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nsharks · 6 months ago

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bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part twenty-eight —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 4.4k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex!!! SEX. enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

France feels just as haunted by ghosts, the kind that cling to silence.

The next morning, you follow the road south near the Belgium border under a punishing sun and suffocating humidity. Sweat pools under your clothes as you leave the coastline behind, passing overgrown rose bushes and grand estates crumbling to rotted beams. Without the raft or truck, supplies rest on everyone's backs, lighter now with all the food you’ve already gone through—a stark reminder that you’ll need more soon.

You were the last to wake, stirred from a deep sleep by the sounds of bags being packed. It shouldn’t be surprising—you’d slept well after two orgasms. It’s a miracle the night’s events didn’t spill into your dreams, but now, in the daylight, keeping them at bay is harder. Thankfully, Kyle and the two kids create a buffer as you all follow Price’s lead. Their presence helps keep your eyes from drifting to him. You force your gaze on the passing signs, making a mental game out of trying to pick up on some French. It's distracting enough. So far you've gathered that sortie means exit and allez means something like go.

Price's plan echoes in your head: Méteren by nightfall. That’s ten hours of walking, minimum. Your toes throb at the thought, each step promising fresh blisters, but you force yourself to focus. The faster you reach Switzerland, the safer you’ll all be. If the place they heard of is actually waiting there.

"Hey. Do you want this?"

Blue lowers beside you, offering a near-empty jar of peanut butter she was snacking on.

"Not much left but it's really good," she shrugs.

"I'll finish it off, thanks."

The mask is still on, as always. Why is he obsessed with it, even after you just saw him naked? Despite its presence, you can still see the furrow between his brows as he pores over the map with Price. Sweat rings the collar of his black tee, and his biceps flex as he gestures down the road. You’re definitely checking him out when he catches your eye mid-conversation, adjusting his mask, and without missing a beat, you turn your attention back to Blue.

She is staring at you, her brow furrowed.

You instinctively touch your neck, your thoughts racing to the bruise hidden beneath your hair.

“Do you think he likes him?” she asks abruptly.

You blink. “What?”

“Ghost,” she whispers, leaning closer. “Do you think he likes Ari?”

Relief floods you. “Oh. I mean, sure. He's a good kid.”

“He’s not a kid,” she corrects with a huff. “He’s thirteen.”

“That’s still a kid, Blue.”

She rolls her eyes but hesitates before adding quietly, “He kissed me.”

Your jaw nearly drops. “What?”

“Shh! Keep your voice down. And don’t tell Ghost.” She pinches your arm, her cheeks reddening.

“I won’t,” you assure her. “But… when? How?”

“The other night, when we kept watch. Just on my cheek, but still.” She pulls her knees to her chest. “He's cute. I think I like him, but… what if he doesn’t actually like me? What if he just sees me as a kid?”

Her uncertainty tugs at something deep in you. “Have you talked to him about it?”

She shakes her head, looking horrified. “No way. What if he doesn't feel the same? It could get weird.”

“Then kill him,” you deadpan. At her glare, your lips twitch. “Fine, I’ll kill him.”

She snorts despite herself. “Be serious.”

“Okay, how about this—just ask him, ‘Why did you kiss my cheek?’ Keep it simple.”

Blue considers this, her expression softening. “I could do that. But it has to be when Ghost isn’t around. Which is almost never.”

You're telling me. You pick at your nails, avoiding her trusting gaze as your chest tightens.

The sound of Price's boots back on the gravel ends the break.

Even after the brief rest, your limbs drag with exhaustion for the next few hours, but the extra calories push you forward. You make it to Méteren before nightfall. As the guys pitch tents, you rip off your socks to survey the damage. Open blisters stare back at you. With only so much gauze in your kit, you've been hesitant, but you cut a conservative strand and wrap up your heels.

Behind a bush, you change from your sweaty clothes and hope there is freshwater somewhere to wash them in the morning. You dab a rag with a bit of water from the canteen and scrub the biggest offenders; armpits, between your legs, the back of your neck. Changing into a clean shirt, the sound of them unpacking the sleeping bags beckons your heavy shoulders and sore legs. You head back to the tents, ready for sleep, when you overhear Ghost volunteer for first watch.

"Twix will help me."

You hope the surprise isn't visible on your face as you nearly drop your backpack, swinging your gaze at him.

"I will?"

"It's been a few days since you've taken watch."

Your lips roll together then flatten, shoving down the blush that crawls your neck at the thought of being alone with him. Kyle looks like he is ready to take your place, but you nod in resignation, clear your throat, and finish tugging on the zipper over your clothes. "Yeah, of course. I'll help."

The others disappear into the tents, and you turn to sit on a fallen log, bow in hand. But before you can settle, you feel his presence—a shift in the air just behind you, then the solid pressure of his hand curling around your forearm. Without a word, he guides you forward, pulling you with an ease that leaves no room for hesitation. Your body moves instinctively as he leads you out of earshot of the tents, behind an abandoned car. It is now you realize he's changed into a black hoodie and shedded the tactical vest. He leans his rifle against the side of the car and looks down at you, saying nothing for a few seconds.

"Did you take away my chance to sleep and pull me over here just to stare at me?" you whisper, arms crossing against the gentle breeze that has cooled with the fallen sun.

He exhales through his nose before responding. "About yesterday."

You blink at him, hoping you don't fail at hiding how even the mere mention sets your nerves alight. "What about it?"

The way his eyes move slowly over your face suggests he is searching for the words. Finally, he says flatly, "It was just fucking. A distraction."

"A distraction," you repeat slowly under your breath. The bluntness hits you harder than expected. You bite the corner of your cheek, a bit too hard, and you narrow your eyes. "You really think I don't already know that?"

His broad shoulders roll back in a shrug and his tone shifts far too casual for your liking. "I just didn't want you getting the wrong idea."

The wrong idea. You rip your gaze away, scraping your fingertips into your arm, before looking back at him with a forced shrug of your own. "I can handle fucking, Simon. Like I said, I'm a big girl."

There is an audible inhale, then a low chuckle rumbles in his throat as he leans in, his darkened eyes locking onto yours. He cages you in with his arms, the familiar heat radiating from his touch and already making your brain fuzzy. His hand slides to the back of your neck, guiding you onto your toes as he tears off the mask and lays it on the hood of the car. The glimpse of his strong jaw and the flick of his tongue wetting his lips sends a shiver through you despite the lingering irritation at his words.

"Yes. You are," he murmurs, his voice rough and low, before capturing your mouth with his in a kiss that feels like the deep, soothing release of sinking into warm water after aching for relief.

You could kiss him for hours, you quickly realize, pleasantly fascinated by how hot and demanding his tongue feels against your mouth. He tastes like how he smells. Pine and salt. You submit to the pace of his lips, every graze of his teeth making your heart thicken. You move your hands through his hair, scratching his scalp, pulling him closer.

"There's something I need," he mumbles, voice etched with a tremble of impatience, and his fingers clench your shirt. With his other hand, he blindly reaches for the car door and forces the rusted thing open with a few tugs.

"What do you need?" you breathe out, secretly thrilled that he wants you, again, even when it's been only twenty-four hours since he last had you. The mutual desire erodes the fatigue in your limbs and awakens your arousal.

Without an answer, he spins your bodies, easing into the passenger seat, then pulls you in with him, closing the door with a soft click. The position is awkward at best—your head bumps into the roof, one knee wedged painfully into the center console from the lack of space. The car smells like stale leather and dust, but thankfully not like rot. It's far from enticing, but none of that matters when he forces the seat to recline, creating just enough room for you to lay on top of him.

You can feel him, hot and straining within his jeans, as you kiss him again and begin to move your hips instinctively. It is a thrilling notion, that you have made him hard so quickly, and you wonder if he ever touched himself like you did, stroking his cock with a callused hand that he imagined as you. The image of it, in combination with the friction on your pussy, has you greedily reaching to undo his belt buckle.

He breaks from your lips with a grunt and grabs your wrist. "Not that."

Huh?

You don't have the chance to question him before the notch in his throat bobs, and he begins unzipping your jeans, instead. "My face. Sit on it."

The blush on your cheeks is hidden in the car's small, dark space. His half-lidded gaze lifts to yours, and you nod absently before helping him push your pants and underwear to your ankles, shifting awkwardly to discard them to the floor. His hand immediately moves between your bodies, his fingers brushing against your wetness with a sharp inhale. It should make you embarrassed, but it doesn’t—not with the way he watches you, his other hand peeling off your shirt, the whites of his eyes flashing over your naked body with such unabashed hunger that you realize it must’ve been simmering in him for as long as it has in you.

Again, you're the only one undressed. His hands knead the plush of your ass, the massage to your sore glutes drawing a moan from you. He pushes you up his chest and you move your knees, until his face is level with your cunt, nose caressing your throbbing clit. You have to grip the headrest of the backseat to keep yourself steady, neck craned. His palms cup the backs of your thighs, keeping them apart.

He's already put his mouth on you, but for some reason, this time feels more vulnerable. You become unconsciously alert of the fact you are not the girl you used to be, the one who shaved every inch of her body before going on a date, and scrubbed her skin with perfumed body wash. You have been sweating all day in the French humidity, and not a single part of you is hairless. When he attempts to pull you to his mouth, you resist with a wiggle of your hips.

"You don't—we don't have to do this, you know. I mean, I haven't shaved in years and—"

He bites your thigh. "Stop talking."

"Ghost, I'm disgusting."

His brows furrow, confused, before he exhales a soft laugh, breath fanning your cunt. "I don't care."

You writhe. "No, seriously—"

"I'm a big boy, Twix," he throws back you.

His tone is final, and with that, he ignores your protests and tightens his hands on you, pulling you to sit on his jaw. His tongue licks a bold stripe from hole to clit, then back down to your hole, where he swirls it a few times before pushing in. Your mouth hangs open in a silent surrender. It is you at his mercy now. His mouth feels even hotter on your cunt for some reason, causing your head to lull forward because of the ceiling, hair dangling.

Your nails scrape into the leather. His tongue fucks you, nursing the sore flesh that his cock had stretched. He pushes you down with more force, and meets the juncture of your thighs with an arch of his neck, pressing his face deeper. There is a small worry that he might not be able to breathe, but it is erased when his tongue visits your clit with a heady groan, the vibrations of his vocal chords making your muscles flinch. He circles it with a light pressure. You reach down to grip his hair, silently demanding more. He listens, pressing his tongue harder.

"Fucking... yeah, like that."

One of his hands glides up your stomach and squeezes your breast. He keeps sucking, toiling with your puckered nipple at a similar pace. Despite the uncomfortable position, your hips buck and thrash. Your hand slaps against the window as he makes a sloppy mess out of you. The overgrown stubble on his jaw scrapes between your tightened thighs and the sting adds to the overwhelming sensations. You attempt to lift off, seeking a break, but he growls and strikes your ass, forcing you back down.

He licks at you expertly, as if having figured you out in just a few minutes. You screw your eyes shut, a small but swift orgasm rolling through you when you hear him slurp at your folds. He gathers it with a sweep of his tongue, humming. The aftermath leaves your trembling, breath jagged, as a larger one grows towards release.

"Been thinking about that all day," he whispers against you, continuing his ministrations. "Got another one for me?"

His tone feels mocking and desperate at once. Your nails press painfully into the condensation-painted glass. Your other hand fists back in his hair, curling and uncurling, but there is no point in trying to fight it, not when he parts your cunt with his fingers so he can lick more of it. You cum again, harder, almost convulsing as your head bangs upward. It feels never-ending, your moans uncontrollable. He laps you through it, even more relentless, drawing the pleasure for a near-minute, until your lungs can hardly function and you feel like you might collapse.

Your body is pliant and jelly-like when it finally fades. He takes hold of your waist to keep you upright, and pulls his mouth away with a dribble of leakage down his chin. Already, you know it will be impossible to forget that sight, his eyes dazed as if he is the one who just came twice.

His touch turns somewhat tender when he helps you back down to his lap. He doesn't bother wiping the obscenity from his mouth when he kisses the corner of your lips, firmly, then helps you slip back into your clothes since your brain doesn't seem to have full control over your limbs yet. It's when you place a hand on his thigh to shimmy on your jeans that you feel a distinguishable wet spot.

He finished, too.

The discovery makes your chest swell, and you nibble at your lip as you finish changing.

"Thanks," you whisper to him.

He doesn't say anything. He keeps the seat reclined and allows you to lay limp against him, feeling the uneven pace of his heart that matches your own. Clearly, he is a man of his word. This will not be a one time thing, even if it is just fucking. You sigh in sheer exhaustion from the day's activities, unable to ignore the weight in your eyelids as you inhale the residual musk in the air between your bodies. His chest feels firm and warm, a decent place to rest your head, and you think you feel a touch caress your hair.

You are supposed to be staying up to keep watch, but he doesn't seem ready to move you. Somewhere between wondering how long you can keep this hidden from Blue, and dreading how far you will have to walk again tomorrow, you drift to sleep.

When morning arrives, you are not curled up in a car, but tucked in a sleeping bag.

Ghost must've put you here, but you have no recollection of it, squinting your eyes against the harsh incoming of sunlight through the nylon walls. Nereida is in the bag beside you, not Blue, which offers a thread of relief. You carefully extricate yourself without waking her and join an awakened Price and Kyle for breakfast.

This morning feels slower than the last. Satisfied with the distance covered yesterday, Price is content with just making it to a town called Englos today. Then, you can focus on finding food and water during the evening.

Your energy is replenished with tomato soup and stale crackers. Blue sits with Ari to eat, and you casually glance at her, but she gives you a subtle shake of her head. No, she hasn't talked to him yet. You offer a small, forced smile and look away.

The day's journey begins after what you would guess is around 8 am. As you walk, you redo your braids, tucking the strands into place so they don't stick to your forehead. Kyle falls in step beside you in comfortable silence, while Ghost moves to the front of the group. He treats you exactly as before—offering only the rare glance of acknowledgment. As if you hadn't just sat on his face last night. As if he hadn't ate you out like you were a source of sustenance.

Though, you’re grateful for his distance. It makes it easier to stay discreet. If he were to look at you too long, you might give yourself away.

It's just fucking.

Nothing but small towns and sprawling fields surrounds you. You pick up a few more words of French and think back to how your parents took you here, but never to the countryside. It's beautiful. Picturesque, even, except for the occasional skeleton tucked between ambery stalks of wheat. You pass through a place called Bailleul, where the remaining buildings remind you of England, when you spot black graffiti inked on a small clock tower.

N'allez pas à Fleurbaix.

"Allez means go," you murmur, stepping over some broken glass. "So what does n'allez pas mean..."

"Picking up a new language?"

You swing your head at Kyle, blinking, and he chuckles lightly at your reaction.

"Yeah. I thought it might come in handy when chatting with the thriving local population."

He shakes his head in amusement. "Have you been here before?"

"When I was a kid. Once to Paris, and once to a ski resort."

"Ah. So you were one of those kids."

You frown. "What kids?"

"The kids who had money to go skiing."

You shrug, thinking back. "I mean, we weren't rich by any means. Just comfortable."

He nods, the companionable silence resuming as you replay the graffitied words in your head. N'allez pas must mean do not go. Do not go to Fleurbaix. You are about to ask Kyle if that is where you are headed when he speaks first.

"Are we good, Twix?"

His question throws you off guard. You make eye contact and he raises an expectant brow as if he is referring to something...

Right. He kissed you. It feels like forever ago since it happened, but it was only a week maybe. The memory almost makes you cringe, especially in comparison to what you've done with Ghost the past two days.

"Yeah," you dismiss breathily. "Yeah, of course. We're good."

He seems genuinely relieved by your answer, smiling with a sliver of teeth. "Good. I'm glad. I was an idiot and not in the right headspace. But still, I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable. I've been trying to give you space."

"It's fine, honestly," you tell him. "We are all under a lot of stress."

He releases a breath, then brushes a shoulder against yours. "So we're friends, you and I? Or something like that."

You nod with a little laugh, shifting the backpack. "Something like that. By the way, do you know if we are going by a place called—"

"Gaz. Come here for a moment," Ghost calls.

