.ΰ³ welcome to rileyβs blog! she .α her β 18 β @windsways
masterlist HERE !
.ΰ³ most of what my posts now aswell as future posts may be about : gachiakuta, aot, jjk, bllk, no im not a human (dont ask), my hero academia, and more!
.ΰ³ requests : open! pls share anything and everything youβd like to! out of all themes, i think i write fluff/romance the best but iβm 100% willing to do whatever. angst, smut (DNI if underage) and anything else i see that piques my interest, so donβt be shy! i can def take prompts but reserve the rights to decline if it falls into my βwont writeβ category.
.ΰ³ things iβm NOT willing to write : non-con, dub-con, extreme graphic self-harm or suicide glorification, incest tropes, just anything thats.. insane. iβm willing to explore but.. just nothing too crazy.
.ΰ³ things i AM willing to write : romance (slow burn, friends to lovers, enemies to lovers and more dynamics like that, just ask!), smut, school/college scenarios, angst/heartbreak/emotional drama, fantasy/supernatural/sci-fi elements, adult themes, wlw, mlm, mlwβ anything else, quick one-shots, weekly/monthly challenges (iβll try my best)
.ΰ³ you can find my most recent piece of work here! once i have more posts up, iβll be able to put em here so just wait! hope yall enjoy <3
ALSO i do wanna say that iβm working on some male!reader x gachi men texts if yβall have specific suggestions that you would like to see, pls ask!!! same thing with non binary, or things that go more into transgender!reader, DONT BE AFRAID TO ASK!!!
Hii, sooo I literally LOVE gachiakuta texts and I've read all of them and no one is writing them anymore which makes me SUPER sad :((
Can you write gachiakuta texts where like reader is changing their style, like making Emo, grudge, goth (REAL GOTH), preppy, y2k or gyaru (idk how to spell it)
And like see how they react?? And if possible can you please make sure to add Zanka? I'm so obsessed with him, I'm sorry if your not taking requests right now I just got super excited when I saw one of your post saying you want request for more gachiakuta texts and RUSHED to ask!
YESYES YES! this is perfect and as someone with a more alternative style i do love representation. this would genuinely be all my stars aligning so thank you so much for this ask. also, yes! i always add zanka. MAYBE iβll do him separate and make it a series just so i could add a bit more story. if youβre asking it to be a slower transition of reader becoming more alternative/goth/gyaru I WOULD WANT IT TO BE INCLUDED that it doesnβt happen so quick and itβs like reader coming out of their shell.
This is my first time asking about a request, Iβm a bit nervousπ anyways, can I asked for a Gris/Reader chatfics? I see NOTHING for my GLORIOUS TALL BEAUTIFUL HUNK OF A MAN, Iβm DEPRAIVED, Iβm struggling to survive off of these crumbs..
gris is my husband man yesyesyesyesyYES. thinking about posting smth later today or tomorrow. or whenever iβm off work. iβve been super busy so i apologize you guys
omg just watched the avatar movie i hope u guys are ready for a sokka fic BC I HAVE LIKE THE BEST IDEA literally have never been as motivated for a fic like this holy shit
I absolutely adore your gachiakuta texts and I was wondering if that you could do a mlm with the men of the reader getting sick and being completely over dramatic about it
(Totally not basing this off me)
Though, its fine if you don't wanna! I see you do a bunch of mlw and I don't want to ask you for anything that you don't wanna do. Though, i live for your fics and texting things and thank you if you do it!!
YES OF COURSE!!! 1000% okay with doing mlm iβm sorry if it seemed like i wouldnt!! i was just waiting for specific requests to kick start them off LOL i will get this out as soon as i get the chance!
a/n : spiderman!Izuku came to me in a dream so i had to write abt it π also inspired by this tiktok i saw.. may make more parts heh
art by @mika hyuni, ss from animation of @semakoolkat (both on tt)
wc : 4.3k (idk)
βokay, okay, think, thinkββ he trips over his own feet and doesnβt hit the ground. his hand is quick to shoot out, and he hangs there. staring.
ββ¦whatβ W-WHATββ his voice comes out quieter than he expects. he looks down. then back at his hand. βoh, o-okay!! t-thatβsβ thatβs new. thatβs definitely new, thatβs notβ i didnβtββ his other hand presses against the wall too, and it sticks.
