#I’m job hunting again but man I hope something comes up quick so I can just quit

[snailsfall]

I can’t sleep because I keep getting myself worked up over all the shitty things in my life and I can’t even talk about it to anyone because I have no one to talk like that with, but man my job is killing me and I’m on the verge of just giving up man

[klausinamarink]

klausi!! 🤍 i wanna bombard you with all these prompts but!!

91 "Don’t go on that date.” “Why?” “You know why.” “Say it." and/or 12 "I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.”

or

64 "Can I hold your hand?” and/or 79 "i like being close to you. you’re warm."

am i being too demanding :/ feel free to ignore this mwah! 🫶

dio!!! omg so great to hear from you! And don’t you worry you’re not demanding! these prompts are fantastic and I hope I did them justice for you 🫡 hope you can excuse the slight length and lateness

—

Steve loves Eddie.

It’s a fact as obvious as the monsters underneath everyone’s feet that haunted his sleeping state for years. It’s the truth that he has since accepted as part of something under his heart and bones, but is well too aware that if released, it can be ugly for everyone else.

Even with Robin, Steve just knows that if he even mumbles a fucking vowel, her first reaction would be, “Eddie would not like you.”

Okay, that’s just disrespectful to his platonic soulmate. Her first reaction would definitely be happy gasping, begging for details, using his love advice against him and strike multiple tally marks on the YOU RULE whiteboard.

But everyone else? Yeah, Steve can already see the disgust and contempt on their faces.

It would hurt more if Eddie’s one of them.

But fuck it. Steve’s always been the ‘rip the bandaid off’ kind of guy, especially when it comes to crushes. That’s why he’s going to tell Eddie first, future heartbreak and emotional breakdown be damned.

So here he is: driving down the road to the countryside that’s more farmland than actual farmhouses to the new Munson home.

And just as if the gods are giving him pity, Eddie’s already in the long driveway, leading Lucky out of the horse trailer.

It had surprised everyone that Eddie’s new job post-Vecna was a farmhand for a nearby horse ranch. But there’s not really a lot of other positions in Hawkins that would accept a falsely accused man who now hates the town even more for the witch hunt. The ranch on the other hand hadn’t cared much about Eddie’s history and had been quick to hire him for training shortly after the move.

Steve parks on the roadside just front of the house. Eddie seems too attentive with Lucky to notice his car yet, a gloved hand always petting the horse’s snout as he gently pulls the reins to the direction of the massive yard. Eddie has a gentle smile on his face, the one where the dimples show and gives him a little glow to the face.

It makes Steve smile too.

Eddie just looks so much happier. 

He takes a deep breath and gets out of the car, the chilly November air and horse stink welcoming him. That snaps Eddie’s attention towards him, the smile breaking into a grin.

“Steve!” He cries out with a quick wave. Lucky gives a rather loud snort in greeting. 

“Hey, Eds.” Steve waves back before jerking a chin up to the golden-brown horse as he walks up. “Taking Lucky to a timeout again?”

Eddie snorts, shaking his head, “I swear this horse either likes me more or he’s being a bastard on purpose for his owners.”

Apparently, out of all of the horses in the ranch, Lucky is the more “devil’s child” (which Eddie had described with a voice of an old Texas man). Steve hasn’t witnessed the actions himself, but the stories range from nipping other horses to clomping the front of a vehicle into smithereens for no reason except for an undisclosed hatred to the human race.

So predictably, Eddie is one of the very few humans who have the privilege to be Lucky’s close friends. 

(“Honestly, I think this horse is an agent from the Upside Down. Steve, listen to me. I’ve faced a hoard of demobats but that horse scares me.” Eddie tells him one afternoon, just a week after being the new ranch hire. Steve listens to it all, but his eyes are on the ever wild gestures and lit cigarette dangerously close to burning his hair.

“If you’re afraid of it, then hasn’t it like,” Steve makes his best impression of a horse stomping someone to death.

Eddie snorts, taking a drag of his cigarette. “I guess I’m a braver motherfucker than I thought or Lucky just likes me better than the normal folk.”

I like you better too. Way more than the whole town. It’s not Steve’s first thought and it’s far from the last one he wishes to say alo.)

As Eddie leads Lucky alongside the fence of the pasture, Steve follows from behind, keeping a very safe distance from Lucky and his back legs of severe injury. Then Eddie opens the gate, letting Lucky run into the pasture. 

Steve puts his arms on the fence, watching the horse gallop around and kicking up dirt clouds. He looks over at Eddie, who’s mirroring him but his gaze is on Steve. He smiles again, making Steve’s heart do a double flip.

“What is it?” Steve asks.

Eddie doesn’t answer. He only shuffles closer until their sides are pressing to each other. Then he tucks his chin onto Steve’s shoulder, his nose brushing the cheek. “I like being close to you. You’re warm.” Eddie finally says in a hushed voice like he’s sharing a secret.

Steve almost says it.

He almost tells Eddie, “I love you.”

But the words don’t come out. They feel blocked in his mouth. Like there’s one last gate to go through and Steve can’t find the key for it. It feels like he’s back in high school, fresh faced and still navigating the brutal castle that would chew him up and spit him out.

It feels frustrating that when the perfect opportunity for the confession is literally leaning against him, he can’t say it.

He’s scared now. That he’ll spit it out like an afterthought or say something like “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified” and have Eddie push him under Lucky’s hooves of death. 

Eddie’s still looking at him. His eyes are hooded but cautious. He looks vulnerable. With the rays of sunlight still shining behind him, he looks beautiful.

Steve glances down at their hands. They hang limp over the fence, their pinkies barely touching. He swallows and says in a similar hushed voice, “Can I hold your hand?”

Eddie’s expression warms, his smile turning more tender. He takes off his gloves and slowly wraps his hand around Steve’s. His palm feels too smooth and sweaty with his pulse going wild. 

It’s honestly perfect.

“This okay?” Eddie whispers.

Steve resists the urge to pinch between his eyebrows, hoping to blink away the sudden tears. “Yeah.”

Later, he would finally tell Eddie the three blessed words.

[entropical-punch]

Winterkill

I know I haven’t posted in a while, but I found this piece in my drafts and figured I’d stop worrying about it and just let y’all read it. I might go back and finish it at some point, but who knows. Regardless, enjoy!

Warnings: Stalking, non/con, implied kidnapping, threats of and actual violence.

Your side had been losing for a while now.

It was stupid to go up against the Tsaritsa anyway, but your people had hope. Your little outcrop of adventurers, with more spirit than supplies, had barely stepped foot in Szneznaya before the Fatui were on to you. The plan was to sneak across the border, destroy a base or two, and leave, only coming back to do it again once the coast was clear. Of course, the coast was never going to be clear. 

Some of your companions fell to frostbite. Others were captured by the Fatui, too slow to escape their clutches. Your last friend left the camp to hunt for food, and they never came back. If they screamed out for help, or let out a wail of anguish, you would not have been able to hear it over the roar of the wind, the sting of the snow.

Now, it was just you, and as you stared into the pitiful dregs of your fire, fighting as hard as you were to stay alive, the last one of your group, you could barely hold onto hope.

You were about to drift into an anxious sleep when you heard something behind you. A twig snapped, or a flask dropped, whatever it was didn’t matter.  Something had made an impact in the snow despite the blanket of quietness it cast around you. 

That something was a tall, imposing figure, his blank blue eyes and red hair looking all too familiar to you. Here was the eleventh Harbinger, standing before you, dwarfing your shivering form.

"I've been following you and your little militia for days now. I'm surprised any of you lasted this long, but I'm glad you're the last one left. You've been my favorite to watch." His smile curled upwards, tongue darting out to lick a spot of blood on the edge of his mouth.

Your hand is desperate to curl around the hilt of your sword. You shift from looking at him to your bag, wondering if you could possibly grab something, anything, to defend yourself from this man.

"Oh, I wouldn't do that if I were you, buddy."

You looked back up at him, only to find the head of an arrow pointed right at your face, notched and a single movement away from ending everything. 

"You look terrified. Oh, I'm so jealous of whatever agents got to your group first. They must've had a lot of fun leading the welcome party, huh?"

Arrow still aimed at you, he crouches down.

"Truth be told, I was only a few steps behind them. Your group looked interesting, might even put up a halfway-decent fight. And then a couple of you fell, but you didn't. I could practically smell the anger radiating off of you, how excited you were to fight for what you believed in. And then you and your party retreated! You ran away! And, well, I couldn't just let you go like that. So, I've been tracking you all for a while, waiting for my chance to really get to know you. And then, your last companion walked away, and, well, let's just say they won't be coming back."

It's this moment when you where the blood on the edge of his mouth came from, what was crusting the tip of the arrow too close to your eyes.

You can barely choke out your question.

"Why are you doing this?"

His eyes widen a little.

"You're trying to overthrow the Tsaritsa, and you didn’t think I was just going to leave it alone, did you? It’s my job,” he said, putting down his bow and leaning towards you, his face close enough for you to get a hit in, but his dull stare had you paralyzed. "Try to make this fun for me, okay?” He lunges towards you, pushing you into the freezing cold below.

His breath comes out in quick, heavy pants, falling on your throat and making your skin heat up. 

“You put up such a fight,” he said, tongue ghosted over your jugular, his canines coming dangerously close to ripping you open, blood staining the snow below you scarlet.

Maybe that’s what he wanted. If he had been hunting you down for as long as he said, he’s been waiting for you. Humans are endurance hunters, after all.

“Can’t believe I finally caught you,” disbelief and yearning combining into one sentence that made your heart beat faster. His hands gripped at your jacket, ripping open the seams and yanking it down, biting down hard on your exposed shoulder. 

You hold back a cry, not wanting him to know how humiliated you felt under him.

“Aw, that’s no fun,” he murmured. “I wanna hear you scream. You know there’s no one around to hear you.”

He wrapped his hand around your throat and squeezed. 

Black dots danced at the edge of your vision, mouth hanging open in a desperate attempt to suck in as much air as you could. He was pressing hard enough to crush your windpipe.

Just when you felt yourself on the brink of passing out, he took his hand away, watching you gasp and sputter.

When you finally caught your breath, he was still looking at you, his smile too big for his face. His hand came down to his crotch, where you could see his cock straining the front of his pants. As he pulled down his zipper, you wanted to back away, grab whatever you could and run.

But you couldn't. Who knows how badly he would've squeezed you if you tried. You had been too consumed with your feeble plans of escape that you didn't notice he had taken the hunting knife from your friend and was now holding it dangerously close to the space between your legs. You didn't even get a chance to beg before he took the knife to the rest of your clothes, effortlessly shredding through wool and cotton to expose you to the frigid air.

"I think it's time I take my prize, yeah?" He said, lining himself up with your entrance.

He thrust himself in and moved wildly, in an uncoordinated rhythm highlighted by his ragged breathing, every exhale putting an uncomfortable heat on your throat.

You stayed silent, despite the torture.

"I said I wanted to hear you scream." He stopped moving, pulling away to look at you.

He grabbed the knife again. 

"Let me explain. If you scream out who's taking you right now, if you call me by my title, I won't cut you open like prey and leaves your guts for the scavengers. You know who I am, right?"

You nod, saying, “You’re, you’re, Tartaglia.”

“Damn right,” he huffed, moving faster and faster inside of you, hands gripping and bruising your skin. “You feel so good, too good to leave behind.”

You tense up as he finishes, standing back up to readjust his clothes.

“Get dresses, soldier. You’re my personal Fatui agent now, and there’s a lot I’ll need you to do.”

[yes-i-have-thoughts]

Blood and Roses (FAITH AU)

1

2

3

4

“Whatcha doin’, Mark?”

Sarah’s voice snapped her brother out of his thoughts. The ten-year-old stared at him, her eyes still full of wonder for her “cool older brother” even at the age where she should start detesting the adults around her.

“Nothing, Srook.” Mark flipped the booklet in front of him closed and ruffled his sister’s short blonde hair. “Just making note of something.”

Sarah batted her brother’s hands away from her hair and gave him a playful glare. He shook his head with a small smile.

“Sarah, stop bothering your brother and get ready for soccer.” The two’s mother flicked her spoon at them like she was wagging her finger. “Mark, finish your writing. And stop distracting your sister.”

“Wh–I’m just sitting here!”

“I don’t wanna go to soccer,” Sarah whined over her brother’s arguing.

“You are going to play soccer whether you like it or not, young lady.” Their mom stood up, dumped out her bowl of now flavoured milk and put it beside the sink. “I won’t have you being lazy all summer like your brother.”

“I’m going to look for a job!”

“Uh huh. Sarah, upstairs, now!”

Sarah whined again as she started up the stairs. Mark ran his fingers through his hair. “Look, mom, I am going to start looking.”

“It took you a year to get your driver’s licence. Who’s to say a job will be any easier for you?”

He bristled. “That’s not fair–”

“You’re a slow learner. I’ve heard it all before. Do you know what your problem really is?”

Mark rolled his eyes. Here we go. “I’m lazy.”

“Sloth is a sin, Mark Healthcliff.”

“Yes, I know.”

“And yet you laze about anyway.”

“I’m not–love of god.”

“Don’t use the lord’s name in vain.”

He was starting to lose his patience. “Mom, I promise, I’m not trying to be lazy. I’m doing my best with school and stuff, okay?”

“Don’t you take that tone of voice with me, young man!”

Mark winced and hunched his shoulders, mumbling an apology. His mom crossed her arms and pinned him with a glare before going to the stairwell. “Sarah, are you ready yet?!”

“I’m COMING!!”

“I gotta start getting that girl up early,” their mother whispered to Mark. Still bristling internally, Mark didn’t respond.

Sarah was bouncing down the stairs a few minutes later, dragging a large red bag behind her. “Mom, can Mark drive me to soccer practice today? Pretty please?”

“No, I’m taking you. He’s job hunting today.”

“What? But moooom!”

“She’s right, for once.” Mark leaned back in his chair, meeting his sister’s eyes. “I’m trying to get an interview somewhere.”

Sarah grumbled something under her breath, then smiled brightly at her mother when she gave her a suspicious look. She ditched her red bag to dart over and give her brother a quick hug before heading out the door. Their mother left some last-minute orders before she left: wash the dishes, do your laundry and clean your room if you’re not going to be on the phone all day.

Mark drummed his fingers on the table until they left, then grabbed the book he’d been writing in and headed to his room. The dishes and everything else could wait. Something more important was nagging at his mind.

He was up late last night, waiting for Cesar to return from whatever had scared him. He’d been incredibly vague about it, which wasn’t like him at all. He’d put the phone down somewhere, likely speaker-down; and then it’d been hung up without a word. Maybe he thought that since he had been away for so long that Mark hung up first? Should he have said something?

In any case, he should’ve called him back. Here’s hoping it’s not too late.

Calling the phone in Cesar’s room got him nothing, so he tried the house phone. His mother picked up almost instantly. “Hello?”

“Hi, Mrs. Torres, it’s Mark. Is Cesar around?”

Cesar’s mother hesitated for a moment. “No, I…Haven’t seen him since last night. He’s not at your house?”

“No, but he called me last night.”

“What did he say to you?”

Oh man. From the tone of her voice, either Cesar was in big trouble or he was about to be if Mark said too much. “Not a whole lot, just that he was going to check on something. He asked me not to hang up on him.”

Cesar’s mother’s voice broke when she spoke next. “Oh my god.”

“What’s going on?”

“Mark, he hasn’t been home since he came back from the graduation party. He was acting so odd, but he said it was because the others were smoking something…”

There was a long silence between them. There was a soft sniff from the other end before Cesar’s mom hung up the phone. Mark uneasily put his own down.

Cesar has either been kidnapped or ran away, and he was the last one to hear from him. But what he heard wasn’t going to be the slightest bit helpful.

What had happened to him? How was he supposed to help any investigation? If Cesar did take off, why call Mark and then never respond?

The phone ringing again startled him out of his thoughts and he picked it up, hoping against logical reason that Cesar was somehow on the other end. “Hello?”

“Greetings, Mark Heathcliff. I heard that you had been job hunting. Well, we have a job for you. Come to this address…”

–

"House cleaning pays well," Summer said. "I had that as a job last summer."

"I guess." Mark hunched his shoulders, feeling a little foolish about complaining now. "But I just…I don't know. I feel weird about this."

"So they knew your name and phone number! Big deal! God, you're so paranoid sometimes."

Ruby swatted the back of her older sister's head. "Lay off, Summer."

"What, Cesar's not here to defend him anymore so now you're doing it?"

"Shut up!"

Summer laughed and raised her hands to get away from the redhead's onslaught. "Alright, Jesus! I'll stop!"

"Where are they sending you, anyway?”  Ruby asked, turning to Mark.

He shrugged. “Some place on the edge of the county, I think. I’ve never heard the address before.”

“How much will you be making?”

“Ten bucks an hour.”

“Well over minimum wage, then!” Summer grinned. “Good for you! Hey, maybe I should track down this person myself and try to get the job.”

“Great idea! Then you can get lured out to the edge of town and get murdered too.”

Summer laughed. “That probably would happen, yeah. A pretty young thing like me?”

A well-loved red van pulled up to the sidewalk the three were standing at. Summer waved at the driver and turned to Mark. “Well, I’m off to check out the campus. Good luck with your job.”

“Tell your sister I said–HI!”

Ruby squeaked when her sister yanked on her arm, dragging her towards the back door of the van. The two had a small playfight before Summer ran around the back of the van to the passenger side door and jumped in when the van driver opened the door for her.

The van tore off in a cloud of gravel dirt. Mark shook his head before turning back towards home.

His mind kept turning, cycling through two different points. Cesar up and vanishing and his upcoming job at a very strange address. Were the two points connected, or was he overthinking it?

God, he wanted to figure it out with someone. But the person he usually calls about overthinking moments is gone.

[sukirichi]

— there’s always a price to pay when you get your hands on a work of art.

PAIRING: tattoo! artist megumi x reader

REQUEST. tattoo artist au + mutual pining + size kink, praise kink, thigh riding + reader is shorter than megumi and isn’t shy 

WARNINGS: feral megumi, scratching, vaginal sex, size kink, praise kink, mature content, slight overstimulation, sexual tension lol, unedited story

NOTES: ah thank you so much for this request, I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Here is my third contribution for FERAL MEGUMI FRIDAYS! and oh wow tattoo artist megumi uh no thoughts head empty

WC: 5.4k+

The tattoo saloon loomed over you, the neon signs almost blinding in the darkness. You could feel your heart pick up its pace in your chest as you hitched your bag up higher, the excitement settling in your toes. Mustering up the brightest smile you could have, you cleared your throat and pushed the door open, the tiny bell on top jingling to signal your arrival.

Your eyes roamed around the walls covered with intricate drawings, the leather seats dark and kept in pristine. Now that was rare – your leather couches always wore out in just a few weeks.

Making your way inside, grip on your sling bag still tight, you bit your lip as you peaked behind the counter. Empty. No one was there, and the nearby opened rooms were empty as well. Scratching your head, you scrunched your nose in confusion. You were sure you got the right place.

With a heavy sigh, you turned to leave, then stopped in your tracks when a dark-haired man exited a door you hadn’t even noticed at first.

He was tall – taller than you; his arms stretched until the sleeves of his black hoodie were pulled down, revealing a sliver of black tattoos that marked his skin. Upon hearing your awed gasp, his cold blue eyes fluttered to yours, the man – who was absolutely handsome despite his frown – froze in his spot.

You waved a hand to him, your smile bigger than ever. “Hi!” So you would be working with this cute guy? Maybe job-hunting wasn’t such a bad experience, after all.

“Hey,” he drawled out hesitantly, approaching you with his ink stained fingers pointed at you. He was still frowning, which was a damn shame, since you were sure he’d look even hotter if he smiled. “So...you’re Y/N.”

“Yeah!”

“And you...” he tilted his head to the side, inquisitive eyes studying your form. You would’ve felt conscious with the way his brows furrowed, eyes unreadable and lips pressed into a thin line, but you were sure you dressed to impress on your first interview. You admitted, however, that maybe wearing a white collared shirt with a pink tennis skirt made you stand out like a sore thumb in the heaviness of the studio. “...want to be a front desk man here?”

“Yeah!”

“What makes you think you’re qualified for this?” he crossed his arms on his chest, and you didn’t miss the slight bite of his voice. So he was handsome – but cranky. Great. “You don’t look like you fit in here.”

“Judging someone’s appearance and inferring that it has any relation to their credentials isn’t such a professional thing to do, you know,” you raised your chin proudly, jutting a pointer finger to his chest. He clearly didn’t expect this because he scowled and took a step back, while you fought the grin that threatened to paint your face. “Would you like it if people told you that you’re not qualified to be a lawyer because of your tattoos and piercings?”

He scoffed, “I don’t want to be a lawyer. As you can see, I’m a tattoo artist. And to answer your question, no, I don’t give a fuck what people think about me.”

“I can tell,” you muttered to yourself before smiling back up at him. He was too easy to read; his brow quivering and lips firm at your faux enthusiasm. “But yes, I do believe I’m qualified! I’m a fast learner and I’m even quick on my feet! I’m really good at talking to people too so I believe I can help schedule client appointments really well and guide them with this whole process.”

“Being front desk man doesn’t mean serving the clients tea and biscuits.”

“I know.”

“You know?” he snorted with a roll of his eyes. He then gestured you to follow him all the way back to the front desk. You expected he’d teach you about how to handle the appointment books or pick up phone calls, but instead he plopped down on the leather couch of the waiting area, his legs crossed on top of the other.

Your eyes followed the patch of pale skin exposed from his ripped jeans before you looked away, not wanting him to see that you found him attractive despite his less than welcoming personality.

“What exactly do you know about this industry?”

“Nothing, to be honest, but I’m not here to be a tattoo artist or anything. I just really need a job and I assure you I’ve got plenty of experience and knowledge when it comes to manning front desks or counters,” you stated confidently, “I know I look out of place, but I really need this job.”

The man only narrowed his eyes at you. Contemplation was written all over his face, probably wondering why you couldn’t just work somewhere else. “Why come here, of all places?”

“Because it’s the only one that has a flexible schedule,” you sighed, “I can’t work shifts anymore because I’m too busy at university. From when I talked to your boss – Geto, was it? – he said that the salon was open 24/7 and I could work until before my classes start. He’s not really strict about that kind of thing.”

“So you mean to tell me,” he leaned forwards, looping his fingers with one another while his ice cold gaze slithered over your desperate ones. “You’ll be at university for half the day, sleep until midnight, and then come here to work and attend class a few hours later? Isn’t your schedule a little irregular?”

“Oh no, it’s not like that! I also have mock classes after uni and it lasts until late at night, then I help clean at the local shelter. They’re running out of volunteers and the dogs are really adorable and take my stress away so...I make sure to come by when I have time.”

“You are one odd creature,” he noted loudly, almost as if he wasn’t completely aware he vocalized his thoughts. Well, at least now you knew he wasn’t the type to think his words over, which either made him more entertaining – or insufferable the longer you worked with him – if you began working anyway. “You could’ve used your spare time to rest. Do you even eat?”

“Yeah, I have a granola bar right now with me! I actually brought two,” you pulled out the snack from your bag, “You want some? I only got the oats, though.”

“Keep it to yourself,” he rolled his eyes, slapping his hands over his knees before rummaging over something behind the counter. “Fine. If Geto said he’s okay with you, then you’re hired.”

“Really, that easy?” your eyes widened, but then you chuckled when this strange man glared at you in response. He sighed as he pulled out a piece of paper, a pen on top of it. The papers read something about application forms and credentials, and you beamed, happily writing your information away with a slight bounce in your toes.

Unable to keep your happiness to yourself, you looked back at the bored man, wiggling your eyebrows playfully. “Huh. I was kind of expecting you would grill me – you’ve got that scary look in your eye. Let me guess, you often scare clients off?”

It seemed he could never get tired of glaring at you, because his eyes fuelled with heat as he leaned against the wall.

You hated to admit that he looked ridiculously handsome like that – the guy wasn’t even doing anything remotely attractive in the first place!

“I’m the most booked artist here, and I ask that you don’t get too comfortable with me. You haven’t even started working here and you’re already riling up on my train,” he groaned when you merely laughed in response. He made quick work of signing something in your form before handing you a key. “Here’s for your locker. Come to work tomorrow. Geto won’t be around for a week so I’ll be the one judging your performance. If you fuck up in the slightest – I won’t hesitate to fire you, you understand? We always have Yuuji coming around anyway, you’re really not that needed for the front desk.”

“Oh,” you nodded at his harshness, unsure whether to feel threatened or amused. “O-okay. I’ll do my best then. I look forward to you – ah, wait, what’s your name?”

“Fushiguro Megumi.”

“Oh, that’s a pretty name,” you muttered to yourself, uttering his name over and over again until it rolled smoothly on your tongue. “Shame you have a shitty attitude along with that handsome face, though.”

“You trying to say something?”

You faced him, about to laugh when he scowled at your not-so-subtle comments. Waving your hands to him, you made your way out the door, your smile only irritating him further. “No, I wasn’t. I’ll be taking my leave then – see you tomorrow!”

Seems like working in a tattoo studio wouldn’t be so bad.

You came to work the next day early and pumped with adrenaline. The idea of meeting the moody tattoo artist caused you to be giggly and happy the whole day, not even feeling the exhaustion of a long day of hard work as you made your way inside the shop.

Clocking in at exactly two in the morning, you proudly tugged your name badge on top of your left breast, patting it for good luck.

The bells jingled, making you look away from your tag. “Good morning – oh, where’s Megumi?” The man standing in front of you was taller than Megumi, his head nearly knocking over the doorframe if it wasn’t for his poor, slouched lanky frame.

He had white hair that brushed atop his cerulean blue eyes, and your eyes widened because wow, he was beautiful.

“Hey, you must be Y/N! Megumi told me you came around yesterday but he didn’t tell me the counter girl was this pretty,” He was in front of you the next second, his nose nearly grazing over yours that had you leaning back into the wall for space. “Hmm...he didn’t tell me that at all.”

“Oh, thank you. You are...?”

“I’m Gojo Satoru, one of the senior artists here. Since Megumi isn’t here yet, let me give you a tour!” Before you could react, Satoru already had an arm wrapped around your shoulder, his other arm waving and pointing to all the hung paintings and labels on each door. You found it odd that he treated you like you were an old friend, but you weren’t going to complain. Nice co-workers were always welcomed.

“Here is the holding area where clients wait to get their session done. This is Geto’s studio and right next to that is his office where he does all the finances and all that jazz, while this is my studio. Cool, isn’t it?”

Your mouth fell ajar as Satoru led you inside his studio, the walls painted the same aquatic shade of his eyes, but what caught your attention was the galaxy themed tattoo designs he made. They came in different shapes – a volcano head, a dragon, a worm, a four-armed monster – but inside them were all galaxies with sparkling and burning stars. You could see everything and nothing all at the same time.

“Whoa, you made all this?!”

Satoru’s chest puffed out proudly, “Yeah, I did. I’m flattered by your reaction, I really am, but you haven’t seen Megumi’s yet. There’s a reason our salon boomed even though he’s only been working here for two years.”

At the mention of his name, your interest was piqued, all ears and curious smiles directed to Satoru. “Oh, can I see Megumi’s studio?”

“You can – if you book an appointment.”

“But I don’t plan on getting any tattoos,” you frowned.

“You’ll never get to see his work then,” he chuckled to himself, the sound growing louder when you visibly deflated. What was the point of getting your hopes up like that then? “Megumi doesn’t like letting others in his studio without permission or an appointment.”

“Why not?”

“He’s just iffy about it,” he shrugged, “Don’t bother trying to decode his personality anymore, Megumi’s very hard to understand. Though if I were to make sense of it...” he rubbed his chin, eyes looking out into the distance. “I guess you could say Megumi’s not the type to be showy when it comes to his work of art. Did that clear it up?”

You blinked back blankly. “No, not really. But it’s fine – I don’t plan on getting to know him anyway.”

That was the biggest lie of your life.

The moment Megumi came around a few minutes later, a loud groan upon your animated greeting over his arrival, your chest bloomed with a different kind of fluttery warmth. He rarely came out after that, clients swarming in to both his and Satoru’s studios, but each faint glimpse of his door cracking open that allowed you to see him focused as he worked, you could no longer deny the heat burning down your legs.

You crushed on the grumpy tattoo artist.

And the more you came around work, greeting him zealously and teasing him to no end that he’d look hotter if he smiled, your crush only intensified for him – completely unaware that he too, couldn’t get his thoughts off of you even with his door closed.

In fact, he kept his door closed all the time because your voice distracted him too much.

“Hey, Y/N, you free?”

You looked up from the textbook you were reviewing, slamming it shut when Satoru’s head peeked out from his studio. He was still wearing gloves with a pen between his fingers, most likely still in the middle of a session.

“Yep! We don’t have appointments yet and I’ve already closed it for non-appointees. Did you need me to get you something?”

“Yeah, could you get Megumi for me? He isn’t picking his phone up and one of our special clients are coming soon. I’m packed right now so I can’t fetch him. I’ll send you the address and you get him, yeah? Just open the counter if you need money for a cab.”

You blinked owlishly at him. On one side, you’d be more than glad to see Megumi again. He hadn’t arrived despite it being four in the morning already, and you were worried, but you also didn’t have his number to ask how he was doing. Progress with Megumi was...slow, to say the least.

He still holed himself up in his studio, coming out only for bathroom breaks, although you noticed a drastic improvement when he finally began to mutter an almost shy “good morning” under his breath for the past few weeks.

It wasn’t much, but you’d have to make do.

“Uhm, when is this client of his coming? Should I run...?”

“Yeah, you need to fucking run. They’re coming in an hour and a half!” Satoru exclaimed, flailing his hands around like a madman.

Even after working with him for some time, you still couldn’t believe the older man was practically a man child, even asking for head pats sometimes. He would lean down with a pout, using a squeaky voice to call your attention, which always succeeded in Megumi fake gagging before he locked himself inside his studio.

“Forwarded you his address. Really sorry for the inconvenience, Y/N!”

“It’s okay!” you jumped out of your seat in an instant, not bothering to take your name tag off anymore as you left the salon, hailing the nearest cab.

Megumi lived quite far from the salon, which had you wondering why he chose to work there when there were plenty of salons in his area too. His place looked shady, as well, his apartment in a high-rise building with endless graffiti and several drunk stragglers hooting for you.

You ignored them all, taking two steps at a time from his staircase, your hands on your knees as you panted for air. Why did he have to live on the tenth floor?

“Megumi! Megumi!” you banged your fist on the door, throat parched from your sudden cardio session. You were sure you burned ten calories just from that sprint, and you sighed in relief when Megumi swung the door open, still looking handsome – and sleep-deprived – as ever in his black shirt and black skinny jeans.

“What?” he demanded. After seeing that it was you, he quickly snatched a water bottle and passed it your way, closing his door behind him. “Y/N? What are you doing here? How’d you know where I live?”

“Satoru said you had a really important client. You weren’t picking your phone up so he sent me to come get you.”

“It’s my day off,” he grumbled, answering your silent questions, your worries dissipating into thin air. Once you’d satisfied yourself by basically dunking the entire bottle, Megumi rolled his eyes, his hands flat on the small of your back while he guided you downstairs. The sudden touch flamed your cheeks; a stupid smile on your face. You were shameless, though, leaning back closer to him in the darkness of the early morning. “Why does he send a girl out of all people?”

“Something wrong with that?”

“It’s unsafe. My neighbourhood isn’t the best and who knows what would’ve happened to you if some goons came out?” Megumi hailed for a back, surprising you when he let you get in first and paid for the fee despite your outstretched hand prepared with the bills. “I can’t believe Sukuna chose this day to come of all times. I can never get a damn break.”

“Sukuna?”

“A special client. He’s a really huge tipper and comes on odd schedules – I didn’t think he’d come now.”

“Yeah, I checked the papers and he wasn’t there,” you frowned to yourself.

Megumi pressed his head against the window, eyes closed as his chest heaved up and down rhythmically. With the sun slowly shining from behind you, the golden stretches of it outlined his sharp features you adored, and you rested your chin on your palms, eyelashes fluttering at his beauty. “You know, Megumi, you’re really pissy sometimes – but you’re quite nice, aren’t you? I’d say you were even worried for me.”

He cracked one eye open, those blue eyes still shining with irritation, but make no mistake since his ears were flushed red. “I’m not. I just don’t want to be involved in a police investigation if they find your body near here.”

“How sweet of you.”

“Shut up.”

You and Megumi were beginning to get closer. You couldn’t pinpoint where he started to grow more comfortable with you, but it was definitely there and it was painfully evident that even someone stupid like Satoru noticed the sexual between you two.