His tone is abrupt, causing everyone to halt. Without question, Kyle jogs over, his boots scraping against the gravel as he moves toward Ghost, who is crouched on one knee, fingers brushing over the matted grass at the side of the road. You squint, trying to figure out what’s caught their attention, and step closer to get a better look.

"A lot of them," Kyle says quietly, his palm pressing gently into the flattened vegetation. Now, you can see it—clear signs of something recently passing through. The ground is torn up, the plants bent and trampled. "It can't have been long ago," he adds, frowning as he observes the damage.

Ghost doesn't look up as he responds. "A horde went through here. Maybe in the last day." He inhales the humid breeze, and shifts his gaze toward Price. "I can smell them from the east."

"We could run right into them if we keep following the D231," Price mutters, drumming his fingers on the rear of his gun. He glances at the nearest road signs, then unfolds the map. "We could shift west for a few kilometers, through Fleurbaix, then cut back toward Englos."

"I just saw something that warned against going to Fleurbaix," you speak up.

Ghost's brow rises. You ignore the nerves that prickle your cheeks beneath his stare.

"I mean, there are signs saying keep out of everywhere by now," Kyle reasons. "That's probably from the start of the infection."

"It's either Fleurbaix, or risk a run in with the horde," Ghost says.

You nod, more so to yourself, and murmur under your breath. "Fleurbaix it is, then."

Bailleul fades at your backs as you keep moving.

The scent of Greys lingers in the shifting air, but it is difficult to detect amid the strong aroma of flowers that pop up in every shade, replacing the fields of wheat. Roses, violets, and some yellow one you don't recognize ornate the rolling hills for as far as you can see. The buildings turn more upright, strong stone that has yet to falter from neglect. You keep reading the signs, even though you don't have the map to refer to, and your spine tightens when you read Fleurbaix: 1 km.

You unsling your bow without thinking, tapping your nails against the wood.

The road becomes a bit windier as it cuts through some small farms. You even spot a few cows roaming the overgrown pastures which Blue seems curious by. You notice more painted words on the sides of the homes: Nous devons expier nos péchés. It repeats a few times, but you fail to translate it. The only part that clicks is nous, which you think means we.

We something... something...

After crossing a small bridge over a dried creek bed, you excuse yourself to relieve your bladder.

"Keep going, I'll catch up."

You step over what looks like a metal dog chain left on the road and situate yourself between a tree and old BMW. Squatting burns your thighs, and reminds you of your dried cum on them that you've tried, yet failed, to completely wipe off. You clench your teeth as you pee, when there is a sudden sound behind you that makes you flinch, and you quickly zip back up before whirling around. A rat—your shoulders sink. It sits up on its hind legs and stares at you with beady eyes.

"I guess I'm just jumpy sometimes, little guy," you whisper, leaning in. "You would be, too, if you've had to deal with what I have." The rat doesn’t blink. "Right. Well, I’m sure Ghost would think this is incredibly sexy—me having a talk with a rodent."

You sigh, watching him scurry away, but then another rat darts over your boot. You jerk back, gaze following its direction to an old building—a schoolhouse or chapel, judging by the circular stained-glass window below the roof. Beautiful shrubs lines the sides, seemingly well-kept. The door hangs ajar, with more vermin pouring out in an endless line.

"Jesus. Quite a lot of friends you have, huh?"

You glance down the road. The others are still close but walking ahead. You should catch up. It's not safe alone. But against your better judgment, you step toward the door, pushing it open. Rats scatter underfoot as a thick, rancid smell hits you. Death—fresh and cloying, even more so than the flowers.

Blood streaks the stone floor inside, pooling where vermin feast. Splintered pews lead to an altar. You freeze. Lying there ceremoniously is what's left of a body, hardly recognizable—ribs torn through flesh, a dangling optic nerve, a mangled groin. A plethora of bite marks cleave through the remains. Bile rises in your throat as the sound of gnawing echoes through against the sun-lit walls.

But what truly grips you is the writing, in blood, draped over a small cross.

Nous devons expier nos péchés.

You whip around and run, the door closing heavily behind you.

"Simon!" His name claws up your throat.

#simon ghost riley x you #ghost #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod #simon ghost riley #zombie apocolypse au

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fishnapple · 10 months ago

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New friendship, who are they?

I tested out a new set of beads for this reading. It was really fun.

This is a general reading meant for multiple people. Take only what resonates and leave out the rest.

Your feedback is much appreciated. If you find the reading resonated with you, leave a comment, I’d love to know 🎐

About me | Masterpost

Book a reading with me - KO-FI (→ personal reading)

BLACK

This might be someone who has their North node conjunct your ASC. You will be a breath of fresh air to them, they will want to learn a lot from you, at the same time, feeling a little bit out of their depth and uncomfortable. Your way of acting is completely different from their usual friends and your outlooks are also different from theirs. But they will sense that they can grow with you, you embody the path that they need to take. They're likely younger than you or less experienced than you.

They're a hardworking individual with a serious mindset. I think they can be pretty quiet, timid at times. They think a lot before they talk and consider the consequences of their words. You probably won't have much success in trying to small talking them. They might even seem closed-off, so frivolous chit-chat seems out of the question. But their attitude will change when you approach them with more serious topics, an agenda in mind, maybe you could ask for their help or they could ask for yours, a great excuse to start a conversation. They can be pretty stubborn in defending their viewpoint, so don't poke fun of them.

You're likely to meet them at your workplace or where they are working. They could be providing a certain service to you, frequently, so you begin to talk more to each other. You might casually mention one of your hobbies and you guys would click. And from that point onward, there will be opportunities to expand your social circle, you or them will introduce each other to their circle of shared interests. It will take time to get close to this person, even when both of you have the desire to get to know each other. They hide a lot of their more sensitive and soft side, I think that by being friend with you, they will have a chance to bring out this side more. This group is quite short because there's still a lot for this person to uncover and learn about themselves, they haven't come to their true sense of self yet. This person will look up to you a lot. In turn, they will boost your confidence and make you feel appreciated.

★Possible astrology placements: Aries, Scorpio Sun/ Sun conjunct Pluto, Pluto in 1st house, Moon in Taurus/Moon in 2nd house, Saturn in 3rd house, Mercury in Capricorn, Venus in Pisces, Mars in Cancer

SILVER

I get a strong Sagittarius or Jupiter energy from this new friend. They have a strong yet very graceful character that will inspire you a lot.

This friend will come in when you are about to turn a new page in your life, ready for a new phase. The moment you're about to step out of your comfort zone, the universe will introduce you to them, so that you will have an easier time adapting to changes. They will help you unravel the knot in your psyche. Whatever hangups you are having, they will work with you to address them. They will be stern and blunt about it, there's no getting away. At times, you will feel so triggered by them that you want to quit, to end this connection, but fate will keep you guys together and you will be grateful for their perseverance and faith in this friendship.

The first thing you will notice about them is their voice and the way they talk. They could be a fast talker, animated in their gestures and have a lively, mischievous expression. They are a compelling conversationalist, you won't get bored talking to them, exchanging ideas with them will be a joy, an eye-opening experience. Because they will expand your mind, introduce you to many subjects that before that, you had thought uninteresting, but through them, through their enthusiasm, you will find a new interest for these subjects.

You guys might work together or in the same environment a lot. There's a sense of helping each other, walking together side by side. You probably will travel a lot with them. This will be an equal relationship, there's a balanced give and take between you.

This person could have changed their home a lot. They don't have a very stable ground to rely on. They can have an air of being standoffish, but that's just their independent energy. But they can feel lonely easily. They feel that something about them is different from everyone around them, even their families don't understand them enough.

You might observe that they tend to fight against social standards, what's trending, they hate being a follower, mindlessly doing something just because everyone else is doing it. So they definitely stay away from those famous places with 5 stars reviews on Google. They can also be misunderstood a lot by their friends and the groups they are in, accused of being individualistic. This saddens them, but they won't back down for it. Popularity is not their goal. If you're someone who is struggling with fitting in, being yourself in a group setting, then you can learn a lot from this person. In turn, you will provide a rare sense of recognition for their honest heart.

★Possible astrology placements: Sagittarius, Gemini, Aquarius placements, Jupiter in 7th house, Jupiter in Libra, Pluto in 10th house, Aquarius ASC, Sun/Mars in 11th house, Mars in Aquarius, Sun in Pisces

TEAL

This friend will come into your life during the period when you think everything is moving so slowly, there's barely any progress or anything exciting. They will prove you wrong. You will most likely meet them at work or on the way to work, or at an institution. You could have noticed each other before but didn't really pay attention. It would take an event or a third person to properly introduce you.

It will be a slow start, you won't click immediately, I sense that your temperaments can be different from each other's. You will find them a little mysterious, watchful, they seem to be the type that prefers to stay silent at first to assess the situation and the other person better. You would hear about or sense something spiritual in them. They might have a different religious beliefs or they practice an occult art. They could speak a different language, came from a foreign country or have travelled very far from home. You will be mystified and intrigued, but a little intimidated. There could be a period of time at first when you just silently observe each other without making a move. I think the first person to break the silence will be you and they will breathe a sigh of relief. You seem to be more carefree and at ease with yourself than this person, and seem younger too, even if just in spirit.

You will have many philosophical discussions with this friend. The way they talk is wise and gentle. They have an innate understanding of how things work, they probe for deep meaning and open to myriad kinds of experiences. They could have a very profound effect on your mind, asking you questions that you've never thought of before, but they will not be confrontional about it, they just want to ask the question and leave the pondering and thinking to you, the answer is not as important as the acceptance of the question.

They might have moved their living space a lot or rarely stayed at home. They're a nomad, always on the move. They like to travel, explore, could be with their friends, which they have a lot, or alone, they are fine with both.

You will admire their honest way of expressing themselves, their energy feels pure and straightforward, what they show is what you get. Even though they seem so serene and calm, later you will learn that they have been hurt a lot in the past. They might have a fear about commitment, past relationships failed them, so they can be more cautious in this area. You will bring a lot of joy to them, they will find your way of living refreshing and fun, they will want to learn a thing or two about your hobbies and taking them up. You guys will talk about all kinds of things, share the silliest jokes, being ridiculous with each other without care.

★Possible astrology placements: prominent Sagittarius, Taurus, Aquarius placements, Jupiter in 3rd house, Sun in 9th house, Saturn aspects, Moon in 11th house

BLUE

You might be intimidated by them at first but attracted nevertheless. They will remind you of someone you knew in the past or someone in your family.

This person has a strong and intense aura, they are the type that takes no bs from people and set in their way. They would wear a lot of black and red colour and look good in them. Their style would be bold but minimalist. They don't like to adorn themselves with unnecessary things and prefer a neat style for easy movement and activities. Yes, they will love to move a lot, they are active physically and need lots of mental and physical exercises to release the pent-up energy inside them, which is a lot.

You would meet them in a public place, could be a company building, an institution. Maybe when you're going on a business trip or study abroad, or going to museums, conferences, the lecture hall. You will immediately be impressed by their vibrant aura. They seem so self assured, confident, but oddly enough, they don't seem to be comfortable around a crowd. I wouldn't be surprised if they have encountered some jealousy or backstabbing in the past. The crowd doesn't usually go easy on an individualistic person.

They will complement you perfectly. When you feel nervous, they will be strong and confident for you, when you feel down, they will light up your spirit, when you are confused, they will sit you down and talk some sense into you. And I think you will do that for them too. They are an extremely loyal friend. Fiercely protective of their close ones. Their protection is gentle but firm. They will peer into your core and unearth every secret and dark corner that you have. But they won't use it against you. You will feel seen and understood. Just remember never to betray them or cross their boundaries, they can unleash hell on you. This is the kind of person that you want to be friend with, not make an enemy out of them.

They could have talents with words, with musical instruments, with painting. They have a sensitive artistic soul that can perceive the tiniest beauty and capture it into a lasting existence. Their mind can be whimsical but disciplined. They know how to apply rules and methods to ground an idea.

Jokes and laughter are important to them. They like mental games, various kinds of entertainment. They probably have some interesting hobbies that you will want to learn and explore them yourself. Watching them doing something will be inspirational. You will want to encourage them to show themselves more to the world to see, to shine brighter than they already are.

★Possible astrology placements: Aries, Leo, Scorpio placements, 5th house stellium, Pluto in 7th house, Mars in 1st house, Mars in Aries, Aries ASC, Pisces Venus/ Mercury, Capricorn Mercury

AMBER

This new friend could be your future travel buddy. I see one person is leading another to go on a trip. Travel and learning will be the centre of your connection with this person.

The first thing you will notice about this person is that they have a glibness to them. They could talk fast, walk fast, change subjects mid sentence, rambling on and on. But it will be fascinating to watch and listen to them. They could be younger than you, more playful, less care about the mundane, practical world around them. This person will be a bag of infinite fun to you. With them, you will be more relaxed and enjoy yourself more, you guys would think up mischievous bets and games to entertain each other. I keep seeing the image of two kids having fun everywhere they go.

But don't mistake this for their lack of depth. In fact, they are a lot more mysterious and spiritual than meet the eyes. Their approach to life is carefree but philosophical, they believe that doing good deeds will be rewarded. They believe in serendipity, in life's goodness and abundance, this makes them lucky, it's like a team of spirits is having their back. You would think this person is free of worry. They even think so, too, but they're haunted by dreams and nightmares, their worries and fears lie deep down in their psyche. You have to probe carefully to get a glimpse of that. But they likely won't let you do it, they will dazzle you with stories, with adventures that make you forget the elusive nagging feeling of something is amiss.

They're lucky but they're not lazy. They're actually a very hard worker and you will admire their work ethics. Financial security is very important to them. Sometimes to the point of obsession. They work hard and play hard. There could be an over indulgence of some kind. They can be a spendthrift one moment, then make a completely random purchase (and regret about it later). This person probably like to buy little trinkets or bathroom products (they will gift you a lot of that too). They take good care of their hygiene and are very neat. Their house might be swamped with little things, but they will be well organised and aesthetically pleasing.

You might meet them when you go for a vacation, a trip. I see a large body of water so it could be a lake, a river, the beach, the aquarium.

★Possible astrology placements: Gemini, Libra placements with strong Jupiter and 9th house influence, Mars in Taurus/Mars in 2nd house, Sagittarius ASC, Moon in Sagittarius, Venus in Virgo/Venus in 6th house, Sun in 3rd house

LILAC

You would meet this new friend when you travel back to somewhere you had lived there before or the place where you were born. Also you could meet them through a female figure, likely your mum or your sister, a close female friend. They might introduce you to each other or you will meet this person when you're travelling with that female figure. This could be a surprise encounter for you. You might have travelled to this place often but this will be the first time you see them there. Another scenario is a business trip, but the presence of a female figure will still be there.

This person could have an intimidating reputation. They could be a boss, or in charge of an important position in their workplace. Whatever they do, people notice them easily. They could look a little scary at first sight. Their features are sharp, and they favour a darker style. Fierce and confident. You will probably feel nervous when meeting them for the first time, being subjected to their gaze. You would feel your capability and proficiency are being assessed silently. You might have to work with this person, the connection would be strictly professional at first. They can be strict, demand a lot and don't like to talk about trivial matters. They're probably a person of few words.

But strangely, I don't think you will feel uncomfortable in their presence later, when you're friend with each other. If any, they could even make you feel more confident and more carefree. Even though they prize capability and have a high standard, they are also benevolent and can be quite forgiving. They might only act like this with a few people, those that have passed their assessments. You guys could remind each other of someone close, there's a sense of familiarity, being at ease with each other, as if you've been friends for a long time. This connection could happen suddenly, but it has the potential to remain strong and long-lived.

You might notice that they have some trouble voicing their thoughts. There is a pain hidden deep inside them, and you will feel compassionate for it. Sometimes you could even act as their spokesperson, helping them communicate better. You guys will become the unlikely sanctuary for each other, no matter how much different you look outside.