βthis is fine,β he says, which is how he knows itβs not. βyeaβ i-i can manage!!β he stays there for a second too long before he pushes off and ends up landing harder than he means to. he stumbles, catches himself. left breathless. alive in a way that feels unfamiliar and a little too big for his chest.
something in him shifts. the first time he makes it to a rooftop, it isnβt graceful and it isnβt planned. itβs a series of decisions made too quickly, instincts outrunning logic, body before his brain.
he climbs and slips a few times. he also catches, and tries again. βone moreβ justβ just one moreββ he pulls himself up over the edge and collapses onto the surface, chest heaving, limbs buzzing with something electric and unsteady. for a second, he just lies there.
then he laughs quiet at first. then itβs a little louder. and not because itβs funny, itβs because he doesnβt really know what else to do with it.
it feels.. so much more different up here.
izuku midoriya learns the rhythm of the city before he ever understands himself, and maybe thatβs the only way it could have happened. the belief that new york was something too vast, too layered, too alive for him to ever make sense of it used to sit heavy in his heart, like trying to memorize a language with no alphabet. now he knows better. now he knows the streets talk, and they never really stop. you just have to learn how to listen.
and it isnβt something anyone teaches you. not a single handbook, no careful instruction. itβs something that finds you in fragments. in echoes that donβt line up until they end up spontaneously doing so. in the way mornings arrive before youβre ready and nights stretch long past the point of comfort. in the way the air shifts depending on how far you are from the ground, like altitude rewrites the rules of breathing itself.
down below, everything presses in. conversations that stack on top of each other, when footsteps blur into something constant, lives brushing past without ever really colliding. itβs dense. itβs almost suffocating.
but up here? its thinner. the wind doesnβt ask permission when it wants to move, so neither does he. thereβs a kind of honesty to it, something thatβs stripped down to its barest form, where thereβs no room to pretend youβre anything other than exactly what you are.
the first time he clears three buildings without second guessing himself, it startles something loose inside him. a laugh slips out before he can stop it, bright and disbelieving, because it feels like getting away with something he was never meant to try.
his feet barely touch the ledge before heβs pushing off again. his hands are already moving, already aiming, already putting trust into something. something heβs not fully deciphered yet.
he canβt help when his hands fumble for half a second, but they find their rhythm again. another web, this one steadier. itβs anchored higher, pulling him back into a cleaner arc.
thereβs a beat where he justβ¦ exists in it. suspended. when his heart races, and his thoughts catch up in fragments.
but itβs almost as if someone could look up at the wrong moment, suspended between one impossible point and the next, theyβll see through everything and say it out loud.
oh. youβre just a kid.
and he is. he is, in the way his grip falters for half a second too long before he corrects it, in the way his landing angles crooked before he adjusts, in the way his thoughts run faster than his body can keep up with.
βokay, okay, adjust for wind resistance, that wasβ¦ that was off by like, at least two degrees, maybe three, note to selfββ he canβt quite decide if that was terrifying or the best thing heβs ever done.
itβs both. itβs always both.
the morning doesnβt arrive all that fast. it never really does. it seeps in a slow and deliberate fashion, threading itself through the narrow spaces between buildings where the light finds purchase first. it catches on glass, fractures across fire escapes, lingers on rooftops that have held too many quiet hours to count.
he city loosens, inch by inch, releasing whatever it held too tightly through the night. izuku feels it before he can see it. the shift in the wind, the way silence gives up its shape and becomes something waiting to be filled. he perches there, balanced in that fragile space between seconds, thinking something small and dangerous and soft enough to almost scare him.
he made it to morning again.
βgood morning, new yorkers,β a voice crackles on a radio somewhere below, tinny and warm all at once, folding itself into the early light. βlooks like weβve got clear skies today, so if youβve got somewhere to be, nowβs your chanceββ
he lands on a fire escape a little too fast, momentum carrying him forward before he catches himself with a hand against the railing. it rattles under his grip, metal complaining softly, and he freezes like the city might scold him for it.
