotional.

Recovery of an MMO Junkie- Another slice of life that focuses on two adults who meet in an MMO game without realizing they also know each other in real life. I don’t want to say much more than that. It’s adorable, and the main character is so relatable it hurts.

Love with Yamada-kun at Level 999- Speaking of MMOs, this is a newer series about Akane Kinoshita, a college first year who’s reeling from a bad break up. In an attempt to get back at her ex, she winds up meeting Akito Yamada, a popular gamer who happens to be in her guild in the MMO they both play at an IRL meetup. The two go from acquaintances to something more as they keep running into each other. Even more relatable main characters and just wholesome relationships all around.

Snow White With The Red Hair- A fantasy in which an apothecary named Shirayuki (meaning, you guessed it, “snow white”) runs away from her home in order to escape becoming the concubine of her town’s prince. While fleeing, she is rescued by Zen, the prince of a neighboring country, and she ends up becoming an herbalist to repay him. It's super cute with some genuinely swoon worthy moments and a couple that just works so well together. I have a habit of comparing this to Akatsuki no Yona, even though the two aren’t really that alike. This is more romance driven while Akatsuki no Yona is more of a serious historical fantasy with romance elements (Yona manga is amazing, but the anime barely scratches the surface, so that’s why I didn’t include it).

Sasaki to Miyano- When the shy, easily flustered Miyano meets Sasaki, a cool “delinquent” upperclassmen, the two end up bonding over manga…specifically BL manga. That’s right, Miyano is a fudanshi, but due to his small stature and somewhat feminine appearance, he’s constantly trying to convince others that he’s not interested in having his own love story where he’d be reduced to a stereotypical doe-eyed uke. But as Sasaki and Miyano spend more time together, they realize that what they have is more than friendship, and they have to come to terms with their own perception of gay relationships. This is my favorite romance of all time. It’s a slow burn, but boy is it worth it. Their relationship is so natural and realistic, just like Horimiya. Just two people hanging out and bonding over things the way people do in real life!

Given: The story of some boys in a band with trauma. Enough said. It's great. Go watch it.

Bloom Into You- Yuu Koito is a high school girl who’s been waiting her whole life for her own perfect romance to start…but when she receives a confession, she realizes she doesn’t know how to respond when she’s just not into the guy. And then she gets another confession…this time from the cool student council president Touko Nanami, who basically jumpstarts her lesbian awakening. Very cute story about how we perceive the concept of love vs actually feeling it. Also has a canonically aro/ace side character, so that’s a win for me. Another show like this is Adachi to Shimamura (but I honestly don’t remember much about it. It just didn’t stick with me as much).

Ore Monogatari- Takeo Gouda is a tall, bulky high school first year with a sensitive heart of gold. He wants nothing more than to find his own true love, but most girls are intimidated by his enormous stature, and they end up falling for his conventionally attractive friend instead. That is, until he meets the tiny, adorable Rinko Yamato. He falls in love instantly, but he’s sure she’s interested in his best friend like everyone else, so he vows to help get them together, even though his heart is breaking. Peak himbo behavior. Pure of heart, dumb of ass.

Yuri on Ice- Yes it’s the gay figure skating anime everyone knows. And yes it’s a fucking romance, okay? I will die on this hill. The romance between Viktor and Yuri is just as important as the plot!

Kaguya-sama Love Is War- Two insanely smart high school students both have a crush on the other, but since they’re…you know…high schoolers, neither of them wants to admit it first. So they come up with increasingly convoluted plans to get the other to confess first. This will go down as one of the best of all time. It’s a hilarious yet poignant modern classic.

Fruits Basket- I’ve talked about it before and I’ll talk about it again. A romance “comedy” that slowly morphs into a drama about a girl named Tohru who finds herself living with the mysterious Sohma family after her mother dies. Little does she know, the Sohmas are the victims of a (somewhat silly, but ultimately tragic) curse that she must fight to break. Even though I’m more into it for the family drama, the romance is still top tier and plays an important role in the story. This is my second favorite anime of all time, and it’s a classic for a reason. If anyone hasn’t watched it yet, GO WATCH IT! IT WILL RIP YOU TO SHREDS!

And now for some honorable mentions that didn't quite fit into the regular list:

Ride Your Wave- A movie about a surfer who falls in love with a firefighter……and I’m not going to say any more than that. Go into it blind. If you like stuff like Your Name, this is a good one to watch.

Gekkan Shoujo Nozaki-kun- A comedy about a high school girl who finds out the upperclassman she has a crush on is actually a shoujo manga artist, and no matter how she tries to confess to him, he just never gets it.

The Ice Guy and His Cool Female Colleague- A slow burn slice of life that focuses on a guy with ice powers who has a crush on his coworker. That’s it. That’s the show. When I say slow, I mean SLOW. It’s perfectly cute and fluffy, but my god does it take forever to get anywhere with these two.

Skip to Loafer- A high strung, small town girl decides to go to high school in Tokyo, where she meets a variety of classmates, including the laid back Sousuke Shima. The unlikely pair become friends, and soon enough, she starts to feel something more than friendship. The only reason I didn’t include it in the main list is because they don’t get together by the end of the first season, but it’s still really cute (also canonically trans character for the win!?)

So that’s my starter list. And no, I didn’t include Toradora, even though it’s a classic. I know it’s blasphemous, but I like it more as a comedy than a romance. It kinda lost me with the ending. But anyway, maybe someone will find something they like. Or maybe you'll just want to roast me and my picks 😅

#yuri on ice #kaguya sama: love is war #fruits basket #ore monogatari #bloom into you #sasaki to miyano #snow white with the red hair #yamada kun to lv999 no koi wo suru #horimiya #recovery of an mmo junkie #taisho maiden fairy tale #skip to loafer #unfortunately not much bl or gl since a lot that I've seen is too...out there for this list...#now bl manga on the other hand...#why did i make this lol?#because i finally got to the confession scene in akatsuki no yona of course and now i'm dead #I kinda want to include doukyuusei too but it's just a little bit steamier than what I was going for with this 😅

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uyuforu · 3 months

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Pick-a-Card: How will you meet your Future Spouse?

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pile 1 -> pile 2

piles 3 -> pile 4

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Pile 1 - ₊˚⊹♡

Ekta Oracle: The brain; The mind; The hammock; The bow + The masculine

Original Tarot de Marseille: Ace of Cups; The world reversed; The pope reversed; 3 of wands; The hermit; The tower + 7 of wands

Botticelli Tarot de Marseille: The world reversed; Judgment reversed; Queen of pentacles; 8 of wands; Death; The moon reversed + The empress

Lenormand Oracle: The letter; The bridge; The tree; The mask; The polar bear; The flowers + The woman

The Big Love Oracle: Trust; Kindness; Solitude; Tenderness + Betrayal

Love Languages Oracles: Exchanges; Total success; To feel zen; To feel attractive + Youth

𓆞𓆝 𓆟 Don't forget that it's a general reading so take what resonates. If you don't resonate with this pile, you can choose another one. If you don't resonate with any of the piles, it just means there is no messages for you today. Don't take informations you are not comfortable with, and take care of yourself 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

-> So, the message is a bit confusing to me. It seems like someone is younger than the other. You could be younger than your FS. You could be studying at that time, still in college, or just working hard. You seem very busy with your mind, like you think a lot, and it may be at a time you need a break from it. You might be doing well at college or at your work, and think you are super smart, which I don't doubt by the way. But it may be at a time you are considering taking a break, a holiday, vacations, something like that. Traveling may not be far, but at least you need a break. You may encounter your FS during that break. Now, I don't have many informations about where, world is reversed twice so I'm not sure if traveling is involved, or if the person is a foreigner. It might be that the universe doesn't want you to know too much about the meeting.

-> So you'll encounter this person during that break. You need to rest your brain and your thoughts. Im not sure you will bring a lot of people with you. You could want to take a break and stay at home alone, or go somewhere on your own for example. You'll be single at that time too, you think you have time to accept someone new in your life, or you feel read (that you are aware of that or not) for a new relationship. You'll encounter them at that time, and you guys could talk. There could be exchange of messages, texts, on social medias for example. I honestly don't have the real deal about how exactly it takes place. It could really be on social medias, as the world is reversed, im not actually sure it's an in person meeting. it could be virtually. But, you might feel like you are too good for them? There is this feeling where you think you are too good, too pretty, too smart for them. But you'll think that on meeting this person, and not actually knowing them.

-> It seems like you'll have prejudices about them too. And you could get karma about that. Life will bring you a lesson about thinking that. You will get surprised about this person, and regret that thought of yours. Once again, take it lightly. This might be reversal, as it's your person who thinks they are too good for you and they get their karma back. This encounter will teach someone a lesson here. It makes me think of Pride and Prejudices! But don't worry, this karma and event is not meant to bring you down. They, from the start, are meant to bring you to your highest soul purpose, so they will only teach you a lesson for you to improve yourself. I see a lot of love and respect from the beginning. You'll be happy you met them, and you'll think it was the best decision of your life to take a break at that moment. Your story together will have a good success.

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed, and don't forget to like (even comment your pile if you want) and follow for more content ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

Pile 2 - ₊˚⊹♡

Ekta Oracle: Celebration; The lucky charm; Love; 3 bamboos + The snake

Original Tarot de Marseille: The popess; The emperor; Jack of pentacles; 9 of swords; 8 of wands; Death reversed + 4 of wands

Botticelli Tarot de Marseille: 3 of wands; 8 of pentacles; The justice; 4 of wands; 2 of swords; 10 of cups reversed + 8 of wands

Lenormand Oracle: The man; The swans; The garden; The snake; The lucky charm; The scythe + The well

The Big Love Oracle: Betrayal; Achievement; Fragility; Permission + Projects

Love Languages Oracles: Openness; Destiny's key; Flirt; Magnetic relationship + Money

-> It seems like you will meet your FS at a moment you could have had your heart broken. There could have been some betrayal, cheating, someone did you dirty when you will meet this person. You will surely meet this person at a tome you are celebrating a success or an achievement in your life. You could be open to new relationships or opportunities, you may be want to meet new people at that time. You want to have fun, enjoy life. You want to also maybe meet people to fix your broken heart, or you want to meet people to move on from what happened to you. You may still be quite fragile and you maybe want to meet people but not feel quite ready for love, like true commitment. But, you are open to see how it goes!

-> Cards say that when you meet this person, this is actually destiny. Maybe when you meet them you may feel like it's not quite the right time, when in fact it was orchestrated my the divine, so it is the right time, you will not know it or realize it at that time. I think when you meet this person, you are learning something, this can mean during a time you are at school, or making a project, or you are in a time when you try to be more organize, more consistent. This person comes in. Let me tell you, they will find you stunning. You can say it is love at first sight. More like a crush here. But this person will find you so attractive. They will approach you directly. When you meet them, this person can be so flirty with you, like really trying to seduce you. I don't see them trying to seduce you for bad reasons, they are just super attracted to you. And they just want you to be also interested. So they are not trying to achieve anything, they may just want to know where it is going to go. You will meet them outside, and you will go on a date with them.

-> This person could own a company, and has a lot of money. They are such an Emperor lol. This person is more mature than you, and they could be older too. But they are very wise, and could have lived a lot of life lessons and experiences. When you meet them, you will feel a certain mature vibe and you will like it. You will feel like it is easy to talk with them and they understand a lot. They are open-minded. This person will try so hard to make you like them, you will notice they want you so bad. They will rizz you like you have never been rizz before. But I think this person may have not heal past traumas, they are still stuck on something. You may come into their life to heal something. You may also be a bit afraid of this person's behavior. Their rizz, their flirt, and seduction, it's funny for a while but I think you are gonna be tired or just be scared of this. I think it's gonna trigger you at a certain point. You will be on your guards because you will be scared to be hurt again. Cards are explaining you will be afraid yet, this person is not there to hurt you. They will force you to heal, unconsciously. And you will do the same for them. You will trigger each other to work on your past traumas. Moreover, this person is someone you have been wishing for, for a long time! And they will end up being your FS so! You will maybe feel like this will never work out with them yet you will marry them...!

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed, and don't forget to like (even comment your pile if you want) and follow for more content ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

Pile 3 - ₊˚⊹♡

Ekta Oracle: The wilted flower; The clouds; The mind; The balance + The city

Original Tarot de Marseille: 9 of swords; The pope; Ace of wands; The temperance; 5 of swords; Queen of wands + 8 of cups

Botticelli Tarot de Marseille: 6 of swords; 7 of swords reversed; Queen of pentacles; Jack of swords; Ace of wands reversed; Ace of cups reversed + 4 of wands

Lenormand Oracle: The dices; The lucky charm; The moon; The birds; The fox; The mouses + The man

The Big Love Oracle: Flexibility; Hope; Stop; Neglect; Fidelity + Reconciliation

Love Languages Oracles: The beautiful thoughts; Exchanges; New lesson; Being relaxed + The gift

-> I asked how will you meet your FS yet the cards are talking to me about something else... I'll deliver the message. So, the cards are talking to me about an ex for yours being your FS. This is a specific message so if you are not comfortable about this idea, someone of your past being your FS, then please choose another pile!