★Possible astrology placements: Capricorn, Scorpio placements, Mercury in 8th house, Mercury-Saturn aspect, Sun/Mars in 10th house/ in Capricorn, Sagittarius Venus, Mars-Pluto conjunction, Sun-Moon conjunction

#pick a card #tarotblr #witchblr #tarot reading #crystal reading #lithomancy #pick a pile #divination #tarot #tarot community #astro community #astrology #astro #crystal #witch community #pick a stone #astroblr #tarot witch #occult

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norman-fucking-reedus · 1 year ago

Note

BEGGING ON MY KNEES FOR CORRUPTION KINK WITH DARYL YOU WRITE SMUT SO HEAVENLY😫😫😫

SWEET LITTLE SINNER

THE YUMMY STUFF: Age gap, (Daryl is in his late 50s, Reader in her early 30s) Creampies, breeding kink, fingering, bit of cockwarming, just smutty stuff, ...petnames 😇, semi-public?? guys they fuck in the church, virgin fem!reader, religious!reader, dont cancel me for this, but religion kink

DO NOT READ IF YOU THINK YOU'LL FEEL OFFENDED BECAUSE HOW YOU FEEL IS NOT MY PROBLEM

OKAY ANON I KNOW IM ANSWERING THIS REQ MONTHS LATER BUT BEAR WITH ME ALRIGHT 🎀

Im playing around with a new posting format and I honestly really like it so far! Im just literal dogshit at summaries so I don't necessarily bother with them (I mean at least I try) but eeeerm guys let me know if its cutie AND PLEASE LOOK AT MY BLOG PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE I CHANGED THAT TOO

So after scrolling through the mounds of unanswered asks I have, I found this one and it reminded me of a conversation I had with my sister abt Daryl x a Christian girl who holds herself very high to her faith and has a deeper understanding of the bible

This takes place around the time they find gabriel, and somehow this ended up being a !greene reader, I also had to extend the church for... purposes :3

Believe it or not this is my first time ever writing corruption kink 😭 I got this request back when I was still fresh on tumblr and its been sitting ever since because I just didn’t know what to do (and I still dont)

southern gothic has me in a chokehold and I cant breathe

"Come on! Fight to the fence!" The sound of Rick's voice bellowed over the deafening clang of metal and ringing gunfire, rapidly taking down any walkers that shuffled within range as the men helped the women to climb over the fence first, Carl dropping down and catching all the weapons that were tossed onto the safe side.

Rosita crawled up the chain fence quickly, noticing that you were behind her when she was balanced right on top and extending a hand out to you. "Up and over" She lightly yet urgently joked, and you could only let out a small huff of air as you grasped her hand, and hauled yourself upwards, swinging a leg over to join her in scaling down the other side.

"Let's go! Move your asses!" Abraham shouted as he fired his gun, covering Rick as he made a break for the fence, the redhead man not far behind once the walkers had started to herd up. He threw the firearm over the fence and easily jumped onto half the fence, using a walker's head as a boost to fling himself over onto the other side.

As you and the others hastily gathered your belongings, no one dared to look back at the remnants of Terminus, trying to stay together as you all ran for a safe place behind Rick, expecting that he had some kind of miracle up his sleeve and would find a place to hunker down for a few hours, days even.

Despite the chaos and the destruction that surrounded you, you and the rest of the group hastily gathered your belongings, not daring to look back at the ruins of Terminus. Trying to stay as closely together as possible, you all followed Rick's lead as he dashed through the trees. He was the one who had kept the group alive for so long, and everyone was hoping that he could do it for just a little while longer.

After what felt like forever, you could feel the intense heat seeping into your skin and making your clothes stick to your body. Every step you took felt like a burden, with the fabric rubbing against your flesh. The air was thick with humidity, and you could feel the moisture clinging to your skin, making you feel sticky and uncomfortable. You glanced around at the other people around you, all of them appeared to be struggling in the heat, with their foreheads glistening with sweat and their breathing labored.

As you looked over at Daryl, you couldn't help but notice the solemn expression on his face as he kept his eyes fixed on the ground. It was clear that he had been struggling to come to terms with Carol's sudden disappearance, and had been much more withdrawn and reserved than usual. He seemed to be lost in thought, lost in his own world, and it was hard to know how to reach out to him.

"Right here," Rick spoke as he brought the group out to a small clearing that was surrounded by trees, briefly scanning the area before crouching down in the dirt and beginning to frantically dig.

Abraham scoffed, "Tha' hell are we still around here for?" taking a few steps forward as he analyzed and addressed Rick, watching the man pull out a blue duffel bag.

"Guns. Some supplies," He said bluntly, pulling the black zipper back and further exposing the bag's contents, multiple guns, and other hand-held weapons. "We go along the fences, use the rifles, and take out the rest of 'em."

"What?" Glenn gawked, staring at Rick in disbelief as he listened to the words spewing out his mouth, bouncing around uncomfortably in his head.

Rick started to pull out the variety of weapons one by one, not once turning to meet Glenn's gaze. "They don't get to live."

The latter pursed his lips and huffed, stepping closer to Rick as to get his attention. "Rick, we got out. It's over."

"It's not over till they're all dead." Rick growled, shaking his head.

"They are dead. That place is on fucking fire, crawling with walkers in every which way." Rosita spat, laughing in annoyance at Rick's stupidity.

You shake your head as Rick continued to pull items out of the bag, "We got lucky back there," you said, voice low and trembling. "It's not worth risking our lives by going back in" your eyes meeting Rick's in a plea for him to understand. "God doesn't always give us a second chance. Just play the hand you were dealt" The thought of going back into that walker-infested place made your skin crawl, and you couldn't understand why Rick was wasting his time.

"Does he think he could give me one?" A familiar voice spoke softly from behind your group, faces lighting up in surprise and joy as Carol lightly stepped through the forest, appearing from behind a tree with her signature smile tugging at her lips, stretching all the way up to her ears when all of Daryl's weight barreled into her frame, almost knocking her straight onto her ass with a shocked laugh.

Her unexpected appearance managed to lift the once extremely heavy atmosphere, now bright and bubbly as it was filled with smiles.

"Did you do that?" Rick questioned once it was his turn to hug Carol, not getting a verbal response but the cheeky smile painting her blood-covered face was more than telling. However, it didn't last long once she scanned over the entirety of the group. "You have to come with me."

Carol led the group through the forest and down the train tracks until reaching a small cabin hidden in the trees where Tyrese and sweet little Judith had been holed up waiting for her return, everyone watching as Sasha, Rick, and Carl sprinted towards them, each cradling their respective loved one. It was another emotional yet much-needed heartfelt reunion, especially considering that the last few weeks had been nothing but hell in a handbasket.

"We should get moving, the fire's still burning" The grey-haired woman suggested as she gave the tall, rising black smoke one last look over.

"Yeah. We need to go" Rick nodded as he took stared at the smoke, an unreadable expression on his face and in his eyes.

Daryl huffed slightly, "Yeah, but where?" glancing around the remote area.

"Doesn't matter. Somewhere far away from there."

It had been a long few days since the group had gotten somewhere far away from there, and a long few days since anyone had anything to eat. Stomachs were empty and energy seemed to only be decreasing, the hunger gnawing away at all of you.

As the sun slowly began to rise above the horizon, Daryl quietly made his way into the dense forest in search of something to eat. It was quiet, and peaceful as he gingerly and skillfully walked through the mess of vines and roots at his feet, blue eyes scanning the dirt floor for any sign of movement that might indicate the presence of an animal.

Oddly enough, it felt like he wasn't necessarily alone in these woods, glancing around and over his shoulder more than he typically would. Maybe it was just a nearby walker he could sense before he could see, but he knew way better than to believe something like that. His gut told him that there was someone else out here, and Daryl learned to always listen to his gut.

He instinctively raised his crossbow to be eye level, scanning the treeline as he took careful and quiet steps, moving from the west to the north and then east. There was a slight breeze that ruffled the leaves, tousled dark hair in his face, and flowed a dirty white skirt from a few feet from him, a tiny but audible gasp heard.

It had come from behind a thick collection of bushes, Daryl carefully combing them out of the way with one hand and ducking to prevent anything from getting in his eye. He had a tight grip on his crossbow, ready for whatever potential danger could be on the other side.

Luckily for him though, there was no danger. It was just you, the weird and off-putting Greene who had somehow turned into a new interest for Daryl, not quite being able to put his finger on just what it was that drew him towards you.

You were a quiet, soft but strange Christian girl, much different than Maggie and Beth. Unlike them, you seemed to have some kind of spiritual connection to the bible, a deeper understanding of it that often made others feel oddly safe around you, as if you truly did have God protecting you.

Funny enough, it reminded Daryl of when his parents would drag him to the southern church, forcing him into the small confession box where he would sit and sob for hours, silently begging for God to come save him.

He could hear you softly murmuring something, but the full words didn't entirely reach his ears. You were kneeling in front of a large moss-covered log, hands clasped together with your head down, looking up every so often. He watched how every time you leaned back, your hair fluttered back and fell back into position.

Not wanting to be creepy, he decided to come out from where he had been hiding, a little taken aback when you seemed to not be bothered, as if you had already known he wasn't any sort of threat.

"Hell ya' doin' out here girl?" Daryl grumbled out, standing a few feet behind you. He watched as you repeated the motion with your head a few more times, eventually pushing yourself up off your knees.

You knocked the gathered leaves and a few bugs off your skirt, smiling at him softly. "Prayer. I come out here every mornin' for it"

He scoffed slightly, glancing down at the ground as he rolled a rock under his shoe. "Why bother? Not like s'gon get heard anyway"

“Yeah? We’ll see. I prayed we find a safe place today” You said as you brushed some hair our your mouth, wind starting to pick up in speed.

Daryl hummed, “Pray we also find some food?” flipping his own hair out his face.

“Of course,” You laughed slightly, airy and light. “But with you out here I think that’ll be answered”

The man scoffed again, this time ducking his head at your words. “Yeah right” He mumbled out.

“I mean it. Look, there’s a squirrel in that tree” You point to a nearby oak tree and Daryl follows your finger, pulling the trigger of his crossbow faster than you could even fathom.

The squirrel hit the ground, Daryl stepped over a few roots and bushes to pick it up, pulling the arrow out and tossing the carcass over his shoulder.

“Good eye girly. C’mon, guess yer God is gon help ya’ help feed us” He glanced at you from over his clear shoulder, motioning for you to follow him with a short nod of the head.

You followed as he walked through the thick mess of bushes, the green leaves staining your cowgirl boots as you stepped on them. The birds chirped loudly above head as the sun got higher and higher in the sky, the air starting to increase in temperature.

It was quite a nice walk through the forest regardless of the heat, Daryl making for much better company than you expected even though he didn't have much to say. You filled the silence by humming softly to yourself, staying a few feet behind and looking around the wooded terrain, keeping an eye out for animals and walkers.

Daryl paused for a moment, holding up a finger and then positioning his crossbow again. The weapon fired, and you watched as it struck another squirrel, this time pinning it against a tree.

He yanked the arrow out, sliding it back into the holder on the front of his bow and tossing the second squirrel over his shoulder.

"Need'ta get at least five," He said as he continued walking, glancing at you again from over his other shoulder just to make sure you were still there.

You scoffed slightly at his words. "Five?" You repeated, staring at the angel wings on the back of his vest.

Daryl nodded, peering up into the trees and looking around on the ground. "Yeah. Got a lotta people to feed"

"And you think five is the lucky number?" You joke lightly, a small smile tugging your lips as you stay hot on his heels.

He shrugged, squirrels bouncing with the motion. "Dunno. Depends on how many ya prayed for"

"Well, if you told me, I would've prayed for at least ten" You appeared at his side and bumped his arm with yours, his gaze meeting yours for only a split second before you were suddenly startled by Rick and Glenn's out-of-nowhere appearances.

They pointed their guns at both of you, and you put your hands up to show you weren't a threat. "Jus' catchin' some breakfast," Daryl said as he dropped his arms and nodded at Glenn in greetings.

"Ready to get some concrete under your feet?" Rick asked him as the four of you began to make your way out of the forest and back to the rest of the group, the day only getting hotter and hotter. "I think it's time."

Daryl hummed, a thin layer of sweat starting to form on his forehead. "That is sweet music to my ears, Officer."

"We take the next road we come to, try to get back to going north 'till we find a vehicle." Rick gestured slightly with his hand, gun still in his grip just in case.

You all stepped up the steep hill leading back to the road where the group had decided to set up a temporary camp for the night.

Rick meet Daryl's eyes, placing a hand on his squirrel-less shoulder. "Good?"

"Good"

"–And Father God, I once again call upon you to ask for a blessing, a miracle, an answer. You've got me so far, this group, I ask, will you continue to do so? Will you bestow us a safe place? A home?"

Back on the road once again. It was hot as the group ventured forward, worn down shoes and boots slapping against the burning pavement as you all conversed amount yourselves and entertained one another, Michonne and Carl in some form of competition while you lingered behind, Daryl nearby just in case a walker somehow nabbed you.

He silently listened to the soft whispering of your voice, the gentle lull you used as you spoke your prayers, walking with your head down and the palms of your hands facing towards the sky, almost reaching out in a sense.

There was a few questions lingering on his tongue, but growing up in the southern church Daryl had learned not to ask questions until after prayer. Hell, he had learned not to ask questions period.

Daryl only watched you out the corner of his eye, your plush lips moving slightly as you murmured. There was just something about you that was captivating, the fact that you were almost a mixture of Beth's sweet and softness, Maggie's stern and stubbornness, it made him curious to know what the third mysterious Greene had to offer.

"Amen" You mumbled a little louder than intended, clasping your hands together as you finished and concluded your prayer. You brushed some hair out your face when you lifted your head, catching a glimpse at Daryl's watchful eye.

He looked away when your gaze met his, furrowing your brow slightly with a small and playful smile. "What?" You appeared closer to his side and purposely bumped into him, watching how he staggered a little in his pace.

"Nothin'. Jus' hot as hell out here" Daryl shrugged slightly, sweat rolling down his face and back.

You hummed softly, "Hell is a lot hotter than this, but it is super hot. Just wish we could find a river or something" fanning your legs with the loose fabric of your skirt.

Daryl glanced at you, eyes dropping the flowing motion of the fabric. "Tryna' go swimmin'?" He questioned, because a dip in the cool river didn't sound that bad at all

"We weren't really allowed growing up, swimsuits were always super revealin' so we just stayed inside most summers" You shrugged, a tiny smile on your lips as you recalled past memories with your sisters, even if it was just sitting inside trashing the kitchen. "We weren't even allowed to wear shorts that didn't stop at the knees"

It made sense, ever since the farm you, Beth, and Maggie had always been more modestly dressed then the rest, never wearing something too short even if it was the only option.

But even then, as long as your skirt as, Daryl still couldn't help himself from picturing the entirety of your bare legs, a shiver coursing through him as he tried to wipe the image away as quickly as it had come. You were sweet, almost too sweet for him. He was damaged and tainted, you were pure and holy.

"My moms used'ta watch me 'nd m'brother when we went to the river behind our house 'cause I ain't know how'ta swim as a kid" Daryl forced himself to say, tearing his eyes away from the dingy fabric and looking anywhere that just wasn't where you were.

Of course, it wasn't it that easy, especially when you giggled at his sentence which almost caused him whiplash from how hard he snapped his neck at you.

"Sorry, sorry. Just– You didn't know how to swim? Even I can swim" You covered your mouth as you spoke through your laughter, cheeks starting to hurt a little from how hard you were smiling.

Daryl scoffed, the sound of your giggles being music to his ears. "Laugh it up girly. Won't be funny when I throw ya' in a river"

You did laugh even harder at that, maybe because you knew it might be true. "It'll be hilarious! Even more because you'll be the one finding me a new outfit"

"Jus' a little water. S'not like yer damn skirt s'gon wash away" Daryl rolled his eyes, watching as you fake a look of offense.

"How do you know that? It just might! Then you'd have to cover me up" You folded your arms over your chest, quirking a brow at the older man as he glanced you up and down.

"Maybe I don' want to" He mumbled with a short shrug of his mouth

"What do you want?" You asked with a small tilt of your head.

