#anyway just went for a walk in the first snow of the year

[bluesidedown]

Hi I'm still surviving yay

[sugarverse]

Hiii! I was wondering if I could request either long or short fic about Tenya Iida. Likes it can be set in a modern setting where's he's a senior college student who's majoring in business and he has to take one more class to get his degree. It just so happened that the class is in the art building, and it is figure drawing (aka nude drawing) . Since he's just now hearing of the extra class he has to take, he's suddenly shocked when the model is an old friend of his from back home, whom he had a childhood crush on. Not only does his feelings for her come back, but he also has to have 1 on 1 section with the model for educational purposes. I kinda want it to be smut and fluff or however you see it fit. Anyway, I hope it's enough+

hi babe! omg I love this idea I kinda went a lil crazy and made it way too long. I hope u enjoy :)!!

𝘿𝙧𝙖𝙬𝙣 𝙏𝙤𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧

word count: 3.5k

mentions of: This is really just the fluff portion of it, kinda suggestive bc he pops a boner and leads to sex in part two. I think I’m going to make a third part simply so the two of you can go on a genuine date andsotheresmoreiidaxblackreaderouthere.

a/n: hells yeah that’s enough, hopefully I did what ya asked and so sorry I went overboard I have serious problems. here’s the smut part bc a 6.7k fic is doing too damn much but i can’t stfu my fault gang

moodboard here!

Tenya Iida.

4th year, Senior in college majoring in International Business and minoring in Spanish at Angelwood College of Arts and Sciences.

The visual arts building had only been a few minutes away from the business side of campus, which he gladly enjoyed the walk. This spring all he needed to finish was two gen ed classes, the rest revolved around his major and minor. His counselor helped set up his ‘missing’ classes before winter break considering he had to fly back to Japan to see his family for the holidays. He was ecstatic to learn all he needed was an art class with lab and a communications class. 

When he asked what the class entailed, all he was met with was “beginner artists learning anatomy.” It didn’t sound difficult, just draw what you see. It would be nice to try something new anyway. He was not much of an artist but like all things Tenya does, he planned to give this class his all. The first week had been pretty easy, learning how to draw what you see with the use of models, shapes, and lines. Nothing too hard to follow. He would practice drawing his friends on the sketchpad he bought specifically for the class as a form of studying in the free time he had.

He neverminded it for the most part, excelling his knowledge in different countries in his free time to get better at his major. Sure they could teach you the technical way to do things, but in the end, everyone is still human. It would be inconsiderate to do business with a country and know little to nothing about their culture! It took almost two weeks for him to finally be able to even start the art project anyway.

As time went on and the January snow grew less and less, it was time to start their first real project of the semester. One on One figure drawing. The class needed to fill out a form explaining their free hours due to the limited art space and everyone's different schedules. Tenya happily filled it out when it was posted, continuing to work on class work from the library so that the lecture room could also be used for said project.

Their professor had explained that in-person class would remain on Mondays and Thursdays. It just worked out better for the models and students to have so much space.

He made the small walk over to the arts building for his last class of the day, a small shine in his glasses as he entered the white light of the room. The walls were anything but bare, artwork and unfinished projects sat in every corner of the room. Paint racks, canvases big and small, even stacks of unused clay. There was a stool sitting on a small platform in the middle of the room, assuming where the model will sit. 

He stood next to the stool for a moment, looking up at the grey February sky through the skylight. The natural lighting was great, almost like a spotlight. He adjusted the lights in the room a moment, dimming them slightly so the white light hadn’t been so harsh on his eyes. He headed over to a more organized table, setting out the art supplies how he liked. He knew he was early, but he wanted to make a good first impression. What’s better than being on time?

He pulled out his laptop, checking that the few assignments for today were done and submitted. A small frown tugged at his lips as he realized he hadn’t finished something completely, typing in the last few answers. He always double checked, technology was reliable.. When it wanted to be. He couldn’t hear the shuffle of slippers against the floor over his typing and frankly, loud thinking. 

He could see someone walk past in a teal robe representing the university's colors. Glancing up from the computer to give the model a proper hello, Tenya opens his mouth to speak but pauses. 

“Y/n?” He asked, almost in a whisper in case he was wrong. A small look of confusion caused him to tilt his head to the side slightly. He hadn’t been able to see you for awhile with such busy schedules, but he knew your silhouette by heart. 

You turn at the sound of your name, mid sliding off the slippers and fumbling with the gold silk of the belt. “Tenya?” You smile, asking as you turn to slide your shoes back on and quickly shuffle your way over to him. He felt his face burn red, frozen in place for a moment with his jaw slack. He stood as if needing to detach from the seat, smiling at your happy demeanor and your quickness to wrap your arms around him. 

“It is you! I know those shoulders from anywhere!” You beamed, feeling his hovering hands slowly place themselves on your back to return the hug. He was very hesitant, simply because you were only in a robe. You pull away, hands resting on your hips and giving him a big smile. “Now what are you doin’ taking a figure drawing class, Mister businessman?”

He let out a sheepish chuckle, “I needed an art credit, W-What are u doing here?” He never had any classes with you at Angelwood, A few honors classes and gym in highschool but other than that, nada. Throughout the course of growing up, your interests drove you to different classes. 

However, classes don't matter when your families are as close as yours and the Iida family. Shared Holidays, playdates, game nights.. It wasn’t like you were some stranger. You both always made time to hang out a few times during the year to catch up without the family just to give a real check on each other. It was his favorite, almost like a mini holiday to talk to you.

He loved spending time with you. You were smart, articulated and incredibly creative. You never took slack from anyone.. Even in middle school he can remember you being the one to stand up and say something when things weren’t right. You were headstrong and determined in anything that you did.. Art majors always get a lot of grief but you never let that deter you. And that was admirable in itself! ..And he had always thought you were so pretty. 

He felt like a kid again, heart feeling as if it’d beat out of his chest at the mere sight of you. It had been around Halloween the last time he saw you, and here it was. Almost Valentine's day.. Still as pretty and bright as he remembered. Your next hangout wasn't for another month or so, so it was nice to see you sooner than that.

“I'm your model, silly!” You head over to the stool, continuing to speak. “The art department asked if I’d help in modeling and I said yes! People were too scared to sign up for the most part. I’m surprised this is the class you picked. Did you want to learn how to draw people?” You slide your slippers off once more, untying the cute bow on your hip that held your robe shut. 

Suddenly the room was very hot and he couldn't breathe. Now his heart really WAS beating out of his chest. He quickly did a 180, shielding his eyes and removing his glasses for extra measure. “WHY– do yoU have.. nothing on underrrrneath?” He croaked, voice cracking as his tone raised slightly.

You tilt your head at such a question, the gears clicking a little later than they should have. “Figure drawing is um.. Nude drawing, Tenya. You didn't know that?” You slide the robe back on, giggling at the flustered man across from you. You could see his shoulders tense, shaking his head slowly.

Now how the fuck could he have missed that.

“I um.. No, I didn't. I thought that it was.. I don't know what I thought. My counselor picked it for me and I.. Most models we've used so far have.. had skin colored undergarments… On.” He let out a nervous laugh, keeping his glasses off. He turns around, cleaning them with the end of his shirt but refusing to look up at you. He needed to mentally prepare his brain to be professional in a situation like this. Not that he minded the glance, he just never thought this would be how..

You prop your feet onto the edge of the stool, interrupting his thought. You held your knees up to your chest so he couldn’t see anything but your bare legs. “Oh Ten, I’m sorry! I can ask someone else to-”

“No! I am perfectly.. capable. It's professional and I can be.. professional..” He put his glasses back on, hand refusing to be steady as he did so. He let out a shaky sigh, smiling at you and finally looking at you once more.

You let out a small laugh at the blush on his cheeks. He was so handsome, but to see him so flustered over little ol’ you? It made your week. “We can start slow, that might help.” you slide the robe down your shoulders, slowly putting your legs back down so he could see your robed torso once more. You stopped at the top of your breasts, letting your collarbone show. “Do you have any specific poses..?” You ask quietly, trying to hold back your amusement.

He sits down, red faced and completely flushed. A nude model.. jeez. From sleepovers to recess, studying together to graduating, and now almost graduating for the final time together. That's something you don’t get to have in every lifetime. But why do these thoughts keep coming back to him now? 

There was no way he could still have romantic feelings for you. He’d never put your friendship at risk like that!

..right?

“I um.. yeah, small.” He cleared his throat, “Could you um.. Could you stand slightly off of the um.. Almost like getting up?” He fumbled over his words, staring at the empty paper as if he could burn the quick image in his brain onto the page to get the embarrassment over with. He sighed once more, trying to focus as he began sketching circles and lines as a starter sketch of the pose he wanted.

“When you need to draw a certain part I'll move it, Sound fair?” You ask, resting one foot onto the stool and one onto the ground. Your hand gripped the seat as your butt sat on the edge, similar to when people do that supposedly hot thing where they throw their head back and pull some weird rope to have water get poured on them. 

It was second nature at this point for people to see you. Of course some of them were flustered and it was pretty awkward at first, but normally not to the point of stuttering and stammering. It wasn’t often that you saw Tenya fall apart, but this was way different. Especially considering you flashed him without warning. He was one of the most endearing people you had ever met, there was no way you would have done that without proper context.

He could only nod in response, not wanting to further make a fool of himself. Lightly tapping the pencil against the table, He looks up at you. “You can um.. re.. remove the top part, y/n..” It was hard to simply draw your arms and collarbone without including the robe, so you might as well rip the band-aid off and start with the top. 

You nod, dropping it happily and letting the robe pull around your hips and between your legs. You close your eyes, facing up toward the skylight in an attempt to make him less nervous. “Sorry for flashing you at first, I would have explained but I assumed you had already known..?” You laugh quietly to yourself at your own mistake. Why would someone like him even take this class if he knew what it actually entailed?

And God, did he feel like a pervert staring at your chest like this. The boner poking his thigh almost immediately didn't help, making it even harder to concentrate. Way to keep composure. He pressed his lips together for a moment before speaking. “I had no idea, I’m sorry for my r..reaction.” He answered, stopping the pencil tapping to actually begin sketching more than just circles and lines. He hadn’t meant to yell, but he felt like he was close to passing out. 

“I think it was a pretty valid one.” You send a reassuring smile his way, seeing him send you one right back. Trying to ease the mood, you look back up at the ceiling and close your eyes to avoid staring at the ugly overcast sky above you. “How was winter break? You get to go home and see your family? How are they?” 

His smile grew wider at your question, scooting under the desk a bit more so that you hopefully wouldn’t notice his body reacting. “They’re great, Tensei is getting married soon,” He sounded excited at the thought alone, incredibly proud of his brother. 

“And my mother has started a hobby making soap, if you can believe it. She sent me some to bring back one that smells like lavender and another that smells like oranges mixed with I believe she said papaya.? She made a coconut smelling one for you– I was going to give it to you the next time we saw each other,” 

The sound of his sketching stopped and started as he spoke, giving your body small glances as he tried to study each part of your upper torso. The way your stomach creased, The way your shoulder was slightly lifted causing your collarbone to be more prominent, the curve of your breasts.. “How was your Holiday, y/n?”

“No way, Tensei is getting married?!” You accidentally stop posing, fully facing him in genuine shock. The robe was still covering your lower half, you had tied the belt to avoid accidentally flashing him again but here we are. You watch his face become even more red, eyes very obviously not meeting yours but still like a deer in headlights. 

You quickly get back to posing how you were, “Sorry Ten, That's amazing!! I hope everything goes smoothly for him and his soon to be wife.. And tell your mommy I said thank you for thinking of me. I can't wait to try it!”

A smile stayed on your lips as you thought about the times you’ve spent in the Iida household. His mother always had the best candles and incense burning, you were positive the soap would be the same. “My family is up to the same old shit, you know them..” You let out a small groan, the holidays weren’t an absolute disaster, but after not being home so long makes you remember why you aren’t going to school anywhere near home. 

“I did get some cool stuff for Christmas though! I got some new clothes and they got me a few art kits. You know, where it teaches you how to crochet? I also have a new diamond painting kit, I haven't opened either yet because it's just been so busy.” You replied, tapping your fingers on the side of the stool where your hand sat. 

You look up once more, this time because the skylight was beginning to be covered in snow. You watched as it fell, thinking back to old times when you and Tenya would spend the last three major holidays with each other. You’d always make sure to trick or treat together, your families have been sharing Thanksgiving for as long as you can remember, and spending the night in your basement on Christmas eve to wait for Santa until you were both too old. Then instead of waiting for Santa, you’d all eat at least one meal together on Christmas day. Sometimes homemade breakfast, other times a small trip to IHOP or Waffle House.

“God damn it.. It’s snowing again..” You let out a small laugh, looking over at him over your shoulder, fingers still tapping away at the base of the stool. “Hey Ten, Do you remember when we used to have those big snowball fights? The one near Red Fern?” 

“Of course I do! You refused to wear any kind of gloves and my mother would make you at least put socks on your hands so you didn’t get frostbite!” The two of you shared a small laugh at the memories of being young and dumb.

“Gloves always made my hands too itchy! They still do– But I kicked your ass in snowball fights with gloves or not.” You retort, a smirk appearing on your face. “Ice queen y/n of everything.” You could remember the insane snowball fights the neighborhood kids would have every. time. It snowed. If there was enough to make a few snowballs, there was enough to start a war. Tenya was always on your team, but it never stopped you from throwing a few his way. The ‘winner’ was King or Queen of the hill and first to sled down, which often enough was you.

“Remember when you almost broke my glasses throwing one right at my face?” He snickered, watching your smirk turn into a small pouty frown. He knew you didn’t mean to, that same day you helped your mom make cookies for him and his family as an apology, even though he wasn’t upset to begin with. But you knew it could have broken his glasses and you would be devastated if you were the reason for it. You were a real sweetheart, even if you had a weird way of showing sometimes.

“Hey! You know that wasn’t on purpose, I felt really bad after! I even let you get me back!” Which was true, but he never aimed for your face. Always a spot on your fluffy coat, never your legs because you hated your pants being wet… and a face shot just felt wrong to him. 

“Yeah, Yeah. I remember that part too,” He smiled to himself. “Those were really good times.. I remember Tensei always bringing us hot chocolate and we’d sit on your porch and draw things in the snow..”

“Oh! And when we’d come back all wet and mom already had spare clothes in her hands because she didn’t want it on the carpet. We’d put on too big clothes just to sit and watch Christmas movies..” You missed those times. But they never really had to stop, you two could have a huge snowball fight after this if you wanted to and the snow stuck. Was he too grown for that? Would it even sound fun to him?

“Do you still watch A Year Without Santa Clause every year?” He asks, breaking your train of thought. You nodded quickly at his question, grinning like a maniac. “Of course I do! And I watch Charlie Brown’s Christmas, Rudolph The Rednosed Reindeer.. And sometimes Spongebob's Christmas Special. Do you still watch old Christmas cartoons?”

“Why wouldn’t I? Don’t wanna ruin tradition.” He answered, pressing his lips together slightly as he stared down at the paper. You can tell he freezes a bit, the sound of his scribbling coming to a stop. He set the pencil down, rubbing the sweat of his hands onto his thighs.

 “You can um.. remOove-..” He quickly cleared his throat, “The rest.” He let out a disappointed sigh at his inability to keep composure. This wouldn't be half the problem it was if it was someone else modeling. But this is you we're talking about. 

“You sure? If you need a minute we can take a break, honey.” You gave him a sympathetic look, still smiling but this time more.. warm. The kind of smile someone gives to another when they genuinely care for them. Or love them for that matter. He adored it, it was the same smile you'd give him when saying he needs to take a break, the same smile you give him when the two of you out to get coffee and catch up. The same smile he's fallen for many, many times. 

But to tell you the truth? It’s driving him crazy. All of this. Was driving him crazy. No matter how hard he tried to be professional, he could stop his wandering mind. You were a goddess. What else was there to do besides take a break and hopefully release some steam in the bathroom or something. Completely inappropriate, but the pain from being hard for so long was starting to cloud the best judgment. 

He looks down at the sketch so far, then back to you as he rubbed his hand upward against his face. It pushed his glasses up, causing them to be crooked when going back down. “I um.. I think I do.. need a minute.” His voice died out as he watched you slide the robe back on, words failing him because couldn’t think completely straight.

© if you like what you see please reblog! It means a lot and helps me out. Want more? Heres my m.list! I write for x black reader so throw me some requests :P my other account are icons and x black reader moodboards if you’re interested!

thank you @thecutestgrotto for the banners and thank you @fizzintine for coloring the top pic!

have a good day/night/whatever!

[blue-lights-to-dreams]

Golden Light // H.S.

synopsis: you go on a blind date with Harry at your best friend's insistence and enjoy it much more than you expected.

wc: 3.9k

a/n: i hope you guys enjoy this! i haven't written fic in a hot minute, so let me know what you think! this will likely have a part 2 where the exciting stuff happens, but writing even this much took me forever so i wanted to share before the Christmas mentions became irrelevant, lol!

The streets of New York City are beautiful this time of year. Christmas lights twinkle in nearly every retail storefront, some even including a dusting of ripped-up cotton balls and other snow-like materials. Just ignore the grey sludge coating the streets.

You were never one for holiday cheer, and today was no exception. Despite thinking the same of every single day, you’ve had what you would consider the longest day of your life. Your first meeting ran late by just a few minutes, but even this was enough to push your calendar so far off that you needed to reschedule your final call with the client you’d been waiting almost a month to meet with.

There was nothing more in this world you wanted to do than curl up in bed with a bottle of wine and a silk eye mask. But, here you were, trudging down the streets of New York City in your slightly uncomfortable heels, trying to dodge puddles, slush, and other mysterious substances on the sidewalk, on your way to a blind date. Emma had set you up with a friend of her boyfriend’s, and she’d made you promise you’d give him a chance.

Your last relationship had ended with a bang after you went to his apartment to surprise him after getting out of work early one afternoon, only to find him in bed with a blonde girl you never did learn the name of. 

You could easily find a man to wake up to the next morning, but after years of running your own business, it wasn’t as simple as walking into a bar to meet Mr. Right. You’d dated enough men with little ambition; you needed someone who had drive– had success.

All you knew about your date for the night was his name was Harry, he was a record executive, and, according to Emma, he was hot.

The pit in your stomach only grew as you approached Bella Napoli. It didn’t help you’d spent the last six blocks trying to lift your dress and nearly-floor-length coat high enough to keep it out of the puddles.

The little blue location dot on your maps app glided closer to the restaurant with each step you took, nearly there - mist ghosted over your nose with each exhale, doing nothing to keep it warm in the frigid weather of the city, and you couldn’t wait to get inside.

Finally, you spotted the marquee sign affixed to the small brick building half a block up, signaling the end of your journey. The glass-front double doors opened easily under your hasty pull, eager to feel the heat of the brick building’s furnace.

“Good evening, ma’am,” the hostess greeted from behind her podium. She appeared to be in her early twenties, with long blonde hair and prominent cheekbones.

“Good evening, I have a reservation under (Y/L/N),” you brushed stray snowflakes off of your wool coat. Emma had ensured she would let Harry know the reservation would be under your name, and you hoped she hadn’t forgotten.

“Ah, yes, table for two? Right this way.” The young woman stepped from behind the podium and began heading toward the main dining area. You followed her as she snaked around the tables full of affluently dressed couples and businessmen in suits, reaching a small archway leading into a more dimly-lit section of the restaurant. 

She led you to a booth in the corner with velvet seats and matching curtains, held open by small hooks on either side - out of sight from most of the other patrons in the section, who didn’t seem to be paying any mind to you anyway. A small candle sat between two menus, adjacent to a traditional silverware layout and an empty highball glass on either side of the booth.

You slid onto the bench facing the room’s entrance as the hostess filled each glass with ice water. She nodded as you thanked her and informed her a man by the name of Harry should be arriving soon to join you. Just in case Emma had forgotten.

The menu was short but obviously well-curated. The wine list was almost twice the length of the food menu - just how you liked it. You skimmed the offerings, deciding on a merlot of the second-highest price point. Your anxiety still made itself known in the way your stomach was twisting. You checked the time. It was 5:58 pm - still two minutes early. You hoped the wine would drown the butterflies (or maybe moths) in your stomach.

Your eyes returned to the restaurant’s food offerings but were again drawn upwards as another person sauntered into the secluded section of the restaurant. His pale grey, half-unbuttoned silk shirt settled just under the gold cross necklace grazing the indent between his pecs. A blazer of a much darker grey draped his shoulders, matching the straight-legged trousers just long enough to only allow the front of his patent-leather black loafers to peek out from under them. 

The air suddenly felt heavy, like you couldn’t get a breath in. Who is the lucky lady he’s here with tonight? Your eyes darted around the section, trying to find his date, but coming up empty. 

Shit, is this Harry?

Your fears are confirmed as you realize the hostess had entered the room a bit ahead of him and was leading him to your booth. The poor girl looked entirely flustered.

“Here you are, sir. Your waitress will be over shortly to grab your drink orders,” she squeaked, turning on her heels and scurrying away as quickly as possible.

You smiled at him as you shuffled out of the booth and rose to your feet, trying to seem much more confident than you were. You reached about the height of his shoulder in your heels.

“You must be (Y/N),” he spoke with a slight smile, glancing at your attire before returning his eyes to meet yours.

“That would be me. And you must be Harry.” You smiled back at him, subconsciously smoothing out the part of the dress resting on your hips.

Harry took a step toward you with arms extended, pulling you into an easy hug, His arms wrapped tightly around your shoulders and yours around his waist. He smelled like an intoxicating mix of vanilla, patchouli, and musk. Expensive. Even just brushing your fingers across his suit jacket as he pulled away, the feel of the fibers suggested it had also not been cheap.

“You look stunning. I love the color of your dress,” he complimented, pulling back slightly with his hand hovering over your waist. “It looks great on you.”

“Thank you, it was actually a gift from my mother.” Compliment-taking was not your forte.

“Well, she has great taste. Shall we?” He motioned toward the set table, waiting for you to take your seat before sliding into the bench on the opposite side. “Have you been here before?”

“I haven’t, but I’ve heard great things. Have you?” His ring-clad fingers picked up the beverage menu in front of him as you spoke.

“I have, it’s one of my favorites.” That must have been why he suggested it.

“Is the Merlot any good? That’s what I was thinking of ordering, but I’m open to suggestions.” You played with the seam of your dress under the table absentmindedly.

“Now that, I haven’t had. I’m more of a white wine guy myself. I’m a fan of the Riesling.”

“Really? My first guess would have been whiskey, honestly.” There exists a pattern in these kinds of men - they always drank some very expensive whiskey they needed to tell you all about, as if it didn’t taste like smoke-flavored lighter fluid.

“I tend to prefer a sweeter taste,” his eyebrows twitched as he raised the glass of water to his lips. You nodded before the two of you fell into a comfortable silence, taking time to browse the food menu.

It wasn’t very extensive, with a few choices to pick from each protein category. You settled on a grilled chicken tagliatelle with a cream sauce, hoping it would pair well with the wine.

“Hi, my name is Danielle and I’ll be taking care of you this evening,” a voice burst your bubble of concentration, “have we decided on what we’d like to drink?”

You recited your wine order first, with Harry following shortly after. The waitress jotted down your selections in her notepad before exiting the room with a promise to be back to take your food orders shortly.

“So, Emma said you work in marketing?” he spoke slowly. His accent was thick, only further drawing you into the conversation.

“PR, actually,” you replied, “I have my own firm, with a few employees. I love it.”

“That’s amazing,” he sounded sincere. “How long have you been in PR?”

“Almost a decade, but I’ve had the firm for a little over 3 years. At first, it was just myself operating out of my apartment, but we’ve been able to build up some clientele and move to an actual office space. Emma said you work for Atlas Sound, right?” you shifted the conversation away from yourself, curious about what exactly came with being a record executive.

“That’s right. I’m mostly in charge of production but I help out with some of the publishing aspects as well.”

“Ah, so no talent scouting? I was hoping this could be my big break…” you mused, narrowing your eyes at him. Harry chuckled, flashing the smile you’d found yourself dead set on seeing more of. 

“No, no, unfortunately, that’s not me, but I may know some people who could help. Let me guess, rap?”

You almost choked on the water you’d just taken a sip of, but managed to swallow it before the laugh burst from your throat. It caught you off guard - Harry honestly didn’t look like he would even know what rap is. A silly notion, given his career, but true anyway.

“You have a beautiful laugh,” Harry stated sincerely, and your heart just about stopped. 

Before you got the chance to respond, a full wine glass was placed in front of each of you. You hadn’t even noticed the waitress had come back. “Here are those drinks. Did we decide on what we’d like to eat? I can make some suggestions if you’re not sure what to get…”

It appeared as if she’d forgotten you were even in the room with the way she was staring directly at Harry. You couldn’t blame the girl - you’d been staring too - but she could definitely tell the two of you were on a date, so she could have at least been a little more subtle.

Harry smiled politely (and briefly) at her before turning his attention back to you to confirm you were ready to order. You both relayed your choices to the waitress, and you appreciated that Harry did not seem like he was interested in entertaining her advances.

“Anyways, where were we…” he smiled again, and your heart lurched.

Conversation flowed smoothly between the two of you, aided by the wine in your glasses. You found yourself getting less and less nervous about him not being the right fit, but more and more nervous you were somehow making a fool of yourself. 

The story of how one of your interns accidentally jammed the copier so badly you had to buy a completely new unit made Harry laugh loudly. It was one of many stories you had from your job that were definitely funnier in retrospect than they were as they happened. You were aware you’d talked a lot so far, but you couldn’t help it. The way Harry spoke was attractive, but the way he listened was even better. He seemed genuinely interested in the stories you told, maintaining eye contact, nodding in the right spots, and asking thoughtful follow-up questions. It had been a while since you’d had a date genuinely listen to you, and it was refreshing. 

He asked more about your job, and you found yourself telling him how as much as you like being “in charge” and able to have control over your firm, sometimes it was incredibly stressful, especially in emergencies. He could see the stress that followed you home every day seep back into your expression, despite you trying your best not to let it show.

His ring-clad hand slid across the table, fingers gently entwining with yours and giving them a quick squeeze.

“You know, I think you’re brave for taking that risk. You should be proud of what you’ve built.” The eye contact he made with you as he spoke was intense, with sincerity behind his words. His hand was warm, contrasting the cool feeling of the metal rings, and you subconsciously squeezed it back in an attempt to keep it where it was. Luckily, your hands stayed intertwined for another couple of minutes as you expressed your appreciation for his kindness and shifted the conversation back to his job until your food was in front of you.

The meals were delicious, just as Harry had promised. He’d ordered a mushroom risotto that looked delicious, and your pasta tasted perfect with the wine you’d chosen. Good job, self.

Soon, you found your plate nearly empty and your body warm from the alcohol. Your thoughts felt slightly fuzzy, and you caught yourself staring a little too long at the rings on Harry’s right hand, as well as the fingers adorning them. The muscles flexed as he moved his hands while speaking, and you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes away. You knew how his hand felt in yours, but how would it feel touching your cheek, against your back, gripping your - 

“Did you save room for dessert? The tiramisu is incredible.” Harry’s voice broke your train of thought, and you quickly averted your eyes back to his. What seemed like a slight smirk played on his face, but you couldn’t tell if it was because he’d noticed the staring, or if the alcohol was just affecting him as well. You prayed for the latter.

“That sounds great, but I can probably only take a few bites. Would you want to share a piece?” you suggested, much too full for an entire dessert to yourself.

“I’d love to.” Harry absentmindedly tapped his fingers against the table in a rhythm you couldn’t place, not helping your attempts not to stare. “So, tell me more about that yoga class?”

The conversation flowed again, with Harry ordering dessert when the waitress stopped by. Of course, you were just as interested in his words as he was in yours, hanging on his every accented sentence. He was a captivating storyteller and his facial expressions were no different - you loved how his eyes lit up at the good parts and narrowed at the bad in the story. The slight scruff on his face complimented the way his mouth moved as it formed words, drawing you closer. How would they feel against your own lips, you wondered? 

You could hear the words he was saying, but you weren’t fully listening as he continued telling you about the time he got a little too drunk at a friend’s birthday party and ended up volunteering to give a speech he had in no way prepared for. It was a great story, very funny, but your mind was otherwise preoccupied. Wine always made you… flirty.

Soon, the tiramisu was in front of you. This, too, looked delicious - Harry was right again.

“Would you like the first bite?” He offered, picking up one of the small forks laid out on the plate and scooping a bite of the dessert onto it.

