#and he regains his love for it later in life. and that’s the best bc tbh /j

[jellyfiishbones]

least fav hc is that kakashi is bad at cooking and i will say that with my full chest.

[dixons-sunshine]

js read your shopping spree and dying for your haircut fics and omg

can u pretty please, with a bow on top, write another part to that series or like an au where they get separated at the fall of the world and a few season later (preferably that prison era of daryl he was so fawking sexy there like omg) they found each other again and i want some build up to their reunion yk like someone else finds r and brings them in and some ppl kinda chatting abt the new girl or wtv and dars not rlly gaf cuz he kinda getting tired of trying to find r (realistically i don’t think he’d give up easily but let’s js pretend yk) but then they see each other and they’re like omfg the love of my life’s here and safe and like i need that glenn and maggie type reunion but like tenfold bc r and dar alr loved and knew each other before the fall yk and like yeah😣

idky but i’m a sucker for “r and daryl had a relationship beforehand, got separated, and reunited” trope (?) fic, blurb shit and you’d literally be godsent if u wrote this oml

I Found You | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: When the dead started to rise and the world went to hell, Daryl got seperated from you, the love of his life. After over a year of searching for you and finding no evidence of your survival, Daryl was beginning to give up and count his losses. One day, Carol stumbled upon a wounded woman while out on a run with Glenn, and the two of them decide to accept you into the prison. Little did they know, that would end up being one of the best decisions they could've ever made.

Genre: Angst to fluff.

Era: Prison, pre season 4, post season 3.

Warnings: Swearing, blood, death, mentions of attempted sexual assault (not descriptive)

Word count: 4.3k

A/n: Thank you so much for the request! I've decided to write the au since there's already a part three for the SSHD (Shopping Spree, Hangout Dreams) universe in the works, but this request was way too good to not write. I hope you like it! And I absolutely agree with you. There's something about prison era Daryl that just hits different. He was on another level completely.

As always, my requests are open for any TWD requests.

(Just thought I'd say that both third- and second person is used. I referred to the reader in third  person when Glenn and Carol first met her, but it soon shifts to second person when she introduced herself. Just thought I'd let y'all know the shift is intentional.)

—

“Okay, so I can't guess what you did before all of this correctly, but I bet there is something that I will be right about.”

Daryl looked at Zach skeptically as they trudged through the abandoned store, looking for supplies to bring back to the prison. “Yeah? Wha's tha'?”

“You're brooding, quiet, you like to keep to yourself,” Zach started, leaning nonchalantly against one of the shelves while he watched the archer place multiple different packs and boxes into his bag. “The way you act most of the time would suggest you've never been in a relationship before, but there are clear signs that you were with someone before all of this.”

Daryl stiffened for a moment, his hand lingering above a pack, before regaining his composure and continuing his task. “Wha' signs?”

“Well, for one, you know exactly what kind of tampons and pads to get for the ladies at the prison. I would've just dumped everything in and have them sort through it, but you are only taking specific brands,” Zach pointed out, motioning to the box of tampons Daryl had just put back onto the shelf.

When Daryl didn't reply, Zach took that as his cue to continue. “And while we're on the topic of periods, you seem to know exactly what to get the girls for the pain and what to do to curve their bad tempers. What guy would know that if he didn't have a girlfriend before all of this? And to top it all off, and this is totally unrelated to everything I just said, I've seen that locket necklace you keep in your pocket. It's pretty worn out and faded, but you can definitely tell it's something from this generation, so it can't be something that was passed down from a relative, so that brings me to my conclusion. You, Daryl Dixon, had a girl before all of this.”

Daryl sighed, shutting his eyes tightly as he willed the onslaught of memories away. Memories that were too painful to think of, memories that did nothing but remind the archer of his failure. His failure at finding you, the love of his life, after the dead started walking. A failure he had to live with for as long as he remained alive.

Daryl opened his eyes and turned abruptly, leaving the young man behind him as he stalked towards the exit, his bag slung over his shoulder. Zach hurriedly caught up to him, struggling to keep at a steady pace beside him as Daryl strode quickly, wanting to put some distance between him and Zach.

“Woah, man! Slow down!” Zach complained, jogging to keep up with him. “Was it because I brought up the girl thing? I didn't realise it was a touchy subject.”

“It ain't none of yer damn business,” Daryl grumbled under his breath, stalking over to the truck him and Zach were using that day.

“Daryl! Come on, man. It's not that deep.”

Daryl gritted his teeth as he opened up the driver's side door of the truck, throwing his bag into the back before climbing inside. He started up the truck and revved the engine, a warning sign to Zach that he was about to leave, with or without him.

Zach hurriedly scurried into the passenger seat, barely having time to close the door before Daryl started speeding off. He gripped the edge of his seat, sending Daryl an exasperated look.

“Daryl, what the hell? Calm down!” he exclaimed, unnerved by the archer's sudden burst of fury. He'd seen Daryl angry before, but it was never directed towards him. It was downright scary.

“'M calm,” Daryl replied through gritted teeth, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly.

“That's what you call calm?!” Zach exclaimed, motioning out towards the road. “You're driving like a maniac! Slow down!”

Daryl simply ignored the man, keeping his eyes trained on the road. Memories of you unwillingly flooded his mind. Memories of your smile, your laugh and your beautiful eyes. Memories of the calm mornings you'd spend with the archer in your shared sad excuse for an apartment where the hot water was a joke. Memories where you'd both stand under the cold water of the shower, Daryl embracing you from behind in an attempt to make the cold water bearable for you. Memories of your loving touch on his skin, your fingers lightly tracing over the scars on his back as you whispered reassuring things into his ear, assuring him that his father's abuse had nothing to do with him, that it wasn't his fault that any of that happened to him.

The more Daryl's mind wandered, the more he remembered some of the bad memories. All those arguments you had with him over some of his escapades with Merle, telling him that it would only get him into trouble, flooded his mind. One of those arguments ended up being the reason he got seperated from you in the first place.

Merle had wanted to go do some drug deal and had barged into your apartment, practically dragging Daryl from your bed. You had begged him not to go, arguing with him that it was a bad idea and that something would go wrong this time. He remembered being so angry at you for insisting during that argument that Merle wasn't good for him, that he needed to cut back on seeing him or set some boundaries with him. He had stormed out of the apartment without so much as a goodbye, and now he regretted it more than he's regretted anything before in his life.

Daryl blamed himself daily for not having listened to you that day. If he had, he never would've been seperated from you and you would've been safe by his side. He longed to have you by his side again, to tell you that he was sorry and that he loved you. However, even after all this time of searching, going out for extended periods of time to look for signs of you, it was to no avail. You were gone, and it was all his fault.

“Daryl? Are... you okay?”

Daryl snapped back to reality at the sound of Zach's concerned voice. He felt a droplet of water roll down his cheek and he hurriedly wiped it away, realising that he was crying. He hadn't even realised that tears had started to well up in his eyes, so immersed was he in his own thoughts.

“'M fine,” Daryl insisted, wiping his eyes hurriedly as he willed the tears away.

Zach furrowed his eyebrows, before realisation dawned on him. “You did have a girl before all of this. You lost her, didn't you?” he asked sympathetically.

Daryl hesitantly nodded, swallowing in an attempt to get rid of the lump in his throat. “I didn't lose her,” he began, bringing the truck to a halt in front of the prison gates as he waited for someone to open them.

“I don't know if she's even dead at all. She's just... Gone.”

—

“What are we looking for, exactly?” Glenn asked Carol as they scanned over the shelving of an abandoned pharmacy, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Carol sighed as she looked upon yet another empty shelf, its medical contents a thing of the past. “Anything medical. With all the new people we've been taking in, the supplies we have aren't going to be enough.”

“Okay,” Glenn drawled hesitantly. “But it doesn't look like there's anything worth scavenging here.”

“Let's just do a once over before we check the back. If there's nothing, we head on back. It's getting late,” Carol instructed. Glenn nodded, and the two of them dispersed to sweep through the small store once more.

“So,” Glenn started. “Is it just me, or has Daryl been more grumpy than usual?”

Carol hummed in agreement. “He has. He gets angry at the smallest of things lately.”

“Do you know why?”

“No,” Carol said, shaking her head. “I've asked him, but he won't say anything. Just tells me to mind my own business. It's really odd. He's more like he was back at the quarry. More closed off and snappy and I don't know why.”

“It's ever since he came back from that run with Zach a week ago,” Glenn replied, meeting up with the Carol again to go into the back room. “I've asked Zach if he knows why, but he refused to say anything. Says it's not his place to say.”

Carol frowned, opening the door that lead into the back room. “That's odd. So that means something—”

“Stay right there. Don't move another inch or I swear to god I'll shoot.”

Both Carol and Glenn froze in their tracks. They looked up and locked eyes with a woman, who's eyes were fiery as they darted between them.

“Names. Now. And weapons on the ground.”

“Okay, alright,” Carol responded, trying to diffuse the situation. She slowly lowered her gun and knife to the ground, urging Glenn to do the same. “I'm Carol, and this is Glenn. Now before we answer anymore questions, what's your name?”

The woman hesitated for a moment. “Y/n. What are you doing here?”

“We were looking for some supplies,” Carol spoke truthfully, eyeing the gun aimed at her carefully. “We're running low on medical things.”

After a couple of long, tense moments, with you scanning them from head to toe, you nodded to yourself after spotting something. Deciding to trust them for now, you slowly lowered the gun. However, you quietly hissed in pain, quickly clutching your side as you stumbled to regain your balance. After you steadied yourself, you limped over to your bag and grabbed a few things before handing them over to Carol and Glenn.

“Here. Hope these help. The place was ransacked when I got here. Wasn't a lot left to clear out.”

“Thank you, but we need more than this. This isn't going to last us long,” Carol responded, placing the items into her bag.

“No offence, lady, but I think I need the supplies more than you do at the moment. And I gave you more than half already. I can't spare more,” you said, clutching your side tightly.

“What happened?” Glenn asked, pointing to the your side, unable to stop his curiosity from seeping through.

“Flesh eaters,” you replied nonchalantly, shrugging your shoulders. “I was fighting a bunch of them when one lunged at me from the side. It toppled me through a broken window, and a shard sliced me.”

“Don't you have a group? Couldn't they help you?” Glenn questioned.

“Nope. I've been on my own since this whole thing started. I guess I should probably find a group, though. Things like this wouldn't happen if I had backup.”

You gingerly lifted your shirt, and both Carol and Glenn grimaced at the painful sight. The wound was deep and oozing blood. It would definitely need stitches, as well as someone to remove the remaining fragments of glass that still painfully stuck out of the wound. It was terrible. You wouldn't be able to get it all out without a professional.

Suddenly, an idea struck Carol. “You gave us some of the supplies you scavenged without even knowing us. Why?”

“Well, you didn't try to kill me, even after I held you at gunpoint. And by the looks of it, you guys have a group and are set up somewhere. Figured I should do the honourable thing and offer up some medical things if there's kids involved.”

“How do you know there's kids?” Glenn asked, confused.

“I can see the toys in your bag,” you pointed out, motioning to the toy truck that stuck out of the top of his bag. “Figured that adults wouldn't be playing with toy trucks while the world was ending.”

“Still, why would you? You don't owe us anything,” Carol questioned, though her mind was already set on one thing.

“Some might call me naive, but I hope that by doing some good in this fucked up world, karma will decide to do something good for me. That probably makes me stupid as shit, huh?” you replied, laughing before wincing at the pain that shot through your side at the small action.

Carol smiled at you. “We have a group set up not too far from here, at the prison. You can join if you want, but you have to answer three questions first.”

You raised your eyebrows at her. “Three questions? That's it?”

“Yeah.”

You shrugged your shoulders. “Alright, shoot.”

“How many walkers have you killed?” Carol began, watching you closely.

“A lot. Too many to keep track of at this point.”

“How many people have you killed?”

You hesitated for a moment, guilt creeping up on you. “Three.”

“Why?”

“Two of them were bit. They asked me to kill them. The other one... That bastard tried to rape me. I wouldn't let him.”

“I'm sorry,” Glenn said sympathetically.

“It's fine. I'm fine,” you waved him off, before turning your attention back to Carol. “How'd I do? Satisfactory enough?”

Carol nodded. “For me, yes. You'll still need to meet the leader and have him evaluate you, but I think you'll be alright. You'll fit in just fine.”

“Hopefully,” you laughed nervously, instantly paying the price for it with a sharp pain shooting up your side, making you visibly wince.

“Come on, let's get going. We have a doctor who can get that checked out for you,” Glenn prompted. He walked over to you and grabbed your bag, stopping your protest instantly. “It's fine, I've got it. One extra bag won't kill me.”

Together, all of you made your way out of the pharmacy and over to their car. You got settled in the back while Carol and Glenn got into the front, and before long you were setting off to the prison. Your eyes were beginning to droop, but Glenn seemed eager to get to know the new recruit better.

“What were you doing out there on your own anyway?”

“I was looking for my boyfriend. I was hoping that he might still be alive.”

“No luck?” he asked.

“No,” you shook your head, pursing your lips. “I'm beginning to think I might never find him, if he's even still alive.”

“Never say never,” Glenn encouraged you. “You'll find him someday, I know it.”

“I really hope so.”

—

“Have you seen that new chick Glenn and Carol brought back? She's a real looker.”

“I know, right? You think she's into blondes?”

“Even if she was, I doubt she'd go for your scrawny ass.”

“Easy, boys. She might not even be into guys. I could have a shot with her for all you know.”

Daryl groaned inwardly as he entered the cellblock. The new girl that Glenn and Carol brought in the day before was seemingly the hottest topic of discussion amongst everyone and he couldn't escape it, no matter where he tried to run to. Nobody, apart from Glenn, Carol, Rick and Hershel have officially met her, yet everybody had seemingly already formed an opinion about her. Although there were a lot of different opinions, everyone seemingly agreed on one thing; the new girl was hotter than hell.

Daryl was the only guy in the entire prison that hadn't seen her yet. He was out hunting when Carol and Glenn brought her back and he hasn't bothered to go out of his way to introduce himself to her ever since he got back. He'd meet her soon enough and he wasn't hoping to make friends with her. The more people he managed to keep at arm's length, the better.

“Yo, Daryl. What do you think about the new chick?” a guy called Mitchell asked him, snapping him from his thoughts.

Daryl shrugged. “Ain't met her yet,” he replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Okay, but have you seen her?” another guy called Ronnie asked. “I'm telling you, man, hotter than the sun on a summer day. I'm hoping she'll let me hit at least once.”

“How 'bout ya leave the poor girl alone?” Daryl snapped, turning to face the group that was walking with him. “She ain't even been here two days and y'all are already ogling her like she's some prize to be won. Have some more respect.”

“Jeez,” Mitchell whistled. “What's got your panties up in a bunch?”

“Nothin',” Daryl muttered angrily, turning around to walk further into the cellblock. “Jus' wanna get this fuckin' job done and all y'all can do is yap 'bout some girl ya dun' even know properly. I dun' give two flyin' shits 'bout who or wha' ya talk 'bout, but do it after the job's done. Y'all ain't free loadin' here. Do yer job, earn yer keep.”

“Sorry,” a girl called Ariana muttered, sending him an apologetic look. “What do you need us to do?”

“Take those planks over there and take em to the guard tower. Rick wants to fortify it and wants it done by the end of the week.”

“What are you gonna do?” Ronnie asked, crossing his arms as he sized Daryl up.

Daryl glared at him and squared his shoulders, looking down on his shorter, scrawny frame. “Hershel needs help with somethin'. I believe ya can understand tha' if the doctor needs somethin' done, it's considered top priority?”

Ronnie shrunk under Daryl's intense glare, nodding quickly. “Yeah, of course.”

“Great.”

With that, Daryl turned on his heel and set off to find Hershel. He didn't have to search far, however, because Hershel halted him before he could go outside.

“Daryl, over here,” the old man called after him, halting him in his tracks.

Daryl turned and walked over to Hershel, nodding at him respectfully. “Wha' ya need, Doc?”

“I'm sure you've heard of the girl Carol and Glenn brought back yesterday by now?” Hershel questioned, chuckling at the slight groan Daryl emitted.

“Who hasn't? Apparently she's really good lookin'. Her looks has been all people has to say 'bout her.”

Hershel nodded. “Unfortunately, that is true. Only Rick, Glenn, Carol and myself has had the pleasure of meeting her personally up until this point. She's a lovely woman. Had no problem that there wasn't anything to ease the pain when I had to stitch her side and she's more than willing to get up and start working to earn her keep. She won't be able to for at least another day or so since her side needs to heal up a bit first, but Carol and Glenn did good with bringing her back. She'll fit right in.”

“Good,” Daryl nodded. “She a good fighter?”