Daryl's lips moved way faster then his brain, and he found himself suddenly muttering out "Wanna see wha's under tha' pretty dress"

You stared at him for a little, and he wished he could just bury an arrow in his head now, but then you chuckled a bit, nudging his arm with yours. "That's a sin, Daryl"

The two of you fell silent, your words lingering in Daryl's mind as he focused his gaze down on the floor, his ears perking slightly when they caught the gentle sound of your humming, some kind of song that he had surely never heard before.

He didn't wanna admit that your voice was soothing and melodic, it almost reminded him of his mother when she would cradle his trembling body in her arms, bruised and bloodied as the soft vibrations of her humming buzzed through him, comforting him as he softly sniffled into her chest, clutching onto her shirt and wondering what it was that made him so undeserving of God's–

"Help!"

The scream of terror rang out from the forest to the woods, and you all looked around at each other as your movements halted, everyone turning in the direction they thought the cry had come from with their weapons drawn, you subconsciously inching closer to Daryl for safety.

"Help, anybody! Help!" The cries came again, this time audibly and undeniably from the left side of the trees.

Rick nodded his head, gun drawn and pointed as he dashed off the road and into the forest, the group all following closely behind as the screams and pleads for help didn't cease, getting louder and closer which drew the attention of nearby walkers, having to dodge and take out any that got too close.

"Anyone, help! Help!"

As you all sprinted deeper into the trees, the sound of snarling and clicking teeth began to mix and become more audible, eventually leading the group out into a green clearing where there was a... pastor cowering ontop of a large stone rock, slipping off and making a half-ass attempt at kicking the walkers.

There weren't that many walkers, but it was still enough to where Rick felt firing his gun was necessary. The gunshots rang out through the forest, and you covered your ears at the loud noise, wincing slightly as it bounced around uncomfortably in your head.

Daryl took out the last straggler with a hard stab of his knife, wiping the thick blood off his blade on his pants before he slid it back in his holster, appearing at your side as he analyzed the pained expression on your face.

"Ya' alrigh'?" He murmered softly, hands hovering over your face but not quiet touching it, almost as if he was restraining himself.

You nodded, uncovering your ears and glancing at the pastor on the top of the rock, Daryl and everyone else following your gaze.

He whimpered softly and quietly from where he sat, eyes frantically darting between the all of you as if you all were the threat.

"Come on down." Rick said in a loud, stern voice, taking a few steps forward in front as the group took a few steps back.

The man rolled on his stomach and awkwardly wormed his way down grunting slightly and crying out when he slipped the rest of the way and landed on his ass.

A few giggles erupted from you and Maggie, stifling your laughter in the same way you've both always done by simply turning your heads away from the source of humor.

Rick didn't seem too entertained though, glancing the man up and down when he stumbled to his feet and dusted himself off. "You okay?" He raised a brow, emotion unmoving and flat.

"Sorry. Yes, thank you. I-I'm Gabriel." He stammered out, his lips pulling themselves into a small an nervous smile.

"Do you have any weapons on you?" Rick titled his head as he asked condescendingly, taking another step closer to 'Gabriel.'

The man in question chuckled slightly. "Do I look like I would have any weapons?"

"We don't give a rats flying fucking ass what it looks like." Abraham barked out, and you could only nod your head in agreement.

Gabriel mumbled out some kind of understanding before he put on his best brave face. "I have no weapons of any kind. The word of God is the only protection I need"

At that you scoffed, covering your mouth in a fake apology. "Oh sorry, just that, didn't really look like God was protecting you now was he?"

Gabriel smiled nervously and awkwardly at your words, his eyes taking in your attire and the sparkly cross around your neck. "Well, he led a woman of your nurture here, so that must mean something right?"

"Oh of course. It means that you have something we want" You spoke softly, yet your tone was oddly dark. It somehow flipped the aura surrounding the group, replacing it with a heavy presence that just couldn't be explained.

"I-I have nothing to offer. Whatever food I- I had left, it just hit the ground." He glanced down at the ruin pile of whatever it was he had.

Carl stepped forward, fishing something out his pocket and holding it out to the pastor. "We've got some pecans, sorry if you're allergic" He partially joked, taking a step back and behind his dad.

Gabriel thanked him, dumping a few into his mouth and chewing. Judith cooed sweetly from where she rested against Beth, the mans eyes softening as he spotted her. "That's a beautiful child," He said, glancing around at just how many of you there were. "D- Do you have a camp?"

"No. Do you?" Rick asked without hesitation.

"I have a church." Gabriel mumbled, and your ears perked up at the sound of that. Daryl also noted the way your face lit up, while his twisted in distain.

Rick stuck his gun in the waist band of his jeans, aggressively grabbing Gabriel. "Hold your hands above your head."

"How many walkers have you killed?" He questioned, roughly patting the man down in search for any weapons.

"Not any, actually." Gabriel answered nervously.

"Turn around." Rick commanded and he spun the man, continuing his thorough search. "How many people have you killed?"

"None." Gabriel said as Rick spun him back around, narrowing sharp, quizzical blue eyes at him.

"Why?" He almost hissed the words out, whispering them out through the skin of his teeth.

Gabriel was silent for a moment, glancing at all of you before back at Rick. "Because the Lord abhors violence."

"We've all done something, we were all born as sinners. Nobody's perfectly pure." You spoke up from where you stood behind Daryl, shaking your head slightly. Daryl could argue with your words that you were the most perfect damn thing he’s seen, but he forced himself to keep his mouth shut instead. You were pure and holy, he was damaged and tainted.

He looked at you, slightly taken aback. Rick finished his search by nodding in confirmation that he was clear, taking a step back from Gabriel but not too far.

"I sin almost every day," He murmured out after a moment, scanning you all once more before his lips shifted into another small nervous smile. "But those sins, I confess them to God, not strangers."

"You said you had a church?"

You sat outside on the church step with all the other women, plus Gabriel, while all the guys stormed inside to do a thorough search of the building, in search of any weapons or any other people. Although Gabe claimed it was just him and himself, Rick didn't believe him and didn't want to take any risks.

It was quite peaceful, birds chirping above with a slight breeze that brought a little bit of cooling relief from the burning sun. Judith cooed softly in Beth's lap, shaded from the sun courtesy of Carl's hat, too big to properly fit her head but big enough to cover her body.

"I spent months here without stepping out the front door." Gabriel's voice cut through the blissful silence, and you tried not to shoot him an irritated glare. Rick came out first, followed by Daryl and then Glenn. "If you found someone inside, well, it would have been surprising."

"We found a short bus out back." Rick said, hands on his hips as he squinted from the harsh glare of the sun. “Nothing else besides that. I think we can settle down here for a minute”

“Shit ain’t settled ‘till we get Eugene’s ass to Washington” Abraham’s voice barked from behind the man, Eugene and Rosita following suit.

Daryl stood on the step above yours, and you turned to smile softly at him as his large frame blocked the scorching light of the sun from spilling down onto you.

He scowled in response, but only because he didn't wanna make his cheeks any more red than they already were. He turned his head away and decided to just blame the burning sensation on the Georgia heat.

Rick shrugged his shoulders as he dismissed Abraham. "Yeah, well, people are exhausted. This place has four walls and a roof. Safe. In other words, we're staying here."

"Sounds pretty good to me, I've slept inside a chapel before," You said as you twisted your head to look at Rick, glancing inside the church to get a glimpse at the size inside. "Plus we can all fit in there, so why not? We could even do our own version of 'The Last Supper' but with squirrel meat" You added, gesturing towards the string of squirrels Daryl had managed to catch on the journey here.

"That kinda does sound good" Beth smiled as she bounced Judith on her leg, the thought of eating meat making her really hungry. "And we can have a bonfire! It'll be even better 'cause we won't have to sleep outside after we put it out" She gasped slightly when the idea crossed her mind, sitting up a little straighter as she talked about it.

Maggie smiled softly at the two of you as you both made light of the situation, grateful that you had always been able to see the bright side of things and just simply brush things off, sometimes falling and scraping your knee but getting right back up to walk it off.

Out of the three of them, you had always had a much stronger connection to God even as a child, sometimes walking right out of Sunday school because you claimed the teacher "silenced" his voice. Growing up, you only continued to believe more and more, so much to the point that it almost worried Maggie, like you could always see something that she couldn't.

There were times when she found herself a bit envious of you, especially when you both had reached your teen years, Maggie starting to take a dive at rebellion and you still as perfectly holy as you had been at age five, wardrobe consisting of nothing but your pristine white clothes, and the same faded white cowgirl boots daddy had bought for you a decade ago on Christmas. He had gotten you all a pair to wear around the farm when dealing and riding with the horses, you and Beth wearing yours down to absolute hell.

By the time you were both in your early twenties, petty rivalry put aside years later replaced by constant gossip and the latest guy Maggie was going out with, she realized that there was no reason to envy you, because she didn't wanna be you. You were pure, holy, and kept yourself high within your faith, studying the Bible in a way that she sometimes couldn't even wrap her head around.

"We need supplies, no matter what we do next" Rick spoke up as he glanced around at everyone, watching Beth pass over Judith to you to sit in the shade Daryl provided.

Glenn nodded in agreement. "That's right. Food, water, ammunition, anything we can find"

You quirked a brow at Gabriel, glancing him up and down. "How'd you survive here for so long?"

He jumped slightly at the sound of your voice and stuttered as all eyes landed on him. "W- Well, I had God protecting me"

"No, you didn't. God doesn't protect, he watches" You rolled your eyes at him, as if this wasn't common knowledge.

Gabriel was taken aback by your response, mouth slightly agape as he scrambled to find a different answer. "Our annual canned food drive, things fell apart right after we finished-"

"That's great 'nd all, but Rick, seriously, we're gon' get heatstroke s sittin' out here in the boilin' sun" Maggie cut the man off, fanning herself with both her hands even as she was pressed up against your side, trying to hog the shade that you were already sharing with Beth and Jude.

Carol nodded her head in agreement, also dripping in sweat. "Yeah. You said it was safe, so why aren't we inside yet?" She gestured to the church.

"Alright, alright. Everyone inside. Let's cool off and rest our feet. We can discuss what's next later." Rick nodded and propped the church door open so that the group could easily fit through with all their stuff and guns, loud clattering as these things were dropped on the floor.

You followed after Maggie as she helped Glenn haul a bag inside, holding Judith on your hip as she sucked on her tiny fist. The way you held her almost looked natural, as if she was your very own. Daryl tried to pry his eyes away, but he just couldn't. He was drawn to you in a way he couldn't understand.

It bothered him in a way, the world had ended and you treated every day as if it was just an average day, as if dead people walking around was nothing more but an inconvenience. You were a carefree and buoyant spirit, as if your mind was consistently clear and levelheaded.

But it also intrigued him, how somehow someway in a world plagued with darkness that forces people to be tough and hard, you still manage to be soft and dainty, as if the plague hadn't even touched you once.

There was a combination of walker blood and mud splattered all across your white dress, some of it on your sleeves and your face, yet it didn't make you look any less tender, especially now as you seemed to sit cozily in the nave of the church, bouncing Judith on your leg as you softly hummed her a song.

Inside the church was fairly big, the back of it containing a few large offices that Rick deemed the safest the camp out in for the night, explaining that the doors had locks and that if someone were to break in everyone would hear and have plenty of time to wake up, claiming that everyone could sneak out the back door or just fight if need.

"The food lasted a long time," Gabriel said once the large wooden door creaked shut, other members of the group finding a place to settle down. "And then I started scavenging. I've cleaned out every place nearby, except for one."

"What kept you from it?" Rick questioned.

Gabe shrugged. "It's overrun."

"How many?" Glenn pipped in from against a wall.

Gabriel slightly tilted his head in thought. "A dozen or so? Maybe more."

Rick scoffed, hands on his hips as he stared at the man. "We can handle a dozen."

"Bob and I will go with you," Michonne said calmly as she stepped forward. "Tyreese should stay here, help keep Judith safe."

"That'll be okay?" Rick glanced over to the man in question, who nodded his head.

"You ever need me to watch her, need anything for her, I'm right here" Tyreese said with a small smile.

The corner of Rick's mouth slightly quipped upward in a tiny smirk. "I'm grateful for it."

"I'll draw you a map–" Gabriel spoke up but was quickly cut off, "–You don't need to, you're coming with us." by Rick who shot him down with a cold icy glare.

It caught Gabriel off-guard and made his anxiety go through the roof. "I– I'm not gonna be of any help, you saw me up on that rock, I'm no good around those things." He stammered, trying to plead his case nervously under Rick's burning gaze.

"You're coming with us."

The sun had set long ago, and the inside of the church was lit up with a warm candle ambiance that fueled that lighthearted mood, everyone in the group chattering and laughing with one another for the first time in what felt like years.

"I'd like to propose a toast." Abraham loudly announced over everyone and all conversations ceased as the ginger easily captured all eyes in the room, raising his glass of wine that Gabriel had pulled from his own office.

"When I look around this room... all I can see is survivors." He said, scanning his eyes over the nave and everyone inside. "Each and every damn one of you has earned that title."

Abraham was silent for a moment, giving the room one last glance over before tipping his glass. "To the survivors."

"Survivors! Cheers!" You all said in unison, raising your glasses and clinking it against the person beside you, the church erupting back into its previous laughter as everyone resumed drinking and enjoying the night.

You scooted your way over to Daryl who was sat in a corner, purposely getting in his space and holding out your glass to him. "Survivors." You mumbled, a tiny smile tugging at your lips.

He glanced at you, a faraway expression on his face as he raised his glass to yours, mumbling out a soft,"Survivors" that was only loud enough for the both of you to hear.

"Now," Abraham said out loud once again, all eyes falling on him. "We get Eugene to Washington, and he will make the dead die, and the living will have this world again." He took a swing of his drink, raising his pinky. "And that is not a bad takeaway for a little road trip."

From where Judith sat snuggly in Rick's lap, she cooed and fisted some of his shirts in her small hands.

"Eugene, what's in DC?" The ginger questioned, all eyes now falling on the scientist for the answer.

He took a moment, clearing his throat before he spoke in his usual flat and unwavering tone of voice. "Infrastructure constructed to withstand pandemics even of this fubar magnitude, that means food, fuel, refuge."

"Restart," Abraham concluded, Eugene giving a short and curt nod at the response. "However this plays out, however long it takes for the reset button to kick in, you can be safe there. Safer than you've been since this whole thing started."

"Save the world for that little one, save it for yourselves. Save it for the people out there, who don't got' nothin' left to do except survive." Abraham spoke, his words of encouragement ringing out through the church's walls.

Judith cooed loudly as she squirmed in Rick's lap, and he smiled at her as he readjusted his grip on her tiny torso. "I think she knows what I'm about to say," Rick joked, managing a few laughs from people. "If she's in, then I'm in too."

"We're all in" Carol interjected, smiles spreading across everyone's faces as conversations and laughter began to fill the room again, people started to celebrate by drinking, clapping, and cheering, the energy in the room upbeat and positive. "Let's do it!" Abraham exclaimed, clearly now tipsier than everyone else as he raised his almost empty glass in the air one more time.

The once warm and cozy atmosphere that the church had inside during the earlier activities had been snuffed out long ago, leaving a cold and empty feeling inside the nave.

It wasn't literally cold, or maybe it was just the cigarette that was keeping Daryl warm, taking long drags from the small stick every minute or so. He couldn't be bothered to go all the way outside, and the natural glow of the moon seeping into the room was more than enough.

Plus, it's not like he was alone, considering that you were sitting in the aisle over from him with your head down.

It had been just the two of you in pure silence for about thirty minutes, and Daryl had only been staring at you for twenty. He tried not to, he really did, but it was hard for his eyes to peel away from the way your dress reflected the light, hands neatly folded together in your lap as hair spilled down your shoulders.

Because of the wine from earlier, there was a slight buzz that ran through Daryl's nerves that somehow encouraged him to stop staring and stand, making his way over to where you were sitting.

"Smoking is a sin, and so is interrupting my prayer," You said once he was sat a few inches from you, not even glancing up at him once.

Daryl let out a tiny scoff, taking another drag from his cigarette. "Yeah, well, s'gon fall on deaf ears anyway"

"Do you not believe in God?" You asked as you blinked your eyes, now turning your head to look at him with genuine curiosity etched on your features.