“Well, ladies first I suppose,” you joked. You parted your mouth slightly as you leaned forward, waiting for him to place the fork on your tongue. What you weren’t expecting was for his other hand to reach out and lightly grasp your jaw, thumb on your chin to hold your mouth farther open. A choked gasp escaped your lips at the same time the sweet cake hit your tongue, but you could barely taste it, too distracted by the skin contact. Again, his eyes didn’t leave yours as he allowed your mouth to close and pulled his hand away from your face.

“Well? How is it?” he asked, with a definite smirk this time. 

You tried to compose yourself before answering, swallowing the dessert and the lump that had formed in your throat. “It’s good… really good.” Your voice came out breathier than you intended, and you blinked heavily a couple of times, trying to kickstart the part of your brain that could think of anything except what you’d like to do with the gorgeous man sitting in front of you.

Harry took his own bite next, letting his eyes flutter shut as his mouth closed around the fork. His long eyelashes rested atop his strong cheekbones, the same ones you almost had to physically stop yourself from reaching over to brush your fingertips over. His lips were a stunning, dark shade of red, still slightly wet from the wine he’d been enjoying.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed the bite, slightly brushing against the collar of his shirt. Seafoam green eyes made contact with yours as he opened them again, and a small smile graced his face as he realized you’d been watching him intently.

“You’re right, it is really good.” Your heart raced under the fervency of his gaze. He was staring into you like he wanted to read the thoughts echoing in your brain. “Would you like another bite?”

“Sure, but I can feed myself this one if you like,” you attempted to lighten the intense mood that had befallen your booth so you might actually be able to catch your breath,

“That won’t be necessary, I was quite enjoying myself,” Harry mused, refusing to break eye contact until you did. He scooped another bite onto the fork, reaching over to brush a stray strand of hair behind your ear before resuming his grip on your jaw and returning the fork to your lips. He felt your jaw flex as you chewed and swallowed the bite, but didn’t take his hand off of your face. Instead, he brought his thumb back to your lips and brushed below them gently, careful not to smudge your lipstick. 

He brought his thumb back to his mouth and slowly closed his lips around the pad of it, a half-smile tugging at his lips at your bewildered expression. “Sorry, you had a little something there. I figured I’d get it for you.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath instead of attempting to utter a response.

He took another bite himself before offering you another, which you obliged with little hesitation.

“You know, Harry, you need to be careful feeding me like this or I’ll get used to it.” Another feeble attempt to ease the tension and stop acting like a flustered teenager.

“I wouldn’t mind that,” he murmured, voice sincere and slow, laced with something that sent a shiver down your spine, “if it means I keep getting to see your cheeks flush.”

He’d noticed how your body was responding to him, whether or not you tried to hide it. Your face burned again, sinking further into the booth behind you in slight embarrassment.

“Well, it doesn’t help that I’m on a date with an attractive man who’s feeding me tiramisu. I think that’s every woman’s dream.”

“So it’s working?” His face glowed in the candlelight, a smirk on his face but a subtle vulnerability behind his eyes.

You knew what he was implying, but wanted to regain some of the power you’d lost by being so flustered. “Maybe.”

“That’s not good enough for me. I need a yes.” He needed confirmation that you were on the same page.

“And what exactly am I saying yes to?” A sip of wine ran down your throat as you awaited his response.

“To letting me walk you home after this,” Harry stated bluntly, scanning your face for your reaction. You couldn’t help the way your face flushed, but you held your composure, leaning back casually against the booth behind you as you pretended to mull it over. You already knew what you wanted.

“Alright, Harry,” you smirked, bringing the wine glass to your lips once more, “let’s see where the night takes us.”

- - - - - - - - - - 

“God, it’s freezing out here,” you groaned, dodging patches of ice. You were nearly home, your apartment building visible up the street.

Harry had grabbed your hand under the guise of keeping it warm a few minutes ago, something you were grateful for now as you gripped it tightly, trying to navigate the snow-covered ground in heels with little traction. He’d offered to call an Uber, but you wanted some more time with him without a driver listening in on your conversation.

As you approached the building, your imagination ran with thoughts of getting him upstairs, into your apartment, into your living room… 

Before you could get too far, you were at the front door. Your free hand patted over the pockets of your jacket to ensure that you had your keys and found them in your left pocket.

“I had a great time with you tonight, Y/N,” Harry turned to face you, not letting go of your hand. “I’d love to do this again, sometime, if you’d be interested.”

A slight flush now graced his face, glancing at the ground as he awaited your response.

“I had a lovely time. I’d love to see you again,” you confirmed quickly, not letting him worry for too long.

He was beaming now, allowing you to admire his prominent dimples. Your heart skipped a beat and you couldn’t help but smile right back at the sight.

“There’s that beautiful smile again,” he quipped. His free hand reached for your jaw, cradling it again as you both continued to grin at each other for a few moments. A silence fell upon you again, and Harry’s eyes searched yours for a second before flickering to your lips, which had slowly returned to a resting state. As he moved his gaze back up, your eyes gleamed with the reflections of Christmas lights and were swimming with the need for more contact with him. He inhaled slowly, nervously, before exhaling sharply. “Can I kiss you?”

You nodded quickly, gripping his collar to pull him closer before his mouth met yours. Electricity sparked between the two of you, his luscious lips colliding with yours over and over again, like he couldn’t get enough of you. The kiss started slow, but quickly became deeper, more desperate, as he gripped your waist tightly and pulled you close to him. Your hands searched for solace, moving from his collar to his cheeks before lightly running through the hair at the back of his neck.

He tore his lips away from yours but didn’t stray far, pressing his forehead against yours as you both tried to catch your breath. You could see both of your small pants in the air as they fogged due to the cold. A small smile played on each of your lips, and you just knew your lipstick was half-gone because you could definitely see some of it on Harry.

“You know,” you pulled away, straightening your stance confidently, “I have a bottle of wine upstairs if you’d like to help me drink it.”

Harry grinned. “I would love to.”

part 2!

[omgiamwish]

Snowmen and Such

@mp100secretspirit Here is my present for @smoarchok! I hope you enjoy it <3

About 1800 words of pure fluff. Read below, or on Ao3

Shigeo rests his arms on the wooden railing, leaning his weight against it and letting it hold him. Snowflakes fall in big clumps to join the expanse of white already carpeting the landscape. The sky is a soft gray, as far as he can see, and the light is dim despite only being late morning. Except for the soft static of snowflakes landing, the whole world is quiet.

“Hey!” Tome-san’s voice pierces the silence, but it’s not at all unwelcome. He turns to her as she joins him. “You forgot your earmuffs in the room.”

“Oh.” He takes them from her with a smile and puts them on. He hadn’t noticed how cold his ears had gotten. “Thank you, Tome-san.”

“What’re you doing out here, anyway?”

“I wanted to… to watch the snow, I guess.” He looks back to it, eyes catching on individual flakes in their descent. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this much at once. It’s really pretty.”

“Reigen-san said it snowed on the company trip you all went on last year…”

“Not this much. I’m glad I decided to come after all.”

Tome-san leans on the railing next to him. “Even though they didn’t even need you?”

Shigeo considers that. “Maybe even more because of that. And it was nice that Shishou asked if I wanted to come this time, instead of just… expecting I would.”

They watch the snow in silence for a long moment. Shigeo imagines laying down in it and letting the falling snow cover him. How long would it take? Until he was just another lump or indent in the frozen landscape? Although, as peaceful as it sounds, he probably wouldn’t like having that much snow on his face.

Tome-san thumps him on his back, breaking him out of his thoughts. “I feel like building a snowman. Wanna help?”

“Oh. Yeah!”

They leave the sanctuary of the porch and wade out into the snow. It’s only a few seconds before Tome-san gives up making her own path and walks in Shigeo’s footsteps. He doesn’t blame her; the snow is knee deep, making every step effortful. By the time they get to the flat area of what might be a lawn in warmer weather, Shigeo is breathing heavily and verging on lightheadedness. He flops onto his back like he’d imagined doing only minutes earlier.

“Hey.” Tome-san kicks his shoe. “You’re not giving up already, are you?”

“No,” Shigeo wheezes, staring at the sky and blinking hard when a snowflake lands in his eye. “I’m just… resting.”

“You’re not slacking off in your club, are you?” She kicks his shoe a few more times. He moves to kick back and she steps out of range. “Letting Sagawa do all the work?”

“I placed twelfth in this year’s marathon, you know.”

“And then you slacked off so hard, you lost a year’s progress in like. Two months. I see, I see.”

“No,” Shigeo protests, laughing. He sits up and brushes snow off his face.

Tome kneels down and starts packing together a snowball. It takes her a few tries before it stops falling apart when she tries to roll it and she laughs in triumph when she finally gets something bigger than a baseball.

Shigeo watches her push the ball around, packing snow onto the sides to keep it a little more even. He picks up some snow and tries to pack a ball of his own. It takes him a lot longer to get it rolling than it took Tome-san, and by the time he has a ball as big as his head, she’s already got a second ball of about the same size.

“Hey Mob-kun!” she calls a bit later. “Come stack these for me! Oh, and bring that over, too. That can be the head!”

Shigeo picks up the ball he’d been working on and walks over to Tome-san, taking the path she’d made with her work.

The first ball she’d made comes all the way up their hips, and the second is maybe about half that size. Shigeo puts down his own comparatively meager sized snowball and tries to lift the smaller of Tome-san’s. It takes him a few tries to get a good grip and then for the next few moments, his entire focus is on Not Dropping It. He clutches it to his chest. Leans back to distribute the weight. Staggers the few steps to his goal. Heaves it into place and holds onto the whole thing for a few seconds to make sure it won’t fall as soon as he lets go.

Then he collapses back into the snow.

Tome-san kicks his shoe.

“That was kind of impressive actually. I thought for sure you were going to use your powers. You should definitely use them for the next one, though.”

“Next… one?” Shigeo pants. Snowflakes tickle his eyelashes.

“Yeah. I want to see how big of a snowman we can make.” He hears Tome-san move around and the crunch of snow. “This one isn’t even as tall as me.”

Shigeo huffs a laugh. For awhile, he just listens to her pushing snow around. Then he sits up and looks at the snowman they’ve already made. Tome-san put the head on and packed snow into the places where the snowballs meet. It looks kind of lopsided and lumpy, stained with dirt and grass, not at all like the perfect white spheres you see in cartoons.

He kind of likes it.

Tome-san is making some weird noises, though, so he stands up and walks over to where she’s pushing ineffectually at a… very large snowball.

“Do you need help?”

“Come over and help me push!”

“With my powers?” Shigeo rests a hand on the ball. It’s about the same size as the bottom one of the complete snowman.

“No, that’s cheating.” She shifts around, digging her shoulder into it, shoes slipping on uncovered grass. “You have to- have to roll them naturally, or it doesn’t count.”

“But it’s okay to use psychic powers to stack them?”

Tome-san glares at him. “Are you going to help or not?”

He kneels beside her and braces himself against the packed snow. On three, they push together. It rolls over easily. The next few rolls are progressively less easy. They keep at it until, even with their combined efforts, they can’t get it to move.

Panting for air, they lean against the snowball, legs sprawled out before them. Shigeo is half sweaty, half freezing. Tome-san opens the top of her coat, so he expects she feels about the same.

“Do you… do you think… we can make the next one… just as big?”

Shigeo laughs, a stuttering, breathy thing.

They cannot, in fact, get the next one as big.

They get close, though, and Tome-san directs Shigeo to stack the two extremely large snowballs next to the first snowman. She rolls a third snowball for the head, no bigger than the head of the other. It sets Shigeo off to giggling.

“Wait, hold on. Look, look.” Tome-san pulls off a glove and digs her thumb into packed snow, drawing the shape of a tie on each snowman torso. “It’s-” She wheezes through laughter. “It’s Reigen-san and Serizawa-san.”

Shigeo makes an embarrassingly high-pitched noise. Shaking with renewed laughter, he packs together a snowball and places it at the feet of the snowmen. “D- Dimple,” he explains.

They both collapse into laughter, Tome-san howling with it.

“What’re you kids laughing at?”

Shishou approaches, walking in the trench of their foot prints that the still-falling snow had been working to cover and thus far only softened the edges of. Ritsu trails a few meters behind.

“Well, I guess those are some funny looking snowmen. Why is that one so much more shitty than the other though?”

“That one’s you, Shishou.”

Tome-san, who had almost regained composure, bursts into laughing again. Dimple pops into visibility to join her, and even Ritsu barks a laugh. Reigen-shishou gapes at him, baffled, or maybe betrayed, but Shigeo just grins, unrepentant.

“What the hell. Who’s the other one, then?”

“Serizawa-san, of course,” Tome-san answers, fighting giggles.

“And Dimple,” Shigeo adds, nudging said snowball with his foot.

“Hey,” Dimple complains, without heat.

“That’s kind of cute, actually,” Reigen-shishou decides.

“Nobody asked you,” Dimple mutters.

“But if you kids are getting up to this kind of stuff, you’re definitely in the mood for a snowball fight, yeah?”

Tome-san raises her eyebrows, then looks to Shigeo. He tilts his head, considering. “I don’t know Shishou, Tome-san and I are kind of tired.”

“Nonsense.” Reigen-shishou scoops some snow from the ground and starts packing it. “You kids need to lighten up. How often have you seen such great snowball weather?” He pulls back his arm, clearly aiming at Shigeo. “It’d be a shame to waste-”

A snowball hits Reigen-shishou in the head, disintegrating into a white halo. He stumbles forward with a shriek, almost face-planting in as-of-yet untouched snow.

“What’s wrong, Reigen-san,” Ritsu calls, gathering another handful of snow. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

Reigen-shishou whips around and throws the snowball he’d intended for Shigeo at Ritsu. Ritsu doesn’t need to dodge the poorly aimed throw and doesn’t bother to. The next two snowballs hit Reigen-shishou in the chest, despite his attempts to dodge.

“Mob, Tome-chan, help me out here.”

Three snowballs hit Reigen-shishou at once.

Tome-san laughs. Her laugh cuts off into a shriek when a snowball hits her chest, right where her coat is still open.

“Mob, what the hell!”

She lunges toward him, scooping up snow to let loose over his head. He scrambles away, flinging loose snow behind him. He'd opened his own coat a bit, in the last efforts of making the snowmen, and she wastes no time in tackling him and shoving snow down his shirt.

They keep that up for awhile, shoving snow into each others faces and hair and clothes. Making to get up and run away, only to slip on the snowy ground or be tugged back down with the lightest pull. It’s Tome-san who finally calls a halt, breathing too heavily to laugh, but still smiling.

“That- that’s enough. It’s way too cold to keep doing this. Let’s go in.”

Despite her words, she doesn’t make any move to get up from where she’s sprawled in the snow. Shigeo doesn’t either, only rolling a bit to the side to get out of her personal space.

“Are you alright, Nii-san?” Ritsu calls.

“Mm.” Shigeo looks around. “Did Shishou go inside already?”

“Yeah.” Ritsu smirks. Then he steps closer holding out his hand. “We should, too. Your clothes are wet, and you’ll get sick if you stay in them too long.”

Shigeo takes Ritsu’s hand, accepting his help up. Tome-san stands by herself, brushing snow off her clothes. Dimple hovers around their heads, commenting on the fight. Together, they head inside to the warmth of the building, Serizawa-san’s questions, and Reigen-shishou’s complaining. Shigeo can’t stop smiling.

[27spoons]

CRUSH | ACT TWO: SMOKE SIGNALS

pairing: natalie scatorccio/fem!reader

summary: Natalie makes an unexpected appearance in your life, again. Shocker.

wc: 16,550

warnings: violence/description of injury, mentions of domestic abuse, mentions of gun violence, mentions of substance use (alcohol and recreational drugs), emotional distress/trauma, smut(afab!reader), first-time mishaps

a/n: this is a long ass chapter. i had to sacrifice multiple teenage soccer players to some entity in the forest in order to publish this. shout out the wilderness for proof-reading and helping me with everything <3

ao3 / masterlist

PREVIOUS - ACT TWO: IF YOU'RE TOO SHY (LET ME KNOW)

NEXT - NATALIE'S INTERLUDE TWO

It's been weeks since you last talked to Natalie. Sure, you've seen her around the halls at school, but she's made it a point not to even glance in your direction. You'd be lying if you said it didn't hurt.

Time has moved by in a blur of early sunsets, biting wind, and the slow buildup of snow on the streets as New Jersey heads deeper into winter. You’ve managed to keep yourself busy—trying to spend time with the friends you had before Nat, reading whatever books you can get, pouring yourself deeper into your studies, and retreating into the pages of your sketchbook. 

Still, no amount of distractions has been enough to banish her from your mind completely. The absence that she leaves is louder than you thought it would be. 

For such a short time of knowing her, you feel like you've known her much longer; maybe that's half the problem. Every time your phone buzzes, some delusional part of your brain hopes it's her, even though you know better.

You’ve replayed that 'fight' in your head a hundred times, searching for the exact moment things went wrong, wondering what you could have said—or not said—to change the outcome. Should you have just let her kiss you despite the fact you were uncomfortable in that situation? Should you just not have said anything? Should you—

Your thoughts have been spiralling a lot recently.

The snowstorm that arrived earlier this week has only made things worse. You've been stuck at home for days with nowhere to go and nothing to do but listen to the endless bickering of your parents. It's enough to make you want to scream.

Outside, the snow continues to fall to the ground in large, fluffy snowflakes, blanketing the ground and trapping you in this suffocating stillness. You swear that if the roads don't get plowed soon, you're going to lose your mind.

You sit by your window, head resting on the cold glass. The roads are supposed to be clear come morning, which means you'll be back to school soon, but you find yourself dreading the return. 

You don't know if you could manage Natalie avoiding you for the rest of the term, let alone the rest of the school year. You've thought about texting her countless times. But what would you even say? Maybe apologize for how you acted that night—but what would you even say sorry for? For poking into her information? For being concerned about her? For wanting to get to know her?

Fuck.

She was the one who walked away from you, anyway. Why would—no, why should you be the one to reach out, right?

Fuck.

Even now, as you sit beside your window, you keep your phone in your hand with your fingers stuck hovering over her contact name. You can't even count the number of times you've done this song-and-dance since that day, but it always ends the same way—with you getting frustrated and throwing your phone onto your bed. 

Today is no different.

With a huff, you toss your phone onto your bed and cross your arms, petulantly clunking your head against the window pane. You should be over this, over her, by now, your brain uselessly provides. 

Before you can think deeper into this, your phone buzzes once. Whatever, it's probably just your mom saying dinner is ready. 

Then twice. 

Okay… little strange, but maybe she was just sending a follow-up message to clarify something?

Then your phone starts ringing. Your mom is persistent tonight, huh?

Yet, when you check your phone, it isn't your mom. No, this is much more unexpected. Natalie is calling you.

You can't help it when you just stare at the screen, slack-jawed, wondering why the hell she's calling you now, of all times, six in the evening on a Wednesday. In your shock, you accidentally let the call go to voicemail. Fortunately, she's calling you back right away. She is nothing if not persistent. 

Taking a few deep breaths, you answer the phone on the fourth ring, trying to keep your voice steady. "Hello?"

There are a few moments of nothing but static, and you're starting to wonder if this was her idea of a prank call, and then you hear a sharp exhale. "Hey," Natalie says, voice rough and strained. "Listen…" A shaky exhale leaves her lips, "I, uh, kinda need a favour, Princess."

You scoff immediately at that, ready to start listing off all the reasons that you don't owe her shit, that you deserve better than this, that you—

"Please," comes out from the speakers—barely audible, but there. "Please," she repeats, "and bring a first-aid kit, if you have one."

"Woah, woah, wait—" You start shaking your head in confusion despite the fact she can't see you. "First-aid kit? Nat? What the hell is going on? Are you okay? What the fu—"

"Princess," Nat snaps, though her voice is still shaky. "I'll explain later, I promise." You hear a grunt of exertion from the other end, "I just… need some help right now. I'm out front."

You run back to your window and see a beat-up Ford Ranger from the eighties idling on the street. "I, uh, I…" A shaky exhale parts from your lips, and you blink rapidly, "Okay, okay. I just… okay. First-aid kit. Out front. Okay. Okay. I'll, uh, I'll be right there."

The line clicks off as you start throwing on whatever clothes you can find to face the weather outside. Admittedly, a hoodie and jeans aren't going to help keep you warm, but they'll do for now. Hopefully, she has heating in her truck.

Your parents barely acknowledge how you run downstairs and into the bathroom on the main floor, grabbing the kit from the wall before running back out and scrambling to throw on some shoes.

"You going somewhere?" Your dad asks from the couch, not bothering to look away from the TV screen, "In this weather?"

"Uhhhh…" You blink, trying to think of an excuse or reason why, "I just… going crazy inside the house. Gonna go visit… the… Monroe's! Yeah, I'll go visit the Monroe's." 

Your mom waves her hand idly at that, dismissing you. "Okay, sweetie. Say hi to Janet for me. Have fun, text us later."

Well. You suppose having parents who barely care is useful now and then.

A noncommittal nod and you're out the front door—immediately met with the bitter cold and fluffy snowflakes you've been avoiding for what feels like years. Fortunately, there isn't much wind, so it's not as bad as it could be.

You stumble your way through the snow that your father has (conveniently) forgotten to shovel after the last snowfall, grumbling to yourself as you try not to faceplant into a snowbank. By the time you reach Nat's truck, you swear your fingers feel like they're gonna fall off. Maybe you should have worn gloves. Whoops.

Throwing the passenger door open, you clamber inside the cab with a huff, eagerly soaking in the heated interior. "Oh, thank God. It was so cold out—" You turn to look at Nat and see her looking at you with a cut lip, bloody nose, bruised left eye, and a wince. "What the hell happened to you?" Comes out before you can stop it, those damn worries overriding any anger you had about her calling you up just for a 'favour.' 

"Tell you after I stop bleeding?" She offers with an attempted smile that looks more like a grimace.

A beat passes as you stare at her and try to assess her injuries (and how she got them) without touching her before Nat clears her throat awkwardly, "So, got that first-aid kit, or…?"

"Right." You blink a few times before snapping out of whatever haze you were in and fumble with the kit for a moment before popping it open and digging through its contents. "I, uh, have some antiseptic wipes and band-aids…" Sparing a glance back up at Nat to reassess her wounds, you frown to yourself. "Although I really don't know how much help a band-aid would be for what you have going on."

Nat snorts, which causes her to wince in discomfort, then raises her hands for you to see, "Yeah, but it might help with some of the cuts on my knuckles." 

Her knuckles aren't in a much better state than her face is, dark red and purple spots colour her usually pale skin. She has more than a few minor cuts decorating the tops of her hands, but the largest one—a throbbing cut on her right hand—creates a streak of dried blood that runs down her wrist and under the sleeve of her leather jacket.

"What the hell were you doing?" You ask, immediately moving to grab her right hand and inspect the injury. "Jesus Christ, Nat! You need to start—"

"Princess." Nat cuts you off, her face still contorted in barely concealed pain. "I will tell you whatever you wanna know after we deal with this shit, yeah?

With great reluctance, you stop your prodding and pull out some supplies from the kit—antiseptic wipes, band-aids, gauze, and some skin-safe tape. "This…" You sigh, "The antiseptic is gonna sting a little, probably."

"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock." Nat rolls her eyes—acting tougher than she actually feels—then proceeds to wince and let out a low hiss the second the wipe makes contact with a cut. "Fucking… shit…" But she doesn't pull away, letting you quietly clean her right hand of dried blood, allowing you to see how bad the cuts are.

As the excess blood is gradually removed, you begin to notice how vigorously Nat is shaking. When you glance up at her face, it almost looks like she's trying not to cry, but you can see the tears forming at the corners of her eyes. If you didn't know better, you'd say something about it.

So, rather than speaking on it, you clear your throat and return your attention to cleaning her hand. "Uh… do you want me to clean up the blood that went under your jacket sleeve? It's just a little…" A nervous laugh spills from your throat, "I can't clean it off with your jacket in the way."

Nat blinks a few times in response, seemingly forgetting you were there in favour of not crying. "Oh, nah. It's fine. I don't have any injuries on my arms or whatever. Blood can be cleaned off later. More concerned about…" She grunts and flexes her hand, "I'm more concerned about the shit that's actually hurting."

"Is your face 'actually hurting' too, or just your hands?" You murmur, more to yourself than her, as you look back up at her face and the injuries that reside on it. "Because you've got some stuff up there I should probably clean, too."

A noncommittal groan leaves her lips, and it appears that's all the answer you're going to get to that question. You get the feeling that Nat isn't exactly the type to ask for help unless she really needs it, and although her face is most likely hurting as well, she isn't about to admit it.

When you get her hands cleaned up, it's more evident that her right side suffered the most. The left has some bruising and a few tiny knicks, but nothing that you'd need to put a bandage on. The right has considerably more damage—deep abrasions run across her knuckles; skin split in places where it had taken the brunt of whatever impact caused this. The largest cut is a wicked thing, stretching from her index finger to the base of her thumb, red and raw despite the dried blood you’d wiped away.

Bruises in varying shades of purple and green bloom along her knuckles and the back of her hand, stark against her pale skin. A faint swelling around her middle knuckle suggests she may have hit something—or someone—too hard, too many times. It’s the kind of injury that’s not just painful but one that will linger, a reminder of whatever fight she got herself into.

You sigh as you take a bandage from the first-aid kit, apply some gauze to the wound, and then wrap it to keep it in place. "You'll need to take care of this after I finish here; you realise that, right?" You already know she isn't going to properly take care of this cut after the two of you part, but at least you can say you tried. 

"Yeah, yeah." Nat grumbles, "I'll wash it and keep it real clean, just for you." 

A sharp huff leaves your lips at her statement, "You know, Nat, you really need to start taking better care of yourself." You grab a safety pin to keep the bandage wrap in place, "What would you have done if I didn't have a first-aid kit? Or wasn't here? Or didn't wanna speak to you?" Maybe you 'accidentally' stab Nat's already bruised hand with the safety pin as you put it in place, but she deserves it. Probably. "Like, seriously. What would you have—"

"Okay," Nat cuts you off, pulling her hand back the second the pin is set. "I get it. But I don't need the fucking lecture, yeah?" A tense beat passes before she speaks again, quieter this time. "But… I 'preciate it. You… being here for me, or whatever. After all the shit…" She sighs heavily, glancing down at the empty space in the bench seat between the two of you. "Thanks, or whatever."

You get the feeling that's the closest thing you'll get to an apology and let out a heavy sigh of your own. "Yeah, well…" A shrug, and you're glancing back up at her face. "Do you…" You clear your throat, "Do you, ah, want some help with the marks on your face?"

"Oh." Nat looks at you, "Uh, yeah. Go ahead."

Grabbing a fresh antiseptic wipe, you lean in and begin cleaning her face to the best of your abilities. As you lean closer, you first notice the cut on her lower lip—a thin but angry line, the skin split and swollen slightly at the edges. Dried blood clings stubbornly to the corner of her mouth, and when you dab at it with the antiseptic wipe, she hisses and attempts to move her head away.

"Stop moving." You mumble out, grabbing her chin and forcing her to maintain the position her head is in, "It'll only be worse if you keep moving, Nat." 

Her nose isn't fairing much better, darkened with a deep bruise that spreads across her bridge and down to her left nostril. Dried blood is crusted just under where the bruise ends, staining the normally pale skin. From how her nose is swollen, you get the idea that it might be broken, but there's no way to tell.

Unless…

Still holding her chin with one hand, you take your other and pinch the bridge of her nose, to which Nat immediately tries to pull back from you with a sharp hiss of pain, but your grip on her is firm. And, fortunately, "I don't think your nose is broken." You murmur as you release her nose and return to assessing her injuries.

"You had to fucking grip it like that?" As you continue your work, Nat snarls—or attempts to, but she really isn't that scary right now.

"Sure did," is the only response you dignify her with, now turning your attention to her left eye. The aforementioned eye is a striking sight, the skin around it already shifting into shades of deep purple. It’s swollen, but she can still open it enough to glare at you when you press too hard with the wipes.

A faint scratch runs along her cheekbone, the depth similar to one of a paper cut, but appearing as though she just missed a greater injury. Another minor knick marks her jawline, the red line about the length of the switchblade you've seen her carry around.

You work carefully, trying not to flinch at the sight of her injuries, your hands steady even as your stomach churns. Nat, true to form, stays mostly silent, though her jaw tightens with every dab of antiseptic. The tension in the air is thick, but she doesn’t push you away for once.

When you finish cleaning her off (leaving a small mountain of antiseptic wipes in your wake), you sigh as you properly look at her. The usually infallible Natalie Scatorccio looking like a wounded puppy, and it genuinely makes your heart ache.

You close the first-aid kit before attempting to meet her eyes, but she's pointedly looking away from you. "Nat…" You sigh, "Would you please tell me what happened? Why you ended up looking like a side character from Fight Club?"