He would always sniff the air whenever you and Megumi sat next to each other during lunch breaks, a wide grin on your face while Megumi buried his face in his hands, groaning because he knew the moment Satoru opened his mouth, nothing but dumb comments would come out. And dumb comments they were; the white-haired man merciless as he teased Megumi for acting like a cute little kid around you.

You never took it to heart, though. It was Megumi you were talking about; he was hot and cold; sweet then distant from one moment then an entire person the next.

Not that you minded, it only added to your fuelling crush on him, but you couldn’t control the way your heart fluttered every time Satoru whispered that he did like you, excusing that Megumi just wasn’t the best with words. Apparently, Megumi had spent too much time holed up in his apartment and studio that he had zero to little knowledge on how to talk to pretty girls – especially one that was clearly attracted to him as well.

Satoru encouraged you to go for it – that you should confess or break the ice first otherwise Megumi would never do anything about his raging boner every time you came around.

You only flushed at his statement, but you couldn’t deny that you too felt the same way.

One morning where Satoru and Geto were out restocking supplies, you and Megumi were left alone in the salon. Of course, he still resorted in the comfort of his studio, muttering under his breath that he wanted to try some designs before disappearing. Only this time, he left the door slightly open, the lights peeking through the slight crack.

Walking up to him with muted footsteps, you leaned over his shoulder, glancing over a sketch of...you? “Are you drawing me?”

Megumi yelped at your voice right next to his ear, throwing the paper away on the other side of the room before glaring at you. You laughed at his reaction, because how was it possible he was both so criminally sexy yet adorable? He looked terribly gorgeous today, as well, wearing a short sleeved black hoodie and black sweatpants, looking so comfortable and boyfriend like – and you couldn’t even begin to express your appreciation over his new lip piercing.

“Why do you always sneak up on me?” he snapped, “Didn’t I tell you I wanted privacy?”

“Then why aren’t you pushing me away?”

Megumi sighed exasperatedly, turning back to organize his pencils before glaring at you. “What do you want? Got no one else to bother since Satoru isn’t around?”

“I just wanted to see your art,” you mentioned, but kept your eyes directed on him instead of the plethora of sketches and designs hanging from his wall as to not offend him. “Satoru told me to never come inside. He said you’re really...private when it comes to your works,” you furrowed your brows at the last part, feeling your heart beat pulse at your tongue.

It was now or never.

“Can I see your tattoos too?”

“Why do you want to see them?”

“A work of art on a canvas who’s also a work of art himself?” you finally gained confidence to tease him again, getting riled up further when Megumi stiffened at your curious hands travelling under his shirt. His breath sharpened as his glare only deepened, though he didn’t make a move to stop you. “Why wouldn’t I want to see that?”

“Being flirty doesn’t work on you. It’s not cute.”

“You’re blushing though,” you remarked. Megumi groaned and pushed your face away until your buttocks landed on his recliner. Satisfied with Megumi not completely kicking you out, you swung your legs back and forth, still staring at his hoodie as if it was an offensive material.

“Can I...see?” Megumi rolled his eyes before he lifted his shirt up, revealing to you intricate patches of black ink splattered over ripples of muscles. Your mouth salivated, and somewhere down there, you drooled too. Tentatively, your hands reached out to finger the image of canines, Megumi shuddering over your cold touch on his warm skin. “It’s beautiful. What does it mean?”

Megumi pursed his lips before whispering, “These are the dogs I had as a child. My father got me them so I wouldn’t be too lonely when he’s away from work.”

“They’re very pretty. They look like black and white wolves,” you smiled, elated that he was opening up in more ways than one. Your touch flitted over to a winged creature under his left collarbone, small letters beside the image. “And this bird? Nue? He’s so majestic,” Your hands never stopped in trailing over his skin like a lost wanderer, sweeping over ink ink until Megumi completely discarded his hoodie to the side, his back faced to you.

A white viper tattoo stood large on his broad back, crawling until over his shoulder with the fangs ending just above his pecs. Megumi swallowed at each slivering touch, your fingers dipping and caressing every dent and curve of his body.

You couldn’t get your eyes off of him, your breath hitching in your throat as one of your hands gripped his biceps subconsciously. “You’re so beautiful.”

Megumi stiffened when your thumbs grazed over his nipple right next to the viper’s fang. Almost as if a switch was triggered inside him, Megumi growled, ducking to capture your lips with his in a sloppy, heated kiss. His hands tugged at the ends of your hair to arch your neck to him, his knees slapping your legs open before he settled comfortably between you, his low groans mixing with your breath moans.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. From the moment I met you,” he nibbled your lips, hands trailing down to thumb at your hipbones. “I knew that innocent good girl look was nothing but an act.”

You smiled through the kiss, a tiny gasp falling from your lips when Megumi pulled you closer until your heat grinded against the hardness inside his pants. Laughing at his harsh movements, you let Megumi tilt your head back, his lips sucking and teeth gently nipping at the sensitive flesh of your neck.

“Innocent girl?” you echoed, legs now wrapped around his waist to pull him closer. “What makes you think I am?”

“White lace panties? Short tennis skirts and sunshine smiles?” Megumi clenched his teeth, his hands eager as he tugged the white lace down until it looped to your ankles. You gasped, back arching when he thrusted two fingers inside you, curling and fingering against your bumpy walls. “You’re not fooling anyone, baby, especially not me.”

“Took you long enough to understand I wanted you though,” you chuckled through broken moans, eyes shut tight while your legs opened wider, heels digging into the hard cushion of his seats. “I was wondering when I’d get to break you from that tough guy act of yours and have you fuck me good,” Megumi growled at your words. You leaned forward to scratch at his chest, your tongue licking the shell of your ear as you rasped, “And on a side note, I am a good girl – only to those who can make me feel good, of course.”

Megumi cupped his palm to collect your arousal dripping of his, finally shutting you up when his fingers grazed over your sweet spot that had you clenching around him. And those were just his fingers. “You’re something else, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I know,” you nodded smugly, hands coming up to tug harshly at his hair. Megumi hissed at the sharp pain, prompting him to fuck his fingers in and out of you faster until you leaked down to his chair, thighs trembling and your high-pitched moans coating the walls of his stupid. “Megumi, ah! Just shut up and fuck me already – been wanting you long enough.”

“Needy little girl,” He pressed you down on the reclining seat, settling between your legs before he spread your lips open with two thumbs. At the sight of your bare cunt clenching around nothing, Megumi groaned, teeth biting his lip because he could cum right then and there. “Fuck, look at you. So wet already,” he ran a hand over your slit to collect your arousal, eyes dark with lust as your juices webbed between his fingers. “All this for me? You’re so good.”

“Fuck – yeah, yeah I am,” you leaned back harder into the seat, groping at your own breasts while you nodded dumbly, too fucked out to even form a coherent response. “Going to be good for you, Megumi, gonna make you feel good.”

“Sorry, babe, maybe next time. I’m too impatient to not feel your pussy around me,” he pushed away at your hands that planned to pump his cock, his hand coming down to push you hard against the seat until his weight loomed over you.

You felt Megumi begin to align his tip at your center, dampening his mushroom head with your arousal first that had you both moaning left and right.

Hands scratching down his back as your teeth dug into your lips, Megumi pushed into you with one thrust, the sudden stretch making your legs shake and your body writhe underneath him. “Shit, why are you so tight? So fucking warm and perfect,” he rasped next to your ear, and you could hear how hard he was breathing as he thrusted into you, his cock hitting all the right places.  “Could fuck this pretty pussy all day, baby, shit.”

“Me-Megumi – t-too big!”

“Shh, you’ll be fine. You’ll take it like a good girl, won’t you?” he cupped your cheek, grinning sinisterly as he watched the way your greedy walls sucked him in. “See how you take me so well? You’re so small and pretty wrapped around my cock. I could break you if I wanted you,” he growled, his hands gripping hard at your hips when you clenched around him, enticing the man above you to quicken his pace.

Megumi watched with a lust filled gaze as your breasts bounced at the relentless pace he started, his balls slapping at your ass. “Oh, you’d want that, wouldn’t you? You want to be stuffed with my fat cock in you? Fuck you until you’re a drooling mess? You’re so gorgeous when I fuck you stupid.”

“Yes, Megumi, agh. Keep going, keep going, I’m so close!”

“Oh, you feel like heaven around me,” he praised at your neck, his cock stretching you wide and pushing into you. Megumi groaned lowly at your ear as his palms flattened over your stomach that bulged every time he thrusted in, his balls tightening at the sight. “Look at how big I am for you, baby, but you’re doing so well. You were made for me – made to take my cock, shit, you’re so perfect around me. Gonna make you feel good, yeah? You’re such a good girl for me. Cum, baby, that’s right – I’m allowing you to cum.”

“Gumi, Gumi, fuckkk,” your legs tightened around him as Megumi panted with each harsh thrust, the black marks over his skin expanding and stretch when his forearm rested beside your head. His muscles clenched as he fucked into you deep, over and over again until he pushed you over the edge.

A silent sob left your lips when you came around him, your juices creaming around his cock. A few thrusts later, Megumi fell on top of you as you felt him spill his seed inside you.

He had too much that you felt both your cum dripping down your ass; Megumi pulling out with a slight wince from the oversensitivity. You struggled to catch your breath as you laid there, legs wide open and the cool air hitting your bare pussy. The door was still open, and Satoru and Geto could walk in on you both looking like this, but you couldn’t care, not when you could barely feel your legs.

You dropped your arm over your face, hearing Megumi pull his pants back up. “That was...”

“Intense?”

“Yeah,” you chuckled, wincing as you sat up. Your hair stuck to your forehead in sweaty clumps, dawning on you now that you were still very much covered in your sticky cum. You recoiled from the seats as you realized Megumi hadn’t even put on a towel underneath.

“Shit. Is this chair even clean?”

“I sanitize it every after session. Don’t worry about it,” he rolled his eyes, his tattoos covered and hidden from your sight once more when he pulled his hoodie over his head. Megumi retrieved a clean towel from his drawers and wiped at your sensitive pussy, your legs immediately closing around his hands when the towel accidentally grazed your clit.

Megumi gripped your knees with a silent glare. “Stay still. I’m cleaning you up.”

“I didn’t peg you as an aftercare guy. Thought you would leave me hanging here,” you teased, but really, you were feeling warm all over again as you watched Megumi wipe you all the way down to your other hole, your legs still tensing up.

Once he left to wash his hands, you could relax, tugging your panties back up with immense struggle. He wasn’t kidding when he said he’d fuck you good – you could barely feel your legs now.

“And have you make a mess by ruining my seat?” he sighed as he returned, helping you seady yourself while he snapped the slightly soaked panty back to your core. “No thanks.”

“You’re so mean, Megumi. I’m hurt.”

He rolled his eyes at your pout, leaning down to kiss you square on the lips. This time around, the kiss wasn’t rushed; it was slow and sensual, firm yet gentle, and his hands carefully massaged your sore hips that would soon bruise from his grip before.

“No, you’re not,” he mumbled through your lips, mimicking that lovesick smile on your face as he pulled away. “But babe, you know the rules. Now that you’ve seen my work of art – what tattoo would you like me to give you? My name on your inner thigh?”

[beyondspaceandstars]

congratulations! 📚 could you do promos 4 & 7 from the smut with Natasha Romanoff???

by the way, I hope you have a great day/night!

Brat

Relationship: CEO!Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, fingering, dirty talk - 18+, minors DNI

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: I went a bit CEO!Natasha with this one - hope that’s okay, I thought it lent well! Also, thank you! I hope you're having a nice day/night as well :)

Masterlist

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You really didn’t want to go and Natasha knew this but she was also quite the persuasive one, having such a dominance to her that you could rarely, if ever, say no to.

So, that’s how you found yourself a bit grumpily sitting in the car passenger seat while your girlfriend drove you two to whatever charity banquet this was.

Natasha was constantly getting these invitations being the high-up, fancy CEO that she was and usually you were fine with them. You liked the little appetizers and flutes of champagne. You especially liked your girlfriend parading you around, showing you off to fancy city people.

But tonight just wasn’t the night for you. You had had a ridiculous day at your own job and frankly, you just wanted to lounge around with your girl, maybe order pizza, and have lazy sex. Natasha had shut down your idea, saying she already RSVP’d for you two. Grudgingly, you shoved yourself into a dress and let her whisk you away

Little did she know, though, that you weren’t letting down easily. You had some potential ideas for the night, hoping that maybe — just maybe — you can rile Natasha up enough to keep her focus just on you and not the millionaires trying to network.

Upon arriving at the event, you hunted down the first tray of champagne you could find, taking a swig of the alcohol promptly. Natasha followed your path, stopping every now and then to chat, but once she was free of the schmoozing, she marched right towards you. An arm made it was tightly around your waist.

"What is your problem?" She gritted in your ear just below a whisper so no one could pick up on the tension. Your eyes darted around the room

"Nothing," you responded, taking another sip of champagne.

Natasha scoffed. "Well, you’re acting like a brat." She grabbed your glass out of your hand. You gasped but before you could protest, Natasha asked, "Is this because I made you come here tonight?

You shot her a look before taking back your champagne and finishing it off. "I’m gonna go get another drink."

Before your girlfriend could pull you back to her, you were already on a rampage for the bar. Luckily, no one tried to stop you. Thanks to your relations with Natasha, you had worked up a bit of your own status but it wasn’t like anyone genuinely cared. You weren’t negotiating deals.

You leaned on the bar and signaled for the bartender. You asked for something a little stronger. He nodded politely and got to making the drink. You turned your attention to the freshly polished wood of the bar.

Running a finger over it carelessly as you waited, out of the corner of your eye you noticed someone approach beside you. It was a man you somehow didn’t recognize. He looked very well put-together, almost like he was trying too hard, with his designer pressed suit and hair that could go up in flames from all the product in it.

You tried to ignore him, turning your attention to the bartender who was still at work, but it was hard when the man was not-so-subtly inching towards you. This wasn’t going to go very well, you thought. But you weren’t stopping it.

"In need of something to get you through the night?" The man suddenly asked. Your gaze shot over to him.

"Excuse me?"

He chuckled, "I meant the drink."

As if on cue, a glass was placed right in front of you. You wrapped your hands around it, slowly bringing it to your lips for a sip as you eyed the stranger. He was watching you quite intensely.

You hummed, delighted by the cocktail. "These things can sometimes be…draining."

He sighed. "Tell me about it."

The conversation fell into a lull. You tried glancing around at the other patrons, all completely oblivious to the bar, but just couldn’t shake this man and his eyes which were still watching you. They shamelessly took in the curves of your dress and even lingered a bit on your chest.

Your stomach dropped as you suddenly saw him step even closer, his finger lightly brushing your arm in the process. You froze but still made no chance to dash away. Maybe your goal of annoying your girlfriend tonight was going a bit too far…

"You know," he began, his voice dangerously low, "if you wanted to sneak away for a bit—"

"She doesn’t," Natasha gritted as she suddenly approached you two. You just about let out a sigh of relief as her arm came around your waist, pulling you into her side. You yelped at the action, stumbling a bit, but she held you tight.

The mystery man looked you two over, a bit of a pleased expression graced his face. But he didn’t press further, probably very deterred by the daggers Natasha’s eyes were shooting at him. He collected his drink from the bar and raised it at you two as if in some awkward toast.

"Fair enough, ladies," he said, and then he was back in the crowd, lost in the sea of aristocrats.

You didn’t know what to do now, opting to stare down at your drink.

"What the hell was that about?" Natasha asked.

"I- He just came up to me," you pouted.

Natasha shook her head in disappointment as she began walking you two away from everyone else. You didn’t know where she was leading you until you were roughly pulled into the women’s restroom. It was empty, thankfully, and you heard the turn of the lock as you placed your drink on the counter.

"He just came up to you," Natasha repeated. She was sauntering over, looking very much more like some powerful CEO than your sweet girlfriend. You gulped and gripped the edge of the bathroom sink. "He may have came up to you but I didn’t see you making any moves to walk away."

"Well—"

"And you let him touch you," she scoffed. "Don’t think I didn’t see his fingers on your fucking arm." For emphasis, she gripped the spot he had brushed over. You yelped. "What made you think he could do that, hmm? What, did you forget who you belong to?"

"No, Natasha, I didn’t mean—" You pleaded but she wasn’t buying it.

"I’m not buying it," she said as she roughly turned you around, her back pressing your front into the bathroom counter. "In fact, I think you need a little reminder."

You held your breath in anticipation as Natasha began gathering the skirt of your dress. You knew what she was going to find underneath. And you certainly knew it wasn’t going to help your case.

Sure enough, once your lower region was exposed, Natasha let out a gasp. “No panties? Are you kidding me right now?!”

"Natasha, please—"

"You really are a fucking brat, aren’t you?"

You tried shaking your head but it was no use. Her mind was made as she pressed into you even more, her hand now coming to caress your inner thigh. You whimpered out your girlfriend’s name as her fingers began slowly circling your clit. She chuckled in your ear before collecting some of the wetness dripping from your folds and putting attention back on your clit.

"So wet for me," Natasha murmured. "It is for me, right? Or did that man out there get you dripping like a needy slut?"

You groaned, captivated by the action happening between your thighs. "Just for you," you said as your eyes slowly fluttered. Natasha picked up the pace adding slight pressure as well. You squealed.

"That’s it," she whispered, holding you tighter around the waist. "That’s my girl."

Suddenly, though, she moved her fingers back to your folds where, without warning, she shoved two fingers inside you. You yelped, twisting in her grip. She didn’t even budge. You cried out as the fingers flicked upwards, hitting just the right spots.

"If you want to act like a slut you have to deal with being fingered like one, got it?" Natasha said. Her mouth was practically on your ear, she was whispering so lowly it sent goosebumps up your arms. She was pissed and serious. You were loving it.

"Y-Yes, Natasha." You barely managed to get the words out but your girlfriend seemed very pleased. Her fingers picked up — significantly. A squelching noise now filled the bathroom, coming directly from your wetness which was not stopping any time soon it seemed. Natasha was also taking the moment to make sure her hand was hitting your clit. With every single pump. It was getting overwhelming very, very fast.

You spoke again, "Please, please… I’m gonna cum."

"Yeah?" Natasha mocked. "My little slut needs to cum?"

You nodded your head profusely. "Please, please." The begging was becoming second nature at this point, your only instinct. Natasha seemed very pleased with that.

"Fine," she huffed. "Cum all over my fingers you greedy little girl. And you better scream when you cum. I want every single person, especially that man, to know who’s treating you so well."

Her paced picked up even more (how that was possible you didn’t know) and your body reacted wonderfully. Within moments, you were crumbling like a house of cards. Your orgasm rushed over you as you cried out much louder than you had actually intended. You couldn’t stop as Natasha continued to work you through the orgasm. She didn’t give up until you were limp in her arms.

She chuckled, watching your body practically collapse from pleasure. "Was that good, honey?"

"Yes," you mumbled, leaning into her body. Natasha fixed your dress and brought her hand to caress your cheek.

"Good," she said and placed a quick kiss on your lips. "Maybe that’ll teach you to behave."

Now it was your turn to laugh. "Why would I behave when that’s what I get for being bad?"

Abruptly, Natasha’s hand came around your neck, forcing you to look at her. Her gaze was dark, her CEO stance still very much engaged. "Don’t even tempt me."

You bit your lip teasingly but nodded your head slowly. You certainly didn’t mean it, though, already secretly planning the next time you could ruffle her feathers.

[luvnami]

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - wahh it’s here! can’t believe my brainrot of osamu teaching a cooking class turned into this long fic lol... i hope you enjoy it!! it was fun crafting the story with my beta readers and i put a lot of effort into it!!! itadakimasu <3

𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 - @forgetou​ @amjustagirl​ (muacks 2x) + tq to everyone who helped me with the banner!!

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 - you’re suna’s younger sibling, food, heartbreak, angst but happy ending, mentions of stabbing (joke), kita dances to ‘ice cream’ by selena gomez and blackpink, mentions of alcohol, mentions of blood (brief), suna beats (redacted) up

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 - miya osamu x gn!reader

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 - you fall in love with miya osamu once more, but you’re afraid of getting hurt again.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 5535

𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 | 𝐤𝐨-𝐟𝐢

1. Cook the rice according to your rice cooker, then transfer the cooked rice to a separate bowl to cool it down.

“What ya want t’do is scorch the soy sauce.”

The class presses themselves against Osamu’s workbench as they scribble down notes on their recipe printouts. Their lips purse to ooh and aah at his cooking skills, though you’re pretty sure that they’re more interested in how his biceps flex when he flips the wok with a trained flick of the wrist. 

You stand at the very edge of the group. It’s better than getting close with a group of hungry housewives, really. If grocery store and department mall sales have ever told you anything, it’s to never get in the way of what a seasoned housewife wants. Unfortunately for you, you haven’t learnt the way of being a homemaker just yet. 

You’re unemployed, right in the middle of a month and a half-ish long transfer between jobs. You currently stay at your brother Suna’s place — which is really just an apartment filled with dirty laundry overflowing from its seams.

Turns out Suna himself is a bit of a gossip.  He told Kita who told Atsumu who told Osamu that you’re stuck at his place 24/7 with no friends or entertainment in the lovely city of Nagano. It’s just mountains and trees as far as the eye can see all around — and there’s only so many hikes you can take each week. 

“Why don’t you take a cookin’ class?” 

“Cookin’?” Your face screwed up in confusion. “ What for?”

“So that you can actually pull your weight around the house and make me something to eat.”

You chucked a pillow at his head and began to list all the things you did while staying at his apartment. Laundry, cleaning the floor, doing grocery shopping (even if it was only instant noodles and snacks), finding his disgustingly sweaty socks under the sofa and many other important chores, thank you very much.

Besides, you weren’t as eager when you saw who was the one that would be holding the classes. With his picture plastered across the front of a pamphlet, your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach. Years of chasing his dreams and training in a kitchen had done Osamu wonders. 

You had half a mind to smack Suna in the head with the yellow, glossy paper, but instead you quietly tucked it into a corner of the guest room to look at later. You were sure Suna hadn’t forgotten your history with Osamu just yet — but perhaps he assumed that enough time had passed to heal your wounds.

Either way, there’s no going back now. That’s how you ended up at Osamu’s ‘Cooking class for homemakers — you can do it too!’, except you aren’t a homemaker. You shift your weight from one foot to the other as the sound of sizzling soy sauce fills the air. Osamu pauses for a while before beginning to mix the rice with the sauce, wielding his spatula and wok expertly like weapons.

“Miya-san, you’re amazing!” someone gushes.

He lets out a bashful laugh. “This is nothing. I’m sure everyone will be able to do this by the end of class today!”

You wonder if he’s ever considered being a teacher. The demonstration on how to make shrimp fried rice is soon over and everyone returns to their benches, eager to try out the recipe. You are no different. Scurrying to your bench at the very back of the classroom, you exchange glances between the printed recipe handout and your tray of ingredients.

“Need any help?” 

Osamu’s voice and looming presence makes you jump.

“Woah! Careful there,” he chuckles, his fingers gently prying a knife out of your hands.

Unconsciously, you had raised it in shock when Osamu snuck up on you. The knife now lays safely on the tabletop and you feel the eyes of the entire class boring into you.

“Sorry, Miya-san. I didn’t see you,” you apologise meekly.

“Don’t worry about it, I shouldn't have scared ya like that. And no need for the formalities! You’re my friend’s sister, afta’ all.”

Oh goodness. You half expect the class to pick up their pots and pans and run at you right this moment. You swallow back the half hearted ‘Osamu-san’ that rises in your throat. Your heart trembles in your chest and for a second, the silence that weighs heavily between the both of you turns awkward. 

“Miya-san! Could you help me with this please?” 

You’ve never been so glad to hear Tachibana’s sickly shrill voice before. Osamu is quick to wave goodbye to you before hurrying over to her bench, a smile still on his face. You breathe a sigh of relief. 

You make a mental note to tell Suna that Osamu should just stick to placating those housewives and leave you the hell alone. The last thing you want is to have blackmail spread around the neighbourhood by these gossipy housewives, or worse, have their daughters hunt you down and chop you up into pieces.

Whatever. You’re just here to learn how to make shrimp fried rice and then go home to your annoying older brother. Besides, it’s not like you’ll be here for long. Miya Osamu just happens to be the local heartthrob, the handsome and eligible bachelor chased by anyone single and ready to mingle. You have absolutely nothing to do with someone so popular and good-looking. And for goodness sake, he’s your brother’s high school friend and your… Well, you know. 

Your face burns and you pick up the knife again, grip tightening on its handle. You begin chopping at the onions with renewed determination.

(Later on, when you bring back a tupperware of fried rice for Suna, he looks you in the eye and asks “Shrimp fried this rice?”.

You shoot him a glare.

“I fried this rice.”)

2. Prepare all the fillings that you are going to use and set aside, such as pickled plums or tuna mayo. Prepare your seaweed sheets.

What you don’t expect is for Miya Osamu to show up at your doorstep the next day with boxes of food, cartons of drinks and a very noisy brother of his in tow. 

“Rin, where can I leave the drinks?” Osamu yells.

“Rin, can I play your PS5?” Atsumu shouts.

You think that they are very different, the Miya twins. Suna takes a minute to finish putting on some clothes (you had answered the door, thankfully. No one wants to see Suna Rintarou in Pikachu boxers) before bursting out of his room.

He’s quick to smack Atsumu’s ‘dirty little setter hands’ away from his precious Playstation, directing Osamu to what constitutes the apartment’s kitchen — a second-hand fridge and the building-installed gas stove that works only if you hit it hard enough. You’re surprised that neither you or Suna haven't died of a house fire or gas poisoning by now.

It doesn’t take long for the other Inarizaki alumni to arrive at Suna’s apartment in a series of doorbell rings. Kita even brings along a large bottle of sake, to which everyone cheers loudly. You don’t understand why they had chosen Suna’s place to have a reunion party. Seriously, wouldn't Onigiri Miya or some other izakaya have been a better choice?

However, there’s free flow of drinks and lots of yummy snacks, so you decide to let the noise wash over you and stand by the food table to pick at the trays of pizza, fried chicken and other finger food. Aran even offers you a drink, smiling sweetly before going off to wrangle Atsumu from trying to initiate a beer chugging competition. Some things just never change, you suppose.

“Having fun?”

You jump and nearly drop the plate of food that you hold.

“You have a horrible habit of scaring people, Miya- Osamu.”

His first name comes out awkward, tumbling off of your tongue as you use a pair of chopsticks to carefully pile back some mentaiko mayonnaise onto a slice of tamagoyaki. Osamu settles into the crook of the kitchen counter next to you with a playful grin on his face.

“Do I really?”

“Don’t forget that the first time you did that, someone nearly got stabbed.”

You pop the tamagoyaki into your mouth. It’s delicious — the egg’s sweetness balances out the salty sauce. You wonder if there’s enough left on the tray for seconds. 

“How’s the reunion going?” you ask nonchalantly, and shuffle a few centimetres away from him.

You hope Osamu doesn’t notice that. He does, however, but chooses not to comment on it. He brings up a hand to scratch at his neck, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly. He’s close enough for you to get a whiff of whatever cologne he’s wearing. Your head spins for a second. 

“Oh, none of us have gotten drunk just yet. I’m pretty sure we’ll be playing beer pong or something later on.”

You steel yourself against the urge to look at what Osamu is wearing. Don’t look, don’t look, definitely don’t look. Miya Osamu is, has been, a dangerous man to fall in love with. You can’t afford to- 

Perhaps gouging your eyes out would have been a better choice in theory. Even a glance from where you stand beside him is enough to see that not only is he wearing a tight, black T-shirt, Osamu also has a pair of sweatpants on. Is it a sin to wear sweatpants? Probably so, especially with the way it makes your throat run dry. 

“Beer pong, huh?” You try your best to mumble somewhat nonchalantly. “Who won the last time?”

“Kita.”

“Kita?!” you gasp. 

Even that’s enough to make you forget about Osamu and his stupid (and very sexy) sweatpants. 

“Yeah, right? That was the first time he participated. All of us got left drunk in the street, so we decided to do it at someone’s place this year.”

You let out a soft laugh at the thought of a bunch of grown men piled over each other on the road. You don’t particularly like the thought of cleaning up after them tonight, though. 

The lack of words between you and Osamu descends into snorts of laughter that trickle in from the tiny living room. Aran throws his head back, drink nearly spilling out of his cup. Ginjima laughs so loud you see Omiomi cover his ears and Suna holds his phone up, filming every second of Atsumu’s defeat. 

Osamu opens his mouth as if to ask you something.

“C’mon! Yer killin’ me, Kita-san!” Atsumu yells, socked feet and waving arms trying to match the onscreen character’s movements.

Kita, on the other hand, is scoring perfect marks without as much effort wasted. You giggle to yourself as he moves his hips, shaking them here and there. A small smile quirks his lips upwards as he finishes with a flawless ending move on ‘Ice Cream’, the Just Dance characters fading into oblivion on the screen. Atsumu crumbles to the floor in defeat. 

Osamu’s lips form a straight line as he watches you laugh along, raising a hand to cover your mouth. He curses Atsumu’s birth and swallows back his embarrassment.

“Did ya see that, Osamu? Oh- Kita-san is so good at everything!” you gush.

“Atsumu just sucks.”

When you laugh, Osamu thinks something in his chest lurches. Regret makes his head go foggy and leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

3. Place cling wrap over a rice bowl. Place some of the cooked rice over the centre of the cling wrap and make a well.

“No way ya got a love letter!” Atsumu yelled.

“Ya get yer fair share. We share t’same face, why shouldn’t I get some?” Osamu retorted, rolling his eyes. 

Suna watched as the twins began to gripe and argue about who was the better looking sibling again. Nothing unusual, really, given how this occurred every odd day of the week.

“S’gotta be a prank. No way someone likes a loser like you,” Suna mused.

In retaliation, Osamu threw him a stink eye. “You two are just jealous,” he sniffed.

The letter had been written on pretty pink paper, all hearts and cute handwriting as his secret admirer asked him to meet them on the roof after school. Not that Osamu wasn’t affected by it, of course. It always rubbed his ego the right way to know that someone preferred him over Atsumu. Though, it wasn’t like he was interested in anyone then. It only took a second before Osamu ripped the letter in half.

“Woah woah woah! Yer crazy! Whatcha gonna do if some pretty girl gave that to ya?” 

Atsumu’s eyes widened in shock, almost reaching forward to grab the shreds of letter that Osamu had torn up. 

“Does it matter? S’not like I’m interested in datin’ right now,” he replied.

“Seriously? What if she’s like, super duper hot!”

Osamu’s face screwed up. “Are ya a horndog?”

Just as Atsumu was about to shout at his dear brother again, you opened the door to their classroom and hurried in. You had a bento box in hand and a cute pout on your face as you placed it on Suna’s table.

“Rin! You forgot your bento at home again!” 

“Oh.” Suna blinked. “Thanks.”

“Seriously, you gotta stop forgetting your things! I can’t be bringing them to you all the time-”

“Hey, Suna.” Atsumu perked up, referring to you. “Would ya go on a date with Samu or me? Me, right? Definitely me!”

Your face flushed with heat. “Huh? What are you talking about?”

“‘Samu got a love letter in his shoe locker this morning. Cliche, huh?” your brother said between bites of his lunch. 

“Mm, yeah. Cliche,” you mumbled. 

You looked around anxiously for any sign of the love letter. Was it in Osamu’s bag? 

“Can ya believe he tore it up?” Atsumu laughed.

“What?”

Your heart felt like a stone in your chest as you froze, your blood running cold. 

“Yeah! This dumbass doesn’t know how t’appreciate anythin’,” he replied, smacking Osamu on the back of his head.

His twin responded with a muffled growl as he continued to scarf down his absurdly large bento. You fiddled with the cuffs of your sleeves, staring down at your feet. You were quick to bid the third years goodbye as you fled their classroom as an inexplicable ache spread through your chest. 

You didn’t focus on your classes for the rest of the day. The fact that Osamu had torn your love letter, written with all your heart and soul as you crumpled draft after draft last night, tipped you over the edge of your fantasies and had you plummeting straight into reality. 

“Oi.”

You looked up from your feet, glancing up at Suna. The both of you were swapping your indoor shoes for outdoor ones, but you had absentmindedly stopped in the middle of slipping your right foot into a shoe. It was nearing the time where they closed the school gates, so there weren’t many students around save for the odd volleyball club member.

“What’re you doing? Put your shoes on properly,” he huffed.

“Sorry,” you said quietly, and slammed the locker door shut once you were done.

You walked a few feet ahead of Suna as you approached the school gate. Your head drooped with each step, tears beginning to mist your eyes. You willed yourself to hold it in till you got home, till you were in the safety of your bedroom to start sobbing your little heart out. Suna tugged on your wrist.

“Are you crying?” he questioned.  

You shook your head quickly, rubbing your eyes with the back of your sleeve.

“Oi. Answer me.”