“From what I understand, she's been out on her own since the beginning. She's not dead yet, so I'd say she's alright,” Hershel replied, adjusting on his crutches.

“Alrigh', now enough 'bout her. Wha' did ya need me to do?”

Hershel gave him an encouraging pat on the back, confusing the archer. “You're going to be one of the very few people who gets to say they met the new girl for the next couple of days. I was hoping you could help her fix her bunk? One of the legs on the bunk broke and she's dead set on repairing it. She won't let me help because she keeps insisting I've done enough for her, so I told her I would send someone else to help. She'll be expecting you.”

Daryl pursed his lips but nodded, parting ways with the older man. He walked over to the cell that Hershel had pointed towards and stopped at the doorway, hesitating to make his presence known.

You had your back turned towards the door, hunched over as you inspected the leg of the bunk. You weren't aware of the archer that stood a few feet behind you, engrossed entirely in your own thoughts. That was, until he spoke up behind you.

“Hey. Hershel said ya needed help?”

You froze at the voice, willing the supposed hallucination away. You slowly rose to your feet and turned, locking eyes with the one person you've been searching for since the world went to hell—your boyfriend, Daryl Dixon.

The moment Daryl locked eyes with you, a whirlwind of emotions flooded his being. Relief, love, happiness, wonder, sadness, confusion and so much more that he couldn't decipher. Although his first instinct was to wrap you in his arms and never let go of you again, he hesitated, refusing to believe you were real. He took a step back, his eyes wide as he looked at you.

You stared back at him with equal amounts of disbelief. You took a hesitant step forward. “Daryl?” you whispered. The man in front of you looked slightly different; a little bit older and his hair was longer, but there was no mistaking it. The man in front of you was Daryl.

Daryl remained silent, his eyes locked on you as you continued to take agonizingly slow steps towards him. He watched as you stopped in front of him and hesitantly raised your hand, bringing it to rest on his cheek. Daryl instantly melted into your familiar soft touch, and that was all the confirmation he needed. Without another thought, he gently grabbed you and pulled you into his arms, tightly clinging to you as he pressed multiple kisses to the top of your head.

“Yer real,” he whispered, a laugh of amazement falling from his lips. “Yer real. Yer alive. Yer actually still alive.”

You laughed quietly against his chest as you held onto him tightly, never wanting to let go ever again. Your laughter soon turned into sobs, tears of relief and happiness falling from your eyes.

“I thought I'd never see you again,” you whispered through your tears, burying your face into his chest. “I thought you were dead, Dar.”

“'M here,” he whispered into your ear, a few tears of his own falling from his eyes. “'M alive. Yer alive. 'M never lettin' ya go ever again. 'M sorry I ever left tha' day in the first place.”

“It's okay. I'm sorry, too. I never should've asked you to cut Merle out of your life. He's your brother. It was unreasonable of me.”

“Nah, it wasn't,” he denied, placing another gentle kiss on the top of your head. “Ya were jus' lookin' out fer me. I never shoulda gotten mad at ya in the first place.”

“Let bygones be bygones?” you whispered against his chest.

Daryl chuckled before nodding. “Yeah, of course.”

The two of you held onto each other for a couple of moments longer until you pulled back. Daryl was about to voice his protest until you pressed your lips against his in an urgent kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck. His arms settled on your waist, pulling you closer into him as he kissed you back. There was no lustful hunger behind the kiss—there was only love and longing, two broken parts finally reuniting and mending together as one.

Daryl pulled back and placed his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. “I missed ya so much,” he whispered, willing the lump in his throat to go away.

“I missed you too. More than you even know,” you replied, cupping Daryl's cheek with one of your hands. “But I found you. I finally found you.”

Daryl leaned into your touch before turning his head to kiss the palm of your hand. However, he soon pulled away from you and strode over to your bag, slinging it over your shoulder.

“C'mon,” he said, taking your hand in his as he pulled you to walk beside him.

“Where are we going?” you questioned, falling into step beside the man you loved.

“There ain't no need fer ya to sleep in there. Yer gonna sleep with me in my cell,” Daryl said simply, pulling you along to his cell.

You giggled but said nothing, silently following him into his cell. When he placed your bags down on the floor, Daryl placed a soft kiss on your lips before stalking out of the cell.

“Where are you going?” you called after him, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion.

“'M gonna find tha' prick who objectified ya and teach him a lesson. Yer hot as fuck, yes, that much I can accept people sayin', but Ronnie implied he wanted to sleep with ya outrigh'. He's really gonna regret sayin' tha' in a few moments. Dun' even try to talk me outta it.”

“Hey, Dar?” you called after him, halting him in his tracks. “I love you.”

Daryl smiled at you. “I definitely love ya more.”

[numinousher]

CHANTAJE! (xxi)

SUMMARY: being under the watchful eye of the media and your fans, your managers are in desperate need of regaining back your popularity after other influencers who hate you cause mayhem to your life. what best way to do so by having you pretend to be in a relationship with the popular 7 who are known to be intensely wealthy and stoic? will you be able to regain their trust or will they go with their promise of damaging your reputation even more?

WARNING(S) FOR LATER: gore/blood/murder, harassment/bullying, mental health talks (nothing badly triggering), child endangerment (mc was a child actor, again nothing badly triggering. if there is, there will be a warning)

NOTE: ngl im ready for the series to be done bc i want the drama already!!

TAGLIST (CLOSED): @parapiop7 @an-ever-angry-bi @softforyoongles @thenaverse @chansatlan @juju-227592 @skyys-universe @carolinexkpop @reallysparklychaos @namjooncrabs @savagemickey03 @drunkzseok @svnbangtansworld @2ne1unni @shakespeare-in-the-park7

“Why the fuck was Namjoon telling me to kiss you?”

Jimin asked as soon as you opened the door to let him in.

You staggered back as he walked past you because you did not expect him to appear unexpectedly two days after your dinner with the other 4. You thought you had more time to mentally prepare yourself but, you figured Namjoon had something up his sleeve when they were all too quiet for your liking.

“Because it’s Namjoon,” you scoffed, closing the door and hopping away.

At seeing your hopping, Jimin glanced at your figure before doing a whole double take at you. You had your ankle wrapped in some type of white gauze, and he reached down by kneeling in front of you.

“What the hell happened?” He questioned, rubbing his thumb over the rough texture.

Sighing, you recounted what happened.

It wasn’t your fault.

“Hyung-min, if you drop me, I will kick your ass, dude,” you had sternly said to the actor who was holding you in his arm because, for some stupid reason, you had to be held in his arms while his character ran. So, he was running while he had you in his arms. “Why do we have to keep this scene in?”

“He thinks it makes him look bad ass,” Jae said with almost a humorous scoff at recounting her boyfriend’s words back to you. She seemed embarrassed at the way her boyfriend dramatically breathed in and out like an animal, and that’s when you came to a conclusion that Hyung-min was giving you the ick. He really was a man.

“Oh, shit.”

Before you could process it, Hyung-min had tripped over his own two feet, instantly dropping you to the floor. You had tried catching yourself before you landed on your butt, but you failed once you felt your ankle doing whatever it did that shot up a huge amount of pain from your ankle close to your thigh.

“They’re going to kill you,” Jae muttered once she hurried to your side, already grabbing her phone to call your personal doctor, the one you had for a few years now after a nurse almost tried killing you in a public hospital. It was a long story, and it was one you hated thinking about considering the nurse was a huge fan of yours. He didn’t get a lot of years in prison for attempted murder, but you did get a restraining order against him.

“Who?”

“Who else, my love?” Jae asked, giving her boyfriend a look as he instructed him to carry you over to the couch so you don’t have to put pressure on the foot. “Hey, doc. She got hurt… Her foot, it’s not broken or anything. But, it’s starting to swell.”

“So, you hurt your ankle because of Hyung-min?” Jimin asked, his phone already in his hands while he sent a message to the others that they can’t take you out. “Canceled the dinner we had on Saturday. You can’t walk like that.”

Rolling your eyes, you walked (hopped) past him. “I have crutches and it’s a dinner. I will be sitting down majority of the time. Now if it’s a dinner where we have to stand up for whatever reason, then I’ll understand the concern.”

“It is.”

“Uhuh.” Landing on your couch, you made yourself comfortable while eyeing his look. He was looking around, wondering where your help was. “She wasn’t needed today any longer, so I gave her a day off.”

“You give your workers days off?”

“I’m not cruel.”

Knowing you clearly were suffering through the pain of having to hop, he kneeled again beside your figure lying on the couch, and ran his hand over your covered calf. “Are you in horrible pain?”

“Not too much,” you responded. You sighed at his worried look, the one he tried to hide behind his stoic facial expression. “I have a sprained ankle. I’ll be good in a bit. I’m just happy it wasn’t anything too serious.”

“Did Hyung-min apologize?” You nodded. “Good. I need to have a chat with him that he needs to be careful.” Giving him another nod, you dismissed him to continue watching your favorite show, and briefly took a glance at him once he placed his phone on his ear.

“Jae.”

“You saw her ankle I’m guessing,” your dear friend breathed out as soon as she answered the call. She had been waiting for one of them to call her ever since yesterday when her stupid ass boyfriend decided to carry you in his arms while running.

“Yeah, I saw her ankle,” Jimin scoffed. He stood up and crossed an arm over his chest while the other was still held up by his ear. “What the hell was Hyung-min doing?”

“He was stupid that’s what,” Jae said with a shake of her head. “Anyway, don’t worry too much. It’s just sprained, she’ll be fine as long as she stays off. Her doctor checked her and her maids are coming in tomorrow to do whatever she wants. Tell her, too. She’s going to be stubborn about it.”

“You better stay off your feet,” Jimin strictly told you, his finger pointed at you to emphasize the seriousness of his words. You waved him off. “I’m not kidding. I will come in and babysit you if I have to and guess what? I will.”

“No.”

“Yes, now shut the fuck up.” Jae snorted at hearing how serious he sounded. It’s why she had warned Hyung-min not to carry you because she knew how serious things were surprisingly getting with the boys. Much to her surprise and Chan-woo’s. And now Hyung-min, too, who has been begging her to give him the boys’ phone numbers so he could apologize to them (he couldn’t stop sending you flowers as an apology).

“Listen, Hyung-min didn’t mean no harm.”

“Yeah, he better not,” Jimin said. “And tell him I don’t want kissing scenes.”

“They’re not doing kissing scenes, Jimin,” Jae reassured him, glancing down at her paperwork. “He and Y/n have been changing the script because they don’t want to hurt my feelings, when I don’t really care.”

“Why would your feelings matter in this situation?”

“I’ve been dating Hyung-min, idiot,” she unintentionally let out. Once she realized the name she had called him, she immediately apologized with a monotonous voice that made Jimin shake his head.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’.”

Jimin glanced at you and walked away towards your hallway leading to the kitchen and dining room. He cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “They’re not kissing?”

“No,” Jae said with an annoyed sigh. “Convince her, please, to have at least a kissing scene with him. It adds more to the movie.”

“Well, I think kissing scenes are not necessary in this scenario,” Jimin mumbled, looking at his fingers. “I’m sure dialogue and unwanted touches are much more intimate.”

“You just don’t want no one to kiss her,” Jae called him out. “Because you want to kiss her, you freak. I see your looks—”

“I’ll deal with you tomorrow.”

“Don’t hang—”

Hanging up, Jimin goes back to be with you, his phone buzzing in his hand.

He sat down by your feet and placed a hand on your good ankle. “I’ll come by tomorrow, okay? In the meantime, I’m all yours.”

“Jimin, I’m okay,” you said with a chuckle, eyeing his face. He was obviously concerned.

Jimin knew he was concerned because he cared about. It was the reason why he loved bickering with you; he couldn’t let you know he genuinely had a soft spot for you. It’s always been there and it has been since you had slapped him. Don’t get him wrong, it was embarrassing when you did so. But, he knew you had a big heart when you didn’t know the reason as to why he was scolding the people he was scolding and you took it as him being mean.

You didn’t need to know the reason why he did what he did was because he was tired of hearing them talk shit about you behind your back.

You didn’t need to know that.

The next morning, Jimin came at exactly 10 AM.

Your maid had opened the door and she was very surprised when he waved her off and told her to take the rest of the day off. He was in charge of taking care of you now.

“Come here.”

He was tired of reaching over to your head resting on some pillows while your feet rested on his lap. He placed the food on the table and stood up to pick you up bridal style.

“What are you doing?” You asked, immediately holding onto to this neck.

“My shoulder was hurting passing you the food,” he simply said as if it was nothing, sitting back down on the couch with you now on his lap. Your hands were still wrapped around his neck and you could smell the cologne he wore that always made you mentally inhale. He did smell so good.

“Thank you.”

He was feeding you for a while and he was actually entertained with the show you had put on—after he told you to change that “cheesy shit”—due to his facial expressions when a character betrayed the other.

“That bitch.”

Chuckling, you shook your head and hummed in agreement.

You two didn’t even realize you had been done eating and were just now too into the show.

“Kiss me.”

“I will.”

“Is that going to be me and you?” Jimin teased with a small grin, clearly beginning the banter you had. He always mentioned you two kissing.

“Why? You want to kiss me?” You teased back, bumping your shoulder against his.

“You just want to kiss me so bad that’s why I’m asking,” he said with a shrug, feeling your body shake simultaneously with the chuckles you were letting out. He looked down at you. “I always see you glancing at my lips that’s why.”

“Well, yeah,” you sat up as best as you could and eyed the way his lips were glossy due to the chapstick he had put on. “Ypu have nicer lips than me.”

He scoffed and looked to the side before glancing back at you. “You raise my ego too much, sweetheart.”

“Sweetheart?”

“Mhm, you don’t like it?” He raised a brow. He dramatically sighed. “Well, I guess since you hate it so much, I can just call you an idi—”

Placing a hand over his mouth, you groaned. “Sweetheart is fine. I’d rather hear that instead of you calling me an idiot 24/7.” He opened his mouth to speak again but you shushed him. “Shut up, you would never stop calling me that name.”

“You just want me to give you a nickname like Jungkook, Tae, and Namjoon have for you,” Jimin’s muffled voice said under your hand. “You have a little crush on me, hmm?”

“No,” you scoffed out, taking your hand away to flick him on his forehead. “Don’t become delusional.”

“Shame,” he continued his dramatics by sighing rather loudly. “You eye-fucking me turned me on a little.”

“I-” You slapped his shoulder as he let out a laugh. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I don’t know,” he said in between chuckles, shaking his head. He chuckled a bit more before looking at you with that stupid smirk of his that, you’re not going to lie, did something to you. “Was what Namjoon said true?”

“About us kissing?” He nodded, his eyes glancing between your eyes to your lips and then traveled back to your eyes. You hummed. “I don’t know. Maybe not. He probably just said that because we kissed at the restaurant we went to with the others.”

“Were there cameras?”

You shook your head. “I didn’t see any. But, yeah, it was just a kiss and he wants us to stop bickering.”

“But I love bickering with you.” He could see the facial expression you sent him, making him laugh under his breath. “I just love knowing how much you get ticked off. I like the idea, though, of being able to just shut you up when I get to your face like this, too.”

His hands snaked its way to your neck, right under your jaw, and he brought your face closer to his. His thumb reached over to brush the pad of it on your lips with his eyes never straying away from yours. You could obviously see the humor he had in his eyes.

“And you do shut up,” he lightly said with a few snickers escaping his mouth. “Obedient and beautiful. If only…”

“If only what?”

He smiled and brushed his lips against yours, his other hand slightly hovering above your wounded ankle. He kept his distance though, and you knew he was just teasing you by the way he deviously grinned when he could see you wanted more. But he loved feeling the excitement of having you so close, having his lips brush against yours, to feel that electricity of being close to kissing you.

“I don’t feel like it’s right we’re this close,” you muttered, looking at him under your eyelashes. “With Namjoon, the others knew about it. But, you guys are still in a relationship.”

He smiled at your words and shook his head. “We’ve all been wanting to kiss you. If I knew it was wrong, I would not be pulling this move out of respect for the others and you. But, we have respect for you and we have spoken about this.”

“You have?”

“When I’m in a relationship,” he explained, still holding you a bit closer but maintaining a bit of distance between you two, “I don’t fuck around with others. I’m loyal and I always am. With you, we have all acknowledged that kissing you, is not in any way a direct threat to our relationship. We’re all bonding with you and that’s all that matters; having their consent and having yours.”

“Mine?”

He nodded. “Yours.” He could feel you relax under his touch at knowing that the others know about his actions. He continued his gaze. “If only we could test out Namjoon’s theory.”

“Should we?” You questioned him, slightly backing away. But, you couldn’t get far without his hand bringing you closer again.

“Maybe,” his breath hit your lips as he spoke, the smell of mint and vanilla hitting your nose.