Nat hesitates, jaw tensing up again as she glances out the windshield. "I…" A deep sigh leaves her nose, and she clenches her left hand on the steering wheel. "Only if I can get us out of here. I… I don't wanna talk here. I feel fucking suffocated in this shitty ass town."

"The roads are terrible, Nat. Where the hell would we even go? And your truck isn't exactly—"

"I have a place." Nat cuts you off, "I have a place I can take us, and I can handle the roads. I can handle the drive. I just… fuck. I need to get out of this town for a little."

Maybe you're dumb for this, but you don't even hesitate when you say "okay."

"Thank you," Nat says quietly as she puts the car into gear and starts pulling away from your house—

"Wait!" You say, fumbling to put your seatbelt on, "You don't have your seatbelt on! And the roads are really bad, and you're already hurt—"

She cuts you off with a dismissive wave of her hand and a snort, "Jesus, alright, I'll put the fuckin' seatbelt on. Relax." And she does, making a display of putting on her seatbelt before continuing to leave your neighbourhood.

"Gonna be a long drive, Princess." Nat grunts, turning the volume up on whatever she was listening to before you sat down in the car with her. "Get comfortable."

It is a long drive.

And Nat doesn't talk the entire time. You try to prod for questions, but she always dismisses you with a grunt, wave of her hand, or just straight-up ignores you. Which, on its own, is very frustrating. But couple it with the last interaction you had with Nat before this? Oh, it is very frustrating.

So, by the time you get to your destination, you're about ready to blow a gasket with how frustrating this goddamn woman is.

"Are you gonna tell me what the hell happened to you yet?" As she parks her truck, you huff out, "Or are we just gonna sit here and get nowhere?" 

"You wanted to know what happened?" Nat takes her hand off the gearshift and faces you, one arm resting on the seat behind her while the other stays perched on the steering wheel. "Ask your questions. I'll fucking…" She exhales hard through her nose, "I'll answer them. Just…" Nat reaches across the car and opens the glovebox, taking out a flask. "I'm drinking."

Your mouth drops in shock as she opens the flask and greedily drinks whatever liquid is inside of it, making a face when she pulls away from the opening. "Shit, that burns. What the hell is in here?"

"Nat—you don't even know what you just drank?" You grab the flask from her, looking down into it as if you would be able to tell what is inside of it from vision alone. The liquid—which you can barely make out in the lack of light—appears to be dark brown and has a scent you don't recognize but smells like it is very strong.

She rolls her eyes and grabs the flask back from you, "Relax, it's probably just moonshine or some shit like that." A dismissive wave of her free hand and another swig from the flask before she caps it again, "You gonna ask your questions or just stare at me like I drank lighter fluid?" 

"You might as well have if we're being honest." A deep sigh parts from your lips as you settle back in your seat, "I just… okay. Why were you beat to shit? And… and why does it look like you also beat someone to shit?"

Nat runs her tongue over her teeth, leaning her head back against the seat with a groan. "Shit, where do I even start?" Her left hand tightens around the flask, and her knuckles go white momentarily before she loosens her grip.

"Maybe start with the fact someone went to use your face as a punching bag? You know, that seems like a good place to start."

"Yeah, yeah, okay." Nat sits up straighter, tapping the flask against the steering wheel in thought. "You remember that guy Denny?"

Your jaw tenses at the name, and suddenly, you're back in that abandoned house all those weeks ago. "Yeah, uh… I remember." It's hard to forget, after all. Hard to forget when the name that carries the face is burned into your mind.

"He wasn't too happy with me today." She glances through the windshield, but you get the idea that she's not actually looking at anything but just into the night's darkness.

"Clearly," your voice drips with sarcasm, but the worry that you've attempted to mask with it is unmistakable. "What happened?"

Nat hesitates, still unable to meet your gaze or face you again. "I was supposed to have something for him—money. I, uh, I didn't. He got pissed. We argued. One of his guys tried to step in, and…" She shrugs, feigning nonchalance. "I didn't take it lying down. I did far too much of that growing up." A bitter smile crosses her face, but it looks more like a sneer than anything.

"You fought them?!" You sit up, face incredulous. "Nat! That guy runs with a crew! You're just one person, and you're already…" You gesture to her bruised features frantically.

"Yeah, I know." She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, "But I couldn't just… let them walk all over me. I know it wasn't my brightest moment, okay? I don't need the reminders, already got enough of those." Nat flexes her hand underneath the bandage, wincing slightly at the skin, pulling at the cut.

Your lips press into a thin line as your brow furrows, frustration and concern boiling over in waves. "And now what, Nat? What if they show up again? What then? Will you be safe or end up like this again?"

A sharp, humourless chuckle leaves her, "Safe? Oh, Princess. I haven't been safe a goddamn day in my life. I won't fucking be safe until I die, and even then? Who knows." She scoffs, hitting the steering wheel with her left hand in frustration, causing you to flinch slightly at the display of anger.

You swallow, shrinking back into your seat. "Is there no one to help you? I swear I remember them mentioning something about your 'old man'? Can he help?"

Nat scoffs ruefully, "My dad has been dead for years. Who do you think was kind enough to give me this debt?" She takes another swig from the flask, then scowls when she realises it's empty and tosses it onto the dash. "I'm the one left to pick up the fucking pieces."

A frown crosses your face at that, and you genuinely don't know how to respond for a long moment.

Eventually, when words come to you, you try offering something, however small it is. "I may not have the money to help, but… I'm here for you, Nat. I wanted to be weeks ago, but… I'm offering again now."

"You shouldn't have to be there for me." She says immediately, a knee-jerk reaction to the idea of someone caring for her. "You shouldn't be."

You shake your head, "But I want to be, you know? And… you can't make me not care. You're stuck with the knowledge that I do, in fact, care and want to help."

Despite herself, Nat lets a laugh part from her lips. It bubbles slowly, eventually spilling into a loud sound that you can't help but return. The small space of her car is filled with egregious laughter from both of you, ultimately resulting in tears beginning to prick at your eyes. 

When the laughter subsides, that turmoil that had bubbled between the two of you feels lessened to some extent, and you're grateful for the respite in the tension. 

"I've got a lot of baggage, you know?" Nat says quietly, almost like she doesn't even realise she's saying it out loud. "Dead dad who was a deadbeat, mom who spends her days passed out on the couch bitching that the guy that used to fucking beat her daily was actually a 'good guy.' Blames me for his death. Fuck, I blame me for his death. If I just fucking…" She cuts herself off and closes her eyes, jaw tensing once again. "It's fucked up, Princess. My entire life is just… fucked up. You don't need to get involved with it." 

"But I am already." You say quietly, fighting the urge to reach out and squeeze her hand in a show of support. "I mean… even without all the bullshit, I'm already involved in your life. We were…" You hesitate a beat before deciding you're already in too deep to care that much, "I think that we were friends, even if you don't. You… showed me your world, Nat, even if it was just fractions and slivers."

Nat's lip trembles, and it looks like she's holding back tears.

You get the feeling she's never had someone truly express their care as you did.

"I asked the questions I did that day because I wanted to know, Nat. I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to know."

Her eyes close now, and she looks away from you properly, facing out the driver's door window. "Why?" She murmurs softly, voice breaking slightly. "Why? Why do you… fuck. Why do you give a shit?"

A scoff falls from your lips at that, "Seriously? Why do I care? Nat… you're a decent person, despite whatever the fuck you think. Like…" You try to think of an example, remembering when you and her went to that convenience store, "Like that time you stole that Buzz Ball for me! You only stole it because the clerk shortchanged you! Would you have just taken it if he didn't?"

A beat passes in silence before you hear a meek "no…" pass from Nat's lips, followed by a short sniffle.

Is… is Natalie Scatorccio crying? You didn't think that she could, but… well, you learn new things every day.

"I said all that shit to you after Denny left…" She trails off, vaguely wiping at her cheeks, "I don't deserve you."

"Maybe that's true." You smile softly despite the fact she can't see your face right now. "But I'm here anyways. And… I wanna know the shit. The stink. All of it, if you'll tell me."

Nat shakes her head, glancing at you for the first time since this conversation started. "It's a lot of 'stink,' Princess. There isn't much… fresh laundry scent in my life to talk about."

You shrug, "That's fine. I told you I wanted the stink, didn't I? Promise I got a strong nose."

The blonde sighs deeply, clearly battling with her words and debating whether she wants to tell you anything. She rolls her neck and leans back in her seat, a frown tugging at her features.

She finally speaks after a long moment of tense—slightly uncomfortable—silence. "The stink." She murmurs, glancing through the windshield again. "The stink is probably bad enough that it would fucking put a landfill to shame." The words come out harsh, and she takes a shaky breath before continuing. "Fine. You want the fucking trauma?" She glances back at you for a moment, and upon seeing that you genuinely seem to care, she deflates slightly and turns her head away again.

"My dad…" Her voice falters, and she swallows hard. "He wasn't a good guy. Mean as hell. Could make you feel small just by lookin' at you." Her fingers flex around the wheel, turning pale beneath the cacophony of bruises. Her gaze remains pointedly away from you as she speaks, and you get the feeling that if she were to look at you, she'd start crying. "He drank a lot. Sometimes other shit if he could get his hands on it." A rueful scoff, "That's probably where I got it from."

You don't interrupt, letting her get the words out, but a part of you almost aches to comfort her despite the hurt she's given you. She's had it worse, after all, hasn't she? What are some choice words on a single night when she's had the odds stacked against her her entire life?

"Wasn't just mean to me, though." She continues, voice quiet and bitter. "Mom usually got the worst of it. I was just the kid who was too scared to fight back. Until one day, I finally fucking tried to."

Her jaw tightens again, and she takes a shaky breath, a single tear falling from one of her eyes. "I was fourteen. He came home pissed—he always did, but I made the stupid fucking mistake of thinking I could have someone over while he was gone. It's not like I was even doing anything." Her upper lip twitches, a fragment of a sneer. "Just had a fucking friend over. I was painting his nails, and we were listening to music." A moment passes, and she swipes at the tear that fell before continuing. "Was yelling some shit. Mom came in to see what was going on, and he started hitting her." She runs her hand over her face, "I grabbed the shotgun we kept by the door. Didn't even think about it, you know? Just pointed it at him."

"Called my bluff. Went to pull the trigger, and I had the fucking safety on." A bitter laugh leaves her throat, bubbling as another tear falls. "Made a show of showing me how to turn the safety off. Called me and my mom fucking useless and left the trailer." Nat's laugh falters, and her expression shifts from a bitter smile to a vague frown, lower lip trembling in an effort not to cry. "I called out to him that he was the useless one. He turned around to say something and started walking back to me…" She shakes her head, hands trembling as she recalls the memory. "He tripped. Never turned the safety off. A shotgun-sized hole was in his head a second later."

A sharp inhale follows her statement, and you can see the bitter resentment that she's kept just beneath the surface since that moment. "Cops called it self-defense or some shit. Mom didn't see it that way and said I took away the only person who ever cared about her—started drinking more, smoking more, all that shit."

Denny came around a few months later, claiming my dad owed him. Took one look at me and decided that I'd be the one to repay that debt. God knows my mom couldn't give a shit."

The two of you sit in silence for a long minute after that. You don't dare speak; break the silence between you as Nat desperately tries to look like she isn't on the verge of a breakdown. 

"There," she finally utters once the silence becomes too much to bear, "that's the 'stink,' Princess. The fucking shit that got us where we are right now." She glances back at you again, and you can see the water in her eyes just begging to fall. "Still wanna stick around?"

You hesitate for a few seconds before giving her a slight nod, "I think I do, yeah."

"You're too good for this shit, you know that?" She murmurs, expression looking almost vulnerable. 

"Probably," you reply with a faint smile. "I'm here anyway. So… tough luck, Scatorccio."

For the first time tonight, a short but genuine laugh leaves Nat. "You… you really gotta stop pronouncing my last name like that. It's Scatorccio."

"Scatorccio?"

"No, Scatorccio."

"...Scatorccio?"

"No, Princess. Fucking…" She sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose, then immediately winces when she remembers that it's insanely tender right now. "Scat-or-she-o."

A beat, "I think I'll just call you Nat."

Nat laughs again, "Yeah, just call me Nat. That works, too."

"Is there… can I ask more questions?" You ask hesitantly, then immediately regret the words the second they leave your lips. She just told you what is arguably the most traumatizing event of her life, and you want to ask questions. Fucking hell.

"Yeah. Uh… ask away." Nat nods, "And don't give me that face. I promise you I can handle answering a few questions after that, Princess—I'm not made of sugar, not gonna melt."

You smile to yourself, "It isn't related to… well, it's kinda related to that, but it really isn't. Uhh… it's just questions about the… rumours?"

She sighs and rolls her neck, "Okay. Ask."

"Right, uhh…" You blink, partially surprised she's being so open with this, but… she did just tell you about her dad, so maybe she's just in a generous mood? "I guess I'll start with the biggest ones? Uh… like… you being a massive player?"

Nat frowns slightly, her tone bitter. "What are you asking? If I'm a 'slut'?"

"Woah, woah!" You immediately counter, throwing your hands up defensively, "I didn't mean it like that, Nat. I just wanted to know your side of the rumours, is all."

A heavy sigh leaves her, and she deflates momentarily, "Yeah, I think 'player' is a nice word for it, considering the other words people have used. But… I've only slept with three people. None of the experiences were great. I've made out with a lot of people at parties, but I've only actually been with three people properly."

"Okay… uh… when we went to the skatepark the first time, you told me about some of the shit that you've done. Was that everything? Or is your, uh, rap sheet longer?"

"Mm, mostly what I told you. The Mazda wasn't boosted on a dare, but Denny told me I needed to do it. I don't know how I didn't get caught." She sighs, glancing up at the roof of the truck as she tries to remember everything, "Let's see… shit that I actually got booked for, though? First thing that got me behind bars was disorderly conduct. It was right after my dad died and…" She gestures to nothing, "I was in a shit mood. Got a few nights. The thing that landed me in juvie for the summer was a second-degree robbery—you probably remember it; everyone does. Was when some guys robbed that convenience store, and only one was caught. It's public knowledge I was the one that was caught."

"I'm guessing it was Denny's idea? The robbery, I mean?" You prop one leg up on the bench seat and turn your body to face her, "I'm guessing most of the shit you've done was his idea, actually."

Nat nods, "Yeah. Was one of his 'do this to help lower the debt' ideas. Fuckin' store had less than a hundred in the till, and none of the assholes knew how to crack the floor safe that they used for deposits. Fucking dumbasses." She spits, "I could have sold them out for less time. Knew that they'd make my life a living hell if I snitched, so I kept quiet."

You nod, digesting the information. "Right. And, uh, last one. The whole… 'druggie' thing."

She huffs and cuts you off before you can keep talking, "Yeah, that I shoot H and snort meth rocks? I don't." A beat, then her sardonic smile falters. "I didn't even start doing shit until late sophomore year. Denny and his gang move dope, and I've always had a hard time saying no. So, when it was offered…" She shrugs, "I did some lines. But it's not something I do often."

"How often do you do it, then?"

"More than some, less than others," she says sharply, clearly uninterested in continuing that line of questioning. "I can't afford to be addicted to it. I don't have the fucking cash to throw around."

"Right, right, yeah." You nod, quickly looking to soothe the nerve you've struck. "Can I, uh, ask why you let the rumours go around, then? I mean… if they're all so untrue, why let them fester?"

Nat shrugs, "People don't give a shit. They'll believe whatever they want to. Keeps the idiots I don't want around me at arm's length, anyway. If you're gonna believe whatever is told to you without finding out the truth yourself, then you don't deserve the truth."

You don’t know what to say to that, so you settle for leaning back in your seat and letting the weight of the conversation settle around you.

"Thanks for telling me," you finally say, breaking the silence. "All of it."

Nat looks at you, her expression softer now, almost... grateful. "Yeah. Thanks for listening, Princess."

The quiet stretches between you again, but this time it feels different. Not heavy or suffocating, but... peaceful. It's nice.

You think you could get used to sitting in silence with her.

You aren't sure how long you sit in silence with Nat. Maybe ten minutes, maybe an hour, maybe several. You do know that the silence is comfortable, and you can tell she appreciates having someone she can just sit in silence with.

By the time the two of you return to your house, the snow has stopped falling, and the night has grown darker.

Nat's beat-up truck pulls to a stop in front of your house, and she puts it in park before turning to face you. "Y'know, Princess, I appreciate what you did. Helpin' me, and whatever." She grunts, "Y'didn't have to. So… thanks, I guess."

You hesitate to remove your seatbelt and realise that… you could invite Nat inside. I mean… nothing's stopping you. Your parents have for sure gone to bed by now or are too impartial to care, so you doubt they would even notice. And, after everything Nat just told you, you aren't quite sure if you want her to be alone tonight. Maybe you're a little too empathetic for your own good.

"Did you… wanna come inside?" You offer hesitantly, "You can… I mean… I could make us some hot chocolate? It's still really cold out, and…" A beat passes, and your voice quiets, "You don't have to go back to your trailer tonight if you don't want to."

Nat blinks at you, her brows knitting together like she's trying to decide whether the offer is a serious one or not. "You sure?" she asks after a long pause, voice hesitant. "Don't wanna, y'know… overstay or whatever."

"You aren't overstaying anything," you say quickly, then clear your throat, trying to act like you aren't overly enthusiastic at the idea of her coming inside your house. "I mean… it's just… you're already here. And, like I said, it's cold out."

Her lips twitch slightly, not quite a smile, but not the usual scowl you would find on her face, either. She takes a long look at her bruised hands gripping the wheel, flexing her fingers before nodding once. "Right. Alright. But no funny business, yeah? I'm not tryna—"

"I know!" you wave her off, pushing open the truck door and immediately heading towards your house before your nerves get the better of you. "Just… hurry up before I freeze to death standing out here, ‘kay?"

You hear Nat snort from behind you right before her truck door slams shut, and she quickly catches up with you, stuffing her hands into her jacket pockets as she trudges up the snow-covered driveway.

The house is dark and quiet, save for the faint hum of the furnace kicking on. You discreetly toe off your shoes and dust the snow off your shoulders, glancing back to make sure Nat does the same. 

She hesitates momentarily, eyes flicking around the dimly lit space before finally removing her combat boots. She shrugs when you shoot her a curious look at her leather jacket not coming off. "I wear it everywhere. Take it off later." 

"Right," You murmur, turning your head towards the stairs. "C'mon. My room's upstairs."

The climb up your stairs feels like it takes ten minutes rather than ten seconds. Maybe it's because you're inviting Nat into your personal space, and that makes you nervous. Or maybe it's because you've never had someone who's kissed you in your bedroom before, which also makes you nervous.

Okay, maybe you're just nervous.

When you finally reach your room, you push the door open and step inside, gesturing for Nat to follow. "Make yourself comfortable," you say, a little trepidatiously. "I’ll, uh, grab that hot chocolate I mentioned. Be right back."

"Wait, wait—" Nat says, giving you a strained chuckle. "You're just… leaving me alone? In your room? I mean… I could, just…" She scoffs and gestures at your dresser, "I could just dig through all your shit or whatever."

You pause and look at her, confused. "I mean… it wasn't the first thing I thought of? The most you'll find anywhere is my sketchbook, and I've already shown it to you before," you shrug, "I really don't have that much to hide, Nat. I'm not that exciting of a person." A nervous sound escapes from your lips as you rub the back of your neck sheepishly. "I, uh, wasn't thinking about you doing anything like that until you mentioned it."

Nat blinks, likely shocked that you didn't immediately assume she was going to do something 'bad,' "No, I mean… yeah, no, I'm not gonna do anything. I wouldn't… I'm not gonna like… dig through your shit. I don't even know why I said that. I'm just…" She glances around your room before sitting on the very edge of your bed, clasping her hands in her lap and clearing her throat, "Yeah. My bad."

A moment's hesitation passes before you nod and take your leave from your bedroom, heading back downstairs to get the hot chocolate as planned. By the time you return with two steaming-hot mugs (with marshmallows for added comfort), Nat has made herself more comfortable on your bed, brows furrowed as she flips through your sketchbook.

"Hey," you say softly, setting the mugs down on your desk. "Find anything you like?"

She glances up at you, appearing slightly flustered that you caught her, but quickly schooling her expression to one of neutrality. "These are wicked." She returns her gaze back down to the page, tapping on a sketch you did of an old lady on a bus. "You're fucking talented."

Your cheeks flush, and you immediately begin to wave your hand dismissively. "It's nothing special—"

"Don't." Her voice is firm but not unkind. "I mean it. You're talented. Don't sell yourself short."

You sit on the opposite side of the bed from her, pulling your mug into your hands. "Thanks," you murmur, voice barely above a whisper, never quite sure how to react to praise.

Neither of you speaks for a while, sipping on your drinks in comfortable silence as Nat thumbs through your sketchbook. For a moment, you're relieved that she didn't select the sketchbook you had spent the past month drawing her face into. That would have taken some awkward explaining. You aren't even sure what you would say to her. 'Yeah, I've just spent multiple days drawing you over the past few weeks because I couldn't stop thinking about you. That's totally normal, right?'

As you sip your hot drink again and try to ignore the thoughts, Nat finally speaks up. "You meant it earlier? About, uh, being there for me?"

You meet her gaze, startled at her sudden… vulnerability? is that what you would call this? "Of course I meant it," you say without hesitation. "I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it."

The blonde looks down at the mug in her hands, flexing her damaged fingers around it. "You're too good for this. For me."

"Well, too bad," you nudge her shoulder with your own and shoot her a goofy grin. "You're stuck with me. Sorry."

She huffs a quiet laugh, shaking her head, but you catch the slightest flicker of something you can't quite name behind her eyes. You doubt she'd ever be the type to be truly open with her feelings, but you suppose this is enough for now.

"I didn't…" Nat's face falls slightly as she sets her mug down on the nightstand beside your bed, "That shit I said the last time we spoke. I didn't mean it. About me just… 'trying to see you naked,' for the record. I just…" Nat grunts and waves her hand away, not offering an apology, but you doubt you'll ever see one in your lifetime anyway. "I was talkin' about myself. Askin' why I was like that. Not you."

"Asking why… you… kissed me? Or reacted the way you did?" You ask hesitantly, not wanting to break the fragile peace you've created between the two of you.

Nat makes a face at that, leaning her head back against the wall with a sigh. "Both? Neither? I don't…" A frustrated huff of air leaves her nose, "I don't know. That's why I was asking—because I don't know why I'm like that–fucking… reckless."

You shake your head, "You say 'reckless' like it's a bad thing. If you weren't 'reckless,' we never would have become friends, you know?" You tentatively scoot a little closer to her, unsure if this is the time to provide a reassuring touch. "I mean… I never used to do half the things I do. What was it you said? That I live in a bubble?" A strained laugh parts from your lips as you rub the back of your neck, "I mean… you weren't really… wrong. I wasn't exactly the most adventurous person before I met you."

Her jaw clenches as the air settles after your statement, but she doesn't look angry. If anything, she seems almost contemplative. "Y're not… mad?"

A light-hearted scoff leaves your lips, and you playfully shove at Nat's shoulder. "Oh, I was mad. For a while." Your smile falters marginally as you consider how to word your following sentence properly, "But… I was more hurt than anything, Nat. I just… I didn't know what I did wrong."

"Did nothing wrong," Nat grunts almost immediately, "I was just… I was being a dumbass. 's weird having someone say that they 'worry about me' since no one has ever really given a fuck."

"And if I told you that I 'give a fuck'?" You ask softly, scooting closer again until your knee bumps into hers. "How would that make you feel?"

"Fuckin' weird," is Nat's immediate response, "I would—nah, I feel fuckin' weird knowing that someone gives a fuck. It's…" She makes a face, something between a scowl and a sneer, "strange." Nat finally turns to face you, her eyes hiding an emotion you can't decipher. "But it still means something," comes out in a whisper, and for a moment, you swear that emotion you can't decipher is vulnerability. 

"Does this mean something?" You gesture vaguely between the two of you, "Us? You being here?"

Nat hesitates, her gaze flicking between your face and the vague space in front of her, weighing her next words carefully. "I don't know," she admits, voice low and rough. "This… whatever this is… it's new. Feels weird."

"But not… bad, right? Like… a bad weird? But more like a good weird?" You ask cautiously, trying to keep your tone light, but you worry she can hear the trepidation in your voice.

Her lip twitches, and for a moment, you think she might brush it off with a joke or sarcasm. Instead, she leans forward slightly, her elbows resting on her knees. "No," she says quietly. "Not bad."

As the words settle, you both fall into momentary silence again, the atmosphere feeling heavy but not suffocating. You find yourself hyper-aware of the space between you, the way her knee is so close to yours it’s almost touching again.

"You're staring," Nat says suddenly, her lips quirking into a smirk that doesn't quite meet her eyes. "Not that I blame you. Pretty hard to look away from this." She gestures vaguely to herself, trying to recapture her usual bravado.

You roll your eyes and can't help the small laugh that falls from your lips. "You're ridiculous."

"Yeah, well…" She shrugs, her smirk fading into something softer. "You don't hang out with me for my stellar personality, Princess."

The words feel like a deflection, and you narrow your eyes slightly at it, refusing to give into that train of thought. "Well, guess what? I actually think I do."

Nat's eyes narrow slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line. "You seriously think that? You don't just… hang around 'cause I drag you into shit?"

You have to hold back a laugh as you shake your head in disbelief. "No, Nat. I hang around you because I want to. Shocking, right?"

Her gaze flashes around the room before meeting yours again. "Yeah," comes out in a hoarse whisper, "I actually think it is."

The weight of her words settles between you, and neither of you speaks for a moment. You can tell she's wrestling with something, and you give her the space to figure it out. Eventually, she leans back, her hands gripping the edge of the mattress as she looks at you more directly.

"Wasn't it you that said you don't have to understand everything or something like that?" You shrug, hesitating for another moment before leaning forward again. "Something about… bursting my bubble? Well… maybe it's my turn to burst your bubble, Nat. If you've been throwing me into your life for the past few months, maybe it's time I give you a little bit of insight into mine."

Her lip twitches, and she looks down, shaking her head slightly. "You make it sound so fucking easy," she mutters, her voice thick with frustration and something else you can’t quite place. "Like I can just…" She trails off, scowling slightly.

"Maybe it can be," you counter gently, reaching out on impulse to brush a stray strand of blonde hair from her face. The movement is soft and unexpected, making Nat freeze almost immediately. Her eyes snap to yours, sharp and shocked, and the air between you shifts to something more… tense. Not exactly a bad tense, per se, but tense nonetheless. 

Then, a moment passes, and Nat pulls back from your hand with a shocked and confused expression. "Woah, woah, what the hell are you doing?"

You blink rapidly, immediately dropping your hand to your lap. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry. I don't even know why I did that or what the hell came over me. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—"

She waves her hands to dismiss your thoughts and cut you off, her face shifting back into that unreadable expression. "Why did you… why the hell did you do that?"

"I…" Your voice trails off, and you look down at your bedsheets in shame. "I don't know. I've never… done that before. I guess it just… felt right. Or… I thought it felt right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have… I don't know why I—"

"Stop." Nat cuts you off, her sharp tone causing your eyes to flash to her face once again. "Just… stop for a second." She takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of her nose, then immediately winces again when she remembers it's still bruised and tender. "You…" A disbelieving laugh spills from her lips, one that bubbles slowly and dissolves into her next sentence, "After that shit I pulled, you seriously still want to do…" She gestures vaguely between the two of you, "Whatever the fuck we're doing?"

Your brows knit together in confusion—like you didn't just spend all night fussing over her injuries and learning about her upbringing. "I invited you into my house, Nat. I mean… you're…" A sigh leaves you, "You're here. I… yeah. I think I want to do 'whatever the fuck we're doing' if you still do."

The blonde looks at you in confusion, eyes searching your face for any sign of deceit or indication that you don't want this. When she doesn't find any, her hand twitches in her lap, and she tentatively reaches forward, placing a hand on your knee. 

Neither of you speaks for a moment, the quiet atmosphere charged with something more—something that you don't think you've ever felt before. Her hand traces up your arm gently, as though she's mapping it, before coming to rest on the side of your neck.

You should say something. You should look away. You should do anything but what you’re about to do. But then she’s leaning in, and you’re not sure if you’re moving too or if it’s just her, but suddenly her lips are on yours, rough and urgent and so very Nat.

The kiss is overwhelming in every sense of the word. She's all desperation and aggression, and you can feel the built-up tension in her body as she leans into the kiss, as if it's something she needs and has needed since that night all those weeks ago. It takes you a second to catch up and understand what's happening, but you kiss her back this time despite the tachycardia causing your chest to feel tight. 

