#sometimes I just feel a bit left out with the two of them

[writella]

Here He Is, Finally

Synopsis: “When’s it gonna be my turn? Open me up, tell me you like it, fuck me to death, love me until I love myself—” This is a story about the inner struggles of a desiring Daryl who just wants to be free of the perceptions the town, and his own mind, have put on him, so he can love you and love himself, in the ways he’s always wanted to.

—or: As Daryl becomes the talk of the town, insecurity sets in that hinders him from having sex with you— the thing you most want to do.

Details: Daryl Dixon x fem!reader, ambiguous age gap, mixing early seasons’ + later seasons’ personality of Daryl, the town being mean but also thinking Daryl’s hot because he is, discussions of gossiping, insecurity, and poor self-image, Daryl fights someone :), and smut— unprotected + he’s nervous but then it gets good, and it’s their/Daryl’s/your first time in whatever way you want it to be.

A/N: He’s literally me (I’m a girl).

— With love from writella. ♡

There it was. You finally said it. You told Daryl that you were ready to have sex.

When you told him, the two of you were having a quiet morning and he was about to leave. Pulling yourself up to his height, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, and he took you by the waist, one hand reached up to hold your head, rubbing his thumb there. Good, you had thought, he’s reciprocating. That let you know he was okay, but still, underneath, you knew he was embarrassed about last night. You weren’t going to bring it up though, not then. You wanted to move forward, to show him that you didn’t care. “Daryl,” you started, words slow, uneasy in voice but sure in intention, as you whispered to him from above his shoulder, “I just wanted to tell you– that– I feel like I’m ready.” You paused for a moment. “And whatever you feel, I’m okay with it. Just talk to me.” As silence ensued, you kissed him on the cheek, “I love you,” you said, and pulled back.

Daryl kept his hands in yours as he looked at you. His features were sad and soft as much as they were unreadable. He kissed you on the forehead. “I love you too,” he said– it wasn’t the first time you two had exchanged those words– and then he left. Just like that.

You had no expectation for how he would react. You only knew he wouldn’t give you a flat-out no, so this, was understandable. But still, there was something hollow about it, even if his kiss and words were tender. It was another relationship moment that reminded you that these things never happen as they do in fairytale romances.

You see, you had always pictured him or whoever you were with at the time, bringing you close, kissing you, their fingers trailing down and under the hem of your skirt or pants, asking you if you were ready, if you were sure, if you wanted them to go slow, slower, but Daryl— as it turns—was incredibly pure, or at least pretending to be. Either too nervous or sensitive about these things, possibly inexperienced, or much more innocent with his intentions than you ever expected. It’s like you knew Daryl like the back of your hand, but when it came to anything about you as a couple, his history, who he’s dated before– you were clueless. You didn’t know what it could be.

One thing you did suspect, although Daryl has never told you, is that he thought of you as precious, something to be delicate with, like a flower. Sometimes you’d tell him he didn’t have to be so slow or soft when you were kissing– he was always a little sloppy anyway– and whenever there was a task to get done you’d be the first to tell anyone you could do it yourself, he knew this about you. And it’s not like he babies you or anything, that was never his way. Like when you two were fighting walkers, or doing work around the communities, or when he’s teaching you how to do something. You’ve even told him that he could be a bit demanding sometimes, grouchy, rough, and he agreed– that was true. He didn’t do it on purpose, the whole being hard on you thing. But alone? When he was on top of you or you over him? Waking up to you? Feeling your hand reach for his own in the dark? Even just eating dinner with you? The guy was a mess! A little boy, even. Heart racing. Eyes averted at times.

Whenever he nipped you, on the lips, or the neck, maybe he pushed you on the bed too hard, grabbed your waist too tight that it squeezed the bone, there were always silent apologizes of gentle circles, sweet kisses, and tongue licks to soothe the pain or possible bruises he left on you. And sometimes, when you’re home alone or you shower together, and he starts to kiss you or pull you in by the waist, he almost always sets out with the intention that this time he’d finally do it— the sex thing— he always wanted to. Only if you knew! Honestly, he’d feel like such a pervert if he let you know how many times, both before and after you got together, that he’s thought of being inside you, or you on your knees for him, or him kissing up your thighs and tasting you– he genuinely thinks he’d really like it, all of it, but especially that. But every time you’ve kissed and kissed enough, he’d get too overwhelmed about how to proceed or too nervous to even try. He tells you that you two should shower or go to bed or that he has to go for whatever reason. So all you’ve done is grind on each other, a lot, but that’s about it. You know he’s gotten hard and you’ve gotten wet, but you’re not sure if he’s ever noticed. He wants to put his hands in your pants, he wants to rip your blouse, he wants to squeeze your tits and slap your ass, but every time he thinks about actually doing it, he feels it's too forward or raunchy, or maybe it's not actually like him in the way he’s pictured in his head, or maybe you’d hate it, and specifically the way he did it. And he has thought about doing it slowly, romantically, but every time he thinks about doing that, he feels stupid, thinking he’ll come off as clumsy and pathetic to you. He doesn’t exactly get the concept of slow and sexy yet— reaching up, breathing you in, letting his fingers linger, or hands caress and massage. It’s not that he couldn’t do it though, or so he thinks, if he really tries; it's that doesn’t even think he’s sexy to begin with.

The only thing Daryl knows for sure are the things people call him when they think he’s not listening.

“Deep and… grunty,” one much too young girl said to her equally young friend who giggled, indicating her agreement even if she was too afraid to verbalize it. “I just like his voice,” the first girl said, “it’s sexy.” Or, “Wild,” as one of Aaron’s friends whispered to him, “Like he could throw me around, do it in front of the whole town, and wouldn’t care who saw.” To which Aaron scoffed and replied, “That’s literally my fucking friend.” But in truth, it’s not like he hadn’t thought about it himself, how Daryl looked underneath his vest and button-downs– it was just once though!– he promises!– as if he needed to explain it to himself. He even told his husband about it; they had agreed on Daryl’s attractiveness. Eric called it “rugged,” and they laughed about it over dinner. Now, Aaron would repeat that word as he overheard another group of ladies discussing ways to describe or trademark some of the male leaders in town. As Aaron passed by, “rugged,” was his suggested alternative to the word “beast” when one older lady described Daryl, in a way that would make anyone not a part of the conversation cringe, “Beast, sexy armed beast.” But Aaron was only met with silence and weird hums until a girl replied that “sexy armed rugged,” doesn’t make any sense. To that, all the ladies agreed. As Aaron walked away, wanting nothing more with this kind of conversation about his friends, he caught the new suggestion: “Daddy,” a girl had said with the widest smile on her face— she wasn’t a teenager, but it was obviously her first time being vocal about these things. She must have felt she said something so salacious. And as much as Aaron wanted to gag, there was also a part of him that reluctantly stopped himself from laughing and blushing with the rest of the woman. One of them rolled her eyes saying, “They can’t all be daddy,” to which another girl said, “But they kind of are!” and then he was too far away to hear anymore.

Daryl didn’t get any of it.

The only ones that truly bothered him though were when they added, “I know he’s a little ugly but,” or “I know he’s not my type but,” or “I know he looks a little dirty but,” “And he never does his hair but,” “And he’s not like the smartest but,” but, but, but—

It all made him feel bad about himself; more confused.

Even when it was just generally flattering, he found it hard to take any of it as a compliment. Sometimes he would, maybe the whispers of him being “kinda hot,” on the days when he’d return to his cut-off sleeved shirts, or maybe those moments when a lady would be talking to her friend saying how he’s “handsome,” or how she just knows “he’s packing–big–” and what’s better than a big dick, right? At least that is what Daryl thought– it's the bit of Merle in him– and he bets Negan wished he had one— Daryl was pretty sure Negan’s is a tiny little bitch just like his personality. No one gets to kill one of his best friends and gets more than a three-incher. Right, J.C.? If you’re even up there? Not that Daryl would mind if you were or weren’t, or cares if you did, he wouldn’t mind– Daryl didn’t think about religion that much anymore. And on that note, he realizes that he doesn’t do a lot of the same things he used to anymore. Like the way he would walk around without a care, even confidently sometimes, not thinking about how much he swung his arms or the way he talked or the way his hair fell that day. There was this one time, as he was walking over to Rick in the garden, telling him he couldn’t find whatever particular tools Rick wanted, he yelled, “They ain’t there no more, Rick!” that he heard some older guy say to his friend that Daryl sounded like a “human gremlin,” to which the friend tried to one-up him by saying, “more like a garbage disposal.” Then another day, some girl said he looks like a “wet rat sometimes,” especially when his hair is flat or, as said in the phrase, wet; and he never forgot it, either of them or anything anyone has ever said about him. It’s always been like this. Even when he was a kid.

Daryl tries to remember that people have just gotten too comfortable now that Alexandria is back on track, at least that’s basically what you had said. One day, Daryl came into your room, huffing and throwing himself on your desk chair, saying, “Some people don’t know how to keep their mouths shut.” To which you had asked him what was wrong, but he shook his head.

“Well,” you begin, responding to his un-answer, “some gossip is misogynized. It used to be a way for women to spread information, but–” you avoid the lecture— “I get what you mean.” You look at him, seeing the way his eyes still drift. “I can’t tell you everything, but Rosita and I had heard some people speculate on the whole her and Saddiq and Gabriel thing.” You shook your head, your eyes rolling a little, “It made her upset. I could tell. But it took her a while to talk about it. I think some people forget they can talk behind closed doors now. Our porches aren’t as private as they used to be, and people have gotten mean.” To that, you both nodded in agreement and then you climbed toward the edge of your bed to hold his hand. Something was obviously wrong. “Has anyone said anything about you?”

Again, he shakes his head and you have to leave it at that— all he wanted to do was ask questions about you now, and he wouldn’t let you change the subject.

But at home, alone, he stares at the mirror, trying to see what other people see: handsome, rugged, possibly wild… but all he saw were things he didn’t l understand, things that made him feel he wasn’t good enough. Did they really think he was attractive? And if so, why did they always have to bring up that there was something completely unattractive about him before the compliment? And why were those remarks always easier to believe? Or was it all just some weird fantasy they felt dirty about having? And was being rude behind his back was some sort of justification for it? Was it all of them above? Most importantly, did you think any of this?

Next Saturday, a week after you told him you were ready, the town gathered in the church during the evening for the monthly communal meal. This was something that started during the rehabilitation of Alexandria, another thing that the population was getting too big to contain, but Rick and Judith liked it. So, Michonne agreed to keep it— for now— despite reasoning that “this is what holidays are for, Rick.”

It was about an hour in, 6pm and sunset now past. Some people who had been busy working were still filing in, little by little, but for the most part, a majority of citizens were seated, eating, and chatting. There was a steady rain outside that made everything smell fresh, and if it wasn’t for all the chatter, you could even possibly hear the light drumming on the church walls. Everyone was quite pleased about it, spring seemed to be coming early.

Daryl had not come to see you last night and left early this morning so you didn’t know where he went or what he did, but what you did know for certain is that he never carried an umbrella. Therefore, when he finally arrived, 30 minutes later, his hair was soaked, and since he didn’t even wear his jacket, the long sleeves of his shirt were drenched with water droplets sticking to his vest and shoes that sloshed and left wet footprints on the wooden floor.