“It’s not a ‘yes’.”

“Definitely not a ‘no’ when you look at me with those pretty eyes.”

“You think my eyes are pretty?”

“I’ll give you whatever you ask.”

“A practice kiss.”

“Anything.”

< before - after >

[justarandomlambblog]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 [END]

The second shackle comes off

Get adopted and feel loved, mangey cat

We're gonna pretend I didn't give Heket the wrong shaped crown aight? aught 👍

(explanation beneath the cut bc I didn't want dialogue)

The harvest comes. Narinder can't help but notice how sad the wheat fields are, the wheat growing small and patchy at best. He remembers how Heket would make the wheat fields flourish just by walking between the stalks. The memory of the fields she would create early in their godhood makes him feel somber, realizing now what the cost of being a godless land is; their entire lives are left to the limitations of the earth, without any god to help them thrive. These people are making the best of what they have, and they're happy even though it's not a lot.

Narinder notices some are harvesting wheat while others till the earth once it's been harvested, and the old dog explains that once this wheat is harvested they plant "winter wheat", which can be harvested in the spring before they plant their summer wheat. They till and fertilize the earth before planting the winter wheat, of course. Narinder tries his hand at harvesting the wheat, and the old dog begins to teach him how to use the sickle. Time passes.

Over the late summer, autumn and winter, Narinder learns how to live this provincial, modest life. He tills the fields with the other villagers, he sees feral beasts for the first time in over a thousand years, learns to collect eggs from said feral beasts, learns how and decides he doesn't like to collect milk (the godless lands have more feral beasts than the Lands of the Old Faith ever did), has finally regained enough strength to draw water from the village well without help, learns to bake bread (with great amounts of help so as to not waste the precious resources with the inevitable first fifty failures), and attends his first lantern festival. All in all, this marks his approach to his second year here, most of his first year spent indoors recovering. (His fur is also getting long, something something new me new hair something (totally not an excuse for me to draw hair))

At his first lantern festival, Narinder decides to partake in what is usually a coming of age tradition for the village; he gets an ear piercing, choosing a symbol that will essentially act as his written name. He chooses a symbol that is a crescent moon inside of a sun, thinking of Aym and Baal when he sees it. (Note: He is not scared/nervous about the ear piercing, he isn't bothered by a literal pinprick of pain, but the fact that someone he barely knows is this close with a needle is what worries him)

Later on, days or even weeks later, the old dog gives him a chain with their individual symbols on it, with a loose chain hanging from the other side of Narinder's sun-and-moon charm. Narinder questions this and the old dog explains the symbolism behind the charms; two charms with a chain extending between them indicates marriage/partnership, and two charms with another charm on the chain between them indicates that couple's child/children. The one Narinder has is the latter, with the second parent's charm missing, indicating that the old dog views Narinder as his own son, now. It takes a moment, but Narinder realizes all at once that this is the old dog's way of extending an invitation to become family- and it's been so long since Narinder had a family... (And yes, the old dog is fully aware that this cat is thousands of years old (Narinder was very vocal about this in the first weeks before he eventually stopped bringing it up), but that won't stop him from deciding he's gonna be this abandoned, fallen god's new family)

Narinder goes to sleep, and finds that despite everything- despite how simple and quaint and, frankly, not easy life in this little godless village is, he's happy. He has none of the luxuries that he had as a Bishop; no worship, no reverence, no servants, no silks or satins or veils or anything of the sort. Here he's just... one of the people. Just another face in the crowd. And he's happy. Happier than he's been in a long time. Unfortunately for Narinder, he is failing to realize that this godless village is a little less godless every day he's there. But that's not necessarily a bad thing.

The village wakes up to their fields flourishing like they never have before. The wheat is taller than the tallest villager, and no one is really sure what to do about this, but there is excitement throughout the village. Narinder thinks of Heket again, reminded once more how she would make the fields come alive. The shackle on his left hand opens up before dispersing into light, and he remembers the way she looked at him in the days leading up to his imprisonment, the quiet and somber warnings she would give him. He takes a moment to grieve before turning his attention back to the present, back to the family he's creating now.

[alma-amentet]

Hi! I saw in the tags that there's no Millicent and her sisters in your AU Haligtree fam. Can I ask why? Tell me your headcanons!

Oh, thank you for the ask. I love headcanon dumping! Though still can hardly find time to do more often... Need to do better (asks like this could help 😉)

I liked this theory. Always thought the same: Millicent and her sisters were parts of Malenia, they had to return to let her recover and live. So it was a right and noble decision for Millicent in the end.

In my headcanons, don't see Malenia doing parenting. Just saw an interesting short vid on themes of motherhood in Elden Ring, they said Malenia was an 'unwanting mother', to the kindreds, to Milli and her sisters. An interesting thought. At least it made me remember to finally finish editing this post ☺

I'd rather focus on Malenia's relationship with Lyra. They are like children themselves in some ways, despite everything (learning to live a more peaceful happy life bc the girls deserve it!).

Not that I'm opposed to maternal characters. There are some, including Loretta, who has an adoptive daughter and cares for her greatly. Or some of my OCs: Waldemia (one of Miquella's best healers), mother Svenja (crucible touched lady, more human-looking than our typical misbegotten, which helped her survive, also a healer).

Then there's Miquella. In my AU he's really a chill and reasonable guy, def more maturte than his ladies 😆

Millicent played important part in Lyra's story, helping her fully regain her memories. When Lyra just awoke, at first, all she could recall was her name, her death and bits of recent life prior to it (one distant kingdom across the sea from the Lands Between, she was exiled there and tried to return later, but died in the storm - other story. Probably she's been to Roderika's homeland, that would be a nice detail). Many important things were lost. How in the older pre-shattering days she left Caria to serve the Haligtree (enough in common with Loretta 😊 Maybe that's why they became friends later). Slowly, one by one, she could recollect those bits... Millicent offered the last and most important piece of the puzzle: after meetimg her, Lyra remembered something crucial. Including her devotion to Malenia. Then she decided to return to the Haligtree, to serve it again.

Lyra felt that part of Malenia in Millicent, that's why she grew attached to her. But all good must end... for the sake of something bigger. Sacrifices and losses are needed, too.

Then, I consider this story a 'sunshine AU', the one with a more or less good ending and brighter tones - something we can't naturally get in a Fromsoft game... But too much sunshine is no good, it's blinding and burning.

It's just the way I feel it. Of course, I enjoy other people's headcanons, including those where Millicent is actually present alongside Malenia.

I def like drawing her, so here's one of the studies I did:

[unabashedlittleblackbook]

Memories

Eddie Munson x F! Reader

Summary/Request: Cutesy Best Friends to Lovers @fuzzymelanie

Warnings: None? Not that cutesy??

A/N: This took me waaaaaay too long tbfh. Kinda proofread it but it’s 2am and this is my second attempt at posting it bc I don’t understand technology. I also don’t know how to get my spacing to stay. Might be a little rough around the edges? I don’t know how to write children tbh. Feedback is appreciated!! I love to hear what you guys have to say <3

In every instance of your life, whether it be big or small, you could look back and there would be one constant. What was that constant? None other than Eddie Munson. You’d known Eddie almost as long as you’d been alive, an exaggeration, sure, but the statement held some truth. You met at the Hawkins Middle School talent show. Neither one of you even placed in the top three, first place going to the girl with the dance routine that made waves with the adults in the auditorium. Truthfully it wasn’t all that great, but the people love mediocrity. However, your paths didn’t actually cross until later that night after everyone went home. As luck would have it, both of your rides were running late.

You would’ve never in a billion years dreamt of approaching a boy like Eddie, let alone strike up a conversation. You were a loner, something your parents frowned upon but people just weren’t all that interesting. But Eddie.. Eddie was different, be it the way he talked or even the way he carried himself, he just had this certain spunk to him. A complete riot to be around, as you’d later find out. Him coming up to you got the ball rolling, a feat you’d never forget.

You were sitting on a chair left out in the hallway, swinging your legs back and forth since they couldn’t quite reach the ground yet. There were a few people still lingering, some being students and some being faculty members. It was years ago but you’d never forget the way he sauntered up to you and broke the silence all in one breath. “Y/N, right?” You barely got a nod in before he was talking again, “Your performance was pretty cool, not my first choice of song, but it was cool.” You couldn’t help but balk at him until you finally regained your composure, forcing the words to leave your mouth. “Oh, uh, thanks? You were pretty cool too.” You were unsure of what to do, should you say something else? Clearing your throat you spoke again. “What was it? Corrupted Coffin?” You had watched his act, but the name fell on deaf ears when it was announced. “Corroded Coffin,” he corrected. “Right, sorry.” You offered a sheepish smile, not really sure of what to say next. “Anyway, I���m Eddie.” As he spoke the words he stuck his thumb out and poked his chest. “The guys and I were talking and we thought it would be killer if you stopped by sometime and watched us play.” He gave a small shrug, “if you’re interested.” You’d later find out that he forgot the ‘itwouldbesototallycoolifyoujoinedthebandasourvocalist’ part. “I don’t know,” you trailed off, chewing the inside of your cheek. “That’s not really- I mean you guys are great and all, but that's not really my thing.” Technically it was a lie. Music was your thing, people were not. That didn’t stop Eddie, “one practice? You won’t regret it.” The side of his mouth turned up and he threw his hands up in a ‘Hey Whaddya Say?’ gesture. You were curious for sure, but how could you possibly say no when he was staring you down with those pretty brown eyes? That was the first time you couldn’t refuse Eddie, and as time would tell, it wouldn’t be the last.

Over the years there were many laughs and even more memories, some more memorable than others. One of your favorites had to have been the night before your 18th birthday, the year after you discovered you had feelings for your best friend.

It was late, later than it was supposed to be if you had a boy in your room, which as of 15 minutes ago, you did. For the past 15 minutes you’d been arguing with Eddie while perched on your bed, arms crossed watching him pace back and forth. “I am not sneaking out! And I most certainly am not stealing my fathers car.” Your voice was firm but your resolve was cracking minute by minute. “Think about the memories! This is valuable band bonding time.” He put emphasis on the valuable part, spinning to face you with an exasperated look and threw his hands up before letting them fall to his sides. You tried not to let your disappointment show at his words, band bonding. Right. Pull yourself together.

Would changing the subject help? Probably not but it was worth a shot. “Take your shoes off, that's wool you’re standing on.” High end carpet for high end taste, your mothers of course. You got an eye roll in response. “Don’t change the subject. How are we supposed to enjoy the night without our best girl? Come on, think about it.” You ignored the flutter in your chest. It was basically a sales pitch at this point. You looked at the clock on your nightstand, it had just turned to 9 O’clock. The band started at 11. He was running out of time, the puppy dog eyes would be coming out soon. “You’re just saying that because I’m the only one with a means of getting there,” you said flatly. You had to admit though, it was tempting. He scratched his head and walked closer, placing both of his hands on your shoulders. “Okay, okay. When have I ever steered you wrong?” That made you laugh, “There was that time whe-” “Let’s forget that, do you trust me?” There they were, those big brown eyes. Your face softened and you felt your shoulders slump. Your eyes trailed down to his lips, pausing before meeting his eyes again. Of course you trusted him, he was your best friend. Though sometimes you felt like he could be more. “You know I do.” The words came out soft, softer than you meant but he heard you all the same. You both stared at each other before a grin broke out on his face. “Then get your ass out of bed and let’s get going!” He gestured to the window, a giddy expression on his face. “Shush! Do you want my parents to hear you?” Eddie put a finger to his lips, mouthing the word ‘sorry’ while wincing. You rolled your eyes and smiled at him before telling him the plan. “Go meet me at the car while I change and grab the keys.” Eddie gave a thumbs up before climbing out the window as quietly as he could. It wasn’t hard to get the keys, they were hanging on the hook where they alway were. Now was the hard part, how to get the car out of the driveway without alerting your parents. “Now how the hell are we gonna do this?” He held up a finger, “I already thought of that, follow me.” “Of course you did,” you muttered under your breath. “ We’re gonna put the car in neutral and slowly roll it until we’re far enough away. Key word being slowly.” You balked at him in disbelief before letting out a chuckle. He couldn’t be serious. “Well? Hurry up, we don't have all night.” He motioned to the car expectantly. Of course he was serious because why wouldn’t he be. You huffed before rolling your eyes and following his lead as you both slowly moved the car away from the house.

You and your gaggle of boys that you call friends made it to the bar on time and in one piece, all thanks to you. It was a few towns over which meant no familiar faces, something you were all counting on. You made it just in time to hear them play the first song of the night. At first you were worried you’d be kicked out but as the night carried on you worried less. If anyone had suspicions you were underage they clearly didn’t care enough to do anything about it. The night wrapped up a little before 2, it was late but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Eddie was right, it was one hell of a night, definitely one for the books. The five of you made your way to your dads car, all of you laughing at something Gareth said. You waited until everyone was settled before beginning the drive home, you and Eddie up front and the rest of the boys in the back. It was the usual seating arrangement, at least it had been since the day you got your license. The car was loud with all the boys talking over one another but you just laughed and shook your head. Truthfully it made your heart swell, they were your boys. You loved them all, just in different ways. Sure they were your boys, but you wanted Eddie to be your boy. You wanted the cheesy compliments, the arcade dates, the feeling of him in your arms. You wanted it all, you yearned for it. But seeing him happy made you happy, and that was good enough for you. It had to be. You gave a quick glance in Eddie’s direction, his smile taking over his face as he replied to something Gareth said, or maybe it was Jeff. You weren’t sure, the only thing you knew was that you’d never forget tonight.

As all good things do, it soon came to an end. You were making your last stop before heading home: Eddie’s place. The car came to a halt and you paused, unsure of whether or not to break the comfortable silence that washed over the two of you. As if hearing your thoughts Eddie spoke up. “Happy Birthday, Y/N.” You blinked, in all the excitement of the night you had completely forgotten about your birthday. “Oh. Yeah, I guess it is.” You smiled, of course he would be the one to remember. “I uh, I have something for you.” He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, suddenly unsure of himself. He cleared his throat before reaching into the front pocket of his jacket. He fumbled with the button before pulling out a cord with something attached to it and handed it to you. You held it up and let out a small gasp when you finally got a good look at it. He took his favorite guitar pick and turned it into a necklace. You’d been eyeing it for as long as you could remember. It was on its last legs of course, but it was still as pretty as it was when he first used it. You’d joked on more than one occasion that one day he’d wake up and it would be gone. You never thought he would actually give it up, the pick was special to him. Part of you hoped that maybe this meant he might feel the same. There was a small hole at the top where the material went through, made by his knife no doubt. You weren’t sure of what to say, what do you say to the person that gave you a piece of them? “Eddie, this…” you trailed off. “This is your favorite pick, why would you-” You were cut off, “I can get another pick, I can’t get another you.” He coughed before continuing. “I uh, I want you to have it.” He fiddled with his rings, hoping it didn’t come off too as cheesy as it sounded. “Thank you.” Releasing the breath you didn’t know you were holding, you wrapped him in a hug. Like the moment, it was a little awkward, the car not being the best spot for a hug. You pulled away slowly, meeting his eyes. You couldn’t remember who leaned in first, all you knew was that neither one of you made a move to stop. Your lips met and you swore your heart skipped a beat. Eventually you broke the kiss, resting your forehead on his. You had matching grins, the car silent except for the faint sound of the radio playing. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that,” you laughed, still in disbelief. “Middle school.” You pulled away, confused by his words. He continued, “I’ve been waiting to do that since that stupid talent show.” There it was, that warm gushy feeling. You shook your head and laughed. “Now you tell me.” He was definitely right, this was gonna be one hell of a memory. “Guess we have to make up for lost time then won’t we?” Just as soon as the words left his mouth he was pulling you in for another kiss.

[wez-star]

in the end it's him and i [nell jackson x reader]

Summary: captain jackson turns out not to be dead

Reader is love quinn kinda crazy

This is just a quick story non-smutt. im working on those requests i never got to writing bc of life (i got a crush)

ao3 wattpad

God, these stools are uncomfortable. I look at nell behind the counter as she pours me a drink.

"Here you go." she slid the glass to me and smiled. This situationship has taken more of a toll on me than i expected. "Thank you" i smile at her. "You're welcom dear" she responds with the slightest smirk

The bell above the door rings, and i draw my attention to a man around the age of 28 stepped into the pub. I glance over at nell

Her face dropped as if she had just seen a dead man. "Nell!" the man exclaimes and nell runs towards him, i mean she basically jumps into his arms

Who the fuck is this?!

"Roxy! george! Come down here!" Nell shouts, and about 30 seconds later, her 2 little sisters are in the room with us. "This is my husband, captain jack!"

Excuse me?!