ββand if you donβt, wellβ¦ maybe take the long way anyway.β
ββ¦okay,β he mutters, glancing down like the voice might be speaking directly to him. he straightens, brushing nonexistent dust from his suit, trying to recover some kind of dignity that was never really there to begin with. βcool.. y-yeah. that was, umβ¦ intentionalβ ..obviously.β
his mask does nothing to hide the flush creeping up his neck. he clears his throat, looks out instead.
new york stretches in front of him like something waking up slowly, reluctantly, beautifully. windows flicker to life one by one, traffic emerges into existence in uneven waves, voices rise from sidewalks and drift upward in pieces that donβt quite connect. someone laughs from an open window. someone argues three floors down. somewhere, a dog barks like itβs announcing the sun itself.
itβs overwhelming in a way that never quite fades. itβs everything at once. and somehow, impossibly, itβs his. not in a way he can claim out loud. not in a way that feels earned. but in the quiet spaces between movement and stillness, in the moments where no one is looking, it settles into him like something that recognizes him back.
outside, heβs a blur. something people point at with half certainty, phones raised like proof matters more than experience.
βdid you see thatβ?β
βno, thatβs gotta be fakeββ
βi swear he was right thereββ
he hears it sometimes, words carried up to him, tangled in the rush of wind and adrenaline. it makes him grin, sharp and fleeting, even as his stomach flips at the thought of being seen too clearly.
because then thereβs you.
and your world is smaller, softer around the edges, contained in the steady hum of fluorescent lights and the quiet persistence of routine. the coffee machine sputters like itβs thinking about quitting before you do. the shelves never sit quite right no matter how many times you fix them. the clock moves in slow, stubborn increments, like it resents being watched.
you exist in a space that doesnβt ask too much of you, and maybe thatβs why he keeps coming back. the bell above the door rings, sharp against the stillness, a sigh filling the silence before youβre speaking. you look up mid sentence.
βif youβre here for the lottery tickets, the machineβsββ you stop when you see him. hoodie pulled low, like it might hide the way he carries himself. his curls peek out anyway, unruly, unbothered by whatever effort he put into taming them. thereβs a tension in his posture.
like heβs used to arriving just a second too late.
ββbroken,β you finish, quieter now. he blinks at you, caught off guard in a way that feels almost practiced. βoh. uh. thatβs okay, i wasnβtβ i mean, i didnβt come for that,β he says quickly, words tripping over each other like theyβre trying to escape. βnot that i come here for specific things, i mean i do, just notβ not likeββ
you tilt your head, not unkind, just curious, and itβs enough to make him deflate slightly under the weight of being perceived. ββ¦hi,β he tries again, softer this time. and it does land.
βhi, izuku.β it does something to him, every single time. something quiet and grounding, like you reached into the noise that follows him everywhere and pulled out a piece of stillness just for him to stand in.
he lingers longer than he means to.
βyou ever think about quitting?β you ask one night, voice light but not careless, eyes fixed on something other than him. he frowns slightly. βquitting what?β
you shrug, scanning an item that doesnβt need scanning, the beep filling space that doesnβt actually need filling. βwhatever keeps you coming in here looking like you got whooped by a semi truck?β
he chokes on a laugh, shoulders hunching like he can fold himself smaller around it. βi wouldnβtβ i mean, i might, but thatβs notββ
βizuku.β
you donβt raise your voice, and you donβt really have to. he stills like something in him recognized the moment before he did, breath catching, fingers curling slightly against the counter as whatever he was about to say dissolves into something more honest.
ββ¦no,β he says finally, quieter, the word settling heavier than he expected. βi donβt think about quitting.β
βwhy not?β he looks at you like heβs measuring something invisible, like heβs trying to calculate how much truth he can hand you without it breaking under its own weight. βb-because if i did..β he says slowly, βi think iβd start seeing all the things i didnβt doβ a-all the times i couldβve been there and wasnβt..β
the words linger, the tap from his finger against the counter of your register pressing into the space between you. you nod, like it makes sense in a way that doesnβt need explaining. to say you were left speechless was more of an understatement than itβs full truth might be. not that it was awkward, but you didnβt know what to say to that. like saying the wrong thing might jeopardize anything adjacent to knowing what might be really going on with him. βyeah,β you giggle. βthat does sound like you.β
god, that was the silliest thing you couldβve said.
it scares him a little. how easy it is to exist here. not simple, never that, but clear in a way the rest of his life refuses to be.
later, when the city pulls him back into itself, it does so without any kind of warning. a shout from four blocks over, the crack of something breaking, the kind of silence that follows that isnβt really silence at all.
and he moves before he thinks, his body already in motion, web catching, feet leaving the ground like gravity is something negotiable.