Obvious to say, he was noticed by all.

There is a fine line with Daryl between not giving a fuck about how he was perceived, and caring far too much while not willing to do anything about it, and of course, with all that has happened in the past few weeks, it was the ladder. He hated being the center of attention, but it was hard for him to not be noticeable, it never was, especially now. He felt ridiculous.

As he walks onto the stage– where all the tables of food are placed– you follow him.

“Hi,” you say next to him.

“Hi,” he replies, calling you by your nickname kindly enough, but not ever looking at you.

“You know, I think Rick was hoping you were coming back on time. I don’t know why he put all that stuff on his chair if it wasn’t for you or Michonne and Michonne sat with me.”

He simply nods, humming as acknowledgment.

“Daryl,” you move to the other side of the table as he gathers his food so he can look at you. Quietly you say, “We don’t have to talk about it now, but– I hope I didn’t make you feel uncomfortable the other day. Or if it was about the night before, you just have to tell me.” You poke his shoulder, “You’re acting weird and you know it.”

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” is all he grumbles.

“But I still want to say I’m sorry if I did.”

Daryl quickly finds some napkins to dry his hands and wrists with and comes over to place them on the sides of your head to kiss you there. “You ain’t got anything to be sorry about. Alright? I’m fine.” His hands drop and holds you by the neck for a moment, the movement makes some water droplets bleed onto your clothes, you feel it but you say nothing. The only thing Daryl notices from you is that your eyes look almost identical to his despite the differing color– his mood is affecting yours, but he doesn’t know what to say right now to make you feel better so he opts for something he always know is true, “You’re perfect. You know that right?” And I’m just fuckin’ weirdo, he wants to add, but he doesn’t.

You were smiling at him. He doesn’t get it. He looked like an idiot all soaking wet and you were smiling at him. There couldn’t be a better reaction, but still, it’s moments like this where he can’t believe you’re real. All you say is “Okay,” never taking a compliment, just like him, instead of finding a way to break-up with him like he always nearly suspects. “Come to me when you finish, alright? We can leave if you want?”

“Alright,” he responds and you leave him be.

As Daryl goes down the rows of tables picking out what he wants, he heads to the last one. The way the event was set up was that everyone who came early had the opportunity to take a seat at one of the four tables that were placed along each corner of the stage and the rest sat in the pews, but despite the higher vantage point the stage gave, that did not mean Daryl couldn’t hear what those around the stage were saying around him— as always. It must be a hunter’s ear or something.

“Be careful,” a woman says smirking, her eyes gesturing to Daryl. “Let’s hope he doesn’t wet us.” The friend in front of her snickers, looking back to see that Daryl is now by the table just above theirs. Whispering, the first woman continues, shaking her head, “I don’t know how Rick or the girl put up with it. She just acted like nothing was wrong. He’s mudding up the whole damn church!”

Daryl keeps his back turned. This ends up being his last straw. “How about you shut the fuck up,” he mutters.

“Excuse me?”

Louder, facing no one in particular he yells, “Why does everyone act like I don’t got ears?”

You look up, synchronized with everyone in the church and get up with Rick who is already slowly approaching him, but Michonne yanks you down.

“What is your problem?”

To that, he turns back to the woman, “How ‘bout you say what you said again and stop talking shit under your breath.”

“What?”

“I said,” he starts yelling again, “if you got somethin’ to say about me lady, say it to ma’ face. That’s what I said.”

“Hey, what’s goin’ on?” Rick asks almost warningly, but not before someone yells, “Who the fuck are you talking to, man?” from one of the aisles in the back. It was her husband, now standing from his seat. He and his wife make eye contact, and instantly he’s moving closer.

Daryl walks to the edge of the front stage, barking a quick “move” without any pause and Eugene and Siddiq violently bob their heads and grab their plates as Daryl steps on the table and jumps to the floor.

Rick tries to push him back but it’s no use, Daryl pushes him in return and he and the husband are charging at each other, speaking over each other: “What did you say to my wife?” “Told her to shut the fuck up. Thought I said it loud enough–” “Nah, man you were mumblin’ like always–” “Or d’you need me to say it louder with ma garbage disposal mouth?” Daryl pushes him, “Huh?” “I’m not fighting you, man.” But Daryl persists, getting in the man’s face, their noses almost touching. He whispers, “You know, maybe your wife’s got everyone’s name in her mouth because she don’t fuckin’ like you.” The man keeps shaking his head, but Daryl surprises him, he isn’t the only one the town gossips about. “She’s fucking Mark,” he tells him. That was true, and people knew it. “He’s your friend, ain’t he? Maybe that’s why she’s always–” But no, not him, her husband did not know, so he punches, straight in the eye. Daryl almost smiles as he takes the next swing.

The two are tussling, but not for long as Rick takes the chance to get Daryl from behind, taking him away with Gabriel’s help. “You done?” Rick asks as Gabriel holds him on the other side, His grip honestly does nothing though and Daryl shrugs him off. Poor Gabe looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm to see the church– practically his church– in such disarray.

With that, and with Daryl raging too much to contain, he shrugs Rick off and stomps out.

Michonne finally takes her hand off of your wrist and you make you way to leave too. As you walk, you look back to Rick who is already trying to follow, and wordlessly tell him that it’s your turn now, then, turn to awkwardly dodge the people still standing in the aisle and collect your things to go.

Daryl was not hard to find. It almost made you think he wanted to be found or knew you’d go after him— he’s being such a child today. Despite the town lights, you hold out your flashlight to find him sits on a tree stump on the edge of town next to one of his favorite trees. The leaves did a terrible job of covering him from anything but you knew he didn’t care. It was almost laughable honestly. Still, you take pity, he was yours and you were concerned. “I know you don’t care about getting wet,” you say with no malice or disappointment in your voice, “but all that water in your shoes can cause blisters. You didn’t even wear the ones that don’t have holes.”

He just shakes his head, as always, and water droplets fall from the tips of his hair.

“Remember when that happened to me and you drained them with needles even though Saddiq told us not to?”

He stares at you, stone-faced for a moment. “You’re the one who told me to do it.”

“Because they hurt really bad!”

“You were being a baby.”

“Really?” You ask ironically. “So if I’m the baby why are you acting like one right now? It’s been raining since morning, Daryl! Not even a jacket? You’re obviously upset about something but I’m not going to continue this with you in the rain, looking like a sad, wet puppy.”

He sneered at the comment, wet.

“Let’s just go home, okay? Let me take you.”

“We don’t live together.”

You frown. “Don’t be mean, Daryl,” you gently warn. “You know what I mean.”

You hold your hand out for him, water collecting in your palm as you wait. It was more of a gesture than actual help as you two were still a few feet away from each other. “Please? You could have already ran away on your bike or gone home and locked your door but you didn’t. I don’t know what’s going on but don’t act like I don’t know you.”

Reluctantly, he gets up, walking to you in almost slow motion. You wish you could call him the drama queen he is right now, but it was time to get out of this rain– you would hold it in for the time being.

As you enter the small place, you make no conversation. You simply get to work and he doesn’t stop you. You take off your rain jacket and boots, then you take off his vest and boots. You drag him to his room and hang up your sweater and take off your jewelry, then you empty his pant pockets. Finally, you hold his hand as he trails behind you and into the bathroom. You unbutton his shirt and unzip his pants and place them all in the hamper. He takes off his underwear and helps you take off your clothes too. When you’re done, you turn on the water and go in, he follows. You bathe and wash his hair in silence. You are tender and gentle, and he knows it, he appreciates it, but his mind is loud, and angry, and he feels so pathetic as you wash him like he’s 5 years old. You turn around to start washing yourself as he takes care of cleaning his legs and lower area. After he’s done, all he can do is look at you, your body, the soft humming you can’t help but do when you shower. It’s exactly as he said, you’re perfect. He wants to bang his head against the wall because of it.

When you two finish, you sit on his bed, wearing one of his white shirts and a pair of boxers, he wears the same except his bottoms are sweatpants. He hates these kinds of casual clothes actually, he’s only okay with wearing it sometimes, but he has nothing else at the moment. All he had to do was give his clothes to Carol to wash, but he didn’t. He hasn’t really done anything this week.

“Ms. Ellen is a bitch.” You finally say, giving him an ice pack for his eye. “And so is Mr. Gary and they both have the whiteness names in the world. And they’re both lazy as fuck and reek of nepotism because they only had one of the biggest houses and biggest egos in Alexandria because they were friends with Deanna and they’re still bitter that their house being destroyed in the fire— which I get— but it’s not okay that she uses her bitterness to talk shit about everyone. And it’s also not okay that you used your anger to fight someone who didn’t deserve it. That wasn’t like you.”

“Maybe it is. You didn’t always know me.”

“Well, sure, can act like a tough—”

“I don’t act like anything—”

“Fine, I’ll change it: Can you be a tough guy? Yeah. But do you pick fights and make big scenes in front of the kids like that? No, you don’t.” You stare at him, tapping him on the knee and forcing him to look at you. “You not talking is obviously not working, Daryl. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

He takes a moment. “I just—”

“What?”

“I don’t want to disappoint you,” he finally says lowly.

“I don’t think you could,” you answer, “I’m not even now, I’m just frustrated. Or confused really. Why do you think you would?”

He lowers his ice pack, “Cause I’m not fuckin’ Rick.”

You laugh a little. “Well, I did have my suspicions, but great, that’s good to know. I’m glad you’re not fucking Rick.”

He sucks his teeth. “Be serious.”

“Have you not realized I’ve been trying to be? For weeks now? It obviously doesn’t work.” Both of you look down as you continue, “And I finally tell you how I feel and what I want and you just leave and barely talk to me for the rest of the week. And before you even mention coming into my bed at night or saying goodnight or good morning to me and telling me what you’ll do that day, that’s not talking, it's just saying stuff. At some point I can’t always chalk it up to Oh, that’s just Daryl; at some point, a person starts thinking that they're the problem. That I’m the problem! That I’m not good enough.”

A tear falls down your cheek involuntarily, then another; you were clenching your jaw after you finished speaking but it was no use. After everything, all the bullshit and the girls and the punch to his eye that really fucking hurt even though it was his fault he got it, this is actually the worst thing that has happened to Daryl in the past months– making you cry.

“You’re more than good enough,” he says in his mumble, still not looking at you. “I’m just stupid.”

“You’re not stupid!” You yell frustratingly as you wipe tears away. “Stop talking down about yourself!”

Daryl looks off into the window. He wants to speak, he does. The words are all on the tip of his tongue but they cannot come out, they never do. As he watches you wipe away your last tears, he thinks everyone is right, that that guy is right, he has a garbage mouth, his voice is poison. He never makes any sense and he always says the wrong thing. Why speak anyway?

“I can’t help you or at least try to understand if you don’t say anything. I know it's hard— I don’t like doing it either. I was scared to tell you what I did last week. But it just starts with one thing.”

“It's too hard to.”

“But I’ve never judged you, right? ”

He shakes his head. You haven’t.