"I thought he was dead?" Roxy being the one to speak wha-

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"Hello?" George waved her hand in front of my face "yes?" "You were totally zoned out?" I stare at the small ginger girl for a few seconds before regaining myself and turning my attention towards nell and her husband

"You should come over for dinner tonight! The two of you!" I smille and suggest "that would be lovely" captain Jackson answered before nell could respond. She looks at me with a strange pitying look.

I don't quite remember exactly how i got home, and the next few hours went by. But when my butler sir humphrey comes to inform me that the guest have arrived the anxiety starts kicking in

"Lead them to the dining room and tell them i will be right with them" i tell him and quickly walk towards the garden, i thank god every day that he decided to give my brother cancer, leaving me the only living descendant for my fathers estate and wealth, such a tragedy that my father drowned.

Im not impulsive. Just because i decide to grab wolsbane last minute before dinner does not mean im going to poison nell or her husband, and i certainly would not do it on impulse.

Oh who am i kidding?, when i get to the kitchen where my cheff is preparing dinner i add the wolfsbane to captain jacksons plate. Oh my god i haven't thought this far shit

"Give this plate to that captain jackson" i tell the maid and hurry to the dining room. "Sorry to keep you waiting" i smile and sit across from nell and her husband. "It's fine" nell smiles at me

"I hear you and nell are great friend?" Captain jack says to me as the servants brings us our food. "Yes, we're great friends" i glance towards nell. "Well im glad that nell has found someone to spend time with. I feared she might be lonely without me" fucking ashole

Minute 1

Minute 2

Minute 3

Minute 4

Minute 5

Minute 6

"Are you feeling alright honey?" Nell asks her husband with a concerned face. "Im fine im just a bit drowsy" shit i need to get nell out of here. "One of my servants amber is great with medicine im sure she'll have somthing for you" i say to them "really?" God she sounds hopeful "yes i just don't know where sir Humphrey has ran off to" i look around the room. "I'll go get her myselfs" nell quickly gets up and walks off to find amber.

Amber was my brothers mistress, she jumped in front off a train 5 years ago

1

2

3

Captain jackson falls over with his face in his plate. Shit okay. I quickly get up and dragg him down to my wine cellar. I still dont know why my father had a cage put in here but atleast it comes to my advantage today.

I quickly putt him in the cage and run back up the stairs to the dining room exactly 5 seconds before nell walks back in. "I cant find her- where's captain jackson?" I look up at her "oh he went to lie down" i smile at her "where?" "In the guest room" for once stop being so pushy nell jackson "I think it's best if we go home, for him" nell sighed. "Do you love him?" She looks me confused "of course i do he's my husband"

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////__////////////////

"You should take some wine with you!" I smile "i have plenty" nell smiles "thank you" i return the smile and lead her to the wine cellar and open the door following down the stairs behind her.

Shit how do i always find myself in these predicaments. How do i do this without nell dropkicking me againts a wall? To say my anxiety grew as we walks down the stairs is an understatement.

It takes nell an entire half of a second to see her husband in a cage. Stopping dead in her tracks. Time to act fast. I quickly grab a full wine bottle off of the racks lining the walls. I can see her slowly starting to turn around to face me.

"No one will ever love you like i do nell"

Not a fluent thought goes through my mind as i hit her ever the head with the bottle, knocking her out cold.

[becauseplot]

thinking abt dsmp x qsmp x botw crossover again. im still working through what exactly i want to do about the Kakariko- and Yiga-equivalent regions/groups in this au. and the Shiekah-equivalent as well, which i suppose would belong to the Kakariko-equivalent.

under the cut: me just walking through some ideas about my au, WEMBM. very rambly. mostly just me posting for safekeeping and to help me work through thoughts and because hitting the post button makes brain release happy chemical. can totally be ignored /gen :thumbsup: writing in tumblr drafts just makes the ideas come easier idk lmao. might private this later just because *shrug*

as of right now, the idea of doing some sort of dsmp-eggpire/qsmp-watchers fusion for the Yiga-equivalent is very tempting. the original au was just eggpire, but now of course im tossing qsmp into the mix. sure, the federation is a decent enough candidate for the role, being an Evil Organization and all, but i feel like the watchers embody that element of suffering, chaos, carnality, and twisted righteousness. while the feds have their dark sides, the overall aesthetic of the federation is too clinical and organized for the cult of armageddon-worshippers. the federation is fairly reserved and mysterious, whereas the watchers (and the Watcher itself) are very blunt and up-front about their goals: make the "sinners" pay. that fits the yiga-role best, in my opinion.

so, eggpire-watcher fusion. i've got a few directions i can go with this. if i remember correctly, the original idea for the Eggpire in this au was that Bad (Kohga-equivalent character; tell me that cBad DOESN'T fit this role perfectly i dare you), as a young member of the dwindling yiga clan post-calamity, once made the journey into hyrule castle to see for himself what remained of the Dark Lord*, and what he saw in the Sanctum was that big old fleshy cocoon- or 'egg'-looking thing where Calamity Dreamon was being held back by Prince Tubbo. Dreamon's consciousness was able to reach out to him, beckon him forward, tell him of the way that he has been wrongfully sealed, that greatness awaits those who embrace the Darkness, that he, Bad, could spearhead the revival of the Dark Lord and join him in his absolute rule over hyrule, if he could keep that blasted Knight from sealing him away for good...

and thus, Bad emerged from hyrule castle with a mission he would dedicate his life to: kill the Knight that wields the sword that seals the darkness so that his Dark Lord may regain his strength and hatch from his 'egg', reborn.

*fhdjsk this was how the yiga referred to ganon in the game right or am i crazy?? it's been so long since i played botw hhhough.

now, watcher elements that can be tossed into the mix? well, they get their name "watchers" because of the way they've scattered themselves across hyrule, watching for any sign or hint that the Knight may have returned. they're great with stealth when needs must, but when it comes to combat, they are ruthless. they fight hard, fight dirty. they seek to kill anyone who may oppose the way of the Dark Lord. im gonna make them a biiiiiit darker than they are in botw bc it's my au and i get to choose the vibe, but i promise i won't sacrifice all of the silly. the balance of goofy/lighthearted/fun and serious/grim/dark is integral to both LoZ games and MCRP series.

im thinking i'll reserve the "sinners" title for any watcher members who defect or show any sort of sympathy for outsiders. fun fact: WEMBM!cellbit is a sinner!! he was abducted by the watchers at age ten and made to forget his childhood through ritual magic and trained to be the perfect soldier for Master Bad and the Dark Lord. he was sharp as a tack and quick with a sword, and once he was old enough, he would have made a perfect addition to Bad's elite rank of watcher footmen.

until he defected. until he became a sinner.

he lives in Quesadilla (Hateno-equivalent) now. he's got a husband who he loves and friends in town that care for him deeply and an estranged twin sister living in Enderian Town that he swaps letters with, on occasion. he keeps his head down, he enjoys his quiet life of freedom, and he's totally not secretly aiding an anti-watchers organization called the Ordo from afar.

(did i make cellbit extremely backstoried in this au? you bet your ass i did. tbf qcellbit is also very backstoried and qcellbit lives rent free in my brain so sorry not sorry lol. also mentor-mentee hg duo makes me RGHRHRGHRGHGRRR.)

anyway, i'm thinking of having the kakariko village equivalent be called Essempi. eret will take impa's role, having been prince tubbo's advisor, one of his guards, and a close friend. who else lives in Essempi is uhh, to be decided. i think i should start making a list of characters who i already know the residence of (eg, Cellbit is in Quesadilla, Eret is in Essempi, Schlatt is on the Plateau...) so i can place other characters in locations.

one major issue im running into is my discomfort with assigning qsmp/dsmp characters---who are largely white/non-Japanese---as "Sheikah." feels like appropriation of some share or form. which means i'm going to have Essempi be just another Hylian town---unless i come up with another humanoid race. hmm, could do something with bad, tina, and mouse's shared demon-ness in qsmp. eret could definitely land in this category as well. (and while im still hesitant to put qforever into any sort of au because of. well. let's not get into that here. but if i put him somewhere, i'd put him in this group.) they probably wouldn't be called Demons, though. i'll think of something. either way, they'd have a connection to the "Sheikah" technology and would be close with the royal family, just like the original Sheikah of botw. (huh. i guess this makes tazercraft sheikah-equivalent. or well ig they don't have to be. my au my rules.)

[good-wine-and-cheese]

Hi hi! I really really love your Monster fics, the emotions always have me in a grip ;u; sorry to be throwing you back since I'm late hahaaaaa, but for the fic asks: D (A Hand to Hold and/or Don't Turn Around), F, S

Thank you!! <3 I'm so glad you enjoy my stories ;v; and thank you for the ask!!!

Writer asks

D: Is there a song or a playlist to associate with [insert fic]?

A Hand to Hold: Not in particular, but I offer you my Guriten playlist anyways:

Don't Turn Around: So, the fic itself is an Orpheus & Eurydice retelling mostly inspired by a pair of songs by Arcade Fire. It more directly references "It's Never Over (Hey Orpheus)" which opens with the lyrics Don't turn around right at the beginning.

Just for comparison's sake, here's the companion song, Awful Sound (Oh, Eurydice):

The entire reflektor album fucks like crazy btw.

F: Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

Sorry this is going to come from my Astro Boy works just bc that's what I'm currently working on and therefore what's eating my brain matter but I think it would have to be this one:

“The public thinks of you as a part of the robot rights campaign. You’ve been inextricably connected, no matter how you position yourself. It would be easy for you to join me.” Tenma’s brows pinched together. He wasn’t really…. asking that, was he? “I’m sure that would be a good look. ’Terrorist Tenma is accepted into Robot Rights campaign’. It would be the end for you.” “And they’re already running with that, aren’t they? It wouldn’t change a thing.” …But it would. Of course it would. Right now, Hiroshi could order a retraction. He could publicly state that Tenma’s involvement in his campaign was incidental only, that he was an aid in his physical recovery and not a part of the robot rights movement. He could do that and it would regain him credibility with the press. So why was he– “Unless you’re saying that you don’t want to. I understand, of course.” “I didn’t say that.” But he should say that. If he pulled out now, if he refused Hiroshi outright, then the robot rights movement would be able to regain its momentum. Tenma’s presence would do nothing but drag it down. With his help, Hiroshi’s championing would come to a screeching, sputtering halt. Is that what you want? For me to destroy your…

Sorry it's more than just dialogue, but with the way I write inner monologues it kind of matters. Anyway what gets me about this scene is that it's all in code. Like, sure Ochanomizu would like Tenma to be part of his robot rights campaign, but that's not actually what he's asking. What he wants is for Tenma to be a part of his life. They used to be close. He wants that back.

But on the other hand Tenma is a very troubled person with a very bad track record. He causes problems, he doesn't fix them. And the thing is he knows what Ochanomizu is really asking, and he's stuck between wanting to be part of his best friend's life again and the dread of knowing the type of person that he is - that he'll end up ruining everything. He doesn't trust himself not to hurt Ochanomizu.

It gets brought up again later in the chapter and they blow the whole thing open and have a proper discussion about wanting to be in each others' lives but it just Gets to me when they have these kind of coded conversations that both are fully aware of the real meaning but it's just easier to Not Deal With It right then.

Thank you for listening to me ramble about poorly adjusted old men

S: Any fandom tropes you can’t resist?

I don't know if it's a "fandom" trope specifically but I am obsessed with having one half of a pairing be dead and appear to the other half as a kind of psychological manifestation (or an actual ghost) that both haunts them and helps bring about catharsis of grief and forgiveness. If I can somehow involve the sea it's even better.

[godza]

happy woman month. i shall be describing my fave sssrh ladies. there are so many of them though. roughly chronological order

black dragon witch. shes the best. she has a tough and cold exterior but is such a delightful and happy woman on the inside. she secretly likes romance novels and has killed thousands. she tortured some people by dropping them in a blank dreamspace for thirty days. is besties with the protag. we love friendships between diff genders that arent romantic at all. the main chapters may seem romance potential but thats just gongja grovelling at the feet of anyone who is nice to him. shes ukranian and fled to the tower. nationality is pretty important for the guild leaders so ill be mentioning it. i know her real name but im not telling you. i know all of the guild leaders real names bc theyre gongjas besties

the paladin. shes so cool. captain of the vigilanre corps. only guild leader who has never killed anyone. always wears her full body armor, especially her helmet. shes a huge music nerd, and eventually does a jazz performance with gongja and black dragon witch. shes venezuelan and is one of the last characters gongja gets to know the name of even though she was one of the first to trust him

the countess. i swear the paladin and countess have something yuri going on. can shapeshift into a cat. once the paladin was getting really into talking about music with the countess in her arms and was petting the shit out of her. gongja wondered if the cat theming of the countesss guild was for the paladins tastes. he didnt like thinking like that. the countess is from an indian slum and worked her way up to having money. she considers money the most important thing in the world thats why shes so rich.

ester/preta: okay its kinda hard to explain her deal. its be best to read her arc since its beautiful. s1 of the manhwa. basically she was a goop monster that took the form of whatever it ate. she happened upon a girl in the forest and became her. she later became a saintess in her home town because she could cure people by secretly eating them. the king of her empire didnt like this and sent people to kill all of her village. she became the demon king of autumn rain in response and attacked the empire. gongja dies to her like 5000 times and gets her to retreat into her human form and back in time. he kills her and resurrects her into his ghost army. to replace the name she stole, he calls her preta. theres a funny scene where he makes her do acrobatics to prove to the kings army he can control her. she later regains the name ester once the family clan is established. i call her earthworm girl because of an unfortunate simile in the translation

ja soo jung: she shouldnt really be here in the chronological order since she isnt rightfully introduced at this point but she does appear to gongja, if only her voice and shadow. i honestly dont know how to explain her to you, she is a lot. she is the tower master, she created it. shes lived a lot of lives, and she can rewind and see time however she wants. she has control over all timelines, and she wants everything in the universe to blamed on her. she lets bad things happen, and forces gongja to watch. he sees her trauma, which is basically her whole life. she married her cousin, gay marriage but at what cost. honestly her arc was really fucking confusing and i didnt umderstand it, but the burden of god was understood. gongja has sex with his wife in her living room

sylvia evanail: im saving the best for last. sylvia is my evil terrible girl. shes basically "i had a crush on this girl and didnt know how to deal with it so i wrote her a note to get out of my school" she was so infatuated with raviel and jealous of her that she stole raviels fiance and tried to take her place in society. she even asked gods for help. that damn cow. she failed bc raviel is better than her and then had to join raviels family clan as the chancellor which is awkward.

raviel: MY HUSBAND! raviel is the duke of ivansia, and was betrothed to the crown prince. the crown prince liked sylvia instead, so she stabbed her heart with a magic sword and wishes her love would last forever and became the apocalype for their world/story. then she became a regressor, repeating the same ten days over and over again. enter gongja, who is sent to stop the apocalypse. she teaches gongja about love, and they eventually fall in love. they have to kill each other several times to counter the regression loop. gongja simply does some quick maneuver to take them back, but when he becomes to immersed in his role, raviel kills him ten times with her bare hands to have him watch her trauma to bring him back. after they get married, raviel becomes the duke of ivansia, and gongja becomes her wife. the webtoon is a coward that didnt translate it as wife and instead used matriarch and consort. they dont know gender roles. bi4bi t4t. thats not canon but to me it is. raviels my fave character in the series sorry for talking so much about her wife hes just integral to her character arc. shes his first bitch of a lover

[m00nz-artpad]

Don't you know too much already?

I'll only hurt you if you let me

Call me friend, but keep me closer

And I'll call you when the party's over

101 years later, the year 2000.

Olivia was a far cry from who she once was. The once adventurous and fearless outlaw had become an overly cautious and withdrawn woman. By the 1920s, she had fully regained her memories, and that was because Javier had died.

Yes, even though Javier had left her and John on that damn wagon, when she met him again in 1911, she just couldn't leave him. She tried, she really did... but when John revealed that they were planning to execute him, she went back and freed him. He was still the Javier she knew and loved, just trying to protect himself as she was protecting herself.

And so they had married and lived a beautiful life together in the woods of Alberta. Liv still hadn't gotten the full picture with her memories, but when someone murdered Javier in 1926, she remembered everything and was distraught about it. She held him as he died, and though she tried her best to save him, it wasn't enough.

As the weeks turned into months, and the months into years, Olivia became more bitter and closed off, too afraid to open up. Still, she couldn't stop worrying when she got a call from a Dr Jean Grey that they had Logan in their care. Of course she dropped everything and flew to New York to see for herself and she was just glad to see her father alive and well because she had lost contact with him years ago after one of his outbursts at her because he didn't understand why she cared so much for him not knowing who she was due to the same amnesia she had once suffered from.