But then she's shifting, tongue gently probing—no, forcefully probing at your lips, trying to push past the seam of them. You feel her hands on your biceps, squeezing at them as she pulls herself closer to you, settling into your lap and wrapping her arms around your neck as she finally pushes past your lips, her tongue sliding against yours. You try your best to return the kiss, you really do, but it's obvious she has leagues more experience than you do in this department, but… Nat doesn't seem to care in the slightest about your lack of experience.

Your hands dangle uselessly at your sides, unsure what to do here. You've never had a girl—or anyone, really—sit in your lap. It's a little overwhelming, to say the least. Nat seems to notice this, and despite the fact you are returning the kiss, she pulls back to look down at you. "Hey… is this… okay?"

You immediately nod and clear your throat, "Yes. Uh, yes. It's okay. I just…" A nervous chuckle escapes from you, and you glance away in an attempt to hide the blush that's blossoming on your cheeks. "This is sort of new for me."

"New?" Nat asks, tilting her head slightly, like a dog who just heard a sound they weren't so sure about. "You… you've kissed before, yeah?"

A sound of uncertainty parts from your lips, "I mean… yeah, I've kissed. But I've never done anything like this before. The whole… making-out-in-my-bed-with-someone-I-really-like thing, I mean."

Nat mumbles out the words you just said, digesting them, and then her eyes fly open in realization. "Oh," she blinks, then shakes herself out of whatever daze she was in and gently grabs your chin to make you look at her again, "Hey, hey." She says softly, her hand moving from your chin to tuck a stray hair behind your ear, much like you did to her earlier. "No matter… no matter what anyone says, this," she gently rakes her fingers through your hair, "means something to me. Like… it—it really means something." A moment passes between the two of you before she speaks again, voice soft and gentle. "Especially with you."

You nod, a small smile twitching on your lips as you lean forward and kiss her again, the action slowing down significantly compared to how it was before you told her—in a roundabout way—that you were a virgin. She appears comfortable with letting you take the lead now, but provides small encouragements without forcing anything. 

Her lips curl into a soft smile against yours, and although your heart still feels as though it's beating a million miles a minute, your chest no longer feels as tight. While you learn how to kiss her properly, Nat moves her hand from your hair to your shoulder, then trails down your arm until her fingers intertwine with yours.

"You can touch me, you know," Nat mumbles, guiding your hands to her waist. "I'm not fragile, and I'm not gonna bite… unless you ask, of course." She grins to herself when your hands find purchase on her waist, just under her leather jacket but over the fabric of her thin tee. Even with the cloth barrier, you can almost feel the heat of her skin radiating through it. "Yeah, like that. Don't be afraid."

Deciding to be bold for once in your life, you move your lips to her jaw, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses across her pale skin, and Nat rewards you with a shaky sigh. "God, yeah. Like that. A natural, really." 

She rolls her head back, giving you access to her neck. Who are you to deny such an invitation? You brush your lips lower, tracing over her pulse point. "No marks—" Nat says as she discards her leather jacket, tossing it precariously onto your floor. "No marks, please," she reiterates once her jacket is ditched.

You nod against her neck, tracing your mouth across her delicate skin—the same skin you've imagined brushing your lips again for much longer than you'd ever care to admit. "Fuck, you're a fast learner," Nat says with a breathless laugh, her hands running back up your arms to rest on your shoulders, squeezing them softly in a wordless display of encouragement. 

Spurred on by her words and touch, you let your hands slide up from her waist, fingers splaying over the fabric of her shirt. The outline of her ribcage shifts slightly beneath your touch as she takes a deep breath, the movement providing the incentive you need to continue. Your lips trail further down her neck, skimming over the hollow of her throat, her scent—something faintly musky with a hint of cigarette smoke—filling your senses.

Your hands hover, momentarily unsure of your actions before you finally gather the courage to slide them under the hem of her shirt. The feel of her skin beneath your fingertips—a mix of soft warmth and a few unexpected ridges of faint scars—makes your breath hitch. 

Nat notices your immediate hesitation because, of course, she does, and one of her hands runs back up to tangle in your hair. "You're good," she breathes out, leaning back just enough to meet your gaze. "You're doing fine. I'll tell you if you do something I don't like, yeah?"

With her reassurance, your eyes wander along with your hands. Your gaze drops to the curve of her chest, hidden beneath the fabric of her shirt but still ample enough that you can make out the swell of her breasts. Your hands, eager to feel that region your eyes have wandered to, continue to drift up her torso, her skin warm and shifting slightly under your touch.

When your thumbs graze the underside of her breasts, both of you let out a quivering breath. "Yeah," Nat breathes out, "like that, babe. Keep—keep going…"

Babe, you think, that's a new pet name. One I could get used to.

Despite your sudden burst in confidence, this lingering hesitation rests on the back of your mind—I have no idea what I'm doing. You glance back up at her face trepidatiously, and you're sure your expression is a combination of bashful and nervous. "I, uh…"

"Hey," Nat whispers, "we don't have to do this if you don't want to. Seriously, it's okay." Her voice is reassuring—gentle in spite of her rough exterior, and it soothes you in a way that you weren't quite expecting. 

"No, I, uh, I want to. I just…" You fumble with your words, trying to find the proper ones to describe how you're currently feeling. "I want to. I just… I don't know how this is supposed to go."

A warm—almost affectionate—chuckle leaves Nat's lips, and her fingers gently rake through your hair. "It's not a test, Princess. There's no 'supposed to,' yeah? Just do what feels right." A beat, "I'll help you out."

She pulls back from you slightly, and you almost whine at the loss of the feeling of her fingers in your hair, but then she's—

Oh.

Oh.

Natalie Scatorccio—the object of your fascination for an uncomfortable amount of time—reaches down to the hem of her shirt and pulls it off over her head, tossing it in the general direction that she threw her leather jacket.

"Just do what feels good," she repeats in a breathless tone of voice as she returns her hands to your shoulders, one of them moving up to cup the side of your neck. 

You find yourself instinctively leaning into her touch as your eyes fall to her freshly revealed skin, slightly flushed in the dim lighting of your room. You can't exactly make out the fine details of it all, but you don't need to see. You just need to feel.

Even with that thought in mind, your hands linger in their position, which earns a soft huff from the girl currently seated in your lap. "Princess," she grabs your wrists and moves your hands up a little higher so that your palm is placed loosely over the fabric of her red bra, and you let out a breath you didn't even realize you were holding. "Just feel, yeah? Stop overthinking it. This isn't…" A scoff leaves her lips, and she gives your wrists a reassuring squeeze. "Not a test or some bullshit. Feel."

So, 'feel' you do.

Your hands tentatively squeeze her breasts, mouth drying in sheer awe of what is currently transpiring, and you meet her gaze again.

"Fuck," you murmur, then lean forward to capture her lips with your own.

Nat immediately returns the kiss, releasing your wrists in favour of moving her arms to rest on your shoulders and wrap around your neck. You lead, but it's impossible to miss how she shifts slightly in your lap and presses herself closer to you with a small sound you could almost call a whine.

Your hands and mouth slowly get bolder as the kiss continues, and between your palm kneading the soft flesh of her chest and your tongue sliding against hers, you feel a familiar warmth begin to pool in your lower gut. The sensation causes you to buck your hips up into hers, earning a gasp from Nat in turn.

"Oh," Nat pulls back slightly, using her hands on your shoulders to keep you from moving back in to continue the kiss. "Yeah, I think we're a little too dressed for that."

Before you can protest it, Nat is pulling off of your lap to remove her pants, and as you sit and watch her nimble fingers pop the button of her jeans out, it occurs to you that you are also overdressed.

A moment's hesitation passes before you begin discarding your clothing, trusting the room's dim lighting to keep your nervousness hidden from her gaze. Your shirt comes first, followed quickly by your pants, attempting to kick them off as fast as possible, causing them to get caught at your ankles, which earns a soft laugh from Nat as she watches you struggle.

"Here," she says, approaching the bed again and helping discard your jeans properly, tossing them in the general direction her clothes went.

Your breath catches in your throat when Nat returns to your lap, her bare thighs coming to rest against yours as she straddles you again. Feeling the warmth of her naked skin against yours for the first time causes your brain to short-circuit for a moment, and all the confidence you've acquired over the past ten minutes immediately goes out the window at this new sensation.

Nat senses your lack of action immediately and huffs out a laugh at your awestruck expression. "Jesus, babe. Just… do what you were doing when I had my clothes on, yeah? Touch me the same. It's just without barriers this time." She grabs your hands and places them on her waist once more before wrapping her arms around your neck, "Remember, no overthinking things."

You nod slightly, swallowing down your nerves at this new situation as you map out the curve of her hips and the dip of her waist. Every touch earns a quiet hum of approval from her, a sound that stokes the warmth already pooling in your gut.

"Mm, yeah, keep going." Nat hums in agreeance with your actions, tilting her head to recapture your lips in a kiss. Although she's the one initiating the kiss this time, she takes it considerably slower than the first time she kissed you tonight but doesn't fail to provide the occasional teasing nip to your lower lip.

One of her hands shifts to cup your face, holding you steady as she deepens the kiss further while her other tangles itself in your hair. You feel the texture of the bandage you applied to Nat's hand earlier brush against your skin as her thumb gently caresses your cheekbone. As one of your hands idly traces its way up a scar, you don't even realise that it's snaking around to the clasp of her bra until you feel it underneath your fingertips and pause in uncertainty. 

Nat pulls back enough to meet your eyes, her hands never leaving the place they've found themselves. "You're good, she whispers gently. "I want you to take it off, would have stopped you by now if I didn't, yeah?"

With another nod, you begin fumbling with the clasp of her bra with one hand. Quickly realising you're out of your depths, an apology is mumbled to her as your other hand moves to join the one currently struggling in its task of undoing the hooks. Your apparent lack of experience in taking off someone's bra earns a low laugh from Nat, but it's hardly cruel—rather, laughing with you instead of at you.

When you successfully separate the bra clasps, Nat lets the fabric fall from her breasts, and she tosses it carelessly on the floor before placing her hands on your shoulders and giving you a look you could only describe as pure, unbridled lust. The sight of her nude tits causes your breath to stutter briefly, leaving you frozen for a few seconds too long.

The blonde leans in, her breath tickling your ear in an effort to break your stupor. "Touch me," she murmurs, "I'll tell you if you do something I don't like. Promise."

Your hands move of their own accord, sliding around to her front and grazing over the skin as you explore her curves with reverence. Every movement earns a reaction—a soft sigh, a sharp inhale, or a quiet hum that makes your confidence grow with each passing second.

When you tweak a nipple between your thumb and forefinger, you can visibly see your confidence doubling at the reaction Nat gives you—a sharp gasp that leaves her mouth as her head tilts back, hips grinding down against yours once more.

"Keep—keep going, yeah, keep doing that. Don't be—fuck—don't be afraid to touch me. Promise you I want it…" Nat breathes out as her hips roll languidly, her hands having a difficult time deciding where they should rest on your body, eventually just deciding to grip your hair and pull your face close to her chest.

There is no resistance you offer as she guides your head, and despite your previous hesitations, you run your tongue across the nipple that you don't currently have in your hand.

Fuck, your daydreams don't compare to the actual sensation of her skin beneath your tongue, of her nipples pebbling underneath your eager touch.

For a moment, you don't think anything could ever compare to this feeling of Natalie in your lap, your hands on her skin, and her nipple between your lips. 

That is, of course, until she gives you a gentle shove backwards onto the mattress. Her nipple releases from your mouth with a soft popping sound as your back hits the bed. And, okay, maybe this vision of her on top of you is also a really good feeling.

Nat sighs, grinding down unabashedly into you while her hands grip your shoulders for some leverage. Her eyes fall closed as her jaw becomes slack, and her hips press needily down into yours. "Fuck," she hisses, "Jesus Christ, we're doing this."

The words don't sound shocked or surprised, just… want and the slightest hint of desperation; both sounds you aren't exactly used to hearing from one of the most vilified people in school. In the time you've gotten to know her, she's never even come close to expressing any of those emotions around you. That being said, it's a sound you like and crave to hear repeated over and over and over again from her lips.

"Y-yeah," you agree after a long moment, just watching her move atop you, "we are. We, uh, we are doing this."

A breathless laugh comes from the woman on top of you as she continues to move her body, "I need to know who you're trying to convince. Me, or you?" She slides her unbandaged hand from your shoulder to your jaw, running her thumb over your lower lip. "God, you're gorgeous," she murmurs, hips slowing for a moment as the words leave her. 

She appears to consider saying something else briefly, but that consideration is gone just as quickly as it appeared, opting to speak with actions instead of words. The hand that is still on your shoulder runs down your torso, stopping right over your sternum and in between the valley of your breasts. No words leave her as she lets her eyes drift up lazily to meet yours in the soft, lunar glow.

You know what she's asking without words, anyway. She wants to touch you. She wants you to remove your bra. She wants you. Despite knowing these things, you still find yourself feeling insecure about removing the final barriers between the two of you. If anyone were to ask you, you'd tell them that the girl straddling your thighs is a work of art—a masterwork crafted on a canvas that had been beaten down by thousands of small events over the years, but a masterwork nonetheless. A voice tells you that you pale in comparison to her, but you know now, partially thanks to Nat, that you can't keep living life by letting fear control you.

So, you hesitate for a few seconds as you think about all the possible scenarios and outcomes of her seeing your uncovered breasts, then you think fuck it and sit up slightly to remove your bra and toss it onto the growing pile of clothes on your floor. 

When you lay flat again, you don't meet her gaze. You can't help it; you know your face is burning at the reveal of your skin, but Nat doesn't seem to be nearly as off-put as you are. 

"Jesus Christ." Her hands move over your breasts, delicately running over the sensitive skin prickled with goosebumps. "You have no idea…" She starts moving her hips at the same speed she was previously moving them at, a soft moan falling from her lips as she kneads your breasts in an exploratory fashion. "No fucking idea…"

Nat never finishes that sentence, much more concerned with moving her hips against yours and feeling the soft swell of your tits beneath her calloused hands. Her touch is exploratory, as though she doesn't have much experience with the actions she's currently taking. Regardless, she seems to be enjoying the learning process.

Deciding that you should also take this opportunity to learn, you start to trace your hands up her legs, your fingers skimming over the smooth skin of her thighs. There's a contrast between the firmness of her muscles and the softness of her skin. Your movements are tentative initially, but Nat's low hum of approval encourages your boldness. 

You let your hands wander higher, brushing over the curve of her hips and pausing at the waistband of her panties. For the umpteenth time tonight, you hesitate to go further and continue to shed clothing. Nat notices and leans her forehead down to press against yours, stilling the movements in her hips fully. 

"It's okay," she breathes, her lips ghosting over yours. "I want this just as much as you do."

"I just need to know if I'm doing this right. I don't… I don't know what I'm doing, Nat."

A low chuckle leaves her as her hands run up your torso to rest on your jaw. "We'll go slow. It's okay, I'll guide you." She shifts her weight slightly, pressing a kiss to your lips that feels somewhat different from the others—less urgent, more intentional.

You let yourself relax into the kiss as her body starts to move against yours once more. Her hands slide down your torso, encouraging you to move your hips against hers. Without even thinking about it, you bend one of your legs at the knee and earn a soft hiss from Nat, who shifts subconsciously to straddle your thigh. 

"Fuck yeah," she breathes out as one of her hands splays across your stomach, "shit, you feel good." 

Your fingers toy with the edge of her waistband, and you pause one last time to get confirmation. Nat nods, lips curling into an encouraging smile. Slowly, you begin to tug them down her hips, Nat shifting slightly to help, laughing softly when you fumble.

"They're just panties, Princess. First your jeans, now my underwear?" She hums and clicks her tongue teasingly, "I'm beginning to think clothes just aren't your forte. Maybe it's a good thing we're out of them, yeah?"

You groan, cheeks burning as you finally manage to toss them into the growing pile of clothes on the floor. "You're impossible," you mutter, but the humour helps ease your nerves more than you'd care to admit.

When Nat settles against you once more, you gasp softly at the new feeling you're greeted with—her wetness coming in direct contact with your skin. The feeling of slick skin is accompanied by a small, rough patch of hair between her thighs, the dual combinations causing a buzzing sensation to rake up your body.

"Doing fine," Nat reiterates, leaning down to brush her lips over yours again. "We'll take it slow, yeah? Just do what feels right. If something goes wrong…" Her lips twitch in barely concealed amusement. "We can figure it out, or whatever."

"You make it sound like we're assembling IKEA furniture," you deadpan, but the corners of your mouth twitch into a smile.

"Some assembly required," she quips back, closing the distance and kissing you again. As she does, she takes your hands and guides them to her thighs. "Start here. Touch me. I'll tell you if something feels off."

You nod hesitantly, swallowing down the nervousness in your throat. Your hands gently squeeze and massage the firm muscles of her thighs, trying to map out what details you can't make out in the dim lighting of your room. When your fingers skim over the curve of her hips—now without the barrier of cloth separating your hands from her skin—she lets out a soft hum and places her hands on your shoulders.

Your hands gain confidence as they explore the curve of her hips reverently, tracing the smooth lines of her body. Nat's breath hitches slightly at your touch, and her fingers dig into your shoulders—not to stop you, but to confirm that she is a fan of the actions you're taking.

When your fingers finally dip between her thighs, Nat inhales sharply, her body shuddering at the contact. "Yeah," she breathes out, her voice dropping lower, "just like that."

Encouraged, you press your fingers through the short tangle of hair and into her slick heat, your breath stuttering at the feeling of her wetness, exploring her slowly but with growing confidence. Nat's hips shift forward slightly, chasing your fingers. The sound she makes—a quiet, almost needy hum—sends a strange buzzing sensation up your spine that causes your fingers to slide deeper into her folds.

"Fuck," she breathes out as one of your fingers teases her slit, "you're—oh, God—doing good. Just… just like that."

Your confidence peaks when you brush a sensitive bundle of nerves with your palm, located at the apex of her thighs. When you press your hand harder against it, Nat's hips jerk subconsciously, a sharp gasp escaping her lips. 

"Shit," she laughs breathlessly, "fast learner, huh?"

You grin at her, feeling like you're finally getting the hang of things. "I had a good teacher; what can I say?"

One of Nat's hands drifts from your shoulder down to the wrist of the hand you currently have situated between her thighs, and she attempts to guide your touch with deliberate movements. "Here," she murmurs, "try this." She positions your fingers just right, showing you the pace and pressure she likes, her eyes fluttering shut as you get the hang of it.

"Yeah, babe…" She whispers, speaking more to herself than you at this point. "Fuck, that's it. That's good. Keep… yeah, keep doing that…"

You continue to follow her guidance until she decides you've gotten the hang of it and moves her hand back up your arm. "Mm," you watch her head loll back, exposing the pale expanse of her throat, and she removes her other arm from your shoulder to—

Oh, Jesus fucking Christ—

Nat runs her hand up her torso, starting on the flat of her stomach before trailing up between her breasts and over her sternum. When she reaches her neck, her slender fingers wrap around her throat gently, and she makes a low humming sound as her hips press into your hand.

Your hand stutters for a moment—only because your brain stutters as you watch her touch herself, which might be your new favourite sight—but you quickly resume your movements, desperate to continue to see her in this heavenly light. 

In your overwhelming need to see her explore her own skin while seated on your lap, you press your fingers in a little too hard, pushing past her entrance and into the damp heat that awaits you. Nat initially seems to approve of this action, letting out a hum that sounds like the most beautiful music you've ever heard.

Encouraged by this, you press your index finger into her deeper… until your uncut nails accidentally scratch against her inner walls.

With no warning, Nat immediately hisses and snaps her hand down to grab your wrist, tugging it back slightly. "Fuck, Princess. Warn a girl before you stick something sharp inside of her, yeah?" The words are intended to be teasing, a playful banter to ease your nerves… but they do the exact opposite.

Too desperate and too inexperienced, it seems.

Your eyes widen in equal parts shock and embarrassment, promptly backpedalling and losing all of that confidence you've just gained. "Sh—fuck, Nat. I'm… fuck. I'm so fucking sorry. I don't… I didn't…"

"Woah, woah—" Nat shakes her head immediately, releasing your wrist in favour of taking your face between both of her hands, warm skin and rough bandage against cheeks burning in shame. "Babe, no. It's okay, alright? It's just… a learning curve or whatever. You aren't gonna be a fucking… Sex God your first time, yeah? It's okay, seriously, dude. Relax. I'm fine."

Even with her reassurance, you hesitate again, not wanting to hurt her. To remedy this, Nat leans down to kiss you softly before pulling back slightly to speak. "Let's… try something else then. Change of pace."

When she climbs off your lap, you have to fight the urge to whimper at the loss of her warmth against your skin. 

But then she's lying down on your bed, looking like the picture of lust and sin. 

"Natalie…?" You find yourself asking hesitantly, propping yourself up on your elbows so you can look at her. "What's… what's going on? Why are you… I thought we…"

She rolls her eyes and snorts, "What we are doing is still having sex, yeah? We're just gonna… try switching gears. Come here."

Then, she's spreading her legs for you. And, yeah. You really can't see her in this lighting, but you don't need to. Just the vague image of her (and the mental ones your brain has started providing you with) is more than enough, seeing be damned.

Your mouth suddenly feels dry, and your brain feels fuzzy as you sit yourself between her parted legs. "Fuck, Nat…" Your touch is slightly more hesitant than it was earlier—mainly because you're worried about hurting her again—but you place your hands on her ankles and slowly but deliberately run them up her long, lithe legs. 

"Mm, yeah, that's the plan." Nat grins at you, her voice carrying a teasing lilt as her eyes follow your movements as you change your position to lay prone. 

From your new angle, you're looking up at Nat once more, but it feels ten times as intimate as it did compared to when she was seated on your lap. From here, you get a front-row seat to a meal like none you've ever encountered: something wet, warm, and deliciously wanton.

She reaches down and pushes some hair out of your face as you wrap your arms around her thighs, squeezing the firm muscles as your breath brushes across her center. 

"Don't jump right into it, yeah? Explore, or whatever." Her free hand waves dismissively as if attempting to ease your worries. "Something about the journey, and not the destination."

You squirm slightly but give her a soft nod in acknowledgement. "Right, right… don't just… dive into it."

Nat hums in acknowledgment of your statement, parting her legs a little further on your behalf. "'xactly, Princess. You're getting it."

Your mouth feels overwhelmingly dry, and in an effort to shake the nerves from your system again, you decide to begin pressing open-mouthed kisses to the inside of her right thigh. You start near the crook of her knee and gradually work your way up her leg and closer to the warm heat that rests at the apex. 

When you reach the point where her leg transitions to her pelvis, you quickly switch to her other thigh and repeat the same ministrations you gave her right thigh. For the record, Nat seems to be equally frustrated and increasingly aroused at how you've begun to take your time with her. But, when her hand tugs on your hair subconsciously, you can't help the small, giddy laugh that spills from your mouth.

"You were the one that told me I shouldn't be jumping right into things, Natalie." 

Although you can't make out the movement of her eyes in the dark of your room, you swear you can hear her rolling them through the irked exhale she lets out at the teasing comment. "Jesus, when did you become such a tease?"

You grin at that, nipping at her thigh like she did your lip when the two of you were kissing earlier. "When I was told to be one, princess."

Nat tugs on your hair again at the bite and subsequent comment, "Don't call me 'princess,' that's your title."

"Oh, my bad, Your Grace."

The scoff that falls from her is less harsh than it is humourous, and she gives your hair a soothing pet to ease the assumed sting from the tug. "You are forgiven, my liege," she says with a terrible English accent that would cause even a tenured dialect coach to have a heart attack. 

A thought vaguely occurs to you as your breath ghosts over her again; you know she told you not to leave marks, but you can't help the part of you that wants to suck a dark mark into her thighs.

Nat seemingly catches the thought in the way you hesitate, and she hums softly. "You can leave one. You know how to leave a hickey, yeah?"

You roll your eyes at the comment, huffing softly. "Yes, Natalie. I'm not that inexperienced. I know how to leave a hickey. It has to do with the blood vessels under the skin bursting when—"

"Mmm," she cuts you off, "didn't ask for the science behind it, babe. Just wanted to make sure you knew what you were doing."

Before you can talk yourself out of doing it, you press your lips to the pale skin of her left thigh and take it into your mouth, lathing over it with your tongue and earning an approving moan from Nat at the action. 

When you break the suction, you get slightly upset that you can't immediately see if the mark will take; you suppose that will have to be something you revisit come the morning. 

Well, provided she actually stays the night. 

But… that's a thought for future you to worry about. Right now? Well, right now, you have Natalie Scatorccio lying on your bed with your head between her thighs. You can worry about the logistics later.

You pull back slightly to catch your breath, your lips brushing her skin as you speak. "How's that for a start?"

Nat chuckles, though the sound is breathless and ragged, something which you would like to think is a testament to how much you're affecting her. "Mm, yeah, not bad. Got some ways to go yet, but… I think with practice… we could get there." Her hand stays tangled in your hair, not pulling, just resting there, grounding herself—or maybe grounding you. It's hard to tell, and honestly, it doesn't matter.

What does matter is the way she arches slightly beneath your touch when your mouth trails closer to her center. Her breath catches, and you feel her thighs tense beneath your palms. That's all the encouragement you need.

"You say 'we could get there' like you fully intend on doing this again…" You muse as your breath ghosts over her center, wetness visible even in the penumbra. 

Following her earlier advice, you take your time, pressing gentle, deliberate kisses against the tender skin before finally letting your tongue dart out to explore. The taste of her slick is warm, slightly salty, and wholly intoxicating. You quickly decide this is something you could never get tired of, no matter how long you live.

Natalie's reaction is immediate and gratifying—a sharp intake of breath, her hips bucking slightly against your mouth as her fingers tighten in your hair fractionally. "Fuck, babe," she murmurs, her voice strained and dripping with lust. "That's… yeah, that's it. Just like that." 

Spurred on by her praise, your hands tighten around her thighs, and you tug her closer to your waiting mouth as you close your eyes and delve deeply into her glistening arousal. Sure, you aren't quite sure what you're doing, but… you took Anatomy and Physiology last semester. So you… kinda understand the basics. 

You're nothing if not eager to make up for your previous mistakes, which shows in how you bury your nose into the neatly trimmed hair on her pelvis. The movements start slow, almost exploratory, careful not to overwhelm either of you at the moment. You let your tongue flick lightly against her folds, testing her reactions and taking mental notes of the little sounds she makes. Each gasp, quiet moan, or whispered "yeah, right there" is a roadmap guiding you, and you find yourself following it with renewed eagerness.

Her grip on your hair tightens once more, but this time, it's less teasing and more… like she's trying to urge you to continue what you're doing. Her thighs tremble slightly against your hold, and you feel a surge of pride at the realization that you're the one making her feel like this.

You hum softly against her, the vibration earning a sharp intake of breath and a broken curse from Natalie. The sound is enough to have you digging your nails into her thighs, your own excitement building despite the fact you're the one pleasuring her, and not the other way around. So, you repeat the action to draw the sound again. And again. And again.

As you get more comfortable, your movements become bolder, and your grip grows firmer. You flatten your tongue against her and drag it upward, savouring the way she shudders beneath you. Your lips close around a tiny nub at the top, sucking on it gently and feeling her body jolt in response.

"Oh, fuck—" Nat's voice cracks slightly, and her hips jerk up, thighs instinctively closing in around your head for a moment before she forces herself to relax. "Shit, sorry. Didn't mean to—"

You shake your head immediately at her apologies, the motion causing you to brush against her in a way that has her letting out a delicious groan. "I like it," you murmur between movements, squeezing her thighs once in a show of approval. "Means I'm doing something right." A beat, "...right?"

Your voice comes out slightly unsure, although you try to disguise it with a sarcastic lilt. Nat, whether she picks up on this or not, doesn't comment on your unsure tone.

"Yeah, babe," she breathes out, her voice shaky. "Doing good, yeah? Try not to let it go to your head, though."

You laugh softly, the sound muffled against her skin, and press on, letting yourself get lost in her. Her taste, her scent, the way her fingers tangle in your hair… it's an all-consuming feeling. Those nerves you were feeling earlier? Gone. Replaced by a confidence that builds with every encouragement whispered from her lips.

At some point, your lips move from her clit to her entrance, and you run a stripe up it with your tongue. You debate using your fingers for a moment but decide against it once you remember what happened when you tried that initially. So, instead, you use your tongue to feel the inside of her.

You nuzzle her outer lips apart with your mouth and nose—which brushes against her clit—and press your tongue inside her, exploring her canal, which feels… strangely like the roof of your mouth. Your tongue isn't very long, so you don't stay for long, but you make a mental note to return to this at a later date. Ideally, when you've cut your nails.