“The first thing that comes to your mind when I say, ‘what’s wrong?’, what is it? Just say it. I don’t care what it is. I’m not going to judge you, I’m not going to say you’re wrong, anything—”

“People think I’m ugly,” he interrupts, “I’ve heard them say it.”

Your eyes widen, in shock for him and in shock that people could still care about such stupid things right now. “Who said that to you?”

He shakes his head. “That’s why I mentioned Rick. No one says stuff like that about Rick.”

“Well, I don’t want you to be like Rick and you don’t have to be.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

He gestures to himself, slapping his hands on his thighs, “Look at me.”

There’s something about the way his hand then reaches to cover his eyes in frustration, the way he slides it down to scratch his beard, accidentally magnifying to you the wisps of salt and pepper among the brown that gives you a clue to what he means. “I’m not some little girl, and I haven’t been for a long time.”

“I know, but you’re not my age either. And I don’t always think about you when it comes to it, it’s about me- I think about me.”

“So what about it? When it comes to the hair on your head and your eyes and the way you talk— that has nothing to do with how old you are, that’s just who you are. You didn’t choose to look as you do. And you and Rick have always looked the same age if I have to mention him, and his beard is whiter than yours at this point. Neither of you look old, or bad.” Your words do nothing so far. “You also have a better build than plenty of people in town. You’re stronger too.”

“But when they talk about Rick, all they say is that he talks too much and that he’s bossy and hardass and at least that’s true.”

You couldn’t help but smile, almost laughing a bit at that. It kind of was true.

“I’ve never heard anyone say things about him the way they say about me. Never anything about how he looks. But when they talk about me— they think I’m a fuckin’ animal.” There is silence after this. The word wild lingers in his mind and animal in yours. Again you want to ask, who could say that and have they not realized all Daryl has done for this place? Then, the more you listen, the more you realize that hidden beneath those with endless respect are some with hearts of cruelty and minds stuck in the regular old world ways that don’t exist anymore. “And sometimes, when I think about why you like me, I think that maybe it’s despite other things.”

“Despite?”

“Despite.” He practically spits.

“We all have bad qualities though. We’re not perfect.”

“I mean that I’m not some regular good looking guy.”

“Why would I want regular?” Your smile fades as his sad eyes persist. “Daryl, I can’t change your mind or make you feel the way I do about you, but why can’t you trust that I like you, and that I want to be around you? And that I’m,” you blush, “very attracted to you and I’ve felt like an embarrassing teenage girl the past few months waiting and trying to get you to have sex with me!” Quietly you say, “Have you not realized how much I really want you? How much I care? Everyday I feel lucky.”

He can’t take it. “Guess it’s like you said— can’t believe it if I don’t see it myself.”

His mouth is screwed shut, his throat tight, but just like you, it’s no use, a tear rolls down his cheek. Immediately you hug him. He holds you tightly in return and even though it makes your ribs hurt a little, you let him. All of this makes you see how much you two are alike than you’ve ever realized.

“You know,” you say into his hair, “there was this one time, I was up super early and couldn’t go back to sleep so I went out for a walk. I passed by Olivia’s house and she waved me over from her window and asked me if I could help her restock the pantry before Rick came later in the day to check it because she had this huge migraine. Well, that turned into me doing the whole thing for her. She said she was going inside for a break and some water and the next thing I know she’s asleep on her couch! And you know how her niece lives with her? I guess she runs in the morning and while I was finishing up, her and her friend lean up against one of the garage doors and I hear them talking. I was just about to open the door to leave but then she says, ‘She’s sweet but kind of a kiss-ass, right? Like a try-hard?’ And then her friend goes, ‘Yeah, she really wants to be one of them,’ ‘But all she is, is just Daryl’s little girlfriend.’” Daryl lets go to face you, his eyes incredulous just as yours were when he said someone called him ugly. “And then they started saying how I insert myself into places or something, so thought if I came out right then and they see me having done Olivia’s job for her… I didn't want them to get an up-close look of them being right. So I waited until they went in the house and then I left and for the whole rest of the week I was upset because I thought I was becoming friends with those girls but really I wasn’t, and I questioned if Rick and Michonne or Rosita or Glenn and Maggie even thought of me as a friend because they actually like me or if I’m even good enough to be one or if it’s only because I’m associated to you that they care to talk to me. I felt pathetic too.” You pause. “So, I’m really sorry, Daryl. You don’t deserve to feel like you’re being picked on in the town you live in— in the place you helped create.”

“It ain’t your fault.”

“That doesn’t make a difference. I should have said something.”

“You didn’t have to. I wanted that to happen.”

“But I wish I knew. Cause I would have if I knew. I feel like I let Michonne stop me because I didn’t understand. And all I’m saying is whether I've had it as bad as you or not, I do get it. And I’m angry for you. And you don’t have to be embarrassed to tell me things like this. It was dumb of me to keep my feelings in, just like you do with everything.”

Daryl swipes his hair to the side, parts of it are dry and waving while other areas are still wet, making him think about the rat joke. “No one likes you because of me,” he says. “You’re likable because you’re you and you care. And fuck those dumb-ass girls. They’re idiots for saying that.” He rubs your thigh. “I didn’t say anything the other day because when we were in the shower the night before I,” God, he feels stupid, “I got hard and you saw it and I realized it was the first time you saw it like that before and, I don’t know, I got scared.”

“Did you think that I’d think you’re ugly?”

“I don’t know.”

“Daryl,” you tisk, “after the amount of times we’ve showered together already?”

He gets defensive, “I don’t know! Felt different.”

“People usually get excited to know their partner is excited because of them.”

“I just feel like you’re gonna be disappointed.”

“Why do you always think that? I don’t have any expectations. I just want you to show me you love me.” You begin to look nervous, “I want to feel wanted too.”

“But I do… I do want you.”

“Then show me.”

“I don’t know how.”

You try to think, “Daryl— what is it that you picture when- when you want to do it?”

“I picture you,” he says simply.

“You do?” Your face is immediately warm.

He laughs, “Of course I do.”

“Well what do I do? Or what do you do to me?”

“Depends.”

“Pick one,” you say, almost desperately.

“Sometimes it just starts with what we always do. Kissin’. Maybe you’re on top of me.”

You waste no time; you get on top of him.

“And I press you down.” Daryl’s hands are now heavy on your hips, your hands are on his chest, you rock into him slowly.

“And sometimes I think about you bouncing on me or-” he pauses, the way you rock and the way he pushes up to you hitting a perfect spot of friction that makes the both of you gasp.

“Say it,” you tell him.

“I’m fucking you from behind. Or you're on the bottom and I’m going hard or being all gentle and shit like you but I don’t know how.”

“You know we can do all that, right?”

Daryl is red. Both you and him are surprised at yourself, but his bashfulness almost brings it out of you naturally. And honestly, your jacked and grumpy dilf boyfriend has left you repressed for far too long— you’re horny.

Suddenly, you move yourself onto one of his thighs and start palming his bulge as you rock. “Do I do this in your dreams?”

He almost groans, “Now you do.”

You move yourself from his thigh and lay down to start kissing him. He reciprocates, grabbing your face and pulling you close. Daryl starts nipping at your neck and you try your hardest not to yelp so he won’t stop. As you two continue, your slick starts to wet his boxers and you press your legs together as he gets harder under his sweatpants.

“Have you ever noticed how wet I get when we kiss?”

“Only at night,” it’s hard for his words to come out as you continue palming him, “when you don’t have clothes on.”

“And you never did anything about it?” You whine. “Do you know how bad I need you? How much I think about you?”

“I think about you more.”

“You do?

“Yes.” Daryl swallows, whimpering a little. You now stroke him, his dick riding up against his thigh, and it feels too good. “What- What do I do in your dreams?”

“You lay me on the bed and put your dick in me and fuck me and it feels amazing,” you say between hot breaths. “And you’re not scared to do it.”

“I wanna do it.”

“So, please, Daryl, do it. I want it so bad.”

Daryl uses your words as courage. He takes you off of him and goes over you.

You both take off your shirts and he strips you from his boxers and him from his sweatpants.

Finally, without regret or without him turning away you see his cock stand. It’s proud, meaty, and you can’t lie, a little scary, but you’ll never tell him, even if your widening eyes give you away. It’ll fit, you assure yourself. You won’t be afraid.

“You okay?” He asks, timidity setting in again.

But you nod assuredly. “Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

You pout, he’s stalling. “When you look at me, what do you see?”

“Beautiful.”

“And you're handsome. No pretenses. No exceptions.” You come up on your knees to face him, kissing his lips softly. “It’s like we said, we’ve dreamed about this.”

You lay down again, and Daryl places his hands on your inner thighs to spread them, making space for himself. You watch as takes hold of himself, mouth agape and pumping himself a few times as he stares at your body before slowly entering you. Your pussy is drooling at the sight.

Your eyes instantly close and scrunch. Although it worries Daryl, he’s glad you’ve shut them so he can continue looking up and down— up at your face to see if you’re in pain and down as he watches his cock enter you for the first time. You were incredibly tight to him, tighter than he ever imagined, he wasn’t used to this feeling and he liked it, a lot. It made his stomach clench and all his muscles flex as his breathing gets heavier, trying to stop the possibility of him moaning at the sight of it all.

“Are you okay?”

It was big and there was something about it that felt good but it hurt, the stretch indescribable, but you nod and tell him, “I like it,” because that was true, and everything else felt like too much to explain right now, your thoughts almost dissipating.

“You sure?”

You just nod again, whining.

“Alright,” he says, putting his hands on the bed to start.

Once more your eyes screw shut. He almost takes himself out before he pushes back into you again. He doesn’t know if he went slow enough but he tried. Your eyes wrinkling because of how hard you closed them doesn’t help though. He wants to tell you to relax but he’s not even relaxed himself to even make it sound believable.

He tries again, not going so far out this time and slowly goes back in to the hilt again, so slowly in fact he thinks that must have been awkward for you. He stops, tries one more time, then stops again. Your sounds seem like you’re hurt. He knows you’ll say it’s just pain and adjustment to his size but he instantly perceives it as disgust. He knows it’s not, but he can’t help it, he can’t. He must be ‘too much’; ‘too big,’ that’s what it is. Those are things he has heard in porn tapes Merle used to give him or things he noticed in porno mags he maybe used to read that he had found in a store near Hershel’s farm all those years ago, and supposedly it was a good thing for it to be too much, but now, look at you: you were in pain. And it was taking everything in him not to ram into you. He felt pathetic, again. Stupid, again. Like he didn’t know what he was doing. Maybe he should just withdraw right now, clean you up, try to give you a sympathetic look through his hair that said he was sorry for defiling you and not even make you feel an ounce of pleasure in the process. Everyone was right, he is a joke.

“Daryl,” you say, looking up at him, “you don’t have to keep stopping for me. I just need to relax and you just need to be slow. I think I can take it.”

“I know,” he responds, kissing your forehead.

“Close your eyes,” you tell him. “Do what feels right to you. You have to trust me to tell you if it hurts or not.”

He almost laughs at that. You think he’s so strong; that he has all the power. It’s so strange to him.

Daryl puts his head in the crux of your neck, closes his eyes, and tries again. He holds your waist, thumb on your ribs and the other fingers on your back as he pushes his hips into you.