-> The cards are saying someone left the connection before, and when they left, things ended between you two. Things ended because the situation was unstable, someone was doing more work than the other person. This could have been you who went away. You may have decided to stop things because you felt neglected by the other person. Cards are saying one of you, or maybe both, is stalking the other on social medias, or checking to see how you are going from time to time. You may both think of each other often, like remind yourself with good memories you both had, or just you think often about each other. You could talk to each other in dreams or in 5D, or during meditation. This is optional. One of you, or maybe both, still have hope for the future.

-> I actually see you may be separated right now, and you or this person is reflecting about what they want, and thinking a lot about this connection. Someone is thinking how they messed things up and how bad they want to start over with the other person. The reflexion may have helped this person understand the truth, where they went wrong, and what they truly feel. This person wants to come back. They want to start over and make things right with you. They are ready to enter in a serious relationship, they are ready to settle and be faithful. They want a reconciliation with you. This person would want to talk to you first, and maybe introduce this idea. You will maybe take your time to answer, but you will finally decide to accept (of course only if you actually do lol).

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed, and don't forget to like (even comment your pile if you want) and follow for more content ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

Pile 4 - ₊˚⊹♡

Ekta Oracle: The mind; The road; The prayer; The angel + The masculine

Original Tarot de Marseille: 10 of wands reversed; The chariot; Queen of wands; The justice reversed; 2 of cups; The sun reversed + 4 of wands

Botticelli Tarot de Marseille: 9 of swords; Strength; The popess; 5 of cups; Knight of wands; 10 of pentacles + 5 of pentacles

Lenormand Oracle: The magnificent glass; The house; The flowers; The scythe; The flowers; The lucky charm + The fishes

The Big Love Oracle: Communication; Separation; Setback; Promises + Revival

Love Languages Oracles: Physical relationships; The beautiful thoughts; Step away; Work + The gift

-> This is a pile that is very specific too. I'm sorry if you do not resonate with it, please chose another pile if you don't ;-;

->If you are into fwb, you and this person may have done that in the past. If not, you and this person had such a physical chemistry! To be honest, this doesn't seem like an ex at all, but I sense something happened between you two. This person and you liked each other a lot. But there must have been some communication issues. Something must have been taken the wrong way, and you cut contact, separated. You may think of each other a lot, or often. This person is on your mind, you are on their mind. I think this separation timing was more of a time for you two to reflect on what happened, you relationship. You may have gone away because you felt hurt by this person's actions. But with time, you may realize your feelings for this person, and how in love you are with them. You may feel sad without them in your life, and I think you miss them. This could be a Twin Flames pile. You are both being guided to reflect on past actions and what happened, what is blocking the connection and how can you move on from this.

-> You could be healing right now, or working on yourself. You are meant to see things from another perspective right now. Because you are working on yourself, you will be rewarded for sure. This reading may be a sign for you today. You could have been into pick a cards, or astrology, or tarot readings in general to see what is this connection, and maybe it was some help for you, to know where to go. You needed guidance. You and this person will come back to each other, obviously since it is a FS reading, despite me asking the cards how you will meet/ met this person lol. But there will be actions taken. This person could show up at your door for example, and propose or ask you out. You both have grown during this separation and you are def coming back to each other. Don't force it! It will come naturally. You will have a true reconciliation, and you will feel like you are born again, it's a true revival. This is a beautiful ending. Im sorry I couldn't see your actual meeting. Maybe the cards had to say something about that connection.

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed, and don't forget to like (even comment your pile if you want) and follow for more content ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

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tired-biscuit · 1 year

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fem!reader // age gap; bakugou is in his early 30s, reader is in her 20s.

bakugou gives me “get off my lawn!” vibes.

i imagine him gardening in front of his new home in a quiet little neighbourhood that he’s moved into after a particular scandal — the idea recommended as a solution to easing his temper in one of his anger management classes that his friends had somehow managed to convince him to go to — when his wrath comes face to face with you for the very first time.

he’s kneeling in front of the little garden that’s situated underneath his living room window as he digs his hands into the soil, no gloves, and with dirt pushing underneath his fingernails so deep that he’ll only be able to scrub it out when he finally heads inside to take a shower later.

so, he’s tending to the small patch of soil. with his brow furrowed and his teeth repeatedly sinking into the inside of his cheek, the temporarily-retired pro hero is visibly trying so hard to not crumple the flowers that he’s spent ages fighting to keep alive in their little pots ever since the day his stupid therapist had instructed him to buy the seeds, put them on the windowsill, take care of them, and watch them grow just like the calmness and the ‘zen’ in him is supposed to, or whatever the fuck.

and sure enough, the little fuckers actually grew. they grew so big actually, that he now has to complete yet another pesky task, consisting of finding them a new spot where they can fully flourish before they can get the chance to overtake his entire window, bed, room, even him, perhaps.

grumbling under his breath, the raging blond feels somewhat proud as he stares at his little creations. i mean, who knew he had it in him? a proper green thumb; attached to the explosive, otherwise oftentimes murderous palm of katsuki fucking bakugou!

and speaking of murderous: the look on katsuki’s face is a near perfect example of the word as he goes to place the first plant into the little hole that he’s just finished digging up. with his crimson eyes dangerously narrowed, he watches intently how the petals bend, as well as the leaves, whilst he picks up the poor flower and starts transfering it from pot to soil.

luckily, neither break or tear under his thick fingers. he’s being gentle and delicate for a change — adjectives people would never describe him with at first glance, nor after getting to know him a little bit better. no, he’s a grump through and through, and the focus in his head is so high now, in fact, that it even causes a wrinkle to etch itself deep into the middle of his forehead, accentuating the previous statement even further.

but that grump in him really manages to shine through the moment a football suddenly appears out of nowhere and knocks over one of the pots he’s brought outside only minutes prior.

tink! — a thin little crack appears on one side of the pot, now. bakugou, holding his breath without even realizing it, watches as it spreads through the glazed ceramic. the flower lays limply on the concrete step beside the garden that it’s just been knocked into. it had been his favourite one of the plants, the petals were so pretty and in a gorgeous shade of orange, but he can’t dwell on it; not when the crack is still spreading.

it’s spreading, spreading, spreading. just like the anger that bubbles within him.

tink, tink, crack! — the pot is chipped. a little piece of it crumbles off and falls onto the step.

oh, no. it’s ruined. it’s all ruined and the perfectionist in him is screaming.

and fuck, red fury swoops upon bakugou’s mind like a hawk at that. it’s such a small thing, a mere accident, but he just can’t help it; life’s been hard as of late. with his jaw clenched and all anger management lessons forgotten, he grabs the football and tightens his hold around it with both hands until he can feel the sparks dancing on his palms. until he can feel the warmth start to radiate from them.

the heat makes the synthetic leather hiss. it tingles, from his hands, all over his body. he hasn’t indulged in his quirk in such a long time. it feels good, even if the emotions that now plague and storm his outraged mind are awfully bitter.

and as for rage…

“are you fucking kidding me?!” his voice booms through the air as he pushes up to his full height in one swift, scary movement. “you stupid, brainless brats; how many fuckin’ times have i told you not to play he—”

it’s not often that katsuki stops in his tracks mid-sentence — especially in the midst of such a venomous one, at that — but the moment he whirls around and lays his eyes on you, deadly silence falls.

i mean, how can he not turn quiet? jesus on a cross, there’s a girl standing in front of him now, instead of a kid or an old lady. an actual girl, and she’s fucking gorgeous.

dressed in comfortable shorts, a cute crop top that shows just a sliver of your stomach, and colourful, almost childish flip-flops, your skin looks like it’d be warm to the touch if he were to stroke it. the sunshine that blazes above you on this hot summer’s day, causes sweat to glimmer in a layer so thin on your forehead. it makes the little hairs that frame your pretty face curl because of the way they’re turning damp with salt. makes the side of your neck have a certain sheen to it as well.

bakugou’s head cocks to the side as he assesses you further. sure, it’s hot out, however the heat doesn’t seem to be the main reason as to why you look so appealingly disheveled. after all, you’re inhaling and exhaling fast, and your shoulders are rising and falling even quicker as you seem to be trying to catch your breath.

did you run all the way over here?

“sorry… hi! lemme just… ah… catch my breath for a quick second… gosh.” he blinks at the sound of your voice as you raise your hand in apology before resting both of them onto your knees and bending over at the middle. your demeanor almost seems sheepish when you look up at him from underneath your lashes, still trying to ease your breathing. “i’m so, so, so sorry for your flowers, mister dynamight, sir…! my little brother kicked the football way too hard as we were playing a game he made up, so i just… i, uh, i ran over here to apologize on his behalf, and to… get the ball back.”

katsuki quirks a brow as he lets his gaze fall to the football he still holds in his hands, and for which you’re so clearly asking to get back, now. he knows the kid who you’re referring to as your brother — an especially irritating little menace that’s been sucking his blood through a goddamn straw, with all the pranks he and the group of brats he calls his friends have been initiating on his property as of late.

and sure enough, when he looks over your shoulder, the little shit is nowhere to be found.

the thought of the kid continuously stepping on his nerves for the last few weeks angers him in a flash, making his grip on the football tighten and start to smoulder; it makes smoke spiral in thin lines underneath his fingertips. though, when he lifts his gaze and lets his eyes land on you again — on that stupidly pretty, sweaty face of yours — bakugou surprisingly feels that white-hot rage somewhat disippating bit by bit.

hand to heart, he’s intrigued by you. you don’t seem to mind being in his presence, despite the fact that you seem to know fully well who exactly he is. and if you know that, then you’re surely familiar with the rumours and gossip that never cease to follow a big name like his. as well as the public announcement, talking about his — forced — temporary retirement from the hero business, because of the consistently violent outbursts he had failed to tame over the years.

for fuck’s sake, the dynamight is your neighbour, and you seem to be outright unbothered by it. it’s peculiar as fuck.

and it’s also the reason why the only thing he grunts out now, is, “you’re new.”

“i’m sorry?” that surprises you. your brief confusion is evident in the way you straighten, as well as how your own head lightly tilts so that you can look at him properly for the first time ever since you’ve stepped foot on the patch of land he should be calling home.

“you’re new,” he repeats simply, jerking his chin towards your direction and pointing the football at you. “i haven’t seen ya ‘round here before.”

“oh—ohh…” there it is; a wonderful smile appears on your otherwise pouty lips as you smack your forehead in realization. “yeah; that totally makes sense! i came back home just a couple of days ago to spend summer break with my family, so that’s probably why you haven’t seen me around yet.”

summer break. so you must be still in college? it’s not odd that you’re still a student, with a tight body like that, clothes so revealing and scarce, and a face that just screams youth, youth, youth. adding it all together, bakugou catches himself feeling not all that thrown off by the fact that you’re in school, pursuing a degree.

at least you have a goal in life. unlike him, and his stupid gardening.

nevertheless, he gives you a curt nod and tries to tame the flutter of a muscle in his cheek as he hands you back the ball he’d considered melting with his quirk just moments before. he’s still so angry because of the pot.

it held his favourite flower, goddammit.

“you’re new here, too,” you chime as you take the ball from his hands. “i know you weren’t here the last time i came to visit… i’d remember a man like you if he were living across the street from me.”

he isn’t entirely sure if you actually don’t see it, or you simply turn a blind eye towards the dirt and the branding that he’s now burned into the ball with his fingers, but both choices seem just dandy to bakugou as he watches you grin up at him, now. so cutesy.

“moved in a couple of months ago,” he explains briefly, clearing his throat and wiping his hands against his black gym shorts. he has to wash them later anyway; what’s a little bit of sweat and dirt? “been sort of… startin’ over, hah.”

you could call it that, all right.

you give him a knowing look, but don’t say anything about the article that had covered the first page of nearly every newsletter in the country not a while back.

dynamight retires at the young age of 33 after yet another savage misdemeanor! read more below!

no, instead you say, “well, that’s nice. i certainly hope that you’ve adjusted and that our little neighbourhood has been treating you well, mister dynamight, sir.”

that last word… did you say it like that; so softly, almost purring, the first time, too?