And so she explained everything she could to Professor Xavier and Jean Grey, about the brain damage and how something in their brains couldn't properly recover memories without time to process them. Logan's damage had been significantly worse, so she wasn't the least bit surprised that he didn't know anything, but she was more than willing to help them.

Olivia had become an unofficial X-Man because of her help with them, and she had even grown close to some of the students because she saw so much of her old gang in them; Rogue was very much like Mary-Beth, John like Sean, Bobby like Charles somehow reborn into a dorky teenager. They all meant something to her, and she wanted to help them grow and get stronger, so she took up teaching defense after the professor suggested it.

Maybe she wasn't a hero like the others, but she was willing to stick around for a while if it meant helping others.

Yes, the story for Olivia and Javier has been changed because where I originally left them off made my heart hurt. This version also hurts, but it definitely isn't the last time that they'll be seen together 😌 I actually have a very special artwork in the works right now for them.

Also in this part of the storyline, Olivia actually will end up chopping her hair off at some point because her hair is really long because baby girl has not been taking super good care of herself outside of cleaning herself and maintaining her slay fashion sense. After all, she is extremely traumatized and heartbroken.

I don't wanna hear anybody saying that Logan wouldn't snap at Olivia because the thing is that he doesn't know who she is at all. He has the same amnesia she did, the only difference is that she had a whole GANG to help her remember. Logan basically only has Olivia and even Laura (I SWEAR BBYGRL IS GONNA SHOW UP SOON 🥹😭) one of whom actually experienced it firsthand, and the other who was only six years old. At this point, obvious Victor and the Howlett's aren't on good terms despite Olivia's attempts to remain in contact with him bc he is her uncle and she loves him.

Anyways; the reincarnation idea I had many many posts ago has become a part of the storyline. So Olivia will eventually come across Javier, Arthur, Sean, Charles, Hosea, ect. in very similar yet different vessels. Mostly because they were the most important people to her in the gang. I haven't yet decided on if I want to reincarnate the others, because I know it'd make sense but the world doesn't really need another Dutch or Micah. But Liv 100% needs another Arthur in her life.

The only difficult thing to do is come up with names for these new vessels because obviously they likely wouldn't be named the same except maybe Arthur because let's be real; Arthur does truly look like an Arthur. Is this just an excuse to give them a better ending? Abso-fuckin-lutely. Besides, Olivia is so much stronger now thanks to the adamantium, so she can more better withstand horrific crashes and she can destory just about anything woth her claws alone. She's more prepared for whatever will come their way this time.

(Oh and for anyone wondering why Olivia's hair is styled the way it's always been styled; it's because her design is partially based off of X-Men Evolution Wolverine. It's why she has the hairstyle she always has, and also why she's so short. Because she could also 100% fit into the Evolution universe. I realized I never really said that before and some people might have thought I just gave her a slightly goofy fringe just for funsies lmao)

[kindred-spirit-93]

penelope: *absolutely decimates polyphemus* THIS IS SPARTA

is named admiral instead of captain bc its badass but also after the butterfly (her weapons are black and robes blood red)

would lead her warriors to victory after 10 brutal years in troy

double au: astyanax lives (she literally just gave birth to telemachus shes flipping off zeus fs)

just for shits n giggle ctimene is her best friend- sister in law- second in command, and right hand woman

yearns for her husband and son. will not stop yapping about how much tele would adore this and ody would appreciate that

calloused hands from the sword to match odys calloused hands from the bow. sword x bow couple please and thank you

besties with athena & will swap the most scalding tea from all over ithaca and olympus. loom gossip sesh buddies ftw

kicks ass on the battlefield and i hc her naiad heritage gives her unparalleled flexibility and speed just like a fish in the water

does the cool sword wrist spin. idk i just love it

sasses circe and gets her to release her crew. also they flirt hehe

siren ody. thats it thats the whole post.

scyllas wrath blah blah

ctimene lunch break (philly cheese steak)

zeus' wrath blah blah

ogygia is interesting. i dont think calypso would let go of the absolute gem that washed up to her shore so easily.

penlope is a broken soul atp she is severely weakened to the point she can neither swim home nor fight the goddess for a peaceful nights sleep

her mother seems to have left her, her mentor and earliest friend gone, husband and son awaiting her return, crew killed for nothing.

her mother ig replaces hermes here? idk lol

years and years later her mother comes with the blessed news that her prayers have been heard and granted and that she may go home

crying with relief she doesnt even build a raft she just jumps into the water, healing and regaining life (literal and metaphorical)

calypso would poison her in small doses so she wouldnt escape and leave her

bitch

back on ithacas shores finally. finally after a decade of war and a decade more of misery, shes home

nearly faints when she sees telemachus, now a grown man, spitting image of his father, but with her eyes.

disguised as an elderly handmaiden of the palace (courtesy of athena) she watches in horror as women from all over the kingdom throw themselves at the feet of her husband. some of them she knew in infancy.

the audacity and shamelessness of these women, these girls, almost makes her wield her sword right there and then

she doesnt tho

cue mother son reveal and so many tears they raise the sea level

tele gives her a quick rundown of the past 20 years of waiting and rejecting their advances and putting up with their threats.

ody recognises the way his wife carries herself despite the aged and frail body he sees before him. but he knows. he knows.

the way her eyes sweep the room before falling to the ground, the modesty and manners reflecting her gentle birth, the deathly glare that would strike fear and dread in the hearts of her enemies

it was his wife, his penelope, roaming his halls, their halls, like a lost soul. what was he to do?

he prayed long and hard to an old friend of his that had long cut their correspondence short to accompany his wife instead.

she answered him in a dream disguised as anticlea giving her son instructions

the next day he announced a test that would finnaly settle who would be his new bride and queen of ithaca

they had exactly till the sunset to distill water from wine

easy enough they laughed to themselves. why anyone who so much as stepped into a kitchen could-

without a flame, he added, grinning wolfishly

a hooded elderly woman from across the room wore a grin to match his own

some of the women took their vessels into the blazing sun and tried to collect what little water would evaporate

in vain however, the best of them was barely able to provide more than a sip of water

there was less than half an hour till sundown and the women were beginning to get hysterical, for the penalty of losing was to pay with their lives.

a hooded woman emerged from the crowds having watched the events of the day from the guidelines. planning. plotting

they laugh at her when she reaches for a chalice of her own what with the 10 minutes of daylight they have left

in full view of the congregation she removes her cloak, raises her sleeves and ties her hair up in one swift motion

odysseus can barely contain himself. thats his penelopes hair pin, thats his wife. thats her. shes home.

the sun is starting to set, yet penelope with the ease of dew drops rolling off a petal, lifts water from the one cup, high into the air for everyone to see, and guides it to the glass vessel provided.

her disguise is finally removed and telemachus throws her her sword, brandishing one of his own

jaws drop to the ground and heads soon follow

nothing keeps the romance alive quite like murder folks

you can guess what happes next lol.

athena returns as patron goddess and forbids any sort of retaliation against the bloodshed

zeus himself lights up the evening skies and fear settles into the hearts of those who dare to defy (ody was an excellent host for 2 decades hes earned it)

everyone collapses, family fluff n feels, more tears and snot (possibly more)

blood and sweat ya nasty

intimacy by taking care of your beloveds wounds and tracing their scars HALLEUJAH AMEN

ithaca celebrates for a week the return of their beloved queen and a feast is held and festivals decorate the streets and the hearts of the people

bonus: odysseus being a man of his word (lmao) does indeed 'marry' his beloved penelope. they renew their vows

he insists on a wedding lol. telemachus doesnt know if he wants to cry and hug them both or drown himself

shes home. they all are. their hearts and souls have been restored

:')

welp thats all folks my hands hurt lol. writers & artists feel free to do anything with any of these and pls tag me if u do :D

warrior Penelope au because women in armor + holding swords >>>>

[emetkoto]

💐 for eme and 💤 for koto? :D

💐 BOUQUET - create a bouqet for them! what do those flowers mean? are any of the flowers their particular favourite?

Forget-Me-Not for Haurchefant and the others she's lost, Purple Columbine for a reason I know but can't put into words? The resolution of this chapter of her life (2.0-6.0) and all the pain that's come from it?? idk im bad at words HJGSFKSDF....anyway. Purple Lunaria just because I really like them tbh and I think she would too, Heliotrope for Urianger, Iris for hope, columbine for beauty, and a single Black Elpis :)

I think she's most fond of the Columbine and Lunaria! The Columbine bc it looks like a moon in front of a star, and the Lunaria mostly just bc of the name but also it's pretty!!

💤 SLEEPING - do they fall asleep easily? what helps them sleep?

NOT AT ALL!!!! He is HORRIBLY traumatized from the slaughter of his clan, the calamity he witnessed front and center in Limsa, and all the horrors and death he's experienced in his travels. Up until.....mmm. 6.0ish? He could NOT sleep without a prescription of very strong dream powder bc otherwise the nightmares would keep him up and he would just. not sleep! so this stuff was designed to knock him out and keep. him. down. which means he gets his 8 hours but also if he starts having a nightmare he cannot wake up so oops! once he meets estinien they discover he can be awoken with a good smack and also that while it doesnt help him get to sleep having someone he loves nearby/holding him does help keep the nightmares away a bit! over time as he builds a support system and just kinda becomes a happier person overall it does get a little easier and he regains the ability to doze off and nap at least!

during ShB he found himself mysteriously able to fall and stay asleep on his own after running out of his medicine and not wanting to return home to get more or bother the doctors in the crystarium and he didnt really think much of it he was just like thank god. finally some good fucking sleep. but obviously it's because emet-selch was lingering around watching him sleep even before he revealed himself to the scions and his aether was very calming to k'oto! obviously he didnt realize what was causing it until he started calling emet to his room near nightly and just getting the best fucking sleep of his life after fucking him and just having so much of his aether around and on and in him and it kinda hit him like OH.....and it was confirmed when he woke up on a night he didnt call for emet but he was there to watch over him as usual (he pretended to be asleep and not know emet was there and emet pretended to not know he was awake and went about his business of examining his aether and just kinda staring at him for a while until he was satisfied and left)

...uh i got really off topic there, sorry!

tldr; he has a really hard time sleeping bc of trauma and nightmares and all that could help him for a long time was medicine, but he later found companionship and being held and listening to someones heartbeat helped too!! and ofc just. emet selch existing in the same room apparently

[avocado-writing]

Had to really keep this one concise, bc I could have gotten very carried away with it!

GN!Reader x Tangerine

Tagging: @honestlywtfisgoingon​​ @white-wolf-buckaroo​ @felhomaly @sinfulrefugy​​ @venusthepirate​​ @lunarpansexual​ @wanderedaway​​ @georgiee-riviere​​ @mushywutty​​​​ (thank u konront for the gif!)

Tangerine is a businessman, or that’s what he likes to call himself anyway.

It just so happens that his business consists of beating the shit out of anyone who upsets or disrespects his boss. And he’s very good at beating the shit out of those sorts of people. So good he’s made a career out of it, actually.

A lot of people see him and know enough about him that they keep well out of his way. And honestly, he likes it that way. Being feared.

Or at least he thought he did.

And then he sees your smile.

They’re walking down the street, on the way to a bakery Lemon has convinced him they need to go in before they start work today. 

“Best croissants I’ve ever had in my life,” Lemon assures him. Tangerine wrinkles his nose up.

“Croissants? What’s wrong with a sausage roll?”

“There’s nothing wrong with a sausage roll, but I’m not gonna start my day with it, am I? Croissants are breakfast food.”

“I’ll break something in a minute,” Tangerine mutters, but Lemon has pretty much learned to ignore him at this point.

The bakery does smell lovely, Tangerine will concede that. And the display case is full of delicious-looking, meticulously-crafted little cakes and pastries. 

It’s not them that he ends up staring at, though.

Your smile lights up the whole room. Like a fucking ray of sunshine dressed in a bakery uniform. As soon as you spot Lemon, you’re already holding out a little takeaway bag.

“Morning, Lemon! Here you go - regular order, hot out of the oven,” you say, cheerfully. Lemon grins.

“What would I do without you, eh?”

“Have one cold, I suppose,” you laugh. It’s like music to Tangerine’s ears. Then you finally seem to see him. The next smile, directed at him, threatens to knock Tangerine off his feet.

“Who’s your friend?”

“My brother,” says Lemon, “Tangerine.”

“Oh! This is Tangerine. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Tangerine gets a funny feeling in his chest over the idea that you know anything about him. And yet, you don’t seem afraid. 

He realises there’s no way you can know what he and Lemon do for a living.

“All good, I hope,” Tangerine manages. 

“Well, mostly about how you don’t like our pastries even though you haven’t even tried one,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest, simulating telling him off. You get an idea, and use your serving tongs to bag up another croissant.

“Here. On the house. Maybe I can win you over.”

Truth be told, you already have.

His fingers brush yours when he takes the bag. Lemon pays for his own order and a coffee to go, putting a lot of money into the tip jar on the counter.

The croissant is delicious.

Tangerine comes back the next day, without Lemon this time. The bell rings as the door opens and you seem surprised to see him.

“Oh, hello! It’s you again. Where’s your brother?”

“I came alone today,” he says. He has the urge to readjust his hair, even though he already fixed it about five times on his way here. 

“Did you like the croissant?”

He finds himself smiling at how easily you talk to him.

“It was lovely, actually.”

“See! I knew you’d like it. Do you want another one today?”

“What I want,” Tangerine says, “is to take you out to dinner.”

He’s nervous. He doesn’t like it. He’s never nervous. But the idea that you might say no churns his stomach like an ocean storm.

You seem surprised at this request. Wide-eyed, open-mouthed. The fact you don’t immediately answer eggs him on to say more.

“One dinner. And if you don’t have a good time, I swear I’ll never set foot in this bakery again. Can’t say the same for Lemon, though. He loves this place.”

You smile at that, regaining your composure.

“Well, alright, then. I close the place up at six.”

So he’s back ten hours later, finding you shutting the security gate over the storefront. You’re wearing a black jumper and a pair of jeans. His heart threatens to stop in his chest.

“Oh, Tangerine! You came.”

“You seem surprised.”

You shrug. 

“I’m used to being stood up, I guess.”

Tangerine wants to find anyone who’s ever stood you up and make them suffer for it. Instead he settles on walking you to the very fancy restaurant that cleared a reservation for two this evening, when he made it clear who he worked for. 

“I feel… thoroughly underdressed,” you decide, looking around after you’ve been seated. 

“What? No you’re not, love.”

You scoff.

“Oh, come on. Look around. You’re in a three-piece suit, and I have flour on my sleeve.”

He hates the way you shy into yourself. Trying to make yourself smaller, as if apologising to the world for existing.

“You look wonderful,” he states, honestly.

And there’s that smile again.

The evening goes brilliantly. You speak animatedly about your business, and he asks lots of questions about baking that you’re all too happy to answer. You order a salad, but when he guesses if that’s what you really want you seem relieved and ask for a steak instead. He watches you laugh at his jokes, respond to his flirting with your own.

Then the gunmen ruin it.

He knows his boss’s rivals around this area, and can identify another gang on sight. You let out a shocked, fearful gasp as the door is kicked in, and the assailants ready their weapons.

Tangerine, however, is a professional.

And very, very angry his date has been ruined.

“Get down,” he states, pulling his pistol out. For a moment you’re frozen with fear. But when he takes aim and shoots one of the men in the head, you find enough of your wits to dive under the table.

He’s glad you don’t see what happens. Or, at least, have a very obscured view. Because it seems like the gunmen didn’t count on him being in the restaurant. The next five minutes are brief but bloody. His suit gets stained when he pulls the trigger at one of them at point blank range and that makes him even more furious. He’s far more aggressive than he needs to be from that moment on, using his knuckle dusters out of anger than necessity.

When he’s done there’s a metallic tang tainting the air. He heads back to where he told you to hide, gets down on one knee and peers beneath the tablecloth.

Your eyes are wide, full of tears, and it breaks his heart.

“Tangerine,” you whisper, “what… what do you do?”

He smiles, thinly.

“Businessman, love.”

[threepointseven]

Hii I hope you're having a good day/night! I'm so thankful you're doing all my commissions ❤❤ Can you write an angst fic about really kind and forgiving MC dying bc of the brothers, and years later they are reincarnated as an angel that's harsh and cold towards demons (except barbatos and diavolo) and the brothers are "I expected this but it damn it really hurts"

Type- scenario 🍄

Flowers included!🌼= Lucifer x gn! Reader, diavolo x Gn! Reader

Note🍀= hello!!! I apologize so so much this took so long!! I was too busy cause i had exams and then lightning strikes in my neighborhood which kills the electricity for like a whole day and a half! Im so sorry it took so long :(( but im actually really proud of this one but its quite long so please read it!! Ily bye <3

💐Your bouquet has been delivered <3💐

The brothers are kind..!