You hug his chest and feel all of it. “Make yourself feel good Daryl, it’s gonna feel so good to me if you do that, I promise.” After his 4th small pump you let out a whiny moan of relief. “Oh- okay- keep going.”

Daryl moves his elbows to the bed by your head and starts pushing his hips against you, finding a rough yet steady rhythm. He loves the slapping sound your bodies are making and can’t help but speed up. He goes deeper and you start moaning. He already feels he’s losing himself. He tries to kiss you to slow down, but realizes he can’t plow into you the same way he just found out he likes. He goes back to it and he starts grunting and groaning— there is a part of him that is embarrassed by it but it just feels so good. “Are you gonna come?” He asks between sharp thrusts.

“Don’t focus on that,” you tell him. “Stay like this. Please.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice, he really can’t think of anything anymore than continuing to pump himself in you so he does. You try your best to rock up into him, but he has full control, his hands on your hips still as tight as ever as he pushes into you, making you and the bed bounce at his mercy.

You’re more than fine with it all. Even better, you couldn’t believe this meant that Daryl was about to come inside you. Something in you knew it was about to happen. It was the way he placed his elbows by your head and started cursing and ramming into you harder and even whimpered in your ear and gave you these little puppy kisses there before getting back to it. You were surprised by how noisy he was but you didn’t dare say a word other than panting and whining back into him so he’d continue, even in moments when it felt too much and too hard. He was forgetting all his doubts and that was the goal right now. You lock your legs around his hips and tell him, “You feel amazing inside me. My handsome man,” and that does it, “Oh, fuck,” he says as he releases every last drop of himself inside you.

Now, as he slows down, he looks at you, thumb on your bottom lip and chin as he tries his best to keep rolling his hips on you as he comes down from his high, but you ask, “Will you kiss me down there, Daryl? I’ve always wanted that.”

“You don’t want me to make you come?”

“I think it’ll happen if you do it like that. I just want to know what it feels like.”

He stops for a moment deciding if this means he’s failed or not, but he simply says, “Okay,” all kindly and nodding like it was your idea even though it was because this means another one of his dreams were coming true.

Instantly, he’s licking you, feeling more assured of what he could do— this was one of his most vivid fantasies so even though he doesn’t know for sure, he thinks he’s got.

“Oh, oh my god,” his tongue is bringing up wetness to your clit and sucking on it, “that’s good.” He starts licking your clit, going fast, “Daryl, that’s so good.”

He looks up at you, dazed already, “Yeah?”

“Oh, yes.” You fix his hair and he loves the feeling. Truly, he was going a little too fast actually, going up and down and this way and that way too much, but the sounds his mouth and your pussy were making together were too glorious. You let him go, you let him be proud, and either way, you’re whining and moaning because of it. He’s perfectly imperfect and he doesn’t even know it. But you’re too in love with the feeling of him to explain what that means right now so all you say is what he told you about yourself in the church, “I think you’re just perfect.”

To that, he stops again and he looks up at you, smiling. It’s one of those rare ones he seldom does, teeth and all, and your slick coating his lips all the while. His eyes are shining, and he gives you the smallest, sweetest, most innocent kiss to the most obscene place on your body— your clit.

At this point all your sounds have been short, quiet, filled with whines but to this, you moan at the sight, full and loud. It’s involuntary. It’s pornographic. It’s the hottest thing he’s ever heard in his life. His cock stirs, springing up again as he goes back to giving you your first and forever the most slobberiest head of your life.

After a while he beckons you from below, “Hey, angel,” he calls.

“Mm,” you respond lightly. You’re nearly blissed out. He’s going to make you come.

“I think those girls were right.”

Your eyes become so cute yet so sad— you just want him on you again. “What do you mean?”

“You are sweet. Sweetest thing I’ve ever had in my life.”

“Oh,” you whisper, moaning again as he goes back to licking your clit. “Oh. Fuck.”

He starts licking and kissing your puffy lips, making wet sounds with his tongue, slurping little bits of you where he can. He loves how slick and noisy your pretty pussy is. Your clit throbs and he hums into it all dark and grumbled and husky going, “Mmmmmm.”

You tell him, “God, it’s so good, Daryl.” To which he responds, referring to a different it, “And it’s mine.”

Oh, so he’s cocky now? Well, that’s new for him. You lay back at the thought, at the feeling, reveling in delight.

Here he is, finally.

[angelofthenight01]

Crumbling barriers

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

genre: fluff     ||     warnings: none 

It was late when Natasha Romanoff stepped into the dimly lit living room of the Avengers compound. Her black leather jacket clung to her frame, her movements sleek and purposeful as always. Her green eyes flickered toward you, briefly meeting your gaze before she looked away, the weight of something heavy lingering between you two.

You had known Natasha for a while now—long enough to understand that she was a woman of few words, one whose emotions were usually hidden beneath layers of skillful armor. Yet, tonight felt different. There was a shift in the air, something that made you uneasy, like a storm waiting to break.

“Didn’t expect anyone to still be up,” she said, her voice low and steady, yet there was an underlying tension that you couldn’t ignore.

You sat up from the couch, abandoning the book you had been reading. “Couldn’t sleep,” you confessed, your gaze studying her. “Bad mission?”

Natasha let out a quiet breath, taking a step further into the room. “You could say that.” She moved to the bar, reaching for a bottle of water. Her hand trembled slightly as she twisted the cap off, but it was almost imperceptible—just a fraction of a moment that would have gone unnoticed by anyone who didn’t pay close attention.

“Natasha, you don’t have to do this alone, you know,” you said, your voice soft but unwavering. You knew how fiercely independent she was, how much she fought to keep her burdens to herself. But you also knew there were moments when even the strongest needed someone to lean on.

She paused, her back still turned toward you as she took a long sip from the bottle. “I don’t need anyone,” she muttered, almost to herself, as if saying the words aloud would make them more true.

But you didn’t let her retreat. You stood up, closing the distance between you, your presence steady and warm. “I know you don’t like to rely on others. But you’ve got to know, Natasha, that you’re not alone. Not with me.”

For the first time that night, she turned to look at you, her expression guarded, but there was something different in her eyes. The cracks in her walls were starting to show, even if she didn’t want them to.

A pause hung between you, and then Natasha exhaled sharply, as if the weight of everything she had been holding back had become too much. “It’s just… hard, sometimes. To let go. To trust.”

You took another step forward, your voice gentle but firm. “You don’t have to let go completely. You just have to know that it’s okay to let someone in. Even if it’s just a little bit.”

Her lips parted, as though she was about to say something, but she stopped herself, her gaze flickering toward the window, staring into the night. The silence stretched, comfortable yet filled with unspoken words.

Finally, she spoke, her voice quieter than usual. “I never asked for this life, you know. The guilt… the things I’ve done… they don’t go away, no matter how much I try to move past them. And sometimes, I feel like no one really sees me, not the real me.”

You stepped even closer, your voice soft but sure. “I see you. All of you. And I don’t need you to be perfect. I just need you to be here. With me. If you’re willing.”

For a long moment, Natasha said nothing, but her gaze softened, her shoulders slowly relaxing. She took a deep breath, as if she were weighing your words, measuring their truth.

And then, without warning, she stepped closer to you, closing the gap you had left open between you both. Her hand reached out, brushing your cheek ever so gently, her touch light but filled with a tenderness that you hadn’t expected.

“Maybe… maybe I could let you in, just a little,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “But you’ll have to be patient with me.”

You smiled, your heart racing, but you remained calm, steady for her. “I’ll wait as long as you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

And in that moment, Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, the woman who had been through more than anyone should ever endure, let her walls fall just enough to let you in. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

And you both knew that, in time, the rest would come. Together.

[floweringlino]

Vodka Redbull | H.J

𝙎𝙮𝙣𝙤𝙥𝙨𝙞𝙨 ; she really doesn’t know how to relax does she? Maybe he can help her let loose a little bit in all the chaos of work.

𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 ; Chef de Partie!Jisung x Maitre!reader

𝙉𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙨 ; mention of alcohol and drinking, very light angst, mention of one night stand, suggestive and fluffy

𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 ; 2,5k

The Gods Menu

Back to my masterlist

✎ ❀

Almost.

Almost done, she thought as she polished the last of the wine glasses. The bigger glasses were for the main corses, the red wines. The champagne glasses needed to go to a pedestal in the restaurant. Placing the high places on a tray she handed it to a waitress after she was done with them.

"Jessica, can you come here?" She asked one of her staff. The younger sommelier made her was over to her boss nervously.

"Yes ma'am?" She mumbled with her head down.

"Next time, you need to try and sell the special wines. Selected courses are fine of course but we have a couple of bottles that I want gone. Try to use them in the al a carte menu's. Like with the Veal you can suggest the Bernardus Chardonnay Monterey County Jeroboam. No critique, just telling you." She winked at her colleagues, always trying to remain kind.

Her eyes wondered to the loud yelling in the kitchen. They needed to quiet down. What if there were still guest in the restaurant. With a quick pace  on her heels, she walked over to the counter. One of the guys was slapping the other guys with a wet towel resulting in a loud slapping sound.

Jisung noticed her approach from the corner of his eye, quickly nodding to The intern Jeongin to stop what they were doing.

"Can all of you shut up? What if we had guests sitting." She whisper yelled at them. As they quickly put the towels away and continued cleaning, the cook made his was over to the sommelier.

"Who pissed in your drink, beautiful?"

"Fuck off, Jisung. I just wanna be done for today. I need this weekend." She rolled his eyes at him, noticing the grin on his face ridiculously beautiful face.

"Im sorry, we'll hurry up okay?" She mumbled a thanks and paced away again.

"Y/n, wait!" She turned around again in a 180° motion.

"You wanna come drinking with the guys and me?"

"And feel left out the entire time? No thanks."

"Come on, Y/nnie! It'll be fun!" The pastry chef, Felix, yelled from somewhere behind him.

"I'll make it fully worth your while, i promise."

"Let me think about it." She told them and walked away for real this time.

-

It was around 1 in the night when all of them were finally all done. Some of the cooks had left already but 5 of them were waiting for the sommelier to be done so when she finally made her was to the dressing rooms they cheered for her.

"Are you actually gonna come with us?" Felix asked her with hope in his voice. She nodded and they all cheered even louder. She wondered how loud all of them could all be, thinking she had already heard the full extent of it in the kitchen.

It was Jisung, Chan, Felix, Changbin and Minho waiting for her. They had sent Jeongin and the other intern home, they wanted to come but they needed to go to school early. Their weekend was Monday and Tuesdays as those were the days the restaurant was closed but those were also the two days the intern needed to go to school.

"Wait are you really coming? Kinda didn't think you would." Jisung teased her, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

"Why wouldn’t i?” She questioned them.

“Well you’re kinda always fully business. We’ve never really seen you have fun so we didn’t think you did fun.” Chan confessed to her trying not to sound mean but it didn’t really help. She did have fun sometimes. Not her entire live revolved around work.

Well I do have fun sometimes so if yall can leave and let me get dressed, ill be out is a couple of seconds.” 4 out of 5 boys left the room and apologised at the same time, Jisung stayed behind.