“i suppose i did,” he answers, feeling a heat that he can’t blame on the late afternoon sun start to crawl up his neck. it’s not intense enough to make him blush, per se, but it is enough to tint the tips of his ears a light pink. damn, it sure has been a while if a mere tone has got him acting like this.

your smile grows bigger as you notice the faint change of shade. it makes your face beam. “i know it’s quaint compared to the city, but i’m sure you’ll learn to like it.”

he watches you turn so that you can head back to your house, inside of which your menace of a little brother is surely hiding, and he can’t help but eye you up from head to toe again, well, heel. the back of you is just as stunning as your front is, he’s dragging his eyes all over; that is until you whip your head to the side so that you can look at him over your shoulder.

“oh, and mister dynamight?”

“what?” he calls out. you’ve already reached the sidewalk.

“i really am sorry about your flower pot. i’ll buy you a new one, if you’ll let me,” you say, waving. “just don’t be a stranger, yeah?”

katsuki doesn’t answer. he wants to say a million things all at once, to agree, to deny, whatever. to tell you to call him katsuki, or at least bakugou; that he hasn’t been called dynamight in a while and hasn’t felt like him either for a long while, too. to ask you what your name is, because he’s just realized he’s never got it. to try shooting his shot, or just talk, talk, talk because he’s lonely, he’s been feeling oh, so very lonely ever since moving here.

but all he does instead, is raise his hand and wave.

#i might write more about this bkg and reader #i think they’re both so sweet!!#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha x reader #bakugo x reader #biscuit drabbles

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writingoddess1125 · 7 months

Text

Unless Skills

Useless skills that they have that doesn't apply to their dreams.

Aka me on my crack shit- Please Enjoy!

If you like my work please support me on Ko-Fi

Luffy

Giving Massages

This is very odd and no one knows were the hell this skill came from, But Luffy has great hands for massages. It's discovered by accident when his S/O says their back hurts and he reaches over and gives them a skilled massage.

He has damn near perfect hand strength and technique- while he will chatter your ear off while doing it he's hella amazing at it. Missed a secret calling as a masseurs.

Zoro

Fixing and Making Clothes

Zoro has always had to be a bit self reliant- so time using swords had made him learn how to fix up his own clothes or make them. Especially with how often he ripped or cut the seams of his shirts he could stitch them back no problem or if spare fabric was on hand create a new belt, trousers or headbands.

For his S/O he would sew whatever they pleased. If it ment making a teddy bear to a new shirt he could do it with total ease.

Sanji

He is an amazing poet

Maybe it's because he thinks so much about his wording for women, but Sanji is a fantastic poet. He has a unnatural smoothness for word play and styles.

Will write poems for his S/O and hide them in places he knows only they would look at or kinda sings the poems to them in private.

Buggy

He is an absolutely beautiful singer

Buggy has a naturally deeper singing voice then what his natural one would give away- as well as lacking the comical tone that follows his speaking voice. Sultry and smooth.

He only sings when showering or if he's mindlessly humming to himself. Will sing if his S/O ask for it however-

Shanks

Talented at doing hair

Maybe it's hid skills with a sword or just natural talent but Shanks is good at doing people's hair. Even though he doesn't so his own hair due to laziness he will maintain others.

One armed or not he is great with scissors or just a razor to give clean edges, a nice trim or more. Can even do braids with one hand or twist- Aka he's the hairstylist for his S/O as well

Mihawk

Skilled Ballroom Dancer

Being good on one's feet was important for swordfighting- so it isn't shocking that Mihawk is an amazing ballroom dancer. Mainly the Vienna Waltz-

Never uses the skill unless he is flirting or with his S/O. Teaching them how to dance in the empty ballroom back in his home.

Bonus!-

Crocodile

Great with Kids

This is a shock for everyone since the famed Pirate and former Warlord doesn't seem like the type to be good with loud children, However that is wrong. A zen with patients comes from Crocodile when dealing with children- That and the fact they utterly adore him as well.

His S/O will be surpsied to see him interacting so well with the kids on the street. Giving them pocket change to go get food or other things they may like- Opens up the idea of maybe adopting or having kids with Crocodile is a strong possibility.

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killsaki · 1 year

Text

final girl. ☆ surely all the girls being murdered in your town having something that fits your own description is a coincidence… right?

izuku midoriya x female!reader

4k words | part 2 (tbp)

cw/tw : yandere!izu, quirkless/loserboy!izu, stuttering, stalking, drugging, thighfucking, facial, male masturbation, noncon, somnophilia (kinda), alcohol, oc side character, kidnapping, murder (mentions).

“you’re not seriously going out, are you?” comes from your doorway, you turn towards the voice in just enough time to catch sight of your roommate inviting himself into your room, as he always does, before plopping himself down on your mattress.

you sigh before answering, knowing he’s about to spout some of his repetitive nonsense.

“of course i am, fuzen.” he blinks at you with his usual unamused expression, heterochromatic eyebrows slightly raised in a way that you’ve come to learn is a signal for you to ask more about what he’s saying. you take the bait. “but, why do you ask?”

“you’re the target of that serial killer.” you purse your lips at his immediate and dramatic response to stop yourself from laughing, you really shouldn't entertain him all the time. he’s mentioned a few things that could probably cost him his job for disclosing the, in his words, eerie similarities, that you have had with all the victims of recent murders.

it started with things like how they all had your eye color, or that they were all described to have your height and build. you passed those off as generic things, but fuzen didn’t. it spiraled into things as specific as one of them having your hair. well, their hair, but it was the same length as yours, the same color, and her body was found with it styled with the same way that you’d fallen in loved with and wore repeatedly that week. one girl was found with copies of the jewelry that you frequently wore, another even had her nails done almost exactly like your new set.

the longer it went on, the more insistent your roommate became about you listening to what he had to say. but you always changed the subject, figuring that the less you know the easier it’ll be to shake off the cold feeling on your back you sometimes get after leaving the apartment.

“i thought you were a stealth sidekick,” you laugh him off, yet again. ”when did you get demoted to a detective?”

“why does your room feel weird?” he asks suddenly, adjusting his sitting position like he’s been made uncomfortable while he looks around your space. “has someone been in here?”

“uh, yeah, me.” you suck your teeth at him before turning back to your vanity and get back to finishing getting ready.

“why don’t you believe me?” he asks, you can tell he’s a little irritated and it makes you feel bad for always brushing him off.

“‘zen… i know you care about me, i’m sorry.” you meet his gaze in the mirror, finding him already looking back at you. “maybe you’re just overthinking because you care about me?”

he nods slowly, before cracking a grin and shaking his head, “nah, i’m probably just jealous because i don’t have a stalker.” he rolls his neck and you wonder how much truth is in his words. “though i’d probably prefer it without the murder.”

“i don’t have a stalker.” you retort while he chuckles to himself before standing.

“you know,” he stretches his arms, fingertips touching the ceiling as the hem of his shirt lifts to reveal his toned stomach, something you quickly look away from. “that habit of immediately denying stuff that you’re anxious about is gonna bite you in the ass one day.”

his mouth is good at keeping you from being attracted to the rest of him.

“but not today,” you speak matter of fact, “because i do not have a stalker.”

“right, yeah.” he sniggers, clearly not believing a word from you. “didn’t you say you felt like you were being followed home the other night? you should think harder on the description—”

“anyways!” you cut him off, knowing that he’s not going to stop talking unless you make him. sometimes you’re not sure if he actually likes having conversations with you or just the sound of his own voice. “shouldn’t you get back to tying some red thread between the pictures and articles hung up on your wall mr. detective.”

“fuck off.” he flips you off from where he’s now lurking by your dresser, leaning against it as he’s focused on checking his phone. “i know you think i’m joking, but they put me on the west end so i’ll be patrolling over by the party if you–”

“oh! my rides here,” you lie, jumping up to slip past him and out of the conversation. “so, i’ll text you when i make it back home since you’ll be on patrol and i won’t see you again tonight, right?”

“wait!” he calls after you, annoyed by your sudden escape, as you slip on your shoes. “text me if something happens with your ride and i’ll walk you back!”

“bye, fuzen!” you yell back, walking out the door. “love you!”

/// /// ///

maybe… fuzen wasn’t just talking to hear his voice. maybe, there’s a small possibility that you do have a stalker.

you could chalk it all up to your roommate giving you anxiety about the whole situation, or that you’ve had a few too many already. but you can’t deny the fact that from the moment you stepped out of your apartment building until you climbed into your ride’s car, you felt something watching you.

it was a hot gaze, a familiar one. it could’ve been a neighbor, you reasoned to yourself as you waited for kirishima to arrive, and that theory sounded best as you repeated it to yourself at the party, laughing with him and his friends and downing drink after drink. until the chill on the back of your neck reappeared, despite how warm your blood is from the alchol. and no matter how much you looked over your shoulder to try and find some kind of source for it, there just wasn’t anyone there.

“you good?” sero asks when you fail to reply to your name being called.

“huh?” you turn to him to find the whole group looking at you with concern, your face flushes at how ridiculous you must look, being so skittish. “oh, i’m fine,” you force a laugh, hoping it seems genuine. “think i just had a little bit too much.”

“no sweat.” kirishima nods towards the glass door behind him and you try to ignore how sero and denki exchange glances. “let’s go get some air.”

“yeah, okay.” you hope the earth swallows you whole as you follow behind him.

you regret coming, regret not shutting your door while getting ready, regret letting fuzen talk his mouth off at you for so long about it. you’ll chew him out about it tomorrow.

you take a deep breath as you walk out the glass door, kirishima’s large palm rubbing soothingly on your back helps settle the nerves. there’s a comforting warmth that takes over the anxious heat as you lean into him.

“sorry i’m being weird.” you mumble as he guides you into his chest, melting into him and the sound of his steady heart beat.

“you’re fine,” you feel the arm holding his cup raise, the pause between his words meaning his downing the rest of his drink that smells way too strong. “don’t worry about it.”

the two of you sway for a bit, his arms around you and your head on his chest with the muffled music as ambiance.

it could be blamed on the alcohol but in this moment, you’re thankful you have kirishima. thankful for how it took absolutely no time at all for you to get comfortable with him, how it felt like an instant connection when he silently prompted the two of you to play tictactoe in the margine of your notes. something that quickly snowballed from passing messages to walking you back to your dorm, and then hang outs as his frat house.

he’s always offered himself as a stress relief for you, making sure you’re comfortable while you’re with him and pressing you about it any time that you seemed tense. there’s been a few awkward moments where you thought he’d tried making a pass at you but he’s always been quick to clarify. plus he’s so warm, like… really warm. his arms feel like a blanket around you. god, how is someone so big and bulky also so soft? you could probably fall asleep like this, surrounded by him.

“hey.” you’re pulled from your thoughts, and from where you were tucked into him. “you knocking out on me?”

“sorry.” you giggle, at his ever playful expression. “you’re just so comfortable.”

the smirk on his face is a harmless one, you think. and it’s awfully pretty.

“bakugou needs me at the beer pong table.”

“i don’t need you, fucker.” you hear the blonde shout from where he stands at the door. did he yell at him before too? “they just don’t want me to embarrass them by beating their asses by myself.”

kirishima laughs. ”you stayin’ out here?” you hesitate, but nod. you feel better, but the thought of facing his friends again so fast is a little too intimidating. “i wont let anyone come out here and fuck with you.” he squeezes your hip before chasing his friend inside. “come watch me when you’re ready!” the redhead calls to you from where he now hangs out the door, his toothy grin clear as day even from this distance.

you only wave back, your dizziness telling you it’s not a good idea to raise your voice right now.

you let yourself stumble back against the wall before pulling your phone out. you try three times to call fuzen and it immediately cancels before you realize you have no service where you’re standing. you curse under your breath as you push off the bricks and force your legs to carry you around the corner of the house. finally a full bar of service, you have to focus on the blurry phone icon while your thumb finds its way there.

why is everything so hard?

you manage to fumble your phone before you’re able to start the call. it feels like there’s a brick in your skull with how heavy your head becomes as you bend over to reach for the device. just as your finger tips touch your screen, there’s big, rough ones which grab at your hips. you don’t have time to scream before your arm is wound behind your back and used to press you against the brick of the house. you lose any hope of grabbing your phone and yelp as your chest and cheek sting at the harsh contact. your vision spins as you blink in the dim light, you can’t even make out the shape of the person behind you.

”don’t scream.” the stranger speaks in your ear, though slightly muffled, it still makes you freeze all the same. the adrenaline delays the recognition of the cold blade at your back, a knife. how were those girls killed again? you immediately nod, further scraping yours skin against the jagged edges of the brick. fear courses through your veins as he takes hold of your free arm and brings it back with the other, wrapping a large hand around both to keep them in place.

you try to plead with him when his knife moves from your back, the threat of it gone, or maybe all the alcohol making you bold enough to speak.