The brothers can change.

The brothers may physically be demons but you’ve seen them, theyre angels at heart!

Its what ive always told myself. Ive always tried to convince my bruised heart that they are simply lost, they need space they need time. If im patient enough, they’ll most definitely welcome me..!

I always take the time to take care of them. When they need it the most! When they need cuddles i’ll be there, when they need someone to listen i’ll be there. I vowed to always be by their side. I want to be their homeland.

How did it come to this..?

I say as i drown in this endless ocean, the water pressure suffocating me, my body simply waiting to dissolve into the demon made sea water.

Oh right… the brothers.. managed to trick me.

“Y/n… we need to talk.. a problem has occurred in each one of our bodies, it’s ruined our ability to use any kind of power.”

“W-what?! Lucifer, guys are you alright?! Is there any way i can help?!”

“Yes.. but it involves you.”

I was of course quite hesitant at first, but i’d do anything for the brothers.. after all theyve done nothing but showed me love. And i prayed that it wasnt a delusion..

“It’s a ritual of sorts.. we’ll summon you into this space and the water will slowly suck out only a quarter of your human energy. It’s nothing too big, you’ll come out alive and uninjured, just slightly tired”

I was tricked and fell into the demons trap as he smothered his lies with a smile, i was lured into their cruel trap as they smirk away and watch my body rot in an ocean they made to kill me, for their own benefit.

“You were good to us, Y/N”

I hear their voices in synch in my head. Make it stop.. let me die peacefully, let me die elegantly and calm, please.

My constant attempts at screaming “help” failed as the sea water choked me.

“Thank you for being our sacrifice, my dear Y/N”

Dont call me “dear”, please dont.

My tears blended with the sea water as i blankly wait for it to end. Where will i go..? I wonder if i’ll become one with the earth.. or reincarnate back home.. i havent seen my mom in a while.. or my father.. maybe after this, i’ll be able to give them a hug..!

Hang in there Y/N..!

I tell myself as my life flashes in front of me, the times i gave the brothers my everything. Ive never done anything wrong have i..? Ive tried my best to be the kindest i can!

Do i deserve this?

I close my eyes calmly, accepting the beat of my heart coming to a stop. As i feel my end a bright light appears in my mind, feathers of white and gold tips flowing with the breeze. The beauty blinds me as my body shuts down. The feeling of being remade pops into my head. Remade? No thats not the word…

The feeling of melancholy washes over me and i seem to have my consciousness back. My eyes adjust to the pure white walls and the gold smudges i see through my eyes.

“W-where am i..?”

“Y/N.”

This voice..

“Simeon?”

Sitting on my knees trying to get up and i stumble slightly at the foreign feeing of a weight on my back before rubbing my eyes. There are 3 males who stand in front of me, and others which i cannot seem to recognize.

“Simeon,, luke, and … michael..? “

I regain my composure and look around, i gasp as the wings that are suddenly on my back, and i look to see that im fitted in a white robe, the fabric glides down my legs and my arms and a confused expression paints my face.

“W-whats happening?!”

“Calm down Y/n”

Simeons gentle voice soothes me and he pats my shoulders

“The brothers killed you 1 week ago. It is my job to decide who is allowed to cross to the celestial realm, and i decided that you, Y/N L/N will reside here, as you are more than deserving of being an angel.”

My eyes widen and i stutter, my legs stumbling as Michael says firmly.

“The celestial realm..? Killed… oh, i remember. “

The unpleasant memory comes back to me and i hug myself. That day everything changed, i was somewhat of a special civilian of the celestial realm, and yes it may be because im lilith’s descendant but it seems like the people in the celestial realm couldnt care less about how im her descendant.

I came to forget about the title of “liliths descendant” as everyone saw me as me. Not someone who reminded them of Lilith, that feeling i havent felt in while due to the brothers constant sayings of “you’re like lilith.”

“Demons are unethical and brutal! I simply will not involve myself with them anymore! Except you too of course!”

Diavolo laughs as barbatos serves us some tea, grinning softly at my resentment of demons. Its been almost a month since ive become an angel, the celestial realm is good to me. I requested that the news about me being reincarnated as an angel be kept a secret to devildom, i do not wish to meet the brothers face to face again..

Our joyful laughs are interrupted by a sudden slam of the door opening. My eyes widen in shock, so do barbatos’ and diavolo’s as i freeze at the sight of the 7 sins, my murderers. I scowl at their presence and furrow my brows.

“What brings you here? Interrupting my afternoon tea with Diavolo and barbatos..”

I angrily pick up the tea cup and avoid their eyes.

“Y/N- youve been reincarnated..!”

Mammon, the man i once had much faith in runs to me, his arms attempting to wrap around me before i glare at him and move away.

“What do you need?”

I ask passive aggressively looking at the regretful faces of the demons.

“Y/N, please let us talk to you-“

“No. I may be an angel but im afraid im not kind enough to interact with the demons who killed me.”

I glare at them menacingly, the rope in my

Mind that stabilized my temper threatening to break.

“It seems you’ve made Y/N quite uncomfortable, do see yourselves out.”

Barbatos adds in staring at the brothers blankly.

“Im in awe, i never realized how despicable demons are. You two are an exception..”

I mumble the last part and frown at the brothers, pointing to the door.

“You’re acting childish Y/N-“

“IM acting childish?! You deceived me and tricked me for the sake of your own benefits! Not for the sake of protecting devildom or Diavolo, no. You killed me to make your powers stronger and didnt even use them for good! You killed me for the sake of your endless greed and crave to be stronger than everyone else. I do not want to talk to you children if you will continue to call me the one childish.”

“…we’re sorry.. Y/N..”

Satan mumbles before closing the door with glassy eyes.

Tears brimmed at my eyes and i stumble back onto the chair urging them to leave, the 7 cower as they leave the castle and Diavolo comforts me.

I pray that i dont need to see them again.. the men who murdered me cause of their greed they couldnt control, i will continue to serve as a citizen in the celestial realm, i am no longer a doormat to those demons.

[hhawks]

in a world where you could just lie to me

✰ starring: asahi azumane x fem!reader ✰ synopsis: in which asahi tries to say sorry. set post timeskip, ceo of fashion brand azumane asahi hires you to sew for his fashion show. ✰ content: exes that fuck, canon compliant, lots of references to fashion and the fashion industry, bitter reflections on the past, depiction of new york by someone who has never been to new york, kinda angsty but also not quite, kiyoko n yachi are here! along with an oc bc i needed one more person for plot ✰ warnings: thigh riding, fingering, implied exhibitionism ✰ word count: 9.6k (holy fuck u guys) ✰ a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY ASAHI the Best character in hq shut the fuck up if you disagree. i love you my anxious anxious man.

part one of red thread series.

“don’t tell me.”

your new intern looks at you, sweat practically pouring down her forehead. “boss, i’m not sure what to say—”

“then don’t speak. get kiyoko on the line.”

mitsuri shuts the door behind her, and you can hear the way she slumps against the door sighing. you don’t mean to be vicious, overbearing. but this is one thing that you can’t let just slide.

you pull your legs up, hoisting yourself up to sit cross legged in your office chair before picking up the phone. “boss, i—”

“you wanna explain to me what you just did? why i just had to hear what i just heard?” you spit down the line. “mitsuri near pissed her pants telling me.”

“look, i think it’d be a great opportunity. for you and the company.” her voice is sweet, as it’s always been since high school. “he’s not the devil. you can work with him for one season, can’t you?”

you scoff, twisting around in your chair. “you want me to work with him? i can barely stand to even look at his name, let alone sew for him for his entire show.”

“boss, he requested you.” the line strikes a chord in your heart, and it pangs against the confines of your sternum. you wish you hadn’t heard that. “he wants you. look, i don’t know where you guys stand now, but think of us. think of the brand. you work with one runway brand and you’ll be a fashion week regular. it won’t just be his brand asking to work with you.”

“kiyoko—”

“think about it.” you hear her sigh. “it’s all up to you, in the end. but i think you’d benefit a great deal from it.”

a beat of silence. you hear mitsuri chattering outside your office door. the squeak of your chair as you lean back. “fine.” you say finally. “i’ll think about it. when do we have to get back to him?”

“he didn’t say, but out of courtesy i’m gonna need an answer by friday.”

friday. you look at your calendar— wednesday now. “okay. you’re really a stick up my ass.”

“just lookin’ out for you,” she laughs. there’s a chord of graciousness in your sternum that beats louder than your fear. “i’m coming in soon. want a coffee?”

it stares you in the face every time you so much as glance at the contract. kiyoko’d laid it on your table, as gently as her slender hands could, almost trying to comfort the worsening wound in your side. it’s not that you didn’t want to take the offer.

it’s that even his name made your heart pound.

asahi azumane. how long had it been since you even heard it uttered? when mitsuri briefed you about it this morning you choked on your spit, thumping your chest to regain control. “what did you just say?” you spat.

it wasn’t her fault. you groan, making a mental note to apologise to her later. but you thought that you could go the rest of your life without meeting him again. that was the plan, wasn’t it? that’s what he said, wasn’t it?

you kick back in your chair, gazing upon the piles and piles of intricate fabric, of reams of satin. kiyoko said that his designs were in the folder— so you pick it up, hands threatening to tremble, and start to flip through.

the drawings— the sketches, the delicate pencil lines, the bold strokes, the light shading, it’s all him. you can’t think of anything else, can’t look past the little asahi’s in the corners of each sketch, his signature to copyright them, can’t stop your fingers from trailing over every line. it’s all him. they’re all reminiscent of his style, extravagantly simple, silks and velvets and leather. everything you remember working with him on.

you don’t realise you’re crying until a tear smudges a corner of a sketch. “fuck,” you mutter, stretching out to grab a tissue from your desk and dabbing it gently so the graphite doesn’t run. they’re beautiful, his designs. always had a knack for being the most creative person in the room.

“asahi,” you test his name on your tongue. it feels awkward, unfamiliar. like you haven’t uttered it in years. you probably haven’t. but somehow the more you say it the more it feels— not natural, but comfortable.

(like a home made by hand, burying deep in your mouth.)

you thumb through the designs. it feels like the first time he designed, you in his lap, making suggestions and talking him through what works with what fabric. the two of you were a duo; went everywhere together, worked together, loved together. his designs now are different, but you can see the little details that you taught him.

fine. you think. we’ll see how this goes.

“kiyoko?” you call loudly. the walls of your office are thin, so you hear her footsteps padding along until she pushes the handle down.

she smiles. “hey boss. what is it?”

your hand moves before your brain does, grabbing a pen from your mug-turned-pen holder, darting to sign big and loud on the contract. “tell azumane i said yes.”

new york is dreadful. you’ve known this from the day you first stepped into rat-infested subway stations, walking down garbage-lined streets. no matter how many times you encounter a cockroach you will always jump and squeal before stomping on it with your shoe.

but for some reason, life always finds a reason to drag you back here. you breathe in the first gust of putrid perfume concoctions and the unmistakable fried food, and you feel the same you did all those years ago. hopeful, filled with some sort of determination. now just without the man who brought you here, your scarf around his neck, his hand in yours.

“he really has god-like faith in you, huh?” hitoka comments when you step off the plane, sewing machines and sergers in hand. “fashion week is in less than a month.”

you hum. “i’ve never really known him to make important decisions well. he works best under pressure.” kiyoko snorts. “anyway, as long as he’s paying us well i don’t mind working long hours. i hope you guys don’t either.”

“‘f course not.” kiyoko heaves the machine against her hip, and hitoka stretches out her hand in an offer to help. she shakes her head. “i mean, we practically already do that with every client collab.”

“when are we meeting mr. azumane?” mitsuri asks, shouldering the duffel bag of necessities.

“you don’t need to call him that,” you murmur. “he hates being called that.”

“tomorrow morning,” kiyoko answers. “and yeah. he much prefers just being called azumane.”

or just asahi, you think. there’s something about that thought that sticks in your head, burrows itself deep into your subconscious. something menacing, yet sweet. you don’t know if you’re dreading seeing him or if you want to sleep now so you don’t have to be awake without him anymore.

he’d scheduled private hire cars for the four of you, kiyoko tells you, to shuttle you from the airport to the hotel that’d you’d be staying at. it takes a while— new york traffic is as bad as you remember— and hitoka falls asleep on your right shoulder, mitsuri on your left.

“they’re exhausted,” you comment to kiyoko, who’s sitting up front. “i haven’t seen them this knocked out since the day after tokyo fashion week.”

“you would be too if it was your first time flying 13 hours non stop,” she hums gently. “they were all cramped up with the machines.”

“poor girls,” you pat their knees softly, watching as the dim orange glow of the streetlamps illuminated their faces with every stretch forward. you’d forgotten what new york night life was like; how rowdy it is, how lively it is. you’d forgotten how tired just being in the city made you.

you’d forgotten that the only reason you’d ever come here was for him.

the hotel is nice. kiyoko tells you his manager was the one who booked it for a couple of nights while you look at other places with enough studio space to make a hundred different pieces. god, he’s really pushing you for time, isn’t he? “what time is the—”

“the office is about a block away, and the meeting’s at eight,” kiyoko says, letting down her hair, black cascading around her shoulders. she’s still the beauty she’s always been, even after a thirteen-hour flight. “so we sleep now so we’re not late, got it?”

and that’s exactly what the four of you don’t do. the japan-america time zone difference is brutal on your body, tossing and turning in your bed until the ungodly hours in the morning. it doesn’t help that your tummy’s churning with the dread of seeing him again, for the first time in what feels like forever. you wonder if his hair’s still the same length, if he’s changed his glasses. you wonder if he’s seeing anyone. god, you don’t know whether it’s better if he is or isn’t.

you lie there, awake, staring at the ceiling. you count the flowers in the wallpaper, you lean on your side and watch the clouds inch by slowly. there’s nothing to rock you to sleep. you wonder if it would be better if he were here, next to you, tucking you into his chest. “fuck,” you mutter, clutching the sheets between your fingers. “fuck you, fuck this. why am i here?”

you’re not sure when today becomes yesterday, when night turns into day. all you know is that eventually slumber overcomes you, and you tuck yourself under the covers for a good hour and a half before the kiyoko-mandated morning wake up call rings, sharp and shrill, from the hotel landline. you groan, twisting over to pick up the receiver.

“hello?”

“good morning, miss!” the voice is way too chipper for— you glance at the clock— 6 in the morning. “this is your morning wake up call. have a wonderful day.”

“you too,” you grumble, slamming the receiver down before stretching out of bed. god, you’re tired. your shoulders are aching and your chest feels heavy, but the new york outside is starting to wake up and you can’t help but shiver from the anticipation of the city. the sun is pulling horizons of pink and orange behind her, taking her place in the sky.

there’s a knock at the door. “boss? you awake?” it’s hitoka, voice small and muffled by a yawn. “we’re going down for breakfast. want us to wait for you?”

you hum, darting across to your bga for your sweater. “i’ll be out in a sec,” you call, and you hear her grunt in affirmation. the sweater is warm, and you pull it over your head and settle into your sneakers. you’d have to wait till later for a shower. pushing down on the handle, cold metal icy in your hands, you’re greeted by three other sleepy girls, eye bags tightly drawn under their eyes, kiyoko’s glasses pushed over her forehead to keep her hair back.

“jet lag, huh?” she mutters, and you all giggle a little.

breakfast is a quiet affair. it’s your typical breakfast buffet, and mitsuri and hitoka pile their plates with pancakes and whipped cream and make fun of kiyoko eating cereal? you have all these fresh cut fruit and meat and you chose cereal?

“it’s healthy.” kiyoko shrugs. “and plus i don’t feel like eating anything else so early in the morning.”

honestly, neither can you. you push around the food in your plate, eventually opting for just sipping the orange juice hitoka so kindly brought for you. there’s something eating away at you that you can’t quite place. is it him? is it the new city? you’ve never seen so many people talk so loudly this time of the morning.

you think about it more when you shower. you can’t help it; it’s all that consumes your mind. what he looks like, who he’s with. you want to see him again, no matter how much you deny it outwardly. there’s a little excitement, a little flame that burns in your palms. you start to remember the way he touched you, how soft his hands are, the tips of his fingers constantly bruised from volleyball. you remember sitting with him every night, applying ointments and wrapping his fingers and kissing them one by one.