"Can't i watch?" He asked with a desperate undertone, after which Chan dragged him out of the room.

She couldn't help but sniffle a laugh.

-

A little later the 6 of them made their way into the street where all the bars were. She hadn't been there in at least a year because of her job, the guys were very familiar with the placed they walked passed, making comments as to why they didn't walk inside

"Too many chicks."

"Firstly don't call them chicks. Jisung. It doesn't make you look cool. Secondly, since when is too many girls a problem?" She questioned him. He smugly smiled at her.

"Don't need any. Got my number one girl right here." He winked and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She left it like that, not disliking the feeling of an arm around her. His arm specifically.

They follwed Chan into a bar they seemingly were all familiar with.

"143" she mumbled the name and as they walked in she felt Jisungs stare on her. Pushing past the crowd of people, she felt his arm slipping of her shoulders. He walked in front of her and just as he was about to lose her, he reached for her hand and pulled her closer. She mumbled soft sorry's around her and the group made their way to the dance floor. Finding her place she started to move a little to the loud music.

"Let me get you a drink, what do you like?" Jisung yelled over the music. She didn't hear him so she pulled him closer to her to make him ask her again.

"What can i get you?"

"Vodka Red Bull please?" She had to look up at him a little through her eyelashes.

"Really? Miss ‘i sell thousand dollar wines every night like its nothing’ drink a basic red bull vodka?" He laughed at her but not in any way that would hurt her. She laughed with him and nodded with a smile. He left her there to get her her drink. Without him she felt a little lost and didn’t know what to do. They really weren’t lying. So didn’t do fun things. Her idea of fun things was staying longer and work and mapping all of the wines. When he returned with the glasses he handed her hers and she took a big swig of it.

“Wow take it easy, beautiful.”

"Lets get shitfaced tonight." She grinned and cheered at what he said with the rest of their colleagues.

“Why do you wanna get shitfaced?”

“Because I don’t know what Im doing Jisung. I can’t even dance.” He grinned and her and placed his hand on her waist. Pulling her against himself.

“Just follow me, okay? I got you.” He laughed, kissing her cheek and taking another chug of his drink.

And shitfaced they got. The rest of the night was filled with drinking and dancing. Lots of dancing. After the what felt like 100th shot the bodies got closer together. Jisungs breath heated up her neck and her cheeks. His hand was still on her waist as they moved simultaneously. Her ass pressing into his crotch and his pressing his lips in her neck every once in a while. As long as she didn't stop him, he saw no point in them stopping.

From the back, she looked up at him. Her eyes drunk and her hair sweaty and sticky. Their bodies where wet from fallen beer and sweat. They probably looked beyond drunk but it all didn't matter. Right here, right now, she was the most beautiful girl he had ever laid his eyes upon.

"Lets all go home." Chan said around the group, to which most agreed.

He questioned himself. Did he even dare to ask? He eyes looked into her searching for a sign. Something for him to gain the confidence. And there it was, just a simple shimmering in her drunk gaze.

"Wanna come back to mine?" It was only a whisper but his words sounded like sirens in her head. Don't do it. You work together, this is a bad plan. Think of your carreer.

But it all didn't matter at this moment.

She pressed her lips to his and in the hasty kiss mumbled a yes. He grinned at her and wrapped his arms around her waist to pull her closer.

The walk to his house were filled with gentle touches as they slowly got there. They had lost the others way back at the bar but they didn’t care and they didn’t try to stop them. He pressed her against the front door the second she closed it behind her. His arm rested above her and the other one slid from her waist to her jawline. Pulling away he smiled down at her.

Maybe there was a way she wouldn't regret this in the morning.

-

The sun burned in her eyes when she slightly opened them. The bedsheets perfectly wrapped around her and the pillow was softer than she was used to.

This wasn't her pillow. Her breath stoked in anxiety. Where was she? Then she noticed the arm wrapped around her waist. Turning her head she looked back at the sleeping guy behind her. She muttered out a couple fucks and peeled the arm away from her. Slipping away from his body as silently as possible not wanting to wake him.

Sitting on the edge of his bed she grabbed her phone. 9.30. Quickly putting on her clothes and without a sound she left the appartement, not caring about the messy hookup look she was rocking. Luckily she didn't have to see him next Monday and Tuesday.

The next to days where spend question her decision. She thought about quitting her job, not wanting to face the guy out of embarrassment. But maybe that was taking it way too far. It was just a hook up. Sure she thought he was funny, handsome , kind and very hot but it all didn't matter. They worked together and you simply don't date colleagues.

When she walked into work the next day she could already hear the guys busy in the kitchen. They would see her when she made her way over to the bar and when they did she heard them whispering. It was about her, of course it was. All of them had seen the two of them leave together.

She tried to ignore them but her eyes kept wondering over in admiration. Sure, they all joked around when it was quiet but nothing stopped these guys. The hours they make are nothing compared to hers. It was passion and art.

Her eyes crossed Jisungs and it made her jump a little. She quickly looked away and tried to ignore his burning gaze. And as quickly as the day started it was over again. A part of her hated the silence. It was killing. They weren’t talking to each other and that didn’t only mean Jisung and Y/n. All of them ignored each other. The kitchen didn’t talk to the waitresses and quickly picking up the vibes, the waitresses didn’t talk to the kitchen. It was Wednesday so they were lucky it wasn’t busy but if this had happened on a Saturday they would have been in total shit.

Her phone dinged and she quickly looked at it, her heart skipping a beat.

Suddenly the room felt a lot smaller. Did the walls have eyes? She felt so watched so when she looked back at the kitchen she expected him to be looking at her and she was right. Not only him, also his friends. They patted his back and walked away from the kitchen towards the changing rooms.

The girls from her staff made her way towards her.

“Y/nnie, we’re done with everything you asked us. Can we leave? Some of us have school in the morning and today like, really sucked.”

“Of course girls, text me in the group chat when you all get home safely and goodnight.” They all said goodbye and got ready to leave.

“We hope that you and Jisung figure out whatever is happening!” And with the they left her completely speechless. It was only them. And finally it was time to talk. Her eyes wondered back to the kitchen where the light was now turned off except for the orange heating lamp of the pass. Underneath layed sugered cherry tomatoes to dry. She walked to the kitchen to see if Jisung was still there but she didn’t see him.

The hand on her shoulder made her jump.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s fine Jisung. You wanted to talk?” It’s like she dismissed it. Like it didn’t matter. He looked at her a bit shocked.

“No no this is not how we’re gonna do this. Were gonna sit down and talk. And with that i mean that you’re gonna explain why you ran out on me.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her to sick down on one of the sofas the restaurant had.

“I don’t think I can do this Jisung.”

“You’re gonna have to because right now its hurting me.”

“How is it hurting you?” Sh asked him, looking him deep in his eyes. She saw hurt and pain in them.

“Because right now I cant help but think that I was so awful to you that it made you run away.”

“Its not that Jisung.”

“Then what is it. What made you run out on me after the best night of my life?” He grabbed both of her hands in his, forcing them to stare at each other. Tears pooled in her eyes as she sought the words the wanted to speak.

“Because im scared. Jisung.”

“You? You’re not scared of anything. You’re Y/N, you’re the person everyone looks up to. The person everyone goes to when they need anything. You’re the backbone of the restaurant.”

Me? Jisung, im scared of everything. Im scared of my future, im scared of what to do, of taking charge, of who i am. But most of all im scared of walking out of this room and never feeling the rest of my whole life that way that I felt that night that i was with you.” Her lips fell in a smile with the tears on her cheeks. The confession was a heavy burden on her shoulders but it was finally lifted. Jisung reached for her cheeks wipping the tears away. She leaned into the touch of his hand she smiled.

“I know that this, us scares you but please give me a chance to prove to you that im worth it. That im worth the risk.”

“I know you are Jisung.” He finally dared to smile back at her. He leaned in slowly, his hand still on her cheek.

“Can I kiss you again, Beautiful?” She nodded and excepted his loving kiss. She still remembered all the kisses they shared two nights ago but this one was different. It held promises, and finally work wasn’t the only thing on her mind.

It was him, all him.

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙚𝙣𝙙

𝑨/𝑵: oh em ghee this one took such a long time im so sorry ive been working sooo much. I hope you like it🫶🏼

Taglist: @nightmarenyxx 🫶🏼💓

[2demondogs]

Could you perhaps write something about a throuple with chartur and a male s/o? I am so sorry if this is not something you would like to even consider and I completely understand if you don't feel like writing it

Trust me brother we love a good throuple or more in this house. What's better than one boyfriend? TWO! TWO BOYFRIENDS! insert screeching eagle emoji here

Doing HCs reqs only right now so I assume u wanted some'a those.

I couldn't find any Charthur gifs that weren't sad, forgive me </3

Most of the time, Charles is the one to do or say something. Arthur beats around the bush, and Charles doesn't give enough of a fuck to mess with that. They fumbled through a few awkward conversations of their own before deciding they were both sweet on you. He was the one who bluntly asked Arthur how he felt about him, and he was the one to do that with you, too.

Charles approached you on his own, given that he'd rather not fuck them both over in one fell swoop in the worst case scenario. They'd agreed readily on that much. He asked about himself, then Arthur, and then how you'd feel about both of them. They'll talk about it if you ask, but the bond and history between them is never really something they bring up to avoid making you feel left out. You joined in, it felt natural, and that was that.

You're probably going to end up a regular mediator. Neither Charles nor Arthur place enough weight on their own discomforts, so you're going to have to force them to talk things out like grown men instead of just forgetting about it because "it's easier." They'll learn... eventually...

Charles was already less reserved with you, but when it's just the three of you, he's an entirely different man. The comfort he already finds in Arthur's presence makes it a lot easier for him to open up to you as well. Arthur, too, is much looser on your lonesomes. Even when you are merely good friends, you hadn't heard either of them talk so much and for so long. That's with affection disregarded, though Arthur's is more obvious than Charles'.

Both Charles and Arthur have limited social batteries. One of the best parts is that neither of them is going to care if all you want to do is lay between them or on them and listen to them talk without participating. Sometimes that's all they want, too. They've both got plenty of scars and moles to study when you want to retreat into your head for a while.

Laying between them is like being trapped in an oven, though. Charles runs hot and Arthur sweats in his sleep unless it's freezing outside your tent. If you've got bad circulation, one evening sandwiched between these two guys is gonna fix it. Otherwise... good luck.

Both of them prefer touch over words. Arthur's a tad bit more reserved with it than Charles. They've accidentally put their hands on your back or reached for yours at the same time more than once, and it will happen again.

They're also both fairly touch-starved. Arthur's struggled with trusting much of anyone since his first loves went so poorly, let alone finding enjoyment in anything more superficial. Charles has been alone for most of his life and almost functions better without constant interaction. But when they're starving for it, expect them to be starving.

Polyamory isn't something they're familiar with, so mostly they're feeling it out alongside you. At the end of the day, they've done worse than kiss another man. So... why not kiss two? There's a lot of passing jokes about "Who's gettin' him for today?" and "You went camping with Charles, now it's my turn." and "Hey, rude. Let me in on that."