This time, his voice was a little softer, yet held a mixture of irritation and anger behind a crumbling wall of apathy. Who had been the one to make you cry? 

“It’s nothin’,” you choked out. “Let’s just go home.”

You turned your face to the side as tears continued to roll down your cheeks, muffled cries turning into heartbroken sobs. Something inside of Suna’s head clicked. 

“It’s Miya Osamu, isn’t it?” 

You had to bite on your lower lip to stop it from trembling.

“That bastard tore up your letter, didn’t he?”

You gave Suna the tiniest of nods. He let go of your wrist and whipped around, eyebrows furrowed together. Not wanting to date was one thing, but treating your confession like dog shit was something else. Fortunately for him, the Miya twins were changing their shoes in the getabako.

“‘Samu!” Suna yelled.

The gray haired male looked up with a face of confusion.

“Suna? Whaddya want-” Osamu wasn’t able to say anything more as Suna’s fist collided with his face.

Atsumu jumped back with a yelp as the both of them crashed to the ground. Your hands flew to cover your mouth.

“Rin! Stop it!” you cried out.

You dashed over, tripping over your own feet as you tried to pull Suna away from Osamu as they traded blows. It took the work of you, Atsumu and Ginjima (who had been unlucky enough to pass by) to tear the two apart, and even then Osamu was still struggling in his brother’s arms to be let go.

“What t’hell, man!” he snarled. 

Suna wiped his nose, glancing briefly at the crimson that stained his school uniform. The adrenaline was beginning to run low and pain began to settle into his fists and ribs. His shoulders heaved with each breath, and your hands clutched his shirt.

“Rin. No more, please,” you begged, pressing your forehead against his back. “No more.”

Suna hated the way your voice trembled as you spoke. He didn’t think it was fair for you to bear the burden of pain while Osamu got to walk away unscathed, leaving you broken in pieces. His fist curled up again.

“It’s not worth it, Rin.”

Suna took in a shaky, deep breath.

You were right.

Miya Osamu wasn’t worth it. 

4. Put about 1tbsp of the filling of your choice on the centre of the rice and cover it with rice.

A week comes and goes after the annual Inarizaki reunion. You’re still finding sticky stains on the floor, as well as food wrappers tossed behind the sofa. Suna sends the group chat a video of you yelling at all of them while wielding a mop with so much fervour Aran asks if you broke it. Atsumu actually apologises and Osamu offers to come over and help clean up. The entire group chat flames him immediately.

As per last week, you walk into Osamu’s cooking class at 2p.m. on a Wednesday afternoon. It’s hot outside, droplets of perspiration rolling down your nape. The cool air-conditioning of the classroom is much appreciated and you don your apron behind the gaggle of housewives. You catch snippets of their conversation as they put their items in the cubbies provided. 

“Tanaka-san, did you see the mushrooms that were on sale this Monday?”

“My son is attending this cram school this summer. Here’s the address!”

“My father-in-law keeps complaining about the heat…”

“Good afternoon, everyone.”

“Miya-san!”

Everyone perks up when Osamu walks through the door. They’re quick to surround him, asking how his day had been. You look tired, take this ginseng drink! It really revitalises your spirits! Did you get a girlfriend yet, Miya-san? My daughter is single, you know! 

You watch as Osamu walks behind his bench, all smiles and “Is that so, Shigeru-san?”. Polite enough to please them, but not enough to make them think that he actually wants to go on a date with their 34 year-old daughter who’s a tired office worker looking out for potential husbands like a hawk. He lets out a heavy exhale, using his cap with the Onigiri Miya logo on it to fan himself.

“Hot today, isn’t it?” he chuckles.

You think that maybe he’s the one that’s making this summer so warm, especially with the way that his shirt clings to his figure and his flushed cheeks that make him look adorable. 

Wait.

You do a double take. Ah, adorable. You must have meant that heart-print apron that Tanaka is wearing today. It is pretty cute, and you wonder if you should ask her where she got it from later on. Definitely not Osamu with his perfect smile that would make anyone’s heart skip a beat, and definitely not when it’s directed at you.

“Gather around everyone! We’re going to be making gyoza today!”

The demonstration goes as usual — Osamu impresses the housewives, they gasp and someone even touches his forearm and asks “How did you get so strong, Miya-san?”. Not that you care, of course. You certainly don’t. What you’re more concerned about is how Osamu manages to make wrapping the fragile gyoza seem so easy. 

Your fingers pinch at the thick dough, eyebrows furrowed together. No matter what you do, your filling keeps spilling out of the wrapper and so you’ve opted to try out for a thicker piece this time. Not that it really matters — Suna will be the one suffering from food poisoning if it turns out bad, anyways.

“Ah, yer made it too thick,” Osamu says as he strolls over. 

You tense up as he leans over your shoulder, peeking at the chubby gyoza in your hands. You pretend not be affected by how close he is and continue pinching the wings of the dumpling shut.

“They keep bursting,” you sniff. 

“Maybe ya put t’much filling?” Osamu suggests. “Here, lemme show ya. Put tha’ one down and grab a new wrapper. Yeah, just like that.”

You stiffen as Osamu flours his hands and cradles your hands in his. 

“Here ya go. That’s t’much, scoop out some more. That’s it. Now gently…”

Blood rushes to your face as you feel the warmth of his skin seep into yours, his hands rough from years of training and cooking. Scars adorn the tips of his thick fingers and knuckles. You suddenly feel the urge to gently trace them with your thumb, to ask him how he got each one of them. 

Would he let you? Let you so close, that perhaps you would be the one to know every single thing about him?

“You did it!” Osamu says cheerfully. 

He suddenly pulls away, making you plummet back to reality. A perfectly made gyoza sits in your hands.

“I’m looking forward to tasting your gyoza later on. Now keep trying!” 

You’re left dumbfounded as Osamu walks away to help out the other housewives. They stammer and blush when they get too close, but he never holds their hands in his own, never smiles as gently as he does with you.

You place the gyoza on a pan and put the lid on with a little bit more force than what is necessary.

5. Wrap the cling wrap over the rice and squeeze and mould it into a triangle shape with your hands.

You try not to make contact with Osamu after that. Attending his cooking classes becomes a game of cat-and-mouse, where you try to tell him ‘I don’t need any help, Miya-san’ and watch him crawl away in defeat. In fact, you decide to skip the lesson on making hamburgs and instead spend the afternoon watching television.

After all, from what you’ve learnt in the past, Osamu is nothing more than trouble. You think it’s worth the sacrifice now to put some space between the both of you so that you don’t end up heartbroken a second time. 

Though, you do feel a little bad. Just a little bit. One day when Suna’s out at training, you hear the doorbell ring and Osamu’s voice ring through the genkan. You hear his feet shuffle by the door and a heavy thump outside before he leaves. You only open the door when you hear his car pull out of the apartment building’s carpark, and find a packed bento lunch for you in front.

You try to pretend that the bunny cut apples and sakura shaped carrot slices don’t mean anything.

“Ah, Suna-san! Where were you last week?” Tachibana titters as you step into class for the final lesson.

“I wasn’t feeling very well,” you lie. “I think I caught a summer cold.”

“Oh dear, that sounds terrible!” the ladies chorus together. 

You think they’re probably just glad that you didn’t get in the way of their beloved Miya-san. You tug your apron over your head, and ignore Osamu when he greets everyone. His eyes linger on you for a little too long during the demonstration — to the point that he actually burns the skin side of his salmon fillet.

Osamu skirts around your bench like a nervous puppy when the demonstration is over. You don’t seem particularly keen about talking to him, though the tips of your finger tremble when he finally plucks up the courage to stand next to you. It’s not close enough for your elbows to touch, but close enough that he can whisper to you without anyone else hearing him.

“Hey,” he begins, uncertain. His voice wavers slightly.

“Hey,” you reply, wary of what he might say. 

“Are you okay?”

You take a moment to think, tipping the sake bottle carefully to measure out an exact tablespoon of it. He wonders when your hands have seemed so delicate, so small. He aches to hold them in his own again. 

“I’m okay.”

“That’s good.”

It’s quiet, again. Just like that night in Suna’s apartment, with all the noise of the reunion going on around you, except this time it's the clanging of pans and utensils, paired with the chatter of many ladies. 

“I was thinking…” Osamu stares down at your hands, turning the measuring spoon over so that sake splashes onto the hot pan with a sizzle. “Maybe we could get a drink together after this?”

You cover the pan and watch its surface cloud up with condensation. You hide your shaking hands by digging them into the pockets of your apron. 

Osamu swallows. Perhaps he had been too direct with you; scared you off with how quickly he was advancing. Or did Suna tell you to be careful of him? That he didn’t want you falling in love with him a second time? There’s no lie about it, that Osamu had been a grade A asshole back in high school.

But he loves you now; has loved you since then. Would you be willing to give him a second chance?

“Osamu,” you breathe.

His shoulders relax slightly when you don’t call him by his last name. 

“I don’t know what to do.” 

Your voice comes out timid, scared. Osamu’s heart crumbles at the edges. He wonders if you would hate him if he reached out and took your hands in his once more. You’re both adults, perfectly capable of rational thinking if only your hearts hadn’t gotten in the way. Love hurts, they said. You want to agree. 

“We can start it out slow,” Osamu suggests.

“I’m supposed to start my new job next month. I won't be in Nagano for much longer.”

“I’m opening a branch in Tokyo.”

“I’ll be busy settling down. We might not get to see each other often enough.”

“A little is better than nothin’.”

“You’re my brother’s friend.”

“Now, yer just picking at nothing, babe. Didn’t you have a crush on me back in high school, too? That didn’t stop ya, did it?”

Your heart wrestles with your brain, insisting on comfort and that love will always come in the form of someone that isn’t Miya Osamu. You’ll find someone, but will they be better? Will they send food to your doorstep, or send you stupid photos of dogs he saw on the street? Will they chase after you relentlessly for years, will they be Osamu?

A lump forms in your throat and you wonder if this, has been, is love. You tear your heart out from within you and let it cling to your sleeve, as pathetic and scared it is. You don’t mind if it hurts. To never hurt is to never have lived, to never have loved. 

By this point, your eyes have misted up with tears and it hits you- You’re about to cry about your crush in the middle of a cooking class attended by middle-aged ladies. You’ve never been more embarrassed. 

“Really?” you whisper, looking up at Osamu with glittering eyes. 

He ignores the “Miya-san! I need your help!” that rings out in the background. He smiles gently.

“Yeah, really.”

A tear slips down your face. Osamu lets out a breathy chuckle as he swipes it away with his thumb, giving your shoulder a squeeze.

“We’ll talk properly after this, alright?” 

You nod numbly. You watch as he hurries off to Shigeru, gasping when he sees how she had completely butchered her fillet. He turns back to you, trying to hold in a snigger. 

You giggle.

Osamu thinks he wants to hear that laugh forever.

6. Remove the cling wrap and cover the bottom of the rice triangle with a nori sheet and set aside.

“One extra large bonito onigiri with spring onions!” you cry out from the counter.

Back in the kitchen, Osamu and another part-time worker scoop steaming rice out of large vats and use their hands to mould them into perfectly shaped triangles. A scoop of filling goes in and a strip of seaweed is wrapped hastily around the onigiri before it's sent to you to package. You place the onigiri carefully into a box and slip it into a paper bag with the shop’s logo on the front for a take-away order. 

The shop is filled with customers even on a Wednesday afternoon. The clock shows 2p.m., past lunch time, yet you can see a queue that snakes out of the shop and down the alleyway. 

Another long day ahead, you think to yourself. 

“It’s our turn!” a little girl squeals as she takes the bag from you, opening it up to peer at the huge onigiri inside. “Mama! ‘giri!” 

Her mother laughs and pats her head. “Don’t forget to say thank you, Haru.”

The girl turns to you, eyes sparkling. “‘Fank you, Miya-shan!” 

A cheery grin almost splits your face in half. Miya-san. Four years on and it still makes your stomach flip whenever you hear that Osamu’s last name has become yours. It was an easy decision for the both of you to get married, really. You had loved each other for years and all you wanted to do in the end was to spend the rest of your lives together.

You quit your office job just before you got married to help Osamu out with the new Onigiri Miya branches. It took some getting used to, but the familiar customers and bright smiles that you see just by serving onigiri each day makes it worth it. It’s tough work, no doubt. But doing what you enjoy with the man you love is more rewarding than it ever could be.

Though, it’s not like your relationship has always been smooth sailing. There are days when you bicker over something stupid (like how you always forget to close the lid of the rice cooker), or when Osamu insists that he isn’t overworking himself (although his eyebags tell otherwise). But love’s a recipe with a few secret ingredients, and you’ve come to master it over the years. 

“Come back soon!”

The shop is filled with the fragrant scent of freshly cooked rice and bonito flakes being stir-fried into furikake. Customers perch on tiny stools as they scarf down onigiri of different shapes and sizes, licking their fingers clean. A plush toy of Onigiri Miya’s mascot sits on the counter next to a potted plant that Atsumu bought (which is surprisingly still alive).

A photograph of the third Tokyo branch’s grand opening hangs on the wall. You and Osamu hold up a bouquet of flowers, smiling toothily at the camera, your wedding rings glinting in the sunlight. 

“One medium onigiri with tuna mayo, coming right up!”

You jump as Osamu shouts out the order suddenly and you nearly drop the onigiri that he hands to you.

“Woah, careful there,” he chuckles, a hand ghosting the small of your back.

“You have ‘ta stop scaring me, ‘Samu,” you huff and roll your eyes playfully.

Osamu grins at you and the edges of his eyes crinkle up. You place the onigiri safely into its packaging and place it on the counter for a customer to collect, before turning back to plant a kiss on his cheek. Osamu’s face flushes pink and he hurries away, mumbling something about bonito flakes.

Your heart soars in your chest.

Yeah, it has been, will be, worth it. 

7. Repeat the same steps as above to use the rest of the rice with other fillings that you prepared.

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Love (I Can’t Forget)

Pairing: geralt x jaskier Warning(s): minor jaskier x other Rating: mature

Summary: Jaskier is quite enjoying his morning with the innkeeper's daughter when he hears the cry of a golem. He knows a contract has been put out for a Witcher and that everything should be perfectly fine. Only the contract put out was for a rock troll.

There are few things in his life that Jaskier regrets as much as his extensive knowledge of all things monsters. And not even the majority of the time, just right now on this particular day at this particular time.

He's been stuck in Hamm for three days on his way to Cintra to check in on Ciri. But there's a rock troll that's been blocking the only safe route out, chucking rocks at travellers and being a general nuisance. Rock trolls aren't much trouble otherwise, but this one is affecting trade and travel, so the town has put out for a Witcher. Judging by the chatter in town, the witcher arrived this morning. So, unable to leave and unwilling to go out and get involved with the Witcher and his business like everyone else, Jaskier has holed up with the innkeeper's daughter Penelope and he's quite enjoying himself.

Or, he was, until he heard the cry.

Because right now, he's quite happily trapped beneath layers of lace and silk, pinned between soft thighs, and all he can think of is that the contract was put out for a rock troll and that sound? that was a golem. Which means that right now, there's a Witcher thinking he's going up again a calm and peaceful creature and is very much not prepared for what he's about to find. And Jaskier is torn.

Because on the one hand, he doesn't want anyone getting hurt, especially due to miscommunication - intentional or otherwise. But on the other hand, the likelihood of Geralt being the Witcher called to deal with the problem is very high. And Jaskier doesn't want to see him.

It's been months now, close to a year since he last saw Geralt, having received no apology or even acknowledgement since the dragon hunt. Which is fine; Geralt's an asshole and he can travel alone if he likes, but if that's the way it's going to be, Jaskier simply does not want to see him. Ever again, if he can help it. But he also doesn't want to see him die.

"Fuck," he mumbles and Penelope giggles as he drops his head, hair tickling her thighs.

"Mmhm, I hope so."

Jaskier crawls out from under her skirts, running his hands up her thighs and doing his best to look apologetic. Because he is; he'd rather spend the entire afternoon making her come than face Geralt for even a second, but he can't sit idly by when the man he, regrettably, still loves could be in danger.

"I have to go," he says softly and she frowns. "I'm sorry and believe me, I would much rather stay here with you, but an old friend is in danger, I can't leave him alone."

"The Witcher?" she asks and Jaskier nods. She must have heard the cry too. "Isn't it his job to fight monsters?"

"Yes, when he's given the correct information, but that's not a rock troll out there." Penelope sighs but pushes her skirts back into place, tidying them.

"You'd better go find him then."

Jaskier dips down, pressing a brief kiss to her lips before gathering his things quickly and hurrying off to find the Witcher. He prays under his breath that it isn't Geralt, but even as he does, he finds himself looking for traces of the man. He knows Geralt's habits, knows where he'll set up camp - the people here aren't friendly enough to welcome a Witcher into their homes or even host him at the inn - and so Jaskier heads for the woods.

It takes him a remarkably short time to come across the meagre camp. Roach is tethered to a tree just a few feet from the fire pit and Jaskier's heart aches to see her. She dances excitedly and he swallows back a lump in his throat.

"Hey, girl," he whispers. "I've missed you too, but I can't stay, okay? Geralt could be in trouble." He gives her a quick pat, regretting that this will likely be their only chance to see one another.

Jaskier drops to his knees next to Geralt's pack, rummaging through it. He finds the satchel of oils first, pulling them out until he recognizes the bluish hue of elemental oil. He sets it aside and continues looking for potions. Immediately, he finds swallow and thunderbolt sitting neatly in their sheaths and his heart clenches. He grabs them both and a third vial he hopes is white rafford's and tucks them all into his pockets, turning to hurry in the direction of the fight.

It's not hard to find them. The golem is loud and Jaskier follows the sound of its roars until he almost stumbles over a log in his urgency to get to him. Geralt rolls in his direction, dodging a blow from the beast, and when he sees Jaskier, his expression sours.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Jaskier?"

Jaskier stiffens, immediately defensive. He has to bite his tongue as he crouches down next to Geralt, still keeping one eye on the golem. It seems to have lost its target for now, but Jaskier knows that won't last long.

"Rude," he retorts, "considering I'm here to rescue you." He empties his pockets, listing off the supplies as he pushes them into Geralt's hands. "I thought you might need the assistance since a golem is a lot harder to talk down than a rock troll."

He's seething now, all the anger and hurt of the last year bubbling to the surface and it takes everything in him not to cry in front of Geralt. He's always been an angry crier and he hates it. But Geralt's head jerks up and a little bit of pride peeks through the anger. Because he does know what he's doing. He pointedly ignores it, eyeing a scrape on the side of Geralt's face that will need tending to later.

"Take the thunderbolt now," he says, "don't risk going at it again without it."

Geralt scoffs but he makes no attempt to take control of the situation, letting Jaskier continue. Jaskier focuses on the golem; there's no way Geralt can get the jump on it from here, so he'll have to distract it once he's ready.

"Oil your blade," he says and Geralt eyes him suspiciously, but he's already got the rag in hand.

Once he's finished, he keeps his eyes on Jaskier, no longer waiting for a command, but skeptical of what comes next. Jaskier knows he's realized something is up or else he would have just gone after the golem again, but he's waiting, he's letting Jaskier help.

"You're not going to like this," Jaskier says, rising to his feet, "but know that I'm only doing it for you."

He darts away through the trees and he can hear Geralt yelling after him, but it's too late. He ignores him, pushing on until he hears the golem turn its attention on him. This is closely followed by an angry fuck and Jaskier knows his plan is working.

Geralt still isn't at full strength, but with a distraction, he shouldn't have trouble taking the golem down. He just needs to keep it away from him without being killed until he has the chance. It's only then, that he realizes he didn't think his plan through all the way; once again, he was too concerned about Geralt's safety to consider his own and that's proved ill for him in the past.

He trips over a root - a root! - and fumbles backward to keep out of the way, but he's expecting this to be the end. He shuts his eyes and braces himself, but just as he can feel the golem's breath on his skin, it lets out a cry and whips around to turn its anger on Geralt.

Jaskier cracks an eye open to see it swinging at Geralt, now caught up and wielding his silver sword. Jaskier sighs in relief and scrambles to get up, ensuring he hasn't lost any of the supplies he brought with him. He doesn't stick around to watch the fight, heart still hammering in his chest, instead finding himself a safe spot to look out for Geralt until he takes the golem down.

And he does, shortly now that he has the right supplies, dodging its blow and pirouetting around behind it to deal a deadly blow. The golem collapses, shaking the ground beneath it and Jaskier holds his breath as he waits for Geralt to emerge from the pile of rubble.

But he doesn't and Jaskier can stand the wait any longer so he rushes out to him. Geralt's eyes are open when he reaches him, but his eyelids droop and his breath comes in hot heavy puffs. Jaskier drops down next to him, careless of the mud and blood that soaks into his trousers.

"'M fine," Geralt mumbles, but he doesn't sit up or make any attempt to move and in Jaskier's opinion, that's not fine.

He hauls Geralt up into his arms, propping him up against his chest and pulls out the remainder of the potions he brought with him. Geralt scowls and bats his hand away.

"I didn't come all the way out here to watch you die," Jaskier tuts, "I was having a very nice morning and I'd appreciate it if I wasn't interrupted for no reason. Take the potion."

Geralt rolls his eyes like a petulant child and takes the vial from Jaskier's hand, downing it like a shot of liquor.

"See," he says, "fine." Jaskier wants to smack him.

"Get up."

It's a struggle to get Geralt to his feet and Jaskier suspects his physical injuries are worse than the exhaustion, a prospect that has his heart racing, much to his chagrin. Geralt shouldn't mean anything to him anymore and yet he can't keep himself from feeling sick at the thought of anything happening to him.

Geralt uses him for support, leaning on Jaskier's shoulders as they make their way slowly back to the camp. Geralt complains about getting the necessary proof that he killed the golem and Jaskier does his very best not to call him a fucking idiot about it. He promises, with as little irritation as he can manage, that he can return for it in the morning.

He sits Geralt next to the fire and as he crosses back to Geralt's bag to collect spare linen and salve, Roach nibbles at Geralt's hair, nudging him with her nose. Jaskier smiles softly at her worry, he can understand it well; Geralt all but left him for dead, and here he is pulling him out of danger and bandaging his wounds like nothing has changed.

When he returns to him, Geralt has two of the clasps on his armour undone, but he can't reach the third and he's frowning at it. Jaskier sets the linen down with the rest of his supplies and sighs softly.

"Let me."

Geralt remains silent as Jaskier unstraps his armour and pulls his shirt up over his head. He's bruised mostly, but there are a few fresh wounds including one that spans nearly his entire stomach. There are a few scars he doesn't recognize, too, and Jaskier doesn't want to think about what caused those.

He cleans his wounds first, then wipes down the rest of his torso, relieved to find most of the gunk on him is not actually blood.

Once he's finished his work, he leaves Geralt to get dressed and gathers more wood for the fire. He lights it with bits of flint from Geralt's pack and while the smaller branches begin to crackle, Jaskier sets about finding something for them to eat. He's never been very good at hunting - that was always Geralt's job when they travelled together - but he knows his plants and with what he still has in his pack, he fixes something up for them. Not that he feels much like eating.

It's not until Jaskier is about to leave that Geralt finally speaks. Jaskier is just on the edge of sleep, exhausted from worry and the effort it takes to be so close to Geralt right now and he very nearly misses it.

"Why did you do that?"

"What part?" Jaskier asks.

"Risk your life. For me."

"I had to. I couldn't just let you die because someone was too stupid to know the difference between a rock troll and a golem."

"I'm impressed that you knew."

Jaskier's stomach does a little flip-flop and he curses himself for being so weak. "I learned from the best," he quips. "But you should sleep. I'll come back to check on you in the morning."

There's a long silence as he gathers his things and then, "Stay?" Geralt asks and Jaskier's heart clenches.

He wants to. Gods, he wants to. To lie down next to him and look up at the stars like he always has and to fall asleep to the crackling of the fire and the faint sounds of Geralt breathing next to him. But he shouldn't. That part of his life is behind him now and Geralt made it very clear that he doesn't want him around. This was just a means to an end; he couldn't with any good conscience, let a Witcher die on bad information. Even if that Witcher is the same one who broke his heart on a mountaintop so many months ago.

"I miss listening to you sing while I rest," he says and Jaskier's legs shake under him.

"You.. do?"

"Mm, I didn't realize how much I appreciated it until it was gone."

Jaskier stands still, unable to think through the rush of blood in his ears. He was angry and hurt and spiteful for a long time, but maybe it's time to let go of all that.

"Alright," he breathes.

He tries to remain calm as he can because he knows Geralt can tell when he's not. He can hear the sound of Jaskier's traitor heart and the way his breath comes just a little too fast. And he'll know what it means, the insufferable git. But in the end, it doesn't matter because Jaskier will always choose him over anyone.

He lays down in the dirt, folding his arms back to rest his head on - he's already covered in muck and Geralt's blood, what's a little more dirt? - and he sings. It's not an active choice, but he sings a love song. It's a lovely little tune, not one of his own, but one he's always been fond of, and as he sings, he closes his eyes and lets the warmth of the fire wash over him, remembering the nights when this was a common occurrence. Geralt is quiet, apparently genuine in his desire to hear him sing and Jaskier isn't quite sure what to make of that.

When he finishes, he thinks Geralt is asleep and he settles as well as he can against the rocky ground. He's tired enough that he could fall asleep anywhere, but then Geralt goes and opens his mouth again

"I looked for you," he says, "at first." Jaskier doesn't know how to respond, but Geralt doesn't seem to want a reply and he continues. "I knew what I said was wrong and I knew I'd hurt you so I tried to find you. You must have made it down the mountain before me. I was angry about what happened with Yen, I didn't mean it."

"I know," Jaskier whispers and he does. He realized a long time ago that he was not the intended target of Geralt's rage, but it didn't help to heal the wounds and it didn't bring him back. He's not sure what else to say and his heart beats too fast.

"Come here," Geralt says softly, shifting slightly to make space for him under the blanket.

Jaskier moves to lie next to him and Geralt pulls him close, wrapping an arm around him. Jaskier presses his nose into Geralt's shoulder, burying his face so Geralt can't see the emotion it betrays. He smells off, tangy, like blood and it makes Jaskier's chest tight.

"Are you alright?" he asks.

"I'll be fine."

It's not a good answer, but Geralt tips his head down, burying his nose in Jaskier's hair and it's good enough. Jaskier presses closer, allowing himself this small bit of comfort.

In the morning, he wakes with Geralt's cloak over him, but Geralt himself is gone. As he rises to his feet, Jaskier realizes that Roach is still there, grazing happily at the edge of their camp and that means Geralt couldn't have gone far. He doesn't know how welcome his company will be, so he waits for Geralt to come back, but when he doesn't Jaskier starts to worry and he goes after him. It doesn't take long to find him.

Geralt is sitting on the edge of the forest, looking out over the town though they're far enough away that no one looking would notice them. Jaskier drapes his cloak around his shoulder and sits down, just slightly behind him.

"I thought about you," Geralt admits, "just before you showed up."

"Oh."

"I didn't think I'd see you again. I didn't want to die knowing you hated me."

"I don't," Jaskier says a little too quickly, "hate you. I can't, I tried. I was angry at you for a very long time and I was hurt for even longer, but I could never hate you." I love you too much for that.

"I have a... habit of saying things to you that I regret. Twice now I've nearly lost you for good and our last words would have been unpleasant."

"Twice?" Jaskier asks.

"Mm. The djinn."

"Right." Jaskier doesn't remember much about the djinn incident - it was fairly traumatic for him - but he does remember Geralt wishing for peace and quiet and saying some awful things about his singing voice. He mentions it, a little of the bitterness bleeding through.

"I didn't mean that either," Geralt swallows, "you have a beautiful voice." That voice fails him now as his stomach twists into a knot.

"Why now?" he asks because that's all that will come out.

"I miss you. I miss your company and seeing you again," he sighs like it's the most difficult thing he's ever had to say. Jaskier forgives him for that because this is already more than Geralt has said to him in a long time. "It makes me realize I was wrong before." He pauses again and Jaskier waits, nearly breathless. "I didn't actually expect you to leave."

"Then what did you expect?" he snaps, "Geralt I've put up with so much of your shit and I've stuck by you despite it. But you told me you didn't want me, that I was a nuisance, that I-" he turns and Geralt is right there. His words stick on his tongue and his throat goes dry.

"You're not a nuisance," he says and Jaskier nods dumbly. He looks at him and he can see how hard this is for Geralt to even get out this much and it's better than he was expecting. Anything else they can work out later if Geralt was genuine about wanting him around. Jaskier opens his mouth to speak to offer a compromise, but Geralt interrupts him.

"I'm sorry I hurt you," he says, "I didn't want to, I wasn't thinking."

"Geralt-"

"You're important to me, Jaskier. And you saved my life yesterday," his lips quirk just so and Jaskier stares for a moment, trying to figure out if he's really seeing this.

"You never were very good at taking care of yourself," Jaskier shrugs. "You should have someone to look after you. Someone who knows something about these monsters you hunt."

Geralt huffs a soft laugh but says nothing, meeting Jaskier's eyes and holding his gaze. He tips his head to one side and Jaskier can feel the breath catch in his throat because Geralt is so close and it's been so long. He doesn't move, afraid to disturb the peace between them, but Geralt leans in, closing the space between them and cupping Jaskier's face in his palm. Their noses bump together, then Geralt's lips brush against his own so faintly he thinks he imagined it. But when he doesn't pull away, Geralt kisses him properly, leaning into it. Jaskier lets himself be drawn forward, lost in the press of Geralt's lips against his own. He hums softly as an arm winds around his waist, bringing him closer, and when Geralt breaks the kiss, he presses their forehead together.

"I know it's not fair," he breathes, "to ask you to come back after the things I said to you, but I want to make amends. Tell me how to fix this."

"Come back to the inn with me," Jaskier breathes, "I'll talk to the innkeeper, get you a room - or you could stay with me?" he's still a little hesitant, but this is Geralt. "We can talk about what comes next after a bath and some supper."

"Will you join me?"

"In the bath?" Jaskier stutters and he can see the flush that creeps across Geralt's cheeks.

"I didn't mean -" he starts, before glancing down at Jaskier's muddy trousers. "But if you want-?" Jaskier barely remembers to breathe, but he settles himself.

"Supper first," he says, "then we'll see about a bath." Jaskier smiles at him and Geralt smiles back, and for the first time in a long time, he finds himself looking forward to whatever comes after.

[gladerwolfstarkimagines]

Imagine being the childhood friend of Zuko and him getting angry when Jet starts showing an interest in you.

Your POV

To be fair Zuko had held in his fury over being banished and hunted down by his sister quite well but apparently the journey to Ba Sing Sei was where he drew the line and decided to have a break down. Zuko spat out his food and you smirked to Iroh at his dramatics. “This is disgusting” he yelled throwing the bowl down before resting his head in his hands “I’m sick of living like this”. You went to remind him you only had one more day of this boat trip left until you reached Ba Sing Sei when someone else spoke. “Aren’t we all?” a smooth voice called and you and Iroh turned to see a boy watching you all. He approached Zuko and introduced himself as Jet the freedom fighter, whatever a freedom fighter was. Zuko didn’t return the gesture but you saw this boy, Jet, swept his eyes over the three of you and he smiled. He walked around to stand between you and Zuko and leant forwards “I heard the captain’s hoarding all the food and eating like a king, how would you like to help me liberate it?”. You and Zuko exchanged a look and you smiled knowing what Zuko’s response would be. “We’re in”.

You waited for night fall and then met Jet and his friend by the kitchen. Jet picked the lock easily with his swords and waved you all inside. Jet whistled as you all stared at the large kitchen amazed at it’s size. “You two take that side” he said to Zuko and his friends “we’ll take this side” he said and gestured to you. You nodded to Zuko and followed Jet to search the room. “So you or your friend got a name?” Jet asked as you searched. “Maybe” you shrugged opening a cupboard “but ours are nowhere near as colourful as Jet”. Jet smirked at your joke and walked closely past you to search the top shelf. “So if you won’t tell me your name how about where are you from? You and your friend seem close so I’m guessing you’ve known each other a while, since children?”. “Correct” you nodded “we’ve been friends since we were 5”. “Cute” Jet smirked “childhood sweethearts escaping to Ba Sing Sei to start a life together” he grinned mockingly. “We’re not childhood sweethearts” you snapped moving away and Jet followed you “ow really so you’re not a couple?”. “NO!” you said loudly before blushing as Jet laughed at your response. You hadn’t meant to be so adamant and you looked down embarrassed “I just meant that is not at all our situation, we’re just really good friends”. Jet nodded and stepped past you “that’s good to hear”. You watched him confused and he shot you a smile over his shoulder “for me that is”. You rolled your eyes but there was something about the boy that was very attractive. Jet smirked at your response and carried on searching. He opened a cupboard and grinned “look what I’ve found”.