When your lips move back up to her clit, your tongue flicks at it, and you experiment in strokes—a flat tongue, pointing and swirling it, attaching your lips to it, and catalogue every sound or reaction she makes in your mind for… future purposes. You decide the reactions that you like the best come from when you're effectively slurping on it. The messier, the better.

So, you get messy. Natalie's thighs wrap around your head, her ankles locking behind it as she tugs on your hair, a loud groan falling from her lips when you tug her even closer to you—if that was even possible—and get messy.

Your saliva runs down her already slick genitals, mingling with her juices as they coat your lower face and give you a headrush like nothing ever has before. This feels better than the first time you got drunk on your friend Alex's mom's wine for their sixteenth birthday. Hell, this feels better than the little buzz you got from smoking a joint with Nat at the skatepark. This is a feeling you want to experience as many times as possible in your life, you've decided. 

Nat's breathing begins to quicken, and you can feel the way her thigh muscles tense around your head, the way the grip on your hair grows more insistent, and… oh, shit, she's getting close. Your movements double down, your grip on her thighs nearing the point of bruising, and you do whatever you can to bring her closer to that blissful release.

"Babe—fuck, I'm gonna—" Natalie gasps, voice breaking completely as her hips back against you and her head trashes against your pillows. Her thighs effectively cut off all sound at this point, but you don't care about the lack of hearing in the slightest—the movements she's making are more than enough to tell you what you need to know. So, your ministrations don't let up—not until she's crying out and a sudden rush of wetness begins to coat your already slick face.

When her body relaxes from the orgasm that raked her, so does the grip on your head and hair. A soft murmur leaves her lips, something that sounds suspiciously like your name. You press a few kisses to her now-overly sensitive skin before pulling back to look at her.

Natalie is sprawled out on your bed, her chest heaving and a satisfied smirk tugging at her lips when her eyes open to meet yours. Her hair is a mess, her face is just as fucked up as it was when you were patching her wounds up in her truck, and she's never looked more sinful.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, suddenly hyper-aware of yourself again as the adrenaline starts to fade. "Was… that… okay?" you ask quietly, voice tentative as you sit back on your haunches. 

She lifts her head to look at you, propping herself up on her elbows. "Babe," her smirk softens into a gentle smile. "That was better than okay. You sure you haven't done this before?"

You shake your head, blushing furiously. "Uhh… no? It was, uh, my first time…"

Nat's smirk reappears, and she moves to sit up and pulls you back toward her, "mm, well, you could have fooled me. You're a natural."

Her lips find yours in a kiss that's softer than you expected, given how utterly debauched she looks, and it leaves you feeling dazed and fuzzy in the best way possible. Maybe, you think as her arms wrap around you, this leaning curve isn't so bad.

At some point during this kiss, Nat starts encouraging you to lay where she was, and your positions are flipped. She's the one seated between your thighs now. The change in position leaves you a little overwhelmed, and you find yourself breaking the kiss out of nervousness. 

"Nat, uh, you, uh, don't have to… 'return the favour,' or whatever. I don't—"

She laughs. It's hardly cruel, but it's obvious she finds your nerves endearing. "Princess—babe—I wouldn't do something I didn't want to. Although my face is a little fucked up," she starts, using the word 'little' very loosely, "I can still use it. And I fully intend to 'return the favour, or whatever.'"

Her gaze softens slightly when she still sees your hesitation, and she gently brushes a strand of hair that got stuck to your forehead behind your ear. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you whisper, voice barely audible. So, you clear your throat and try again. "Yeah, uh, I'm good. Just… nervous."

"That's okay." Her hands gently massage your thighs, "I'll take care of you, yeah? Stop me if it gets too much. I won't be, like, offended, or whatever." She waves a dismissive hand before pressing kisses to your lower stomach.

Her words and actions settle over you, and you find yourself nodding despite the nervous fluttering in your gut. You trust her—for better or worse—and that's enough to keep you from spiralling for now.

Nat, far more sure in her actions than you were, hooks her fingers in the waistband of your underwear, tugging them down your legs and pressing kisses along the skin as she goes. Her touch is slow and careful, almost reverent, and it genuinely makes you feel safe. It's a weird feeling, sure, to feel safe around Natalie Scatorccio, of all people, but you wouldn't trade that feeling for anything.

Her breath ghosts over you, and you can't help the soft gasp that escapes as she starts pressing kisses up your inner thighs, then immediately running her tongue flat against your center. 

"Natalie—" you gasp, hands finding purchase in her hair. She hums in response, the sound vibrating against you and making you arch into her touch. When your thighs move to close in around her head, she growls—a sensation that feels as delicious as the hum did—and holds them to the bed.

She doesn't stop until you're trembling, breathing harshly, and your voice becomes a broken mix of gasps and whimpers. When you finally come undone, it's with her name on your lips, your body going taut before collapsing against the mattress. By far, it's a significantly better orgasm than anyone you've ever had on your own. Either you haven't been doing something right, Natalie just knows what she's doing, or it's just better with a partner. Whatever the reason, you feel good.

Nat presses a few soft kisses to your thighs as you come down from that high, her touch gentle and soothing. She climbs back up beside you, her grin equally smug and affectionate as she brushes your hair away from your face.

"So? You good, Princess?" she asks, her voice soft but teasing. 

You nod, though your words come out a little garbled from the intensity of it. "Good. Yeah. Good. Just… uh… yeah. Good."

She laughs gently, leaning down to kiss the corner of your mouth. "Good."

After a moment of stillness, she pushes herself off the bed, scanning the room before grabbing a random shirt off the floor. "Hope you didn't plan on wearing this shirt anytime soon." She uses it to gently clean you up, murmuring some soft reassurances as you try to squirm away from the overstimulation. Once you're taken care of (and, surprisingly, with much more care than you thought was possible from Natalie Scatorccio), she tosses the shirt aside and grabs a cup from your nightstand with some water in it, offering it to you.

"Drink," she says simply, clearly unwilling to take no for an answer. Once you drink, she finishes the water, murmuring something about 'stale-ass nightstand water,' then settles back beside you.

Once she settles down, her head finds its way to your chest like it's been there a million times before, and she sighs softly as her arm drapes over your waist. Her head tucks itself under your chin, and she kisses your neck softly before yanking the duvet up around both of you. 

This, you decide, is something you could get used to.

a/n: remember when i said it's all downhill from here? <3 also I would apologize for the foreplay being as long as it was but I'm really not sorry. teehee (also lowkey i wrote half of this late at night... if u see spelling errors... pls tell me ajhgbauyhdghbuyag)

tag: @we1rdth0ughts @theprismyyy

[shizuturnspages]

Please Consider: Yan! Diluc with a darling he met in Snezhnaya, she helped and comforted him, sharing food, letting him stay with her etc. The two end up parting ways.... only for her to move to Mondstadt 2 years later!

A Tale of Reunion and Obsession

Pairing: Yandere Diluc x Snezhnayan Reader

The cold winds of Snezhnaya had never been kind to outsiders. Diluc knew this better than anyone.

He had left Mondstadt with nothing but grief and anger, his father’s death still a fresh wound, the warmth of home replaced with the bitter bite of vengeance. It was in this unforgiving land that he found himself wandering, his body exhausted, his resolve pushing him forward through the relentless snowstorms.

And then, he met you.

You had found him, a lone figure struggling against the snow, a man who refused to ask for help.

But you had offered it anyway.

"Come inside before you freeze to death."

You had said it so simply, as if it was the easiest thing in the world to extend kindness to a stranger. To him.

For the first time in what felt like years, Diluc hesitated. He did not trust easily. He could not afford to. But you had smiled—warm despite the cold world around you—and he had felt something in his chest tighten.

And so, he followed you.

Into your small home, into the warmth of a fire that wasn’t his own, into a world where, for a brief moment, he was not alone.

You shared your food with him, placing a steaming bowl in front of him without hesitation.

"Eat. You look like you need it."

He had not spoken much at first, his words frozen on his tongue. But you had spoken enough for both of you, talking about small things, about life in Snezhnaya, about the people who came and went, about the things that made you laugh.

And somehow, he listened.

He let your voice fill the silence that had become his constant companion.

He let your presence seep into his thoughts, into the cracks of his weary heart.

And when he finally spoke, you listened. You listened to his grief, to the pain he carried, to the anger that burned beneath his skin.

You did not flinch when he admitted what he had lost.

You did not turn away when he confessed his hatred for the Fatui, for the very nation he had found himself in.

"Not all of us follow them, you know."

He had looked at you then, truly looked at you, as if searching for a lie.

But you had only smiled.

And for the first time in a long time, his anger did not consume him.

He stayed with you for a few nights, resting, recovering.

Every morning, you would wake before him, already preparing food, already making sure the fire was still burning.

And every night, you would talk to him, coaxing words from him, softening the edges of his rage.

He had not known what to make of you.

You were not a warrior. You were not someone who fought battles in the dead of night.

You were simply kind.

And that terrified him more than any enemy he had faced.

Because kindness was dangerous.

You were dangerous.

And so, when it was time for him to leave, he did not allow himself to look back.

He did not allow himself to thank you properly, to tell you that you had given him something he thought he had lost forever.

Warmth.

Home.

And then he was gone.

Two years passed.

Two long years where he convinced himself it was just a memory. A passing kindness from a stranger he would never meet again.

And then, one evening, he walked into Mondstadt’s tavern—and there you were.

Sitting at the bar, your back to him, laughing softly as you spoke with the bartender.

His heart stopped.

It was impossible. It couldn’t be you.

But it was.

His hands clenched, his breath caught in his throat, his entire body stiff with an emotion so foreign to him that it terrified him.

Why were you here?

Why Mondstadt?

Why now?

He watched as you thanked the bartender, standing from your seat, preparing to leave—

And something inside him snapped.

"Wait."

The word was out before he could stop it.

You turned, confused at first, but then—

Recognition.

Your eyes widened.

"Diluc?"

His name on your lips was like flames licking at his skin.

You smiled, eyes filled with something soft, something gentle.

"It’s been so long… I never thought I’d see you again."

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe.

And then you stepped closer, and it was over.

He had lost himself again.

Your return to his life was nothing short of fate.

At least, that was what he told himself.

You belonged here. You belonged with him.

He wasted no time inserting himself into your days—finding reasons to see you, to speak with you, to keep you close.

And at first, it was innocent.

You were happy to see him again, eager to catch up, unaware of the way his eyes never left you, of the way his hands twitched to hold you still.

He would listen, quietly, as you spoke of your decision to move, of how you wanted to experience a life beyond the cold of Snezhnaya.

"Mondstadt is so warm compared to what I'm used to," you had laughed, stretching your arms toward the sky.

Warm.

Yes, it was warm.

But no warmth compared to you.

He could still feel the ghost of that night—the scent of burning wood, the softness of your touch as you had adjusted his coat, the quiet hum of your voice.

And he needed it again.

No—he needed more.

Because now that you were here, in his city, in his reach—

He would never let you go.

The idea of you leaving again was unthinkable.

"I’m glad you’re here," he told you one evening, his voice quiet, his gloved fingers barely brushing against yours.

You smiled. Oblivious.

"I’m glad too."

His heart ached.

No, you didn’t understand.

You didn’t realize that he had already decided.

You were his.

You had always been his.

And if you ever tried to leave him again—

He would not be so kind.

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

What if Bucky's kid got bullied at school and that's why she was injured and tried to hide it cuz she knew Bucky would hunt them to down?

Bullied » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Dad!Bucky Barnes x Teen Daughter!Reader

Summary: Bucky finds out you’re being bullied at school.

Warnings: Fluff, language, overprotective dad!Bucky, Thunderbolts!Bucky, bullying, bruises, crying, nicknames

Age of reader: 14 years old

A/N: Thank you for the request, nonnie🩵

A/N #2: I imagined this with Thunderbolts!Bucky. Enjoy!

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buck-star

GIF IS NOT MINE! Gif credit goes to the creator.

Your dad has been overprotective of you since the day you were born, which you understand. He just wants to keep you safe is all. You’re his baby and he doesn’t want anything to happen to you.

You and your dad tell each other everything. Almost everything. You haven’t told him you’ve been getting bullied at school. You know what he’ll do if you do tell him.

You walked in the house with the hood of your sweatshirt covering your head. You were looking down at the floor as you were walking to your bedroom. You didn’t make it past the kitchen.

“You’re not going to say hi to your dad?” Bucky jokes.

“Hi, dad.” You mumbled without looking at him.

Bucky frowns. He watched you go to your bedroom. He also noticed that the hood of your sweatshirt was covering your head. You only have it on when it’s raining, snowing, cold, and when you’re sick. He’s going to figure out what’s wrong. He went to your room. He walked in your room at the same time as you took down the hood of your sweatshirt.

“Doll, are you ok?” He asks.

“I’m fine, dad.” You say, turning around to face him.

You almost forgot about the bruise on your forehead. You quickly covered it with your hand. Bucky furrows his eyebrows when you did that.

“What’s on your head?” He asks curiously.

“Nothing…” You say.

Bucky crossed his arms over his chest and gave you the dad stare. It’s always so effective like it is right now. You sighed to yourself. You know you can’t hide this from your dad. He’s going to see it anyway. You took your hand off your forehead, revealing the bruise to your dad. Bucky’s eyes went wide when he seen it. He walked closer to you to get a better look at it. He gently touched it with his thumb. You hiss at how sensitive it is right now. Bucky retracted his hand.

“Come with me.” He says softly.

Bucky took you to the living room and told you to sit down on the couch. He went to the kitchen, getting an ice pack out of the freezer. He went back to the living room and handed you the ice pack. You put it on your forehead. He sat down next to you.

“Tell me who gave you that bruise and don’t even think about lying to me.” Bucky says sternly.

“A few kids at school shoved me into a locker at school and I hit my head on it.” You tell him. “At first, they just insulted me and threw wads of paper at me, but it just kept getting worse.” You say.

Bucky’s jaw clenched at the thought of someone hurting his baby. You know that look all too well. You haven’t seen that look in a while. The last time you seen that look was when HYDRA tried to get their hands on you a few years ago.

“What are their names?” He asks.

“Why?” You asked.

“So I can tell their parents what they did to you.” He says.

“No! Please don’t do that!” You pleaded, grabbing onto his arm.

Your eyes teared up and you broke down in tears. Bucky wrapped his arms around you, holding you close to him. He’s right and you know it. The bullying will keep getting worse if you don’t let your dad help you.

“Those can’t go unpunished, Y/N.” Bucky says.

“I know.” You say quietly.

“I’m going to your school to talk to the principal on Monday about what those kids did to you.” He says.

You knew better than to argue with your dad about this. You might as well give in and let your dad talk to the principal.

“Ok.” You say.

“I’m only doing this because I love you and I don’t want anything to happen to you, doll. You’re my baby and I love you.” He says softly.

“I love you too, dad.” You say, looking up at him.

Bucky smiles, kissing your forehead. You smiled back.

“Now, do you want to get milkshakes to make you feel better?” He asks.

“Yes!” You answered happily.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[runningfrom2am]

Hi, how’s your day been going? Hoping it was amazing. I just saw your post about needing inspo for Coriolanus fics! I’m not sure if you are taking requests but if you are Could you maybe do a touch-starved Coryo fic? Something fluffy/angsty where Coryo can finally fulfill those needs and be himself and vulnerable with the reader. Thanks!

as long as you need me - c.s

pairing: coryo x fem!reader

wc: 1.7k

tags/warnings: fluff, hurt/comfort, he just needs you and you just want to help.

requests (currently closed- feel free to send whatever but it will be a while before I get to them!)

nav / coriolanus snow masterlist

a/n: ahhh thank you for sending this in! it was so fun to write like stopppp i just want to give him a hug omg. also thought i'd post this to hold y'all off until i post the next part of LTPF. anyway, enjoy!

You had a very stable grasp of the limits of your relationship. What was appropriate, and what was not. You were quite shy, and Coryo always carried himself with a high level of decorum. You would eat together at lunch, and he would walk you home most days. The weekends, your study dates, were always your favourite. He was significantly more relaxed, but you could still tell he was just a little tightly wound. By now, you've just learned that's who he is. Not overly affectionate, but he cares for you and you care for him. 

"I can't stay late today, I'm sorry." You said, genuinely feeling bad for having to turn down the request. In your junior year, you started tutoring for younger grades at the academy and it is something you thoroughly enjoyed.

"I have a test tomorrow! Why can't you stay? Just for a few minutes- I just have a couple of questions." The first year, Aelia whined.

"My boyfriend is supposed to walk me home and he has a tight schedule, but I'll tell you what, I can meet you in the library in the morning before class. That way it will still be fresh in your mind, yeah?" You grinned, and she seemed satisfied as you agreed on a time, not knowing that a few of the girls in your grade were listening in.

"Y/N," Clemensia decided to approach you as Aelia walked off, Arachne and Livia following close behind. "Did I catch you telling someone that you have a boyfriend? Did I hear that right?"

"Oh, well, yes." You answered sheepishly, gathering your things to put in your bag before your next class.

"Really?" Livia chimed in, and you just nodded. "Okay, well, spill. Who is it? Do I know him?"

"Um..." You looked around, deciding what to say. You weren't necessarily keeping it a secret, but you just hadn't felt the need to tell anyone you went to school with. "It's Coriolanus. Snow." You cleared your throat, unsure why you even added his last name. It's not like the name Coriolanus was abundantly common.

"Shut up." Clemensia laughed slightly, eyes widening at you. "You're joking, right?"

"No... We've been together for almost seven months now."

"I just... wow. We had no idea. Seven months! I feel like I've never seen the two of you get closer than two feet apart." You weren't sure whether to interpret this response as teasing or genuine shock- so you just gave them an awkward smile and a small nod before walking away.

At the time, you had never considered how your lack of affection in public could be confusing to people- not that it mattered. Rumors had spread quickly after that, which was to be expected when Livia and Arachne were involved. However, PDA just wasn't your thing. General displays of affection weren't really your thing, either. Both of you always had a lot going on, and having been together for almost a year by now, you knew that you loved him and he loved you. You didn't have to prove it to each other or to anyone, there was no pressure for anything to change. On your end, anyway.

Coryo, on the other hand, was feeling something shift. Leading up to the reaping and more importantly, to the prize. You both were in the running, being in the top twenty-four of your class, and you had no doubt that Coryo was a shoo-in, but you didn't know how extremely anxious it was making him. The now constant thrumming of his heartbeat in his chest and his shaky hands were always less around you, and he can only dream of how much better it would be if he could just hold you.

These days, he'd wake up expecting you in his arms due to a particularly calming dream only to be disappointed. He respected you a great amount and wouldn't want to push your boundaries, however unspoken. Still, he wasn't sure how much longer he could go about his day-to-day without testing his theory that holding you could cure his fears, or at least let him forget about them for only a moment. He would happily take just a second of peace.

Coriolanus usually greeted you outside of your unshared classes, seeing that you tended to stay a few minutes late to ask questions or polish off your notes. He couldn't wait to see you, he needed to.

"Coryo." You smile, walking out of your lecture hall to see him waiting.

"Hi, Love. How was class?" Your boyfriend greets you, joining you on your walk towards the exit of the school.

"It was good. Though, I find the topic of the rebellion kind of redundant at this point." You say, books tucked against your chest under folded arms. "Is it not too soon to discuss it in a history class? I mean, I literally remember what it was like to live in a bomb shelter."

Your joke seemingly lands on deaf ears as he just hums, placing a hand on your lower back to guide you out of the building. This wasn't totally unusual, but with the way he was pushing you, albeit gently, was telling you that something was wrong.

"Is everything okay?" You ask him, looking up at the boy next to you as you reach the bottom of the academy's front steps.

"Fine." Coryo nods, attempting a reassuring smile that he isn't aware falls short.

"Okay, well... If you want to talk about anything, I'm here for you, you know. Always."

"I know. Thank you, Love." He drops his hand from your back to hold your free one, turning in the direction of your apartment.

The next afternoon, you're in the same class, one of the rare ones you don't share with Coryo, taking down notes from the lecture when there's a knock on the door, followed by it creaking open. You pay no mind, taking the opportunity to catch up on everything written on the board.

"May I borrow Y/N, please?" Your boyfriend's voice is scratchy and shakey in a way unfamiliar sounding to you, making your head snap up. You'd never seen him cry before. "Only for a moment."

Your teacher dismisses you, likely on account of your and Coriolanus's mutually spotless records and his red-rimmed eyes. Clearly, you were needed urgently. You leave your bag and your books, ignoring the whistles and heckling of some of your classmates as you rush to the door.

Coryo had reached his breaking point. He was writing his third paper of the week, unable to focus on that and get his mind off of how unlikely it was he would get the prize if the Dean had any say. Sitting in the library, the world had started turning around him. People were talking, laughing, even, and he couldn't take it anymore. The floodgates opened and he had rushed out of the room. He couldn't go home, his attendance would be affected and he'd be throwing away the prize most definitely. He had nowhere to go, except for to you.

You close the door behind yourself, thankful that the hallway is completely deserted during class time. "Hey, what's going on?" You ask, and before you can get a good look at him he's pulling you into a crushing hug, shaking around you.

You're shocked for a moment, pulling yourself out of your head to hug him back. Whatever is bothering him must be bad. He'd hugged you before, but never like this. "Hey, it's okay..." You whisper, rubbing his back. "Let's go outside for a second, yeah? Get some air?" You offer, gently prying yourself from his grasp to look at him.

Coryo can't speak, overtaken completely by the tears flowing down his cheeks and the anxiety flooding every inch of his body. He feels like he could be sick, all he knew that he needed was you. He just nods, trying to regain his composure, if only for the couple of minutes it takes to get outside.

"Okay. Let's go." You smile, trying not to show how worried you are as you wrap an arm around his back, still holding him close to you as if he has a broken ankle and you have to carry him. So far, his theory was proving to be correct. Just having you at his side was calming to him, and mentally he's cursing himself for not voicing his fears to you before they broke him.

As soon as the door of the rarely used back exit to the school is closed, he's essentially collapsing onto the ground, tucking his knees up to his chest and crying into his hands. You're quick to join him, draping an arm over his back and trying to grab one of his hands to hold. Your brow is knit with worry, rubbing his shoulder as he allows you to take one of his shaking hands. "Coryo..." You say softly, trying to get him to look at you but he won't. "What's happening? Talk to me, you can trust me. I just want to help."

He sniffles, looking up at you. "What is it?" You ask again, hoping to prompt any kind of information out of him. When he doesn't answer, you curve your approach to yes or no questions, hopefully, to make it easier on him. "Is someone hurt? Is it Grandma'am? Did something happen?"

He shakes his head slightly with every question, once again avoiding your eyes as he looks down at the ground, occasionally trying to cough out the knot in his throat.

"...Do you want to talk? Or do you just need a hug?" You realize, leaning in so he would look at you again.

He pulls you closer, wrapping both his arms around you awkwardly due to the way you are both sitting. "Just need you here." He mumbles, hardly audible as he buries his face in your shoulder and neck.

Relieved to hear his voice again, you place a hand on his hair and on his back, holding him tight. "I'm here, Coryo. As long as you need me."

taglist: @keziahcore, @soulessjourney, @kitscutie, @annaelise, @serrendiipty, @fratboyharrysgf0201, @totallynotkaibiased, @stelleduarte, @klplynn, @secretsicanthideanymore, @bejeweledreverie, @fals3-g0d, @gloryekaterina, @andrewgarfieldsbitch, @queenofspades6, @pepperonipastas, @ladybug0095, @lunamothwrites, @sbrewer21, @mus-tbe-a-weasley, @splxtscreen, @unclecrunkle, @karmaswitch, @rororo06, @coconut-dreamz, @nekee-lilac02, @ooooglymoooogly, @slytherinholland, @riddlerloveb0t, @lovedbalances, @notyourwildestdream, @snowlandson-top, @too-lit-for-fanfic, @utopiakys, @deafeningballoonnacho, @darlingisntit, @roosterschanelslut, @chmpgneprblem, @cosmoetik, @lauravanderbooben20, @dry0campa, @luclue, @lokidala, @urvampgfsworld, @carolanns-world, 

[burningembers91]

In the Bleak Midwinter - Nam-Gyu x Fem!Reader

Follow up piece to:

Outside Looking In

Synopsis: Caught out in the cold, you offer Nam-Gyu a place to stay

It was freezing tonight, the coldest January on record in at least 5 years. There were several weather warnings in effect, and ice and snow covered the city streets. Nam-Gyu sat in his winter parker, the hood pulled round his face, his hand stuffed into the pockets for warmth. He’d hardly sold any tickets tonight, most people preferring to stay hunkered down in the warmth instead of battling the elements for some overpriced cocktails and loud music. Still, he battled on, approaching those crazy enough to be out in the cold. He was knocked back again and again, but he couldn’t give up. His parents had given him an ultimatum; find a “real” job or leave their house. Nam-Gyu had begged and pleaded with them to let him stay, even for just a few more days until the weather had died down. But his parents were tired of supporting their youngest son, of constantly having to bail him out of debts they couldn’t afford to pay. His siblings were both doctors, highly esteemed and well respected in their fields. Why couldn’t Nam-Gyu be like this brothers? His parents often wondered. Why did he insist on carrying out this childish fantasy of club promoting? He was approaching 30, and many of his old classmates and family acquaintances were settling down, so why couldn’t he?

You were the reason he couldn’t settle down, couldn’t move on from a job that was actually causing him to lose money. You were all he had left in the world, the one friend he could count on. You’d grown a little closer over the last few months, letting down your guard enough to allow Nam-Gyu to walk you home most nights. He was acting more like himself, forgoing the cocky persona he adopted when he was working. You liked the real him, had told him so several times, and for the first time in his life, Nam-Gyu felt like he didn’t need to be anyone else. You were still broken though, still dragging yourself through the monotony of life in order to pay the bills. Your rent had gone up, as had the heating bill, but your wages were still pitifully low. You found yourself wondering how you’d pay the bills, how you’d manage to feed yourself when you were barely covering basic expenses. Nam-Gyu kept you sane, making you laugh on the nights you thought you might wither and fade entirely.

He saw you standing outside the club, your winter coat pulled up by your ears, your bare legs covered in goosebumps. “I bought you a hot chocolate,” he smiled, handing you the paper cup he’d been using to warm his hands. “What are you doing here?” you gasped, taking the hot drink gratefully and taking a large sip. “It’s absolutely freezing out! You’ll catch your death. Please, go home. I’m ok tonight, there’s hardly anyone here.” Nam-Gyu didn’t like to leave you on your own, not when he knew the way the men who frequented your club behaved. He’d witnessed it more times that he’d cared to, had come to your aid on the occasions where drunken patrons had tried to take advantage of you. You were strong, and you could hold your own, but Nam-Gyu would never forgive himself if something happened to you. “I’m fine!” he lied, pulling his hood tighter around his face as the snow continued to bucket down. “Nam-Gyu,” you sighed, “it’s one snowflake away from a full-blown blizzard. You’ll freeze to death out here. I’m finishing early tonight anyway, so I won’t be walking home on my own too late.”

He knew you wouldn’t let off until he went home, but he no longer had a home to go to. He’d been crashing with one of his brother’s for a few days, but his parents found out and the backlash had been enough for his brother to renege on his invitation. “I uh… I can’t go home,” he admitted. “I had an argument with my parents.” He couldn’t meet your eyes as he spoke, didn’t want you to see the shame plastered to his face. “So, where are you staying?” He could hear the pity in your voice, and he hated it. “Around,” he shrugged, but you couldn’t fool him. you could read Nam-Gyu like a book; you’d gotten to know him quite well over the last few months, better than he’d realised. “Take my keys,” you told him.  “I get off work in an hour, and I’ll see you at my place. You can’t stay in the cold though.” Handing him a pink fuzzy keychain, you didn’t give him a chance to argue before you hurried back into the warmth of the club.

When he arrived at your apartment, the lights wouldn’t turn on. Nam-Gyu wondered if perhaps there was a fault with the fuse box, but he couldn’t find it in your apartment, so set about looking for candles instead. He lit as many as he could find and took a seat on your tiny sofa. He tried to avoid looking at the underwear you’d left hanging out to dry, the lacy garments almost taunting him as he looked wildly around the room for a distraction. You had photos covering your walls; pictures of you with friends and family, pictures of you on vacation. Your smile was so wide, your eyes so bright. He wondered what had happened to you that had dimmed your sparkle. He noticed that you like to read, stacks of books piled around your apartment by various different authors. When looking for the bathroom, he found your bedroom and couldn’t help but smile at the teddy bear perched atop your pillow. The fur was faded and completely gone in some places, but it still held pride of place in your room.