The man shook his head. "Ain't ever believed in no God," he said, pulling another hit and speaking around it. "Hell, ain't ever believed in nobody"

You sighed a little, leaning back against the bench. "God believes in you"

Daryl scoffed a lot louder at that. "Don' even believe in m'self"

"Well, I believe in you," You said with a shrug, scooting a bit closer to him to bump him with your elbow.

He grumbled as he bumped you back, more so pushing as he held his cigarette between his teeth. "Wha' else ya' believe in? Sandy Clause?"

You let out a small giggle at his butchered version of the fictional character. "Santa, and no, I don't. But I do believe that this is the next world though."

"Why? We ain't dead yet" Daryl analyzed you from the corner of his eyes.

You shook your head, "No, we're not. We never have been. Don't you see? This, this is the resurrection" waving your hands around for emphasis.

"I thought everyone was s'pposed ta' disappear or some shit?" He questioned and you rolled your eyes at him. "Oh come on, I thought you didn't believe in stuff like that. Did you also think that Jesus was gonna fly down from the sky and save us all?"

Daryl huffed as he took a long drag, getting more toward the last few puffs of his cigarette as he raised a brow at you. "Ain't that tha' whole point?"

"That's what people want you to think. They always talk about the resurrection and how Jesus will come back from the dead to save humanity from its wrongdoings, which is exactly what's happening now"

"Tha' hell ya' tryna' say, girl?"

"That God has a plan. He wants the world to be pure again, he wants us to be pure again"

At your words, Daryl scoffed, taking a long and final drag of his cigarette. "Well, m'not very pure unlike yerself" He said as he stomped out the butt of the remaining stick, crushing it under a muddy a boot.

"You're tainted, and its okay. No need to be envious of my non-sinning streak" You jokingly said, flipping your hair which got a tiny chuckle out the older man.

"Now I definitely don' believe ya' ain't ever committed no sin" He said, shaking his head.

You had a small smile playing at your lips, shrugging both shoulders as you looked at him. "I mean, technically walkers aren't people, so I don't really think I've killed anyone"

"Steal anythin'?"

"Thou shall not steal, Daryl. Plus, looting stores is only against the law"

"Well, everyone's told a lie"

"Oh, I'd never lie. The truth will set you free"

Daryl frowned at your words. "Yer startin' ta' piss me off, girl"

"I'm just not a sinner, Daryl. I was raised inside a church, so I spent all my time studying the bible and asking God questions." You said with a sigh, thinking back to when you were still a little girl.

"Wha' kinda questions?" Daryl asked, and you turned once again to meet his gaze.

"Well," You started, taking a moment to think before glancing back up at him. "I've always wondered if you commit a sin inside a church, if it still counts as a sin"

"How would ya' know?"

You shrugged. "I don't, I've never really had any sin to commit"

Daryl hummed, eyes flickering down to your plush lips, tracing the shape of them a few times before shifting his gaze back up to meet your eyes. "Lust is a sin"

"Now that's just unholy, Daryl" You scoffed at him, crossing your arms and turning your head away to hide the heat that rose to your cheeks, because lust was indeed a sin. "It's extremely important to save yourself for the person you're gonna marry. Sex is an emotional gift"

The man furrowed his brows, "How do ya' know tha' if ya' ain't ever fucked?" suppressing the shiver that ran through him at his own words.

Something dark twisted and turned in his stomach just thinking about the idea that you were just as pure as the day that you were born, and he tried not to think about the wildly dirty things he wanted to do to you that he knew would potentially leave a stain. You had probably never even thought of doing something like that, let alone with someone of his nature.

But you had, and you were right now, nervously and subconsciously squeezing your thighs together the more self-aware you started to feel within the older man's presence, feeling his eyes traveling over the length of your body. "I told you, I studied the bible. Sex is the connection of two people who are bound to one another for life, aka being married of course"

"Sex could also just be sex," Daryl shrugged, his brows unmoving as your words confusingly rang out in his ears. "Ain't much of a difference is there?"

You sighed, shaking your head at him. "Of course there is silly. When you're married, sex is a form of art and beauty, as well as conception. God intends for us to use our bodies as a way to communicate with our partner. Any other time, sex is just a form of escape and pleasure, abusing the gift that God has given us in a sinful way, or as you know, lust"

Daryl hummed as you simplified the words for him in a way that he still didn't necessarily understand, but he just decided to pretend like he did. "Ya' ain't ever go through hormones growin' up?"

"Are you asking if I get horny?" You let out a tiny giggle at how his eyes snapped to yours at the blunt question, his cheeks starting to tint pink as he grumbled and looked away. You laughed and wrapped your hands around his forearm, pulling at the man and trying to get him to look at you. "Don't get embarrassed! Are you?"

Unknowingly, you had instead pulled yourself a lot closer to Daryl, and when he twisted his head back in your direction, you were both face to face, noses almost touching.

Daryl stopped breathing for a few seconds as your doe eyes stared up at him, flickering down to where your fingers gripped what you now realized was his very muscular forearm. Sitting this close to him under his burning blue gaze made you feel a bit small, and made a funny feeling form in your lower stomach.

His own eyes flickered back down to your lips, finding himself using his other hand to brush some hair out of your face, curling his fingers at the back of your hand and cupping your cheek in a big, calloused palm, tracing his thumb over your bottom lip. "Maybe I am"

"This is God's house, Daryl." You muttered in a hushed whisper as you curled your fingers around his arm, trying not to downright melt into the warm touch of his hand.

"Think he's gon' watch us?" He whispered back, and your lower stomach tingled in a way that made your whole core heat up, feeling a mild throbbing sensation coming from your private area as you looked up at the older man, running his thumb over the edge of your jaw.

"I– I don't–" You stammered, shifting your eyes away from his as you found yourself at a loss for words.

"Said ya' always wanted ta' commit a sin inna church, righ'?" Daryl tilted your gaze back to his, stroking your cheek with a gentleness you didn't even know he could muster. "Might as well do the one tha' feels best"

"But I've never done something like this... Will it– Will it hurt?" You said as you searched his eyes, the blue orbs going soft and tender.

"M'not gonna hurt ya' at all sweetheart," He said in a genuine voice, holding your face a little tighter. He couldn't even imagine hurting something as dainty as you, especially not with the way you were looking up at him with curious and innocent eyes. "If anythin' I do hurts, tell me, alrigh'?"

You nodded, the corner of your lips twitching into a smile as it felt like there was an entire butterfly exhibit in your stomach, Daryl learning down into your space and first giving your lips a small peck, before pulling you completely flush by the back of your nape, a shiver running up your spine that went all the way down to your clothed cunt, legs squeezing together as Daryl deepened the kiss, your first and hottest kiss ever.

It made your head light and dizzy, leaving you starstruck and dazed when he pulled away with only a thin trail of saliva connecting your lips, Daryl brushing the skin of your cheek once again as you slowly blinked, still feeling airy from the kiss you just experienced.

"Do that again please" You murmured in a tiny plea, feeling both sets of your lips tingle in excitement at all the new sensations Daryl was showing you.

He pulled you in for a chaste peck, catching your bottom lip between his teeth. "Ya' like tha', pretty girl?" He mumbled the words against you, pressing another kiss to your plush lips and swallowing the tiny moan you let out.

You moved to wrap your arms around the older man's neck, Daryl now taking both his hands and gripping you by your waist, pulling a shocked gasp from you at the way his touch made your cunt ache. He carefully moved you to lay on your back, slotting a thigh between your legs and pressing the denim material against your soaked panties, a noise mixed between embarrassment and need coming from your throat.

It felt so good, and you found yourself trying to rut against Daryl's thigh as he started to kiss and suck at your neck, making you giggle slightly as the skin there was more ticklish than anywhere else. His body was big and warm as it was pressed on top of yours, feeling a pulsating sensation traveling through your nerves as you continued to needily hump his leg, whining softly as you tried to further fuel the feel-good moment you were having.

"Let m'help ya' out doll, jus' leave it all ta' me, gon' make ya feel real good" Daryl spoke the words from the underside of your jaw, kissing his way up to your lips before he leaned back, pulling his thigh back and leaving a hand on your hip, courtesy of your fingers scrambling to curl around his for comfort.

"I'm a bit nervous," You said, avoiding his gaze out of embarrassment as you spoke the words. "What if I mess something up?"

"Tha' ain't gon' happen, m'gon do all tha' work fer ya'" Daryl said as his hands moved down to your thighs, lifting and pulling your legs to circle his waist, a shrill shriek tearing out your throat as your dress started to slip down and pool at your waist.

It left your lower half completely exposed, and it was almost an instinct to drop your hands down to cover your panties, a hot blush painting over as Daryl gripped both your hands in one, moving them away and pinning them to your chest. "Nuh'uh, ya' ain't gonna hide from me, pretty girl"

You whined softly as he released your wrists, ducking his head down to kiss and lick your stomach, causing you to jerk from the wet muscle dragging across your skin. His fingers traveled down past the hem of your undies, pushing them midway down your thighs before sitting back up and lifting one of your thighs, yanking the flimsy blue fabric the rest of the way off and stuffing it in his back pocket, pulling you a bit closer as he licked his lips, eyeing the prettiest pussy he's ever seen.

You weren't exactly sure what to do with your hands, deciding instead to clench the cross around your neck in one and prop yourself up on the other, all this being so new and different, dirty and sinful, that you couldn't help but wanna watch.

Daryl placed a hand on your hip, the other moving to gather spit on his fingers. "Gotta get ya' stretched out so I don' hurt ya'"'

"Is this part gonna hurt? I've only masturbated once, but I was too scared to actually finger myself" You frowned a little, feeling your nerves spike as it started set really just how inexperienced you were.

Daryl leaned down and placed a soft peck to your lips, dipping his fingers into your cunt gently and rubbing the digits up and down your slit, pressing down against your clit and moving in a circular motion, his actions on the bundle of nerves sending shivers sparking up your spine, letting out a moan that was deep in your throat right against the older man's lips.

He let out a low chuckle, adding a second finger to his movement against your clit. "Doesn' hurt now, does it?"

You shook your head, body tingling in a foreign way that almost made you feel like you had been tased but in a good way, not that you've ever been tased before. The rough pads of his fingertips against your clit drove you absolutely crazy, the faster they moved the more you found your hips jerking down in a clumsy attempt to speed up whatever high it was you were riding right now, feeling better than you ever have in your whole life.

"There ya' go beautiful, c'mon, cum on m'fingers" Daryl murmured the words out, quickening his pace as he could feel your legs twitching around him, your whines and whimpers getting louder and louder. He spread your cunt lips apart more which revealed your raw clit more, a few harsh strokes to the small bud before you were biting down on your bottom lip and letting your head fall back, a shaky, pleased cry tearing out your chest as waves of electricity coursed through your entire nervous system.

Rather than pulling his fingers away, Daryl dragged them back down your now much more sensitive slit, this time slipping a single digit past your tight entrance, the feeling foreign and oddly unique. Daryl's finger was a bit bigger than average, so you could feel there was a slight stretch to your virgin hole.

Daryl could feel it too, as well as the way you experimentally clenched and convulsed around his stilled finger, giving you a few minutes to adjust to the new feeling.

When he began to slowly thrust the digit in and out, curling the tip of his finger each time in search of your sweet spot, carefully watching the way your face twisted and contorted.

"Ya' alrigh'?" He asked, starting to brush his thumb against the skin where he was gripping your hip.

You nodded, involuntarily clenching around him. "Yeah, it just feels really funny, maybe I just had my expectations too high," You said as you furrowed your brows, a bit upset that 'fingering' wasn't all you chalked it up to be.

"First finger ain't much, second one might feel 'bit different" Daryl said as he pulled the digit back, this time pushing back into you with both fingers, the stretch and drag of the two digits feeling agreeably more different than just one.

This time Daryl just kept up his steady pace, continuing to thrust and curl his fingers into your cunt, starting to scissor you further open. Your eyes trailed down to follow the movement of his other hand as he released his grip on your hip, beginning to undo the zipper of his jeans and shoving them halfway down, the first and biggest cock you've ever laid eyes on.

Your jaw went a little slack, scrambling to find words as you felt panic boil in your stomach. "That– That's not gonna fit!"

"Calm down doll, I swear yer'gon be jus' fine" Daryl murmured softly, reaching down to reassuringly press his forehead against yours, so close that your eyelashes were almost touching. "Told ya', m'not gonna hurt ya'. S'probably not gon' feel tha' best at first but it gets better, righ'?"

Taking his words into consideration for a minute, you nodded your head against his and let your eyes flutter shut as he placed a chaste kiss to your lips, followed by another, and then the feeling of his fingers slipping out of you.

It left you feeling oddly empty, but there was excitement building up as you watched Daryl spit on his cock, using it as lube as he dragged it up your already slick slit, pressing the tip into your hole and easily pushing past, the stretch of his cock slowly slipping into you a lot more painful than expected, your hands finding his forearms where he gripped your waist and squeezing them tightly, wincing slightly as you dug your nails into his skin.

Daryl caressed the skin of your waist with his thumb, trying his best to ease the discomfort he could see and knew he was causing you. "I know, I know, s'gon be alrigh' gorgeous, yer' alrigh'" He muttered, pulling his hips back and pushing them forward again, repeating the motion in long, deep strokes.

Whatever his method was, it was definitely working, each drag of his cock against your walls feeling better and better, your cunt only getting wetter and wetter which made it so much easier for Daryl to increase his pace, trying his best to restrain himself from completely plowing into you like he had been craving to do for days, weeks now.

He didn't wanna hurt you or go too rough, this was your first time for crying out loud, a sweet christian girl who hadn't even dipped her own fingers inside herself, and here he was, a grumpy tainted man who had somehow managed to stuff himself balls deep into her pure little pussy, hugging his cock in a warm, velvety hold that he just wanted to absolutely ruin.

He watched the way your eyes fluttered, soft moans coming from you as your face seemed to be pleasantly relaxed, the tight and fearful grip you once had on his arms now reduced to a lazy and content hold, fingers squeezed every once in a while when Daryl's cock would bump a rather sensitive nerve. "That actually feels good" You mumbled as a small smile twitched on your lips.

But Daryl knew how he could make it feel even better, and his restraint to hold back from completely plowing into you had run down to nothing, a sharp grunt leaving his throat when he snapped his hips forward, shoving the entirety of his cock into you suddenly.

You let out a surprised squeak at the action, Daryl's hands planting themselves awkwardly but firmly on the church bench, your own moving to keep yourself steady as he ducked his head down to begin sucking your neck, setting a rough and unforgiving pace.

"Oh my fuuuck" You moaned out in a shaky, pleased breath, fingers curling into the wood and your toes curling in your boots. It's like you were dancing on cloud ten, each hard bump of his tip to your cervix making your mouth practically water, sending bolts of lightning licking up your spine.

Daryl groaned into the skin of your neck, sucking and kissing against your pulse as he got lost in the warmth of your cunt. "Got such a perfect fuckin' pussy, love tha' s'all fer me"

You whined and couldn't help but clench around him at his words, a shudder running through you when you felt him start to speed up, pulling tiny moans out of your chest at every thrust.

Daryl muttered in a husky voice right by your ear, "Feels so fuckin' amazin' doll, so damn tight 'nd wet, might fuck ya' fer hours" grabbing you by the hip and pulling you impossibly further in his lap, driving his cock faster and deeper into your body, nailing your tender sweet spot dead on which caused you to let out a high pitch cry, Daryl muffling your sounds with a slow but sloppy kiss.

He slammed his cock right into the sensitive bundle of nerves, each thrust making you feel dizzy and lightheaded, knocking the air out of your lungs but it felt so good you couldn't even care, eyes starting to roll back when Daryl slid a hand down to roughly finger at your clit, the way he was stimulating your whole cunt making the entire room spin, a shaky, needy sob spilling pat your lips as your whole body was drowning in pulsing and throbbing tingles, Daryl placing another kiss to your lips as he only went faster.