You packed all the food up and snook it out of the kitchen easily. You distributed it out to the other families on the ship and Iroh smiled as you passed him a bowl “thank you y/n, you and Lee did a good thing”. “Try telling him that, he’s still pouting” you replied making Iroh laugh. You returned to get more for the other families but got distracted. “So your name’s y/n?” a familiar voice asked. Jet appeared beside you “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop of course but I couldn’t help it”. “Of course not” you smiled sweetly and Jet laughed “It’s a nice name, y/n, it matches you well”. You shot him a look but were slightly amused. It was honestly nice to have someone around that didn’t have the fire nation seriousness. You didn’t make it easy for Jet though and just ignored him. You opened the remaining boxes looking for more food but it was all gone. “Well I guess that’s the last of the food y/n” Jet said pointedly emphasising your name “how about we go for a walk? To celebrate?”. “Aren’t you hungry? We just liberated all that food”. Jet shrugged “I’d say you’re far more interesting to me right now so how about it...y/n” he said smirking and you smiled. You had a pretty boring time on Zuko’s exile so you shrugged “lead the way” and took off with Jet.

Zuko’s POV

Zuko made sure all the food had been dished out before he returned to his seat beside his uncle. He was just about to start eating when he noticed something was wrong....he couldn’t see you anywhere. Zuko looked around for you and blinked "uncle did you see where y/n went?". Iroh frowned when Jet’s friend spoke up. "She left with Jet" Smeller Bee replied and Zuko blinked "why? Are they running another job?". "No, Jet just works that quick" the girl shrugged before going back to her food. Zuko paused confused and craned his neck to see if he could see you. "You mean they're....on a date?". "Sure lets call it that" Smeller Bee agreed and Zuko frowned, when on earth did that happen and how did he miss it?

Panic seized Zuko and he began to wonder how on earth he’d missed this developing. He cursed himself for allowing it to happen right infront of his own eyes and wished things were different so he could’ve told you how he felt. The truth was Zuko had liked you for a while, more than a while actually. He’d liked you for almost as long as he could remember but he’d never told you for multiple reasons. Before when he was a prince he never told you because he was worried with him being the heir that would make you feel pressured to feel the same way and Zuko was 100% certain you didn’t like him. Then when he was banished and you decided to come with him he was amazed. He still remembered you marching your way onto his ship, demanding to come with you and how impressed and in love he felt. So he agreed to let you come but he couldn’t tell you he liked you for a different reason now. He was banished, what if he told you and you did like him? Then you’d get pulled down with him, tainted through association to him. You could return to the fire nation anytime and Zuko didn’t want to do anything to make you share the same fate as him and so he never told you how he felt and it appeared someone had beaten him to it.

When you hadn’t return before they retired to their cabin Zuko wanted to go out looking for you but Iroh told him you were just off on a date and not to ruin your fun. So Zuko didn’t search for you not wanting to *ruin your fun* but there was no way he could sleep not knowing where you were and so he waited up for you. As the time passed he got more agitated and decided if you weren’t back soon he would scour the ship for you no matter what Iroh said but just as suddenly as you’d disappeared you appeared. You opened the door to the cabin quietly and then jumped violently when you saw Zuko stood there in the dark. "Zuko...what are you doing?". "Making sure you got back okay, you took off with a stranger". You rolled your eyes "we’re on a boat Zuko, it’s not like i could be whisked off somewhere plus you know Jet!". "I know of him" Zuko said pointedly and you smirked "it’s sweet of you to worry but don’t worry i can handle boys like Jet" and you disappeared into your room. You patted Zuko as you passed and he sighed. Zuko didn’t like where this was going but he didn’t see how he could stop it. So ignoring the tingling sensation where you touched his arm he stomped into his room and laid face down in the bed.

Your POV

You arrived in Ba Sing Sei the next day and were eager to get off the boat but not as eager as Zuko. He practically dragged you and Iroh off the boat just so you could get stuck waiting in line for 4 hours. After your paperwork was finally approved you got into Ba Sing Sei and realised you had no idea where to go. Iroh claimed due to his old siege days he knew the city but as you stared at a map in the train station he frowned “hmmm it appears to have changed a bit” and Zuko cried out in anger. “You said you knew the city!”. “I did but that was over 10 years ago” Iroh explained “this might take some time”. You saw Zuko was getting ready to yell again and grabbed his arm “hey how about we go get some food while we wait?”. Zuko relaxed slightly and Iroh nodded “I’d love some tea”. “Of course” you smiled and tugged Zuko away. “You have to calm down” you told him softly “Iroh will work all this out we’ll be fine”. Zuko nodded “I know I’d just rather than was sooner rather than later”. “Why?” you asked “what’s your big rush?”. Zuko glanced around you as if looking for someone and then looked down “nothing I just want to get out of this place”. You frowned, something was clearly bothering your friend but you also knew Zuko well enough to know when he was in a mood like this there was no way he would tell you what was wrong. Zuko didn’t open up often and being agitated didn’t help that. So you tried to give him space and hoped he would confide in you when he felt comfortable enough. You spotted two different food carts and nudged his arm “you go get the tea, i’ll get us some food and meet you back by Iroh”. Zuko nodded and without a word walked away. You watched him with a worried frown before you walked towards the food truck. You joined the line, waiting for your turn to order when you heard a voice “so you made it in the city okay?”. You smiled to see Jet again and nodded “obviously” making Jet grin. It was your turn to order next and you stepped up and told the man what you wanted. When it came to paying you went to get the correct money but Jet stepped forwards. “Don’t worry I got this” he said placing some coins down on the counter. “You don’t have to” you started but Jet shook his head “no, I never got you anything on our date the other night so call this payback”. You rolled your eyes as you collected the food but you were blushing slightly. “I wouldn’t really call it a date, more of a walk”. “That’s true” Jet agreed “so that means I have to take you on a proper one”. “Ow really? You have to”? you asked and Jet nodded “for sure, custom all but demands it, I have to do it if I want to or not” Jet said shooting you a wide smirk. You laughed in shock and Jet smirk grew “it’s just a coincidence that I want to”. You smiled and went to tell Jet you’d think about it when Zuko appeared. “Y/n have you got the food?”. You looked down at the bag in your hands and nodded “yeah...”. “So are you heading back?” he asked glancing at Jet or more accurately glaring and you looked down. “You go ahead I’ll be right behind you”. Zuko narrowed his eyes and took the bag from your hands “Mushi is hungry so I’ll just take it”. “Z...Lee” you sighed but Zuko just shrugged “no it’s fine you stay and talk” and he stormed away. You frowned watching Zuko walk away and Jet laughed “that might’ve been my fault. You looked at him confused and Jet shrugged “your friend clearly has a problem with me”. You shook your head confused how Jet reached that conclusion "nonsense Lee likes you he’s just...moody, sometimes". Jet smirked "that i believe but no this seems specific to me and you". "Us?" you asked and Jet nodded "i saw him watching us before he came over, he clearly doesn’t like me being around you”. “I’m not sure...” you frowned and Jet smirked “y/n he’s watching us even now!”. You glanced at Zuko where he sat on the bench beside Iroh. Like Jet said Zuko was watching you and not just watching but openly glaring. He jumped when he saw you’d spotted him and looked away. "He’s just protective" you tried "we’ve been friends forever". Jet smirked "he's protective alright but not because you’re friend, I think the fact you’re just friends is where he has the problem". You realised what Jet meant and swallowed "i...no that can’t be true". Jet shrugged and laughed slightly "hey i’m not going to try and convince you, why would i when i’m interested in you?". You looked back at Jet and smiled "you are?". "Yeah, didn’t i make that obvious? Well maybe this will help" and Jet moved closer.

Zukos’s POV

As soon as you’d all arrived in Ba Sing Sei Zuko was thrilled for one sole reason. Jet. Ever since your date Zuko was anxious to make sure you never saw that boy ever again. So he rushed you and Iroh off the ship and was frustrated to see the long lines that awaited. However he never saw Jet once and so that helped ease his mind. Then when you finally did get through his uncle didn’t know where to go and he felt his temper rising again. Any moment now Jet could appear and tag along and...Zuko didn’t want to think about what could happen, how you and Jet could actually become a proper a couple. So Zuko was not in the best of moods and then the devil himself appeared. Zuko left your side for a second and who was there? Jet. Zuko was furious and so he tried to get you to come with him but you wanted to stay with Jet! Zuko couldn’t believe you were falling for this act and he stormed away from you both angry and upset.

He sat on the bench too angry to eat, just clutching his cup of tea staring at the back of Jet’s head. "Stop watching y/n nephew" Iroh commented and Zuko jumped "i’m not i was just....don’t you think it’s suspicious how much he’s around her?". Iroh shrugged "not considering what happened on the boat, it’s called dating". Zuko glared as Jet moved closer to you "but how do we know we can trust him? He could be anyone". You looked over suddenly and Zuko tore his eyes away "y/n should be careful, what if he hurts her?". "Well it’s ultimately y/n’s decision, we can't control her and while i think your concern for her is admirable perhaps you could work on your honesty?". Zuko paused "what are you trying to say uncle you know i hate riddles". "I’m saying that rather than chasing away any boy that comes near her maybe you should recognise your feelings for her and tell her". Zuko snorted "that’s preposterous! Y/n is just a good friend nothing more". Zuko knew that was a lie but he couldn’t have anyone working out his secret. Zuko was thinking of all the ways your friendship would be ruined when he glanced over and saw Jet kiss you. He breathed in sharply and clutched his cup so hard tea spilled over the sides burning him. He groaned in pain and threw the cup down. Iroh chucked passing him tissues "still going to pretend she's just a good friend to you?".

Your POV

“Here it is!” Iroh called throwing open the door “home sweet home”. Finally after days of waiting around and searching you’d found a home and jobs all thanks to Iroh. Zuko however wasn’t feeling so grateful. He glanced around the room and  gingerly dragged his hand across the table “it’s filthy, is everything in the earth kingdom filthy?”. Iroh shifted the plant pot in his hands and frowned “all it needs is a little cleaning and it will look as good as new. If we all chip in it won’t take long at all”. “Would you mind if we cleaned later please Iroh?” you asked and Zuko headed towards his room apparently done with this conversation. “Just I agreed to met Jet soon, we’re going to go explore the city a bit”. You didn’t notice but Zuko had stopped dead in his tracks. 

“Of course we can clean later better yet me and Zuko can get it all sorted for your return! Go and have fun you deserve it” Iroh smiled at you. You grinned and hugged him tightly “thank you!”. You separated and only then noticed Zuko was watching you. “What?” you asked “would you like to come too Zuko?”. “No!” he cried disgusted “why on earth would I want to hang around with you on your date”. You sighed and nodded “just asking”. “Are you two official now then?” Zuko asked and you shook your head “no”. “So that at the train station was just nothing?” Zuko asked and you frowned “why do you care?”. “I don’t care I just don’t understand why you’re wasting your time on him, you know he hates fire benders don’t you?" Zuko commented "if he knew you were one there’s no way he'd be sniffing around you so much". You rolled your eyes determined not to let Zuko ruin this for you. "Open your eyes Zuko everyone hates the fire nation and can you blame them? If anything Jet’s disdain for the fire nation makes him more attractive" and with a shake of your head you disappeared out the door. 

Zuko’s POV

The door shut behind you and Zuko gripped the table tighter. He stared at the door and breathed deeply to stop himself launching fire at it. “Nephew...” Iroh started and Zuko groaned “not now uncle!” and stormed into his room slamming the door.

Zuko flopped on his bed when he suddenly heard your voice. He walked to his open window and saw and Jet down below. Jet was smirking at you, standing way too close to you while you just looked up at him smiling. Zuko felt his stomach churn as how cocky Jet seemed with you. You started walking away and Zuko sighed, he went to turn away when suddenly Jet looked back. He looked at Zuko’s window, stared Zuko right in the eye and smiled. Zuko’s temper flipped and he glared. So Jet knew what he was doing then? Well Zuko wouldn’t let him get away with it. Zuko climbed out of the window and began to discreetly follow you.

Your POV

You and Jet explored the city all day and you were amazed. The city was huge in a way the fire nation city could never be. Endless rows of shops and houses all protected by the huge walls of Ba Sing Sei. After walking for as long as your feet could possibly manage, you and Jet retreated to a restaurant to refuel. You were quickly shown to a table and ordered immediately you were so hungry. “So what do you think of the city?” Jet asked and you smiled “it’s lovely, it feels like there’s still so much to see and we’ve been walking around all day!”. Jet nodded “well we can always walk around tomorrow....and the next day and the next....there’s nothing stopping us”. You nodded your head “good point” and Jet smiled before frowning. He focused on something behind you and leant forwards "Is that Lee?". You turned around and followed Jet’s gaze to a corner booth when a man held a menu infront of his face. “It can’t be he was back in the apartment....” you started when the man dropped his menu and you saw it was indeed Zuko. Zuko spotted you immediately and went pale. "Told you he didn’t like me and now he doesn’t trust me either" Jet commented and you sighed. “I’m so sorry can we rain check this? I have a friend to yell at".

You and Zuko argued the whole long way home. “I told you it was a coincidence!” Zuko yelled “why on earth would I be following you?”. “So you expect me to believe you were 40 minutes from home, in the same restaurant as me and Jet just by chance? You followed us Zuko and I want to know why. Do you hate Jet that much?”. “Well I don’t like him” Zuko agreed and you frowned “Jet said that! What has he ever done to you?”. “Nothing I....I just don’t like how you act around him?”. “Me? How do I act? you asked your temper rising and Zuko rolled his eyes. “I don’t know all embarrassed and quiet, you’ve never been shy in your life”. You paused ready to convince Zuko you were fine with Jet when he made it 100 times worse.

“Honestly it just seems a little fake and desperate” Zuko finished. He seemed to realise his mistake seconds later as you gasped loudly. "Desperate!" you yelled “you did not just call me that! How could you even say that?”. Zuko didn’t really see how he could back down so he carried on “all i’m saying is you’ve flung yourself at the first boy who looked at you despite the fact he’s clearly a criminal! Or did you forget how quickly he suggested breaking and entering to us? Who knows what other crimes he’s committed". "Have you forgotten we’re criminals too?" you hissed "you of all people should understand the law isn’t always black and white, fair and unfair, why are you so hard on jet? You liked him fine until i started seeing him". "Well maybe that’s why!" Zuko yelled "you shouldn't date him! He’s not good enough". "Not good enough?" you asked "Zuko i’m just having some fun, the most i’ve had since we’ve been on the run, it isn’t that serious". “Well you would see it that way you’ve been behaving immaturely ever since we got here" Zuko said coldly "throwing caution to the wind, fraternising with people who openly detest the fire nation. Did you ever wonder what danger your actions have put me and my uncle in? How you could've ruined us all with your recklessness? I think you have been away from the fire nation too long, you have clearly forgotten your honour". You gasped surprised "my honour?" you asked. Back home having a *superior* say something like that was an abrupt dismissal and you knew Zuko was aware of that. You swallowed and stared at Zuko "are you...does this mean you’re dismissing me from your company?". "Of course not! I would never leave you alone here but i do think you should consider your actions". "Are you ordering me to stop dating Jet?". "No i’d never order you..." Zuko said backtracking and you glared. "Good because i am not going to stop seeing him just because it worries you, so sorry your highness" you said bowing mockingly "but you’re going to have to get used to it" and you slammed the door.

Zuko POV

Zuko couldn’t believe the rubbish that had tumbled out of his mouth in your argument. He wanted to punch himself for somehow blaming you for all this. He knew he only had himself to blame but he’d attacked you instead. Zuko decided to apologise to you and was rehearsing it, trying to get it just right when Iroh appeared. “Zuko why aren’t you dressed we have a shift in 20 minutes!”. “It’s that time already?” Zuko asked, he’d been planning your apology for so long he’d lost track of time. “What have you been doing?” Iroh asked staring at the stacks of paper and Zuko covered them quickly “nothing just let me sort something and I’ll be ready to leave”. Iroh nodded and left. Zuko stared at his apology and sighed, it wasn’t right yet! He couldn’t find the right words to say what he needed to say and it to be perfect or else you might not forgive him. He tried rewording a line but then threw his pen down in frustration, he’d just have to finish this later. He quickly dressed in his uniform and followed Iroh to the tea shop.

The evening shift was usually dead but for some reason it was packed tonight. Zuko was rushed off his feet so much he didn’t even notice Jet when he walked in. It didn’t matter though Jet made his way straight to him. “You’re from the fire nation aren’t you?”. Jet said it loudly and Zuko froze as many people turned and stared. “No” Zuko said calmly but Jet smiled “figured you’d say that but I heard you admit it with your own words. How dare you sneak away as a refugee when you’re one of them”. “I’m not, we’re from the earth nation...” Zuko tried but Jet carried on “and if you’re fire nation then maybe you’re benders too....only one way to find out” and he drew his swords.  

Zuko grabbed a sword from one of the nearby customers sheath and met Jet’s first strike. Zuko worked on defending himself only, he wasn’t interested in hurting him but the boy wasn’t making it easy. Zuko managed to take the fight outside and tried distracting Jet. “What do you mean you heard me say it, were you spying on us?” Zuko asked and Jet nodded. “After you made such a big deal following me and y/n on our date I got suspicious. Being jealous was one thing but you were downright manic! So I followed you both home and heard y/n say how you were fugitives from the fire nation, fire benders seeking aid in Ba Sing Sei” Jet glared “you’re the reason we’re all here!”. Jet carried on attacking Zuko but he deflected them easily, Jet was too emotional, he was getting easier to anticipate. "I should’ve known all along though" Jet smirked suddenly "you hated me far too much for it just to be over a girl". Zuko glared "for the record i hate you completely and utterly because you are nowhere good enough to be around y/n, you’re not worth the mud under her shoes, she’s too good for you". Jet spat on the floor "she’s a fire bender, she’s worthless and i regret the energy i wasted on scum like her". Zuko tensed and tightened his grip on his sword. Now he was interested in attacking Jet, screw defence, he was going to make this kid pay. 

Your POV

You heard about the fight from passer-by. When they described a boy with brown hair and hook swords fighting a teashop worker with a burn on his face you know exactly who they were. You waited for Zuko and Iroh to arrive home and the second they walked through the door you exploded. "You got Jet arrested?" you cried and Zuko looked down. Iroh frowned "y/n it wasn’t like that...Jet was attacking Zuko!". "I’m sure it wasn’t unprovoked, was this part of your plan?" you asked Zuko. "I refused to obey your order to stop dating Jet and so you arrest him?". "You ordered her to what?" Iroh cried and Zuko sighed "i didn’t order her i just suggested she consider her honour and re-assess her choices". Iroh sighed “you two are so...” he took a deep breath and fixed Zuko with a piercing look. "Zuko this has gone far enough explain yourself to y/n and just maybe she'll forgive your awful behaviour, Y/n listen to what he has to say and afterwards then you can judge him but let him finish first, okay?" Iroh asked before storming from the room without waiting for a reply. 

You and Zuko were both speechless to hear Iroh raise his voice and so you blinked and turned to Zuko “I make no promises to wait until the end but go ahead”. Zuko was quiet for a while and you could tell he was searching for the words he needed. “Zuko...” you frowned and he sighed “I was jealous okay! That’s what all this was, I was jealous of you and Jet spending so much time together”. Zuko stopped talking and you rolled your eyes "are you kidding me? So i can’t have anyone else in my life? Only you can take up my time?". Zuko shook his head "i wasn’t jealous of Jet taking up your time, if he'd just wanted to be your friend i’d have been fine but he clearly didn’t and that’s why i was jealous" Zuko snapped "he wanted to be something more and you did too and that bothered me". “Because you didn’t like Jet?” you tried and Zuko shook his head “because I liked you...like you” he said awkwardly staring at the ground. You blinked and stared at the ground too in shock “wow I....I don’t know what to say, how long have you...”. Zuko sighed “I can’t remember when it started because it’s been so long" he said softly "but I remember the moment I noticed. It was when my mom left, i was miserable all the time apart from the times i was with you. When you were around, i was still hurting but it was less and the more you were around the less and less it got until i didn’t hurt any more. You healed my pain and that’s how i knew i liked you". Zuko finished and you blinked "but Zuko your mom left when we were 11 you’ve known you liked me all this time? Why didn’t you just tell me?". 

"Because it wasn’t just a small crush it was big y/n and it grew more and more every day and by the time you left the fire nation with me i didn’t just like you it was...more". You got chills as Zuko spoke but you felt unable to speak or move. "When you came with after i got banished i so wanted to tell you but you'd left the fire nation just to help me, i didn’t want to do anything to make you to throw your whole life away for me. I hoped that even if i couldn’t return to the fire nation one day you could and have the life you deserve. I planned to send you away once i got on my feet, and then again when i got my ship working well, and then again once we’d swept the four nations for the avatar. But every time i came close i delayed it because i was selfish. I didn’t want to drag you down with me but i couldn’t seem to let you go. I made a mess of everything and i’ve done it again. I was jealous of you and Jet but also too afraid to tell you and so i ended up hurting you" Zuko sighed "y/n i am so sorry for that, you’re the last person i meant to hurt but still because of my selfishness i harmed you and that will always taint my honour but i hope you can forgive me one day". Silence fell and Zuko looked up "y/n? Please say anything". You looked up as if in a daze and shook your head "You still haven’t asked me". Zuko paused "i did i just asked you to forgive me". "Not that" you said shaking your head again "you told me you liked me but didn’t ask me back" you chuckled. "You just assumed to know my answer without asking me, do you think you know me that well?" you asked staring at him. Zuko stuttered. "I....i'm sorry i didn’t mean to...wait does this mean? Do you...". You smiled "i can’t give an essay on the exact moment i knew like you just did but yes" you nodded "i like you Zuko". Zuko stared at you in shock "you...you do?" he asked grinning. You nodded again and Zuko laughed out loud hugging you tightly before he stopped "wait so all this agony watching you with jet, i could’ve avoided it all if i just told you this earlier?". "Yup" you nodded “Zuko, Jet was an angry cocky teenager who fights with swords...why do you think I liked him? He reminded me of you”.  Zuko eyes widened and he promptly smacked himself in the face "idiot!" he cried. You laughed pulling his hand away gently "it’s fine we know now right?". Zuko nodded "that’s true..." and he took your hand staring at you intensely. You blushed and buried your head in his chest to escape his gaze "stop looking st me like that". "I can’t help it" Zuko laughed holding onto you "i can’t believe someone like you would like me". You moved your head out of his chest to fix him with a look “are you kidding me? You’re amazing, i’m the one that’s shocked, you’re smart and funny and kind...”. Zuko turned an ever deeper shade of red and you grinned “did I make the angry fire bender blush?”. “Stop it” Zuko said “that’s an order” and he smiled to let you know he was joking. “Well I have an order for you” you said calmly. Zuko looked at you confused and you just smiled “kiss me”. Zuko obeyed immediately and you were caught off guard but it was a pleasant surprise. You weren’t sure if it was the long time waiting or the pent up tension these past few days but Zuko was very passionate and the kiss quickly became heated. 

You were enjoying it but were also very aware Iroh could walk back in any minute. “Zuko” you whispered “you’re very good at obeying orders but we’re in the middle of the living room”. Zuko immediately blushed and looked down “sorry I think I got carried away”. “Don’t be” you smiled “I liked it just Iroh will be back any minute and he’s the last person I’d want walking in on us”. Zuko nodded his head “that kiss was not as sweet and innocent as I planned it to be” Zuko frowned "i don’t know what came over me". You chuckled "it’s fine it was wonderful but a date first would be better next time". "Of course, how does tomorrow sound” Zuko asked blushing and you smiled leaning against his shoulder. “That sounds perfect”. Zuko wrapped his arms around you and rested his head on top of yours “Tomorrow night it is”. 

[starlessea]

Here Comes the Sun: XII. Highway To Hell (Daryl Dixon/Reader)

Series Masterlist: Here Comes the Sun

Summary: Daryl Dixon scares the hell out of you climbing out of that damn creek. It takes hauling his ass halfway across Georgia and taking a bullet for him to realise that you're not half bad. He slowly starts to come around, despite grumbling about how much he doesn't like your singing, or that you can't use a gun for shit - and don't get him started on that ugly yellow tent of yours. It takes him a while before he starts to see for himself that he's found a best friend for life, and that he doesn't actually mind the colour yellow that much, after all.

Words: 7169

Chapter Warnings: Language, Violence.

You held a hand up over your shoulder and crouched down near the door, signalling for Carol to do the same behind you. Your gun was pressed snug between your palms, and your knife hung from your belt in case you needed it. Though, from the looks of the place it seemed pretty secure - if the lock you'd just busted open was anything to go by. The two of you were scavenging and had spotted a small general store, deciding to check it out before heading back to the cabin. The group hadn't eaten anything substantial in days, save for the things Daryl had been hunting. Even then, the harsh winter months made it harder for him to pick up tracks when most animals had better shelter than you all did.

It had been a number of weeks since the farm was overrun, but it almost felt like yesterday. The temperature had dropped to freezing seemingly overnight, making your fortunes that much more cruel. Even now, your breath formed clouds of smoke before your eyes, and the cold felt like it had infiltrated your bones at some point and never left. The tips of your fingers stung as they glowed red, exposed through your fingerless gloves, and you were certain that your nose matched, too. Carol's did, that's for sure.

You gave her a quick nod before kicking in the door harshly with your boot, raising your gun as you entered. The inside was bigger than you were expecting, and it took you a few minutes to clear each aisle for walkers. As you did, you noticed how most supplies were missing from the shelves, having been taken before the place was locked up. Still, Glenn had always drilled into you the first rule of scavenging: 'there's nothing good left in this world that isn't hidden.'

Sending a nod to Carol, you put your gun away in your holster before reminding her to stay alert. The two of you split up as she made her way towards the canned goods sections, hoping to find something there. Ever since you'd been on the road, you and Carol had gotten quite a bit closer. At first, she seemed sceptical of Rick and the whole situation you were forced into, as you all did. Though, after time she seemed to realise that he was the group's best shot. Most days, the two of you made dinner with anything you could find, often supplementing the things you were missing with whatever Daryl had managed to bring home from his hunt. Other times, you went scavenging together, as you did today.

At first, Rick absolutely refused to let anyone split up, and you had to abide by his rule. One time he'd caught you mocking his 'this isn't a democracy' speech to Beth behind his back and you'd had to forfeit your portion of squirrel to the greater good that evening. Daryl sneaked you some of his afterwards, however. Though, Rick quickly began to realise that there was no other choice. Before long, you'd gotten good with a gun; taking down walkers each day had that effect. Soon, you were one of the frontrunners whenever you had a house to clear - often fighting alongside him, Glenn and Daryl.

Now, he was comfortable with you leading a few runs of your own and taking Carol along with you. Glenn and Maggie often went together, too, so that you covered more ground. It wasn't that Rick was comfortable with splitting up the group, you thought; he just didn't have a choice. Lori was nearing her due date and you were all practically living on fresh air, moving from place to place quicker than you had the chance to catch your breath.

You hadn't even had time to settle things with Daryl. You barely saw the man. He'd leave first thing in the morning to look for food, and be back late at night - when most of the group had already fallen asleep. Even then, he often took watch straight after he returned. You could tell how responsible he felt for everyone and you saw the worry in his eyes daily, if the bags under them were anything to go by.

After you had kissed Daryl, back at the farm, you only had one conversation about it. It was a couple of days after you all fled, when you were taking watch with him as the rest of the group were stuck camping under the stars. It was brief, and before that the two of you had already gone back to acting as good friends, like usual. He'd told you that he wasn't good with words, and didn't want to just give you some half-assed response in the midst of struggling to survive the Georgia winter. You agreed, and it was decided then that you'd talk about it later. Yet, later never came.

It had been an unspoken rule between the two of you that everyone's safety was the priority. Though, in truth, you hadn't had a single moment where you felt safe since you left the farm. It seemed almost cruel that immediately after you'd told the man that you wanted to live, rather than just survive, you had been thrust out into the vicious world where that's all you could struggle to do. So, the two of you just existed at the moment.

Some mornings you'd wake up to sound of him leaving, and some evenings he'd be back early enough to share a meal with you. Other than that, you lived for the brief occasions where you'd take watch together, when he'd smoke a cigarette next to you and you'd sit in content silence. Though, sometimes it felt like you were frightened to say anything at all, in case you accidentally blurted out all of your feelings at once. So, the both of you barely talked - waiting for the time when you could actually talk.

You shoved some supplies into your satchel as you scoured the aisles. There wasn't much you could see that hadn't been taken already, but you picked up a few bandaids in case you ever needed them. The only thing you were able to save from the farm was your satchel. Luckily, it already had your polaroids in it and a change of clothes, since you'd been packing to move into the Greenes' farmhouse at the time the horde arrived. Still, there was so much you missed from those days.

You missed the material things, like the comfort you got just from seeing Dale's RV parked by the main camp. You missed the flimsy deck chairs surrounding it, and the big apple trees that gave it shade, and the books you'd borrow from Hershel's library to read when you had lookout duty on top of it. You missed your white dress that smelt like the washing powder that Patricia used - even though you knew it wouldn't have survived long out in these dingy, cold places. You even missed the intangible things, and felt a deep longing of nostalgia for the sounds of the leaves rustling in the breeze or for the sweetness of the air. Those days felt so far away from you now, like the images of them were slipping out of your grasp - like grains of sand before you could catch them.

The things that remained fresh in your mind, however, were the people that you left behind. You missed Patricia and Jimmy and Andrea, and even Shane. As much as that man rubbed you the wrong way, you didn't want to see him die. You didn't want any of them to die. That night was a mess. These days, you often woke up in a cold sweat from the nightmares. Except, this time it was the faces of your family replacing the walkers that usually inhabited them. You missed the people you'd lost and you missed the place that you all thought was home. You also missed Daryl Dixon.

A loud clatter sounded from a few rows over from you, immediately making you thumb over your gun as you stilled in place.

"Carol?" You called over, unable to see her from behind the tall shelves. "Everything alright?"

She responded instantly, and you felt relief wash over you as she did.

"I'm fine. I just dropped a tin." She reassured you, her voice carrying as an echo in the empty store.

You let out a small sigh before continuing with your poor haul. It was times like these that you really felt your mind wander when it shouldn't. You knew that you should always be cautious, since you promised Rick that you'd look out for Carol. Though, quite frankly, you thought that he didn't give her enough credit. That woman was a force to be reckoned with, but not many people had realised it yet. Daryl had. The friendship the two of them shared was really admirable. He'd been the one to search for Sofia, and comfort Carol after the loss of her - and Carol was equally as good for him as he was for her. She'd been able to coax him out of his shell where even you struggled to, and you could see how he'd started to accept his new role within the group because of her.

You just wished, very selfishly, that you could be with him. You understood that he had a job to do now, and how not everyone was able to do the things he did. The group had women and children and older people and a pregnant Lori. You were all running on empty, barely hanging on as it was. Yet, those nights when he'd come back empty-handed, cursing himself under his breath when he thought you were all asleep, made you want to hold him close. You never did, knowing how much Daryl Dixon hated pity from anyone, but the longing was so strong that it made your eyes sting with tears.

Although things weren't awkward between the two of you, you didn't joke around nearly as much as you used to. The atmosphere always felt heavy, as nobody knew when the next meal would come, or how long this place would be safe before you had to move again. As the nights got bitterly cold, you huddled next to Beth for warmth, or Carol sometimes. You felt absolutely no shame in it. There were only a few tattered blankets to go around, but they barely did anything for your numb toes and stiff fingers. If you weren't all family before, then you definitely were now - given how close you'd all had to become.

Some nights, the ones which were your favourites, Daryl slept beside you. You didn't think it was intentional at first. Or, maybe it was. In the grand scheme of things, it was barely anything at all. Yet, the first time almost made you cry, as it felt like he was reminding you that he still cared for you. It wasn't like you ever embraced him, or did anything remotely intimate. You hadn't ever been anything more than the brief kiss you shared in his tent. Though, it still felt intimate to you.

He'd come in late, as usual, on a particularly cold night. You'd heard him slug off his boots and throw them aside as he stripped out of his heavy winter gear. The whole time, you'd pretended to be asleep, like you normally did. After a while, he finally laid down on the ground, clambering over the sleeping bodies of the rest of the group. You usually all huddled together in one room for warmth. You'd felt the floorboards creak and shift beneath you as he settled next to you, not that you were touching, but close enough to feel his presence and hear his breathing.

Once you were sure he'd fallen asleep, you scooted backwards slightly, so that your backs were touching. It was hardly anything, but the slight warmth you felt from him was more comfort than you'd had in weeks. You were touch starved and hungry and cold. You needed something. When you'd woken up the next morning, he was already gone. He never said anything about it, but since then you'd found yourself occasionally waking up in the middle of the night to your back pressed against his, or sometimes having a hand intertwined with your own.