“i haven’t seen your face.” you whisper, hoping it was low enough for him to allow it. “you don’t have to kill me, you could just let me go.”

“let you go?” he asks, surely it’s your intoxicated mind, but he sounds genuinely confused, almost hurt by your words. “i can’t,” he mutters and you whine as your heart hammers in your chest. “i f-finally have you.” you hear the man sigh behind you before he presses his face into your neck, you can hear the echo in whatever metal he has wrapped over his face as he inhales deep against your skin and your body instantly reacts with chills shooting up your spine. “you smell so good.” he begins to pant as his free hand gropes at your body. “so m-much better than any of them did.”

“please… don’t,” you beg when he reaches your breast, where he squeezes it just enough to hurt before clumsily rubbing his fingers over your nipples through the cloth.

“but i knew you would.” he continues as if you didn’t speak, as if your words don’t matter. “you’re the b-best, the only good one, only you.”

his hand drags from your chest down to your waist where he starts to struggle with your bottoms. and your eyes begin to feel with tears at the inevitable.

“please just let me go.” you try again, hoping for just an ounce of pity. “i really won’t tell anyone.”

“i’m sorry.” his body pressed up against you, shoving you farther into the hard wall, ”i’m sorry, angel,” you finally realize just how much bigger the man is than you. “im just–i can’t stop. i need you.” his grip on your arms disappears as he opts to use his large stature to keep you pinned, with both of his hands to work your bottoms down to your knees before he’s humping against your ass. “i wanted to wait– wanted our first to be special.”

the deadweight feeling at the back of your mind aches to takeover, the dizziness, the fear, the effor it takes for you to just breathe right now it far too much, so you succumb to it all– making you completely helpless. all you can do is stand there and hope he’ll let you go once he’s had his fill. not that it’s easy, there’s bile churning in your stomach when you hear the click of his belt, feel the shuffle of him tugging his own pants down.

you have to bite your cheek to stop yourself from crying when you feel the heat of what has to be his cock prodding between your thighs. the only thing keeping any distance between its heat and your most vulnerable parts is the underwear holding the last bit of your dignity together. but once he wraps his arms around you—which squeeze you so tight you think you’ll burst— and he angles you so your hips stick back enough for him to rub between your thighs while pressing up against your cunt, you’re sure you’ll throw up regardless.

he, however, groans at the contact. “s-so warm.” you can hear him begin to pant as his hips start rhythmically pressing into yours, the force alone enough to jolt your body against the wall. “f-feel so good.” you can taste blood as you hold back your sobs. it feels like an eternity passes, each groan and inhale against your nape makes you more nauseous until your body has had enough.

being pushed too far from the fear, the drinks, and the pain, it causes you to collapse on yourself. everything seems like it fades as you fall slack in the stranger's arms. maybe if you die while unconscious, it’ll be okay. at least you won’t feel the pain.

sounds come in and out like you have bad radio service, your eyes too heavy and body too weak to get a good sense of what’s happening, but you hear—

“t-this? my girlfriend drank too much s-so i’m j-just—“ comes from somewhere around you, somewhere close.

“awww!” you hear, whiney and dragged out from some girl who definitely had more than you tonight. “you’re such a good boyfriend for babysitting.” your heart aches when you try to fight, to move, to scream and you’re far from successful.

“i wish my boyfriend let me drink that much.” if you could just tell one person what’s happening, if you could just show even a little bit of struggle, someone could save you. “you’re even carrying her! so cute!” if someone could just see your face, maybe they’d see that this is not who you arrived with, someone could tell kirishima. “you guys get home safe~!”

you feel like a boulder is set on your chest, the weight of your failure weight bearing on you when everything’s quiet again.

/// /// ///

you don’t know how much time passes before you’re able to bring yourself out of your useless state until you’re finally able to blink your eyes open and take in your surroundings. it’s all blurry at first, but the furniture in your line of sight slowly starts to resemble that of the setup you have in your room. there’s your vanity, your nightstand, this is your comforter, a weak smile works its way onto your lips.

you could cry from the relief. whatever happened, whether it was all a dream or something you won’t be able to remember, you don’t care. you’re home.

you toss your head back into your pillow, taking in a deep breath, catching the smell of what's likely your own sweat before you try to stretch your arms out, the needles stabbing into your hands making you feel the need to shake them to fix your blood flow. but they don’t budge, and the sound of metal clanking makes you shoot your eyes open and then you feel it.

your grogginess to blame for you not being able to the cuffs that encase them before. nor the sinking weight that kneels beside you, a large figure looming over you looking that much more daunting with the light behind him illuminating only his towering figure as he hunches over you, huffing and whining with his cock only inches from your face.

your lips tremble when the false sense of safety washed away and you look up past the movement of his hand, slowly taking in the dark green mess of hair that falls around his face, the chunky metallic mask that causes each of his heavy breaths to be echoed before you meet his eyes, the wide, terrifying green gaze that burns back at you makes you wish you were still unconscious.

“o-oh.” he’s so loud as he shoots out his load across your face and the bare parts of your chest, thick and hot where it lands. you cringe as your name is chanted off his lips and you squeeze your eyes and mouth closed, not wanting to let yourself be any more violated than you already feel. your head pounds as you feel the urge to cry, but you can’t seem to force yourself to.

“i didn’t—i didn’t finish earlier,” you hear him mutter above you, “and it hurt—looking at you,” a hand smoothes along your hairline, making you jump at the contact, and he retracts. “s-sorry… you’re just… so pretty.”

“can i…” he starts and you’re not sure if you’ll be able to answer if he actually asks you a question. “can i take a picture? it’ll only be for me, i promise.”

“please…” your voice is weak and you have to try and gather some spit to swallow to allow yourself any more volume. “don’t…” your request is sure to be ignored, he’s seemed to do whatever else he’s liked.

“you’re r-right,” you feel the mattress rise once he disappears from beside you, “another time.”

you try to test your voice again, you’re not sure how long it’s been since what you can last remember, but if fuzen wasn’t on patrol, he’d be in bed. if only you could scream.

“i’ll clean you up, is that o-okay?” you don’t reply, only tense when the warm cloth wipes at your skin. “sorry, again. i feel like such a pervert.”

you open your eyes again once they’re clean, and staring at your curtains, you try to think. you can’t even speak, can’t move, can’t fight. how long are you going to be so helpless?

“are you okay? i know i probably scared you…” you wish you could scoff. “could you at least look at me?”

you don’t move to face him, not wanting to look into those horrifying eyes again. just the thought of him, next to you now, staring at you with them makes you shudder with fear.

“look at me.” he grips your jaw, reminding you how big his hands are as he forces you to turn towards him. you avoid meeting his gaze. not wanting to know if it’s just as piercing as before, instead, you take in the green mess of curls, how they stick about and fall into his face. you can see him staring at you, but still, skip over making eye contact and make out the freckles at peek out from behind the metallic mask that seems to be slipping, making you close your eyes again.

if there was any small chance of you getting out of here alive, there’s no way you can see his face.

“hey–”

“your mask,” you whisper, and his grip loosens as soon as you speak.

“oh,” he mumbles back. you can hear what you guess is him toying with it, but you realize as you peek up, was him removing it. “guess i don’t need this.”

with his face fully revealed, you can feel yourself sinking into acceptance of your fate.

“you’re staring…” you can visibly see him swallow, his eyes darting between yours and the floor. “am i attractive?” a soft smile grows on his lips at him complimenting himself as if you’d really said it. “i’m happy you think so.”

“i have a roommate,” you speak, voice cracking.

“what?” his eyebrows drawn together, face set in a scowl before he pushes himself from your bed. “you need some water.”

“he’s a hero.” you try again, even as he walks away and you’re sure you’re out of earshot. “a strong one, and he’ll be home soon.” you pick your head up to watch him throw the door open, and all of your hope for your roommate saving you drains as you stare down a hallway that doesn’t belong in your apartment; you’re not home…

if you saw any typos, no you didn’t !!<;33

reblogs + asks + feedback appreciated !

#bnha smut #mha smut #my hero smut #izuku smut #bnha x reader #mha x reader #my hero x reader #izuku x reader #izuku midoriya smut #izuku x you #bnha x you #mha x you #stalking tw #yandere tw #drugging tw #noncon tw

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yeyinde · 9 months

Text

lavender skies | Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x GN!Reader

Then suddenly, and all at once, there's a loudness in your head: a hundred whispers echoing in time to the same off-beat rhythm, full of memories and moments shared between you, threads woven throughout the years all buoying to the surface as you realise you're a little bit in love with him. (And that, maybe, you've been a little bit in love with him the whole time.)

tags: friends to lovers (but the type of friends who are basically already dating and everyone knows except them - until suddenly they do), mutual pining. Slight Kent bashing, oops. Golden Girls as a coping mechanism. warnings: none. very tame, considering who I am as a person. Heavy make-out sess, though. word count: 6,6k notes: This has been sitting in my requests forever (I lost the original, but the gist was: Gaz + pining + idiots in love). You can blame a lot of this on summer rain and 80s city pop. Been going to the pier and listening to it while I wrote this. Not my best, sure, but it was fun.

The Tinder date he warned you not to go on (and seriously, mate, who uses Tinder anymore?) ends like this:

Your date, the biggest gentleman in Kent, as proclaimed in his bio (a red flag in hindsight—there's no such thing as a gentleman from Kent), sneaks his number to the waitress, and then leaves you behind in downtown Manchester to go bar hopping with a group he just met.

It's not a great loss. All things considered, it's not even the worst date you've ever been on. It was just a spur-of-the-moment whim—equal parts anxiety and megrim: the sudden fear of being single forever (and no, despite what Kyle might say, it has nothing to do with the wedding invitation you'd gotten on Facebook, or the three others that came before it)—and therefore, there isn't much to be upset about. Not really.

But the world doesn't work on half-hearted lies and shaky truths, and on a dank little corner in Manchester, abandoned by your ride home, your abysmal date who barely looked at you, you can't deny that it hurts. That it's a little bit of a hit to your self-esteem in a way that makes you angrier than you were before, because, honestly—he wasn't even a catch to begin with.

Stupid.

You should have listened to Kyle, to his immaculate wisdom and emotional maturity far beyond his years, but you hadn't because—

Well. Sometimes the world should work on little lies. If only to the ones you tell yourself. Ones like:

It's completely fine—really it is—if your friend of nearly eight years is moving on with his life. And it's totally, absolutely okay if your best friend meets some flighty barista in Amsterdam and won't stop talking about her for the meagre three weeks he's been back from his impromptu trip to the Netherlands, then to Mexico. It's fine. It's all fine.

Because maybe you are, too.

And maybe that's the reason you went out with David from Kent.

From Kent? He texted, only hours before your date. (Hours because he'd been busy with this thing for his job—his boss is corrupt and the world is, too, but at least Amsterdam Barista is doing fine). You can do so much better than that, birdy.

You wanted to say, what? Like someone from Amsterdam instead? but you're doing this new thing where you try not to sound as mad as you think you are. Zen, maybe. Internal peace and happiness. So, instead, you say:

He's nice. I like him.

Words that, of course, have come back to bite you.

He isn't nice. He wouldn't stop staring at the waitress, and talking over you, or just generally ignoring your existence. He left you downtown, stranded without a way home. You don't like him. You really don't even think you were that interested in him.

But it makes sense.

Kyle is moving on. Your friends are getting married.

And where does that leave you?

Well—

It leaves you stuck downtown with shoes that were intended to be used for aesthetics, the kind that means standing entirely still and immobile, and not walking the fifteen kilometres to your flat because you'd spent all your money on this super flattering outfit and these unfunctional shoes, and can't afford a cab or an Uber.

Sometimes, you pretend you're a functional adult—one who knows how to navigate everything with ease, and you live in the present, the real world, where time is fluid and unchangeable, and things make sense (maths and geometry and physics) unless they don't (black holes and the vastitude of space and fate)—but moments like these remind you that you don't. That you live, instead, somewhere in the parentheses of both.

The indigo sky, murky black and void of any stars, seems to grumble along with you as you turn toward the street, readying yourself for the long walk home. Except the groan sounds less commiserating and more ominous. A noise that seems to reverberate through the crowded street, and right into your bones.

Some have the wherewithal to find shelter. A smart move because almost a moment later, the heavens split, and a summer deluge drenches the street. It's unrelenting in its downpour, soaking everything in its path in a shrill roar.