βokay, okay, assess situation first, donβt rush in, donβtββ
he rounds the corner mid swing and there it is. a robbery going wrong in the way they always do. he lands harder than he intends to, knees bending to absorb it, heart hammering against his ribs like itβs trying to get ahead of him.
βh-hey!β he calls, voice pitching slightly higher than he wants. he clears his throat, tries again. βhey, um, i think maybe we should all justβ¦ take a second? breathe? maybe put theβ the weapon down?β
they only stare at him. of course they do.
he shifts his weight, hands lifting in a gesture thatβs meant to be reassuring and probably isnβt. βright. um. new planββ it escalates anyway, but he adapts.
later, much later, when itβs over and the city has swallowed the aftermath like it always does, he finds himself back above it all, perched at the edge of something high enough to feel separate again.
his mask is still on, but he pushes it up just enough to breathe easier, cool air hitting skin thatβs still too warm. his fingers flex, aching faintly. his shoulders carry the weight of everything he hasnβt processed yet.
he should keep moving. he knows that. thereβs always something else, always somewhere else to be.
but he doesnβt right away. because somewhere below, between flickering lights and uneven shelves and a door that chimes every time it opens, thereβs a voice that says his name like it belongs in the daylight. like it isnβt something fragile he has to hide. like it can exist without the weight of everything else pressing down on it.
he pulls his mask back into place, breath evening out behind it. one step back.. then another. he runs. no, leaps.
he falls, and catches himself the way he always does. and as the city rises to meet him, loud and endless and unfinished.
and somehow, impossibly, in the spaces between everything else, itβs starting to feel like it belongs to him when not a lot does. not even the monopoly over his feelings on you. he wanted.. whatever it was about you that kept him so centered in a world it was easy to lose balance, to stay put just long enough he get get a hold of it. a hold of you.
izuku midoriya does not know where you live. he thinks about it more than he should.
not in a way that feels invasive, not in a way he lets himself linger on too long, but in passing moments that catch him off guard. like when heβs perched somewhere high, scanning windows lit gold against the dark, and his mind drifts just enough to wonder which one might be yours.
he never follows the thought to the end. he doesnβt let himself. because knowing would mean crossing something he isnβt sure heβs allowed to touch. so instead, he memorizes what he can.
your schedule, not in a calculated way, but in the way repetition becomes familiarity before you realize itβs happening. the rhythm of your shifts, the small variations in your tone depending on the hour, the way you lean against the counter when itβs quiet like youβve carved out a pocket of stillness just for yourself.
he learns the details that exist in the open. the rest, he leaves alone. it makes the space between you feel⦠intentional. like something carefully maintained.
he starts coming in less like an accident and more like a habit.
the bell above the door rings and you glance up, already expecting him without expecting him, if that makes any sense at all. βyouβre late,β you say one evening, not looking up from the register.
he stops mid step. βiβ whatβ no iβm not,β he says, immediately defensive in a way that doesnβt hold any real weight. βi donβt have a time, thereβs no setββ
you finally look at him, one eyebrow lifting just slightly. he deflates.
β..m-maybe iβm a little late,β he admits, quieter now, stepping up to the counter like he always does, like thereβs a mark on the floor only he can see. βbut onlyβ b-by, like, five minutes. may-maybe six. which isnβt that bad, β¦statistically speaking.β
βstatistically?β you echo, amused. βyeah, i mean, if you factor in, umβ¦ variables,β he gestures vaguely, like that explains anything. βexternal influences. unforeseen circumstances.β
βlike what?β he pauses.
ββ¦traffic,β he says. you stare at him. he winces. you hum softly, not unkind. βyouβre getting worse at lying,β you tell him.
βi.. wasnβt lying,β he insists, then hesitates. ββ¦i was justβ¦ omitting some details!β
βthatβsβ¦ thatβs lying.β
ββ¦yeah,β he sighs. you slide a bottle of water across the counter toward him without asking if he wants it. he blinks at it, then at you. βyou look like you need it,β you say simply. he does. he hadnβt realized it until you said it.