As you finished down one aisle, you noticed another that had been left untouched. It was a toy section, quite small given the size of the store. Obviously, the necessities had been taken first, and you thought that whatever children had survived the apocalypse probably didn't have many things left to play with - since they were all still here. You trailed your finger over the dusty shelf, feeling the glossy plastic of the boxes and the soft fur of the stuffed animals piled there.

"Looking for something for the baby?" Carol asked, popping up behind you.

You immediately jumped, and flung a hand over your chest as you shot her a look. It had been your fault for not paying attention, but she didn't need to know that.

You shook your head. "Not intentionally." You admitted, eyes scanning over the selection. "But I suppose we could pick something up."

You chose one of the bears and shoved it into your satchel. Usually, you'd have looked for something for Carl, too, but he'd recently been acting a lot older than his years. He wanted to step up and protect everyone like his father, he confessed to you one day. You had to admit, he was a pretty good shot and certainly didn't seem like a child anymore. You didn't want to undermine his efforts by presenting him with an action figure in the midst of your current situation, telling him to take a break from killing walkers to play with it.

"Did you find anything?" You turned to look at Carol, who held up her bag that didn't seem anywhere near full.

She shrugged her shoulders at you and made a face. "Few expired cans, but nothing much." She frowned. "You?"

You shook your head softly and flipped open the flap of your satchel to show her your haul.

"Some bandaids and a Freddie Mercury bobblehead." You confessed, picking it out to show her.

You held up the small figure in front of her face, pulling back its comically large head with your thumb and letting it wobble.

"Cute, right?" You asked, raising an eyebrow.

Carol just gave a small chuckle in reply, folding her arms as though about to half-heartedly scold a child. You shrugged your shoulders before stuffing it back into the bag. Just because Carl didn't want to play with toys anymore didn't mean that you couldn't.

Carol glanced over at the entrance of the store, before giving the shelves a final scan. "We should get going soon." She noted, her bag clanking as she readjusted it over her shoulder. "Some walkers might have gathered outside by now."

You hummed in response, distracted by the array of multi-coloured boxes. "It's fine, I'll look after you." You said, shooting her a wink as she sighed.

The woman had become used to your teasing by now, and it was a welcomed change from how tense you all were most of the time. Even though you mostly used humor as a coping mechanism, especially when you felt nervous, it seemed to lighten the atmosphere when it got a bit too heavy.

"Though I don't think you even need me." You continued, eyeing the small pistol she had tucked into her jeans. "You're getting pretty good with a gun."

Carol snorted at that, reminding you of the time she almost shot a bullet through Rick's boot not so long ago. In her defence, Rick had been a lot more on edge that day, and you'd been quite tempted to do the same.

"Speak for yourself." She spoke, after you'd tried to convince her otherwise. "You started learning after me and your aim's already on parr with Rick's."

You remembered those first days, and how hard they were. Everyone had fallen into their roles and you'd felt almost stuck in place. You didn't know how best to contribute. It had taken the neighbourhood you were all staying in to get overrun before you had the chance to test your skills. You hadn't wanted to waste bullets before that, but you'd scarcely had a choice then.

"He's a good teacher." You smiled at Carol, giving Rick praise where it was due. "And there's no better practice than being terrified and having to learn on the job." You admitted with a strained laugh.

You continued walking down the aisle slowly, back in the direction of the entrance.

"But you're right, we should go." You agreed, gesturing to the door.

The two of you took a few steps together before you stopped abruptly as something caught your attention, right in the corner of your eye. You whipped your head around to look at one of the glossy toy boxes, reading its bold letter description.

"Oh my god." You mumbled to yourself, below your breath.

Carol looked over at you, confused. "What is it?" She asked, glancing in the direction where you were staring.

You couldn't hold back the grin that spread over your face as you grabbed the box and held it in your hand. You glanced over your shoulder, at Carol, before running your fingers back over the dusty plastic.

"No fucking way!" You yelled in disbelief. It seemed like your luck was finally changing.

Carol peered over your shoulder before letting out a chuckle at your expression.

"Now that would be perfect for the baby." She smiled, staring down at it in your hands.

You shook your head at her, looking up to meet her eyes. "I actually had someone else in mind." You admitted, still feeling the smile tug at the corners of your mouth as you said it. "It's a bit of an inside joke we have."

Carol hummed in reply, but didn't press for answers.

"But I agree." You went on, making room for the box to fit into your satchel. "It'll probably get handed down to baby Grimes at some point."

The walk back to the cabin was pretty uneventful. The two of you stayed in the cover of the forest, out of sight of the main road. You'd had to dispatch a couple of walkers on the way, but nothing that the two of you couldn't handle. At this point, you just wished for another set of clothes that weren't covered in muck and dried blood. You could hardly remember the last time you'd worn something clean - that hadn't just been dunked in a creek when you came across one.

As you walked, you must have strayed slightly off the path that you usually took, since you came across an unfamiliar, old Toyota truck that had veered off road and crashed into a tree. It was covered in dried leaves and all beat up, but you recognised the model as the same one belonging to Otis, back at the Greene farm. It was always parked outside there. It was a simple, two person pick up truck that was rusty red in colour, and it instantly made you think back on the night that you were forced into driving it.

After Rick had told you and Daryl that Randall had escaped, the whole farm went into an uproar. You stayed in the farmhouse whilst some of the group went to look for him, Daryl included. It wasn't long before you spotted the horde coming your way, and Hershel's barn had started to go up in flames in the distance. After that, you could barely remember what had happened.

You'd been with Daryl at first. He shot the walkers that got too close with his crossbow, before switching to guns. You did the same, trying to give the others an opportunity to pile into the vehicles and escape. At some point, however, you got completely cut off from the rest of the group and had been forced back to the opposite side of the farmhouse.

The chaos was indescribable. It was like you'd been drafted up for war in the span of half an hour. Soon, you had run out of bullets and only had your knife left to defend yourself. So, you ran. Not able to see any of the others anymore, you sprinted for the last vehicle left - Otis' old Toyota truck. You flung the door open and clambered inside, locking it just in time to avoid the hands that smacked up onto the glass windows. You remembered how your chest heaved as your hands fumbled around the dash frantically. You finally found the keys tucked into the sun visor above your head, and almost cried from relief.

When your hands stopped shaking long enough to put it in the ignition, you turned the key only for the engine to rumble once before falling flat. You tried it again, and it gave out a choked sputter and died.

"No, no, no." You whispered, turning the key over and over to try and start the truck. "This can't be happening."

The windows had almost been completely blacked out by the number of hands and faces pressed against them, the walkers snapping their jaws at you as you panicked inside. In the rearview mirror, you could even see some start to clamber into the truck bed, and knew that it was only a matter of time before they completely swarmed you. You slammed your hands onto the steering wheel in frustration and yelled, not caring whether you attracted more.

"I can't die now, I just kissed that stubborn asshole!" You screamed, accidentally hitting the windscreen wiper stick with your elbow. You watched as the blade caught one of the walkers' flesh and smeared it over the glass.

"Fucking great." You sighed, and turned the key again.

This time, you felt it catch slightly between your fingers, and thought that perhaps the starter motor was sticking. The truck hadn't been used since Otis' death, but it still seemed to have some life in it. You jiggled the key and turned it half way, praying to every deity you could think of. You twisted it fully, and the engine roared to life. You held your breath for a few seconds, not entirely trusting it, but as it continued to rumble you realised that it had started properly this time.

Not wanting to sit around any longer, you immediately set off, mowing down the stream of walkers in front of you all while hoping that the car wouldn't flip over. You watched your mirror as the ones clinging onto the truck bed were flung off as you picked up speed, and you almost wanted to yell out in triumph - but felt like you might be sick if you did so.

The truck was hell to drive. You couldn't figure out the stick for a while and your windscreen was covered in blood and smeared guts. You knew you had to head for the highway where the supplies for Sofia were left. You'd gone with Rick one time, when he went to wait for her there at noon. As you pulled out of Hershel's farm, you gave a final glance back in your mirror to see your home burn and become entirely inhabited by the undead - and noticed your little yellow submarine trampled to the ground as you did so.

As you neared the highway, after driving on the wrong side of the road for a while without realising it, you felt a knot start to form in your stomach. You hadn't seen the others get away - you didn't know if they were alive or dead, or even if they would have waited for you if they managed to escape. Your eyes blurred with tears as you drove, still not feeling any sense of relief despite having made it out of the farm. You just prayed that everyone was safe.

When you got closer to the meeting spot, you immediately noticed the familiar vehicles from the farm, and even Daryl's motorbike, all parked up. You stopped the truck once you couldn't go any further, being blocked by the abandoned cars. The group began to approach you quickly as you clambered out and hit the floor with shaky feet. Glenn reached you first, smiling widely when he saw that you were okay.

"Is that you?" He asked, clapping a hand over your trembling shoulders. "I've never seen anyone drive that badly before-"

You didn't let him finish, instead running over to Daryl on unsteady feet. You flung yourself into his arms, which pulled you in close and held you tight. You sobbed louder than you thought you ever had before, crying into his chest as you felt one of his hands stroke softly over your back. You didn't care what anyone thought at this moment. Nothing could describe the feeling of losing your home and thinking your family was dead. You realised how close you had been to being all alone, once again.

"Hey, c'mon look at me." He said softly, trying to pry himself out of your grip.

He lifted your chin up with his finger and you knew that you must've looked quite the state. Your eyes were completely blurred with tears, so much that you could barely make out the man in front of you, and your nose ran as you struggled to hold back your sobs.

"It's a'right." He reassured you, looking into your eyes as if realising that you needed further convincing. "Yer safe."

You looked around at the group, taking in their faces and feeling your hands tremble against Daryl's chest as they clutched the material of his shirt still. Everyone looked relieved, and offered you small smiles of comfort.

You stepped back from the man a little, giving him his space. You still couldn't stop the tears from falling. It was as if your body still hadn't caught up to your mind.

"I was so scared." You admitted quietly, voice quivering as you did so. "I thought you'd all left me."

You didn't drop your hands from his chest, letting yourself feel his heartbeat beneath your palms as a reminder that this was all real.

Daryl shook his head at you. "We'd never leave ya, Teach" He grumbled, as though he couldn't believe you'd even suggest it. "Went back to look for ya on the bike but I couldn't find ya."

Maggie stepped forward, pulling you into a hug as you finally released Daryl's shirt from your grip. She stroked your hair as she brought you into her chest, and you felt tears stream down your cheeks.

"You scared us all half to death." She told you, before gripping onto your shoulders tightly as you stood back from her.

Glenn nodded in agreement, before letting out a small chuckle. "Then we spotted Otis' truck barreling down the highway." He said, pointing over to the vehicle you'd abandoned. "Thought a walker was driving it the way you were swerving all over the place."

You tried to let out a laugh in return, but it came out all watery in between your sobs.

"The gearstick-" you choked out, hiccuping as you spoke. "Had to change gears with the wrong hand." You explained, lifting your arm to give a poor demonstration as you continued to cry.

"You-" you spluttered, letting out a wail mixed with a desperate laugh. "You stupid Americans."

It was a few days before you and Daryl crossed paths in the cabin again. It was late and you'd been trying to sleep for a few hours when the door creaked open. He'd shuffled around for a bit before you heard him take over watch duty from Glenn. At first, you'd wanted to go outside and scold him for never taking the time to rest, but after a few minutes you decided on a different plan. Prying yourself out from underneath the blanket you shared with Beth, you pulled on your boots - not bothering to do up the laces. The icy breeze hit your skin and caused it to prickle instantly, making you wish you had a spare comforter to take with you. You wouldn't be surprised if it snowed soon, given how dry and bitter the air had felt on your cheek earlier that day.

You retrieved your satchel and tip-toed around the sleeping bodies, doing your best not to step on any creaky floorboards and disturb them. You opened the cabin door slowly, and shut it behind you as you stepped out into the night. Daryl was sitting on the stone wall a few feet away, and you could tell that the smoke coming from his lips was from more than just the cold. He had a cigarette lit between his fingers, and you could make out the familiar lighter that he flicked open and closed in his other hand. You approached with purposefully loud footsteps, not wanting to startle him. He didn't turn around, waiting until you came closer.

"Mind if I join you?" You shot him a smile, pulling your arms to your chest to try and protect yourself against the chill.

He hummed in response, and you noticed how exhausted he looked in the glow of the lighter flame that flickered near his cheeks. His hands were covered in dirt, as were parts of his face, and his hair stuck to his forehead and the back of his neck despite how cold it was. Though, you were sure that you didn't look any better. Your once white vest was now a grubby brown colour and you'd pulled your long hair into a bun on top of your head about a week ago and hadn't looked back since.

Wordlessly, the man shrugged off the poncho he'd found recently, and handed it to you. He had another leather jacket on underneath, but you still felt guilty. You thanked him, pulling it over your head and instantly feeling grateful for the warmth that engulfed you. He then pulled a carton of cigarettes out of his pocket, offering it over to you where he sat. You shook your head and gave him a small smile as he shrugged and stuffed them back into his jacket.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, just watching and listening to the night. Nothing was uncomfortable between you. It's just that the two of you were almost like magnets, trying to intentionally stay away from each other. You feared that the two of you might never be able to seperate if you stuck together for good. It wasn't awkward, but there was definitely unspoken tension, like you were both waiting for something that you couldn't let happen yet.

"I miss my tent." You sighed, watching your breath appear as a small puff of air against the black night.

Daryl grumbled at that. "I sure as hell don't." He muttered, taking a final drag from his smoke before snuffing it out on the wall. "Thing was an eyesore."

You chuckled a bit at his response, not really sure what you were expecting. "You loved it, really." You teased, shooting him a wink that he dismissed.

"Whatever, Sunshine." He mumbled back, but his voice sounded a lot lighter than it had for a while.

After a few seconds, you remembered your satchel, now safely tucked away in the warmth of the poncho you wore. You fumbled around beneath it for a bit, which made Daryl give you a look, before pulling out the canvas bag and setting it onto your lap.

"I have something for you." You beamed, feeling the breeze sting your sore, chapped lips.

Daryl sighed at you, finally looking over to meet your eyes.

"Ya need to stop gettin' me shit." He drawled, with no bite behind his words.

You shook your head quickly at the accusation. "It isn't from me!" You almost yelled, before reminding yourself that there were people sleeping a few feet away, and lowering your voice.

You glanced back at the cabin and pointed to it. "This place has no chimney, so he told me to pass it onto you."

Daryl raised an eyebrow at you, which you ignored. Instead, you fished around in your satchel until you found what you were looking for. You could barely contain your excitement as you pulled out the box wrapped messily in old newspapers, and handed it to him expectantly.

He took it from you carefully, as though not entirely trusting it. Though, he still held it gently in his hand, in case he was afraid to break it. You watched intently as he flipped it over and squinted his eyes at the writing on it, confusion clear on his face. You'd scribbled on it earlier in the day, having found a sharpie tucked away in one of the drawers. You'd tried to do it secretively, but almost had a heart attack when Glenn asked you what you were doing - dropping the gift and kicking it under the couch until he promised to leave. Luckily, you hadn't found any dents on it afterwards. Yet, you now found it almost comical how carefully Daryl treated the box, considering what you had done to it only a few hours before.

Your eyes scanned over the letters with him as he read them, seeing the words written on top of the newspaper in black, bold print:

'To Young Daryl Dixon,

Merry Christmas!

From, Father Christmas.'

By the time he looked up to question you, you were already watching his eyes - waiting to see his expression. At the moment, his face was still scrunched up in confusion, which made you chuckle. The man looked at you like you'd just handed him a bomb he didn't know how to diffuse.

"Father Christmas?" He asked slowly, like the syllables were foreign on his tongue.

You cocked your head to the side, looking back down at the gift and wondering if you'd made a mistake. Your eyes widened.

"Shit." You muttered below your breath, before looking back up to meet his gaze. "It's Santa Clause to you people, isn't it?" You questioned.

Daryl looked at you in disbelief, as if wondering what the hell you were going on about. You were used to that look from him by now, and continued to ramble.

"I'm sure that's what he meant." You said, nodding. "He probably was in a rush when he wrote it." You looked away from the man, trying not to giggle as you remembered the whole incident between you and Glenn.

He continued to stare at you before shaking his head.

"Yer crazy, woman." He grumbled, picking the wrapped box back up to inspect it closer.

You felt your patience reach its limit, unable to contain your excitement anymore. You shoved his arm.

"Just open it!" You ordered, and he did.

For a man so rough around the edges, you'd never seen someone unwrap a gift so gently before. He didn't rip into the paper like you would have, but spent a few extra seconds pulling the parcel tape off and unfolding it with care. Once it was opened up on his lap, you watched his face as he finally saw the plastic box inside.

You knew it wasn't the exact same one he'd told you about, from all of those years ago, but it must've been close. It was a child's sheriff kit. It had the little hat that looked similar to Rick's, and the pointy metal badge in the shape of a star. When you'd seen it in the store, you just knew you had to get it for him. He might have forgotten telling you about it by now, but you had remembered.

"It didn't come with a gun, I'm afraid." You pointed to the plastic window of the box, explaining it to him. "But we have plenty of those."

You shot him a smile as you saw his expression. It was still confused, as he glanced between you and the box in his palms, but it was a lot more shy and uncertain now. You could almost see the thoughts working overtime in that head of his, as he processed it all, and decided to stop staring at him.

"It was either this or a Freddie Mercury bobblehead." You noted, feeling your cheeks hurt at how much you were beaming at the man. "And I wanted the bobblehead."

He sat in silence, just listening to your ramblings as he usually did. His eyes were still fixated on the gift, as if making up for all the years he'd wished for it as a child. You desperately wanted to slip your hand into his, or rest your head on his shoulder - but you refrained. You didn't want to take away from this moment; you just wanted to watch it. That, and you weren't sure if you'd be able to let him go if you did.

"You said how you never got any presents as a kid." You started carefully, trying to navigate your thoughts into words. "It made me sad." You admitted, in more of a whisper this time.

Daryl looked over at you, his expression soft. It was like he was uncertain of his own words, too.

"I know it's stupid." You confessed, voice trailing off as you lost your nerve.

"Nah it aint." He interrupted, shaking his head and trying to get you to look at him. "I love it."

You thought he was being sarcastic until your eyes met his and you saw the sincerity within them, and suddenly your breath caught in your throat. Daryl Dixon gave you a smile so warm that it almost made you forget it was winter. You didn't know he could even make these kinds of expressions, and you weren't able to entirely hide your reaction. Though, his smile went as quickly as it came. He looked away from you, as if noticing he'd let his stubborn, unapproachable wall crumble down. You snorted, wondering if he truly hadn't realised that you knew him better than that by now.

"I thought that baby Grimes could play with it eventually." You suggested, and he hummed in agreement.

"But in the meantime-" you continued, taking the box from his hands and opening it.

He watched you with curious eyes but didn't say anything, just letting you carry on like you had him wrapped around your little finger. You fumbled with the box, pulling out the star shaped badge, before handing the rest back. You turned so that you were facing opposite him, and pulled on his leather jacket so that it opened.

He grumbled at you as you did it, but made no effort to pull away or stop you. Instead, you flipped open one side of his jacket and pinned the badge on the material inside, closing it again before the cold set it.

"It belongs to Deputy Dixon, as promised." You finished with a smile, watching as he thumbed over the metal concealed in his jacket. The look on his face showed just how much he struggled to figure you out.

To your surprise, he didn't remove it straight away. He just bit his lip, as though trying to think of how to respond.

"Yer too much, Teach." He said lowly, after a few seconds.

"How so?" You asked.

He glanced back down into his lap, at the box that was still resting there. "Doin' all this." He mumbled, seeming like he was holding himself back. You stayed silent, waiting for him to go on.

"You bring back comics for Carl, an' stuff for the baby." He said, looking down as he spoke. "We're all here tryna do our best jus' to survive, an' you come in with that huge beamin' smile on yer face showin' us a bobblehead ya found."

He finally met your eyes, and you could see from his look that he just genuinely couldn't comprehend it. You seemed to completely allude Daryl Dixon, and the thought of him struggling to try to understand you better made you almost giddy.

"I know it's odd." You admitted, pulling the poncho closer to your body as the wind picked up. "But just because our priority is surviving doesn't mean that we should put off living."

You bit your lip. This was the most you had spoken to the man in weeks, and as the seconds went by you found it harder and harder to hold yourself back.

"I thought you could use a reminder of that." You said, offering him a small smile. "You work so hard to try and keep us all fed and safe, I wanted to give you something as a thank you."

The newspaper fluttered in the breeze, and Daryl barely caught hold of it as a gust picked it up. You caught a glimpse of your handwriting, where he held it between his fingers.

"Santa Clause did, I mean." You corrected.

You sat together in silence for a while, but the man didn't light any more cigarettes. You felt yourself growing tired and attempted to convince him to swap his shift with someone else, but he refused. You knew the sun would start to rise in a couple of hours, so you wanted to get some sleep before then. Begrudgingly, you shuffled out of the oversized poncho and offered it back to the man before you left, immediately being reminded of how icy the weather had gotten. He shook his head at your outstretched hand, which you had already expected.

"Nah, you keep it." He said, in a way that left you no room to argue.

You raised an eyebrow at him, feeling nostalgic at the familiar situation. This time, however, you didn't fight with him. Slipping the material back over your head, you huddled it to your chest and whispered a soft 'thanks' to him. The sky was still dark, and kept you wondering whether you would start to see sleet fall in the next couple of days. You looked back over to the dilapidated cabin, with its wooden weathered walls and its roof that looked close to caving in. It was a far cry from Hershel's idyllic farmhouse, but somehow you didn't seem to mind as much on this specific night.

You slipped off the stone wall you'd been sitting on and stood up on your tip-toes to reach the man still sat there. You brushed away the hair over his face with the palm of your hand, and gave him a brief kiss on the forehead before turning to leave.

"Merry Christmas, Daryl." You told him, and returned to the house to watch the first snowflakes fall from the window.

A/N Don't you love it when the plot points you set up 6 chapters ago come back around to be resolved. It's *delicious*. I think I would actually pay to see the Christmas scene play out. There's only so much imagination can do - I want to see Daryl's shy reaction in person, too!

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[minniepetals]

nightlight

— summary: things have never been easy for you but you never expected it’d be them that would make things easier

— pairing: bts x reader

— genre: angst, fluff, mafia!au, gangsters!bts, rich!reader

— word count: 7.7k

— warnings: (triggering topics!) reader is sold to bangtan, dysfunctional family, allusions to an abusive father/husband, harassment, reader has a tough life growing up, guns, violence, jungkook calls her a whore (but apologizes), mentions of death, minor character death, insomniac!reader, nightmares, hurt and comfort

— rec music: finding hope - nightlight

Starlight star bright.

Fallen stars shooting in your dreams.

A wish, a hope. A prayer to escape from the world. From responsibilities and from the sacrifices that keeps you trapped in these chains of yours. 

You keep yourself from feigning a smile, knowing it means nothing, knowing there is no reason to fake anything when the rest of the world is already doing the job.

Your father doesn't love you.

If he does, he wouldn't have thrown you out of his life when things got too hard, too difficult because he messed with the wrong man.

The same man whom you kneel in front of. The same man who takes your face in his hands, gentler than your father can ever, and gives you a blank look when you meet his gaze.

Call it sickening but his eyes look quite lovely.

Beautiful even.

Maybe that is why you don't flinch away when he holds a sinister smirk. Or perhaps you had already gotten used to your father's actions and now he's the only one that can ever make you feel afraid.

That's why you can't be afraid of the mafia boss.

Because even though he kills, he doesn't hurt you.

Maybe not yet, maybe you're still expecting it, but his hands never hangs in the air, hoping to swipe it right across your face.

"Why do you always stay awake?"

You turn around from the window, catching the gaze of one of his most trusted men.

Park Jimin leans against the door to your supposed room, the moonlight illuminating his pretty face. He has an arched brow, pillow lips pressed together, arms crossed against his chest.

"Is the room not to your pleasing?" He asks you. A soft yet hard tone. "Do you need a bigger room, princess?"

He mocks you. The daughter of a businessman who should have known the consequences to his actions and now his business is at stake, with his daughter in the hands of one of the darkest gangs.

He played with the wrong card and these men will never let you forget it.

Yet you remain calm as you shake your head lightly. Sincerely. "I am thankful for this room," you tell him.

"Then sleep."

As if it is easy.

As if it had always been easy.

"I...will try," you promise him, not brave to go up against him or make excuses. He is scary but not as scary as your father.

You wonder what your father is doing right now. Is he sleeping? Living a better life now that you are gone?

You wonder if your mother is alright.

But then again, she's escaped him so perhaps she is indeed living a life far better than when she lived with the two of you.

"Trying is not hard enough," Jimin says and your gaze falls to the floor.

"I'm sorry."

Jimin scoffs. "Sorry?" He repeats. "For what? Not sleeping?"

"Yes," you hum softly, "and for being here."

"Not really your choice now is it?" He steps away from the door, arms uncrossing. "You've got to be braver than this, princess." The name is lighter. "There's no need to apologize for something you had no control over."

"Still, I.." you watch your hands hold each other, gripping against one another tightly, "I'm sorry for what he's done."

"That should be his words, baby, not yours."

You hear the door click closed and his footsteps echoing away.

.

.

"You know how to treat wounds?"

Hoseok stares at the concentrated look on your face, lips pursed, eyes barely blinking one bit as your fingers work their ways stitching him up.

"I've often had to do this," you tell him and it's a bit of surprise. "My father..gets in trouble many times."

He raises a brow. "He's messed with other gangs?"

"I have no clue on the backgrounds. He doesn't tell me and I am in no position to ask."

"You're his daughter."

You don't reply, just keeping quiet.

But he sees you blink, sees the slight hesitation in your hands, how your eyes just stares blankly for a brief moment before returning to focus.

You try to hide it but he knows there's something going on that isn't right.

He shouldn't be surprised. Your father is the one who offered Namjoon to take you in the first place and they allowed it only because they believed you were someone worthy to your father.

But it looks like that isn't the likely story.

He's tricked them, so maybe this should be the moment when he lets the rest know to kick you out.

You're not a pawn anymore at this point.

But he doesn't understand why he doesn't feel like making a move.

.

.

The halls of the mansion is dark and empty even when it is daylight so you can never really come to understand how much time has passed until you return to your room, tired and drowsy and check the windows.

It is usually dark by the time you come back from your duties of cleaning and cleaning but even then you can't fall asleep.

Some days are harder than the rest but it's better.

Better than playing your father's puppet in the media as the world's perfect daughter.

"Why don't you ever complain?"

You look up from scrubbing the floors, holding your forearm against your forehead to wipe the sweat.

Yoongi stands in front of you, dirty shoes on so you know you'll have to redo the floors all over again. Yet surprisingly to him, you show no sign of distress.

"You seemed to be living the perfect life as a rich man's daughter," he scoffs, "not that he's rich anymore. So why aren't you saying anything?"

You remain quiet for a moment and usually he'll hurt the ones who hesitates to answer him right away but to your surprise, he does nothing but wait for you.

"It's fake," you whisper.

His brows crease.

"The perfect life," you answer the unspoken question. "It's not perfect, as you can see."

"Oh?" A brow arches and he sounds a little amused. "I thought he was just desperate."

"He is," you say, "desperate to throw me away."

"Well," Yoongi begins to turn away, his steps walking off, "this just got a little more interesting."

You return to your duties, choosing to ignore what he means because you're sure he will not speak his mind if you ask.

You're afraid to ask. .

.

The library is more difficult to clean because it is so big but you enjoy yourself there more than most rooms.

Mostly because you get to take a moment to read a few things. No one comes in anyways, which brings out the question as to why waste a whole room filled with books when everything is dusty, as if no one has ever touched a thing.

"A-hem."

Your breath hitches at the sound and you're quick to get back on your feet, book slammed closed and placed right back into its slot.

The boss raises his brow. "Mythology?"

"F-forgive me, sir." You lay your head low, too afraid to meet his disapproving eyes.

"You like mythology?" He asks an unexpected question and you know you have to answer.

"It...interests me."

"Does it?" You nod. "Which one?"

"...Hades and Persephone, sir."

Namjoon chuckles. It isn't anything like the dark chuckles he gives to the ones that have offended him and you wonder why.

"What about that story interests you?"

"Well," you say. It's a little easier to speak. "I just..find it quite lovely. Persephone would have been a forgotten goddess if Hades had not given her purpose. Their love created the seasons. The darkness fell in love with the flower."

"More like he fell for her and stole her away to his kingdom."

"But she eventually found love within the Underworld God as well," you point out. "He showed her kindness, showed her that he's capable of love as well, and that he isn't as heartless and cruel as everyone deems him to be."

He takes a moment to be silent, his eyes meeting yours, the same ones that refused to be afraid of him from the moment he had first taken a good look at you.

You were pure, still pure, and too innocent to fall into the hands of a father who couldn't show his own daughter some bit of love.

Namjoon finds it disgusting honestly, and figured that was the case when you were first offered to him. So after finding out it was indeed true from Yoongi, the fact only makes him more bitter.

"I'm sure the God only felt a change in him because of her."

Yet you shake your head gently at his words. "No one can change you, you do that yourself," you say. "The people around you are the ones that inspires you to change."

Namjoon doesn't understand how anyone can ever dare to think of hurting someone like you.

.

.

A few days later, you don't know how you got here but here you are, standing in a room filled with people in an ivory dress that falls to the floor.

You've been to parties before, you've been to plenty of parties, and it surprises you that you're let out after just two months of staying with the mafia gang.

Are they not afraid of you escaping?

Then again, perhaps it's because they are prepared for your escape in case you do try to leave.

They'll hunt your father down.

He may not love you as you still dreadfully love him, but you won't risk him at the chance of death.

You stand alone, not understanding what your position is because this is their mission. They're here to hunt someone down.

Distraction, Namjoon states, but you don't understand what that means.

Someone walks up to you, a gentleman, who offers you a drink that you decide to let him down on.

Another walks up to you and another.

You feel uncomfortable in the crowd that surrounds you, making lame jokes, trying too woo you.

"How about we ditch this party?"

Oh no, you certainly cannot do that.

"You know, you look quite familiar."

You don't want to be known and expose your identity, you can't do that when you're in the middle of a mission you're supposed to be a part of.

But with these men around, you can't do your job even though you don't know what exactly you're supposed to be doing.

Someone touches you and you flinch. "Please don't do that."

But he only laughs.

They laugh, shrugging it off as if it is not inappropriate.

But it is and you hate it.

Someone slides a hand along your waist and you flinch again before relaxing when you see who the man is.

"She already came with someone," Seokjin glares at them, ready to hurt the guy who dared to touch you.

You don't know why he makes you relaxed but amongst the crowd that eventually dies down around you, Seokjin feels the safest despite knowing what he does.

Maybe it's because you know him.

A little.

When he turns to you, you lay your head in shame. "I-I'm sorry."

He scoffs. "For what?"

You look up at him, confused. "Hm?"

It's a cute hum. "You did your job distracting them, good job." That was what they meant? You really didn't like it and you think he can understand that by the look on your face. "It's okay, you can leave now. Now go there, we've located our guy."

You look over at where he beckons.

A hallway.

"You're...not coming?" You ask. You know it isn't good to question them and it almost scares you but Seokjin doesn't grow angry.

"I'm shutting this party down," he smirks and you can understand what that means.

When he lets you go, you hesitate for a moment, watching him, and when you come to comprehend the fact that he will do nothing until you leave, you bid him goodbye and rush away.

The gunshot comes a minute later as you're running down the hall and you hear the distant screams.

It's hard but you keep running.

Heels hurt but it doesn't matter.

You have to run.

Find someone, one of them. Leave with them.

Yet you can't get far enough because someone grabs you by the arm, pulls you into a room, and forces themself to hold you against their chest, arm choking you and a gun pointed to your head.

Jungkook stands before you with a gun pointed directly at you. Or maybe not at you, maybe at the man. With a blank stare, showing no sign of weakness.

"Let me go or I'll kill her," the man behind you threatens.

You don't know why he thinks you're important to the man and you're sure even Jungkook thinks that.

Because the youngest only shrugs.

"Kill her," he says nonchalantly. "As if I care."

"Then why'd she come with you?"

"She's just a maid."

The man laughs darkly. "A little whore, huh? I hear you don't usually keep girls around for long. Is she that good?"

"You're sick for an old man."

He laughs again, louder, and it brings shivers down your spine. "I can be sicker." Something wet swipes along your cheek and you realize it's his tongue.

His dirty, disgusting tongue.

It breaks you.

Memories flooding back. Your mother, her tears. You, a little girl, and your father not caring one bit.

Jungkook meets your eyes when it tears up, trembling, but he keeps on the nonchalant facade. As if he doesn't care what the man will do to you, so your tears only falls because you are so, so afraid.