You arrived back home shortly after 11pm to find Nam-Gyu sitting in near darkness. “Why are all the lights off?” you asked him, dumping your coat and boots in the hall. His face was bathed in the dark orange glow of the candles, the light casting his shadow onto the wall behind him. “They wouldn’t turn on,” he said, “I couldn’t find the fuse box, so I just lit your candles.” You tried and failed to get the lights working, a constant sinking feeling in your stomach increasing with each passing second. “They turned my electric off,” you sighed, realising there was nothing faulty with the fuse box. “I… I’m a little behind on payments.” Slumping on the sofa next to Nam-Gyu, you leaned your head against the threadbare couch. Because your electric was off, it meant the heating wasn’t working, and your apartment was like an icebox. You could see your breath in the air when you exhaled, could feel a shiver run through you as you sat freezing in your dress. “What will you do?” Nam-Gyu asked, wishing he could offer you money so you could at least get your lights back on. But the truth was, he was fully in the red. His bank account was overdrawn, and he’d borrowed more money than he cared to think about. “I’ll be ok,” you shrugged. “No use worrying about it now though. I’ll call the company tomorrow. Will you be ok on the sofa?” Nam-Gyu nodded, wrapping himself in the pink fluffy blanket he’d found when he first arrived. “Goodnight,” he whispered, watching as you padded through to the bedroom, using a linen scented candle to guide your way.

You were freezing under your duvet, unable to warm up despite the pyjamas and blankets covering your body. You couldn’t imagine how Nam-Gy must feel, having only a small blanket for warmth. You couldn’t leave him out there like that, not when he’d always been so kind to you. “Do you want to come and sleep in the bed”? you called out, “it’s too cold to be in the living room.” You heard him get up, heard the sound of his feet on the hardwood as he wondered over to your door. “Are you sure?” he asked, “I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” But his heart soared at the thought of lying next to you, of feeling your body against his. You pulled back the duvet, allowing him to slide in next to you. The sheets smelled like your perfume and Nam-Gyu took a deep, but quiet breath in as he inhaled your scent.

You were still freezing, and gently pushed yourself closer to his body, the warmth of his chest radiating against your back. Gingerly, Nam-Gyu curled his arm around you, pulling you in closer. You both lay there in the darkness of the room, watching as the snow continued to fall. Neither of you knew what tomorrow would bring. You were both at the lowest points of your lives, but now you had each other. “Goodnight,” he whispered to you, his lips brushing lightly against the tip of your ear. “Goodnight,” you whispered back, his gentle touch sending sparks through your body. You wanted him to kiss you, wanted him to make love to you under the sheets but you couldn’t bring yourself to make the move. As good a man as Nam-Gyu was, you couldn’t allow yourself to fully let your guard down.

But, as you waited for sleep to come, his soft snores oddly comforting in the cold silence of the night, you wondered if perhaps you should take a chance on him. Perhaps you should open yourself to the man who waited in the wind, rain, and snow for you, who never gave up on you.

Maybe it was time to your open yourself up to the possibility that you could be happy again, that a club promoter and a hostess could have a life filled with love and laughter, if only they could get up the courage to try.

[marsdql]

lovin’ me was never a sin — n.r﹙西村力﹚

snyopsis ៸ You are torn between falling in love with the enigmatic senior you were supposed to spy on and supporting your close friend from another school. ៸៸ -> masterlist

genre ៸ angst, romance┊ wordcount ៸ 3,5k content warning ៸ miscommunication, dishonesty, emotinal conflict, little toxic, immature┊ not proofread┊lowkey not happy with this one but wtv ៸ ៸

“You need to check him out for me, y/n!” screamed Giselle, your best friend— from the other line. “Okay, okay. So tell me more about this guy and I’ll see what I can do. But you better pay for tteokbokki next time!” you replied. “His name is Ni-ki, he’s only a year older than us, a hot senior.. anyway! I’ll send you a picture of him. He looks a little like you not gona’ lie…”

“Okay, I’ll update you when I see him. Unlike you, my class starts early so… I’ll see you later Giselle.” You hung up the line, placing your phone in your bag as you rushed to school.

You could barely walk in the snow, your shoes soaked because you refused to wear snow boots. ‘That’s it.. I accept my defeat, I’ll be late to my first class after winter break’ you thought to yourself, staring at the path ahead of you and letting out a dramatic sigh.

Before you could finish your dramatic act, you spot something that isn’t white like the snow that’s surrounding you—a tall slim guy struggling in the snow just like you. Though, there was something about him, He looked…. Familiar? That’s when you realized.

You quickly pulled your phone out of the side of your bag, putting your arms in an awkward position as you tried to open and close your bag. You reopened you and Giselle’s chats to check the photo she sent you of the guy she requested you to “keep an eye on”. Just as you figured, there he was, it was him, Nishimura Riki was right infront of you.

Lost in thought, your body shifted closer to him, making him side eye you weirdly. You kept getting closer and closer—until he finally said something. “Uh, do you need anything?” His voice low but deep—making you come back from lala land. “what? What! No.. hah no.. I was just approaching you because I noticed you’re also late to school! Why not walk together right?” You blocked your ears as you spoke, not wanting to let yourself even hear what nonsense came out of your own mouth.

“…Alright.” He said, both of you continuing your walk to school in silence—mostly because you didn’t known eachother but also because of how awkward your only conversation was.

“That’s it for class, make sure to study for the provincial math exam, you guys have 2 days to study everything we’ve learned this semester. Class dismissed” your teacher spoke before the bell rang for lunch.

You walked out of the classroom trying to hold your excitement—excited to see your friends since you couldn’t in the morning.

To your surprise, when you message them asking where they are, they reply saying that they already went to the bus station to go to the mall food court… cafeteria alone it is..

You knew school wasn’t going to be fun when you come back, but you didn’t think it’s be this boring. Just as you were saying that—Giselle messaged you.

Giselle: did you see him?!

You: Yaaah, we were both late to class so we walked to school together. We didn’t talk tho.

Giselle: omg(!(!;$$;!(!!!! How was it? Omg was he hotter close up??

You: it was so bad… I embarrassed myself that’s the reason we didn’t even talk. He’s alright I guess… he’s like emo?

Just as you said that, a guy sat next to you. You switched you gaze to him—Ni-ki? Again? Speaking of the devil… You were quick to speak, “hey, why’d you sit here?” You questioned him, a smirk across your face, thinking that he must want to become friends after what happend in the morning—oh but if only you knew how fast that smirk was going to be wiped off your face.

He removed his AirPods, looking back at you with one eyebrow raised and his lips slightly parted. “Were you talking to me?” Your eye lids quickly turning heavy at the embarrassment you just experienced.

“What? No! I mean, yes! Do you understand Uhm.. math?” You made up, “what kind of math?” he asked, to which you quickly answered. “All. Everything. 11th grade math.” “Do you need help?” “Yes, but I don’t know anyone who’s good in math and.. you look smart..?”

You dodged a bullet of more embarrassment. Ni-ki believed it and requested helping you with the math you couldn’t even understand when the teacher explained it. Surprisingly, he could explain pretty well and you understood a few things.

He offered to help you more before the huge exam—adding his number into your phone so that you could message him whenever you have a question you can’t complete.

It had been days since your first incounter with nishimura riki—he helped you pass your math exam which was unexpected since you both never talked. It’s like you guys were destined to become friends.

Everyday you guys became closer. It went from only studying—to walking eachother to class—to hanging out at each others house. Giselle was aware of everything aswell, getting herself excited so that she could use you as an excuse to talk to him.

But you couldn’t lie, feelings started to grow the more and more you both hung out. He was perfect in every way. Whenever you’d go to his apartment that he lived alone in—everything was organised, the Colors all matched. He always smelled good, his hair was never greasy either. He looked good in everything aswell.

When he’d help you with things, he never once made you feel stupid. Everyone knew him as the cold senior but he seemed so nice with you.

Dinnng!

giselle: Are you with ni-ki?

you: No, he just left. Why?

Giselle: oh. em. gee. He’s at the same store as me and this guy but I don’t want him to know I speak to boys…

You: LOL? Why??

Giselle: because when I’ll approach him, he’ll think I have a guy already!!!

You: you’re suchaaa boopppp 🙄🙄

Giselle: homie hopper til i Die 😫

A few minutes later, you heard a knock at your door. You rush to open it—wondering who it is.

It was ni-ki, again. “Hey, I noticed how you’ve been stressing over all the exams coming up next week. So I figured after you left I’d go to the store and get snacks so we can chill and watch movies.” He said, looking down at you, his eyes softer than usual when speaking.

“Come in, ki! You’ll catch a cold.” You giggled as you pushed him inside then dragging him to your room. He was a tease but still had a soft spot inside of him. “Whatcha’ wanna watch? Let me guess, tru-“ “true beauty!” “I knew it.”

Everyday was something new,

- hey y/n, I got you lunch

- Wanna’ hang out tonight?

- Let’s go to the movies

- Did you hear the latest rumor about-

- Do you know how many teeth sharks have?

His excuses became worse than yours—he just wanted to hang out. As much as you wanted to aswell, you knew your feelings for him would just grow bigger. You couldn’t like him though, he was one of giselle’s target—you were just her messenger.

There was only one thing to do, ignore him, no matter what.

“Y/n, wait up.” You heard from across the hallway behind you. You knew that voice—nishimura’s. It was unforgettable—almost making you turn back, but you had to control yourself. You brought this apon yourself, you were only supposed to watch from far, not get close and fall inlove.

You saw him from a reflection, the stupid look on his face. He seemed like he felt dumb, chasing like a dog after you, and for what? You were the one avoiding him, why is he the one who feels bad about himself.

After a week of nishimura trying to get a hold of you, he eventually gave up. He blew up your phone many times knowing you’d never be able to explain your horrible behaviour in person. That’s when you decided to write him one and only message to try and get him to stop;

You: I don’t like you, please stop

It wasn’t normal for you to act this harsh, ever. You never behaved like this but you know deep down that him trying to get your attention just makes you think about him more. You made it seem in your message that you didn’t want him to text back, but really—you hoped he’d make an argument so that you could act clueless, just so you have an excuse to yourself, to message him a little more.

read yesterday

Fast forward, 2 weeks before the end of the school year.

It was soon to be exam week, but it was different this time—you didn’t have a miracle pop up to help you like last semester.

You were at the library, waiting for Giselle and your other friends from school—including some that go to giselle’s. As you were waiting, your eye kept shifting to the couch infront of you—where ni-ki was at.

You and ni-ki used to always study at this library, that’s mostly why you came here. He always kept to himself and stayed with the unpopular people—people you didn’t know, so you never had the chance to ask anyone about him. You knew nothing about him anymore. Your friendship with him ended as fast as it started—reminder, all. because. of. you.

A few minutes later, you spot Giselle and her friends walk in. “Omg! Y/n!!! Long time no seee! When was the last time we hung out? March break? It’s been sooo long.” Said one of the girls as she ran to hug you. “Hii ellie, yah it’s been a while heh..” you replied. Giselle watching in amusement and joining in “okay get off her, I wana’ sit next to my cutie y/nnieee”.

“Hey, Giselle. Psst, Giselle” Whispered Ellie. “What is it?” “Who’s that guy from across us? Don’t make it obvious, just pretend you’re looking at the painting behind him..” You realized she was talking about Ni-ki—and without thinking, you talked back—“that’s Ni-ki!” You said in excitement, as if you were waiting to get a chance to talk about him.

Giselle looked a little shocked at your tone of voice who seemed to be said with a little more enthusiasm than intended. “Yeah, that’s Nishimura Riki” she told Ellie. “Wait, wasn’t that one of the guys you wanted to try and hook up with?” Hanni questioned, another girl who was at the table.

Your ears went from big to huge the second she asked that question, wanting to know her thoughts about ni-ki now. “Oh yah, but he’s too.. I don’t know he’s too mysterious. Need’ me a frat boy like Lee Heeseung or Sim Jaeyun. Plus, he’s leaving soon.” What? He’s leaving? “Where is he leaving to?” you asked, to which she replied “Japan, his homecountry.”

You stared at him from across the room, analysing his every move, hoping he’d look back at you.

You waited until all your girl friends left—obviously, ni-ki still there—studying to make sure he gets well. Unlike you, he got all the hard subjects second semester—and being a senior Doesn’t help it.

You stood up, feeling a little weird. You were the one disrespecting him, yet you’re the one going back to him. You had your reason for what you did, but it was never a valid reason.

You walked towards him, his gaze still focused in his books. As you got closer, he instinctively looked at you, following a long eye roll from him.

You thought he was going to speak, maybe ask what you want from him, but he didn’t say anything— he just, stared at you.

“I-im sorry, ni-ki.” You mumbled. His eyebrows furrowed, “don’t you think you’re a little late?” He said, chuckling to himself, all the memories coming back to both your minds. “I-I know I was wrong, I swear I had a reason! It seemed important to me back then but—I realized now how stupid it was and I’m just sorry, okay? You don’t need to forgive me but—“

“Y/n” he interrupted you, taking your wrist and sitting you down next to him. He let you adjust in place before he leaned in, his lips slightly brushing your ear, “if you’re so sorry, then explain everything.”

“No.. I can’t say it, it’s just—personal.” You couldn’t tell him that your friend liked him, that’s like … betraying Giselle! “Fine then, whatever.” He spoke, his voice turning cold.

You and him sat there in silence. He went back to his work as you just sat there. He didn’t order you to leave, he didn’t leave, you didn’t excuse yourself either. You figured to just open your books and pretend study again—just so you could sit a little longer with him.

You started drawing random doodles on a paper to make it seem like you were working, it’s not like ni-ki would take a glance at your papers anyway, right? He didn’t care.

You started thinking to yourself, ‘how could you I ever tell ni-ki why I acted like that? I miss him so much. Why did Giselle ever have to lay her eyes on him?’ Not realising that you were actually writing down your every thought onto the paper until ni-ki shifted a bit in his seat, making you come back into reality and quickly scribbling on everything you wrote.

the day of flight xxx

It’s finally summer. But it feels as if a rock has just landed on your head. You won’t see Nishimura anymore in the hallways, you won’t see him for a while actually. Deep down, the thought made your heart ache. Matter of fact, you don’t even know when he’ll be leavi-

Notifications — INSTAGRAM -> Choi Soobin posted a photo: Goodluck in Japan, Dude!

Now? He’s leaving.. now?! Before your brain could process anything that was happening, you jumped from your bed, took your keys and sprinted to the car.

As you walked into the airport, you realized what you just did. You just drove to the airport for ni-ki—the guy YOU ghosted—the guy that gave you a chance to speak after doing him so wrong, yet you still chose not to. There’s no going back anymore.

You were able to track his flight on this app you had, so you know he still hasn’t boarded his plane yet. Though, one thing you couldn’t track was—his gate number.

Luckily, the world was on your side today—spotting Soobin just as you were thinking of plans on how to find Ni-ki in the huge airport. You sprinted towards him. “Soo-SOO-SOOBIN!” You panted, attempting to catch your breath after running. “NI-KI..! GATE? WHERE” You questioned, your hands gripping his shoulders aggressively—unable to form a full sentence.

To which he respond with, “woah, ‘wonder what you’re doin’ here.. calm down, Gate B3” “THANK U”

you ran all over the airport, you asked 3 different workers, just to find his gate. It’s too late to make effort now, but you couldn’t imagine riki leaving without you seeing him again and giving a proper goodbye.

After running around like a lost dog, you finally did it—you found him. He was sitting in the corner of lined seats at the gate in the back, near the window, his eyes glued to his phone.

You ran to him, the sound of your heels against the floor making everyone stare at you—including ni-ki who raised his eyes from his phone, surprised to see you.

“Ni-ki..” you muttered, your voice cracking a little. You didn’t expect yourself to get emotional so fast. “Ni-ki, I’m so sorry—Im sorry for everything. I know what I did was wrong. I’m sorry. Someone else liked you and I know I couldn’t like you aswell , I’m sorry” You continued, “I didn’t want to stay with you because I felt as if I was just playing a game since I knew we could never get together but now I don’t care anymore.. I’m sorry, I’m sorry” you spat out all at once. You didn’t even know if the words came out right from the amount of stuff you had in mind.

“Why are you saying sorry?” The black haired boy said as he chuckled, standing up and towering over you—slowly brushing off hair strands that sticked because of the tears that you ugly-sobbed out. You looked at him in confusion. “W-why—hic—why are you laughing?..”

he pulled you into a hug, his arms overlapping themselves on you. “Why are you apologising?” He pulled away slightly to look at you with a smile, “you can just say you like me.”

“By the way.. I saw what you wrote the other day in your notebook. You're so stupid..”

BONUS:

rikiwasntcatched: okay guys thanks she came to me and I think we’re inlove, it’s like some kdrama type shyt’

wonbinparkk: did it actually work?

partyneedssoobin: hell yah man. I’m telling you she was goin’ crazy when she saw me. She’s inlove with niki bro. Now all u gots to do is hide out for 2 days then say you’re comin back to Korea and boom problem solved

younghooney: hold up, kiki isn’t actually going to japan?

Rikiwasntcatched: she was so cute she was crying I was like gang chill I still love u or whateverrrrr I know I’m so handsome but no need to sob about it

partyneedssoobin: LOL we both won, I got Giselle and u got y/n from this incident.

wonbinparkk: who tf tells their bf about their old huzz? That’s like mad weird…

rikiwasntcatched: a win is a win what can I say. Movie night?

Younghooney: why am I being ignored

partyneedssoobin: chat my application to Harvard just got declined wtf

[alllgator-blood]

I s2g if you add the layers of these comic pages together, it's over 350 layers. THIS is why I don't do full color for my comics lmaooo- ANYWAY EVERYONE HERE HAS AN AU APPARENTLY, SO THIS IS A BRIEF GLIMPSE INTO MINE. I don't know what to call it yet but I'm thinking of calling it "famous prophets" because 1. I like that car seat headrest song, 2. it's about shamura who is prophetic, 3. it's about trying to outrun fate with the Power of Love (and failing. Like the song!!!). It takes place when all the bishops were teens/kids during the age of hundreds of gods at war, and were trying to survive as a family.

I'm really excited to work on stuff for it but it's all gonna be drawn out of order. Maybe I'll write a full explanation of what it's gonna be about when I have a better idea...I want to channel my eldest sibling angst in a productive way, and maybe establish a QPP between shamura and a completely random npc everyone forgets about <3 also kallamar is trans too cause I said so. I'll do a comic about it eventually. Instead of an absence of gender he has TOO much gender. It simply cannot be contained.

I like that nonbinary genders are normalized in cult of the lamb to the point where nobody singles anyone out for being a they/them, it's not like "THIS IS MY SIBLING SHAMURA. THEY ARE NONBINARY AND USE THEY/THEM. ALRIGHT BACK TO KILLING YOU", it's just like "don't you fucking dare make my poor sibling wake up from their nap to kick your ass. Cause they deserve better than this."

But at the same time I like having the freedom to be more specific, and say "shamura is voidpunk and their gender is best described as the feeling that overtakes you during the first snow of the year, when everything outside is deathly quiet". This comic is actually derived from the time I was walking through a forest that's been torn down for a few years, and came out to my little sister as trans. I must've been like 13 or 14 and she didn't really get it as a 10 year old, but it was better than my mom FREAKING OUT about me coming out. So it was a nice little bonding moment between just the two of us. I don't have a good memory so I don't recall how it went unfortunately...

Now, the climate is a little different. My sis tried out transmasculinity for maybe 5-6 years before feeling happier as a woman, my mom is trying to be Based and flaunt her Woke trans children, and my dad remembered "oh yeah trans natives have existed before colonization. Maybe me being transphobic is a product of my culture being erased" and has gotten better about calling me the right thing. I have a mustache (thanks pcos!!) and wear skirts and am not a repressed "tomboy" teenager anymore. But I can't help but wonder what would've happened if I could've been like shamura and just...been nonbinary without people being fucking weird about it. Or been born as a badass war god who will tear you to shreds before you can perceive my birth sex. I know they're fictional but they are my ultimate gender envy GRRRRR BARK BARK BARK

Here is the secret image for this post- I listen to mostly EDM when I draw cause it keeps the energy up, but as I was finishing up shamura's poetry part, I was like THESE ARE JUST KMFDM LYRICS so I made this

[sa1ntn3k0]

Satoru's morning routine! ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

7:30 am. 

Satoru opens his weary eyes as a loud beeping noise rings in his sensitive ears, a sound he’s grown accustomed to over the past years. There’s something so comforting in that sound, something others might find hard to understand.  

He sits up and rubs his tired eyes, reaching over to turn off his Digimon analog clock, the same one he’s had since he was a student at Jujutsu High. The years flew by so fast that it’s hard to believe he’s turning 29 in a few days. The light peeking through the curtains of his condo’s floor-to-ceiling windows makes him feel at ease. It’s December first, so it’s pretty cold, but there’s no snow.  

After a minute or two, he gets up and stretches. His white, fitted shirt rises ever so slightly as his arms go above his head, revealing a glimpse of the white, fluffy trail down to his groin. He’s been slacking on self-care, not like that’s anything new. Satoru runs his fingers through his grown-out undercut as he walks to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, he feels the weight of his responsibilities starting to show faintly on his pale skin. His white stubble has grown out, and his under-eyes are slightly red. As the shower runs, he finally decides to make himself somewhat presentable. He trims, then shaves his stubble, then brushes his teeth.  

He quickly trims his undercut, careful not to take off too much. Once that’s all done, he steps into the shower and stands still, letting the hot water roll down his limbs. Every day, he understands more and more how taxing his job is. He knew it would be hard; nothing is ever easy, anyway, but this was grueling. After a few minutes, he starts washing himself down. The scent of his blue hibiscus body wash fills the air, a fresh, aromatic floral fragrance many recognize as his signature smell. Ask Yuji. He’ll talk your ear off about it. “Sensei smells so fancy. It’s kinda cool.” Nobara would simply say, “The hell are you talking about?” Megumi would sigh and mutter, “That idiot bought me the same wash, saying, ‘We’ll match, Megumiii!’...” Satoru smiles faintly at the thought of the three.  

Once he’s done, he dries off and rubs the same lotion onto his body and face. Now this pisses Nobara off, considering how little maintenance he needs to have practically flawless skin. He dries his hair quickly, letting it fall as it pleases. Nobara recently lectured him about hair and skincare, insisting on their importance. They even went shopping a while back. She made him buy heat protectants, serums, light oils, and his favorite, nice-smelling creams. He blatantly refused skincare at first, but Nobara forced him to get sunscreen and lotion. He picks up one of the hair products, the packaging fancy but so small for the steep price. “Oribe,” he murmurs as he works it into his hair, leaving it soft and lightly scented. He walks out of the bathroom in just his towel, not like he needs modesty here. He lives alone.  

Satoru pulls on his usual work attire: a dark purple, near-black high-collar jacket layered over his fitted black long-sleeved T-shirt. In warmer weather, he just wore his short-sleeved shirt, but infinity kept him extra warm on colder days like these. He tugs on his boxers and steps into his dress pants, the same color as his jacket. Once buttoned, he glances around for his black blindfold, knowing he’d tossed it somewhere when he got home last night. Spotting it, he sighs quietly in relief and ties it around his eyes, feeling at ease now, less overwhelmed. The world shifted from high resolution, grain by grain, to softer and muted, enough to see the average person's vision, someone not burdened with sorcerer nonsense.

Walking into the kitchen, he grabs his phone from the counter and checks his notifications. Ijichi texted him a bunch, asking about different paperwork details, but then following with an entire conversation with himself answering himself… God, he was pretty loony. Satoru saw Yuji had sent him cat videos, Nobara sent him detailed death threats for stealing her matcha kitkats, and Megumi asking why he had to do so many solo missions. Satoru wanted to text and say “You need to get stronger kid”, but he’d just say it to his face at school, makes it all the better to see him scowl. He makes himself a coffee, dropping not one but seven sugar cubes into the cup. He opens his nearly empty fridge and pulls out Kikufuku, the sweet treat from Sendai that he adores. Standing in the kitchen, he chomps down two of them, knowing he’ll be hungry again soon. He chugs his hot coffee as he checks the time: 7:50 am. Shit, he needs to hurry.  

Grabbing his wallet on the way out, he slips into his black dress shoes, adjusting his socks as they ride down slightly. He pats both pockets once, ensuring he has his phone and wallet, then heads out.  

The stares from strangers don’t bother him, he’s used to them by now. Walking to the station instead of calling Ijichi for a ride was a spontaneous choice, though not one he makes often. Murmurs reach his sensitive ears, and he smiles softly, amused. “What’s with the blindfold, dude…?” “Maybe he’s blind?” “No, dumbass, why would he wear a blindfold then?” “Oh… right.”  

When the train arrives, he steps inside, lingering near the door out of habit. He stares out the window as people pack in, keeping a small distance from the “white-haired, blindfolded weirdo.” None of it bothers him, not the looks, not the hushed comments. He’s confident, and it shows.  

By the time he reaches the school, it’s already 8:10 a.m., but he knows his sweet students are in class, shit-talking his tardiness once again. He glances around the campus, taking in the tall forest trees swaying in the harsh wind. Stepping into the classroom, he smiles brightly as Yuji, Nobara, and Megumi look up at him with varying expressions.  

Yuji grins ear to ear. Nobara eyes him, huffing quietly. Megumi barely acknowledges his existence.  

Satoru starts his day with a smile so wide it fills his heart. Seeing his students, the next generation, the ones who’ll change this shitty Jujutsu society, makes everything worth it.  

“Gooood morning, class!” 

___  

end.  

Context: This takes place after Sukuna’s death. In this AU, Satoru lives and is completely healed. I changed the date so everything happens before his birthday, including the fight and Yuji winning, rather than after. I also really wanted to write about Gojo in a domestic way, where he's just all relaxed and stuff and not fighting. This is like peak copium, but I’ll also write his afternoon and evening parts if you guys like this! I’m new to posting on tumblr, and I hope you guys enjoy my work :) 

[myokk]

fast sketch of ominis & fast intro to the ominis longfic I'm working on!! This is going to be the most self-indulgent pride and prejudice ripoff that ever existed, 100% based on the ominis of my oneshot💘

I am just OBSESSED with exploring the idea that he’s a natural legilimens & OBSESSED with the thought that he thinks too much for his own good🫶🫶🫶

Ominis Gaunt has always suspected he is cold-blooded.

It makes sense, really.

He always seems to be cold: frigid, long fingers that are often stiff and difficult to move; goosebumps raising the skin of his arms and the back of his neck any time he walks through the drafty halls of the dungeons; even his eyes, he has been told, are reminiscent of ice. They are apparently quite unsettling. The only time he feels comfortable in his body is when he basks in the heat of the sun.

His earliest memory is of the cold. It went like this: he was four years old: his older brother, Marvolo, had led him outside as a joke, he swore up and down that it was just a small joke, and how was he supposed to know that poor, blind Ominis would not be able to find his way back home? When his parents had finally found him, his frail mother sobbing and holding his tiny, blue, hypothermic body to her chest, Ominis remembers feeling quite perturbed at the disturbance. Couldn’t he just be left alone, in the silent soft snow?

He does not know if he has ever felt warm since.

As he strides through the dungeons, the copious amount of warming charms he casts on himself do not seem to be enough, but he keeps casting them anyways and also: wrapping his wool scarf more tightly around his neck, quickening his pace in the hopes that blood flows more easily through his limbs, wishing that he had remembered his gloves. Winter is always a terrible time of year (this winter more terrible than usual), and every breath of warm air leaves his lips reluctantly. How he wishes that he could just hold on to it a bit longer and yet the warmth leaves him precisely fifteen traitorous times a minute, the frigid air gleefully entering and burning its way down his throat in response. Maybe it’s a punishment of some sort.

His whole life has been defined by punishments and sometimes he preoccupies himself with the thought that it is the only way he can view the world. Most of the punishments are manifested in curses inherited from his family. (His parents and Marvolo insist that they are gifts, but Ominis begs to differ.)

First, his blindness: the only true punishment-curse that even his family rejects: caused by inbreeding, no doubt. He did not cry after his birth and his mother cradled his tiny body in silent arms, lovingly whispering nonsense-evil-Parseltongue to him but when he opened his eyes and she saw a brilliant celestine blue with no iris, she screamed in horror and shattered the frigid peace of the room. His parents tried everything to fix him, make him whole, throwing money at various possible solutions to no avail. Magically induced disabilities are not, apparently, curable by magic.

Ominis is not sure that he hates being blind, although he suspects everyone thinks that he should. It is as much a part of him as his fifteen-breaths-per-minute, and he thinks that vision is not all it’s cracked up to be. He is always terrified at the thought that his tenuous hold on sanity is only due to the fact that he cannot see, until he realizes he shouldn’t be terrified of hypothetical situations that cannot come to pass. He consoles himself with the thought that maybe, if he has had to give up his vision for his sanity, it is a small price to pay. Although, he also thinks sometimes that it would be nice to live a life without any morality holding him back.