ββ¦thanks,β he murmurs, fingers brushing yours for half a second as he takes it, the contact brief but enough to make something in his chest stutter. he unscrews the cap, takes a sip, then another.
βone of those long nights again, izu?β you ask. he huffs out a quiet laugh, leaning his weight onto the counter, a rush of red up his neck and heβs prays itβs something only god can see.
βs-s.. something like that,β he replies, gaze dropping to the surface between you. βit wasβ¦ a lot of running. and, umβ¦ falling. controlled falling,β he adds quickly, like the distinction matters. βmostly.β
βmostly,β you repeat. βyou ever think about taking a night off?β you ask after a moment, tone softer now, less teasing. he doesnβt answer right away. his fingers tap lightly against the bottle, an uneven rhythm that betrays something quieter underneath. ββ¦i donβt think iβd know what to do with it,β he admits finally. you nod like you expected that.
βyou could stay,β you say, almost absentmindedly, like the thought just passed through and you decided to let it exist out loud. βfor a little while. itβs dead tonight anyway.β
ββ¦yeah?β he asks. βyeah.β itβs simple. it always is with you. he stays.
it becomes a thing after that. he comes in, sometimes a little breathless, sometimes quieter than usual, most times talking too much because he doesnβt know how not to fill the space when heβs nervous.
you let him. you match him where he is. some nights you talk. about nothing, about everything, about things that donβt matter and things that almost do.
he learns the shape of your silence the same way he learned the cityβs like itβs not something to fix, just something to sit in.
outside, he is still a blur. a flicker of movement between buildings, a streak against the skyline, a presence people argue about like uncertainty makes it less real.
inside, with you, he is slower. more himself, in a way that feels almost unfamiliar.
one night, he comes in and stops just inside the door, like he forgot what he was there for. and you notice immediately.
βhey,β you say, softer than usual. βyou okay?β he nods too quickly. βyeah. yeah, iβm fine. i justββ he trails off, hands curling slightly at his sides like heβs trying to hold onto something that wonβt stay still. βit- it was close tonight. closer than.. usual.β
you donβt ask what that means. and you donβt need to. you step out from behind the counter anyway, closing the distance without making it a big thing.
he tenses at first, only for a second. then he lets himself not.
he exhales, shoulders dropping like the weight of that single fact finally settled somewhere he could feel it. you hover there for a second, close enough that he notices, not close enough to overwhelm.
your hand lifts, hesitates just slightly, then settles against his sleeve near his wrist.
his breath catches, subtle but real. he doesnβt pull away. β..is this okay?β you ask, giving him the space to say no. he nods, a little slower this time.
βy-yeaβ he says. βit is.β and it is. itβs small. itβs nothing, technically. but it lingers, even long after he leaves.
later, when heβs back above the city, the wind loud in his ears and the skyline stretching endless in front of him, something feels different.
and itβs not in a way he can point to, only enough to notice. when he pauses at the edge of a building, looking out over a hundred windows lit against the dark, each one holding a life heβll never fully know.
he doesnβt wonder which one is yours this time. itβs enough to know youβre out there somewhere in it.
ββ¦alright,β he murmurs to himself, softer now. then he pulls his mask into place, steps back, and lets himself fall forward into the open air, catching himself a second later like he always does.
only now, thereβs something else threaded into it, and it isnβt just responsibility. not just instinct either.
itβs extravagantly warmer. something that feels, dangerously, like he has somewhere to return to... someone.
taglist : @coralbluess @emeraldb954801 (sorry for repost π)
this is a repost but LMK IF U GUYS WANT MORE PARTS and gives suggestions on where i can take this bc iβm struggling π₯Ή this is some half assed writing iβm so sorry guys. also tell me if u wanna be added to the tag list
Hihi I love your gachiakuta texts !!π€ This isn't a req but I have a little question, may I know which app you use for the texts? Thanks in advance ^^
OF COURSE!!! thank you so much!!! π₯Ή to be extremelyyyy honest.. i thought using just the messages app on my iphone would look the most realistic so thatβs what i do πi text myself and delete the doubled messages depending on who is talking LMFAO i can go more in depth if that doesnβt make sense but thatβs all i do!!!