You can't do this.

You're still pure.

You can't...you can't.

"Quite sweet," the man hums and you whimper. "What a sweeter voice."

Jungkook rolls his eyes. "Quit your games and just face me already."

He chuckles. "Alright, fine." He releases you, pushes you down the floor where you yelp at the harsh sensation. "Don't worry sweetie, I'll clean you up later-"

But he doesn't get a chance to say anything further.

Once he's distracted, a bullet has already hit his shoulder with no hesitation.

His head snaps back to Jungkook who shoots again. And then again, and again.

You hold your hands over your ears, tears falling at the continuous gunshots that doesn't seem to ever stop and Jungkook's angry voice rings above it.

"After I'm done with you, I'll deal with your family just like you've done to mine. I'll kill them, each and every one of them. Not even your damn dog will be spared."

He can't hear him, you know he can't. There's no chance of survival left with the continuous gunshots that comes and comes, angry waves of hot tears escaping the maknae's eyes when you look up, and your heart shatters.

A broken little boy of a childhood that forced him into this life.

Seeking for revenge for what someone, that someone on the floor, has done to his very own family.

When the ammo is no longer, Jungkook throws the gun harshly at the wall where it hits and breaks, and runs to hold up the man by his collar, fist coming in contact with his face.

He's already dead but even then Jungkook is not satisfied.

How can he ever be satisfied?

His family is gone, never to return to his side.

A lost man. A lost child.

You get up from where you were thrown and take his arm to pull him away. "Jungkook-"

"Get away from me, you whore!"

You ignore his spiteful words and continue pulling at him. "Stop! He's dead!"

Yet Jungkook doesn't care.

"Jungkook!" A few more punches until you finally got him and push him away. "Jungkook," you call his name a little gentler, "it's okay."

He scoffs and pushes you away. "What does a whore understand?"

He goes to stand again but you force him back down, hands reaching out to lay against his shoulders. "It's okay, Jungkook. It's going to be okay," you repeat again. "You don't have to be afraid anymore."

"I'm not-"

"You're going to be alright." You hold him down, staring straight into his eyes. "I know you're scared," you say, "I know you're confused. But it's going to be alright. You're just a little boy who's gone through so much. You must have been hurting for so long, Jungkook, but you're okay now and I am so, so proud of you."

You hold his face, a soft gentle sensation against him, thumbs brushing away the hot tears that had fallen from his eyes.

You wipe away the blood on his face. Watching him gently, holding him gently.

And Jungkook doesn't understand but he tears up a little more. His chest tightens and he feels himself trembling.

What a lovely pair of hands.

So he surprises you by wrapping his hands around your waist and pulling you in close, face resting against the crook of your neck.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

You freeze for a second before relaxing and holding him still, hairs running along his fluffy hair, stroking it sweetly. "You're alright now. It's okay."

"Jungkook-!"

The rest of them comes rushing into the room only to find a dead body, blood spilled all around, with you and Jungkook holding onto each other as Jungkook cries.

Jungkook's crying.

Holding you.

He doesn't do that unless he absolutely cannot take it anymore.

He doesn't ever do that in front of anyone but them.

And now you.

You look up at their faces, some bits of blood managing to wipe across your face, with eyes of innocence, and Namjoon wonders why you aren't running away despite the blood in the room.

Despite having just witnessed Jungkook killing someone.

.

.

Taehyung lays in the pool when you walk in to clean a day later, body floating under the moonlight, eyes laying closed.

So when he hears a soft gasp and a bucket falling against the tiles, his lids open and meets your eyes from where you stand.

Heat rushes to your face and you're quick to turn around. "I-I am so sorry, sir! I didn't know you'd be here. I-I thought that, that I could clean up early since no one would be here."

What a cute little thing.

"Cleaning up at one in the morning?" He swims over slowly to you, arms laying on the edge of the pool, chin resting against his wet skin with an amused grin. "Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

"I..I couldn't sleep, sir."

Sir.

He smirks, a hum leaving his lips. "Can't sleep, hm?" Jimin's told him he checks up on you from time to time and always find you awake at night. "Then come join me."

You turn around abruptly. "W-what? No, I can't do that."

"Why not?" Taehyung shrugs casually. "A good swim is a nice way to clear your head. And don't worry, I won't drown you or anything."

You aren't worried about that.

For some reason.

But you still don't think swimming in the middle of the night is a good idea whether he's your superior or not.

But Taehyung isn't a man who takes no as an answer.

He kicks himself out the pool and the next thing you know, he's wrapping his wet body around yours and dropping the both of you straight into the deep pool.

He watches you struggle from down there, a nonchalant expression resting on his face while your eyes are squeezed shut as you try and fail at getting air again.

So Taehyung swims on over and takes you in his arms where he swims back up and lets you breathe again.

You gasp for air while he holds you and lets you sit against his strong arms.

It takes a moment but you manage to come back to him eventually.

You don't rush to yell at him like he expects you to. You don't even make a scowl.

You just rest your hands against his shoulders, holding on tightly and panting and coughing because you don't know how to swim and the deep water scares you.

He's got to admit though, you look quite pretty all wet like this, resting against his hold, clothes completely drenched.

"Um..-"

He adjusts his hold and your face comes closer to him than the two of you expects.

Your face flushes some more, nose slightly touching, and your eyes gaze into one another under the bright moonlight from above.

"...hi," you squeak.

Taehyung laughs. "Hi."

"It's um...cold."

"Is it?" You hum. "I like swimming in the cold."

"Do you often swim at night?"

He nods. "It's nice after a day of...you know what. It's relaxing."

"Won't you get a cold?"

"I have thick skin, little one." You sneeze right then and he chuckles. "But it looks like you don't."

"I'm sorry," you say as he swims on over to the edge of the pool, "for this and for interrupting your time here."

The man shakes his head assuringly as he settles you on the tiles of the pool. "It's nice to get a visitor every once in a while. Can you stay a little longer?"

You blink. "You want me to?"

"I do," he hums. "Besides, you don't have extra clothes and the boss wouldn't want his floors wet."

You bite your lower lip. "Right."

"There's some towels over there and you can wear my clothes."

You look on over where there's a racket of the white towels and his clothes hanging. But is it right? "I..shouldn't."

"Why not?" He asks, stroking back calmly. "Take it or you'll catch a cold staying here all drenched."

It takes a few more moments of hesitation but you eventually give in and does as he's asked.

The night is a little less lonely as you sit beside the pool, watching as Taehyung floats around on his back, eyelids closed, with a soft tune humming from his throat.

.

.

"Hey, you okay?"

You look up at the sound of Jungkook's voice who walks into the main living room, a face of concern resting on his face in this late afternoon. He's gotten gentle towards you ever since that night.

"Um..why do you ask that?" You reply with your own question while spraying the coffee table and wiping it down.

"You look tired," he states. "Jimin says he doesn't see you sleeping a lot..or ever."

"I'm fine," you insist.

But he goes on anyways. "Is it the atmosphere? Or maybe you're one of those people who needs something in order to sleep? Taehyung can't sleep without hugging something or someone."

What a cute revelation.

"Do you need to hold something? But then again, you've got pillows." You don't know why he's acting so concerned. "Or maybe you need a physical someone to hold you?"

And if you do, what will he do?

"Or do you need a nightlight?"

"It's okay," you tell him. "I don't need anything."

"But you can't sleep."

"I'm used to it."

Jungkook frowns. "That's not good, Y/N. You need to sleep." He pauses for a brief moment. "Why can't you sleep?" You don't answer him right away so he calls your name sternly. "Y/N."

You may have gotten a little closer but you still work for him, and you and your father's life is indebted to him.

"I get scared."

It's an honest truth, something that scares you for even speaking off it.

He settles down before you, taking your hand from mindlessly wiping at the same spot for the past few minutes.

"Of what?" He asks, silently hoping for you to meet his gaze.

But you don't.

It only falls to your lap.

"The nightmares," you say.

He hums as if he understands and he probably does. A young boy walking into the mafia life. His nightmares may be a little different from yours but nightmares are all the same.

Leaving you afraid, scared, trembling, and weak.

Too weak and terrified to close your eyes again. Afraid for the darkness to consume you all over again.

Even the drowsiness is not strong enough to pull you back asleep.

"What are they of?" He carefully asks.

"It...varies." You stare at the hand that holds yours. "Sometimes it's of me, trapped and vulnerable. Sometimes it's of me dying. Sometimes it's of my father, or my mother."

You've never spoken of your mother except now.

He doesn't think he's ever heard anything about your mother before. Not from your father, not from Namjoon who holds records of your father.

Even the news that had once made your family relevant to the world has never said anything about your mother.

"She left us, thankfully, and I think that she's happier now so I don't really care that she ran away. But sometimes I dream back to the days when things were rougher. Rougher for her and I couldn't do anything to help. When she ran, I was about twelve then. She wanted me to go with her but back then I cared for my father's mentality and what he'd do if the both of us were gone. He wouldn't do well, he grew sick then. So I escaped last minute when we got on the train and made up excuses to my father not to hunt her down."

"Y/N..."

He squeezes your hand and holds his other one up to your face, brushing away the tears you hadn't realized had escaped.

"Jungkook," you hold the hand that touches your face, "I don't think my father is going to pay back what he owes."

"Yeah," he sighs, "we had a haunch since it's been months."

"Are you...angry?" You ask worriedly. "Is Namjoon angry?"

"There's a good and a bad," he tells you. "The bad thing is that there was a lot of money he borrowed from us. The good thing is," his gaze falls soft your way, his hand grazing your cheek in a gentle manner, "I don't care because he won't be taking you back any time soon."

"What if...what if I don't want him to take me back...ever?"

"Are you afraid of him?" You nod, lips quivering and honestly he knows that was a foolish question to ask. "Oh baby, come here." He takes your body, letting you settle against his lap, letting your head rest against his chest, and holds you there as you cry softly. "It's okay, you have us now, you have me." He strokes your cheek, the same one that filthy old baster had licked upon and though Jungkook feels angry for him and your father, he keeps himself calm for your sake.

"There's no need to be afraid anymore, baby." A gentle promise that makes your heart smile and ache all at the same time. "Even if he does ever pay us back, I won't let him near you, you got that? You don't have to worry anymore. I'm right here."

.

.

You go missing a few days later and it creates sets of panicking emotions.

"The security cameras didn't catch her anywhere outside," Seokjin claims. "She has to be somewhere in this house. Y/N can't just disappear like that."

"Look around," Namjoon orders and they all begin to split up.

He walks into the library minutes after searching a few other places with Jimin, running around, calling your name. The library is one of the largest rooms and Namjoon curses under his breath because he knows he should have checked here first.

The aisle that holds that mythology book you like so much.

And he does find you, sitting in the dark room, head against the book shelves.

He almost shouts aloud, afraid you had fainted or something, but then he hears a soft snore and he realizes that you've just fallen asleep.

"Hyung, have you-" Jimin pauses when he finds you as well and the two of them both lets out sighs of relief.

"Inform the others," he orders as he walks over to you, kneeling on the floor in front of you.

You're in a deep slumber but he's sure you're neck will be tense if you don't move in to a more comfortable position so he maneuvers you carefully from the support of the shelves to his own chest.

You stir a little and he hushes you softly.

"It's the first time I've seen her sleep," Jimin says in a low whisper as the two of them watch you.

You look so vulnerable.

Peaceful and lovely laying in Namjoon's arms.

But then your face distorts, brows creasing, lips pressed against one another. Your hands come to rest against Namjoon's shirt, clenching onto it tightly, soft whimpers falling from your lips.

There are two stray tears that falls, your head reaching to nuzzle into the comfort of the boss's neck.

"What happened?" Yoongi asks when he and the rest shows up not long after.

"Nightmare," Jimin guesses by what Jungkook has told him.

Namjoon strokes your cheeks gently, brushing away your tears, shushing you lightly. "Wake up, baby," he repeats a few times until you finally open your eyes, the nightmares too hard to bear. More whimpers leave your lips as you sob a little more.

So he holds you a little tighter. "It's okay, baby, I'm right here. I've got you. You're okay now, baby."

.

.

"Your father has gone off my radar."

"O..oh..."

You don't know what it means for you, what any of it would mean. But standing here in front of Namjoon's desk, it scares you a bit.

"I assume the man is trying to escape from the consequences of his actions, not that it's going to help him. If anything, this only makes things worse." He watches you steadily from where he sits, leaned back against his chair, one leg over the other. "Can you tell me where he might be?" He asks slowly. "A safe house? Headquarters? A vacation home he may escape to?"

"There's...a place," you say hesitantly. You aren't sure if your father will be happy about this but then again, is he ever happy when it comes to you? "He has a safe house on Jeju Island."

You tell him the address and he jots it down in a notepad.

"He's not going to give up that easily but neither will I. What's his weakness, Y/N? You must know that, right?"

He hopes and he doesn't hope that it will be you.

For one, if you are then it means he cares more about you than what he shows. But it'll mean he won't be able to get through to the man because he knows he will not use you as a pawn in this game. And two, if you aren't then he'll understand just how bad of a human this guy really is.

Worse than him, a mafia leader.

Because at least Namjoon has a heart.

"He cares a lot about his business," you tell him. "It'll hurt him if his business falls and he goes bankrupt."

Business over his own daughter.

What a piece of crap.

"What..." you hesitate again, afraid to look up since the very beginning when you've entered his office. "What will...you do..?"

"Will it hurt you to see him fall?" He asks you, observing you carefully.

There's a moment of silence as you think it over.

"If he falls...will I fall along with him?"

"No," he's quick to say. "Your father doesn't own you, Y/N, this is your life whether he likes it or not. When I'm done with him, you can choose whether to stay or leave. Either choice you make, I'll make sure you will never fall to the position I hope to break him at."

A choice at your own life.

How different has life finally changed for you.

You take another moment to think again. "Do you believe I should still care about him?"

"He doesn't deserve any of your love and care," he tells you honestly. "He deserves to rot away in hell."

Yet he is still your father.

A father who hurts, a father who doesn't care.

"It's your call, baby."

Your call.

No one has ever given you a choice at anything. First your father, and then the society he had place you in.

Serving as the perfect daughter. Smart, pretty, dependable, and listens well. You don't speak up for your own self even when others criticize you. You don't make friends because your father forbade it. You've never fallen in love, never felt love of any sorts.

And now Namjoon, mafia boss, leader to a ruthless, dark gang, one many fears, is asking for your call.

But you don't know what to do.

"I-I'm sorry, I...I don't know," you admit.

Yet Namjoon remains patient.

"Do you wish to live an independent life, Y/N?" He leans away from his seat, legs uncrossing, elbows resting upon his desk. "Without having to worry about your father or anyone else but yourself? Live your own life, care for your own self and just yourself."

It may sound better than living with your father but it sounds lonely.

So lonely.

So you shake your head. "I want to stay," you tell him and he raises a brow, a bit surprised.

"You don't hate it here?"

You shake your head again. "I like talking," you say, "I like having someone else to talk to. I don't wanna be alone anymore, it scares me."

"This world I live in should scare you more."

"But you're more human than my father can ever be and you care more than what my father can ever give. I-I'm sorry if I'm being selfish, I just-"

"You deserve to be selfish once in a while."

He stands from his chair, rolling it back to take slow steps your way. You look up, meeting his gaze, those intense, piercing gaze, and the world seems to fall silent.

All but the intense beating of your heart.

All but his slow footsteps making his way towards you.

It stops when he's just a few inches away, his height hovering over you and you feel oh so small.

"Human," he says lowly, "no one's ever called me that in a while. It sounds refreshing, like I actually have a heart."

"But you do," you say and point right at his chest. "It's right here."

Namjoon chuckles. "Yes," he hums, taking your small hand into his own, "it is." Your heart skips a beat. "I believe the members won't mind another one added to the family."

"And...you?"

A smirk dances on his lips. "Isn't it obvious? Of course I want you to stay." You let out the breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding onto and he finds it amusing yet sad. "I'll take care of your father," he tells you, a hand reaching out to stroke your soft cheek, "just stay with the maknaes until we get back, alright?"

You nod at his words and he smiles, patting your head.

"Good girl."

.

.

Three days later at around 3 am, the door to your room creaks open and you turn from the window to find Hoseok standing in your doorway.

"He's dealt with," the man informs you.

Black suit on, a messy hairstyle yet he still manages to look good.

More than good.

You don't know what to say, how to deal with this. On one side, this is your fault, you've exposed his weakness and location. Your own father.

But on the other side, he's never treated you as human, never treated you as the daughter you deserved to feel like.

So maybe this is the right thing? Staying in a large mansion bigger than yours once was, living a life far better than your father who...who knows what's happened to him exactly.

"He isn't dead," Hoseok tells you, "but he probably feels that way at this point."

"Did he...mention me?"

A part of you still has hope that he has some humanity left in him, wondering whether he's asked about you, whether he's worried what will happen to you.

And Hoseok sees that without you voicing your thoughts so he keeps the story to himself.

You don't need to know how your father only belittled you some more, or blamed you, calling you plain useless, and not caring about what they'd do to you from now on.

Yoongi punched him a good few times for that.

You didn't deserve such words and the old man doesn't deserve you.

So Hoseok just remains silent as he walks through the door, watching you steadily from where you stand.

He stops where you are, brows furrowing at the sight he sees. "You're tired," he says softly with a hand going on to stroke your cheek.

You take that hand, hold it between yours. "You're cold, Hoseok."

Small hands caressing his, rubbing it to give it your own warmth.

"Sleep, sweetheart."

He presses a kiss against your forehead. A soft kiss.

So maybe it's what makes you a little braver to rest yourself against his chest, against his hold.

He's cold but you welcome it.

"Thank you, Hoseok."

.

.

"You didn't come back last night," Taehyung smirks at his hyung's way when he walks into the kitchen, hair ruffled and messy from just waking up.

Hoseok doesn't hide it. "How could I?" He says, shrugging. "I wanted to make sure the little one fell asleep."

Fresh morning light filters into the room after years of living in just the darkness. Coffee beans and scrambled eggs filling the room.

Yoongi takes a sip of his hot drink with eyes checking the clock that reads somewhere around nine. "She finally slept."

"So what'd you do to the old man?" Jungkook asks.

"Left him to rot away like the life he deserves," Seokjin says bitterly.

"And Y/N? The media isn't going to try and get into her life are they?"

"I've dealt with them last night," Namjoon tells him. "She can live a peaceful life now."

"Not entirely," Jimin points out with a light scoff. "Since when have our lives been peaceful?"

"Well," Yoongi shrugs, "at least there's some light now."

Footsteps are heard, coming from afar, nearing and nearing, and they almost consciously reach for their guns but the steps are two soft for anyone threatening.

Too soft.

And quick.

You run in, stopping at the sight of them with a soft gasp and Jimin stands from where he sits to instantly rush to your side.

Tears fall from your eyes. You're scared, the nightmares making you feel terrified.

"Hey, it's okay, baby," he holds your face, brushing the tears away, gives you kisses on both your eyelids as the rest joins to surround you with worry. "It's okay. We're right here, baby. You're alright now. You're okay."

.

.

"Jin...?"

He hums, asking you to go on when you walk into his office hesitantly, eyes never straying from the computers that surrounds his office, fingers typing away with codes of black and green letters rushing through the screen.

Something you can never come to ever decipher.

"You..you're good with...tracking people down...right?"

He hums again and you fall a little more hesitantly this time.

When he doesn't hear your voice again after a few long seconds, Seokjin stops typing and turns his chair around to face you. "What is it, little one?" He asks. "Do you need me to track someone down?"

His brows are a little furrowed, hoping you don't mean your father. The same one who unfortunately doesn't care much about you.

He doesn't understand why you had the heart to stay and not run away, but then again, perhaps there was no escape.

After all, where would you have gone? He just wishes you hadn't loved him as much.

But the words that comes out of your mouth is something entirely different from what he expects.

"I want you to find...my mother." He stares at you for a moment, a little taken back, and you swallow a lump in your throat. "I just need to know if she's alright," you tell him. "At least then," you pause, "hopefully...another nightmare may go away."

The nightmares, right.

"I just need to know."

He lets himself take a breather, arms opening up for you. "Come here, sweetie." He snakes his arms around your waist, allowing you to fall against his lap. A hand comes up to your hair, fingers playing along a few strands. "If I find her, what will you do? Will you go to find out?"

You're adorable with the slight pout of confusion on your face. He just wishes you smiled more often.

"...may I?"

He gifts you a soft smile, planting a kiss on your temple. "I'll come with you, alright?"

You nod, knowing it'll be better that way. "Thank you, Seokjin."

.

.

The street looks like a nice neighborhood. Suburban home miles away from Seoul.

Peaceful and friendly looking.

"There it is," you say softly under your breath as you stop walking, staring at the number of the house a few feet away.

It's a pretty home with a spacious yard, and suddenly you're feeling quite nervous. Small and timid.

How will she react? Will she even want to see you? You had deserted her on that train after all, left her crying and calling out for you from the window. Her shouts echoes in your dreams from time to time, moments you shall never forget.

You told her you'd head to the bathroom, only to escape, hoping she wouldn't catch you. So the instant her eyes met yours outside the train, all thoughts of watching her quietly leave were thrown out and you ran.

Ran and ran without giving her a chance to chase after you because the train had already began to depart.

You left her a letter in your backpack. She had asked you to pack, fully expecting a few clothes and snacks.

But the only thing in it was a photo of you and her with departing words in sloppy handwriting on the back, signed your name.

Would she forgive you for leaving without a proper goodbye?

Would she forgive you at all?

Seokjin takes your hand without a word, squeezing it for comfort as if he understands your thoughts and insecurities.

You look up at him, smiling, and his heart almost melts.

It's a little sad but you haven't smiled so much so he knows that this is good enough.

You hear voices, a cheery child laughing as she jumps and gasp as you grip onto Seokjin's hand tightly and rush to hide the both of you behind a fence.

There's a child with her parents, holding onto their hands as she skips happily.

Her father makes a joke and they laugh. Her and...

Your heart skips a beat, breath held back, tears forming at the brim of your eyes, throat clogged up, mouth feeling dry all of a sudden.

"Careful, sweetie," she tells the child just around seven years old. "You might fall if you aren't too careful."

"But you and Daddy will be there to catch me, mummy."

"Even so," she grins, picking her up in her arms, "I don't want you getting hurt, okay?"

"Ah, mom, you're always so worried about the slightest thing!"

Her father chuckles as he places a sweet kiss on his wife's temple. They share an understanding gaze, something the daughter will not come to comprehend just yet, and walk into the very home you had been seeking for.

Your mother is always worried about the slightest thing because of you, a young child who's often clumsy, a young child who should have never been exposed to the dysfunctional life of what was supposed to be a lovely household.

But she's escaped that.

Got a new husband, a loving husband, and another daughter.

Your half sister, your step father.

"Y/N?" He calls your name, one of the seven reasons why your life has gotten better, why you're saved.

So you turn to him, smiling sweetly even with tears falling away, and take his hand.

"Let's go home."

Home.

.

.

The sun has already set when the two of you return, lights by the entrance doorway flicking on when you and Seokjin walk up the doorsteps.

The doors open, revealing Yoongi who has on a grumpy frown.

"Where have you been? It's late and you never answered. Do you have any idea how-"

You wrap your arms around him, falling against his chest, and he freezes up, eyes blinking in confusion, looking at his hyung for an explanation.

Seokjin just smiles and though he remains perplexed, he allows your warmth to welcome him and pulls you in closer.

"You okay, baby?"

You nod against him. "Hungry."

He chuckles lightly.

.

.

2 am.

There's a knock at their door and Taehyung comes to open it.

You stand there, looking up at him looking oh so small and adorable. There's hesitation in your eyes, small body rocking slightly from side to side, unsure if this is the right place to come to.

"Nightmare, sweet one?" He asks you.

You shake your head, rubbing at your sleepy eyes. "Can't sleep, want my nightlight."

He tilts his head slightly to the side. "Nightlight?"

"You."

How cute.

It has him smiling no matter how hard he tries to hide it because he likes it. He likes the sound of that.

"Come in, then."

They're already settled in, just a lamp turned on by the bedside and you crawl in to the middle of the large bed.

"Sorry," you mumble quietly as you settle in between Jungkook and Namjoon who holds onto you securely.

Jungkook has his arms around you from the back, spooning you and pressing a soft kiss on your shoulder. "It's okay, baby, don't apologize."

"Sweet dreams." Another kiss pressed against your head, Namjoon pulling the covers up to your neck as your eyes slowly closes.

Your hear the light flickering off and you know you'll have a pleasant dream you haven't had in a long, long time.

"Thank you," you whisper into the quiet night, a confession just on the tip of your tongue but you know you don't have to say it aloud for them to understand.

And they don't have to say a word for you to know either.

[mollymawkwrites]

Eskel/Jaskier: AU where Jaskier met Eskel instead of Geralt and wrote Toss a Coin for him instead - scar kissing/appreciation - "guess love is a response/of the body it haunts"

This took me longer to write than I would have wanted, so thank you for waiting! This is... pure fluff. Hope it’s worth the wait, thank you for the lovely prompt!

CW: mildly horny towards the end, but otherwise it’s only fluff!

"I love the way you just sit in the corner and brood."

Eskel raises his head from where he’s been staring at his spit flavoured ale to meet a pair of twinkling blue eyes.

The bardling can't be more than eighteen, fresh-faced and smelling of arousal as he looks at the Witcher appraisingly. Eskel expects him to recoil at the sight of his scars in the low tavern light, but the bard's eyes only widen with interest, and he slides into the opposite empty seat, leaning his lute against the table.

"Oooh, you're a Witcher, aren't you?" He asks with barely restrained excitement. "I could tell from the other side of the room you were filled with stories. How about I buy you an ale, and you tell me some of them?"

Eskel snorts. "And how are you planning to pay for that ale? Stale bread?" He nods towards the bulges where the bard stuffed the food thrown at him after his less than appreciated performance.

"Well, no," the man deflates, but not for long, his carefree smile returning along a flirty wink, "but I'm sure we can find an arrangement."

The Witcher rises from his seat, leaving his untouched ale and a couple of coins on the table. "I do not bed teenagers."

That earns him an offended splutter from the bard, who doesn't take the hint and follows him through the tavern. "I'm not… I can assure you that I am a man. An adult man." His voice breaks a little on the last syllable and Eskel smirks.

"Want to try that again?" He asks, but before the bard has a chance to reply, a man interrupts them. There is fear in his voice when he asks for Eskel's help with a so-called devil haunting his fields, and the way his eyes keep going back to the Witcher's scars shouldn't make Eskel so uncomfortable, but it does. He still accepts the job.

*

After the whole debacle with the elves, Jaskier follows Eskel back to the inn, strumming his lute with a spring in his step despite the bruise on his forehead and the tears in his doublet. Eskel informs the man who hired him of his deal with the elves, collects his meagre pay, and immediately spends half of it for a warm meal. He sits in the same corner as this morning, and forgets all about the whole ordeal for the time it takes to fill his stomach.

His peace is temporary, as Jaskier takes back his place in the middle of the room, undeterred by his earlier flop, and starts strumming the same melody he’s been composing on their way back to Posada. And then he starts singing.

The song is… embarrassing. Jaskier doesn’t pay attention to the first hollers and insults from the patrons who recognize him, his eyes rarely leaving Eskel, who sits still, mortified, as he discovers the lyrics at the same time as everyone else.

By the end, the complaints have turned to cheers and stomping, and Jaskier’s cheeks are ruddy with exertion. He accepts to play the song a second time, then follows with popular jigs and bawdy tales that have the drunks singing and the others getting drunker. His attention strays from Eskel, though he still spares him smiles and winks when he happens to pass by his table.

Eskel should leave, he knows. The sun will go down soon, and he still has to find a place to set up camp. But he’s stuck to the bench, people throwing coins at him, clapping him in the back. The bartender even slides a free ale in front of him, with a grateful though reluctant nod. It doesn’t even smell of spit.

A warmth spreads in his chest that has nothing to do with the alcohol, and it only flares brighter every time Jaskier sends a smile his way. It takes him a while to identify this emotion, practised as he is at ignoring them. It’s gratefulness. Not for the people thanking him for ridding them of the elves, though that is a nice change. No, he is the one being grateful for the bard who met an old, grumpy Witcher and decided to see a hero worthy of ballads instead.

Eskel knows the bard benefits from it too, his pockets clinking with coin, knows the friendliness of the villagers will only last as long as alcohol fogs their stereotypes and superstitions, but he can’t help but revel in it, hoarding warmth and comfort as much as he can before he goes back to the cold loneliness of the Path.

Just after the sun sets, but long before the impromptu party is over, Eskel slinks outside, stomach full, a little tipsy on ale and joy. He doesn’t want to wait until alcohol makes the mean ones meaner and pushes them to try starting a fight with him. The bard has earned his success, Eskel won’t be the one to ruin it. He meets Scorpion on the outskirts of the city, caresses his velvety nose as the horse sniffs at his pockets for some treats.

“That was a good day, boy,” the Witcher tells his horse. “We shouldn’t get used to it, though. That’s how you get disappointed.”

Traveling with a human is a change Eskel struggles to adapt to, though it is admittedly nice. The boy is a smart one, cultured and quick-witted, but he doesn't know anything about life. His noble upbringing quickly becomes obvious to Eskel, the lack of basic knowledge like making a fire or cooking food revealing themselves on the first evening of their acquaintance. Eskel doesn't mind teaching the boy. It seems like the thing to do to thank the bard for the song, and for the company. 

Before he finds himself maudlin longer, Eskel swings a leg over the saddle, and directs Scorpion to the South. Rapid footsteps echo behind him, and he turns to find the bard running in his direction, lute banging on his back and pockets heavy with the night’s earnings. The warmth that had bloomed in Eskel’s chest in the tavern buries itself deeper.

*

He doesn't expect the boy to stay long, maybe a week or two, until he's tired of sore feets and sleeping on hard ground, or he finds another "muse*, like he insists on calling Eskel.

But he stays, following Eskel everywhere, unless the Witcher insists he stays back at camp while he goes on a dangerous hunt, or he finds something of interest in a town they go through and decides to stay a couple more days. He always catches up, though, finding Eskel in whatever clearing he's set up camp and sitting at his side like they've never parted. It's nice, Eskel admits to himself. To have someone to talk to, about everything from music and art to monsters and magic. He finds himself brooding less and less, his mind focused on the colourful bard chatting next to him rather than on his own dark thoughts.

It comes slowly, he thinks, it buries itself under his skin, filling his every crevice without him noticing, but it's like falling from the edge of a cliff when he finally realises: he's happy.

He's been happy for a while. Since the ridiculous, optimistic, flirty bard entered his life.

He thinks about running, leaving Jaskier behind, before the inevitable happens and Eskel is left with a heart emptier than it was before. He could survive the loneliness when he had nothing else to compare it to; he's not sure he can go back to it now.

But he's not like his brothers, running from his feelings or translating all of them into anger. He takes the time to think about it, and decides that he'll take the risk. Jaskier doesn't look or smell like he has any intention of leaving Eskel's side for the moment, and Eskel has no intention of letting anything happen to the bard.

So he stays, and gets used to the company. It's surprisingly easy.

*

Winter is close, and Eskel finds himself feeling maudlin. Soon, Jaskier will head towards Oxenfurt to spend the season in warm lodgings, between some pretty girl's thighs, and wait for the sun to come back. Eskel will depart for Kaer Morhen, if he wants to get to the pass before it gets snowed in.

They've talked about it, and agreed to meet in the spring, but it doesn't keep Eskel from wishing they could stay together. He won't keep Jaskier from his plans, though, the bard sounding happy every time he mentions the friends he has at the Academy and his favourite inns to play at, where everyone, even the lowest drunkard, knows how to appreciate good music and poetry. 

He shouldn't ask for more, he knows. The bard already gives him so much; his friendship and his songs and his smiles.

The day before they part, they pay for a room in an inn close to the crossroad where they’ll have to say goodbye to each other, and Eskel spends the afternoon knees deep in murky water to rid the local pond of a particularly aggressive bloedzuiger. It’s not dangerous, just long and damp, and his already foul mood sours even more. Back at the inn, Eskel leaves muddy puddles on the way to their room.

Jaskier hasn’t moved from the bed, where he is writing down his latest composition in the leather bound notebook that never leaves his side, along with his lute. He raises his eyes as Eskel enters the room, nose scrunching up at the Witcher’s state.

“I asked for a bath,” Eskel grumbles, unbuckling his armour and putting it close to the crackling fireplace to dry.

“Oh, good,” Jaskier chuckles. “Everything suits you, my dear, but I can’t say I like the smell of dead fish on you.”