[livmightlive]

Dawn Headcanon

Probably my biggest headcanon for LU, and honestly the Zelda games in general, is that Dawn was quite a bit older than Hyrule when he rescued her in Zelda 1.

I think while he was, I’m pretty sure canonically(?), around 10 or 11 she was more so like 17 or 18. I have no canon backing for this or any context at all besides that fact I like it for the following:

It’s no secret that fans of Hyrule and the first two Zelda games in the series have to do a lot of their own world building based off the lack of actual details the games give us. This paints a very lonely picture of Hyrule (in my modest opinion). He has no family members and not really any established friends in the series. Of course it’s implied that the Zelda’s probably think highly of him and he does have a few character interactions but the rest is purely left the speculation.

I like the idea of Dawn being quite a bit older than Hyrule because I like thinking that she brought him up as an elder sister to him, leaving him with a family member to return to. I also like the drama that would occur from her being older.

imagine: You are 18 and have been kidnapped by an ancient evil that not even you, the princess bestowed with power from the goddess herself can defeat. (I like to think that Dawn is brawny and tough. She is a princess yes, but she is the princess of a wasteland. She is a survivor with the rest of them.) You’re furious that this creature is razing your land to even more pieces and you are also disappointed in yourself. You have high expectations for yourself being one of the only figures of authority left in this place. You don’t expect to be rescued, it’s a dog eat dog world out here, but you are. And your brave rescuer is 10 years old 😭

I like to think that she’d be horrified that the only person in this world to try and save their princess is a literal child. So she takes him under her wing and finds that he is quite literally half feral. Like he growls at strangers and doesn’t know basic hygiene. So she takes it upon herself to teach this kid how to live as a proper person 😭

she feels kind of awful, like she’s stripping away his core as she civilizes this child, but she firmly believes it’s for his own good. If he doesn’t know how to clean himself he will fall to infection, even as he bites and screeches as Dawn painstakingly brushes and cuts the mats out of his hair. He hates learning math and reading, it caused him a frustration that not even fighting darknuts had caused him, but without it he can’t read road signs or spell books. Through blood, sweat, and tears Dawn manages to mold Hyrule into a person.

it’s not all bad though, she teaches him to forage for medicinal herbs and he takes to it like breathing. He starts smiling at her and rarely, in a hushed croaky voice, he shares conversations with her.

Dawn is the first to fight her own council when they want to cast out her little hero as his blood begins to drawn in beasts. She’s the first to cry when they don’t give her a choice and her little brother is cast from underneath her arms back into the wastes. he visits occasionally and sometimes she receives a letter, but there isn’t a day that passes that Dawn doesn’t miss those days he spent under her care.

I just really see Hyrule as the type of boy to have a big sister. She forcefully loved him and he learned to be loved.

(I think later on Aurora would be like a little sister to Hyrule giving him a little taste of what Dawn had to put up with him but that’s a different conversation)

I find Dawn really interesting and I feel like I don’t see much of her at all in the fandom. I think there’s a lot of potential in the princess of a wasteland kingdom (as so many people chose to see Rulie’s era). In general, I wish I could see more of the Zeldas.

if you have thoughts on any of the Zeldas pls lmk!! I love nothing more than hashing out different thoughts and headcanons

[starmieknight]

Stars Align

Dipper Vs. Manliness

17 Again AU: After a disastrous first day with the twins, Stan swears to do better as an uncle. But fate loves playing tricks on him and the magic 8-ball in the attic is more than it seems.

Now on top of having a pair of twelve year olds around the house while he tries to finish the portal and bring his brother home, Stan has to deal with being back in his seventeen year old body! Summer has never been weirder in Gravity Falls.

Prologue, The Legend of the Gobblewonker, Headhunters Pt. 1, Headhunters Pt. 2, Headhunters Pt. 3, The Hand That Rocks the Mabel Pt. 1, The Hand That Rocks the Mabel Pt. 2, The Inconveniencing (previous)

Special thank you to @disregardedblasphemy for beta reading! You're awesome <3

At one point, Stan had a bit of a crush on Lazy Susan. She’d been real cute and pretty sweet back when he first met her and she hadn’t been too upset about what happened to her eye. As the years passed, she was just one of the few single people left in his age range. That he actually liked, anyway.

Who knew so many people got married when you got old!

Now with his baby face in the way, Stan just didn’t feel right flirting with her like he normally did.

Using his ‘charming young man’ powers on her though―!

“You do split plates, right?” Stan asked, ducking his head shyly and peering up at Susan through his lashes. “We’re just poor, hungry kids on a budgeted allowance…”

Susan laughed and pinched his cheek.

“You’re just like your daddy, aren’t you? We always make an exception for Big Stan ― I can do it for Little Stan, too!”

Stan chuckled awkwardly, ignoring the ‘daddy’ comment, and offered the waitress a blinding smile.

Somewhere behind him, he heard a shutter sound and some muffled giggles.

“Tambry!” Mabel whispered, practically climbing over the back of the booth to speak to the girl on the other side. “Send me that for my scrapbook!”

Stan did his best to ignore that. And the fact that Tambry was still taking pictures of him when he wasn’t looking. Instead, he just pushed on with his order, ignoring Mabel’s protests that she wanted pancakes.

He could have made those himself if she'd wanted them so much!

Dipper, however, was more sympathetic to his sister’s plight.

“Don’t worry, guys!” he said confidently. “Pancakes are on me. I’m gonna win them by beating that manliness tester!”

“Manliness tester?” Stan asked blankly, remembering the machine that had been in the diner forever.

“Beating?” Mabel asked incredulously before bursting into laughter.

And Stan might have laughed with her if he hadn’t seen how scrappy the boy really was,  getting into fist fights with psychotic nine year olds and breaking into buildings. Still, the boy was built like a noodle and not in the typically stocky manner most Pines boys were. He didn’t even have their trademark nose, his mother’s genetics probably the cause for that. The color of it was right on point, though.

“Hold on there, sweetheart.” Stan put a hand on Mabel’s head to quiet her down, but wasn’t quite able to stop the snort that came with the mental image of Dipper beating the tester. “Your brother’s not as geeky as he seems, sometimes. I wanna see him try! Besides, it’ll be a good chance for me to see where he is before I start yous two on boxing lessons!”

“You’re going to teach us how to box?” Dipper asked skeptically.

Stan’s grin widened and he flexed his arms, thick cords of muscle visible even under his baby fat.

“You’re lookin’ at the best boxer from Glass Shard Beach! Goldmill Gym’s got all my old trophies lining the walls!”

At least, it had forty years ago. Old Man Nicky was surely dead now and probably had been pissed enough to throw out Stan’s medals when he’d disappeared into the night. Besides, the man had been friends with Pa ― Stan wouldn’t be surprised if the medals were melted down to make gold chains.

You’re a bum, Stanny. But you can take a hit and give ‘em back twice as hard.

Mabel latched onto Stan’s bicep, giggling wildly as he curled his arms a few times, threatening to drop her back into the booth.

“Hmmm,” Dipper hummed, eyeing Stan’s arms thoughtfully. “...okay. I mean, how different could it be from kickboxing?”

Stan grinned at him. “That’s the spirit, kiddo! Now ― go win us some pancakes!”

Dipper beamed at him.

It didn’t last long, however, the boy failing miserably and running out in the face of Manly Dan showing him up. Stan didn’t think the man meant anything by it. He probably just wanted more pancakes or was trying to feed what he thought was a bunch of hungry kids. He was just like that sometimes. Blunt and lacking tact.

Stan was the same.

He looked between his plate and the empty doorframe, conflicted.

Was he supposed to chase after the kid or give him space so he could lick his wounds?

Moses, he missed Old Nicky ― the man would already have a diet planned to help put muscle on the kid or have him chasing chickens and bench pressing hogs. He had a weird way of training his boxers, but he’d made Stan quick on his feet and able to find a weak spot on guys with more fat rolls than average.

“He’ll be fine,” Mabel rested her hand gently on Stan’s arm. Her smile was familiar, but it didn’t really meet her eyes. She almost looked guilty.

“Of course, he will.” Stan smiled back at her half-heartedly. “He’s a Pines. We always end up alright.”

Mabel didn’t look convinced, but she let it go for a moment. She began eating her pancakes, but some of her enthusiasm was lost.

“... do you think I shouldn’t have laughed at him?”

Stan winced, hearing the hurt in her voice. “Probably didn’t help…”

Mabel deflated, losing some of her usual vibrancy. “He’s really serious about becoming a man. Growing chest hair and wishing his voice would stop cracking…”

“People make it into a big deal.” Stan shrugged, remembering how he’d waited for those body changes a lifetime ago. There’d been the awkward days with acne and voice cracks, not to mention realizing he could have a crush on nearly anyone who showed him a smidgeon of positive attention. He could only sympathize with how Dipper was feeling, especially with Stan around in his current state. The kid was probably wondering when he was going to start shooting up and filling out like his uncle. Shermie and Alec were both built big as well. Dipper probably was feeling left out. “He’s gotta figure out his new place and his body’s going through some… changes. Speaking of, please tell me your mom has had The Talk with you…”

Mabel snorted, a gleam returning to her eyes.

“Don’t worry, Grunkle Stan.” she snickered. “Mom told me everything to expect last year.”

Stan sagged in relief. “Just let me know if you need… any feminine products. Or chocolate. Or just tell Wendy and I’ll give her the money.”

Moses, was it hot in here or were his ears on fire. He never expected to have this conversation. Why did it have to be so awkward?! He’d had a mother, for crying out loud ― and a girlfriend who’d been very vocal about what cramps and mood swings did to her.

Mabel just laughed at him again, bouncing back to her normal self with an ease he envied.

“Do you think he’ll be alright once he’s done with puberty?” she asked thoughtfully, trying her straw wrapper into a neat bow. “I mean, you seem alright going through it a second time.”

Stan snorted at that. “Nah, I was pretty much set as soon as I hit sixteen the first time. The only thing that stuck around for a while was the acne. That didn’t really go away until my thirties.”

“I thought that went away after you turned twenty!” Mabel exclaimed, her face twisting with horror.

“Nope!” Stan propped his chin up on his hand, leaning close to give her a good look at the bumps on his chin. “Maybe it won’t be so bad once you get over the hump of the hormone changes, but pimples’ll pop up at random forever! But your face thingies helped mine the other day.”

“We should get you some pimple patches for the little ones!” Mabel suggested, poking a red spot on Stan’s cheek. He hissed at the little jolt of pain it caused and she pulled her hand away, expression apologetic. “Ohh! We should do another spa day!”

“Spa day?” a somewhat familiar voice asked from behind them. Tambry popped up over the back of their seat, her eyes fixed on her phone. “Count me in.”

“Me, too!” Wendy announced, sliding into the booth across from them. “We should get Stan some better clothes, too. He’s been wearing the same pair of jeans for weeks.”

“I wash them!” he protested indignantly.

“You’re gonna wear them out like that.” the redhead pointed out easily. “Also, you smell like an old man. Switch your cologne.”

“I don’t wear cologne to work. That’s just aftershave.” He rubbed his chin with a grimace, resenting the fact that his facial hair had been so patchy as a teenager. It looked weird if he didn’t shave every morning. Back when he was old, his five-o’clock shadow had been fine enough for tours ― now he just looked stupid.