He is entirely too introspective, after all.

It is precisely this introspection that is his downfall in this moment (and his cold blood). Ominis is so busy casting warming charms on himself and thinking in circles that he cannot use his wand to help him sense his environment and so he should not be surprised when he crashes into her.

And yet he is. Terribly surprised.

Maybe if he were not so caught up in his own thoughts he could have paid more attention to his surroundings. Instead, he spent too much time ruminating on his reptilian heritage and has now barreled head first into his arch-nemesis.

Rosalie Harris.

The girl who has stolen his oldest friend from him.

The girl who is currently making angry noises as she clambers to her feet and is picking up the things that he has crashed everywhere. Even if he could see, Ominis is not sure he would help her. Helping her would be akin to betraying himself, after all.

“Hey! Watch where you’re - oh, hello, Ominis.”

“Rosalie,” he says shortly, nodding his head where he thinks she might be standing and stepping to the side. He tightens his grip around his wand, feeling the texture of the wood change from rough to smooth as he runs his thumb down it. Smooth where he always seems to worry it, rough where the wood refuses to yield to the brushes of his thumb.

He surreptitiously casts the spell - he has at least done it so many times he no longer needs to say it out loud - and his surroundings light up. Or, he supposes that is the most apt description, considering he cannot actually differentiate between light and dark. He senses Rosalie’s silhouette to his left - she is standing with her arms crossed and her foot taps impatiently as she waits for him.

Waiting for what? he thinks, slightly irritated. She never seems to leave him alone and he wracks his brain trying to think of something, anything he can say to get rid of her.

Maybe if he speaks in Parseltongue, she would finally be scared away for good. He does not really want that second reminder of his family’s curse, though.

His family preferred speaking in Parseltongue with each other, believing the ability made them morally superior to everyone else and Ominis had not even realized until he had arrived at Hogwarts that no, it was not normal. When his name had been called at the Sorting, furious whispers had erupted amongst all the students, and his every step (terrified, confused, unsure - he had still been getting used to using his wand to navigate his surroundings) to the stool at the front of the Great Hall was plagued with a susurration reminiscent of snakes. Except these whispers, sneaking their way into his mind, had been unkind and overwhelming.

(He had not realized in that moment that he was also hearing their thoughts.)

Maybe now, with Rosalie standing in front of him and just annoyingly waiting for Merlin-knows-what, Ominis should use his Legilimency to find out what Rosalie wants. (He hates it, though.) It would not be difficult. (The thought makes him shiver in horror because he doesn’t want to abuse the ability.) He can feel the edges of her mind, her magic, and all he has to do is reach out - she is right there, and -

“Ominis?”

Her arms are crossed, he hears an impatient huff.

Why hasn’t she left him alone yet?

Hadn’t the Hogwarts Express already left the station, bringing all of the students home for the winter holiday? Ominis had thought he would be one of the only students left in the castle, and if he is being honest with himself, he had been looking quite forward to having the place to himself.

Ominis’s winter has just gotten infinitely worse.

Going to Gaunt Manor for the holidays is out of the question (he will not think about the nightmares that have been plaguing him ever since he received the owl demanding he go home), and Ominis does not want to be more of a burden to the Sallows. They already do enough for him over the summer, and Sebastian and Anne have convinced him to go to Hogsmeade with them at least twice over the next two weeks. Besides, with Anne’s curse progressing, Ominis does not want to be in the way.

“Why are you still here?” Ominis asks. He knows his voice comes across as cold as his blood, blunt, but he cannot help himself. Ever since Rosalie arrived - her entrance to Hogwarts also causing quite the stir - Ominis has been intensely annoyed by her presence. She is too happy. Too carefree. Too…well, everything he is not.

And, she does not seem to leave him alone.

Rosalie is always there, always hanging around Sebastian. (Taking Sebastian away.) He even showed her the Undercroft, which had almost caused a rift in their relationship. Ominis could not believe that Sebastian would be so careless, showing someone who for all intents and purposes is crashing her way into their lives, forcing them to pay attention to her. They barely even knew her, and yet Sebastian thought it was a good idea to show her such a sacred place?

(It does not help that she is intelligent, and Ominis has caught himself on more than one occasion about to ask her about her opinion on something before he catches himself.)

“I was looking for you.”

Ominis tilts his head at that and fiddles with his ring. He considers walking away, leaving -

“I mean…Sebastian said that you were also going to be here over the holidays and since everyone else just left I thought -”

“Thought what?” Internally, Ominis winces at the biting tone to his voice. It came out harsher than he intended, his voice loud and echoing through his mind, bouncing off the cold, stone walls surrounding them.

[satocidal]

.˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆DIRTY GODS, DIRTIER PRAYERS||season 1

𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳ * ࣭ 𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳* ࣭ ✤𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈 - Devotion

... a God , yours, and you? a Devotee, simple as it could seem, it wasn't for all. Day in and day out you worship him, your god, your religion, your temptation and your desire - until one day, he finally decides to bless (curse) you

- word count: 9.1k

- contains: Gn! Priest! reader x God! Gojo Satoru; religious themes; non-established relationship; morally grey(?) characters; reader washes Gojo's foot; Societal hierarchy; set in sort of medieval age? but i took no attempts at using old speech because...yes

Devotion: (noun) 

great love for somebody/something

the act of giving a lot of your time, energy, etc. to somebody/something

It was winter, it was red - your eyes spilled their own blood - bells chimed in the back - you’d assumed that, that was what love ought to be..

The blood trickled slow, the snow - a painted canvas –

His footsteps lay buried, deep, dirty, horrendous - following those lay the trail you’d marked, dragged along, your innocence - a casket shrouding your love.

It was winter, white, whiter than it was supposed to be.

-

“How do you recognise me?” his voice was a low rumble, gentle - in the way that he need not show violence, it laced the essence of his very being.

You stared at him, mouth agape - what you’d assumed to be a mere animal  in the middle of night, trampling about the temple- you’d only gotten up to shoo the creature away - only to find him.

He stood there- ghostly, ethereal, inhumane.

Satoru Gojo.

Satoru Gojo, a God among men.

The world tipped at his breath, the world lay in a disarray at a flicker of his gaze - he was something divine, no he was divine.

He was a God, your God.

Day in and day out you worked, his shrine lay polished - a sheen of sweat coated you, a dismal reflection shone in the gold, yours - his temple gates were regularly thumped at by the many other devotees - you found yourself pushed to the back often, you made sure to always present the freshest fruits - a  connoisseur you’d been told that he was, a likelihood to the various kinds of fruits your country beared each season -  and offerings to his shrine when maintaining and looking after it - you almost always went to sleep the night hungry.

But your sufferings were alright - he was cared for, he was all that mattered.

He was all there was to you, he was more than you and all of you.

And in the flicker of a second, all you could wonder was - ‘how does one shoo this…? Not an animal, not just another creature - A God, My God…’

“You’re…” you paused unsure - you were assured that the other temple priests were right - your ‘devotion’ had gotten to you, you had begun hallucinating, you were going to end up as one of those stories or myths that people would pass down the years, about the priest that loved their God too much.

But it couldn’t be…right?

“You’re Satoru Gojo,” almost a rushed whisper - it felt peculiar just to pronounce his name, years spent revering him as your Lord, Your Savior - “I was born knowing you,”

Born for him - offspring of the head priest, it was all for him.

In the womb you were fed his tales, crawling beside yourself was the impending responsibility that would thrust itself upon you, your first friend was him, a dire escape for all the secrets, for every thought and likewise - you pushed yourself on him as much as he was pushed on you.

He stared back, a silent moment marked as his eyes bore into yours, cerulean eyes - sharp, they could see everything, you had nothing to hide from your grace anyways.

And then, a small smile broke loose - you continued staring, it felt surreal, it was.

Naked he stood, a glow blanketed his form, he walked - free, familiarised, he didn’t speak for the longest while, and you could only stare. You watched as he moved, a little stiff - as if not accustomed to the gangly pair of limbs this form had, his eyes made sharp turns - not resting, never once.

The dark didn’t seem to bother - almost as if he saw deeper than what lay at the surface - and yet, his gaze never once fell on you after that smile, unseen.

“You live-” he began - 

“are all-”  you did too.

Words cut off - his interrupting you, yours his - you bit the inside of your cheeks - his face only ever relaxed - “My…Lord, pardon - i…sorry, i mean -” and then a fumble of your words, in an attempt to break the silence, only making it worse.

He chuckled, “Nervous? It is alright, speak your mind, I suppose,” it did not feel calming - his assurance, not his presence - nor his words, no warmth seeped when he spoke - no brightening of the situation at his convention, it felt the usual - disappointing.

“No, my lord…i just…i wanted to ask…” his presence urged you, your face burnt and yet a little voice sounded in your head - he is Satoru Gojo, he who knows you best, secrecy was never something you passed between the two of you -  no secrecy, no shame, no boundaries - then why now?

“Are…uh…I wanted to ask if those stories…” eyes panned to his shrine - the wood carved to bear the tales, intricate carvings that you’d memorised, then the cold, hard gold, works that spoke of his presence - high and all so mighty, “are they true?” 

It felt childish to question - of course they were- a childhood spent fighting on these accords, bantering all your friends, puffed cheeks and bitten insults at each one of them as you stood your ground to prove that Satoru Gojo had performed every incident that was depicted- -his scoff paused the train of your thoughts, “Some, most, but not all - your priests lie a lot, especially the head one, eh?” 

Lies, his revealed - a world that was yours cracked.

Your hands felt clammy, you wouldn’t understand why - something inside you screeched to question him, you couldn’t bring yourself to.

Your priests - the head one, your father - called a liar all so blatant and yet, you were sure that was not the reason for your recoil. Somehow your father being a liar - the conjuror of tales was way more apt a truth to digest than the possibility of Your God’s faltering charm.

“They…aren’t?” a silent question raised - he chuckled to himself - you weren’t sure why so, “which ones?”

A beat passed - his eyes settled upon the same carvings as those you’d grown up staring, memorising, “that…” a slow swivel of your head - to the one in the far corner of the room, all so dark now, pitch black beyond the glow of the candles on his shrine - you’d be at a loss of words if you didn’t know any better.

“The one where you’re fighting the sea monster?” your voice was so low - laced with your own anxiety, anxious of what?

A single nod, “that is true - but not nearly as perplexing as your lot glorifies it to be…” a scoff next, “teaching it in your schools? Folk tales…? That is what they are called now? and whatnot…” 

You were not sure but it almost seemed like he wasn’t a fan of your kind and their affection or afflictions.

You could only nod as he pointed to one behind the shrine - The Battle - clear depiction - Satoru Gojo leading a battalion, a favourite, your heart clenched at the thought of it not being true - “That is true as well…” a sigh of relief - he passed a smirk, “but all those other ones are a nuisance, why would your supreme God care about seasonal fruits,” almost sassy, “but your lot isn’t the only one to be wrong so…”

A shrug - simple a conversation, unaware of the basket of fruits that would now rot away in your wake, or maybe, aware but uncaring.

But that was okay - right? Still the mighty God he was, regardless of what he preferred to eat, never a big deal - you were there, you’d take care of everything.

“You live here?” he asked suddenly, almost as if assessing his own shrine - almost in vain, as if disgusted -

“no, the…dorms, mine is the closest one so I…,” words trailed off, you gulped, somehow standing where you stood daily, standing in the same place you’d spent countless hours in felt foreign, like what was yours, after all, wasn’t.

“You are…?” his voice - now carefree, you gulped, “y/n,” his head finally snapped towards you again - the grin, the same as the first returned, “You’re y/n?”

A simple nod, he walked closer - at arm’s distance.

You were sure he was radiating - a hand brushed your cheek, your eyes widened, you stood limp as he pulled you closer, you weren't sure which it was - him pulling you, you moving on your own or a complicated mix - but there it was, your body in his embrace, his body felt warm, pure

 - yours?

Disgusting - to yourself, to him? Maybe.

“Servitude suits you.” he chuckled - as he let go, that embrace lay as a finality of his gratitude, perhaps never to be mentioned again - sickening.

All your life’s worth of work - absolved by one embrace, by a fleeting moment of contact - and worst of all, you craved it, your body yearned for it - you found yourself with the belief that you were meant for this.

-

One step forward - three back, you paced the outside of his prayer room.

Three days that Gojo Satoru had presented himself, three days of something one could consider their hell - you? Not so much.

Work had simply doubled, if not tripled - but you were finally seen - fully seen.

The mutters that surrounded, the looks, simply for your adherence to him - no more, people who’d questioned you, no more - for what lay of your insanity was now a sheer truth.

“Can we go in?” a flock you lay surrounded by, your eyes grazing the intricacies on the huge door in front of you - years you’d spent gazing upon it, and yet, in this moment - nothing seemed more worthwhile.

“Not yet,” your voice sounded out -  these days, the past two, it felt so foreign. 

A hefty crowd this was, angry, impatient - they wanted to see their God. 

Pity lay in the fact that Gods were that which the people made of them, and the devotees were that which their God made of them.

“You've been saying that since yesterday!” a shout came - “we want him!” came another.

“he's not yours!” came a third, and then a twitch of your eye.

A swift turn to face the crowd, loud faces - towering, intimidating - you cleared your throat.

“If you have any conflicts of interest, you may leave - My Lord does not appreciate superficial devotion or questioning, blabbering fools.” definitive words, he’d told you to be so - told you that you were above them, and thus of course, you were.

Your Lord had placed you so.

“He is resting,” a smooth lie - “I must check upon him first, check with him and let him know of your wish to meet him - thereupon…” you were met by just a murmur - now, a cheerful one, slightly quieter, some patted your back, some nimble fingers - shaky as they touched you - content in just your company,  company of their God’s care-taker.

Care-taker, that’s what your title had been reduced to - you didn’t mind, servitude did suit you.

-

“They wish to see you,” your voice was thick - eyes not meeting his, always stuck to somewhere near his feet - head bowed, you weren’t used to this. The Satoru Gojo you had first been introduced to was welcoming, he would talk - albeit you were a child, he - just an entity, but he was your pillar to fall back on.

This creature in front of you was different - not nearly as calm as he’d been described, not nearly as pensive, he seemed humane and in the worst of its possibilities.

You couldn’t care of all that yet - he was yours to serve, he must be correct after all.

“And what lie did you say today?” His voice always carried an amused undertone to it - as if you were a form of highest entertainment. 

 “you’re resting,” your reply fell short - resting, if one could call it that.

The shrine you used to mop and clean - spent hours on your knees daily to see the shine was a disarray - insatiable hunger, the God was tough to please.

He didn’t eat - beyond that, he’d mused himself to be - he lay sprawled about, naked as ever, he’d shown himself once to the crowd after his first appearance - the next morning.

Eyes had been hazy that morning, as if a new experience to see the world as so - and it must’ve been, right? His creations, in front of him, no longer the countless stack of lives he used to measure out - no.

These were breathing people, those who worshipped him, you’d trailed beside him as he’d walked - just a silk robe on - one that some rich merchant had offered to him years ago - he’d asked for that specifically, first of the many demands to come.

And then a scoff the moment people bowed to him - one speech, one mention of his love for them, one bloom of a flower - the people remained bowing as always, bowing as they loved to.

And just there, Satoru Gojo presented his first boon, the first unknowing curse.

Your surprise met his withdrawal - he didn’t shove you off, he turned, “and this is y/n,” he announced - louder than his own proclamation,  “my most devoted, most faithful - my care-taker.” 

You’d cringed at how final his words had been - not at the sudden swarm that you had to fight to keep up with him, nor at the admiration that held you steadfast since that morning.

Since then, it was simple for Satoru Gojo  -  he lay inside, often, doing nothing (as right now), and you went outside - communicating to the masses, the will of your God, the will of their God.  

“You would have to meet them soon,” you mused, inching closer - repulsed to the idea as he was, the touch of humans - he didn’t seem to mind you.

“I think I will decide what I ought to do, hm?” His words held that tone always, always teasing, always playful - and you’d assumed always that it would be sweet, when you thought of him - but now, you weren’t all so sure. 

But what did you know, right?

Another nod, often, that was all you did - nod and listen, you listened to just his silence, it was peculiar - he spoke so much and yet very little registered within you, very little made sense.

But you made sure it was heard, remembered, etched in your heart - you inched closer still, his feet beside you, your eyes mapped out the expanse, your fingers itched to touch - your mind itched to hold.

“My lord,” a hum, “what should i tell them?”

“Is it necessary we answer them?”

A hand came down, gentle, his rested on your head - you gulped, overwhelmed, surreal, surreal, surreal - nothing too much for him, another disciple - so you thought.

Satoru knew better - he would cut that hand that touched anything so low as human flesh - to be made of human flesh was humiliation, to be worshiped by humans was humiliation - to be humane was humiliating.

He wouldn’t say that near you.

Not in front of his best disciple, not to break his favourite’s,  not to break his best friend’s heart.

Calloused fingers, calloused a hand - as if every fibre of what was his human form screamed of his truth - screamed of his patronage, violence that adulterated his purity - violence that made him closer to you.

Violence that acted as the link between God and the Devotee.

Satoru Gojo touched you.

Your God did.

“Up to you discretion my lord,” a mumbled you passed, his hand stroked your hair, it felt heavy, suddenly so did your eyes.

“My discretion…” a pause, then a smile - oh how he loved that power, “I think we should…but after you have cleaned me.”

Hesitant a breath you inhaled, cleaned him.

“I do think you’re very perfect already my-”

“That, perfect, yes of course,” an eye-roll from him, you stared, “but  I want you to clean me - nothing new, right? You like it,” not a demand, just a statement, reminder of your duties as his carer.

A why twisted on your lips - you dared not ask, he cared not to explain.

“Like…?” almost a huff - “it was a duty,” you chided, he scoffed, “and it isn’t now?”

The hand stopped its stroking - “your shrine, my lord,” you weren’t sure where this courage came from - two days ago you couldn’t manage to form sentences to him  -  “it used to get dirty, dust would…sometimes your worshippers-” he made it so, he made you talk that way, he allowed it.

“But you cleaned all of that - where is that enthusiasm now?”

A clenched jaw - yours, a pushed demeanour, his.

Childlike and ignorant, one would describe him, but these words dared not seep into your head now, how could they? Not for a while.

And as it were, he wasn’t wrong after all, you did clean his shrine, madly so, even a smudge wouldn’t go unnoticed - however, the prospects of having your God, your Companion just as a thought while you look after him is somehow ever so more endearing and comforting than an actual humanoid.

“You will, won’t you?” masked plea - you were his creation, his mercy, he knew what would lure and everything that wouldn’t - and this? Lightened hues of his eye, a softer tone of his breath, the carousel of your will simply lay for him to tug and play with.

Thus, a nod was all you offered - then a deliberate exhale, Devotion was tiring.

-

“y/n,” a drawl - you didn’t bother whipping your head to see who it’d be - another one of your friends, it didn’t matter, not when you were caring for him - “what,” just as bored a drawl, yours.

“When will you leave that wretched shrine - it’s done, it is clean, come now, we have other duties -”

Shut it.

Jaw clenched, you stared into the gold that molded Your God’s essence.

They just never understood any of it.

Never.

“You go ahead, I’ll join in when i’m done here,” just short of a snap - your voice lay taut, hand working furiously - sometimes you wondered if this really was excessive - no.

However could it be excessive when they had touched him- the common folks, with their half-assed devotion and hasty prayers, grubby fingers pressing on his shrine, like these silly attempts would get anywhere as close as you were to Him.

Like these desperate moments of their selfishness, those cries would have him listen to them as he did you.

Like he’d become theirs as you’d had him - like they’d ever have the right over him as you did - like they’d ever come anything close to having the right you had over him since birth.

Of course, excessive it wasn’t - instead the bare minimum of a need for you to clean his shrine, to keep it as divine as it was meant to be - even if it devoured moments of your life, because that - seconds chipped from your life -  were of negligible importance.

Not when it comes to your God.

-

The Gold at the bottom seemed to reach out, you bothered not to stare too deep, Gojo’s presence just seemed familiar, home-like. 

“The water is ready,” you called, back turned to him, the farthest corner of the room you sat in, the entire hour spent in preparing the ‘wash’, a thorough negotiation and here you were, with just his foot to cleanse.

It didn’t make sense now, why did you fight hard to not touch him? Those you denied entry to his shrine would kill for this, you would kill for this.

It’d dirty him - he didn’t think so - he pretends - he has nothing to hide.

The entire hour spent with the same back and forth, settling down on deeming it a lapse of judgement, you shrunk in your seat.

All this while, he sat beside his own shrine, talking, mumbling, exaggerated sounds - laughing to himself, it wasn’t the first time he did it either. The first night itself, he’d begun his ministrations - you didn’t question him, you had no right to.

But your face did hold a fond smile with  every word he uttered, sometimes laughing while reminiscing his own stories that his eyes caught in the carvings across the walls - often muttering about how small the room was (which could only accommodate 200 or so people) - or if nothing else seemed worthwhile, he’d start telling you the stories, the same ones you’d read and learnt and adored.

“Should I bring it over?” you continued and then shut your eyes in absolute shame, of course, you would take it over, whyever would he be the one to - 

- “It must be heavy,” he called back, a small sigh heard as he lifted his form, marching over to you.

Your form moved quick, a sudden shake of your head, lips pressed between your teeth - this felt wrong, him wanting to help seemed wrong, not presenting to him your psyche, essence and the entirety of your devotion felt wrong.

“No my lord, you should sit - you should rest, I'll bring it, I deal with it all the time,” a glimmer still, Satoru Gojo noted - beseeching his validation, an undertone of pride, a point to prove.

“Deal with large gold vessels which are filled with water?” an impish grin - but he settled back regardless, amused, all the time.

“Go on then,” he chuckled, your eyes met his - cloudy they’d seemed the first night- it had rained that night too, today was bright - and his eyes, “don’t need your God’s help, do you?”

A game, this was a game - you were a game.

Regardless, it felt nice to be just that to him, anything was fine.

A slow exhale, fingers grasped onto the vessel, nothing new, maybe heavier but nothing unique- except, it was.

Not a budge, the vessel remained just as that, gold and glittery and stationary - neither a speck of dust grovelled under the force you pulled with, nor the water created a single wave.

A huff, and then plenty more - yours, a smile and then a full grin - his.

“You’re taking too long,” even in his ‘rebuke’, a hint of mischief played, as if he had something to do with your failure - “I’m afraid this isn’t how you please a God,”

A lick of your lips, a stranded sigh - “It is fine I can…” 

Words cut off quick, he moved fast, swift - and in no time, beside you he stood, “see? That is the issue with you little humans, using your little human head,” a scoff, a softness perked at his lips - “so proud of being the smart species?” proud of his own creation, “but you just never know, do you?” 

What took the entirety of your breath to not even cause a dent in was lifted so simply, so easily, as if it weighed nothing - “never understand when to give in, never know how to accept my help,” you walked beside him - it felt overwhelming, his presence, his stride, his movement.

You couldn’t see it but the eye roll was all too evident in his tone, the disdain, the disappointment.

His left hand carried the vessel - the right slowly moved to rest at the small of your back.

Eyes wide, a sharp inhale and an instant shoot of panic in your chest - nothing went unnoticed by him, a snicker he passed, “If you keep acting this way, your kins will assume i’ve taken you as a concubine and not my carer,” 

And now the ears felt hot, too hot, face felt warm - and a desire for the earth to swallow you paced your head.

Fortunate for you though, the front of the hall had been reached, and so had his demeanour.

“However you must know dear,” the vessel placed carefully, two steps below where he would sit - where your place was, “that you hold a special place, you’re better,” same words, same tone as the day before and the night, “you’re special to me, you’re my special one, my favourite thing.”

Favourite thing.

Favourite.

Slow, he sat down - eyes beckoning you to follow the same, he smiled, “How’d you prefer - a cloth or…?” but even before you could answer, his feet were already placed in the water - eyes closed with an almost calm, blissed expression, you felt your own nerves calm down.

Maybe for he was at ease - maybe for he was at ease because of something you’d done, something you’d prepared for him.

After that, you didn’t bother speaking - neither did he, the ordeal was as it had to be, your fingers dipped into the water, tentative was your hold,  a hesitant rub across his feet - the first time you touched him, his hand came down again - to rest on your head as always, as if just a muscle memory for him.

No. 

Neither was that body accustomed to him - nor his touch to humans - this was deliberate.

You swallowed thickly, your own eyes closing momentarily - nothing seemed to make sense, the air felt heavy, the marble felt comforting, inviting, not the blistering hot as the usual afternoon sun turned it into - stillness blanketed you, a celestial anticipation wavered - and your mind, clogged.

You were acutely aware of Gojo’s gaze on you, waiting, patient - and now, you fully encapsulated him.

Without all the distance that separated you, without the infinity that seemed to separate you and your God, no - now, you were closer, you were with him he was within you.

His face seemed to shine, the soft golden light  befalling his form gracefully, as if blessed just as you were to touch him - envious, you’d feel later, drinking into the thought of how easy it was for the Sun, the air, the nature to touch him.

“Come now,” a rich voice, teasing, almost a purr, “Don’t keep me waiting - you’ve come such a long way, haven’t you?” His eyes remained half lidded, an expression that lay both indulgent and amused, playful a gaze and a knowing smile - all too aware of your nervousness - basking in it, reveling in it.

His presence itself was suffocating, magnificent - your devotion? Just the very same.

Frozen you sat beside his feet, beside the vessel;  the water inside - liquid light, if such a thing did exist - swayed slow, hypnotic, alarming. 

A moment you’d dreamt of was here - hours spent scrubbing thinking of this - hours spent cursing those around you for not believing this could be true - only for you to choke on your own blood and spit in attempts to hold contact with your God.

A flinch was all your body could offer - a sudden dare next, to stare into his eyes, mischief met you and then, gruesome comfort - “Do you not want the honour of touching me?” an undertone his words held, something you didn’t quite catch, “your lot typically yearns for this… don’t you?” almost quizzical, still soft, edged but soft - “something worries you?” 

Honest questions - you see Satoru Gojo understood many things, after all, he was the creator - the preserver - the destroyer, but these little human sentiments? The ones that wove themselves messy? The ones that managed to tangle in their own webs of certain lies and partial truths? See, that, Satoru Gojo couldn’t grasp.

Not the humaneness of it.

“I…of course, my- my lord, but…” a lick of your lips - an inhale, his - impatience was not a virtue?

“I fear i would...i- i would offend you,” barely a whisper, almost ashamed to admit - even more so when a booming laughter responded to you. And in your moment of meeting the mortifying reality - it simply didn’t feel fair that his laugh, your perpetrator’s laugh was melodic, simply put.

“Offend me?” a raised brow, hair flitting out of his gaze - pushed back so swiftly with his fingers, amusement dancing across his features - ethereal, he looked, sounded - was, ethereal.

“You can never offend me, little one - it is you who shall be blessed by my touch, you who shall relive this memory, I merely befall you a merciful boon.”

A lick of your lips - a hard attempt to not seem flustered, he wasn’t wrong, however could he ever be wrong? 

But the words were sharp, reminding that you were, at your best, two steps below him, washing his feet. 

Shaky hands thus continued the detour - dipped into the gold vessel, into the water - “My lord, if I may?” a small voice, he didn’t counter - simply outstretched his foot right into your hand, his skin cold. Unreal it was - a quickened pulse as you felt the foot, the skin, the hair, the muscles, so fleshed out - 

“well?” his teasing voice brought you back.

“I do deserve your love right y/n? A little more…how would one put it…care?” no longer carrying the weight - no longer dangerous, back to his playful words - it only played your mind harder.

“Pardon my lord,” you said thickly, a slow flush on your skin, “it is new for me - too much, you are…so perfect, i keep fearing…”

A smirk was all he offered then at your words, so self-assured, “take your time little one, we have all the time in the world,”somehow his words seemed literal - he did have all the time in the world - his feet stretched lazily in your hands.

Still trembling, your hands moved over his feet finally - a little voice in your head that  urged you, his own, the same one you used to imagine as a child, the same one you heard when things felt too much - gently washing away the invisible dust of a thousand worlds, the water glowing brighter as it touched the God’s skin. 

There was a subtle warmth that spread through them with every stroke—a warmth that felt like sunlight, like a fire that burned but would never hurt. And still, the god watched, their gaze softening with something akin to indulgence. It was as though they were watching a pet, a favorite toy, being offered exactly what it had begged for—nothing more, nothing less.

It took a while before either of you spoke again, your hand rubbed his foot ever so slightly, so careful - as if one wrong touch would hurt him, “You always do good at these jobs, hm?” The entire while he stroked your head, long fingers - lithe, experienced - toyed with the strands of your hair, an unwavering teasing smile adorned his lips, something affectionate lay in his form too, something that made your heart leap.