“fuckin’,” you spit, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes. “stop thinking about that. stop it.” the shower water beats down, scalding and hissing on your back, rivulets of memories and tears staining your skin. stars explode behind your eyelids, and you let go. your vision is blurry, and perhaps it is best that way.

his office is big. that’s the first thing you think when you walk down the block to the building that kiyoko’s leading you all to. he’s definitely upgraded from the small studio space the two of you had rented when you had first moved to new york, cramped and crowded with your piles of fabric and his stashes of messy sketches.

but you two made it work. fit a small bed in the corner and held each other’s hands as you dozed off to sleep. now you stand at the foot of his building and your heart is in your throat, threatening to spill into words that you can never let see the light of day. but you brave it all, shoulder the past and its vicious tongue and walk inside.

the three of them can practically see the tension rolling off your shoulders as you step into the lobby. your sneakers made contact with unforgiving marble, walking up to the reception. “i’m here to see azumane,” you murmur, and she gives you a look. you can’t tell what it says. you decide you don’t care.

she picks up a phone, mumbling something into the receiver before looking back at you. “he’s expecting you. floor 16.”

you nod graciously. floor 16. that’s high. or is it? you can’t really tell what the standard of new york offices are like; you’d only been here a handful of times, and you barely remember them, always buried nose deep in sewing that you don’t even notice the sun going down. you’re twiddling your thumbs when kiyoko whacks you on the shoulder.

“relax.” she says. “you’re practically vibrating.”

she’s not wrong. you’re shaking, trembling even, but as you enter the elevator and press a knuckle against the ridged button that says, 16, you breathe. you breathe and you calm yourself. you knock against racing tides of your thoughts, still whipping winds.

you’re fine. you’re fine.

when the doors open his name is the first thing you see. you almost scoff at the narcissism, but the company is named after him. you flip your sunglasses up to your hairline, heaving a small sigh.

“you got this,” kiyoko whispers.

you nod. “i know.”

and then you venture into what you’ve only ever dreamt about.

floor to ceiling windows. walls filled with rows and rows of model headshots, little sketches and notes hanging under them. sample pieces, headgear, jewelry. it’s your dream, to run a show like this, and now you’re the part it all hinges on.

people watch you as you walk in. whispers. murmurs. is that the tailor? is it only the four of them? we’re so royally fucked. but you ignore them, following behind your supposed tour guide into the main office.

“azumane-san’s been waiting for you,” she smiles gently, and it does nothing to calm your nerves. you pinch your thighs. “i’ve heard loads about you.”

“oh yeah?” you attempt to laugh, and it comes out in a weak exhalation. you come to a stop in front of a glass door, and inside you can see a wall lined with the same sketches you poured over the last few weeks. in front of it, a dark oak table littered with different fabrics, magazines, several accessories, and a gold-plated name plate.

asahi azumane.

he sees you before you see him. because you’re busy watching the people milling around the room, shifting the weight of your bag on your shoulder. you’re looking, looking, with that look on your face he’s always been so acquainted with. the look of awe, at passion and at activity, the flurry of happening that surrounds you. asahi’s known how much you love just being a part of something.

and then you see him. him, here, really in front of you. he looks tired, a little older, but his hair’s still pulled into the same low bun, long strands framing his face. he looks at you and you look at him, and you can’t begin to explain the calmness that overwhelms you. calm? how are calm? how do you look in the eyes of your haunting nightmares, the shadow that’s tacked to the end of your days and feel calm?

“azumane!” kiyoko and hitoka are moving before you do, rushing up to him. you’d told them to do that; take away the attention from your being there by talking to him first. “it’s been years. how’ve you been?”

sometimes you forget kiyoko and asahi are from the same year too. kiyoko takes his hands in hers, neck craning up to look at him. “you look the same. you’d think you would have gotten a haircut by now.”

he laughs. you forgot how light his laughter was, the way it fills the room. “it’s nice to see you too, shimizu.” his voice is the same, deep ochre spilling into the room, smooth as whiskey. “you too, hitoka.”

and then he looks at you.

“hey.” his eyes are soft. you want to gauge them out.

“hi.”

it’s silent for a while, deafening above the chatter of his subordinates. asahi clears his throat. “can i, uh,” he scratches the back of his neck. “can i talk to you privately? there’re some matters i need to run by you before you can start sewing.”

your blood goes cold. “yeah, sure.” you take a step forward, and he jerks his head to everyone else, a low command to “please take your leave, i’ll call everyone back in a bit.”

“it’s been a while, huh?” you start. you try to fit a small smile on your lips. “you must have been desperate if you called me.”

“the opposite, actually.” he takes a seat at his chair, motioning for you to sit next to him. “you were my first choice.” there’s a hesitance behind his voice, in the way his hand reaches for yours and then stops. he pulls a file towards you, flipping it open. “i take it you’ve already looked through the sketches?”

“yup,” is all you can say. your hands are paralysed by your sides. you don't know if you wish he’d just hold it. “they’re really good. your blazers especially.”

“you think so?” he thumbs through the pages, and you watch the way his hands flex and move. meadows of smooth porcelain, dotted with freckles and moles, silver rings adorning his fingers. your breath hitches in your throat.

he talks over his ideas, his intentions, the way he wants things done. “of course, i’d still love for your input on it,” he smiles. “you know best the way fabric works.”

you hum. “you have a lot of faith in the structure of velvet,” you comment, hand running over his dress sketches. “you might want to use a lighter fabric if you want this level of flow.”

“as i said,” his hand finds its place on the little of your back, and suddenly the two of you feel all too close, all too intimate. but even if he notices the way your body tenses, he doesn’t show it. “you know it best. what other revisions did you think of?” too close, too close. he smells the same, you realise. he’s using the same cologne, the one you first got for him the first christmas you really had money to blow on expensive presents. you were fresh out of high school then.

the hour goes by with the two of you making revisions to his sketches, going through colours and fabrics and “do you want it against the grain? i think the drape would look nicer that way.” asahi listens, nodding along as he always has. you’re his little genius; everything he’s ever done only ever went through you before coming to life. he watches you talk, making revisions in your signature pink pencil, sketching over his designs and making notes.

“i’m taking this home with me, by the way,” you mutter as you thumb through the pages. “you can have my blank copy. i need all the notes.”

he laughs. “thanks for clarifying now,” you pull out your copy from your bag, the one with all your little scribbles during your first revision, and hand it to him. “you haven’t changed a bit.”

what’s that supposed to mean? you grit your teeth, flipping through the pages one last time. “i wouldn’t put money on that assumption.”

it’s silent. he looks at you and you’re looking at your notes, studying the little indents in the paper. there are so many questions you want to ask, so many words you want to speak. so much you have to catch up on, so much skin to explore. you want to, you want to. so what’s stopping you?

“the team’s going out for dinner tonight,” he murmurs, and you can feel his breath against your skin. you shudder. “should i expect to see the four of you there?”

is this his attempt at making things better? is this his attempt at pretending everything’s normal, like he didn’t leave you for dead years ago? you look at him, and his eyes are soft, filled with mirth. curious brown.

“expect the three of them,” you say finally. “i’m going to look over studios so we can start sewing.”

kiyoko is adamant on staying with you that evening, no matter how much you tell her you’re fine alone. “you’re really gonna leave mitsuri and hitoka on their own? in the big city?” you squeal, laughing as she stands over you, refusing to budge.

“well, they can stay too! right? we can go get dinner downstairs.” she turns back to face the younger girls, who just smile sheepishly.

“actually, shimizu-san,” hitoka starts, her thumbs twiddling. “we actually did want to go for dinner.”

you gesture wildly at them, eyes wide at kiyoko. “you can’t deprive them! it’s their first time here.”

kiyoko groans. “i— fine. but we’ll be back right after to make sure you haven’t, i don’t know, died from neglect.”

“i’ll be fine for four hours,” you roll your eyes. “now get out. i have to rake through air bnb now.” the moment the lock clicks behind them you’re back on your computer, leg hitched up on the chair as you scroll through endless studio spaces. normally you’d work in the studio that the collaborator has, but you specifically requested to scout your own despite the price, just so you wouldn’t have to see him all hours of every day.

“isn’t that going to be expensive?” hitoka asked when you briefed them, hands planted by her sides as she sat cross-legged on the chair.

you waved a hand. “they said they’d pay for it. it’s the same if we got our own place than if we’d just used theirs.”

but the challenge comes with having to find a place. you scroll endlessly, looking for somewhere big enough to house four bodies and twice as many machines, piles and piles of fabric and the mannequins his secretary was nice enough to let you take. you gaze at your notes, the little scribbles he’d left you in black, ones you marked in pink. there’s a little inkling in your heart that tells you, maybe it’s different now. maybe he’s really trying to make amends.

this is a pretty expensive way to say i’m sorry, you think, resuming your scrolling on the site. you bookmark some that catch your eye, good hardwood floors, ample lighting, space enough for all of you. it looks like a bigger version of the first place you had rented when you came here, the same high ceilings, the same earthy undertone that you can never seem to find anywhere else.

you look out the window, back in the same state of mind that haunted you years ago, and again just last night, one that had you counting lit windows in the landscape to alleviate that sick sense of loneliness that consumes you. maybe you should have gone for that dinner.

but airbnb pulls you back into their spiral of overpriced studio spaces cloaked in the surrealism of owning property. you’re reminded that this time you’re not alone; you have your colleagues— no, friends who came with you. there’s a quirk in the corner of your lips when you think of them, wide-eyed and mystified as you were walking back from the office, twinkling lights reflecting off mitsuri and hitoka’s gazes. you remember what it was like your first time here.

you were probably the same warm-cheeked, curious girl they are now. your eyes are misty. when did that happen? you run a hand over your face and turn your attention back to the computer, scrolling endlessly. no more distractions. by the time the lock clicks and slowly opens, hushed whispers creaking forth from the gap in the door you’re pressing submit application and leaning back in your chair.

“found one, boss?” hitoka’s voice is small, slightly slurry. you turn to look at them, pink cheeked and smiley, a little dazed. they all are, even kiyoko who’s always been designated driver. so either they walked back, or someone—

“i had to make sure they got back okay.” you hear asahi before you see him, and suddenly you see his kind face loom over the girls. “mitsuri might have had a little too much,” he turns to the smaller girl, arm slung over his shoulder, looking faraway.

you can’t help the snort that escapes you. “jesus christ,” you stand, hurrying over to take mitsuri in your own arms. she grins at you, hair tucked messily into a bun that bumps against your chin. “i hope they weren’t too much to handle.” the girl in your arms shoots you a look of incredulity. you ignore it. “i’ll have to have a talk with these two. and you,” you shoot kiyoko a look. “you didnt monitor them at all?”

kiyoko raises her arms as if in surrender. “hey, i was busy catching up with my old friends.” something about that line makes your heart sting just a little. you wonder who was there, which friends who you cut off after you and asahi split. you think maybe nishi was there; you know he’d been travelling the world, but knowing his closeness to asahi during high school, he’d definitely be in town for the show.

so you shake your head and smile at them, and manage a hasty grin up at him. “thanks for walking them back,” you say, and it feels genuine.

“it’s no problem.” asahi scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “i wanted to come and— well, say hi to you too i guess.”

you blink slowly. “oh.” your tongue darts out of your mouth to wet your suddenly-dry lips and find words that have seemed to slip right through your teeth. “well, hi.”

he smiles. you wonder how many girls (and guys) he’s smiled at like that since you broke up. it’s annoying really, how much you think about things like that. almost like you’re still not over him, obsessing over every detail, every insinuation that he had any more of a life outside of his relationship with you.

(you’re not over him, you realise quickly.)

but then you smile back at him and it fills you with a strange feeling of calmness. a beat passes and you’re still looking at him, your eyes sketching over the fine lines of age and wisdom that he’s undertaken, the softness in his eyes akin to that of when you were in school. there are a lot of memories you subconsciously repressed when the two of you broke up. but one you never failed to remember was just how comforting it was to be looked at.

“have you found a place?” he asks, voice low. it shakes you out of your reverie and you blink twice before it registers in your mind what he said.

“oh— yeah. yeah i have. do you wanna see? i feel like i shoulda ran it past you before applying, but—” you shrug, a small smile daring on your lips. “i guess it’s too late now.”

he laughs with you, taking a tentative step into your hotel room. it feels like a line being pushed, a safe haven broken into, but you allow it to happen. you turn the laptop so it faces him, all the apartments you sent applications to in on the screen. “you know,” he starts. “the office studio is still open if you wanna use it.”

“i know,” you murmur.

it’s quiet between the two of you as he scrolls through the specs, nodding and muttering along. “i like this one,” he says, and you crane your head to look. “nice lighting. hardwood floors. it’s nice, kinda looks like a bigger version—”

“of our first apartment,” you chime in, a small smile tightening on your lips. “that’s exactly what i said when i saw it.”

asahi leaves not long after that. after he smiles at you, the smile soft quirk that tugs at the corner of his mouth and soft brown eyes that make you want to slap him, telling you that that apartment was perfect, and if you could get it just to send him the rent details. you both look at each other for just a beat too long before he shuts the door behind him, and you don’t realise how tense you are until you breathe.

your posture collapses, every huff of air in your body escaping. the chair creaks under your weight and you hear a stifled giggle behind you, and that’s when you remember you aren’t alone in your room.

“right,” hitoka begins in a botched british accent, swaying in her spot on your bed. “what’s all this then?”

the three of them rupture into giggles and you throw the nearest cushion you can reach at them. “i’ll kill you girls.” you murmur. “it’s your fault he even came here!”

“that was the plan,” mitsuri slurs, laying atop hitoka’s thighs, her skirt riding up just a little bit. “ wanted to see what you two would say if you saw each other.”

“the plan?”

“they asked azumane to walk them home,” kiyoko mumbles, half asleep on her side of your bed.

“you what?” you lurch forward onto the bed, collapsing on top of the two smaller girls, digging your fingertips into their flesh. there isn’t a hint of malice in your breath, none as you hover over their faces and huff, “you did what now?”

“it was hitoka’s idea!” mitsuri screeches through giggles. “not mine, i swear not mine, st-stop!” but you don’t listen, revelling in their laughter and kiyoko’s soft smile on the other end of the bed.

it’s moments like these that make you grateful for the people you work with. you’d been together as a small company for years now, but it was long haul trips and sharing the same bed that made it feel less like work and more like adventures. some kind of bliss behind every door you opened together, wrapped in twinkling night lights and the new york city skyline. you sit back on your haunches as their laughter dies down, and you watch them, teary eyed and red cheeked. i’m glad i’m here with you guys.

but you’ll never say it. instead you watch them doze off, make up still running down their cheeks. kiyoko’s half asleep too, so you shuffle to the bathroom for baby wipes and micellar water, cleaning their faces gently. hitoka’s black mascara and kiyoko’s red lip and mitsuri’s brown eyeliner, wiped and balled up in a wet tissue and thrown away.

and when you stand back and let that deep silence envelope you, there’s an inkling at the back of your neck you can’t quite qualm. one that calls you to a place you spent times just like these in; hours of the night in the suspension between real and fake, where you’re alone but not really. when all you can hear is people but none of them are talking to you. so you put on your jacket and you step out the door, letting it click behind you.

new york’s surprisingly gentle at night. maybe it’s where you’re staying, but as you walk, hands shoved in your pockets not because it’s cold but because it’s strangely comforting to be buried in thick fabric. in deep pockets that envelope you whole, that hold you steady in a country so familiar yet so foreign, places that look just slightly off, road signs you remember the words of but not where they are. something about stiff yet broken in denim, or soft corduroy makes you feel safe, a thick velvet or moleskin. it’s running through your head while you take the walk you’ve always walked, the pavements your heavy feet wear upon start to become familiar.

there was a park that you and asahi went to sometimes on your first trip here. by accident, the first time, and then deliberately every time following. you’d found it one night walking back to your home, ice cream in one hand and his hand in the other, giggling and tripping over your feet. it was your first time in new york, who could have blamed you for being in love?

the trees sway with the gentle breeze. it’s september, the end of summer, the beginning of a new end, when the heat dies down just enough that it warrants a jacket. you remember the first time you were here; it was colder, the early days of january, blowing out the candles on asahi’s cake before boarding the plane. it was such a stupid decision, really; one you hadn’t thought out as much as you should have, but it was alright. because all you had was two suitcases, a jacket, a machine and asahi next to you in the january cold. the leaves gather at your feet, illuminated by the hazy orange lamplight, little shadows dancing along pavements.

there was a bench— there is a bench, that the two of you found the first time. etched your names in the splintering oak and kissed messily under the silvery gusts of moonlight. just up ahead, you remember, shaded by foliage and mimosas in patches of eroded sand. you’re just about to round the corner that takes you there, plop yourself in the worn seat when you stop.

there’s somebody already there.

normally this would have been fine. you know, it’s a public park, a tuesday night in new york. public benches are free reign for anyone who wants them. but not this time. you recognise that jacket, that hair let loose over his shoulder, the soft voice humming a familiar tune. you recognise it all, and it burns deep in your stomach, acid coiling and curdling. confusion or excitement froths in your throat, and a part of you pushes forward, a part of you pulls back.