“We should get him a jacket that fits!” Mabel suggested, bouncing in her seat with her thoughts a million miles away. Probably lost in some mental mall. “And a comb!”

“I wouldn’t mind getting some gel,” Stan admitted, running a hand over his unruly curls. “S’how I used to wear it.”

Wendy tilted her head, considering his face. “I can see it. Like those guys in Grease.”

Stan snapped his fingers and pointed at her with a grin. “Exactly!”

“Let’s go to the mall!” Mabel shrieked, overcome with excitement. She shook Stan’s arm, moving her body more than his bicep and looking like she was being electrocuted as a result. Or like a fish flopping on the floor of his boat. “Mall Day! Mall Day!”

“I’m not getting out of this, am I?” Stan groaned.

“Nope!” Mabel and Wendy wore identical expressions, like lionesses about to pounce on some poor, old zebra. Tambry offered a thumbs up from the other side of the booth wall. ____________________________________________________________

“This was a terrible idea.”

Now, Stan was no stranger to shopping with a teenage girl. He’d dated Carla McCorkle for a while before she was stolen away by that mind-controlling musician. He was quite familiar with wandering from store-to-store while a girl ooh-ed and ahh-ed over things without making a single purchase.

He hated customers who did that and he hated being part of a group that did that.

“Grunkle Stan, this is an essential part of shopping!” Mabel punctuated her statement with a pointed slurp of her iced coffee. De-caf, of course. She was already energetic enough.

He responded with a pointed sip of his own, secretly conceding that iced coffee was good. Especially all dolled up with fancy syrups and whipped cream.

Way too expensive, though.

“C’mon, man.” Wendy rolled her eyes fondly and threw the jacket she and Tambry had been fawning over at his face. “Chill out and leave everything to us. All you gotta do is put on what we tell you and say if you like it or not.”

“I was promised hair gel.” Stan muttered petulantly. He felt the soft lining of the jacket, an old-styled bomber like the one Ford had worn as a kid, and noted that it was soft. “Can’t I just pick some jeans and go?”

“Grunkle Stan, you need to learn about style!” Mabel exclaimed, stars in her eyes. “Now that you’re not a gross old man, this is the perfect opportunity to work on my ‘Convince Dipper To Wear More Than One Outfit’ powerpoint!”

Stan stared at her blankly. “What’s that got to do with dressin’ me up?”

“Because!” Mabel exclaimed exasperatedly. “You guys look a lot alike now! Once he sees how good you look, he’ll be inspired to do the same!”

“She has a point.” Wendy shrugged. “You’ve had more women hitting on you these past few weeks than you’ve had my entire life.”

“You’re totally hot.” Tambry confirmed flatly, briefly moving her phone away from her face to show them some kind of website. There were a lot of pictures of him and it made his skin crawl. So did the comments, most filled with the little picture things from Mabel’s ‘motivational sticker pack’.

“Ugh!” Stan shuddered at the girl’s comment and threw his hands up defensively. “I― I don’t even know what to do with all that. It’s… It’s weird.”

His eyes darted around in search of an escape route and he bolted out the door with the jacket in tow. He liked it, but he’d never admit it. Or pay for it.

Stan yanked the tags off, casually dropping them in a nearby trashcan before shrugging the jacket on. Ooooh, it had nice big pockets. Perfect for shoplifting!

“Well, if it isn’t Stanley Pines.”

Stan stiffened at the voice behind him, mind racing as he tried to place it. 

Don’t panic, you’ve been introducing yourself as Stanley the Second for weeks! This is just the con beginning to pay off…

He turned, a conman’s smile curling his lip, before a shocked scream left him.

“My eyes! My poor eyes!”

It was improbable. It was impossible! It had been forty years!

But against all the odds, there was a familiar face from Glass Shard Beach in Gravity Falls.

Old Man Nicky stared at him, his expression as sour and unimpressed as ever, another generation’s worth of wrinkles making him look like a particularly grumpy bulldog. He was still wearing the same old red sweater over a gray tracksuit, thin wisps of white hair peeking out from beneath a black beanie.

It really was his old boxing coach. Really old boxing coach.

“Shouldn’t you be dead?” Stan asked before he could stop himself. A cane shot out and clocked him in the shin, making him yelp and topple over. Ugh, just like the old days.

“Shouldn’t you? Your ma told me you crashed your car into a ditch and burnt up. Guess you just got mixed up in some freaky magic shit out here. Probably somethin’ ta do with that brother of yours.”

Stan winced at the relatively spot-on observation, rubbing his leg as he looked up at Nicky. The man had shrunk over the years, but he never lost the ability to make Stan feel like some scrawny little kid.

“What’re you doin’ in Gravity Falls of all places?” he asked, not bothering with how the man knew about magic. You couldn’t live here without tripping over a gnome every other Tuesday.

“Got myself a grandson who married a selkie. Their kids like the cold and I’m mostly retired. Thought I’d spend the rest of my twilight years with them.” Nicky shrugged before piercing Stan with a stern look. “Thought about lookin’ ya up, but you were too busy runnin’ around and pretendin’ t’ be Stanford. You’re a bum, Stannie. Your impersonations suck.”

Stan straightened up with a frown, properly offended now.

“I’ll have you know,” he sniffed, tucking his hands behind his back and looking down his nose at the old man. His gruff voice smoothed into something more sophisticated and refined, the Jersey accent melting away like butter beneath a summer sun. “That I still do a fantastic impersonation of my brother… Hypothesis! Quantum physics! Exponential!”

Nicky chuckled at him, wrinkled face sagging as it softened fondly.

“That’s our Stanford.” he sighed, turning away. “Now, c’mon back to the gym and fill me in on what happened. Y’not doin’ this without good reason. Yous two hated being mixed up.”

Stan hesitated, looking over his shoulder for the girls. They were a few stores back and a few bags heavier, their eyes scanning the mall in search of him.

“I’ll have to raincheck ya on that, old man.” he hurried to say, voice returning to normal and pitched low. Secretive. “I got a couple of add-ons who aren’t exactly in on it. They can’t know.”

Nicky frowned at him, tilting his head so he could squint at the girls as they approached. Mabel had spotted them, her face lighting up as she rushed forward with a grin.

“Well,” Nicky chuckled as she caught up to them. “This one looks just like you. Braces ‘n all. She box any?”

“Grunkle Stan’s gonna teach me and my brother!” Mabel proclaimed proudly before blinking in confusion at the old man. She shrugged and offered Nicky her hand. “Hi, I’m Mabel! Are you one of my uncle’s old man friends?”

“More like his uncle.” Nicky clasped her hand gently. “You can call me Papa Nick.”

“Okay!” Mabel agreed before Stan could protest.

“Oh, c’mon old man!” he huffed. “You never let me call you Uncle Nick!”

The old man smacked him with the cane again. “That’s cause you’re a bum, Stannie. ‘Sides ― Filbrick woulda had kittens if he caught you boys goin’ soft on me.”

“Wait, you knew Grunkle Stan as a kid?!” Mabel gushed, her hands squishing her cheeks. “Oh Em Gee ― you’re like, super old! Do you have pictures of baby Stan?!”

“Course I do!” Nicky snorted. “And all’a his old trophies. Tell ya what ― yous guys come for dinner and I’ll dig ‘em out.”

“Nicky!” Stan hissed, panic seizing his chest.

The old man bopped him with the cane once more, gently this time.

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, kid.” Nicky gave him a pointed look. “I’ll keep all your embarrassing secrets in storage. For now.”

Stan held his gaze a moment longer, praying that the old man would keep his word, before nodding stiffly.

“Fine. Where’re ya stayin’ these days?”

Nicky smirked, smug with victory, and shoved a business card into Stan’s hand.

“Six o’clock. Come to the back door and don’t be late or you’re washin’ towels.”

“I don’t work for you anymore, old man!” Stan shouted after him as he and Mabel rejoined the rest of the girls. “I ain’t washin’ nothin’!”

Nicky just laughed at him and continued on his way. ___________________________________________________________

“What happened to you, kid?” Stan asked in bewilderment as Dipper trudged into the house, twigs and leaves sticking out of his hair.

The boy sighed and flopped down on the floor by Stan’s armchair.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” the boy mumbled into the carpet.

“Good.” Stan said awkwardly, trying to think of a subject change to get out of another ‘feelings’ talk.

“It’s just these half-man, half-bull humanoids were hanging out with me…” Dipper blurted out suddenly, shooting up with an annoyed expression.

“Here we go.” Stan rolled his eyes. He frowned as the boy’s words reached his brain. “Wait, you talkin’ about those dumb Manotaurs? Those guys are jerks!”

“I know, right?!” Dipper threw his hands up, relieved to have another person on his side. “They wanted me to do this really tough, horrible thing ― but it just wasn’t right. So, I said no.”

The boy deflated, looking as lost as Stan felt after spending too long reading his brother’s journals.

Stan reached down, easily knocking Dipper’s hat off, and ruffled the boy’s tangled curls.

“You were your own man and you stood up for yourself.” he said firmly. Dipper looked up at him in surprise. Stan grinned at him. “You did what was right even though no one agreed with you. Sounds pretty manly to me, but whadda I know?”

Dipper smiled at him, regaining some of the life that he’d lost during his all-day workout. His brows raised as he took in Stan’s new jeans and T-shirt, the outfit capped off by his new bomber jacket.

“Hey, you look good. I like your jacket. And you finally got hair gel?”

“Thanks.” Stan thumbed the collar of his jacket, remembering the one Ford had worn when they were kids. Which, now that he was thinking about it…

“How’s about you go get ready?” Stan nudged the boy with his foot, toes digging into Dipper’s ribs and making him giggle. “We’re headin’ to a friend of mine’s for dinner and you stink.”

Dipper’s face fell. “Do we really have time for me to shower? I― I mean, is it really necessary?”

“Yep.” Stan said firmly, nudging the boy again. “Go ― use soap this time.”

The boy groaned dramatically, but headed upstairs anyway.

He could hear Mabel in the attic, singing along to some pop song at the top of her lungs. Once he heard the shower cut on, Stan bolted for the vending machine.

It was risky as hell, but he’d done worse lately.

All of Ford’s old things that might have given away his identity were stored in the basement. Six-fingered gloves, old home movies and pictures ― they all lived in boxes in the observation room. Along with a trunk of keepsakes that Ma had sent after Pa died and the pawnshop closed. She’d moved in with Shermie those last few years before her death and wanted ‘Stanford’ to have all of the twins’ old things. Probably in hopes he’d use them with a son of his own one day.

And in the trunk, there was a little old jacket with patched elbows that had seen the boys through many an adventure.

Ford’s bomber jacket.

Stan lifted it out of the trunk reverently, like one would a precious artifact. It was soft beneath his fingers, the fabric worn and the fur lining a bit matted. The elbow patches were fraying and it smelled of mothballs and old books.

He buried his face in the lining with a sniffle, wondering why he and Ford had ever drifted apart in the first place.

Stan knew he was a screw-up, but he still had no idea what he’d done to make Ford want to move across the country to get away from him.