Caught in the middle of St Peter's Square, there are not many places to duck under for sanctuary, but you find an alcove beside a store, and dart toward it. The non-functional boots are pretty to look at, but with each step, you feel the hard synthetic rubber grind against your heel. Blisters form, break. The burn makes you inhale sharply against the pain, hobbling now on tender feet.

The wall is slick with condensation, but you lean against it to keep your feet from taking the brunt of your weight.

It reminds you, quite suddenly, of that night in Cardiff with Kyle. When you'd drank three-dollar margaritas at some downtrodden bar with your friends and ate rather limp-looking fish tacos (a mistake, of course, and Kyle still can't look at corn tortillas the same way), and laughed until your belly hurt at something he'd said—the words lost to alcohol and faded with time—and then leaned over, promptly throwing up in a bush.

You still can't drink tequila without giggling (and gagging) at nothing, a phantom memory, and the thought presses against a tender spot in your chest in all the wrong ways.

Time is fluid. An unavoidable truism that you can't escape.

There are people you've known since you were a child whose faces you can barely remember. Ones you promised the world to, to always be together, who you hardly think of anymore.

Moving on. Moving forward.

You think, then, of Kyle. Of the distance that lingers between you both, widening each day. It's nothing you've done, nor he; it's just—

Life. Concurrent. Everpresent.

It hurts to lose a friend, you'd always think. A small moment of grief, of loss. But not like this. Never like this.

Stuck in a downpour in the middle of Manchester, you realise you miss him. Have been missing him.

Huddling under an awning, you fish your phone from your soaked pocket, and pull up the only person you want to be around right now, in this moment of vulnerability. Loneliness.

You send him a quick text, date was a bust. Stuck downtown. Are you busy?

Kyle's reply comes three breaths later. For you? Never. Send me your location.

You send him your pin.

Another message pops up: stay put. I'm on my way.

You met Kyle Garrick at university.

It's one of those things in life that just sometimes happens. A happy accident. An eventuality that makes the world feel a little less daunting. A lock and key sliding into place. Sunsets in pretty ochre.

Someone you knew and someone he knew (two people who are now best man and groom in the upcoming wedding) decided to invite all of their friends out for a night, and it was then, slightly tipsy on cheap ale when you realised the boy in the back—a head taller than everyone else and more befitting inside the glossy pages of a magazine—was different, somehow, from anyone else you'd ever met.

It started when some stupid kids decided to pick on another. A smaller boy with a blue cap.

Kyle was the only one who noticed. The only one who seemed to care.

It was his anger that drew you to him in the first place. Moth to a flame. It's quick—the sizzling flame of a lit match: suddenly burning the wick and nearly uncontrollable. But it's short. A flickering star, burning bright, burning hot, and then being tempered and swallowed down until it's smouldering. Still hot, still dangerous, but—

Managed.

It was a snap. He was laughing, jovial. Telling jokes, and having fun, but still maintaining that enviable enigmatic persona: reserved but kind. Funny, but mature. And then it crumpled in an instant, folded away into anger. Bright and blistering. He walked to them, eyes blazing, and didn't wait for any excuses when the kids noticed him, just quickly decimated their foundations, and crushed their feeble lies between his teeth.

"Bullyin'? That's a pretty foul thing to do, innit, mate?"

And that was that.

He handed the kid back his hat—the one the others knocked off into the gutter—and told him, clipped, that he was better than them.

Just keep your chin up, yeah? Fuckin' losers, that lot. Don't go messing about with them anymore. Fucking pricks. That's a nice hat, too. Where'd you get it? Really? Oh, that's mint—

It was that moment when, unprompted and unnoticed, he easily slipped away from the group to help some kid he didn't even know that you realised you were very keen to get to know him.

"Fancy a kebab, hero?" You asked, smirking up at him.

A grin broke across his face. Sharp, feral. "I could always go to a lamb kebab."

The rest, really, just came quite naturally. Your best friend. The person you go to for anything—even terrible dates that leave you stranded in the rain.

You just wish you knew when it all began to change, to fall apart.

Kyle meets you near St Peter's Square.

You spot him first from your hiding spot beneath the awning, catching sight of his form moving through the (now) empty streets, hands shoved in the pockets of his denim trousers, the bottoms tucked, sensibly, into his fawn-coloured boots.

Even with the hood of his windbreaker pulled low over his brow, you can pick him out of a crowd with an ease that is as warming as it is jarring.

You wave him over when he stops on the mouth of Mount Street, looking in toward the Starbucks on the corner.

He finds you just as easily. And oh, his expression makes your toes curl in your misshapen boots.

Anger pinches the corner of his mouth, and hangs off the furrow of his brow, the divot between his eyes.

"Unbelievable," he huffs when he reaches you in the middle of the street, and sucks his teeth when you open your mouth to protest.

"It is what it is," you offer, playing the peacekeeper. You fall into step with him, trying not to wince. "I'm over it."

"Yeah?" The shadows across his brow deepen. "Are you sure? 'Cause… I'll fuck him up for you."

Setting your friend on a man from Kent feels entirely too vindictive, despite how much of a rush you get at the thought of seeing the man cowed a little bit. You shake your head, playing the part of a reasonable adult.

"It's okay. I'm just—I'm just, over this, yeah? Can we—"

Kyle stops you with his hand against your shoulder. "You alright?"

"My feet hurt," your smile is strained. "Terrible shoes."

"Take 'em off."

"Are you crazy—?"

"I brought slides for you. Figured you'd wear something stupid."

"Okay, fair. But—ouch? We can't all be crazy good-looking Armani models. Some of us have to work for it."

Kyle snorts. "Just take your shoes off, yeah? Throw 'em in my bag."

You can't deny it feels blissful when you lean against the slick wall outside of a shop, toeing off your tight boots. Aching feet freed from their prison. The sigh you let out makes him glance up at you from the pavement, bent over the rucksack he brought.

There's disapproval in his gaze—maybe at your choice. Choices. The date he warned you about. The boots. The socks he spots are stained with blood on the knob of your foot.

He tuts. A soft admonishment that cuts through the silence of the empty square. But it's all he says. He swallows the rest and drops the shoes he grabbed on the pavement in front of you, slowly pushing them forward with the tip of his toe.

You try not to grin when you see them.

Crocs. The ugliest ones you could find in Schuh. You'd bullied him into getting a matching pair with you. Neon yellow adorned with little clips.

You slip them on as Kyle reaches down to grab your boots. He pauses with them in his hand, eying them with something that taints the air with his disdain.

"When did you buy these?"

"On Friday." When he was sleeping off his impromptu trip to Chicago. He brought you home deep-dish pizza, frozen, and promised that it tasted much better fresh. "For the date."

"Why?" Is all he asks.

You shrug. "They're cute…?"

His eyes stray to your shoulders. The wet fabric of your shirt. His chin lowers slightly, but his eyes stay fixed on your flesh, on the goosebumps that bubble to the surface, spreading over your exposed skin. Eyes flicker, catching a droplet of water you can feel running down from behind your ear, falling over the slope of your neck. It breaks against your collarbone. He watches it all.

There's tension in the air. Static. The pressure builds and reeks of ozone when it presses into you, knuckles digging into the hollow of your throat. It renders you unable to speak—locked in a paradigm where the world beyond the honeycomb of his eyes ceases to matter, to exist almost. Thick honey ensnares you. Molasses. It clots against reason, logic, and makes you feel weightless. Floating, unmoored, in this unfamiliar abyss that closes in around you.

Except—

It isn’t.

There’s something aberrant about it, anomalous, that you can’t ignore; but beneath it sits a preternatural sense of familiarity that bends the paradox into knowns. Into tangibles. Concretes.

This is the same tension that has been simmering—festering, almost—since before he joined the miliary. In Cardiff when he leaned against you in the taxi, boney shoulder digging into your arm, and said, ‘dunno what I'd do without you, y’know?

It was the hazy smear of neon from the shops perched on the street. An ethereal gold hue streamed in from the window, cutting across the tenebrous in an asymmetrical chiaroscuro. The light was soaked up by him. Warm honey, the perfect compliment to his eyes, to the soft pink of his lips.

How could you possibly describe the feeling that spumes in the pit of your stomach outside of undiluted comfort?

Home.

It feels like like in shades; muted. A soft undercurrent that lingers inside something else, something deeper—

Moments in the foyer when he was heading back home for the evening. When he’d linger in the doorway, shoulder balanced against the frame, arms folded over his chest, and warned you not to watch Taskmaster without him.

He’d know, he said.

When you asked how, he just said:

“Because I know you.”

It feels like that. Like that and something more. Everything, all of it, coalesces into this. Into this moment where you can’t stop staring into the flecks of mahogany and charred birchwood in his eyes, and he can’t seem to decide where to keep his, vacillating between the slope of your neck and matching your stare. A lurch, a flash of something in your chest when your gazes meet. The deep sfumato of a bare forest in the middle of winter—rich browns, raw topaz, honey and amber in a sea of white. A sleepy hinterland. Solemnent and peaceful. Dreamy. Hypnogogic.

The world always seems to shudder into a deep slumber whenever he’s around.

He dips closer, swaying into you. Gravity, maybe. Tidally locked satellites on the same rung. Something bubbles in your chest. Unwinds from its dormant perch between the gaps in your ribs, and climbs up your esophagus. Ready, you think, to be free—

In the distance, tyres squeal against the pavement.

—and all at once, the moment burst, breaks. Shatters into a million pieces, cosmic dust, and you watch them fall around you, blinking rapidly, as though you’ve just woken.

It feels like slowly coming down to earth when you quietly gather your things, words now stuck in your throat. In their prison.

Kyle tears his gaze away from your bare skin, clearing his throat.

"Hardly." He murmurs after a moment and slips his jacket off his shoulders before wrapping it around yours. It smells of rainwater, wet rubber. Beneath the polymer, you can smell Kyle—vetiver, cypress, jasmine; sweet and heady—and you bury your nose in the hood when he turns back to the empty street. “Well, uh—”

You can’t speak. Not yet.

He seems to understand.

"Yeah," he nods, and reaches out, tugging on the end of the drawstring. "Let's get out of here."

The rain lightens into a muted drizzle, soft droplets that fall, almost rhythmless, on the wet pavement. The town sleeps, the streets bare. Empty. The only sounds come from your slick footfalls, a horn in the distance.

It’s an easy silence that lapses between you—not at all unlike the lulls before, when things were easy and featherlight and endless; when you could talk to him about everything, anything, and all of the worries in your life were saved for something else. Never him. Never, ever him.

But it tugs at something in your chest. The same pressure blooms at the edges, lingering in the periphery. You think of the spell you fell under—quiet yearning—and shake your head, desperate now to break it.

It’s just as easy to slip into familiarity. To tease, and taunt. And so, you do.

"I'm surprised you haven't said I told you so by now. That's so impressive self-restraint."

His gaze slides over to you. "Well, you know, it's implied."

"Oh, is it, now?"

"Yeah, like when you messaged me and told me about it and I said—"

"Who even uses Tinder?"

"—that he's knobhead, and you're gonna get hurt."

You scoff. "He's from Kent, so."

"Even worse," he makes a face, derision contrasted by the jaundiced lamp spilling over the pavement. "A Tinder date with a guy from Kent? What's next? Moving to Bristol?"

"It's a nice area."

He rolls his eyes. "Sure. As nice as Essex, maybe."

"The two are not even comparable—"

"'Dunno why you're rushing into anything, anyway,” he angles his chin toward you. “If this is about Carver's wedding, I said I'd go with you, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but…"

"But what?"

"That's sort of—like, you just have your own thing going on. I don't want to get in the way."

"I've always had my own thing going on. So have you. But that's never stopped us before, has it? What's changed."

"What about—" you swallow down something thick, bitter that wells in the back of your throat. "You know. Amsterdam. The Barista, or whatever."

His brow knots together. "And what about David from Kent?"

You sweep your hands out, motioning morosely toward your Crocs, your damp outfit. "This is what happened with David from Kent. Not exactly the fairytale meet cute you have with Amsterdam—" he makes a noise, like he means to interrupt. You cut him off. Bury it. "And besides, you should take her. I'll just—"

"I want to go with you."

"Why?"

Kyle falls to a stop near the Kebab shop you usually go to whenever he comes back from his missions, when he's craving good, hearty food that will rot his insides and clog his arteries. A small comfort from before, when everything he has now was just a dream, and you were struggling students in university who could barely afford a meal each and would split a lamb dinner over ale and terrible movies from the noughties back at your flat.

The suddenness of it all makes you blink beside him, slowly angling your chin up at him. A questioning noise wells in the back of your throat, but when you finally turn your gaze to him, it does out. A snuffed flame.