"Ya like tha' huh m'lil sinner? Goin' against everythin' ya' stand fer, feels real good don' it?" He groaned the words out against your lips, and you downright whimpered at his words, heart pounding in your ears as he worked your clit, still ramming in and out of you at an animalistic pace. You couldn't think, and the only word you could muster was a small, broken "D-Daryl"

Your hips jerked down to clumsily grind against his fingers and his cock, needily chasing the building high of your second orgasm as it became difficult to keep your volume at a low, moans starting to tear themselves right out your throat.

Daryl reached an arm underneath your back and flipped you into a sitting position, straddling his lap with his fat cock now one hundred percent of the way buried inside you, so deep that you were convinced for a second that he was in your stomach. You draped your arms over his shoulders and muffled a lewd moan into his neck, the first thrust sending him deeper than ever.

He held you flush against him and bunched your dress up with one hand, and squeezed your hip with the other, letting out breathy, heavy moans of his own as he bounced you in his lap, the tight and slick drag of your raw cunt against his throbbing cock straight up addictive.

"So goddamn wet baby, ya' was saving this wet ass lil' pussy fer me huh, lil' devil?" As the man spoke, he sounded extremely winded, with deep and passionate huffs, you couldn't help but convulse around him at his words, a tiny noise leaving your lips as you clung to him tighter, whining as his hand on your hip pulled you even closer against his pelvis. "Fuck, so fuckin' perfect doll"

Only choked-off moans and whimpers came from you, trying to muffle your sounds into Daryl's neck as his cock shifted angles inside, driving himself right into a soft and squishy spot that made you mewl, the man holding you down as he continued to slam into that spot head-on. His thrusts were fast and unforgiving, fucking your cunt almost as if he hated you, but his grip was tight and protective, holding your body against his like he loved you.

Which he did, but he just didn't know how to say it. His only hope being that you could feel it in the way he fucked into you, hips starting to falter slightly as your tight cunt milked his cock, practically sucking him in and making it impossible for him to ever want to pull out.

From the way you had started to tremble and spasm around him, Daryl could tell that your orgasm was getting closer and closer, encouraging him to quicken his pace. “Gonna cum, pretty girl?” He murmured as he moved down to pepper kisses across your cheek.

“Yes! Oh my goodness yes” You moaned as your entire body pulsated, each bump of his tip to your cervix sending you further into bliss. Your arms dropped down and you curled your fingers into his sturdy shoulders for purchase as he relentlessly pounded your twitching pussy, keeping your limp body closely pressed against his.

Daryl could feel the boiling heat of his own orgasm rising in his gut, the wet and warm slide of your cunt against the throbbing pulse of his aching cock pushing him closer and closer to the edge. He hitched your dress up further as he adjusted his grip on you, speeding up his pace even more as he started to chase after his own relief, the squeeze of your soft and squishy walls practically making him drunk.

He groaned as electricity licked and burned through his veins, thoughts flashing and racing through his head. “Let me cum in ya’ doll. Gonna get ya’ nice ‘nd plumped up with a lil’ baby, huh?”

That sent tingles shooting down your spine, clenching down around his thickness at the words each time they rang out in your head. Growing up, all you've ever wanted was to have a sweet little baby of your own, and after unlocking such a world like this you couldn't possibly picture life without Daryl at your side.

"Please, please give me that" You almost whimpered as you trembled against his chest, heart pounding in your chest as a heat burned and built up in your stomach. You jerked your hips and made a clumsy attempt to rut down against him, but he tightened the hold he had on your lower half to stop your movements. "I've got ya' gorgeous, m'gon take care of ya', told ya' m'gon make ya' feel good"

Daryl readjusted his position, moving you to sit up properly and gripping you at the waist, pinning up your dress there as well as he started to bounce you in his lap, downright using your body as a sex toy as he plowed right into your sensitive sweet spot, pulling strained and guttural moans from your chest as you tried your hardest to keep your volume down as to not echo off the church's wall, biting back sobs as your hands found their way to Daryl's chest, fingers curling into the strong flesh as all the digits had a hot buzz to them, lungs suddenly not being able to take in any air as your stomach burned, toes curling in your boots and teeth clenching as a wave of scorching hot pleasure washed over your whole entire body, this time not being able to hold back the loud cry that tore it's way out your throat, uncontrollably convulsing around his cock as he thoroughly fucked you through your orgasm, muffling your pleased moans with a messy kiss.

With the way your now overly sensitive cunt squeezed and roughly gripped his pulsating dick, Daryl wasn't far behind in his orgasm, grunting into your mouth as his hips stuttered inside you, cock twitching eagerly as he pumped his load deep into the warmth of your heat, Daryl slipping his tongue into your mouth and pressing it up against yours.

When he pulled away, you were nothing but a puddle of pure jelly, going limp in his grasp as he wrapped a secure arm around your middle, moving to kiss and suck your neck as he covered you back up by dropping your dress, deciding he wanted to stay wrapped inside you a little longer.

"Are you gonna give me my panties back?" You questioned from where you now rested against his shoulder, eyes following the older mans movement as he flicked his lighter, holding the flame up to a new cigarette.

The tip burned red as he took the first and long drag, blowing the smoke up in the air and holding the cigarette away from you by stretching his arms across the bench, humming softly as if taking a moment to think. "Nah"

You pulled back from his chest and gawked at him. "No? There'll be a sticky mess between my legs in the morning!"

He smirked at you, showing a sliver of his porcelain teeth as he did. "Tha's the point, lil' sinner, yer gonna be feelin' me fer days"

The nickname made you blush, turning your head away from the man as you also considered his words, a part of you wanted to feel and experience it all over again, almost arguably a divine slice of heaven itself, and you wanted to taste it once again.

"Well you should never commit a sin twice" You mumbled instead of your real thoughts, cheeks now starting to heat up from embarrassment and a bit of shame, Daryl's cock still buried inside you as a reminder of what you had just done, a reminder that the purity and sacrality you had been preserving for your future man had been completely stripped by another.

Unless, Daryl was your future man, clenching down around him as he took another drag of his cigarette, placing a hand back over your now-covered hip, traveling up to your waist, and squeezing the flesh there. He wasn't the God-fearing, clear-minded, faithful man you had dreamed about as a little girl. Still, he was the strong, protective, and leaderful man that you had dreamed about as a young woman, the man you dreamed of to provide for you and the home you built for another, to protect and preserve the family he's made.

His hand grazed your jaw, fingers caressing your cheek and tracing over the shape of your lips. With his gentle and soft touch, you could feel each blister and callous formed on his hands, the rough feeling of hard work against your skin causing goosebumps.

"Somethin' bad gon' happen ta' us?" He questioned, talking around an exhale of smoke as he did.

"We'll go to hell, Daryl!" You rolled your eyes at him.

He lazily shrugged a shoulder, staring at you with searching eyes. "We'll go together"

Your mouth gaped at his words, stammering as you struggled to find your own. "W– Well I'd much rather prefer we go to heaven together"

"They not gon' let me in" Daryl scoffed slightly as he spoke.

"Not when you commit sins like lust, Mr. Tainted" You flicked his forehead, and he grumbled swatting your hand away, rubbing the reddening skin.

"Ain't my fault, Mrs. Holy, yer' dress leaves little ta' tha' imagination" He muttered, and your eyes widened at his words.

"Are you– My dress goes to my flipping ankles!" You picked up some of the pooled dingy fabric, tugging on it for emphasis.

Daryl shrugged again at that, his eyes now traveling the length of your body where you sat still in his lap. "Don' matter, ever since I saw tha' pretty lil' face I've wanted ta' see the rest of ya', 'nd I ain't disappointed"

You scoffed in disbelief, turning your head in an attempt to hide the heat rising to your face, speaking in a hushed whisper. "My gosh, you speak such foul words in such a sacred place"

"We jus' fucked" Daryl said bluntly, taking another drag from his cigarette as he watched you snap your neck back to him, mouth slightly agape as you scrambled for words. "Y– Yes. But, that doesn't mean you have to talk like that in God's house"

At that, Daryl's cock twitched inside you, a smirk taking over his lips "Ya' said tha' same thing before m'tongue was down yer' throat"

"Daryl!" You hissed, the man chuckling as he gripped your hip and moved to kiss at your already marked-up neck, the weight of your faith starting to weigh heavy as you felt Daryl's cock hardening to life against your walls. "Fornication is straight up breaking the laws of God. We can't– I can't do this again"

The smell of cigarettes and sex painted the church air as you planted both hands on Daryl's chest, pushing yourself up and slowly off his dick with a restrained groan, turning into a sharp gasp when the elder pulled you back down, flush against him.

"Think fornica-whatever s'allot more than jus' sex, 'cause I don' have a problem makin' ya' mines" Daryl mumbled the words into your hair, holding you to his chest with one arm and stubbing out his cigarette in the wooden bench with the other. "God can't stop me from wantin' ya', can he?"

"He can, if you don't truly want me" You muttered into his shirt, and could feel the rumble of his short laughter through his stomach. "'S'good tha' I've wanted ya' fer a while then"

You sighed as you pushed yourself up to meet his gaze, eyes sharp and focused on yours as you moved. "It's more than just want, marriage is a life-long commitment, spiritual and eternal, it's about your faithfulness and loyalty to the person you love, the person you wanna become one body with, share your body with. That's why it's important to save yourself for marriage, to keep yourself pure and clean for the one you want to share it with"

"Aren't we one righ' now?"

"I– I mean– yes, but n– not in the way God intended for us to be–"

"–Why? 'Cause we ain't married? Pretty stupid if yer' askin' me"

He took your left hand in his, bring it up to his lips and placing soft kisses on your delicate fingers, lips lingering against your ring finger.

"Don' need no God ta' tell m'tha' I do or don' love ya', 'cause I know I do, dammit woman, loved ya' since I met ya' on yer' daddy's farm" Daryl scoffed as he finally spoke his feelings into the air, listening to himself and how ridiculous he sounded.

You listened intently, staring at him with glossy eyes as he spoke, your lips twitching and tugging into a tiny smile.

A provider, a protector, a man, a real man, was what Daryl Dixon was, the type of man that you thought could only ever exist in your head and bible, yet here he was, clinging to you and holding you close to him, pressed tightly against and in you, so tight that it felt like you'd just melt right into him at any second, his heart beating erratically in his chest, so much that you could feel it against the beat of your own heart.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" You whispered, watching how Daryl's eyes shifted away from yours in the embarrassed way that they always did. "Tell me!"

The man grumbled as you grabbed his face and shook his head, forcing his gaze back on you as he pulled your hands away with his, dropping them down to his chest and holding them there. "I didn' think ya'd want someone like me"

"What? Someone unholy?" You tilted your head slightly at him.

He shook his head, fingers squeezing your wrists. "Someone damaged"

"Damaged? You aren't damaged, Daryl. You're just tainted" You furrowed your brows, frowning slightly at his words.

"Ya' always say tha'" He mumbled, and you sighed. "Because there's no other way for me to put it. You're just a corrupted soul, but that doesn't mean you're a bad person"

He stared at you, licking his lips as he looked at your own, his cock twitching back to life again. "Even if I wanna corrupt ya' too?"

"And how exactly would you do that?" You laughed, but couldn't ignore the heat starting to pool in your gut, feeling a familiar buzz in your fingertips as Daryl ran his hands up your thigh, bunching the fabric of your dress all the up past your tits, a sharp gasp leaving your lips as the cold air hit them, the older man pulling you close and popping one of your tender nipples into his mouth, rocking his hips to full hardness. "M'gonna slut ya' out, pretty girl. Gonna turn ya' into my sweet lil' sinner, a little holy fuckdoll"

"I'm not a sex toy" You whined as he dragged his tongue across your boobs, involuntarily clenching around him as you tried to defend yourself, but Daryl laughed lowly as he trailed his lips up to the skin of your neck, kissing his way up to your ear and taking the lobe between his teeth. "Not yet, gorgeous, not yet"

GUYS. GUYS I HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH ANY OF THIS I SWEAR.

I can't believe its done??? I've snipped so many snippets, cut so much out, stared at it for so long, and now its done (after a few decades) so I hope that everyone who I hyped up for this fic was satisfied and it was everything that I had made it out to be

Anyways this fic wouldn't have even existed without @tylermaxxine the local instigator and chronic coffee chugger

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mrmoldavite · 9 months ago

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The Main Synastry Overlays & Aspects That Drove My Attraction to Approaching and Speaking to Random Women.

This year, I set myself a mission: to cold-approach every woman that I found attractive—no matter the setting, be it the gym, shopping, public transport, or elsewhere. If your energy drew me in, I wanted to talk to you.

After having established a connection, I’d then dive deeper and analyse our synastry through birth charts.

Here are the key trends I’ve noticed when it comes to attraction and astrology:

1st House Synastry (Time Stops Because We Stand Out)

Immediate and noticeable attraction. Walking into a room and noticing each other felt like entering a spotlight together—undeniable chemistry, as if we existed in our own bubble. We looked good together, Magnetic and undeniable chemistry. Sometimes a little Ego clashes.

2nd House Synastry (Boosted Self-Esteem)

Mutual respect & validation and a sense of value; just talking to each other made us feel confident and seen. Didn't tend to feel a crazy romantic attraction, just more like we're chill with one another. A person you'd smile at, say hello, small talk and wish each other well. Two people simply enjoying each other’s company and building each other up.

5th House Synastry (Energetic, Childlike, Fun Connection)

Vibrant. Fresh. Exciting. Conversations effortlessly turned playful and light-hearted, like our inner child had known each other for years. Felt like a burst of creative energy. Fun, spontaneous dates like bowling, cinema, mini golf, funny conversations over a quick meal. Fun and subtle sexual tension. Situationships or Quick causal light hearted fling.

8th House Synastry (Magnetic Intensity)

Chemistry so palpable, everyone in the room seemed to feel it. Our connection hinted at something primal and raw. Intense sexual tension behind our eyes. Thinking "just you wait and see what I'll do to you". Wanting to f*ck each others souls. Watching each other across the room like a Lion stalking its prey. Can be too intense for those not used to 8th House energy.

11th House Synastry (Instantaneous Friendship Vibes)

The vibe was casual, but deeper connections brewed beneath the surface. We felt like best friends immediately. In the gym for instance we might have ended up working out together, sharing laughs and light conversation. Everything felt easy and natural, with a good surface-level connection that hinted at a deeper, more meaningful bond underneath. Friends with benefits.

12th House Synastry (Past Life Soul Recognition)

I’d feel an inexplicable familiarity, drawn in as if we’d crossed paths in another life. There was depth and intrigue beneath our words. 12th house isn't just hidden enemies seems like people forget that it can also mean a deep feeling of unconditional love for one another. Especially when you're both spiritual beings that have done spiritual inner work. There's no words needed between each other, just an instant subconscious understanding of one another. Eyes are the window to the Soul. Seeing & feeling the spiritual love emanating within each other beyond our physical vessels.

Moon Conjunct Venus (My Moon in Virgo or Venus in Pisces)

Emotional connection blended with admiration. We found ourselves naturally caring about each other’s feelings, even if we’d just met. The kind of tenderness you feel when you see a dog or cat, you just think "awww let me pet you". Naturally supported & fulfilled each other emotionally, with little effort, creating an immediate sense of comfort and trust.

Ascendant Conjunct Venus/Mars (Attention Drawn)

The way we noticed each other was magnetic. My presence caught their eye, and they instantly held mine. It was like a beacon of light drawing us together. The way I moved, spoke, and carried myself seemed to be exactly what they were looking for—and they had the same effect on me. Every glance I'd take of them felt significant, making it hard to look away from.

Sun Conjunct Venus/Mars (Captivating Aura)

Our energies combined in a way that others could sense. I became more aware of my own glow and theirs. Our conversations and laughter seemed to light up the entire room. They saw how my Ego expresses itself as ideal match. Naturally we fit together.

Venus Square Pluto (Intensity)

Strong, transformative attraction that felt like a challenge to resist; conversations and eye contact were magnetic. Feel like I have this aspect with so many people because of my Venus in Pisces in a generation of Pluto in Sagittarius. The Pluto person loves how gracious my Venus placements is, the square makes them feel obsessive, intense and drawn to me. They want to own me.

Lilith in 1st, 5th, 7th, & 8th House Synastry:

A sense of forbidden attraction and untamed energy, manifesting in bold stares and raw authenticity.