Eskel snorts, but doesn’t reply, as the innkeeper’s daughter knocks on the door and sets to filling a modest tub with tepid water. He thanks her, and waits for her to close the door behind herself before undressing completely and stepping into the bath. It’s not Kaer Morhen’s hot springs, but it does soothe the ache in his bones that always settles when it gets cold. He sighs, relaxing after the frustrating contract, and doesn’t notice Jaskier has moved until he’s right behind him.

It should unsettle him that the bard can sneak up on his Witcher senses, but it has become a recurring occurrence, and Eskel doesn’t mind it so much. He likes being able to lower his guard with someone who’s not his brothers or Vesemir.

Nimble fingers thread in his hair, and he suppresses a shudder at the pleasant sensation. “What are you doing?” he asks without opening his eyes.

“Helping you clean that mess,” Jaskier replies in a low voice, almost a murmur.

Eskel hums, not seeing a reason to refuse the offer. The bard’s fingers on his scalp feel divine, and a purr builds in his chest as he slowly melts into a puddle. “That feels nice.”

Jaskier doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t stop either, even when he’s done with Eskel’s hair. His hands trail down to the Witcher’s neck and shoulders, digging into the muscles there with both strength and care. Eskel’s hard prick bobs in the water, but he doesn’t do anything about it. He knows the bard would accept enthusiastically if Eskel were to proposition him; he hasn’t stopped smelling of lust and ogling Eskel even after all these months, but that’s not what the Witcher wants at the moment.

The hands on his shoulders have traded their massage for featherlight caresses, trailing down old scar tissue and up again, teasing and tickling the sensitive skin. Touch purely for touch’s sake. Eskel hums again and Jaskier chuckles, a puff of air brushing the damp skin of Eskel’s neck. “What are you thinking about?”

“Come with me to Kaer Morhen,” the Witcher says before he has time to talk himself out of it.

The silence that follows is short but Eskel has the time to regret everything that has led him to that moment, until a pair of soft lips caresses the curve of his shoulder, where a werewolf bit out a chunk of flesh thirty years ago and left only a jagged silver scar. Jaskier follows it from one end of the half-moon to the other, then breathes against Eskel’s skin, “I’d be honoured.”

And the warmth in Eskel’s chest makes itself a home there.

[fnf-amateur-writing]

Hey! It’s Fox again! How are you doing? I just started school back up today, so I’ve been busy Xp.

Think you would be cool with writing some Pico with an s/o who is a writer, and tends to ask him about things like “hey, how long does it take someone to bleed out” or other things like that?

I understand if you don’t feel like it, and I hope you’re having fun 😊

🦊

Hello again Fox, I'm doing quite well rn. I'm cool with your prompt, especially since I need more writing material anyways.

Took me a while, because I didn't want to do a hc, but rather come up with a oneshot with a little twist to the style. Well, hope it works well.

Good luck with school, mate!

TW: Mentions of violence, swearing, slight sexual reference, and crime.

Pico with a writer S/O who asks him strange questions

Prologue:

On a chilly autumn morning, you were sitting out on your patio with a laptop and a mug of your favourite beverage next to you. Whenever you looked up, you could see the warm coloured leaves fall as the breeze accompanied you. The whole scene was an aesthetic.

When your boyfriend, Pico, came outside to see this, he knew that the nice environment you surrounded yourself with meant one thing. "You're back in your writing space already. Heh, with that bestseller you published, I thought you were comfy taking a break." You simply smiled and said, "can't waste the inspiration rush I got right now."

Pico had a good point though, with your rising popularity as an author, you were near set to retire before turning fourty. But you wish you weren't given all of the credit, since your boyfriend's stories of his dodgy job has occasionally sparked some ideas for your stories. However the books you wrote in the past were usually meant for the young adult and had few mature themes. This time, you thought maybe it's time to garner extra inspiration from those stories.

You were met with some disappointment when you realised that your mug was empty, only a drop entering your mouth. "Here, babe, I'll ya some more," Pico said, taking your mug and walking inside. "Quick question," you stopped him. "Yeah?"

"What would be the best place for a murder cemetery?"

"... What?"

Chapter 1:

"So you're doing some story about the police hunting down a mass murderer?"

"Pretty much."

"And to think you were gonna write Pixar's next script. Aight' I respect that." Pico takes a seat next to you with a refill of your drink placed next to your favourite writing laptop. "Thanks, Pico. But yeah, I want to branch out to something edgier, and I think you can help too."

"Let me show you what I've got so far." You showed him some of your notes in a little notepad document, detailing the story thus far and your current plans for this chapter. "Oh, that's it? Just looks like boring police preparation mainly," Pico commented. "Yeah, it's not much right now. But it'll get juicy later." "And bloody?" "And bloody."

"Welp, I'm gonna head back in," Pico got up, "let me know if you need anything." He head back inside, closing the door, but then opened it almost immediately afterwards. Pico stuck his head out, "by the way, the guy should use some strong alcohol or something to throw off those sniffer dogs."

Chapter 2:

"And then, because they used a silencer, the police don't immediately notice the--"

"Nope! I'm calling bullshit (Y/N)!" Pico had suddenly interrupted your explanation of the scene you were currently working on. "Silencers can help prevent some hearing loss, sure, but they're not magic."

"Alright," you reply, "no silencer, but the killer still has to kill in a way to not get blood on them, so I thought shooting and killing them from a distance would work." "Well, they're alone. Instead, have the guy get shanked in the neck or something, and have the killer use a plastic bag as a glove. It saved my ass one time."

"Woah!" you exclaimed with a giggle, "you used a knife once? What happened to my trigger happy boyfriend, huh? That's pretty sus."

"I forgot to reload the Uzis, alright?"

"What an impostor would say."

Chapter 3:

"What would be the best way to muffle the scream of someone you kidnapped?"

You two were sitting on the couch together watching a show. You didn't have your laptop on you, so Pico didn't expect you to still be thinking about that book. "I can't say from experience, really," he said as he paused the show. "However, shove a rag in their mouth and duct tape it in, and you should be good."

"Thanks Pico, also one more thing." "Yeah?" "What if our killer also wanted to..." God, this one was gonna be awkward, but you had to say it or else no help. "You know, cut off this victim's willy. How would you do that?"

"Wai-wha-uh-ga," Pico started fumbling his words like never before. He stopped, then took a deep breath. "YO, WHAT THE FUCK?!" "It'll make sense in the story later, I promise!" You watch Pico begin to lose it, breaking into laughter. "Ladies, gentlemen, and others," Pico dramatically stood up, pulling a little Showcaster impression and directing his arms towards you, "my famous 'young' adult novelist partner!"

Chapter 4:

It was in the dead of night, but you awoke to Pico on his phone. His vpn was on and Tor was up. As per usual, he was checking up on his little hitman service, where others could request for a certain someone's guts to fly if they paid him a hefty sum first. Though tired, you ound this to be the best time to ask him some more questions.

"Pico, how do those sites work?"

"Oh, you're awake," Pico blankly stated, sleepy too. But he still answered you. "Basically, some anonymous rich guys in the area give me money and a target, then I just do the thing and send a mission accomplished email." "Do they pay you in person?" "Nah, we use always use Bitcoin. It's a lot harder to trace than real money."

"Thanks Pico. Goodnight," you wish him, yawning and going back to sleep. "You too... So this guy is a hit man too?" "Hush. Tomorrow." "Okay." Pico puts his phone away, leaving it on a nightstand. You then spoon the night away, peacefully thinking of murder as you drifted off.

Chapter 5:

On a morning similar to before, you two sat on the patio with your drinks and laptop at the ready. Pico watched rather awkwardly as you typed away, wondering why you haven't entertained him with another question yet.

"You gonna ask anything else?" "What? Oh, nah," you plainly state. Inevitable, sure, but he was kind of saddened. He liked being able to share his messed up wisdom. "So, you're done?" "Almost." You turn to look at him, "want the spoilers?" Pico smiled, "sure thing."

In the novella you and Pico crafted together, the main character is a cop who hunts down a killer. They eventually notice that there would be two murders at a time for unknown reasons. Well, it was unknown until one victim had left up a dark web hit man for hire site. They that the hit man not only kills the target, but the client as a hidden price for the service.

And any request will be fulfilled, according to the hit man's site.

"Do they catch 'em?" Pico asked. "Well, ANY request is granted. So, if our hero were to... hire him to kill himself..."

"No way!"

"He did. They find both of their bodies in his bedroom."

Pico was a bit impressed with the ending you came up with, but then he remembered something. "Why did that guy get his thing cut off?" "Lol, I forgot," you giggled. "He sent a message to the hit man, saying he wishes the target would choke on his dick."

"That's my favourite part."

Epilogue:

After everything was finished up, you sent the book off to your editor. After the initial joy of knowing how the story ended, you saw that Pico was still in thought. "What's up with you?" "Oh nothing, well it's just... I'm probably just biased, being that I'm a bit of a hitman myself, but it's kind of sad to see the guy go."

"Then I should spoil the epilogue I came up with." Rather than being excited, Pico nervously asked, "what's an epilogue?" He didn't get an answer, only you staring at him. "Sorry, school held too many bad memories for me to pay attention."

"Anyways," you continue, "the rest of the police gang did some background checks, and find that our killer was a normal guy with no criminal history."

"Penilian?"

"No. But I did decide to take a more supernatural approach here. Somewhere across the country, another string of double homicides occur and that site is active once more. And the story kind of repeats itself."

"Penilian."

"You joker," you give him a playful little kiss on the cheek, one that definitely caught him off guard. "So is it canon?" Pico smirked. "Nah, just thanking you for being my cute little co-author." "Oh," Pico started, "so we're flirtin' now, huh. Come here babe!" He tackled you onto the ground, giving you several kisses in exchange.

"Actually, I think we call that 'making out'," you chuckle out, flustered. "But that doesn't mean I said stop'!" You pull him in for more, accidentally bonking your heads together rather painfully. "Nice double kill there, (Y/N)."

[theodora3022]

Playing tricks with the trickster

Summary: Failed escape attempt from yandere Childe. He lets you play your cards, even playing along, just for his own amusement.

Notes: My first genshin piece yay... I had a sweet and terrible dream of me running from Childe in the woods. Also some inspiration was drawn from @cinnamonest‘s this post, one big virtual hug to her! I hope I did Childe justice, what can I say I love manipulative smiling boys. It has become a pattern as I dash from one fandom to another. This is had turned out to be longer then I expected...Ginger boy demands my time and energy too much omg. Mind the warnings, although there is nothing extreme in this.

Fun fact, I was looping to Nintendo game by Alessia Cara when writing this down. I believe it fits the theme of this fic quite well.

Tagging: @akutaguagua a great friend who patiently beta-read this mess of a horror dream and gave me lots of kind praises! 

(Offical art belongs to miHoYo! This is a cover page of this video, if there is any issues, contact me and I will remove it at once)

Warnings: Implied past abduction,dub-con touching, mild degradation, drugging(not on reader), implied non-con/dub-con at the end, this is not healthy love and I do not condone this irl.

It has been nearly a month since the youngest Fatui Harbinger had “taken you in”. After a few tries, you were too horrified by the punishments to continuously fight him. You learned on the first day that Childe’s smiling, the friendly mask would come off towards you. Your behaviour would decide if that is a curse or a “blessing”.

So you had quieted down, struggling to restrain yourself from yelling or screaming, carefully not to provoke his anger. Despite being compliant to his orders, you never truly showed him any affection either. Sure, you would sit on his lap if he asked, but you never initiated anything intimate with him. No matter how much Tartaglia spoiled you with clothes, books, jewelry or other luxuries, he is still the one who holds the commanding end of your shackles. It’s the best not to get used to all of that when your sight is set on the door.

Although he has taken your freedom away, you are not kept in a windowless room. On the contrary, you have too many outings now. Wherever he goes, you have to be present in a 2m radius, including meetings. Being a Harbinger is no easy job, so he prefers not having to worry about your safetly during buisness hours. The best way to do that is never let you out of his sight.

“Love, no one should witness our little problems. Well, no one alive that is.” Of course you wouldn’t want to put innocent people's lives at stake. You never dared to act out when you two are in public, and no one would bat an eye if a Fatui had taken a lover. 

You had taken an emotionless approach towards him. If Childe wants a kiss on the cheek, you’ll give him a quick light peck. If he wants breakfast, you’ll go make some pancakes with the topping he likes. Luckily, Childe had not done anything too extreme yet. If cuddling to sleep does not count as extreme that is. The only time you slipped up is when he suddenly hugs you from behind when you’re cooking.  

You thought maybe, just maybe, by being as boring and dull as you could, this bastard might just get tired of you and let you go. Childe only loves the fun of it right? Or maybe it could lower his guard.

Oh, how naive you are. You should have known better than to underestimate a Fatui harbinger. See, this is exactly why he needs to keep you around. Yes, unfortunately for you, Childe loves you, so very much. Speaking to him with a monotone voice isn’t going to alter that fact.

You have been devoid of emotions as of late. While Childe does appreciate fewer screams for the sake of his eardrums, this schemer can sense you are up to something. Perhaps this is the peace before your “storm”(he thought of it more like a drizzle)

You want to play a game? Okay, why not? Childe cannot wait to see what tricks you got on those sleeves. Are you ever getting away? Does an amateur ever win when they play a game with a professional trickster? Never.

Still, nothing bites like a cornered rat. You are no airhead, and he is fully aware of that. Just not as cunning and observent as him, that’s all.

The way you just kept your emotions sealed up is impressive, even to someone like him. Even when he got hansy, you did not flinch and just stared at the corner. Childe can only catch faint glimpses of anger when you thought he wasn’t looking.

Hm, when are you pulling your trigger? Tonight, or tomorrow night? Not that Childe is impatient, anything from you is worth waiting. But he would need to dismiss his patrolling underlings in the nearby woods beforehand. No extras would be allowed to disturb this game.

There is no chance during the day, a somewhat mutual understanding for you two. Night time in comparison, is a different story. 

Anyone’s sleeping hours is their most vulnerable time of the day, Childe is no exception. You do not plan to harm him, not that you don’t want to. But you are willing to swallow the pent up frustration towards him if you would never see his face again after this. Maybe beating up some slimes would help with the release?

You somehow managed to slip a mixture of herbs into his tea. Since he would buy cooking ingredients for you from time to time, you had requested a bunch of herbs along with the ingredients of a sleep inducing medicine you remembered. Although Childe does all he can to keep you near him, there are inevitable hours that he needs to be somewhere without you. He cannot jeopardize your safety with troublesome monsters. On a side note, he loves showing you off to anyone, his colleagues, acquaintances, business partners, anyone he does not deem a threat.

Enough time for you to make those herbs into powder and cover it up with a few spoons of milk. Tea with milk has become quite popular in Liyue as of late. Childe has grown to love them, so you have learned how to mix it up. He always let you handle his food and drinks, saying that he “trusts you”. What you do not know is this is one of the openings he exposed on purpose. It’s not like you can aquire anything deadly under his suffocating supervision.

Your plan will work, or so you think. Childe will not wake up when you wiggle out of his grasp, because dreamland will keep him occupied. All you need is a glider and a usable sword from Liyue and you’ll get your life back. Bottling up extreme emotions has certainly taken a toll on your mind, but it will be worth it if that is the prerequisite of being free.

Something about this being so easy sits ill with you. Have you really been with the youngest Fatui Harbinger this whole time? But that was brushed off your shoulders by the sheer excitement of regaining your long lost freedom. You know Liyue is in walking distance, all you need to do is cross these woods and-

The moment you dive into the forest, you think you heard an amused chuckle. 

That smooth voice terrifies you to no end, the same voice you took orders from for the past month.

Oh, how Childe loves seeing you happy. It’s priceless, both literally and figuratively. No matter how many things he buys you, you had not shown him even one small smile. Enjoy your sweet freedom, because it ain’t going to last. You certainly will know your place after this right? If not you are just dumber then he give you credit for.

That glow of relief in your eyes is worth every last bit of this intense dizzying feeling to Childe. To make sure your plan go through, he had drunk the tea without hesitation, quick enough to catch the momentarily excitement you expressed. He knows the game is on, therefore he had given the night patrol guards the entire evening off. Forcing himself to stay concious by digging his nails into his palms, Childe followed you into the woods.

Your potion is quite strong. Excellent, you’ll have to give him the recipe for informational purposes later. Especially how you managed to achieve such effects with a few herbs you had. He never took you to be anything less than a smart girl, but this has exceeded his expectations. Where’s the fun in a game without challenges?

How you storm through the forest wearing that cute terrified expression looks so endearing, it’s surely not his fault if he wants to enjoy this sight to be longer right.

So, each time you feel the slightest at ease due to whatever reason, expect Childe to make some sound to send you running like your life depends on it again. The sadistic man is hunting you down playfully, like a cat chasing a stray mouse to the inevitable corner.

You know he is toying with you. There is nothing you can do to make him shut up though.

“Love, you had scratched your leg. Must hurts by the looks of it.”

“Liyue is that way, you know.”

“Are you tired? If you want to jog in the middle of the night, you should have called me to come along!”

How can he say those things nonchalantly while you are trying to escape from him?  Here he is, daunting you with that signature smile he wears so very often. That is when reality slaps you right in the face. No matter how hard you plan, no matter how fast you run, there is no getting rid of him.

When your stamina runs out, a simple pull and push on your left wrist is enough to let you fall onto the ground panting. Even now, you still refuse to beg for mercy. You would take the cold grounds to the warmth of Childe’s embrace anyday. 

“Aw, burnt out already? Pathetic. Looks like we need to work on your stamina more. But this is not the place for exercise.”

“Look at me.” His slender but forceful fingers tilt your head up, making you look into those ocean blue orbs. There is anger present in his eyes, but those emotions are more a mixture of delight and that. His smile had also been replaced by a mocking smirk. “You, trying to leave me? Your sense of humor is...well, let’s just call it unique. Lucky for you, you amused me nonetheless.”

“I know what you’re thinking. How I’m a selfish jerk and you hate me. Why be so ungrateful? You get to live in luxury thanks to me, you know. I am selfish, yes, but look how stupid you are. I know you added something extra in my evening tea, my beloved.”

“Come now, we are going to do some exercises suited for a night like this once we’re back home. It is our one month milestone, after all. You had already given me your gift, it is only fair for you that I do the same.”

Childe is not making a sarcastic remark. The thrill of that chase was the best fun he had in months. And you are going to love his gift too, maybe not right away, but surely sometimes after. 

You have to mentally prepare yourself for the worst as he dragged you back to the prison, hopefully you’ll still be able to walk properly after whatever Childe got in store.

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Timestuck AU: The Power of Mabel ch.6

While fighting over a time machine so one twin can win a pig or the other can win the heart of a girl, Mabel is left stranded in a snowy forest with no time machine and no brother. Oops.

ch.5 - ch.7 (finale)

~~~~~~~~~~

The air was still quite nippy and crisp, but the afternoon sun sparkled on the white snow and made the atmosphere pleasant to stand in if the Main Sequence Star was shining directly on a living organism, like it was on Stan from where he stood on the porch. He sighed tiredly as he dug into his hoodie’s pocket for a fresh cigar and lit it with his Zippo-style lighter. He knew he probably shouldn’t smoke with a kid in the house, but after the few days he’s had, he needed and had well earned a smoke-break.

The door opened and Stan hid his cigar by his side, his right arm glued to his hip to hide the newcomer on his left, but when he saw it was an adult, he relaxed and took another puff. “M’trying to quit.” He mumbled.

Ford snickered. “Yeah, it looks like you’re trying really hard.”

“Don’t be shitty.” Stan said casually.

“Mind if I lend one? I can replenish you in a few minutes.”

Stan stared at his goody two-shoes of a twin and handed him a cigar and the lighter. “You smoke?”

“Not often. For a celebration or after a long day.” Ford answered as he lit his borrowed cigar. “Maybe twice a month. Thrice?”

“Huh.”

Ford looked down at the lighter in his hand, and he was surprised when he recognized it. He can clearly remember seeing the tiny silver box in a store and thinking Stanley would like it as a Only One More Year of High-School present. “I gave this to you.”

Stan smiled as he took it back and pocketed it. “Yeah, it’s a good lighter. Only needed to change the flint a few times.”

“Hey guys!” A small voice called from inside the house. “Do you like vanilla or chocolate?”

The twins looked at each other, smiled, and called back. “Both. Both is good!”

“Both it is!”

Stan chuckled and shook his head. “Knucklehead… I knew she had to be family just by looking at her!” He bragged proudly.

“I suppose I was too distracted by the fact that a cold girl was at my doorstep to recognize the family resemblance.” Ford reasoned, shrugging. “I wanted to make sure I did the right thing. I didn’t exactly feel like getting arrested for kidnapping.”

Stan barked a laugh. “Yeah, you got a good point.” The conman yawned and stretched his arms over his head. “Guess I’ll head out tomorrow.” He mentioned offhandedly.

Ford stared at him, a little saddened and disheartened by this fact that was news to him. “You’re leaving?”

“I mean, yeah?” Stan equally stared at his brother, confused and not daring to be hopeful, but still. “What?”

“I just…” Ford hesitated and busied his mouth by taking a hit of his cigar. With everything that has been said and how well he and Stan have been communicating, he really didn’t feel like ruining it now. He relaxed his shoulders and said with his eyes on the snowy woods. “I was really hoping you would stay.”

Stan looked dumbfounded, like a child discovering candy for the first time, but he looked away and down at the porch floor. “Oh.”

“I’ll of course be taking care of Mabel until Dipper comes back in time for her…”

“He might not.”

“We got over our grudges. They can do the same.” Ford said firmly. “Still, you have a point. Dipper might not be able to come back. Regardless, whether it’s for a short time, a long time, or for the rest of my life, I will take care of her. I might not be the best for her, I can acknowledge that…”

“C’mon, Sixer, don’t be like that.” Stan scolded lightly, giving a sympathetic look to the nerd. “What else can you do, y’know? There’s no way in hell you’re gonna give her up, I’ll kidnap her and run away to Canada before I let you…”

Ford laughed and waved a hand as he smiled. “No no, I promise I won’t.”

“Good.”

“The point is, she loves you. Clearly. And it takes two, and I’ll be busy with my research, especially once the snow melts and the anomalies become more active in the spring and summer, but…” Ford bit his lip. This was a bad idea. If he makes it seem that the only reason why Stan needs to be here is because of Mabel, if or when she’s gone, then Stan will have no reason to stay. And there were many reasons why Ford wanted Stan to stay.

Despite how much of a social-cripple Ford was, he knew that Stan was homeless. His frequent traveling and how full his car was right now was enough proof of that. And Ford hated that for his brother.

But there was another, bigger reason why Ford wanted Stan to stay. So he better just say it.

“Do you know why I went to Backupsmore?” Ford asked.

Stan’s facial expression darkened as he looked away and he shrugged. “Cuz I fucked up your project?”

“No,” Ford answered plainly. “I may not have been accepted into West Coast Tech, but there were so many other colleges that wanted me. I could apply to Yale or Harvard or any college from New York to California and instantly be accepted.

“But I didn’t.” The author added grimly. “Stanley, when you left… When you were gone, I was a mess. So many days I just lied in bed without meals or sleep. Ma was hysterical. I failed most of my exams and only barely scraped a C in the ones I didn’t fail. My GPA dropped significantly and I even lost my Honor Roll. Thankfully my past grades were enough to let me graduate with a 3.2, but my clean record was stained and a lot of prestigious colleges didn’t want me.

“All I wanted at that point was to get as far away from Glass Shard as possible. Luckily there was a small college outside of San Francisco that practically accepted everyone and had a wide range of studies to offer, so I applied and was accepted by graduation day.”

“Good for you.” Stan grunted.

“No! The point is, I…” Ford groaned, feeling like he was failing, but he had to try. “I understand if you don’t want to stay. I understand you have your own life and things you want to do, and I can live without you again if I have to, but… I really, really don’t want to. Yes, I know that part of growing up is going in different directions and being independent and all the other bells and whistles, but it doesn’t have to be. So, if you can tolerate living under the same roof as me again, and if you’re okay with it, I want to offer you a job.”

Stan raised an eyebrow at the six-fingered man. “What kinda job?”

“The committee gives me monthly boosts so I can continue my research. As long as I prove to them once a year that progress is being made, I have a good income coming in. It is a big job, exploring the large woods, climbing mountains and waterfalls, combing the lake, mapping the Enchanted Forest, and hunting down monsters and anomalies to learn more about them. I’ve always managed to make it out of trouble alright, but… I need a partner, and I want to keep it in the family.” Ford smiled at the last sentence.

“What are you saying?” Stan sneered, not daring to believe, not daring to hope, but that stupid smile Ford had…

“I’m saying I want you to do this with me, Stanley.” Ford said matter-of-factly. “I can share the grant with you after bills are paid and groceries are purchased. We can renovate the small room on the ground floor to be Mabel’s bedroom and you can have the entire attic as your own space.

“I know it’s not sailing around the world, but… Please. Will you give me another chance?” Ford pleaded with a soft smile.

Stan grinned and shook his head. “Shit, Sixer, you’re a better salesman than me.” He looked him in the eyes. “Okay. Yes. I’ll stay.”

Ford’s cheeks puffed with happiness as he smiled, his lips pressed together, and he looked ahead, happily daydreaming his future. Being surrounded by weirdness for a living was amazing by itself; doing it with his twin and raising their niece together on top of it was better than anything he could have imagined.

Stan was watching him and laughed good-naturedly, then held out a hand to him. Ford blinked at it like a startled owl, but then returned the smile and sealed the deal with a high-six.

Both brothers stood contently outside with their cigars for a minute, but then heard a bowl clatter on the floor. Mabel must be making a mess in the kitchen, which was fine.

What wasn’t fine was the sound that followed of a body falling on the floor.

Ford raised an eyebrow and called calmly, “Mabel, are you alright?”

They both expected a quick “yeah, sorry, I’m okay,” and maybe an explanation to follow, like she tripped getting down from a chair or something. But there was no reply.

“Mabel, sweetie?” Stan hollered, trying not to sound mad or scared or anything but cool-under-pressure, but this voice trembled with fear.

Still no answer.

Ford and Stan quickly discarded their cigars and bolted inside. Racing like children for cookies, they soon stood at the doorway of the kitchen and were horrified to find Mabel sprawled on the floor on her front, her hair scattered over her face to hide her expression, and her legs and bottom-half of her body slowly fading.

Literally. Fading. Mabel was fading away. She was disappearing like a stain on cloth.

“MABEL!” The men screamed and were immediately on their knees beside her. Ford scooped her up into his arms and felt her pulse and looked over her.

“What happened to her?!” Stan cried out. “Pumpkin, what’s wrong?!”

Ford’s eyes widened in panic as a horrifying realization slapped him in the face. “Mabel… You changed history.”

The tired girl nodded with her eyes closed. “If… If you guys had a fight… and never made up… in my timeline, then I guess…” Mabel paused to yawn tiredly. It didn’t hurt, but she was really sleepy now.“I guess that timeline doesn’t exist anymore, huh? I guess I don’t exist anymore.”

“WHAT?!” Stan yelled and took Mabel’s hand and squeezed it. “We have to do something! You’re family! You’re… We can’t just let you d- not exist!”

Ford held Mabel tighter and closer to his warm chest, making her smile. She swore she could hear his heartbeat. It was too fast. She would have to fix that. Poor Ford was also shaking like a leaf. Mabel could fix that, too.

“I’ll exist.” She smiled up at her uncles. “In a few years.”

Ford bit his lip. He shouldn’t ask this, it was probably dangerous to learn about the future, but the worst was already happening. What else could possibly happen that was worse than losing his girl? Ford couldn’t help but ask, “When?”

“August 31st, 1999.” Mabel’s eyes dazzled. “You’ll meet Dipper, too.” She shifted her eyes to only Stan and whispered, “Did you know you were there? You came to see us when we were born?”

Stan’s eyes watered as he smiled at the new piece of information. “I did?”

“You did. I came out first. You were so proud when I kicked the doctor in the jaw.”

Stan made a watery chuckle and wiped at his eye. “That’s my girl.”

“Dipper came next. He was blue. Umbilical cord wrapped around his neck.”

“Was he okay?” Stan asked.

“He was fine. You knew he would be. You never doubted.”

“I never will, pumpkin. I swear.”

The fading is now much worse. It was spreading over Mabel like a virus. Her legs were hardly visible to the naked eye, and even her shoulders were losing color. This Mabel is almost completely gone. 

Ford, pressed for time, bit his lip as tears flooded his eyes and he cupped Mabel’s cheek and cradled her. “I… I can’t let you go! We just started to become a real family! Wh-What am I going to do without you?!”

Mabel smiled and used the free hand not holding Stan’s trembling hand to caress Ford’s jaw and lower cheek, then cupping his face so her fingertips grazed his sideburn. “It’s okay, really. I’ll see you again, and next time it’ll be when both of you come to see us. Totally worth it.” 

Ford held his breath, and shut his eyes, a tear escaping from each eye and sitting comfortably in the corners of his windows to his soul. Stan hiccuped a laugh and rubbed her hand between both of his. Both of them were doing everything in their power not to cry. 

To that, Mabel laughed and said, “Boys are stupid. It’s okay to cry.”

The cursed power of Mabel. Making people be honest and breaking dams.

Ford curled into his niece, his face sloe to her heart, and cried gently. He wasn’t ready, but he didn’t think he could ever be ready for this.

Stan laughed with tears streaming down his face and he kissed Mabel’s tiny fingers trapped in his hold, then held their hands close to his bowed forehead and just focused on feeling her pulse between his palms.

It only lasted another minute.

Ford was mortified when his chest sank and his arms were empty. He threw himself back and stared at his lap and felt sick to his stomach to find his little girl missing.

Stan’s hands also clasped together and he squeezed tightly, his fists against his trembling lips as he cried.

The genius who always seemed to know what to do didn’t have a damn clue what to do with himself. He growled in his throat, squeezing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth, then let out a painful howl and moan that most definitely disturbed birds and made a deer or two gallop farther away.

Ford removed his glasses and held his knees, sobbing his heart out. Stan blinked his tears off his eyes, resulting in them rolling down his face, as he watched his brother completely shatter to pieces. He had seen him upset before, sure; all those years of bullying, of Pa’s outbursts and sometimes physical punishments, hopelessness that he was actually worth something. You don’t spend seventeen years with a person and not see them break every so often, granted the blessing to help them put themselves back together again.

But Ford didn’t need Stan to swoop in and fix it. There were no bullies to punch or parents to stand against or jokes to crack that would make this okay. All Stan could do was throw his arms around him and bury his face into Ford’s shoulder and cry, too. 

So that’s what they did on the kitchen floor for over an hour.

~~~~~~~~~~

Dipper blinked to try to see, but all he saw around him was inky blackness for miles. His heart raced as he looked around for his sister. “Mabel? Mabel! Mabel, answer me!”

The boy scrambled and collapsed out of a portable potty at the fair. He blinked his eyes rapidly to adjust to the sunlight, scurrying off his hands and knees, clutching the warm time-machine in his hands. Wendy was still admiring her price and Robbie was still sulking, and Waddles was still trying to get away from Pacifica.

That didn’t matter! Mabel was stranded back in time! But how far back?! When was Mabel?! Dipper started jamming the button, but the machine wasn’t working, and it was soon swiped from him by a black-gloved hand.

“Mason Pines,” A gruff voice commanded above him and Dipper looked up to find two new guys with that Blendin guy. The two other guys were muscular and guarded with high-tech armor. 

“You are under arrest for violating the Time-Traveler's Code of Conduct and for jeopardizing the timestream.” The man labeled as Dundgren stated as serious as death.

“Do you have any idea how many rules you just broke?!” Blendin squawked. “I’m asking. I wasn’t there with you. It was probably a lot, right?”

“Wait, wait please!” Dipper begged as the two members of the Time Paradox Avoidance Enforcement Squadrent each grabbed the boy by an arm. “My sister! She’s still back there! We have to get her!”

“You have the right to remain silent.” The man labeled as Lolph informed robotically. “Anything you say can and already has been used in the Court of Time-Law.”