He brings his hand up, finger scratching at the soft patch of skin on the bridge of his nose where it starts to arch up. The look on his face, hidden, slightly, by the night blanketing overhead, but just illuminated enough by smears of neon and flushed street lamps for you to see it clove into something slightly flustered, hesitant. Sheepish, almost, like he hadn't meant to say what he did, and now doesn't know how to proceed forward. Cards tucked tight to his chest. Does he play his hand or fold?

You blink. Then blink again. Struggling, almost, to take in the suddenness of his flustered state.

Because the thing is:

Kyle doesn't get embarrassed or sheepish.

A running gag in your mutual friend group is that Kyle is twenty-eight going on sixty-five. An old man crammed inside the body of a young adult. He runs hot—passionate about his beliefs, quick to temper when he thinks an injustice is being doled out; a disciple of loose stoicism, but of a new age variety that is half parts stereotypical stoner chillness and ripe maturity—but he rarely is ever caught unawares enough to become embarrassed by something. He just has a perfect gauge of himself and those around him, able to quickly make friends with anybody he meets, and self-aware enough to know when he's in the wrong, when he needs to dial it back.

Being his friend for so long, you know the nuance of these expressions. His mien is ingrained in your head: known and catalogued. Nothing about Kyle is a mystery to you except the things you're barred from knowing (his second life away from home, you often joke: wholly confidential, entirety draped in secrecy).

But the look on his face is entirely alien to you. An expression you hadn't thought him capable of making.

It's jarring. It bludgeons into you with a ferocity that takes your breath away.

You know the man standing beside you, but this, everything else, is so unearthly. So foreign.

"Kyle," you hedge, taking a small step closer to him. You're not sure why. Maybe to reacquaint yourself with the man standing before you. Maybe to find something of familiarity within him to comfort the sudden crescendo of your pounding heart because even just the heady scent of his cologne—vetiver, amber—quells the sudden bloom of anxiety in the pit of your stomach. "Are you—?"

"No," he mumbles, then huffs out a soft laugh. It sounds mean, in a self-deprecating way, and your heart lurches for him. "Yeah, no. I'm alright. I just—shit, you know? 'Course I'd wanna go with you. Should be kinda obvious, no?"

Sure, you want to say. Sure, no, totally. Very obvious. And maybe had he not stopped, not made this peculiar expression on his face—like he isn't sure what to do when he always knows what he wants, what he's meant to do—you might have said them. Might let them tumble from your lips, equally self-deprecating and a touch forlorn despite never really knowing why, but that would be a lie, now.

Because you do.

The look on his face is upsetting—not because Kyle never makes that expression, or because he's never uncertain about anything, ever, but because you don't know it. It's not something you've ever seen before. And it hurts.

It's stupid. This whole thing. It shouldn't make you feel some sense of loss when he does something you don't expect. He always does. It's his brand, now—jettisoning across the world to catch bad guys and slap the trite American sense of justice and liberty for all across the faces of anyone who tries to oppose it—and you're very much acclimated to this side of him, the one he hides away from you, giving nothing at all about where he's going, what he's doing, what he's done, until he's back in England, safe and sound, and texting you at six in the morning for an English spread because he missed home. And maybe, maybe he missed you, too.

Those quiet moments are tucked into a cosm where it's only you and him, and greasy food, and reruns of Golden Girls together with your feet in his lap as you sit on the chaise and pick favourites (his is, of course, Rose) until the sun goes down, and he heads home because he has a debriefing in the morning in Hereford, and you have work. It's bereft of unease, of tension. Time slips through your fingers fluidly, and you hardly notice it's been hours since he first arrived. Comfortable, wholly, in his presence and in your skin.

Soulmates, everyone used to joke. You just get each other. Near finish each other's sentences.

Except for lately, where there has been this undeniable tension simmering between the two of you—a sense of fragility that you can't comprehend.

Growing apart, you thought. And then: guess it's time to do the same.

It made sense to make the first move. To download Tinder—much to his chagrin—and start looking for your—

Your Barista from Amsterdam.

And oh.

Oh.

Maybe it's the way the street light frames the angles and plains of his face, or the shadows that run deep lines of tenebrous across the valleys in his eyes, the sharp slope of his lips, the soft pout. The inscrutable expression that rents a jagged divot between his brow, and an unsure twist of his mouth. Maybe it's everything. Nothing.

But the only thing you know right now is that you know him. Have known him. Deeply. Intimately. In a way that goes beyond the boundaries of bodies, of flesh and blood. Bones and marrow. You know his soul. His essence. The foundations of who he is cobbled together in a lonely kebab shop over cheap ale, commiserating on an endless stream of papers and assignments; the eventuality of ever after when you hand in the final one. Over beans and toast in the afternoon, a whole day spent lounging in your flat watching reruns of Golden Girls, and petty arguments over Taskmaster that always seem to go a little bit too far, and never far enough. Fights that end two days later when he shows up with Greggs and a complete box set of that show you said you wanted to watch but never had the time for. Bargain shopping in Tottenham on an early Saturday morning because there's this chair, you see, one that you saw on their Instagram page and you simply must have it.

Soft moments in between, brackets where life doesn't seem to wrap its cold hands around your throat. Time spent in each other's company just for the sake of it.

Climbing onto your roof—a thatched mess of moss and straw and broken asphalt shingles that will one day give under your weight—and watching the stars, always searching for one that rockets across the sky while he murmurs beside you, quiet in this stillness that falls like snow in the dead of night around you. A hushed whisper as he relays the places he's been—all stars, he rasps, hand brushing wide strokes across the raspberry sky, dusted with light pollution: I'll take you there one day to see. Best fucking beer I'd ever had, too, just don't tell my cousin because he thinks the shitty lager he makes for his bar is good—and you try to picture it amongst the grey clouds. A life on the opposite side of the world. Just the two of you. Always.

And that's what it's always been, hasn't it? Just you. Just him.

It's sometime past midnight on a street corner in Manchester. Your feet hurt from walking all night, and your clothes are damp from the rain that caught you off-guard. A summer downpour. It clings to your skin in a way that's both freeing and wholly uncomfortable, but you're not thinking about that. You're not thinking about anything at all, not now. Not really. There's a silence in your head as the world falls into pieces, breaking like the jaundiced light that cuts crevasses and canyons in the tenebrous that colours sharp valleys of his face. He turns, then, a gentle list of his head as he takes you in, breathes your silence and questions the wideness of your eyes, the soft parting of your lips. The movement makes the light spill over the arch of his nose, the slope of his brow. The dawning of a new day. A new world. The untouchable of the moon where no light shines now burning hot under the sun.

(And maybe you've been a little bit in love with him the whole time.)

So, you say it. You whisper all the words that bubble up, impatiently waiting between your teeth, effervescent and burning white-hot as they throw themselves over bone and flesh to be free.

Confessing goes like this:

Molten agony in your guts as the secrets you barely understand yourself dissolve into the atmosphere, spoken aloud and born on cobblestone and petrichor. Wide-eyed shock, uncertainty, as a new quiet falls over your shoulders, louder than anything you'd ever heard. Guncotton in your nose. A million detonations in your ears.

You've never much liked the silence. You break it, then, with your bare hands.

"...and that's basically it."

It isn't much. It isn't poetry. You're not even sure the words were real. A figment of your imagination, broken free because of baristas in Amsterdam and losers from Kent, abysmal dates and the unending fear of being wholly alone in a world you're not prepared for, all without the person who makes you feel a little bit better about the nothingness that permeates around you.

And sure. Sure. You don't need him. If Kyle decided never to speak to you again, you'd cry and you'd hurt, but you wouldn't be less of a person because of his absence. He doesn't complete you in the same way you've read about in thick books with strong-willed protagonists and an abundance of petty misunderstandings, but he compliments you. Elevates the good and stifles the bad. You want to experience things with him—not because there's some grand force at play, red strings knotted around your fingers that lead you back to him—but because you like his company. His thoughts. His mind. His presence. His essence fills you with joy in the same strokes it makes you want to pull your hair out sometimes. Good and bad. You want it all.

You want it. Want him.

And he—

He's taking you home a little past midnight where you'll make yourself beans and toast and maybe try and sleep, or turn on the television to watch four women you're intricately connected to eat cheesecake and solve each other's problems. He could be at his own flat right now, playing that video game he said he wanted to try when he got back, or watching that movie he was supposed to with his flatmates, his friends. He could be talking to some barista in Amsterdam.

But he isn't.

He's here with you. Still. Still.

"I just—," you say, or try to.

But the rest is a muffled gasp against soft lips when he presses his against yours, stealing the words out of your mouth.

You can feel your heart beating through your lips. Taste him on your tongue when he draws you closer, hands reaching, grasping. Pulling you into him, into his body. You fit against him, tucked safe between the parentheses of his arms. He tastes of cardamom and cornflower. Lavender notes between his molars. Hints of milk on his tongue. You drink him down and know, then, that this is what they mean they talk about love being a feast because you chase this taste for the rest of your life and never be satiated.

He loops his arm around the small of your back, dragging you closer still. As if any atom between your bodies is an affront. There’s no hesitation in the action, in the way he burrows into your skin. No trepidation.

And maybe it would be silly for there to be any. You know him—every iota, every inch; secrets whispered at midnight in a shallow breath and dreams uttered at noon. To be known, to know, is a powerful thing. You feel it ghost across your flesh, featherlight, and reach for it with your bare hands. Seeking, searching. You don’t stop until the tips of your fingers meet his warm skin, curling around him. Anchoring yourself to him. Stuck, now, in permanence.

You find spots that were untouched before. Behind his ears, the dip of his brow, the curve of his nose, and the slope of his jaw. Cupping it in the palm of your hand, a plinth for him to rest his chin.

Your canvassing makes him groan, makes him tilt down into you as he begins his own exploration, chasing you in a mad pursuit. Sliding over your valleys, your plains. Running over the rugged mountains and the steep cliffs. He scours your topography with eager, nimble fingers. It’s slow, languid. There’s no rush with this, a consensus you both seem to come to rather quickly when he pries open your mouth and tangles his tongue with yours. It’s sweet, soft. His hands mimic his chase, sliding along your body as if he means to commit the entirety of you to memory, searing it in his brain.

It’s only when he comes to a crossroads at your navel, pushed flush against his body, does he stop. You moan in despair at it, wanting more and more, not ready to give up this taste that curls over your tongue—saccharine sweet, salty—and Kyle echoes the noise with a groan, a quiet plea for air that both of you desperately need but can’t quite make yourself take.

“Fuck—” he groans again, breath stuttering out in sharp, deep gasps. “Can’t bloody tell you how long I wanted to do this for, fuck—”

His words seem to peel back the dreamy gossamer of a slowly burning sensuality. It ignites in a blaze, not at all unlike the swiftness of his anger. The sharp, sudden strike of a match. The crackle and hiss of flames renting the air.

The blaze starts at the point where your upper lip touches his, and almost immediately, it consumes you.

It's frenzied when he kisses you again—feral and wild: all teeth and tongue and nips against your bottom lip but the moment you sink into the fervour, Kyle changes it. Slows down. Chaste pecks to your sore lips amid a sensual onslaught. A languid roll of his tongue, soothing the burn his teeth left behind.

The way he kisses you feels like a paradox.

It's organised chaos. Refined madness. A cluttered mess of finesse and deliberate suckles; an artist's masterstroke.

You can't keep up. His rhythm is fierce and uncatchable.

Each step seems to stutter. An avartan you can’t keep pace with. Elongated taals, dips. A crescendo of harmony that is matchless, unreproducible. You struggle along with his swift current, his unerring tide that sweeps you away; unmoored, adrift. The tentative exploration ends. He knows you, now. All of you. And this is his summit. His scramble to the top. It’s biting passion; roaring flames.

You cling to him, holding tight to the liferaft he offers in a slow huff, a gust of mirth across your lips and into your lungs, slowing down to accommodate you. Malleable, now, he lets you lead, lets you take over, and move seamlessly with him. In tandem, parallel. Equilibrium brings you to heel, and you sigh into his mouth—a deep exhale of everything that has been building and building, tipping the scales around you until it was unbalanced and precarious. Teetering on the edge a precipice unknown.

His hand roams across your known geography—hills and streams, rivers and canyons—until he reaches your hand still bracketed around his cheeks, slowly peeling it away from his flesh to slide his fingers between yours, holding tight, and—

Kissing is immaculate. Bending at an altar, and making an offering to something bigger than yourself. It’s the spark of lightning flashing overhead, static in the air. Magnets drawing closer and closer until they snap together in the middle.

But holding his hand?