1st House; My physical appearance & self expression is just raw and irresistible to them.

5th: Can't get enough of each other. Lots of fun together.

7th: Lilith energy just feels like a perfect fit. What you didn't know was missing.

8th: Knowing how to tap into each others hidden sexual desires. Insatiable.

Conclusion

I won't even front this little experiment/journey of cold-approaching beautiful women and then being able to explore the synastry aspects has been very insightful and has shown me how astrology definitely reflects the connections we feel with others.

Each encounter I had, whether it be brief or deep, has revealed unique chemistry, patterns of attraction and has vastly deepened my real world understanding of astrology aspects.

It’s not even just about charts; it’s about experiencing real connections in the moment. How fascinating it is to be able to experience certain types of bonds and then have the feelings backed up by astrological patterns.

The moments I've experienced have remind me of how the universe aligns energies and paths in such mystical way!

I hope this post was informative.

(P.s. I'm 6'3, have an 8h Venus, Leo Rising & Aries Stellium. My aura and confidence is powerful, which is why I am able to get a lot of attention from women). 😏😉

#astrology #synastry #8th house #8th house synastry #lilith #aspects #astro community #astro observations #astro notes #birth chart #12th house synastry #1st house synastry #11th house synastry #lilith synastry #5th house synastry #2nd house synastry #astrology tumblr #astrology community

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ilguna · 2 months ago

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☼ always and forever (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; you’ve had your eyes set on this boy for as long as you can remember. it isn’t until you begin to slip through his fingers, does he realize he loves you more.

warnings; swearing, seemingly one sided love, kinda prostitution mention.

wc; 2.1k

To you, there is nothing more painful than having feelings for a boy and waiting years for him to like you back.

Finnick Odair has been your best friend since you were young teenagers. You met him the year after he won the Hunger Games, when the district forced him back into school for at least another two years. Usually, when someone wins the Games, they’re exempt from schooling, but since he was only fourteen, the mayor pushed for him to get two more years.

His parents approved of the idea, and against his will, he was placed back into a classroom with his peers. It was difficult for Finnick to go back to a normal environment after suffering in an arena for almost three weeks. Everyone could see this, which is why they tried to accommodate him and the newfound attitude he had.

The tough exterior was an act, it was pretty obvious to you. While you hadn’t been friends before he was reaped, you’d still been around him quite a lot. You shared the same classes and went to lunch around the same time. Finnick was the light of the room before, not the dampener he’d turned into.

You couldn’t blame him, you think you would’ve gone crazy if you were in his shoes. The way the people around him steered a wide path, and if they didn’t, it was like they were walking on eggshells every time they had a conversation with him. How did they expect him to return to normalcy if they didn’t treat him the same way they did before?

He couldn’t, and he wouldn’t have, if you hadn’t been assigned project partners your sophomore year in your history class. The first couple of days you worked together, Finnick seemed distant, he wasn’t very interested in having conversations with you unless it was to swap information.

As the days went on, he realized you didn’t mind what happened to him. Or, at least, you didn’t hold it against him in some weird way. And while there were moments where you didn’t know what to say and were afraid to bring up the Games, it didn’t really affect him.

He didn’t mind, not when it came to you and your curiosity. You would talk to him about almost anything that came to mind. You got to know him. You found out he was learning to surf in his freetime, he said the waves allowed him to clear his head. He hated doing it in the morning, but liked the way it gave him a fresh start to the day.

He told you he likes it better in Victor’s Village than he does in his childhood home, and it had something to do with the space. Finnick could hide away in his room and even the loudest of his siblings wouldn’t be able to disturb him. He likes the quiet, especially after the Games.

He liked to talk about the Capitol, but only on his own accord. He told you what it was like to step foot on the train and how luxurious it was with the velvet and the large private bedrooms. The seven course meal with foods you could never imagine tasting in your wildest dreams. There were expensive fruits and vegetables and drinks and delicacies that he couldn’t put a name to, even if he tried.

Finnick said every strand of hair on his body was ripped off, besides what was on his head. You saw him dressed up at the Tribute Parade of course, and the preparation for it was straight out of his nightmares. He told you how odd it was to be around the other tributes, knowing what would happen in just a few days.

He didn’t give you details beyond that point. You already saw his score, and guessed he had to be fairly talented to get himself a nine. And the whole interview was televised, Finnick tried his best to be personable on stage. Caesar helped out a lot though, Finnick always gives him credit for boosting his popularity.

It got to the point where every time you stepped foot into the classroom, Finnick would sit up when he saw you. He enjoyed your company—looked forward to it, even. And when the end of the project came around, he told you he wanted to hang out with you outside of class. Whether that be at the docks or either of your houses.

You couldn’t say no, Finnick was fun to be around. By the time the two of you turned sixteen, you’d fully formed a friendship no one could come between. And for you, a one-sided love.

You were convinced his feelings about you would change over time and he would want you as more than just his friend. It’s becoming clear that time is never going to come, you have to move on from the situation, even though you’re far from ready to.

You’ve liked him—loved him—for almost nine years now.

Part of this is your fault, you know it. You’ve had nearly a decade to tell him how you feel, but you didn’t know how to tell him after so long. Should you just come out and say it? Do you bring him somewhere private first? How do you approach such a sensitive subject?

You never knew if it was ever the right time to mention it, either. With everything that goes on in the Capitol with him, he always seems to shut down the idea of being in a relationship. You know why, he’s told you in explicit detail what they do to him. Which is why you thought it would be too selfish, too gross, to tell him you feel the same way about him as they do.

So, you’ve kept quiet about your feelings, settling for sending him messages without words. You bake his favorite foods, you buy him clothes you think he’ll look good in, you take time to compliment him and include him in everything you do. Which are things you do, anyway, but you’ve taken it to another step in hopes it’ll catch his attention.

Well, it hasn’t. Your efforts these past few months have done nothing besides make you realize that you can’t do this forever with him. You’ve already spent a good number of years waiting. If he doesn’t want you, that’s fine, you won’t hold it against him, but you’re not going to sit around anymore.

Which is easier said than done. You do practically everything with Finnick, there’s not a moment in the day where you two are away from one another. You’ll sit at each other’s houses, you’ll run errands around the district, you’ll visit Mags and Annie, you’ll sit by the docks.

The only time you’re not with him is when you’re working, and that’s because he needs time to work, too. It’s usually the most miserable hours of your life, sitting in a clothing store with no customers. You’d find yourself doodling on a piece of paper, designing clothes you don’t have the talent to sew, yourself.

The past three weeks have felt more like a punishment for you than it is for him. If you’re not at home, reading and tidying up, then you’re working. You’ve picked up more hours in hopes you’ll stay distracted with busy hands. It’s not working, not that you truly believed it would.

You’ve volunteered for a number of community projects, mostly simple stuff. You follow an assistant of the mayor around town with a group of people while she tells you what needs to be done. You repair cracked walls, paint faded buildings, plant flowers and trees and bushes in places that look bare.

That part is nice, making the district look better. But as soon as the clock strikes six, you’re back to being alone. You have to find ways to keep yourself entertained that don't include your best friend. Who you’ve been trying to demote, also.

You have a few childhood friends that you’ve reconnected with, they fill Finnick’s spot a lot better than you thought they would. They’re new and refreshing, which makes for unpredictable conversations and different experiences. They’ve pulled you so far out of your comfort zone, you don’t think you’ll ever go back.

They make it easy to form new habits.

You stop at the entrance of your neighborhood, staring blankly at the gravel road ahead of you. You wish you were even half as rich as some of the people in District Four. The families on the better side are able to afford cars, making travel easier from home to work or even the train station. You’d give almost anything to not have to walk an hour in the heat everyday.

Still, you drag your feet home. It’s not that far down the road, you’re just tired of walking, is all. As soon as your house is in sight, it’s like your legs want to give up on you.

You stick your key in the door, twisting the knob and using your bodyweight to push against the wood. It’s an old house, there’s a lot that needs to be updated. The floors have become uneven after all these years, which makes the door scrape against them whenever you come home or leave.

The good news is a groove is being worked into the wood, so it won’t be long before the door has its own perfect path to open and close.

You step inside the house, reaching down to pull the shoes off your feet. There’s an uneasy feeling in your stomach, warning you to check out your surroundings. Your eyes flicker up, and land right on the man you’ve been avoiding these past couple weeks.

Finnick is standing in your hallway, wearing a white linen shirt you bought for him last summer. It was right around the time he was complaining about being cold on the beach in the mornings. He wanted something that wouldn’t be too heavy, so you bought him the shirt since it’s long-sleeved and thin.

Speaking of the beach, he must’ve just come from it, because his hair is stuck to his forehead and dripping. Where did he put his surfboard? Did you miss it on your way in?

“Hey, Finnick.” You murmur, pulling your other shoe off. You toss it in the corner behind the door. “I wasn’t expecting you to stop by.”

“I haven’t seen you in almost a week.” He says, tone on the verge of accusatory.

A wave of guilt washes over you. You know, you’ve been blowing him off every time he’s tried to make plans with you. “I’ve been busy with work and friends.”

“Your schedule never used to look like this.”

“I needed a change of scenery.” You tell him.

Finnick nods, turning around to walk to your living room. You lift your bag, placing it on one of the hooks on the wall, following after him. As you get closer, you begin to see an array of colors. It isn’t until he steps out of the way, are you able to get a full view of what he’s laid out in your house.

Flowers, vases upon vases of them, covering almost every surface. In between them are gifts, chocolates and jewelry. Your face twists, lips parting as you look at Finnick. “What is all of this?”

“It’s an apology.”

“An apology for what?” You ask, fingers brushing over petals. “This is crazy.”

“For not seeing it sooner.” Finnick says. “I didn’t realize—” He shakes his head, eyes falling to the ground. “I didn’t know. I was so used to you being close to me that I didn’t know what I was missing until you were gone.”

“Finnick—”

“Mags had to tell me, she saw it before I did.” Finnick lifts his shoulders and then drops them. “I just don’t understand why you didn’t say anything?”

You press your lips together, shaking your head. “How could I when you told me you could never see yourself in a relationship?”

Finnick’s face falls. “I didn’t mean you.”

“You just said you didn’t know—”

“No—no I knew I had feelings for you. I didn’t realize the extent of it, not until you were gone and I was missing your voice, your touch, your presence.” He sighs. “All of it was gone at once and I was forced to live without it. And I can’t, I don’t want to.”

You shake your head. “So?”

Finnick motions to the flowers around him. “This is more than just an apology, it’s also a proposal.”

Your face scrunches up, “What?”

“Will you be my girlfriend, (Y/n)?”

#ilguna #finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x yn #finnick odair x y/n #finnick imagine #finnick oneshot #finnick fanfic #finnick x reader #finnick x yn #finnick x y/n #thg #the hunger games #requested #angst

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justagirlwholikesadam · 2 years ago

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Sandor's Secret

Sandor Clegane x Fem! Reader

Summary: Sandor has a secret hidden away from everyone.

A/n: I should be writing The Wolf Among Men but I can't. Once i have an idea, I need to let it out. This is one of them. I do hope you enjoy and remember please comment. I read all the comments and it makes me so happy and gives me the boost to keep writing. ENJOY! - L

WARNING: NFSW, we are fucking, whore, Sandor likes it dirty, Hidden away from everyone, mention of abuse but not from Sandor. Border Credit: @black-dread

Word Count: 3.4K

Sandor has a secret, he’s been having it for a few years now. No one knew about it and he tends to keep it that way but the ones who were too nosy...there were taken care, of course.

No one will ever take you away from him.

Sandor has too many enemies in King’s Landing because of his brother’s wicked ways. His brother, Gregor had enemies throughout the seven kingdoms and most of the time Sandor will be the one suffering the consequences. Enemies usually thought that they could fight or hurt Gregor’s little brother to get back at him, but at the end of every fight the enemy is lying cold on the ground with their throat split open or a sword rammed into their stomach. That's why he has hidden you.

His shift taking care of the king’s bastard ended and he was walking to his small home. He lived a few miles away from King’s Landing. He had declined the housing that the king provided him in the castle. He didn't want it. He liked his privacy, was what he said. Making it home, he walked Stranger to the small stable near the house. Making sure the horse was fed and had fresh water, he shut the stable door before walking to the house. He stood in front of the wooden door and knocked five times and jiggled the knob. This was a sign he came up to make it known it was him outside.

A few seconds later, the door opened and he was pleased at the sight in front of him.

He walks in before you can jump in his arm. This was something he had gotten used to and he loves it how you greet him like this after a hard day taking care of the spoiled brat. You didn't mind the blood or the sweat on him, wrapping your arms around his neck. You kissed him on the lips. He puts you down and you immediately start to help him remove his armor. Sandor can smell the stew warming on the fire as he sits on the chair near the dining table. You knelt down in front of him and began to unlace his boots.

“Don’t gotta-”

“Hush.” You cut him off with a smile. You had this conversation with him many times before. He told you he didn't expect any special treatment since he bought you. You would shake your head and tell him it’s something you are willing to do just like you're willing to continue to sleep and live with him.

You were fresh off the boat when you came to King's Landing. No family and no money, there was the only thing to do. Sell your body. Little Finger inspected your body, lifting your arms and touching your breasts. He looked pleased when he grabbed a handful of your ass and sent you to an empty room. That night Little Finger had told the girls, the King's guards would be coming after a successful hunting trip and the whorehouse started to prepare for their paying guests.

Guards came in and you can hear their laughter and hollering as they picked their woman of the night to keep them warm. The whispers came when you saw the largest and tallest man you have ever seen walk in. You had no idea who this man was but everyone froze for a minute before turning away from him.

“Looking for a girl.” He told Little Finger. The smaller man gave him a smile and spoke to him in a low tone. You looked down at the ground when you heard the words, fresh and unused. The tall man handed him a few coins. Little Finger called out for you and the ladies gave you a pity look as you walked towards him.

“This is her, Sandor. Easy on the eyes. She just came in. No one has touched her.” You grew the courage to look up at the tall man called Sandor. You realized why everyone was whispering. Half of his face was disfigured, burn.

“Hello, Sandor.” His brown eyes softened for a moment when you greeted him.

“Go on, take good care of the prince’s guard.” You nodded and without a single thought you grabbed one of his large hands. You looked up at him when you felt him tensed up but he quickly relaxed when you began to walk with him to your room. You kept ignoring the stares from the girls and the other guards as you continued to hold his hand. You wondered why everyone was making such a big deal about it. There were men and women with facial scars, it was nothing new to you.

You grew worried as you began to think more about it. What if he was aggressive? Mean? What if it gave him pleasure in harming the woman he slept with?

Opening the door for him, he continued to stare at you closely.

“Is something wrong, Ser?” You asked as he walked inside and sat on the edge of the bed after removing his sword. His eyes are still on you as you shut the door.

“I'm not a Ser. Not a knight.” He huffed out as he leaned his sword on the bed frame. “I see.” You told him before slowly walking towards him. “You are new around here? He asked.

“I am. Is it that obvious?” You said as you kneel down to help him unlace his large boots.

“You don't know me?” He asked as you began to remove his boot and quickly started working on the other. You shook your head at him and looked up to meet his gaze.

“I'm sorry, I don't but from what Little Finger said you're the Prince’s guard so you must be very important. I hope I can meet your satisfaction, Sandor. I’m new at bei..” Your words came into a halt when you looked away.

“Being a whore.” He finished your sentence. You nodded at him as you took his other boot off.

You were about to stand up when he raised his hand. “Stay down.” You obeyed and looked ahead, you grew red when you were staring between his legs. He spread his legs and you saw the outline of his bulge. He leans forward and his hand goes under your chin, making you look up at his face. He looked so confused when he saw no fear in your eyes.

Insecurity started to brew deep in your chest and you began to thought. Were you not up to his standards? He must have many beautiful women thrown at him because of who he is and who he works for.

“Sandor, I know I’m new but I swear I will be good. I don't wish to anger Little Finger. I fear he may kick me out.” You blurted out to him. You feel him touch your cheek and your hair. With his index finger under your chin, his thumb begins to trace your bottom lip. He pulled your bottom lip and you opened your mouth letting him put his thick thumb in your mouth. Closing your mouth, you began to suck on his thumb.