“Let me go, Mabel needs-...” And Dipper and the three time-travelers were blasted forward in time.

~~~~~~~~~~

In the endless space of time, Dipper was levitated off the ground by a giant baby using the power of his forehead-hourglass to trap him in a baby-blue field. Members of the the Time Paradox Avoidance Enforcement Squadrent circled the two, and Blendin stood with his arms crossed over his chest and smiling smugly as the kid who caused so much trouble was getting what he deserved.

“You and your sister have broken the eternal laws of space-time.”

“I’m sorry!” Dipper cried out, trying to fight the energy circling him, but it was futile. “I’m sorry! Do what you want to me, just help my sister!”

“Your sister does not require help, nor do you require punishment.” Time Baby informed as he held his feet. “You are lucky the events that occurred do not change anything drastically. However, your timeline has shifted and therefore this reality’s version of you and your sister are no longer viable and will cease to exist.”

“What?!” Dipper squeaked and looked down at his body to find his legs disappearing. “No no NO! What’s happening to me?!”

“You and your twin sister will be born again on August 31st, 1999, but too many things are different in your timeline for this version of you to continue to exist.”

“W-W-What did I do wrong?! What did I change?!” Dipper cried out as his whole body was drained of color. “What changed in our timeline?!”

“Your uncles have amended their bond thirty-four years ahead of schedule. As unfortunate as this is, your sister miraculously delayed the plans of Bill Cipher by an entire millennia.”

“What uncles?!” Dipper asked, panicked as the fading reached his neck. “Who’s Bill Cipher?!”

“If you wanted the answers you sought out, you should have been patient.” Time Baby scolded. “We all get the answers we seek… in time.”

“P-P-Please!” Dipper begged as he appeared as a ghost. “Please! What did Mabel do?!”

Time Baby cruelly stayed silent, testing Dipper’s strengths, but he was dying, anyways. Might as well.

“She met the Author of the Journals. Your missing uncle.”

Dipper’s eyes widened. “Mabel…” He rasped, and then he ceased to exist.

[barzzal]

between halls and thin walls → part four

summary: friends who fool around almost never works. almost.

↳ pairing: mathew barzal x you

↳ warnings: idiots, that’s all <3

↳ genre: fluff, angst, smut, roommates au, best friend’s best friend, friends with benefits, 18+

↳ length: series; part one, part two, part three, part four (6.7k), part five, part six

↳ masterlist: the barn

↳ track: my favorite part by mac miller, addicted by jorja smith, someone to spend time with by los retros

note: finally got myself to update this fic oml zzz quick psa tho, this will now be a six-part series! hope that’s okay and yenno as always, would love to hear what you think about this (validate me in the tags pls im lonely) happy reading babes! <3

“Yo, grandma. Haven’t you had too much tea to drink?” his voice echoes in the room as soon as he walks into it. You carefully set the cup down on the dining table and looked at him exasperatedly. 

“Haven’t you had too much care to give?” you snark back, earning yourself a disappointed look from him. 

“Really, y/n? That’s the best you’ve got?” he shakes his head at your appalling retort.  What a shame.

You were good at pissing him off to be fair. You just weren’t in the mood to throw teases back and forth especially now that you’re feeling particularly vulnerable.

The week has been far too dreadful for you and you know that you’re willing to grovel your way into the weekend to finally have the time to slack off, not worry about taking a bath, and just go crazy with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s.

However, just like always, Mathew seems to never run out of ways to get on your nerves. 

He carelessly puts his stuff on the table, causing a fairly loud thud on the surface. 

You let out a deep breath, massaging your temple. 

“Somebody’s cranky.” he grins. Not necessarily the kind you’d want to see from him. 

You try to ignore him for a few minutes but you can’t help noticing how his build easily took over much of the space you’ve already been occupying. You irkingly look up at him, closing the book you were reading. You meet Mat’s eyes who just innocently looked back into yours. Waiting. Possibly plotting on yet another sophisticated way to toy with you.

“You’re a child.” you roll your eyes and return to your reading. He says nothing and instead rests his chin atop his enclasped hands, continuing to bother you with his ridiculously beguiling eyes. He presses his lips together before sighing dramatically. 

“What?” you snap, finally shutting your book down as you look at him. 

“I wanna go out.” he looks up at you in an effort to make his huge physique smaller than it really was. 

“Then go out. You’re a big boy.” you breathe. 

“You just said that I’m a child.” he coos, mimicking a five-year-old’s voice. 

“Stop that.” you glare at him. Mat props himself back and laughs, “Come on. I’m bored.” 

You open your book again just as you reply in a tone that Mat’s getting used to hearing. “Boredom doesn’t give you the right to pester me, Barzal.” 

And as an exchange, he speaks in the same tone rather mockingly, “And so is that attitude, Y/L/N.” 

“Come on, y/n. Let’s go out.” he now pleads, looking up at you with what seems to be his worst impression of a ‘puppy eye’.

“Fine.” you finally concede and you see Mat’s beaming smile instantly. 

“Where’d you want to go?” you ask as you take your reading glasses off.

“Dunno.” He shrugs, obviously teasing. 

On the edge of being irritated, you say, “Are you kidding me?”

“Grandma.” he mumbles before saying, “Do you have anything you want to do? And please don’t say book hunt.”

You suppress a smile and maintain your composure. “I’m craving for pancakes right now but I also wanna drink. Go to a bar or something.”

He nods in agreement. Already stitching his game plan.

“We can do both.”  he bobs his all too fine brows.

He didn’t have a hard time getting you on board with his spontaneity. You actually haven’t gone out in a while and the thought of a possible night out doesn’t seem to be so bad of an idea.

You’ve been with Mat to parties and while the two of you don’t mingle as much as the other guys did, he does know his way around the club. The dance floor, however, he tries. He really does.

For about an hour Mathew waited patiently in the living room as he scrolled endlessly on instagram liking a few photos and laughing at posts the fans tag him occasionally. His eyes were peeled away from the screen when he heard the door to your room click. His irises trail onto your body even if he didn’t plan to originally. 

Mathew, albeit dressed simply in his black turtleneck sweater and a beige overcoat exudes just about the right ‘swag’ (as per how he puts it) to stop you in your stupor. Although what you didn’t know was how you weren’t any different in his eyes. You were dressed quite nicely in a black lace bodysuit with a pair of blackpants accentuated by the black boots you usually wear on a night out. Your coat was slung on your forearm whilst you held your clutch purse in your hand so you could close the door with the other. 

“What?” you blink just as you look down to eye yourself. Feeling a tad self-conscious under his gaze.

Mat immediately breaks it off. He clears his throat, pretending to wipe off the non-existent dust on the accent table. 

“What?” he mirrors with an arched brow.

You shrug off his demeanor, snatching your keys from the accent table before putting it in your purse. 

“Have you called a lyft already?” he nods, absentmindedly scratching his temple. 

“You ready? You look— decent.” He says, trying to act casual and distant when he gives you the compliment.

Not noticing the unfamiliar look his eyes had, you return the compliment and say,  “And so do you. Good job for not looking like you came straight out of an H&M catalogue.” you wink at him with a grin. A thing which was then reciprocated by a deadpan look on his end. 

Before he could even come up with yet another clever way to come at you, you start walking towards the door, looking at him once as you motion the way by curling your finger.

“Haul ass, buddy.”

𖥸

10:15 PM 

Mat decided to bring you to the usual place he goes to when he wants to be alone and just enjoy a couple of beers while he chats with River, the bartender he eventually befriends after years spent drinking in solitude. 

The bar had a rustic feel filled with wine barrels in the corner of the room. The seats were leather (mind you, it wasn’t the kind that gets easily worn out through time) and everything looked new to you regardless of all the vintage stuff displayed articulately on the brick wall. A turntable was set on the table stacked with vinyl records, most of which were from the 70s to 80s underneath.

It was obvious that it wasn’t the kind people would know about. Aside from it being located at such a secluded street leading to the suburbs, it wasn’t the type of bar kids would want to hang out in. It only had a few customers and most of them wore suits and came with company. No one really gave a hoot when you walked in with Mathew, aka, the face of the New York Islanders. Which is basically the reason why Mat kept coming back to the place. He felt comfortable and at peace. Almost in retrospect to being at home hanging with his father. 

“I can’t believe this place exists.” you say, mouthing your thanks to River as he hands you both of your drinks. The man that’s definitely aged like fine wine smiles, nodding his head over to Mat who was doing the same before he headed back to mix another set of drinks. 

“Me neither.” he grins, reminiscing about the time he’s found the small pub by accident. 

“This place looks expensive though.” you whisper, making Mathew laugh. 

“Well, it kinda is.” he sheepishly chuckles. “River’s filthy rich.”

“Is he really?” your mouth falls and you look back over the build of the old man. The way his salt and pepper hair was neatly slicked back makes quite a compelling case for what Mat had just said. 

Mat eventually explains who he was. Apparently, he was just another bored fancy man who happened to love making people drop dead and drunk with his over the top mixes. His dark deep set brown eyes are quite of a crowd favourite too. Case in point, the group of ladies seated from across you and Mathew.

“Hey.” you absentmindedly call on Mat who had just sipped on his drink. “I know what we should do.”

“All right.” he puts the glass down, “Lay it on me.”

“Let’s fix you up with one of the girls over there.” you suggest, leaning towards his body so you could get a better view upfront. Mat does not move and instead follows your finger subtly pointing at the other end of the room.

“What’s with the sudden fixation of getting me bagged tonight, huh?” he smirks, shaking his head at the idea of having to go home with some random girl. You give him a side eye as you move away from him. 

“Fixation is an overstatement. We’ll be here long enough for us to get sick of each other.” you explicitly told him. 

Mat eyes you intently. Searching if there was even the slightest doubt in your eyes. 

Long enough to get sick of each other. 

He clears his throat instead and looks across the room. “Which one?”

A gleeful cheer erupts from you just before you look over the girls in question. “What’s your type?” you ask him, not sparing a glance.

Mat looks down on you underneath the bar lights accentuating your features. Your eyes had a certain glint in them that Mat still can’t get a grasp on. Something that was just enough to spark something inside him. He didn’t want to overthink it nonetheless. It must have been just the lights. 

Once Mat sensed that you were about to look at him he immediately turned his gaze forward, squinting his eyes a little pretending to check out the women you’ve been eyeing for the last minute. 

“I don’t really have a type.” he shrugs, casually taking the fragile glass to his mouth. 

You dismiss what he said at once, “Do I look like a child to you? Just answer it.”

Mat shakes his head, “I told you. I don’t have one. If we vibe then we vibe. Simple as that.” 

You did not believe him but you decide to drop it off. Instead, you look back and return to your new found mission. Across the bar, seated were three girls busy talking to each other. 

“Got it.” you tell Mat, nodding your head towards the clueless girl sitting right across from where Mathew was. “The one in the center.” you add. “The one wearing a white bodycon.”

“She’s pretty.” he nods, validating your taste as his potential wingman. “Nice smile.”

Your hand met a firm slap on the table as you went on cheering for him. “Well? Go then!” you give him a nudge, taking it back quickly when you feel a slight hesitation on his part, “Don’t tell me you need me to introduce you?”

He takes the remainder of his glass and shaked off the kick it had in his throat. “You just sit and watch, babe.”

You do as you’re told and lean towards the bar, your elbow carrying all your weight whilst you sip on your half-full martini. 

Mathew’s stance and the way he carries himself immediately caused the girls to notice him coming. Of course, you weren’t really surprised. You watch him approach her,– reading along the words leaving his mouth. There was an exchange of proper ‘hello’s’ as Mat introduced himself to the girls. He reaches out his hand and the curly noirette in the center gives him a firm shake. 

Mat’s eyes momentarily locked with yours just as you see their hands linger in the air— tangled long enough for him to make a quick segway. He winks your way as he sees you grin from your seat, shaking your head just after you felt the need to take a deep breath. A thing you assumed to be because of the drink. So, while Mat leads the girl to one of the empty booths and sits across from her, you call on River and ask for another drink. 

Mathew must have lost track of time by the second drink he shared with Zoe. He learns that she’s from upstate and was just on the island to visit her friends. She’s still working on her major at NYU; coincidentally in the same field as Lianna so that was one of the things they’ve talked about first hand. She wasn’t really into sports so Mat steered clear of his job because he didn’t want to bore her. 

“So…” Zoe smiles and tucks her hair behind her ear. “What’s the deal with you and the girl you’re with?” 

By the time she asked about you, only then did Mat remember who he was originally with. 

“Oh! She’s—” he looks over to where you’re seated only to find you laughing— no giggling with a man that was obviously a few years older than you. He’s wearing a neat black suit and a button down shirt with a couple of its first buttons opened. Zoe sees him frown, evidently losing his train of thought. 

She calls him with her sweet voice, “Mat?” 

“Yeah?” he absentmindedly answers, not wanting to take his eyes off of your hand that was now gently pushing the man’s arm whilst the two of you continue to burst into laughter. 

“Are you okay?” she asks.

What’s so funny? 

Finally, Mat hears Zoe’s distant voice that eventually took him back to his seat.

“Oh. Y-Yeah.” he apologetically smiles. “Sorry. What were you saying again?” 

She hesitates to ask about you after taking a quick glance your way upon seeing the way Mathew looked at you. Nevertheless, she decides to go for it.

“Aren’t you two together? I don’t want to come off strong here or anything. It’s just that I don’t want to get in between something if there ever is.” 

Mat looks at you one more time and as if you’ve felt his eyes all along you turn your way and meet his gaze. You shoot him a quiet smile, eyeing the guy sitting beside you, mouthing what he assumes to be an exaggerated “So hot!” on your end. He reciprocates your smile and gives you an approving nod.

Once you looked away, that’s the only time Mat finally answered the woman waiting patiently for his attention. 

“What?” Mat shakes his head wildly, blowing out air off his lips defensively. “No no no. We’re just friends. She’s my roommate actually.” he shrugs you off his mind and instead tries to put his entire focus on her. 

The remaining hours were spent with you and Mat getting along with your respective potential hook-ups. Not that it wasn’t the endgame either of you were hoping for at the back of your minds. 

He’s got to admit that Zoe was the kind of girl he’d be interested in. Another fact he’s kept a mental tab not to mention to you because he knows you’ll just get cocky. 

She was sweet and obviously eloquent. He knows she’s way smarter than he’ll ever be. But out of all those qualities, she was just as passionate at her craft as someone he likes to think he knows well enough. And that alone made a small smile creep on his lips. 

Nonetheless, despite all the aforementioned, Mathew found himself a bit more reserved than he usually is whenever he gets to meet and talk to his potential ‘lady friends’ as how you’ve put it countless times. He just wasn’t his exact self.  And he was beginning to question it. 

There were no fancy hockey plays thrown subtly into the conversation. Neither mentions of golfing nor over the top league events.  No butchered french pet names swiftly tucked in his sentences. And no endless questions that would eventually lead to something along the lines of ‘Do you want to get out of here?’

Well, not until Zoe’s friends got up their seats and she told him herself. 

“Hey. The girls and I are meeting up with some friends in Brooklyn. D’ya wanna come?” 

Mat’s eyes trail down to her hand now gently caressing his. He raises both his brows thinking of a possible ‘out’ because he wasn’t sure if it was a smart thing to leave you alone with a stranger. 

He hums, “Sure.” 

Zoe shows him a delighted smile before eventually sliding out of the booth to walk towards the bar she and her friends were formally seated. 

“I gotta use the restroom first. Please excuse me.” she gives him a nod before going back to chatting with her friends. 

You, on the other hand, see Mat leave the table aiming for an archway you presume to be where the loo was. 

“Hey,” you call the man whose name you’ve already forgotten. Your pause was long enough for him to acknowledge the chances that you actually did forget who he was. Obviously.

“Chris.” The man in his early 30s answers with a submitting grin. 

You shyly laugh, squeezing his forearm as you try to apologize for forgetting. 

“Would you mind if I use the restroom?” you politely ask. 

“No, not at all.” he replies and immediately stands to help you get on your feet. Gentleman. 

Once you are in front of the men’s room, you anxiously wait for your wingman. You hug your purse close to your chest. Not a whole minute after, the door finally opens and you meet Mat’s irises with quite a gleeful look. 

A look he wasn’t a fan of for he knew what’s about to come next. 

“Are you taking off?” you eagerly ask, almost hopping on your feet. 

Mat eyes you from head to toe, looking for signs that would stink from a drunk y/n. When he sees none, that’s when he decides to say that he was. 

“Mkay good. I’ll be on my way too. Chris is taking me to New Jersey.” you tell him, briefly looking through the archway to see if there were people listening.

Once you know you’re clear, you lean towards Mat, your lips dangerously close to the sensitive skin of his ear. Mat feels your heated breath sending a familiar tingle up his spine. “I’ll get to ride a yacht tonight.” you bite your lower lip and giddily smile as if you were a cheeky 16 year-old usually depicted in a coming of age movie. 

“Who’s Chris?” Mat, in spite of taking rounds observing you all night, finds the need to ask. “And why are you coming with him to NJ?” he further questions. 

“Uh– okay, dad.” you step back for a second. You let out a scoff, checking if he was being serious about it. “I thought we’re supposed to go get laid tonight? Weren’t you about to take off with that girl yourself?” 

Mat averts your gaze and starts to scratch the corner of his brow. “Well yeah. It’s just that— he looks sketchy.” he pauses, “plus… isn’t he a little too old for you?” 

You roll your eyes as you’ve already expected to hear the words from him. 

“He’s 31. He’s not that old.” you say rather defensively so you turn the ball back on his court. “And what if he was?  Didn’t you ask one of the moms out??”

Mat’s eyes widens and you try to bite back a laugh. He whispers with a biting tone, trying to save himself. “She didn’t look like one! I’m gonna kill Beau I swear to god.”

“Come on Barz. Don’t be such a killjoy. Text me if you need anything, okay? Wrap things up while you’re at it.” you say at once. Mat doesn’t get the chance to talk you out of such a stupid idea because before he even could, you’ve already planted a kiss on his cheek and started walking away. 

Mat waited for the sound of the heavy doors of the bar, signaling that you and your friend have gone, before stepping back to where Zoe was. She waves him near the coat closet. 

“Hi.” Mat greets her friends before eventually turning his attention on the unsuspecting lass. She meets her with a smile (just like what she’s been doing all night). The same smile, however, drops the second Mat opens his mouth. “Can I talk to you for a sec?” 

Zoe nods and willfully abides, letting Mat take her gently by the arm. 

“What’s up?” she innocently asks. 

“Something came up.” he says a little too fast than what he’d originally intended. He was going to let her down either way might as well get it over with and rip up the asshole band-aid. 

“Oh.” she says in a tone Mat knew that she completely understood. 

“No worries.” she looks at him with a knowing look in her eyes. “I’ll see you around then.” 

He gives her a kind smile and nods. “Take care.” 

Mathew walks towards the bar, catching River’s teasing grin whilst he cleans up after the bottles left on the center of the counter. 

“What?” Mat reacts defensively, taking a seat in front of the lone bartender. River faintly shakes his head to leave just enough curiosity in Mathew’s mind. 

“You’re such a tool, old man.” the kid says aiming for the cold beer River has put away for himself. River did not mind because he’s grown fond of the star player for the past years he’s spent going on late night drinks at his bar. Years that even justifies a proper amount of time for him to know the in’s and out’s of one Mathew Barzal. 

“I haven’t said a thing.” he shrugs amidst the already wide grin on his face. 

There’s wisdom in his eyes that Mathew has always admired. He wasn’t the guy who’d want to talk about what’s going on inside his head but with how River’s pub seems to be just the right place, he eventually concedes and takes a shot to pick on the old man’s brain.

“Come on, spill it out. I know you’re going to anyway.” Mat gives in, running his thumb on the moist label of the bottle. 

River wipes his hands before resting it atop the counter. “Well, it’s just that– I ain’t used to seeing you turn down ladies like that too often. And you’re definitely not one to stick around watching me clean up.”

Mat stays silent for a moment, as if to gather the exact reason as to why he chose to stay. He still has a long way to go before figuring that one out. He wasn’t exactly as sharp as he was on the ice.

“I don’t know, man.” he chuckles tirelessly, “I guess I wasn’t in the mood. That’s all.”

“You?” River shots a brow and dismisses him, shaking his head. When Mat doesn’t answer, he carefully picks on his choice of words and lays it down carefully for him. After all, Mathew should have known that River was old enough to not know what’s going on.

“Though I gotta be honest with you, hijo. Never imagined you’d bring someone here.” he starts. 

What must have been a shot in the dark for the old man was just enough to tear Mathew’s eyes away from staring at the water beads on the bottle.

“What?”

“The girl, Barz.” he says, banging on the head of the bottle to knock the cap off. “She a friend?” 

“What? Y/N?” Mat quirks his brows trailing off where River was exactly headed, “What about her?— Oh, her? Yeah, no. She’s just a friend.”

“She pretty.” he speaks in a sound accent, not wanting to let Mat know he’s growing to like catching the young lad off guard. Mathew nods casually despite the continuous blabbering. “She’s y/n. But yeah— I guess, she is pretty.” 

“Then what are you doing being just friends with a pretty girl?” River inquires, taking a sip of his beer. When he sees him trying to register what he’d just said he then adds, “Why not be with her? Date her?”

“Psh. What? Date y/n? That’s crazy.” Mat shakes his head furiously, “You’re crazy.” 

“What’s so crazy about that?” River takes offense, laughing at the child’s naivete. 

“I can’t date her. I mean— I won’t date her.” he takes the bottle to his mouth, taking a large gulp before continuing, “We’re in this weird relationship thing. A setup, actually, and it’s— it’s crazier than dating her. I swear, you of all people won’t get it.” 

“What makes you think I can’t?” he smirks, “I’ve had my fair share of crazy.” River points out despite the hesitation in Mat’s eyes. “I got all night, kid.” he adds, letting him have the floor to himself. 

“You really want in on this?” he second guesses, not wanting to bore the man with his personal life.

River leans against the brass counter just below the lit rack of vintage scotch displayed on the bar. He then gestures him to give a piece of his mind and Mat finally submits to his offer.

“We’ve been in a few… prior engagements,” he starts trying to find the appropriate word. “Well, sort of.”

River hums, not necessarily getting on the same page as him so he decides to be upfront about it.

“We’ve… slept together.” he confesses.

“So you used to date her?” the old man asks. 

“No.” he answers, “I told you we’re just friends.” 

With furrowed brows, River takes a minute. And once Mat hears an all too familiar “Oh.” he sees him break a chuckle, shaking his head at the thought of what Mat had just told him. “You kids have way too much fun these days.”

Mathew shrugs, “Hey, I warned you. Told you you wouldn’t get it.”

“Okay, make me understand something here. You two sleep together, fool around, do all that shit.” he says, “and you swear you’re not in a relationship?”

“Nope.” Mat answers with pride, popping out the word with a hard ‘p’.

“Huh.” River clicks his tongue, “How long have you two been… engaged?” 

He rolls his eyes when River uses his word, “About two months.” he answers shortly.

“Is she seeing anyone since you two started this thing? You know, casual dates, the ones I presume she’s been getting before you got her into this mess?” he asks him in a tone that only fathers would ever dare to use.

Mat thinks for a moment, trying to recall the last time he’s seen a guy pick you up for dinner besides the old man you’ve successfully bagged for the night. He firmly shakes his head no and simply says, “At least not in my recollection.”

River willfully nods, walking Mat right into the trap. “Well have you been seeing anyone lately?” he asks again, this time slipping a hint of assertion. He hears a crystal clear ‘no’ from the forward and that’s when he broke a goading grin. 

“And you’re telling me you two aren’t together?” he asks yet again, getting on Mat's nerves as he continues to flood him with biting queries, building up the final point he was about to break on Mathew.

“Rivs, for the hundredth time, no. We are not.” he clarifies. 

Mat watches River pour himself a glass of scotch, still wearing a smug grin. “Imma give you a piece of advice, yeah?” he smiles rather teasingly and doesn’t wait for Mat to rebut, “I’m a happily married man so I don’t know a single squat about dating nowadays, but if you’re telling me that you kids aren’t sleeping with anyone else but yourselves? Looks like a damn relationship to me.”

With his brows all quirked in confusion (and denial in the very least), Mathew gathers all his might just so he could refute whatever madness River was trying to inflict on him and screw him up in the head. But before he could even open his mouth, the sound of the heavy doors was all it took to tear up both River’s and Mat’s attention.

“Hi.” you say the moment you were welcomed by unsuspecting men talking by the bar. River acknowledges you by raising his drink, his gaze landing on Mat the moment yours did. 

“Hi.” Mathew mirrors you in an attempt to drown his already racing heart. A smile impending to break loose at any moment but he manages to suppress it. Instead of dealing with his adrenaline, he gestures for you to take a seat beside him. 

“Where’s the sugar daddy?” he laughs the moment you drag yourself from across the room, mocking every word he said. 

“His wife called when I got into his car.” you cringe.

“Oof. Lovely.” Mat makes the distinct expression on his face just before the two of you share a laugh.

“He’s not very smooth with adultery. He needs more practice.” you casually state sarcastically, clicking your tongue. 

As you find the narrative funny, you take a sip on Mathew’s beer. “How are you not drunk? You’ve been drinking way too much the entire night.”

“Well. I’ve got some things to think about—” he cuts himself off upon seeing your mouth ajar, “And no, you’re not allowed to ask because none of it concerns you.” 

“I wasn’t going to.” you dismiss him, excusing yourself to River which he gladly took as his cue to leave.

When he disappeared into the kitchen, you turned your gaze on your friend wearing another one of your mischievous grins, “Hey, wanna get pancakes?” 

“Y/N, it’s almost 3 AM.” Mat sighs, the tiring night starting to creep up to him. 

“So?” you question, swatting his hand away when you catch him checking on his watch. 

“Come on. Stop drinking that.” you insist and take the bottle from his hand before putting it over to the side. 

The two of you said your goodbyes to the lone bartender who was just starting to clean up again. River gives the two of you a nod of acknowledgement before landing a knowing look on Mathew. One that he’s thankful enough not to be discerned by you. 

As you walk alongside Mathew, he unconsciously places a hand on the small of your back— feeling it graze on the fabric of your coat as if to guide you towards the door in an almost romantic type of way. Perhaps, a way someone would behave if they were actually in a relationship. 

Mat notices your body tense but he doesn’t move an inch. Instead, his hand travels to the curve of your waist just as he leads you through the brass doors.

Once you’re out on the streets, he lets go.

𖥸

After almost half an hour of fighting over which diner is better to eat and get sober at, you and Mat decide to just try the new diner three blocks from your apartment. Being that it was an ungodly hour, the diner was good as closed when you got in. There were a few people inside and besides the student studying alone in the corner booth, the people lounging in the vacant seats were mostly just staff. Too bad they had to work the grave shift.

Mathew, who was rather preoccupied digging in his breakfast platter, gets interrupted when you call his attention. 

“So tell me,” you ask as you take a forkful of syrupy pancake into your mouth. Finally satisfying your cravings. You put the food modestly in the insides of your cheeks when you ask him a question, “What are you like on dates?” 

Mat disgustingly looks at you. You easily get what such a look meant and you immediately roll your eyes. You let your hand fall in mid-air amidst still holding a fork in it to prove a point. “I’m not trying to ask you out, dumbass. Don’t be so delusional.”

He puts his silverware down and wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Why the sudden interest?” 

“Just curious.” you simply say.

He hums, thinking about how he pulls off a first date. He then clears his throat as he takes you down that road. “First, I’m not bringing her to a 24/7 Diner.” you nearly gag. “She deserves a formal one just in case there won’t be a second date.” he explains. 

You sit there, nodding your head every now and then as he further goes on the details of how he’s like on a date. “Of course, I’d put my best foot forward all the time. Talk about her stuff more than mine and make sure she has a good time.” 

“Have you ever had a bad first date?” you curiously ask. To which he only answers with a stubborn look on his face, the one only Mat Barzal could pull off. “What? me? I don’t do bad first dates.”

“Oh, fuck off.” you flick his forehead as you laugh. The sound of his laughter echoing in your ears, drowning all the existing noise inside the lone diner.

But as the laughter dies down, Mat catches your eyes as soon as it falls on his. And just like that, there it was again, the exact same glint it had back in the bar. This time, illuminated by the pink shaded light lining up the wall accents of the diner. 

When he realizes that he’s been staring for too long, he settles on turning the tables on you. 

“How about you?” he props in his seat, “What are you like on dates?”

“You know, apart from the fact that you’re obviously into old men.” he snickers and you throw a curly fry on his forehead.

“Excuse me, I don’t.” you say sticking up for yourself.

Mat takes the curly fry that has fallen on his plate and proceeds to eat it. “Sure you do.” 

You roll your eyes, finding it hard to suppress the fact that you might actually do. “There’s a reason why women like old men, chico.”

He leans back and answers with a level headed and quite teasing reply, “And why’s that?”

“Because they’re men.” you look at him with a jerky grin as you continue, “And men, especially of River’s kind, definitely knows how to eat his french fry.”

Mat’s mouth falls wide in disbelief, appalled that you’ve actually found a way to pick up a stone and throw it straight to his face just to rub more salt on the fact that you had to teach a 23-year-old grown man how to eat cunt.

 “You’re an ass.” he says, rolling his eyes. You let out a laugh and shake your head. You were proud of yourself, sure; but showing just that is far too much for a boy’s already hurting ego. Who would have known humbling this man was such a task. 

“I’m playing! You know how to now.” you tell him, “Thanks to me, of course.”

He scoffs and takes a bite off his pancakes, “Cocky.”

“But you still haven’t answered my question.” he reminds you whilst he wipes off his lips with a napkin. 

“There’s not much to tell. You know I’m not high maintenance.” you tell him, ignoring the fact that you haven’t been on an actual date for so long you’re almost sure you’ve forgotten how to be in one. 

“I know it’s cheesy and corny but I do think it’s still in the littlest things, you know?” you sigh. Trying to remember the last relationship (date even) you had wherein those little things, the ones that are merely the bare minimum, were actually given to you. 

“You know, it’s not much, really. Maybe just a good talk without having to watch him watch me talk all night when he’s really thinking about how I’d look naked, you know what I mean?” you laugh it off, “I know, it’s stupid.”

The arrogant man sitting before you was silent for once, profusely wanting to wash the pool of melancholy he sees in your eyes. There must have been a shit ton of guys who overlooked how great of a woman you actually are just because they couldn’t stop thinking with the head in between their legs even just for a second. 

Mathew knows. And he hates that he’s been ‘that’ guy at some point. Probably until now considering him thinking with his balls on was the very thing that got the two of you here in the first place.

You take a deep breath, smiling. “Anyway, that’s better than almost getting with a married man. Right?”

“Right.” Mat laughs, his gray eyes bright under all the lights as he plays with his silverware,— devoid of how much he looked like as if he was utterly and undeniably in awe of not just the energy of the woman sitting in front of him alone nor the fact that she was by far the most unbelievable woman he’s known, but most importantly, he’s yet to realize how much in deep he’s beginning to be for the woman she actually were. 

Just as she is. 

𖥸

You left the diner a good hour before the sunrise and what must have been a quick five minute drive if you had only taken a cab, became a twenty minute foot race between you and Mathew.

You knew that walking was a bad idea but somehow, Mat’s charm and persuasive antics had a better hold than you thought you had on your very capable cognition. 

As you drag your feet into the confines of the elevator in your complex, you hear Mathew chuckling behind you with a firm hand securely placed on your waist supporting your balance. 

“You know— and not just ‘cause I’m an athlete, can I just say that you’re in a very bad shape?” he says almost a whisper in your ear, his voice low and deep.

You roll your eyes, leaning on the steel cold mirror once he pulls away, “You do it in heels then tell me who’s in a bad shape.” 

“Fair point.” he chuckles yet again, shying away. He presses the number for your floor before resting across from you. As Mat watches you catch your breath, he jokes in the hopes of breaking the ice between the two of you. 

“So…” he clicks his tongue, playful eyes looking at you, “Wanna tap?”

Disgusted to your very core, you let out a scoff just as you shake your head. “You’re fucking sick.” you laugh upon meeting his dumb grinning face. Seconds into laughter, Mat’s silence kills off the humor. The two of you exchange glances, the smiles on your faces receding into quietude. 

Mathew didn’t want to end the night letting you in the apartment not knowing what he’s been feeling the moment you’ve let him drag you out for an impromptu night out. And stupid as it was, the only thing he could think of was to slide his foot across the enclosed space embracing the two of you, nudging on your boot. You on the one hand were rather puzzled as to what caused such language. You send him a mental query by arching a brow. He lets his head fall back on the cold metal surrounding the elevator finally deciding to speak his truth.

 “I’m glad we get to hang out now. You know, just like friends do.” he genuinely says. 

“Me too.” you say, smiling. “I really had fun tonight. Thank you.”

As you meet his eyes, you see a glimmer of softness in his gaze. 

“Good thing I got bored, eh?” he says with a smirk. 

“Good thing I came back for you.” you reply.

A quiet smile parts from his lips.

“Yeah. I’m glad you did.”

It was a few seconds when you and Barzy parted from your respective walls to meet the sliding doors as it opened on your designated floor. You were pulling him closer by the tie of his coat whilst his hand was instinctively placed on your hips letting him press his body on you. Your faces were inches from each other’s, evident of not wanting to prolong the totally unplanned foreplay that’s about to go down in a communal lift. 

But just like every film you’ve watched your whole life, the inevitable cliché befalls the two of you when the next words that filled the enclosed walls you’re currently caged in came from the man who has yet to miss a morning jog. 

“What the hell is going on here?”