It feels like coming home.

The world tipping back into place. Amber warmth in your veins; the softness of a jasmine petal. You suck in a deep breath at the shock of it all.

You think of missing puzzles and loose sea ice drifting alone in the vastitude of the ocean. You think of a life where he isn’t in it and find yourself shuddering at the wrongness that emanates from it.

You want him. Want him—

It’s Kyle who pulls away first, resting his forehead against yours. You blink slowly, eyes catching dark amber, honeycomb. It draws a smile from you, full and deep. Giddy on the taste of him, of this.

The only thought in your head is finally, finally.

You see his lips curl in response, eyes lidded and heavy. Blooming with want, affection. Adoration.

"What, ah—," he laughs a little, then, breathless and happy, and the noise anchors itself to your breastbone, pressing into the hollow of your ribs. A place you'll keep it forever. "What now?"

He hands you the starless sky, and places it into the cup of your palm. Breathes laughter in the air, paints the moon with his joy. You think about the places he wants to take you, and the ones he swears you'll never go. You think about aeons from now when the world is gone and the stars all die out, when there's just the hazy lavender of endless abyss you can't make sense of. You think of him, and you think of you, and you wonder when it started to just make sense for there to always be two.

Maybe that night in Cardiff when he held your shoes and gave you his coat. When he draped his arm around your shoulders, laughing at something stupid you'd said. A year before he joined this task force he makes cheeky remarks about but never goes too deeply into detail. When it was just endless summers spent working and drinking and eating good food.

He'd asked the same thing, then, half slumped over in the taxi, and three sheets to the wind. It made his eyes darken, endless pits. Black holes. The expanse of the sky is framed by brown lashes, and drooping lids.

And you'd said—

"Beans and toast?" It feels right. It feels good. "We can—"

He huffed, too, just like he does now, and squeezes your hand once, tugging you along.

"We're not watching Golden Girls."

You watch Golden Girls. Kyle wraps his arm around your neck, keeps you tucked in close to his side. He steals kisses from you when Sophia says something that makes you laugh until you're breathless and trembling.

When David from Kent texts you, he grins wide, and whispers in your ear, think I've always been a little bit in love with you, you know?

Yeah, you say, and kiss back until the taste of him is etched into the space between your teeth. Since Cardiff. For you?

"Since Uni for sure." He smiles again, sheepish and a touch flustered. It glitters on his brow and nips the apples of his cheeks. "You stole my heart when you devoured four lamb kebabs and then ate my tabbouleh. Said to myself, yeah, that's the one for me, innit?"

"On second thought, what's that Barista's number? Might try my luck instead."

"Nah, you're smitten," he presses his lips into the hollow of your throat, nips his teeth against your pulse point. "And you're all mine. No take backs."

"Ah, for fuck's sake—"

Ahhhhhhhh. Sappy romcoms are my kryptonite and it shows.

COD MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION

#kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #cod gaz x reader #cod mw2 fanfic #ehhhhhh #these are my sloppiest tags #i didn't feel like making a gif so i threw this together real quick #will fix in the am #when my eyes aren't on fire

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howaboutalittlehelpneos · 11 months

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So I had a bath earlier, but the only thing I've managed to put on since then is a pair of thigh highs, and like. I'm not even doing anything sexy in them. I'm literally just lounging around looking at tumblr. Bout to start unpacking more and making breakfast. In thigh highs. You can do anything in them, even if that's just chilling at home.

#putting it on the fandom blog specifically because im writing a fic where one of the chaoters involves a camping trip #and the main characters goes camping. in thigh highs. but theyre hidden under pants so no one else knows about it #and as soon as i remembered that chapters existence i just went 'oh my god why am i literally him rn'#just very funny to me #you can lay at home in them. you can cook breakfast in them. you can fuckin go camping in them.#guess its time for me to pack a bag and head into the woods #zen texts #food mention #i have typos but im on mobile and im not redoing all that sorry

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justiceforjumin · 4 months

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So, you know in that infamous chat on Day 7 between the MC, Jumin and Zen, where Zen is freaking out bc Jumin is being lowkey horny in the groupchat ? Yeah, so, there's kind of a huge detail that was lost in the English version. At one point, Zen tells Jumin to take MC back home and adds "don't be pervy and make her stay", to which Jumin replies "Don't assume that all men are like you. But more than that, what do you mean 'pervy' ? I never had such intentions. What in the world is inside your head !"

...only to completely contradict that like 2 texts later (if the MC says she's glad he's not denying the fact that he did indeed have thoughts™, which again, is really weird to have as an option after Jumin supposedly says he "never had such intentions") by saying he's been having inappropriate thoughts ever since MC arrived.

Well. That's because that's not what he tells Zen in the Korean version. He doesn't say "I never had such intentions". This is how this part of the conversation actually goes.

Zen : Hurry up and take her home! This is an inappropriate hour to be with a lady! MC : I don't mind staying, though? Jumin : If MC wants to stay, then she can stay. Zen : What are you talking about? Even if she wants to stay, a real man should escort her home. Jumin : Why should I force her to leave? Zen : Because you're a man. Jumin : You shouldn't assume all men are like you. But more importantly, why do you keep calling it an "inappropriate hour"? Do you have inappropriate thoughts only after a certain time? I wonder what's going on in your head.

Jumin isn't wondering what kind of thoughts Zen is having. He knows. No, the thing he doesn't understand is why Zen keeps acting like men are supposedly only having thoughts™ after a certain time and that's really weird to him. And I swear ever since I played that chat in Korean, it's been living in my mind completely rent-free.

#jumin han #mysme zen #mystic messenger #random post

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nqctar · 3 months

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𖦹 fireworks ; anton lee

pairing. best friend!anton x f!reader. genre. fluff. childhood friends to lovers. inspired by tsitp. synopsis. in the midst of a perfect summer night’s breeze, through flashes of fireworks, your summers spent wishing for anton to give you a sign finally come true. warnings. kissing. physical touch. wc. 1,344 words.

( 🐚 ) ONE SUMMER CAN CHANGE EVERYTHING.

you were in love. you knew it the moment you took glances at anton through your embarassingly large and round eyeglasses. right down to the first brace faced smile the two of you shared, there was always an unspoken mutual pining. though it had been years since that first encounter, seeing him each summer was like the first time over and over again. almost as if anton was a dream you conjured up through fevered nights. he seemed like someone you'd make up in your head to pass time and daydream about.

he was the physical manifestation of all your daydreams. knowing that made your heart ache. every summer you spent with him, digging up seashells along the salty shorelines of cousins beach and pushing each other into the freezing cold water still wasn't enough. you needed more than summers from him. you needed his cello callused hands to run through your hair. you needed to wake up in the morning and see his big brown eyes marveling at you.

you didn't need the summer anymore, if it meant you'd bask for eternity in anton's presence. he was everything to you.

though you wished every lovesick thought you had of him could come true, you found yourself going home at the end of each summer wanting for more. wishing you'd left with a kiss instead of a secret handshake the two of you made up in his treehouse the first summer you met. you deserved more, you thought. with nine years of wishing, something's gotta give.

"i am in control of my destiny," you say through closed eyes while sitting criss-crossed in front of lit french toast scented candles and a mirror. "my fate is up to me." the meditation track booming through your noise cancelling headphones drowned out the sounds of anton's audible confusion.

deep in your own zen and thought, you feel a gentle hand reach out and touch your shoulder. the feeling makes you jump, letting out a yelp louder than you can hear over the music.

"holy shit anton! where did you come from?!" laughter ripples through him, and he clutches his stomach while trying to regain some composure. as always, your heart does backflips upon seeing his beaming smile right in front of you. crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes. he looked so, so pretty. you wanted to lean in and-

not now. maybe not today, even. things were perfect between you two. ruining your friendship with a kiss wasn't a chance you wanted to take. not now, not ever.

brushing your feelings aside, you blow the candle flames out and toss your headphones onto the bed. anton had calmed down already, though giggles still shook his body. you rolled your eyes at him. "it wasn't that funny, shut up." anton wiped a tear from his face, shaking his head. "don't be lame, it was hilarious."

"we're about to light the fireworks, obviously i don't want you to miss it so," he stops to brush a strand of long hair out of your face. an action he'd done many times before. it was almost second nature to him, yet it almost made your knees buckle. "finish your weird demonic chanting and come outside with me."

you grab your hoodie, one that actually belonged to anton during his brief stint on the cousins beach rowing team, he'd given it to you two years ago. it was a size too big for you then, and still too big for you now.

"you actually still use that? stop reminding me of my dark past." anton groans.

again, you roll your eyes. “it's comfortable, deal with it. and what 'dark past?' you were on the team for like two weeks. what's the worst that could've happened?"

anton shivers as the two of you step into the surprisingly chilled july air. "i tipped over in the boat and started screaming. people recorded it. they called me the cousins beach klutz." he cringes at the memory, and in turn you laugh. "okay, maybe that does count as a dark past."

the two of you walk down to your special spot, one you both found accidentally after running along the beach back to anton's summer house thinking you'd miss the fireworks. you remember the flashes of red white and blue that lit up the sky, how your hand brushed up against anton's as you both settled on a huge rock. that was the first time you considered your feelings for anton being more than just a normal crush.

it was also the first time you realized how quickly your feelings for him grew.

the two of you both sit down somewhat comfortably on that same rock, closer together than last year. he sets his the stand of his phone down in front of you both, something he does every year to document your reactions to the fireworks. you never questioned it, though something in the back of your mind gives you hope that he's doing it as an excuse to fill his gallery up with pictures and videos of you.

neither of you talk. there's tension in the air for some reason, and anton can feel it too. he peeks down at your hand, covering it with his own.

"your hands look cold," his voice is quiet. he's coming off shy. something is different.

"i'm just... warming them for you." your heart begins to race faster than it was before. you turn to look at him just as the first fireworks begin to colour the sky.

between the illuminated flashes of colourful lights bursting in the night sky, the earth had a population of two.

just anton, and you.

to your surprise anton was staring right back at you, big brown eyes peering into yours. he brushes a lock of hair away from your face and leans in. "i really want to kiss you." he whispers. the intoxicating scent of his vanilla conditioner calms you. anton is as perfect as he's always been, your very own dream come true.

this moment was the culmination of your winters spent praying to whoever was listening for summer to arrive quicker than last year. every drive back to your house at the end of each summer you held tears back was not in vain. everything you wanted was right in front of you.

"kiss me," you utter. "just kiss me."

with the last few bursts of fireworks blooming in the starry night sky, anton's strawberry chapstick flavoured lips meet yours. he kisses you with the fervor of years spent pining and waiting. his hands run through your hair, your noses bump, he lets a thumb smooth over the side of your face. he's everywhere you want him to be.

his hands drag up and down your sitting frame. the two of you pull away for air, lips swollen from the intensity of the kiss.

"we just kissed." anton remarks, somewhat in shock. his hand finds yours again, lacing your fingers together with his.

"i've been waiting so long for you to make a move, y/n." he lets out a nervous laugh. "i was worried you didn't feel the same."

your face reddens. "i didn't want to ruin us. i was scared that i'd do the wrong thing and you'd leave me." you admit. sympathy flashes over anton's face. "god no, i wouldnt—" he picks your hand up and kisses the back of it. "i'm not going anywhere, y/n."

"you're stuck with me forever." he grins.

you place a soft kiss to his lips again, savouring the brief moment.

"i wouldn't have it any other way, anton." he blushes at your response, ears reddening with shyness.

an unspoken 'i love you' lingers in the air, both of you too timid to say it out loud.

maybe next summer, you think.

for now, you curl into his side, choosing to rest your head on his shoulder.

everything in this moment feels perfect.

it's just you and anton existing together. you'd spend the rest of forever this way, if only you could.

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eyesofshinigami · 3 months

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It's The Little Things

Rating: G

CW: None

Tags: Established relationship, fluff, projection (lol), Short and sweet

Prompt: From @shofarshogood "Love is doing the dishes even when it's the worst chore ever"

WC: 900

Written for @steddielovemonth Day 5

If there is one chore Eddie could spend the rest of his life never doing again, it would be doing dishes. He hates it with flaming, raging passion. He’d almost rather be eaten by demobats again, but he would never say as much in front of Steve. It makes him all mopey when he says shit like that, even though Eddie’s pretty sure it was his near death, so he gets to joke about it.

At any rate, Eddie absolutely loathes washing dishes. He hates the feeling of wet food on his hands, the way it gets up under his fingernails. He hates the sound of the sponge squeaking against glass. He especially hates how he can never seem to stay dry while he washes them, either. It never fails, he always ends up a sopping wet mess (along with the floor, the counter, the pile of mail he still hasn’t opened yet…)

He would happily go the rest of his life without ever washing a single dish again.