“how is she?”

and you freeze. nothing moves. it feels like time itself has stopped, the leaves have stopped shaking, the autumn night is still. all there is you, him, and that detached voice who sounds so groundbreakingly familiar. high pitched, energetic, just a smidge of reminiscent.

“she’s—” asahi sighs. sputters. “she’s just as much of a spitfire as she’s always been.” you can hear the smile curving into his mouth, head turned ever so slightly to face whoever he’s speaking to.

you don’t stay to find out who it is. you turn on your heel and you leave, a breath caught between its way in and its way out. your head swims, and the lights begin to blur together. pavements sewn into the soles of your feet take you back to the hotel, back into your bed where the three other girls have barely moved.

the night wastes away and you let it. because in your heart, your rotting heart, something has begun to bloom. and you don’t want it to. you wished new york would stay dead to you.

but you fell in love here once.

(and now you’re doing it again.)

ONE MONTH TO FASHION WEEK

“a hundred and four.”

“yup.”

“in like, twenty seven days.”

“mmhm.”

“and we’re getting paid, how much again?”

“about fifteen thousand dollars.”

hitoka sputters. “only?”

you laugh, hands fitted on your hips as you take one last look at the board, every piece of clothing due for fashion week pinned up and notes written. “actually, less than twenty seven days. we’ll be doing fittings as soon as we finish so we can get them altered. mitsuri,” you call over your shoulder, who shuffles up to you with a small grin on her face. “you’re in charge of the alterations once they come in. it should be small, button relocations, maybe a extra inch or two off a seam. as long as we keep to our schedule,” you breathe, the large calendar right next to the board pinpointing every single hour of every single day. “we should be fine.”

THREE WEEKS TO FASHION WEEK

asahi comes to visit every day.

he knows the schedule by now. every day you are finishing at least a piece and a half each. morning till night at the cutting board, rotary blades dulled and then replaced, hand cramping from the sheer amount of velvet you’ve had to cut, sewing machines oiled and gears cleaned.

mitsuri has each model come in a day for a fitting, taking measurements of what needs to be changed, a pair of thread snippers on her belt for loose threads someone’d forgotten to trim. then back to the chopping block in her own corner, the pile of fabric growing larger each day.

you’re on schedule. you make sure you are. kiyoko’s one of the most type-a people you know, but you’re the one picking up the slack when everyone else has gone to lunch.

and that’s when he comes in. with a to-go bowl of whatever he’s chosen for you, burrito bowl, poke, acai, ramen. and he sits with you, helping with small hand stitches as you handle the big renovations, making sure you eat and drink water.

“you shoulda asked me to start earlier, dumb fuck,” you murmur to him one day.

“i only had the designs finalised the day i sent them to you,” he laughs, threading maroon thread into a size 9 needle. your personal favourite was 10, but it didnt make much of a difference. “i asked you as early as i possibly could.”

“that’s bullshit,” you huff. “you have all year to plan fashion week and you finalise your designs a month and a half before the event?”

“well,” he leans in closer to you. “i work best under pressure.”

you swat him away, your cheeks burning. “yeah well, i don’t.” you lift your foot off the pedal, snipping the thread off the dress before holding it up with your hands. “what do you think?” holding it up in your hands, it falls elegantly down in ripples of crushed velvet, a sea of maroon draped just the way you like it. “number 34.”

“it’s perfect,” he looks at it, eyes wide and bright. “you’re a fuckin’ magician.”

you chuckle. “no, i’m just a seamstress.”

you don’t ask why he was at the park that night. you don’t ask who it was he was with. because it doesn’t matter. spitfire. spitfire. spitfire. that’s what you had been called your whole high school career— the feisty little girl with the ember tipped tongue, subdued by the gentle giant from the volleyball team. you’d died down since then, hadn’t you? just as much as she’s always been. have you?

but then you’re taking the dress to the racks and leaving it to be ironed, glancing at the pinboard again for the original design. your hands work magic on the machine, but it was from his mind, his ideas. they had never failed to leave you speechless, even just as tiny sketches.

“you bring them to life, you know?” his voice pierces through your reverie, and you drag your gaze from the board to him. “it may be my ideas, but they’re useless till they touch your hands.”

“well, i wouldn’t have anything to sew if it wasn’t for your ideas.”

“then we need each other, don’t we?” you don’t notice you’re gravitating back to him in small steps, like you’re levitating across the room. “i need your hands. you need my ideas.”

“that’s the way it’s always been.” you agree, no matter how much you choose to deny it. and then suddenly you’re in front of him, standing between his legs, neck craning down to look at him. “it’s always been you and me.”

asahi nods. asahi agrees. asahi looks at you like you hung the stars and carved the moon from the shell of the nebulas, and his hand, big and warm and lovely, comes up to cradle your cheek.

how do you find it in you to look back at him? how do you find it in yourself to let him touch you again, be so close to you in a room alone? why does this feel like years ago, when it was just the two of you in a shoebox apartment, the same set up of machines and sergers and pinboards against a wall?

and how do you find it in you to ask, “why did you leave me?”

asahi doesn’t answer. he looks at you, mirth melting in his dark eyes, and kisses you. reaches up and pulls you down and you let him, let him consume you and you consume him, stealing each other's breath and words and blood and minds. he’s warm, so warm, smells like his cologne, spicy, woody scent that you gave him, that you made for him. it feels like everything he’s ever been is made for you.

and by the way he’s holding you, you are made for him.

his hands fit in the nooks of your body, sidled by your hips and your waist as he pulls you onto his lap. “i never wanted to,” he says breathlessly. “i swear, i’ve never wanted to be away from you.” his lips attach to your neck, and you mewl, tilting your head for him.

“then why?” you murmur, hands tightening on his shoulders, knuckles white. “why did you?”

there is an answer that the both of you know deep down, in the recesses of your hearts. one that you’d agreed on all those years ago; the only thing you had agreed on in the middle of a screaming match, yelled in broken pitches and shards of dying sunlight.

we just don’t work.

but we do, you think now, from the way you’re rolling your hips onto his, and how he’s holding on to you like you’re a mirage, a dream that he needs to sink his claws into before you drift away. he needs you. asahi needs you.

and you need him. you do, you realise, after years of staring out windows counting lights and stars in the dusty skies. after callouses formed on your hands when you worked on dresses you never really had the heart for. asahi’s clothes are the only pieces that you put your whole heart into, a piece of you sewn onto the fabric with thin strands of your blood work. they’re the only clothes you will ever be proud of making.

and the marks he’s sucking into your skin are the only ones you’d be proud of showing.

you’d been with other people after your break up. men, women, they all came, stayed a night in your bed before you told them to leave, because none of them fit. none of them held you the way he’s holding you now, fingers digging into the plush flesh of your thighs as he rocks on over his thigh.

“you’ve needed this, haven’t you?” he whispers in your ear. “you have. i can feel it.”

there’s a really bold insinuation with the word need. you’ve never had a need for anything. not any amount of money, not any friends or colleagues. there is nothing in the world that would press you in a way that would make you need it.

but you can’t lie to asahi. you’ve never been able to. “i need you,” you beg, and it feels pathetic. it feels vulnerable. it feels right. “asahi, i- i need you, fuck.”

“yeah, you do,” his words are so close to you, like they’re in you, swimming in your head. voice low, timbre making you quiver in his grip. “and i need you just as much. always fuckin’ have.”

you question yourself and why. why what? you don’t know. why this is happening when you so intently promised yourself it wouldn’t, you wouldn’t fall for it again. but you did, you are, free falling dangerously as you shift your legs so slightly so your clit catches against the taut muscle of his thigh, even through layers of clothing. “fuck, say it again, please,” you beg, your hands coming up to wrap around his shoulders.

“say what?” his voice is so sweet but you can hear the teasing behind it. “that i need you?”

you nod, desperately. “yeah, yeah. am i— am i the only one?”

his hips tighten on your hips. “there’s never been anyone else,” he whispers, dragging your clothed cunt over his thigh. thank god you’re in a skirt today, because if you weren’t you don’t think you would have had the patience and good grace to shuck it off right now. you’re drooling over his dress pants, a dark stain over emerald green linen, mouthing at his neck as he grinds you up and down. “promise. you’re the only one.”

you keen. he’s always known what makes you tick, what makes you fawn. the friction on your cunt is delicious, the warm air making your head spin, and you just want him to touch you, bare skin on bare skin. but the responsible person in you remembers. the responsible person who you threw to the wind and left to fend for themselves in the dust of your fabric-laden floors.

“they’re gonna come back soon,” you gasp against his neck, your head tilting back to glimpse at the clock. 12:45. “they always come back at 1— fuck, that feels so good.”

“you think i can’t make you cum in fifteen minutes, baby?” your cunt pusles at the way it drops from his lips, the pet name you haven’t heard in years. you squeeze his shoulders tight, drawing your lip between your teeth. “i can make you cum twice.”

“but— you—” you’re cut off by one of his hands snaking between your bodies, slipping under your skirt. “asahi.”

“you’re dripping,” he whispers. “you’re staining my pants.”

“it’s your fucking fault,” you spit, angling so you can feel his fingers on you over your damp panties. “fuck, fuck— holy shit, your fingers,” the feeling of his fingertips on your clit make you jump, rough and calloused and warm. he coos in your ear, little sweet nothings melting like sugar from his lips. “wait. i can’t— wait.” you push yourself off of him for just a second, yanking your panties down your legs in a split second before climbing back onto his lap.

“desperate, huh?” he chuckles.

you slap his cheek. “shut up and make me cum.”

asahi smiles. you recognise his fondness. “that’s my girl.”

his fingers slip between your folds, covered in slick and taps your clit. you mewl softly, burying your face in his shoulder as he rubs at the sensitive bud, both your breathing growing shallow. “you’re still so fucking beautiful,” he coos in your ear. “that day when you first came to new york. you’re different. but you’re still beautiful.”

“shut up,” you grumble, rolling your hips unto his fingers, your cheeks heating up at his words. beautiful.

“it’s true,” he continues. “and nobody’s been spared the compliments i shower on you and your team. ask around. they’re sick of hearing me talk about you.”

the knot in your stomach is starting to build, starting to swell. the familiar sensation you’ve never been able to achieve so fast with yourself or anyone else as he draws circles on your clit with his thumb, aided by slick and spit. “you j-just haven’t met many good tail-lors then,” you choke out, biting back a moan. “asa— asahi, please.”

“i got you,” he whispers. “gonna make you cum all over me, yeah?” and he must have more brainpower than you do right now, dead and oozing and limp against him because he shoves away all your work and fabrics and threads with his free hand. “you better not spill a drop on any of your work.”

“who the fuck do you think i am,” you hiss between clenched teeth.

“the best seamstress in new york and japan,” he breathes, pinching your clit. you jerk in his arms, breath escaping you sharply. “the only girl i will ever want.”

“asahi,” you cry, the band in your navel beginning to break. “i’m gonna— please, please don’t stop, holy shit—”

and asahi speeds up, his fingers working tighter circles on your clit until you’re gushing, until he’s pushing you into blinding white, crashing down upon him like waves upon breakwaters. you’re gone, eyes squeezed shut as you let out a soft cry, cumming and cumming all over his fingers and pants. you feel his breath stutter as you come down slowly, and you open your eyes to meet his.

“another one,” he demands. “one more time, princess. said i was gonna make you cum twice. i need you to cum again, okay?” you don’t have a chance to reply before his fingers are back on your sensitive cunt, this time thick digits pressing at the seam of your slit.

“no, i—” you hiccup, “it’s s-sensitive, i—”

“yes you can,” he’s shaking his head, like he’s made the decision for you. (he has.) his fingers slip into your weeping mess of a pussy. “you’re my good girl, yes you can.”

and brainless as you are, you nod. “yes i can,” you murmur, leaning back slightly to grant him a better angle. “fuck, yeah, one more? one more f-finger?”

“three?” he asks softly, eyebrows pinched slightly. “you sure?”

you nod. “need it,” you promise. “need you.”

so he gives it to you. slips in one more finger beside the two already in you and pushes, thick calloused fingers reaching inside you where you could never yourself. he knows you, knows your sweet spots and your weaknesses better than you ever have. and hell if he’s not going to use that knowledge.

he’s fucking you on his fingers harshly, lewd, wet sounds of your pussy swallowing what he has to offer willingly cacophonous in your ears. you whine, thrash, drag your hips forwards and backwards in time with his thrusts to help him help you cum. “asahi,” you breathe.

“yeah, sweets?” he’s so kind. he’s looking at you like angel dust, like fairy wings. like you’re luminescent, glowing. like he loves you.

“i wanna m-make you cum too.”

he laughs dryly, allowing a single glance downward at his stained pants, his clothed erection straining against the fabric tautly. “don’t worry baby,” asahi kisses your cheek. “you can give me that another day. it’s about you now, okay?”

“nngh,” you manage to groan as he crooks his fingers inside you, prodding expertly at your gspot, jerking in his grip. “but— i want to—”

“get caught by your employees?” he whispers. “want them to walk in and see you getting fingered by the big ceo hm?” you clench (regrettably) at his words, and he all but lights up. “you do,” his voice is faraway, breathy. “you want them to see you.”

“no,” you let out, strangled, unconvincing. “i don’t— tha’s embarrassing—”

“you’re clenchin’ around me, princess,” he chuckles. “sick, sick little girl.”

you seal your mouth over his, swallowing his breath, his words. to shut him up, because you can’t deny the little truth in his statements. you press yourself against him, hips rolling forward onto his fingers, and a moan escapes your mouth. his lips are so soft, so warm against yours, almost comforting you about the fact that he’s three fingers knuckle deep in your pussy, stretching you out deliciously.

“gonna cum,” you mumble against him. “can feel it— can feel it in my tummy.”

“sweet girl,” his free hand drags against your clit, and you almost keel over. “sensitive, huh?”

you can’t answer him, not when you’re so close to cumming, so close to letting go all over him one more time. a whine leaves your lips, almost begging for him to make you finish.

“you know,” asahi starts, and you can tell by the small shake in his voice that he’s criminally affected by this too. “i wish it was my cock you were cumming around.”

and that does you in. that has you falling forward on his chest; not his fingers in you or on your clit, but his words, his sweet timbre, the quiver in his voice. you let go, cum for the second time all over his fingers, wet and slick and embarrassing but you don’t care, can’t care. there’s not a thought crossing behind your eyes anymore, just asahi, asahi, asahi.

he’s whispering in your ear when you come to comprehension again, little mumbles of, so good, such a good girl. so pretty when you cum. and you shiver, momentary weakness fading from the forefront of your mind. before you stands your ex boyfriend who’s just made you cum your brains out twice with just his fingers and his voice. your ex boyfriend who can read you like a book, no matter how much you wish to hide from him.

what have you done?

“baby?” his voice is small, tentative. “hey, what’s wrong?”

and then you’re up, backing away from him slowly. your senses return, your thoughts are loud, and you remember, you weren’t supposed to do this.

why did you do this?

“you should— you should go,” you say quietly. “before they come back. they’re,” you glance at the clock. 13:02. “you should…”

“don’t go back on me,” he steps forward but you step back. you try, try so hard to lift your gaze to meet his, but you can’t. “hey. hey. look at me.”

you can’t. so he makes you. he corners you by the wall and tilts your chin up with just enough force that says, listen to me. and so you look at him, his hair messy, his lips swollen red. his eyes are swimming with something you can’t quite read, something you can't recognise. worry? disgust?

“i meant what i said,” he whispers. “all of it. you’re the only girl i want.” why does it sting when he says that? why does your chest ache? “i don’t want to be without you anymore, okay?”

“i don’t understand,” you mumble.

“then i’ll help you,” his voice. it sounds so hurt. “please, baby. let me help you.”

“why did you—” you stop yourself, searching for the right word. leave doesn’t fit. “abandon me?”

there’s a moment in your lives that you always came back to. that morning in december when you woke up and he was gone. when you called him and he didn’t pick up. when you asked around, to everyone you both knew, and no one knew a thing. he abandoned you, in a foreign city, in a wasteland, in the rubble of the only relationship you ever cared about. your hands are trembling.

“i’m sorry,” he mumbles. “i’m so, so sorry.”

“you should go,” you tear your face away from his, shaking away the stern grip of his fingertips, your mouth moving faster than you can think. “i’ll— you can stop coming over. i’ll finish this, you pay me, and i leave. okay?”

silence. you don’t know what you want him to say. i don’t want to do that. okay, i’ll leave you alone forever. please, be with me. you don’t know why you said that.

but you know, in your heart of hearts, it’s for the best. you’ve asked him, asked him twice, and he hasn’t had an answer. asahi looks at you, and you don’t look back.

he leaves.

and you think new york has never felt this cold.