“When did you stop liking me, Poindexter?” he sighed, tucking the jacket beneath his arm. He checked the security cameras before heading back upstairs. He’d had plenty of time to get the jacket and hide it in his room before Dipper and Mabel were ready for dinner.

No worries.

____________________________________________________________

“Uh, did you just see that, dude?” Soos whispered to Wendy, his eyes wide with shock.

“Secret door to a secret basement in the Mystery Shack?” Wendy confirmed, her normally cool facade beginning to crack. “Yes. Yes, I did.”

“Good to know.”

[pacific-coast-hockey]

I messed up, it was Shin Larsson himself who brought up how evil Victor is. Also fascinating interview and I love when you can tell how Nolly is just so psyched to have someone new and interesting to interview.

Transcript forthcoming, I will edit it into this post when I am done! 🫡 Transcript below ⬇️

[TRANSCRIBER NOTE: there is significant background noise from the arena underneath the interviews. Most of it is cheering or talking, some singing.]

NICK NOLLENBERGER (NN): We’ve got a very special guest up in the broadcast booth. Joining us on the road, Shin Larsson, the Director of Amateur Scouting for the San Jose Sharks. Shin, what brings you all the way out here to Abbotsford?

SHIN LARSSON (SL): Uh, we actually have meetings coming up here, starting on Thursday in San Jose. So we gonna meet with the whole amateur group, uh, and I came a little bit earlier to watch, um, some junior hockey games and uh, luckily there was a Barracuda game here where in the area where I was too.

NN: So it works out perfectly seeing the Barracuda – I don’t know how many times have you–have you really been able to see the team. You live full-time in Sweden and obviously scouting throughout Europe. How–how many times do you get to see the Barracuda on a yearly basis?

SL: Yeah, uh, not–not very often. Uh, maybe once a year when I come over, I watch a couple of games, and uh, when you don’t see them that often, uh, it’s, uh, really exciting once you get over, uh, and get to see them live and not on the TV.

NN: So we’re right in the middle of the season, this is actually the halfway point for the Barracuda, the Sharks kinda in the thick of the middle of the seasons as well. You mentioned mid-season meetings, what does this time of year look like for the scouting department?

SL: Uh, I think it’s yeah, a hectic time of the year, the World Juniors is just over with, and uh, there’s really not that much left of the season, it goes really quick once, uh, January comes. Uh, so this is a good time to go, uh, over, uh, all of the players we’ve seen at this point and kind of narrow it down and focus on the ones, uh, we have the most interest in for the draft.

NN: Obviously the Sharks are looking like they’re going to draft pretty high. They picked first overall last year, they also picked I believe tenth overall taking Sam Dickinson after Macklin Celebrini. It’s been a really productive last couple of years for your staff, for Mike Grier’s crew since he took over three years ago. Under Mike, under this new stewardship of the San Jose Sharks, do you guys feel like as a collective unit, as kind of uh–uh, a vision, do guys feel like you’re all lockstep now you have a couple years under your belt as a group?

SL: Definitely, I think this is, uh, year three under Mike and, uh, I think it’s been, uh, a big change in the beginning but now everything is, uh, clicking and, uh, we–we kind of know what Mike is looking for, and what kind of identity we want on the team going forward here, so. Uh, like you said, I think last two or three years, some really good drafts, uh, a lot of players with, uh, really good potential of helping the team here.

NN: When you’re doing amateur scouting, in the NHL, kids are drafted as teenagers, 18 years of age. It’s hard to predict the future because usually it’s three or four years out for any of these guys. It’s really hard, I would believe, to predict the future for players in Europe because in many ways it’s a different style of play out there. So what you looking out there from an amateur standpoint? What are the things that stick out for young players? And how do you predict the future?

SL: Yeah, that’s, uh, so hard. It’s almost like a lottery sometimes, but, uh, at least they’re seventeen, eighteen years old. It’s even worse when they’re uh, drafted into the junior leagues here, or the junior programs in Sweden. So there, uh, a good step on the way, I think when you, uh, draft them early in the first round, they’re, uh, usually already in the pro-leagues over here in Sweden and, uh, you just gotta, uh, keep working on, uh, making those final steps to–to make an impression over here as well. 

NN: Well the Sharks have a couple of games with guys, European players, I think Cherynshov was just sent, obviously, to the OHL, you–you have other guys, Halttunen who’s in the OHL as well, these guys who grow up on the other side of the, uh, of the world, what is the benefit of bringing them over to the CHL, kind of introducing them to the North American style?

SL: I think it’s just, uh, first of all, kind of, uh, game overall with the smaller rinks, and, uh, usually more games too. Uh, they’re not used to playing that many games, so that helps them on the way to uh, becoming NHL players to–to play this many games, if you look at Bystedt [Transcriber’s note: he pronounces it BYE-stedt] here, he–he played a couple years pro in Sweden but even this is different because this is more games and it’s uh, sometimes Friday, Saturday, Sunday games, and, uh, it’s gonna help him, uh, mature a lot in the way of, uh, becoming NHL player.

NN: You mentioned–you mentioned Filip Bystedt [Transcriber’s note: he pronounces it BEE-stedt] coming over from Sweden, this is his first season in North America. Big body, obviously, you see kind of the physical attributes. What made him kind of an intriguing player when you were going through the draft process? You probably saw him a lot over in Sweden – what made him a guy that you–you liked, you targeted where you did in the first round? 

SL: I think he’s always one of the better players in the age group over there. Uh, he has really all the tools, he’s–he’s got the size, he’s got the hockey sense, he’s got the, uh, puck game, uh he’s just gotta put all that together and then he has all the potential to be able to become a good, uh, NHL player for us.

NN: We’re talking to Shin Larsson, director for the European scouting for the San Jose Sharks, happens to be here in Abbotsford to take in some Barracuda hockey tonight and take in some Western League hockey as well. I wanna ask for a scouting report quickly, Victor Eklund, younger brother of William, Sharks forward, he’s going to be in this draft, some have him pegged to be potentially a top pick. Give us the scouting report on the young brother.

SL: Yeah, they’re uh, a little bit different. He’s–he’s the wilder one, I think. He’s uh, not that big of a guy, but he’s totally fearless, goes into the battles hundred percent, usually comes out with the pucks too, and–and he has a nose for the net as well. Uh, so that would be something, to–to have both of them on the one team.

NN: [Transcriber’s note: he sounds absolutely delighted as he talks] I always think it’s funny when the younger brother has that type of style of play ‘cause he was probably getting beat up his whole life, so he had to be tough, right? William was, I know, a good brother, probably didn’t beat him up, you know how it is when younger, uh, younger brothers come up through the ranks, it’s gonna be fun to see where he ends up ultimately landing. [Transcriber’s note: he goes back to being serious here.] One more question for you, we–we asked you about the mid-season meetings, all the scouts getting together, a great opportunity not only to talk about the draft, but also bond with guys you probably don’t get to see throughout the year. What’s one characteristic that this regime identifies in players? Is there one that kinda can go through every guy?

SL: I think it’s, uh, compete. That’s uh–if we’re gonna say one word or one thing that sticks out, it’s the compete. 

NN: Shin Larsson, kind enough to join us. Great to see you, I saw your name on the list of scouts and I thought, no way, Shin’s in town, so let’s get him on air. So thank you for the time, safe travels back to the Bay Area, hopefully we’ll see you when we get there as well.

SL: Thank you for having me.

NN: Shin Larsson, the Director of European Scouting for the San Jose Sharks just happens to be here in Abbotsford and kind enough to join us in the broadcast booth. 3-3 is our score through 40, back in a moment, this is Barracuda hockey on the Sharks Audio Network.

Nolly dragging the Sharks' Director of European Scouting out of the crowd at Abbotsford and holding up a mic to him and going "Victor Eklund. He's eviler than William. Thoughts? Can we get him??" He's just like Sharks lb fr

[dasloddl]

fuck vague posting I’m just full on ranting

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Look what we've become.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[weirfq1]

with all these gaston crackships/rarepairs that are coming out lately it would be so fucking funny if he had a flig with all the main characters (ambar, nina, simon... hell luna too if you want) and they all know it except matteo

[termagax]

re: "good girl" i think they say it once randomly as a joke and its just one of those things that gets him wayyy more than they expected it would. so now its their secret weapon and they use it very sparingly and every single time he gets super embarrassed about it but it works ill tell you what.

[mint-ty]

I love languages but they can be so isolating too sometimes

[justablah56]

that moment when you think about a friend you haven't seen in 2 years and you realize wow the attachment issues are strong with this one

[ennuijpg]

just had the worst time at graduation dinner w my family and my roommate’s family :/

[the-cooler-king]

Oh yeah..... midnight gospel be hitting.... sitting in my bed fuckin. Crying. Get a grip girl

[hxltic]

First time makin out with Bakugo.

suggestive!!

Ur laying down, splayed on top of him, but who can say anything about it? You saw the black tee and sweatpants combo he flaunts while he was casually making food in the kitchen. You’d practically jumped him.

But he didn’t mind; his temper deteriorates later into the night, so the only thing he can feel right now is your fingers wrapped around his neck and your lips slowly dancing against his. Not that he had much of a temper around you anyway.

He groans satisfactorily in the back of his throat. The pads of his fingers creep up the thighs sat on either side of his hips and trickle just under the fabric of your shorts. There was no point getting under the covers of the dark bedroom, the only light came from a candle on the dresser from sometime earlier when you were cleaning, and the only sounds emanated from you two.

That moment he gently tugs your lip between his teeth, just to release it and grin tiredly when you hum in response. At the same time, you shift above him, turning your head into a deeper kiss.

His lips are so soft. They move perfectly against yours, molding like they were made for each other. He looks so content like this, sharing a sultry kiss with you, his body completely relaxed. Mostly.

Your tongue slips out to meet with his as if it had been done a billion times. His touch sends fire through your skin, and with each movement he gets even closer, your heart feels like it’s about to pound through your ribs; however, despite how it appears to be, he is in the same breathless boat. Your hand only disconnects from him to brush the falling tendrils of hair behind your ear.

There was a hardness growing beneath you that made your heart beat ten times faster, but nothing was done about it. He ignored it—instead trailing one of his palms up and down the span of your back while the other reaches a little further.

His brows furrow a bit when he inquires as softly as possible, in his gruff voice, “You’re not wearin’ anything under these tiny shorts?”

You dip your head back to his lips, taking them in sensually. Of course, he returns it, but the question is left in the air. Your mouth leaves his so you can leave slow, needy kisses along his jaw that gradually cover his neck, and when you come back up, the answer is given as a whisper. “Hmm…thong.”

He blinks open his orbs swimming with fire and a glint of amusement. The hand on your back then moves to your nape so he can tug you down to him, already feeling the withdrawal of your taste. Simultaneously, his fingers inch all the way up until he can feel the garment himself.

He effortlessly slips his finger under the thin string and lifts it until he can’t anymore so that it delicately snaps back into place. His tongue soars deeper into yours when you react with a small gasp.

He smiles with a low sound deep in his chest, “Seems like you want somethin’ from me.”

“I do,” you breathe. “Didn’t wear it for nothing.”

It’s then he rolls over, taking you with him onto your back.

©️hxltic