Thankfully, Steve seems to find doing dishes therapeutic, or some shit. He always tells Eddie that it gives him the chance to zone out, to let his brain turn off and go on autopilot. Which, Eddie can kind of relate to, considering it’s the same sort of zen he finds when he’s folding their clothes. Especially towels. Eddie really likes folding towels.

Anyway, it works out. Eddie washes clothes and Steve does the dishes. It’s a pretty good balance and it means their dishes are always clean and they never run out of laundry.

Except lately, Steve has been swamped. Between working twelve-hour EMT shifts and trying to study for his finals, there just hasn’t been time. The dishes have just… been piling up in the sink. To the point where it’s kind of starting to overflow.

Shamefully, it takes Eddie a little bit longer to notice, considering that it’s not on his usual chore list. It isn’t until he’s having to precariously rest a cereal bowl on the pile so it doesn’t collapse that it actually occurs to him that maybe, just maybe, it’s time to fucking wash the dishes.

He lets out a sigh. God, he hates doing dishes, but… but he knows that Steve is too tired, has too much going on. It wouldn’t kill him to do it just this once, to make sure it’s one more thing his boyfriend doesn’t have to worry about. If he can make Steve’s life just a little bit easier, he can brave some stuck-on food and grimy soapy water.

So, Eddie pulls up his metaphorical big boy panties and grabs the dish soap and starts the tap running. Thankfully, he manages to locate the bright yellow gloves that Steve uses to clean under the sink, which should make this more tolerable. He pops one of his metal mixes into the cassette player and gets to work, bobbing his head and trying not to think about what might lurking under the soapy water.

He lets himself get lost in the repetition of it, scrubbing then rinsing then putting in the drainer that Steve insisted they buy when they moved in together. So lost, in fact, that he doesn’t hear the front door opening or the sound of approaching footsteps, until Steve is suddenly appearing in the doorway.

“Christ!” Eddie yells, almost dropping the slotted spoon he was washing.

“Sorry, baby. But uh… Eds… what are you doing?” Steve asks, motioning to the sink.

Eddie almost says something flip, it’s on the tip of his tongue, but he can see the dark circles under Steve’s eyes, the way his back is hunched. “Oh, uh, doing the dishes. They were piling up and I figured I was off today, I could just do them.”

Steve blinks at him. “But you hate doing the dishes.”

Eddie blinks back. “Yeah, but I knew you’d be home late. Like I said, I figured I could do them and… you know, help you out?”

Steve blinks again, before the sweetest smile breaks out onto his face. Like sunshine after the rain. “I appreciate that, thank you.” Steve steps into his space, wrapping his arms around Eddie and pulling him into a hug. He doesn’t even seem to care that Eddie’s shirt and sweatpants seem to soaked. “You’re the best.”

“I just washed a couple of dishes, Steve,” Eddie tries to joke, but he nuzzles against Steve, the best he can do right now while he’s still wearing these ridiculous rubber gloves. “You’ve been working hard, baby. I just wanted to make things easier for you.”

Steve lets out a shaky sigh. “You do, Eds. Every day. Thank you.” He leans in for a kiss, soft and sweet and thrilling Eddie down to his toes. When Steve pulls back, he pecks Eddie on the lips one more time before he says, “How about we order Chinese tonight? From the takeout place with the cartons, so we don’t have to dirty any more dishes, hmm?”

“Music to my ears, Stevie. Go order and I’ll finish up here, yeah?”

Steve nods and Eddie watches him walk away, seeing the way Steve is still smiling like Eddie just handed him a million bucks or something.

He might still hate it, but Eddie would wash all the dishes in the world to see Steve smile like that every day of the week.

#les writes thing #steddie #steddielovemonth #rating: g #fluff

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buniyaad · 2 months

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reading yj in true publication order is legit insane bc bart was really going into a superhero team after waid, messmer-loebs, and co. pretty much ironed out that despite max being the zen master of speed and everyone’s mentor/uncle-figure… max was not ACTUALLY equipped to be a father. if anything, he shoulda been a weekend caretaker at best, but between him and wally, bart was completely screwed. him joining yj off the heels of max’s repeated failures at connecting with bart just makes so much sense cuz it’s like…. bart learned a LOT under max, but even after 40+ issues together, max still didn’t UNDERSTAND bart because he WAS NOT a good foster parent and he shouldn’t have been a parent at all! and max knows that… helen too. and i suspect bart did too, but he forgave him for it just like he’s forgiven most ppl in his ‘family’ for their transgressions.

bc what choice does bart really have at the end of the day? he’s still a refugee and his mom still can’t bring him home, so he’s got no choice but to make the best out of a shitty situation bc otherwise he’d have to admit that maybe he was better off dead. which is truly heartbreaking when you get to the yj piece of his story bc even the others look down on him and don’t treat him the best all the time. but he loves them anyway, bc what and WHO else does bart allen have left? when you’ve been ousted from your own century AND forced to live with people who’ve made it clear numerous times that they don’t want you there, what else can you do but put on a smile and brave through? you don’t even love yourself, but you love others SO much and willing to sacrifice yourself for it. you didn’t even get a lightning rod until 20+ years AFTER your debut. bart allen, the man that you are

#bart allen #young justice #impulse #mark waid #william messner loebs #konbart #bartkon #real talk #dc comics

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andieperrie18 · 6 months

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nobody's daughters (part ii)

Series: Blue Eye Samurai

Pairing: Mizu x Widowed! Reader

Chapter Synopsis: Mizu takes notice of you.

Warning: SPOILERS on Episode 5

A/n & DISCLAIMER: I'm still establishing the connection between Mizu and Reader. But future chapters will soon have more interactions. Please bear with my grammar. I'll probably proof this sometime.

Parts: ONE // TWO // THREE // MASTERLIST

Tags: @thefairywanderer @satwitch-blog @veethewriter @cutttteeee

With one final release of air, you open your eyes as the small garden in front of you. A small butterfly flutters towards you landing on your nose for a few seconds making chuckle softly from the ticklish feeling. You exhaled and finally stood from your seat.

“Excuse me,” you hear a raspy voice call you. You turn to meet your awakened patient, still weak but seeing the spotless piles of plates by the tray was enough to tell you she had eaten well. You smiled as you entered back inside and went towards her.

“You’ve eaten, that’s good to see, I suggest not doing too much these next few days if you don’t want to rip stitches, ” you trail as you arrive at Mizu’s side. She adjusts herself to face you while still struggling, reflected in expression and tone but she manages. As your gaze met hers, you were finally able to get a good look of her blue eyes.

Blue wasn’t the best description but rather a reflection of the bright sky. That would have been the best description if it weren’t for the immediate glint of darkness that flashed. Her eyes reflected a submerged iceberg. You looked away, as you cleared your throat upon realizing that you might have been staring intently at your guest. Not that Mizu had missed the long gaze, she simply looked towards the open veranda. The sound of water running beside the zen garden followed by sweet chirps of perched up birds by the wall rang around the room as the two women sat casually together for a long while.

Mizu’s attention had shifted from the garden to scanning the very room she was in. There wasn't much furniture and neither were they sophisticated but rather functional yet each still carried a feminine touch. I didn’t take the blue-eyed woman to understand that she was resting on the very room and futon of the woman of the house and her savior.

“I’ll be heading out now, I have a bit more chores to do,” you inhaled as you lifted yourself from the tatami floors of your room beside Mizu who simply watched you.

“Do not rush your recovery and take your time, you can walk around the place to stretch some muscles and simply ask Midori if you need anything,”

Mizu was a bit appalled by such a humble host, your smile did not have any kind of hidden agenda no matter how much skepticism she presumes on your every exchange. She watches you nod off to her and head out to the door.

(-+-+-+-+-)

Mizu did spend the next few days resting and took the offer of scouring around your rather spacious yet one story Japanese home surrounded by rich and thriving vegetation. She found the rural beauty of your household surreal with how peaceful it was. Midori had shared that your land was indeed settled far from the confines of any busy village or town. You have lived your life in exile.

“The madame has been a wonderful and responsible head of this household, my husband and I have dedicated our lives to helping her around this lonely home,” Mizu listened to Midori intently as she ate lunch one bright afternoon. The kind woman had taken it upon herself to accompany Mizu and had been quite a talkative nurse much to Mizu’s expectation. But she wasn’t going to complain as she found it rather nice, the old lady’s gentleness was both foreign yet not, it reminded her of those moments where she was happy with her mother despite how few they were.

Mizu and Midori dined near the veranda of the center of the house that showed the landscape of vegetation that you have been tending and growing with Tanaka.

“I find it unusual how she has intentionally taken on the task of being the head of the house. Was this house from her parents that was passed on to her?” Mizu trailed as her gaze found you at the center of the vegetable patch from the house.

“Oh no, madame was married to a farmer who owned this land, sadly died from circumstance that I am not in the position to share, but they were a happy couple and immensely contented with this life style,” Midori’s tone lowered when she spoke of your husband but immediately raised back to lighten the mood. The last thing the kind old lady wanted was for an awkward meal. Besides, you were doing well.

For a farmer or a husband, with the kind of land your household has, Mizu assumed it was impossible not to gain some kind of higher status. Doing business with your husband and his thriving produce, you could have been living a rather rich life. Not to mention, your looks.

She was no daft when it came to recognizing beauty. And like every beautiful provincial flower, she was sure that you could have found another husband to help you and provide you with a luxurious life. And yet here you were.

You, the lady of this household, dressed in a shade-colored tunic and long pants, your feet covered with a muddy enclosed straw slipper that you constantly submerged through dirt mud in your daily routine within the garden. Hair that was neither in a sophisticated style to be littered with elegant hair pieces, simply pulled together within your straw hat so that it cannot cover your face while you dig and pull the hoe in your hands to the soil. Your face was littered with dirt and sweat, yet exhaustion nor any sign of labored breaths was absent despite the fact the Mizu has been watching you word for more than an hour or two.

(-+-+-+-+-)

Mizu continues to reach full healing as days pass on, and as time passes, she has never once again had conversation with you as you were always occupied with your household and agricultural duties of your home. It was not really like Mizu has any business with your life but she's been rather curious of you. How you've chosen to live and devoted yourself to the responsibility of being the sole caretaker of your household, never bothering to find another husband and having to forever have your deceased husband's ghost of memories occupy the lost part of your heart.

Mizu came to you one afternoon as you were casually chopping each block of wood you pick up and chop and toss to a pile. A rather tall pile.

“Ah, you look like you're in good shape now,” you arched back as you watched Mizu approach you.

“I would like to thank you once again but I have to leave soon,” Mizu states firmly to you. You stared at her for a moment as her firm. Mizu bowed her head.

“I don’t think I can ever repay your kindness in not just tending to me but also being a most gracious host. But I will repay you someday,” she implores as your expression contorts to surprise and concern.

“P-please, there is no need for such a gesture,” you state as you placed your ax down and stepped towards her. You took in that her figure, her simple gray tunic that you have owned that you haven’t for a long time fit her frame perfectly, concealing her true figure from your two trusted people around your home.

Mizu took notice of this and looked down. Although your gaze wasn’t anything unkind or uncanny, it was still observant and a bit piercing through her thoughts. You did her a favor of not informing anyone of her true persona. And you know of the path she is currently walking on, she may be groggy that night but she didn’t miss your statement hurled towards her.

“If you have nothing more to say, I’ll wish for your safety, tell Tanaka to take you to my stables, take one of my horses,” Mizu’s eyes widened to this as but she never got to as Midori emerged behind her with a large bag. The kind old lady looked at her with a wrinkled smile.

You smiled at the scene and looked at your blue-eyed guest, “I highly suggest you take the horse, Midori isn’t keen on backing down on people not taking the dishes she prepares for them for travel,” you inform, Mizu looks up to meet your smile. Her chest warmed and as her lips curled in a small delight.

“You take care of yourself child,” Midori worries as she accompanies Mizu back to the main road. The female trailed beside the old lady, her hands holding the reins of her new travel company.

“I will. I’ll be forever indebted to you, Tanaka and your Madame’s kindness,” Mizu states as they stood facing each other at the side of the dirt road. The brown horse neighed beside the woman as it nudged her. Midori chuckled as Mizu smiled and continued on with her farewells.

But there warm conversation were soon to be cut short.

“Well would you look at that, you’re still alive,”

----

A/n: Channelling Inner Tanjiro Kamado next chapter.

#mizu x reader #mizu x you #mizu blue eye samurai #mizu bes #bes #blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai netflix #blue eye samurai x reader

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