“You never used to be so shy around me, little one, always talking, always telling me something…” Gojo’s voice dropped lower, more intimate, a fondness on his face. “Shy to touch me? Or is it something else?”

A hitched breath, every time he referred to your usual demeanour, you only felt regret - you couldn’t truly grasp it yourself as to why you weren’t pouncing on him, hugging him and speaking to him the way you longed too - he was your friend right? So you announced to everyone back in the day, he was your best friend.

But even in the thousand possibilities you’d built around his existence, you had never imagined this moment would be such—gentle yet charged, tender yet full of a teasing power. 

“I’m not... shy,” you whispered, though your hands did betray you - trembling as they continued washing.

The God's smile grew, satisfied. “Good. You should be bold with me. You were meant to be that, I could let you keep worshipping from afar. I could make you wait for eternity to touch me.” He chuckled softly, “But I chose you. I wanted you close.”

-

Moses had parted the Red Sea, to help, to save.

When Gojo Satoru moved, the sea of people that surrounded you, crushed you, parted too - to help you, to save you.

Still early, too early - the Sun’s first few rays greeted him gently, dripping off his form, illuminating all that lay in his shadow. A sapphire cloak clung to him, offering from your Father - the man stood beside you now, pride on his face, as if it were him who The God wanted to see, as if it were him who the public wanted.

A veil of iridescent fragrance swirled round him - a mixture, so carefully crafted by The King himself, rare petals and incense, pure, too pure - it made your mind hazy, it would any mortal. 

And in this light, the first time his beauty made your eyes feel entirely blessed too - a silvery radiance, not a speck of time that marred his skin and yet the elegance bespoke of his wisdom, of his stature - his eyes, you were sure you couldn’t get enough of those. The ones which at the moment surveyed his mass, the ones that passed you mischievous glances all morning while you walked with him, the ones that held pure disdain with every swipe across the clearing.

No artist, no artisan could ever bring justice to them - eyes that were windows to the infinite, swirling with the power of boundless stars and celestial clarity. A pale blue gleam that held the serenity of an angel's gaze, yet the same ones which held the quiet storm of a force untouchable by mortal hands. A blessing and a curse itself, untouched by earthly limits, gazing through time and space - and despite everything, fatigued.

He held a smile, perfect, unnatural, “They are taking too long,” a mutter, somehow he’d allowed himself to be talked into carrying ‘human decency’ by you - when in public - almost foolish a grin that he’d held, eyes boring into you while you’d frantically muttered every social cue you could manage.

“Almost done,” you muttered back, “they will ask you to say a few words,” 

“I don’t wish to talk to them,” a shrug he passed, casual, comfortable - your panic was sizing up once again, “they are your people my lord, they would expect just a few words, at least,”

And if you hadn’t spent all those hours in his presence you would’ve missed the ancient profanities he dropped by casually - still smiling as he looked at your father, who was busy speaking of his God’s enigmatic presence.

“We just had to visit my shrines, why is your father making such a huge deal of this?” annoyance in his voice was all too evident - you could only roll your eyes, your own annoyance winning over.

At your father, such pretence he held - his first words to the public itself had been that he, the head priest was the one Satoru Gojo had graced first - not a mention of your name, not a mention of your panic, of your hard work - nothing.

At your companion now, who wouldn’t stop referring to his own priest as your father ever since the moment it fell into his human conscience that you were related - but you were sure the latter was more so intimate than the anger you felt towards your father and his actions.

Nothing new, nothing out of ordinary, our father was used to this, you were used to this.

“My lord, somehow it isn’t daily that you grace us with your presence, there was bound to be some celebration.”

"Some" barely began to capture it—the town, the province, every house, every road, and every creature seemed to be waking up, as if taking a deep, refreshing breath all at once. 

Fathers and uncles spoke of days long past, voices thick with nostalgia, as though they were recounting the golden age of a forgotten world. 

Meanwhile, mothers and aunties gathered in quiet harmony, preparing feasts not just of food, but of memories, as if a son had finally returned from a war that had never truly ended - Children danced like fireflies in the warm embrace of the evening, their laughter ringing out - not a chase for anything, just a need to be.

Each of their eyes wide and unburdened, now - sought but a single glance, for in that fleeting moment, the soul spoke without words, and that one gaze would be immortalized, a treasure passed down through time, woven into the very fabric of their lineage.

Eyes were the windows to the heart, and in that singular glance, they would find their eternity.

And that was where your pity lay - mustered up all of your breath you had too, to bury it - some part of you yearned to say that they deserved it - deserved your God’s depravity, deserved his ignorance - but you knew better didn’t you?

You too had yearned, and in that experience you couldn’t see eye to eye with Gojo’s demand of privacy - with his adamant hold against humans - they were his and he was theirs.  

After all, what privacy? He was their God, their thoughts were his and his action was theirs.

Before a retort Satoru could offer a cleared throat from the King - a beckoning, ironic - what was a King to The God? What difference was he and the rest? None.

Now these things, the humans rarely caught.

The air rippled with an almost tangible excitement as the people gathered - closer as Satoru began speaking - beneath the towering spires of the grand temple. 

The streets, draped in banners of gold and crimson, seemed to pulse with the energy of anticipation. His eyes, sharp and knowing, continued his expedition - as if begging to find something worthwhile - scanned the sea of adoring faces below, a glimmer of amusement barely concealed behind the mask of divine grace.

"Ah, how delightful," he began, his voice a smooth, melodic cadence, "to see you all gathered in such numbers. The dedication, the endless adoration—it never ceases to amuse me. How fortunate you all are to bask in the light of one such as myself." His voice lilted just a bit, as if the very thought of his magnificence was almost too much to bear. 

He paused, letting the words settle, the crowd hanging on every breath. You could see it well, why his presence was worshipped the way it was - for when he spoke, people didn’t listen, they couldn’t. Such was his grace, excellence - it commanded attention, what lay off his words hardly mattered beyond that.

"But," he continued, a slight smile touching his lips, "of course, you know this. How could you not? Your lives, your very existence, are woven into the very fabric of my grace. You thrive because I allow it." His gaze swept over them, languid and slow, as if savoring the devotion in the air. "Still, I suppose it's sweet, in its own way, to see you so eager to please me."

A gulp was all you could manage, eyes widening, at his words - widening further at the realisation that people craved that too, his insolence. And in this moment a realisation - these people, for such reasons  would never grasp him, never grasp who he was.

And for these reasons you were to him who you were.

The people’s adoration only grew, and they cheered, their praises ringing out, louder and louder, as if to drown out any hint of his subtle disdain. He let it wash over him, and though the subtle flicker of disdain was buried beneath his calm demeanor, he allowed them their moment.

"And now," he said, raising a hand to silence them, "I know you have been preparing. Ah, yes, the grand festival. How you’ve worked so tirelessly to honor me. It's... charming, truly." His voice softened, just enough to seem almost indulgent. "I will visit the shrines you’ve so lovingly maintained in my name, see the delicate carvings, the gilded statues—how very... quaint. I’m sure they shine like the very heavens themselves."

Superficial - such that he couldn’t help his own scoff as he spoke - under the radar for the rest, even your father, or the King - none of them caught the undertones, they didn’t care enough.

His gaze turned briefly inward, his tone shifting ever so slightly, just a touch more patronizing. "I do so enjoy visiting my shrines. The incense, the offerings, the music—it’s all so perfectly... expected. But of course, it's not for me. No, no. You do it because you need to. And I, being the benevolent god that I am, allow it." He took a moment, as if lost in the thought, before returning his attention to the throngs below. "I will take my time this year, to walk the streets, see all the preparations... watch you all as you dress in your finest, your faces alight with the belief that somehow, this festival is for you."

He paused, allowing his gaze to drift lazily over the crowd, "After all, I, of course, am the very reason you have a purpose at all."

Another cheer rose up from the crowd, and he smiled, a touch of irony in his expression, though it was well-hidden behind his calm mask. "And yes," he said, his voice now thick with a mocking sweetness, "I will attend the festival. I will smile, perhaps even dance a little. After all, you have earned it, haven’t you? Such dedication. Such reverence. It truly warms my heart."

Your finger twitched, a little jab your own heart felt as he spoke - you were none but a part of them too - part of the lowly - part of the people that were too caught up in their worship to notice the subtle edge in his words. 

Had you once been the same? Has your own reverence caused him to laugh, if ever?

"Enjoy the preparations, my dear subjects," he said, his voice deepening with a final, deliberate pulse, "Cherish this festival, it is my light that guides you. It is my will that shapes this world. Without me, you would have nothing to celebrate at all."

The crowd erupted in thunderous applause, their voices like a tidal wave crashing against the shore, and and you could see his posture charge, the power surge.

"Go, then," he said, turning to leave, "make merry, as you always do when I am near. I will enjoy it. And I will return, as I always do. For it is I who make this world beautiful—and you, dear mortals, have the privilege of basking in it."

A shy lick of your lips, you stared as your father thanked him, as did the King - you stared as they thanked you for taking the divine duty of caring for him, you stared as Satoru held your hand lead you away - you stared and stared till every scene was a blur except Satoru Gojo himself.

-

“How many shrines do we have planned, little one?” a question he finally managed out - walking aimlessly with your hand in his - your mind just as fuzzy from the contact - “four, my lord,” you mumbled shyly - the voices outside drowned by your thoughts.

“The ancient ones, the ones built aeons ago in your name,”

A groan - “all four?”

You only passed half a smile - which he was impassively glad for - and an eye roll.

“Your speech would have one thinking that you’d love seeing your own shrines, My lord,” and in response you earned a hearty laugh, his hand slipped from yours, working on peeling the banana someone, an older woman offered to him, one that he accepted with a kiss to her hand.

You could only wonder when you’d receive a similar proposition, but a thought not dwelled on for long - you were on edge always that he could hear thoughts.

“Well, yes,” he grinned, biting into the fruit, “but the craftsmanship is important y/n,” he spoke as a matter-of-fact, no longer did his tone carry notes of his disdain - this was free.

“Even you would get bored looking at those old statues, all stone - isn’t it?” he laughed further at your expression, an open mouth as you took in his words.

Stones - some of those statues were pure gold.

“I doubt i’d get bored of your shrines,” meek, and yet bold - you only distanced your pacing from slightly - an attempt at hiding the peeking smile as you spoke - but whatever remained hidden from him?

“Oh?” he simply called out - hand reaching out to pull you close, fingers interlocking yours once again - “and yesterday, you were too afraid to wash my feet.”

You cringed at his words - a laugh escaped you still, somehow this felt humane, real. 

You stepped into the bustling market square of the common palace, - the first shrine was in the heart of the town itself - it didn’t take much for the reactions to take place, sudden gasps and whispers, as if besetting your path - widened eyes and charged environment.

You were glad it wasn’t as bad as the first day - women had their baskets dropped, men fell to their knees altogether - all to achieve a bored yawn from their God.

As you continued your walk, interruptions were bound to stricken - a route only 15 minutes long easily took you an hour.

“Oh, great one,” one merchant stammered, barely daring to look up. “You grace us with your presence!”

The god's smile tightened, a predatory gleam flickering in his eyes - not a single care.

 He turned to face you, voice pitched low with an exaggerated sigh. “Can you feel the reverence, my sweet? See how they worship me, as they should.” 

A rich melody dripped from his voice - and besides that, mockery, your heart clenched. 

“They are so simple, aren’t they? So... eager to throw themselves at my feet, like beggars for a scrap of bread.”

The devotee’s eyes lowered, their heart sinking as the god’s words echoed in their mind.

‘Cruel’ - the word surrounded your head, your thoughts - too cruel.

For those who had waited all their lives and for those who had not - Satoru Gojo stood indifferent, maybe it was that their heads didn’t grasp his balance - maybe it was that they were drowning in awe and admiration that his spite went unnoticed - but your heart knew.

It knew they deserved better.

And the same heart shouted that Your God wouldn’t be barbaric - your mind reminded you that you knew nothing. 

However, were they truly so eager? So desperate that this sting didn't matter? Would you be the same? Were you already? Were you the worst, which was what amused him best?

No, you  served him out of love, not desperation.

-

In the heart of the bustling town, nestled between sleek shops and markets, stood an imposing shrine crafted from radiant bronze. Walls that shimmered with a polished sheen, catching the sun’s light and reflecting it in dazzling waves. The entrance featured massive bronze doors - adorned with intricate carvings of the infinite, swirling energy, and Gojo’s figure—effortlessly powerful.

Inside, the cavernous space was cool and humbling. A towering statue of Gojo stood at its center, his form captured mid-motion, poised with unyielding strength. The bronze seemed to vibrate with energy, the swirling carvings on the walls shifting subtly as if alive. Around the base of the statue, small offerings—tokens of devotion—glowed faintly, vanishing into the ether as if absorbed by Gojo’s infinite domain.

And to all that, Satoru had passed a whistle - strolling about aimlessly while you struggled to talk to the priests, unduly requests the made - partial answers you offered, a mess - all would be simple if Satoru did what he ought to do.

Be Kinder to his people.

Your eye twitched as you watched him practically inhale another banana - “for someone who wouldn’t eat a single dish I presented you, you seem quite starved now,”

Nothing, silence on his end - you swallowed.

“If my food didn’t appeal to you-” thick your voice lay, ashamed perhaps to not have been enough - “sometimes you talk like the rest of them, it gets annoying.”

Your face burned - a forest fire barely tamed.

Oh.

“Nothing is wrong with you - I simply wish for something else.”

Oh.

You stood in silence thereafter, watching as people approached - you held a breath, wondering if every interaction would be the same - pitiable.

Satoru Gojo was complex, if put simply - kind to children, smiles and miracles, and chivalrous to the older generations, as if truly a son - but to everything that lay in between, insects and humans, birds and animals - all alike.

And some moments you’d swear - with the conviction in his eyes, he preferred grovelling worms to your kind.

“You wonder why I act this way? Why so…biased?” 

And moments like this then reminded you that holding fast you tongue wasn’t enough - your mind had to be reeled too.

A nod you passed and an inhale, he patted the seat beside him - you knew you cue, seated still, two steps below as you were supposed to.

“I suppose they are quite the sight,” you murmured, with an attempt to steady your breathing, to find the confidence he demanded. “But they… they only wish to please you.”

 A tear - between your devotion and heart.

The god’s laughter rang out, soft - full of malice, like wind brushing against a blade. “Ah, and therein lies their mistake,” he teased. “They seek to please a creature far beyond their understanding. A creature that finds them… tiresome, insignificant. How the mindless flock to me, how they crawl and beg for a taste of my greatness. They are nothing but ants.”

You couldn’t offer words beyond that, nothing to say, nothing to think.

A rueful smile he did finally - as you walked down the flight of stairs, his fingers curled around an old man’s wrist, helping him down alongside the two of you - “someday, perhaps, I will tell you the real stories. Maybe then we will have something beyond this devotion, when I speak of the devastation.”

-

You jogged back to him - an amused smile adoring your face, the sight of Satoru keeping up his faces with your Father, with the King - they didn’t see it, didn’t notice his glares and bored responses.

You were content - it made you special, as you were meant to be.

“My Lord,” a bow presented to your God - “My Grace,” to the King, “Father,” your own mischievous smile now - aimed at your father - you were aware he wouldn’t call you out for not calling him the head priest here and now.

“The future head,” the King acknowledged, a slight ruffle - they were close, your father and the emperor - finally Satoru beamed, maybe an assumption still.

“When will the ceremonies for this one begin?” He spoke quiet here, a reference to you taking the responsibilities of the head priest after your father - none of his usual, no smiles or groans - A God.

Unsolicited silence did fall - tension.

Satoru was aware - he just preferred his own comfort over others.

“It is in the works,” your father muttered, your jaw clenched.

You should have been it already - should be respected as he was - should be where he was.

Cowards, however, turn every stone - even against their kin - to hold close what they considered power.

You watched your father’s weight shift towards the King.

“It has been there long enough,” you muttered back - subconscious a move - you shifted your weight towards Satoru Gojo, all there had to be said was through.

-

“You seemed giddy when you were approaching us - what happened,” The God mused, his hands held behind his back, his form looming beside yours - a sigh you passed.

Somewhere in the distance, thunder sounded.

“You, better than everyone else do understand the why and the what,” forlorn a stature you carried now, his gaze was stuck on you - human emotions that he couldn’t register as yet, not properly.

“So you do remember we are friends?” playful - you scoffed, “i was afraid you wouldn’t remember that I was your best one,”

This time, his scoff - “Wouldn’t remember you? Some tragedies are difficult to forget - you befall that category,”

He laughed and you did too.

Normal - this seemed normal, finally.

A blink of your eye - lightning struck again.

“Father thinks I’d sway easy - thinks I’m not…conniving enough,” bitter you sounded, bitter you were - when hundreds questioned your Devotion, mocked you for it - your father was the first in line.

“And what part of that would he be wrong at?” you could hear the smile in his words - a gasp slipped far too easy, “I would not.”

“You would.”

“Would not.”

“Would too - must i remind you every time you’ve come crying to me when those around you troubled you? Or when you begged me to absolutely obliterate those children because they mocked you,” a snicker he passed, “you’re no better than me - just as maligned as I am.”

Ironic.

No better than him - A God so humane he blurred devotion and desolation - A Human so angelic they blurred Horizons of Earth and Heaven.

Another laughed passed, another beat fell.

The clouds sounded now - your head snapped to the sound - it would rain, a storm mayhaps.

“Where to now, My Lady?” this time his hand rose and fell again - round your shoulder - friends, something closer - pulling you towards him.

“Ah well, that was the news, of the four shrines we had to see, the routes to two are in no condition to accommodate your travel - we mustn't see those,” he shook his head - “I didn’t understand the point anyways, a whole God in flesh and you wanted to see inanimate stones.”

A roll of your eyes - head slowly coming to rest on his shoulder - “it was for you - to show you but regardless,” you held up a hand to pause him before he spoke again - he obeyed all too easy - “we might see the third one tomorrow.”

A loud sigh he passed - “and where to at the moment?”

“You must head to your Hall, I must head to my dorm too - it seems it will rain tonight.”

A pause - he held your gaze - close, too close - you felt the first drop of the rain - “leave your God alone? How woeful,” he spoke soft, “take me with you - to your dorm.”

A lick of your lips - shy - your hands felt clammy, unsure of the placement all together - “it’s- it’s small, you wouldn’t…may not prefer it,”

“Dare you assume I wouldn't like something that is yours? That is Y/n’s?” no humour - no mischief - his voice was deliberate, his hands held you perfectly, almost cradled you.

Drops continued to fall - who were you to deny him?

“Apologies my lord, I…of course, this way.”

Your dorm - his favourite shrine. 

And as you lead him, the lightning struck one last time - a deep rumble felt, not by you - not by him, but by the rest of the town.

Devastation had ensued.

That night, you lay unaware of what the world would resolve into - that night you slept in the arms of your God, that night the God slept in the arms of his Devotee.

a/n: first, thank you to the one person who requested this months ago💀because i'd been having this idea soo long, second, gojo might seem a bit? different? but it made sense to me so <3 third, slight refernces to Bible and greek as well as indian mythology are everywhere  because essentially these are the only ones I'm accustomed to so yes and finally major thank you and kisses to @stxrysnow @sukunim and @elysian-chaos for beta reading this🎀

tags: @starmaiya11 @devastyle

All of this work is original and entirely my own—please refrain from copying or reposting.

Likes and Reblogs highly appreciated!

[sirenpearldust]

Winter

Pair: Azriel x reader (platonic)

Word count: 997

Warnings: Angst, death, funeral

It snowed.

The streets were empty as the young man wandered aimlessly through the night, his breath visible in the frosty air. 

He had no destination, no purpose - just the need to escape, to lose himself in the stillness of the empty streets.

His nose was red and running, a casualty of the biting chill.

He pulled his jacket tighter against the cold that seeped into his bones.

Above, the city sky was void of stars, the only light coming from the faintly flickering street lamps, their glow weak and on the verge of dying. 

He remembered how she used to complain about them back in their school days, saying they were useless when she walked home. 

Years had passed, but the city still hadn’t changed their lightbulbs. He smiled sadly, memories of her still hurt him.

Maybe it was just meant to be.

Maybe Azriel was destined to endure nightmare after nightmare, trapped in a relentless cycle of darkness.

He had forgotten about her and now she was gone.

• •

He hadn’t checked on her in a while, too caught up in his own world.

She had always warned him, told him it was a possibility - but he never thought it would come to this.

The last time they shared a coffee, she had confessed it quietly, her fingers tracing the rim of the cup. She was lonely, she said, and needed him, her closest friend.

Both had relied on each other, their friendship kept them alive through the chaos of school and home. 

But after graduation, their paths crossed less and less, month by month, until the phone stopped ringing altogether.

Until he got too busy, and she kept waiting, for a text, for a call, for something. 

But it never came.

The day they met up, she told him how sad it made her that he never reached out first.

She thanked him and they started reminiscing about old times, sharing how their lives had changed.

He told her about the girl he was interested in.

She listened, nodding, though her eyes seemed to drift somewhere far away.

She told him how living with her parents was draining, how their abusive they still were and how numb she felt. 

Nothing about her life had really changed. 

She felt guilty for burdening him with it, but the words slipped out anyway.

He talked about his own life, how everything was going so well for him.

She was happy for him and smiled brightly.

For a moment, Azriel forgot everything else around him, as he watched her face brighten up.

It made him feel like a young boy and all warm again.

She looked cute as she drank her tea.

But what he didn’t notice were her eyes, empty, lifeless - dead. 

The sparkle that used to draw people in, was gone.

• •

Two days went by, she waited.

The phone pinged, he remembered.

She smiled, he held his promise and everything felt fine again.

She called him and he answered.

They talked for three hours.

He missed talking to her, how easy everything felt.

She missed feeling so alive, how free she felt.

It was the last conversation they would share.

• •

She wrote and called him.

He didn’t answer.

She cried, lying broken in her bed, as the tears rolled down the side of her face. 

He had promised he would be there this time and help her.

Days turned into weeks and the distance between them stretched further.

• •

It snowed the day she called.

He picked up the phone, smiling softly as he watched the snowflakes fall.

It was her younger sister.

He checked his phone display.

The profile picture stared right back at him, it was her number.

He asked her confused why she was using her sister‘s phone.

Silence followed, until a sob broke through the quiet.

“She died,“ her sister whispered.

He chuckled, thinking it was a joke, asking her if they weren’t to old for pranks.

But her sobs wouldn’t stop, each one raw and desperate, as the reality for him slowly settled in for him.

She was gone.

His phone lit up with notifications, one after another.

Texts from friends, all sharing the same news.

He was one of the few that had gotten a call.

• •

The funeral was held two days later.

Her family insisted she be buried in her home country, her final wish.

She was buried in a cemetery near the mountains, where the snow laid like a blanket over the graves all winter. In the spring, however, life broke through, as the flowers grew beautifully around the graves.

One letter was left behind and read aloud at the funeral.

It was all too heavy for him, to hear how unloved and unneeded she felt.

She no longer wanted to be a burden. 

She apologised, asking for forgiveness from God and from those she had left behind.

• •

The way to the hotel afterwards felt endless, the weight of the day still pressing down on him.

Her family had returned to their home they had kept here, the place where she had spent every summer, the place she had once talked about bringing him.

He lay down on the bed, the room cold and silent, the snow falling outside.

He couldn’t sleep, every time he closed his eyes he saw her.

He would never see her again in this life.

He couldn’t help but feel at fault, he should have never broken his promise.

He read their texts over and over again, went through every conversation they had, replayed every moment together. He missed her more and more, with every second.

Loving her was easy. 

Why did he distance himself?

He should have listened better. She had told him years ago that death was inevitable, especially for her.

She had known she would die young, a truth she had accepted long before. 

Wether by her own hand or God’s grace and now he was left with the crushing reality.

Main Taglist: @bubybubsters @fieldofdaisiies

[rustymind]

chapter 1 - unexpected vacation

tags: megumi x reader, forced proximity, opposites attract

warnings: swearing probably

word count: 1K

masterlist

there was snow in your hair and a warm, thick scarf around your neck when you arrived to the small town gojo sent you to.

you arrived by a train, you had to walk a little bit from the station, but it was just enough to freeze every fiber of your body, making you shiver a little as the wind blew into your face. you closed your eyes for a moment, then tried keeping your face towards your shoes, watching as some water splashed with every step you took.

everywhere you looked, blinding whiteness looked back at you, from the sky, from the small forest next to the house you'll be staying in. the only black spot in sight was standing next to you with his arms crossed like a pouting child who got told no.

megumi was standing next to you, looking everywhere but your eyes. he was clearly unhappy – to say the least – with the fact that you two will need to spend a whole month here in the middle of nowhere.

he was holding his, and your stuff in his hands as he lead the way to the house. you fiddled with the cast on your right hand. you felt a slightly guilty that he had to hold your bags too, due to your arm being useless at the moment. not too guilty tho.

on a quite unfortunate mission you got badly injured, even breaking your arm. the doctors managed to help most of your wounds, but you still needed a few weeks to heal properly.

at the same time, megumi was no better than you; constantly getting his ass beaten overworking himself, coming back injured from every single mission he went on, then wanting to go on twice as many to 'improve', and – this one irritates you the most – he was still not getting along with you well.

you were well aware of the fact that he didn't like you since the beggining of the year but you never understood the reason why. you were trying to be kind to everyone you could – at least when giving first impressions – but he just kept being so frustratingly cold towards you.

sigh.

this whole living together thing probably won't help you two either. you could already imagine all the arguements that were about to happen during those long weeks. hell, you were sure that even today, he'll find something to hate about you.

glancing at his frame walking beside you again, you noticed the way the little white snowflakes were falling on his black hair, contrasting it as they slowly melted away. his hair looks kinda soft if you look at it from closer.. would he be mad if you touched it? probably.

"what are you staring at?"

he glared at you with his sharp blue eyes, pulling you out of your thoughts. did he really never smile?

"i wasn't staring!"

"then?"

you shrug (then regret it as you feel the stinging pain in your body, basically everywhere), playing it off nonchalantly with more or less success.

"just happened to look in your way."

you walk up the one or two stairs, then open the door with your good hand, letting him in before following.

you look around the house for the first time and...wow! just wow. it was a wooden building but the cold couldn't sneak in anyways. old looking paintings decorated the wall, and a soft rug spread on the – also wooden – floor. except for the front door, sliding doors were everywhere.

you take off your shoes and coat quickly and start exploring the house, megumi simply rolling his eyes at your overly excited nature.

"if you fall while running i will even laugh at you!"

he would say as he's putting down your bags in the bedroom.

"and i will be surprised that you're even capable of such thing!"

you say with your eyes narrowed challegingly at him before wandering off somewhere else. preferably where he isn't there.

he didn't bother to answer, just stayed in the bedroom, observing it as he had nothing better to do. it was designed to be one big room, but there was a sliding door in the middle if the room needed to be separated. and in his opinion, it needed to be.

your irritating giggling filled the whole house, making him groan. have you never been to a town, or what? have you never seen a house? what the hell are you so happy about.

you were the one with the broken arm, yet he was suffering so much more already! he put his hands in his pockets, standing infront of the huge window in the bedroom, staring at the way the snow is gently falling on the trees and ground outside, wind blowing away a few stray leaves.

"this whole place is so pretty isn't it??"

you barge into the room, disturbing his peace.

"would be prettier if it was quiet."

megumi mumbles, glancing at you over his shoulder, to which you just tilt your head with a small laugh.

"what do you mean, it's already so quiet! it needs a little more life!"

oh my gosh. he is holding back the insanely strong urge to facepalm right now. were you stupid, or just trying to annoy him? why did you always needed to be where he was?? it was already getting too irritating. all your stupid habits. all the unstoppable blabbering, the loud laughs at every dumb joke you ever heard, the cute little hand gestures all the time- wait what? nevermind.

"aren't you supposed to rest?"

"why are you sooo boring? i wanna look around the town!"

he shook his head, starting to unpack his stuff.

"no."

"please!"

"no."

"pleeeeease!"

the begging continued the whole afternoon, and when he said no for the 25th time, megumi knew, this is about to be a very, very long month.

and you knew that you won't make it any easier for him. you're already here anyways. he will like you; whether he wants it or not.

© s4toruz 2024 , do not copy , modify or translate my work

aaaand here's the first chapter!! wohoo!! i can't believe i'm starting my first series here. i wrote on wattpad a few years ago, but i never got so many support as i got here, and i'd like to thank y'all for that here! i don't know when the next chapter will come, i'm not good with keeping scedules but i'll try to bring it as fast as possible! also, this chapter was only proof-read once so sorry if there are any mistakes. this is so short omfg i'll try to write more in the future!!!

reblogs and comments are appreciated!!

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