Sandor sat up straight in his seat when you brought him a bowl of stew and a plate of fresh bread. He nodded at thanks to you and began to eat quickly. He was starving and the woman in the kitchen of the castle doesn't know how to make food taste good like you. He looks across the table to see you sitting down with your own bowl. He found himself glad, he never would have thought he would be living with a woman. He thought he would end up alone for the rest of his life. Now he has a beautiful woman living with him, cooking for him, treating him like a person and keeping him warm.

He found himself thinking about that night, he met you. Sleeping with you was something he never experienced. Perhaps it was because you were so kind to him, you didn't flinch when you stared at his face. You were an eager thing to please and he loved it. Sandor knew his fate was sealed when you kissed him at the doorway the morning after. You didn't have too, he told you but you simply told him. You wanted to and if it was alright to kiss him again. He leaned down to meet you lips and kissed you hard that it left you breathless as he walked out of the whore house. He came back a week later, he couldn't stay away from you for too long. You and your sweet cunt occupied his mind. When he asked for you, Little Finger’s second in command gave him a small frown.

“Half off. Some animal hit her.” Sandor gave her a face but nodded, giving her the payment.

He walks to your room and the door is half open. He looked inside of your room, you're sitting on the edge of the bed. You felt his presence and looked at the door. Rage engulfs him completely when he sees you with a black eye and the side of your face is bruised.

“Sandor.” The way you said his name made snap back into reality and he quickly walked away.

Sandor finished his bowl before you, he got up to grab the pitcher of ale. He notices it’s almost empty and gets up to refill. He sees you’re about to get up from your seat to do it.

“It’s fine.” He tells you softly, pushing you back down on your seat. “Finish eating.” He tells you and gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze.

He turns back to the table when he finishes and refills your cup as well before sitting back down on his seat with a sigh. Today was a hard day, he's tired on his feet. You noticed it when you finished your bowl. You tell him, you’ll heat his bath water. You're about to grab his bowl as well when he grabs your wrist, pulling you towards him gently. He knows he's strong and the last thing he ever wants is to hurt you. He can't hurt you, you're his. He'll die before hurting you. Taking the bowls from your hands, he places it back on the table.

Sitting on his lap, you wrap an arm around his neck. You're blushing at his gaze. Sandor staring at you was something you always blushed at. He stared intensely and it made you wet. No words need to be said because both of you knew what each other wanted. Cupping his cheek, you feel his scars under your touch. You liked the touch of it since the first time you laid with him and you still loved it even after he took you away from the whorehouse.

Sandor returned a few minutes later with a maester. He stood at the corner of the room while the maester looked at your eye and your face. You wondered how Sandor knew that Little Finger hadn't even offered to get you looked at. When the maester was gone, Sandor walked towards you.

“Get your belongings, girl. We are leaving.”

Sandor is the one to pull you in for a kiss. He tasted like ale and the stew, he was so warm as well. He tightens his hold around you as you open your mouth, his tongue slips inside of your mouth and you can't help but moan. His arm around you, his other hand goes between your legs. He groans as he pushes the hem of your dress up so he can touch your bare skin, your bare cunt. He groans once more in your mouth when he feels your lips, he spreads them with his fingers to touch your clit. You pull away from his lips to cry out as his fat thumb circles around it. He nips and kisses the side of your neck enjoying the whimpering coming from your mouth.

“I think about this cunt all the time. I smelt it all day on my mustache.” The thought of your nectar on him all day made you blush. He woke you up this morning at dawn with his head between your legs.

“Sandor.” You whispered his name. He looks at you, waiting for you to continue.

“Can I suck your cock? Please.” He nods as his eyes twinkled with excitement. You slide down from his lap and kneel between his legs. He stares down at you as your hands unlaced his trousers. Licking your lips when you pull out his cock. It feels heavy and hot in your hand. You bring your other hand to get a better hold of it.

Sandor starts to breathe heavily as you lick his head, humming as you tasted his salty pre-cum.

“Fuck.” He whispered under his breath when you spit on his cock, he felt a blob of spit run down his shaft. Your hands are jerking him as you start to suck him off. You moaned as his cock stretches your mouth wide as you try to take him all in.

Sandor brings a hand behind your head, grasping your hair as you start to gag on his fat cock.

“Shit-t. Yes, just like that.” He huffs out when feels your hand cupping his balls over the trouser. Sandor throws his head back when his cock reaches the back of your throat.

His praise only makes you suck him harder, your jaw starts to ache but it’s worth it. Seeing this giant man turn into putty because of your mouth was everything to you. Breathing through your nose you reach all the way to the end. Sandor moans when he feels your nose touch his pubic bone.

Sandor pulls you away and you gasp when you feel him sliding out. Tongue out, breathing harshly for air and eyes filled with tears, you look up at him.

“Come here.” He tells you and helps you up. You lean against him as he kisses you. He kisses your cheeks frantically as you try to catch your breath.

“Bed.” He nods at you as he stands up removing his clothes.

He feels like his nickname, a hound staring at you. His nose is tingling as he watches prey, you undress. You had looked over your shoulder and blushed when you met his face. He’s ready to pounce, ready to sink his teeth on the only good thing he has in his life.

“Everything okay?” He watched you walk over towards him when you were done. He wanted to purr when he felt your hand rub his stomach all the way up to his chest. You were biting your lips when you touched his thick dark hairs on his body. His chest was hard and you can feel the old heal scars splatter on his chest.

Sandor just nods. He doesn’t answer. Cat got his tongue when he feels you touch his cock with one hand. You let out a surprise yelp when he grabbed you by the chin making you look up at him as he kissed you. He kissed you so messy and passionately, he nips your lips and consume you. When your legs start to wobble from being on your tippy toes, you pull away from him. He gives a mad huff and pushes you gently on the bed.

You push yourself to the middle of the bed, opening your arms for him as he gets between your legs. You wince from the sudden movement. Sandor is a big man, his waist is wide. When he’s on you, he completely covers you under his frame.

“Fuck.” He moans when his lips start to attack your chest. He pinches your nipples making you cry out, he drowns you out with his kisses.

“Tell me? How? Now?” He says as he licks the valley of your breasts down to your navel making you squeal. He pulls away for you to move.

“Like the first time.” You mumbled turning around with your ass in the air. You earn yourself a slap on the ass, it makes you quiver. You let out a moan when he gets behind you, a heavy hand on your shoulder while the other rests on your hip.

“You came all over my cock the first time, remember?” You nod at him, shoving your face in the pillow so he didn’t have to see your blushing face.

“Milked me dry, girl. Took all my cum deep inside of you.” Sandor says as he brings his hand from your hip down to your ass. He squeezes it, pulling a cheek to the side to see your waiting holes. He’s not surprised when he feels your pussy dripping wet. He growls because of it and cups your mound possessively. A smirk grows on his face when he feels the soft curled hairs on your mound get wet as he spreads your slick all over your mound.

You cry his name out as he holds you, your wet cunt is throbbing for his cock.

“Please. Fuck me.” You beg him and his hands goes back to your hip making you arch your back. You feel the hair on his stomach touch your ass as he leans over you, you clenched the pillow under you as you feel the tip of his cock. It’s so hot and big, Sandor’s above you, giving you praises as he splits you open. He even gives your ass a rub when he slowly slides in.

You gasped when he slid himself to the hilt. You feel him in your tummy, that fat mushroom head is knocking on the door of your cervix and his heavy balls are resting on top of your clit. Sandor holds you down and takes his time so your sweet cunt is used to his size. He feels you clenching around him, he feels you under him moving your ass.

“Not even going to wait for me.” He tells you when he feels you throwing your ass back softly.

“It feels so good. I’m so full.” Sandor leans over you making you cry out by how deep he’s getting. He moves the pillow under your chin and he pushes your head to the mattress to the side.

You gripped the sheets under you as he began to move. Each thrusts you’re crying out, moaning as he fucks you from you behind. You feel your toes curl up when he begins to growl when he grabs your hips and uses you like his personal toy. Moving you up and down on his cock, his hand stays on your face, covering you completely.

He cages your head behind you as he ruts into you. You’re crying his name and Sandor is loving it because it’s his name you’re calling out, his name coming out those lips he loves so much. He whispers your name behind your head, he kisses the back of your head when he feels your tight cunt pulsing around him.

“Yes. Yes.” He says as he slips his hand between your legs. “You’re soaked.”

Sandor helps you get near, he’s about to cum. All day working, stomach filled with delicious stew and cock being milked by you. A perfect ending after a long day.

“Pleasee.” You cry and Sandor looks down at you, you’re looking over your shoulder and it’s the only time Sandor shows his soft side with you. You only know this side of him.

“I got you, my pretty girl. Cum for me. Let go.” He tells you before kissing your lips. His fingers rubbing your clit as he fucks you harder. Your mind is fuzzy, your filled to the brim and you can hear him moaning your name on top of you. You can hear skin slapping against one another, his heavy balls slapping your clit making you clench him even harder. He holds you in place when you start to cum on him, on his cock. He feels it, he even lets out a moan of his own. You start to whine, salivating on the sheets when Sandor comes undone. He holds your body, making sure he unloads his cum deep inside of you.

Sandor watches you as you sleep on his chest, your fingers were in the middle of running through the massive amount of hair on his chest before you knock out completely. He holds you in his arms as he’s deep in thought. He chuckles to himself thinking what would Gregor do if he ever found out how pussy whipped Sandor had become for you.

He was, he wouldn’t deny it, just count the dead bodies he buried a few miles away. They all had failed to find out what was Sandor’s secret.

#sandor clegane #sandor clegane x reader #sandor clegane fanfic #sandor the hound clegane #sandor x reader #sandor clegane smut #games of thrones x reader #games of thrones #rory mccann #sfw

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aperrywilliams · 3 months ago

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Only If It Makes Sense (Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader)

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Author Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader.

Summary: You are struggling to write your report about the last case. There are a lot of things going on in your head lately, and your boyfriend, Spencer, has already noticed. An open conversation with him in the breakroom can be very clarifying for you and maybe the little push you need to think about what’s next in your life.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: More comfort than hurt. Nothing too heavy, I think. There is some reference to a gruesome case (no details given). There is a mention of the reader being pointed with a gun (once). The reader is overthinking a lot.

A/N: A self-indulgent fic, just because I need a boyfriend like Spencer Reid telling me everything is going to be okay.

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Flipping between statements transcription and evidence photos, your eyes can't focus enough to see what you need to complete the last case report. It's useless. You have been trying for the past three hours to finish it, but you can’t. Flashes about what happened to the victims and how difficult it was to catch the unsub flood your mind. Your mind replays the way the unsub talked to you when he was pointing his gun at you.

‘You think you’re better than me, uh? Do you think if you put me away, you’ll sleep better tonight? You’re wrong. You’re the one trapped here, not me. I’m doing what I want; you are doing what others want you to do. And it doesn't matter how long you keep doing this, you’ll always feel empty.’

You glance at the clock on your desk. It's almost 5, and you are not close to being done. Sighing in frustration, you stand and make a beeline to the breakroom. A coffee seems to be a good idea and a needed distraction.

While waiting for the fresh pot to be ready, your eyes are fixed on the dark liquid slowly brewing, drop by drop.

Why this case has affected you that much? It's not something you have ever seen before. You have worked on many gruesome cases in the past twelve years with the BAU. It's safe to say things can’t surprise you much these days, but for some reason, in the past months, you haven't felt like handling the job the way you used to.

Between the lack of motivation some days and the boost of excessive impetus on others, you still can’t pinpoint what’s wrong.

Your mind goes to that warehouse again:

‘...And it doesn't matter how long you keep doing this, you’ll always feel empty.’

The unsub is wrong. He has to be wrong. You don't feel empty. You don’t feel trapped. You love what you do. The BAU has been your life because you chose it to be.

“I think it's ready.”

Your mind comes back to the present the moment Spencer’s voice reaches your ears. You notice Spencer is right; the pot stopped brewing. There are no drops dipping anymore.

“Oh. Yeah. Thanks.” You mumble, quickly grabbing your mug to fill it with the precious liquid. With a tight lip smile, you offer to do the same with the cup in his hands. Spencer nods and reaches it for you.

Spencer watches your moves carefully without saying a word. He’s been analyzing you for a while now. Of course, he has noticed your change of behavior: frequent quietness, excessive overthinking, and constant retreatment. Spencer has picked on all of it, not only because he is a genius or an excellent profiler. He also happens to have known you since you joined the team more than a decade ago and has been your boyfriend for the past three years. So yeah, he has noticed.

You’re very aware he knows something is off. But you can’t bring yourself to address it with him. Not out of distrust or trying to hide something from him. The fact you are not sure about what’s happening makes you bury it in the back of your head and act like there is nothing to worry about. Maybe it will go away if you ignore it. At least, that is what you thought would happen. Weeks later, you are not so sure anymore.

“Do you need help with your report?”

His offer doesn't surprise you. It's not uncommon for Spencer to offer help with anything he thinks can lift some weight from you. You do the same for him every chance you get. But this time, you would have hoped he didn't catch your struggle.

“Uh. No, baby. I - I’ll finish it soon. Thank you, though. Actually, you can go home if you’re done. I’ll go after finishing and handing the report to Emily.” You try to sound convinced and reassuring. You know Spencer worries, and you love how considerate he is to you, but this is your job and your problem. He doesn't deserve to be the fixer of everything that happens to you. It’s not fair.

“You haven’t moved past the first page,” he says matter-of-factly. It's not accusatory. It's not mocking. It's a fact that supports the reality that you are not even close to being done, and he wants to help.

You huff a laugh. “Well, I know it's not my best performance, but I’ll survive,” you wink at him, trying to light the mood.

Sarcasm. That’s another component of your toolbox used to deal with things that overwhelm you.

Spencer is clever enough to know he can’t just confront you right away. You are as stubborn as he is, so if he pushes too hard, you’ll close in your shell. He opts for a different approach.

“Love, I know you will,” he says after sipping his coffee. “But I wanted us to go home together. I really don’t mind waiting or helping you to finish it if you’re okay with it.”

And this is where your dilemma arises: accept Spencer's offer, which will lead him to realize you have done nothing yet, and you’ll have to confess you're not okay, and he’ll want to talk about it, or refuse and hurt your boyfriend's feelings by not letting him help. Damn Spencer.

Your smile falters, followed by a deep sigh.

“I barely started it,” you admit, sort of embarrassed. “And I don’t know why it has taken me so long.”

Spencer’s eyes are nothing but understanding. He kindly points to a chair for you to take as he reaches for another for himself. You plop on the seat, tighten the grasp of your mug, and pout like a child before being lectured.

“What is bothering you, baby? It's the case?” Spencer asks, resting his hand on your knee to encourage you to relax your posture.

“No. I mean - yes. This case was awful,” you grimace, and Spencer matches your expression. You don't need to say details to agree that it was one of the most gruesome in a long time.

“It really was,” he concedes. “But that’s not all, isn’t it?” You nod. It's kind of useless to try to deny it. “Love, you know you can tell me anything,” Spencer reassures you. You nod again, sipping your coffee as you collect your thoughts, then setting the cup over the table.

“I have been thinking-” you start. “For a while now. I mean, thinking about this case, all the cases, you know?”

It is difficult to put into words something you don’t even fully comprehend yourself, but Spencer is patient and understanding. Also, above all, he knows you damn well. That's why you may have been afraid to bring it up with him.

You’re scared you would confirm something you already know in your gut but have not acknowledged in your brain.

“You have been in your head a lot lately. Is that about?”

“Yeah. Although I can't say it's something particular,” you explain. “If that makes sense.”

You feel like you are stumbling over your words and thoughts.

“What bothers you about it? Because it looks like you feel frustrated. Why?”

That's a good way to put it. You were going to say conflicted or overwhelmed, but frustrated suits better, you think, in this case. You have always admired Spencer and his ability to use words.

“Because - because I feel like I can’t do this job anymore,” you blurt out plainly, without warning. You expect Spencer to be scandalized, or disappointed, or both. You are a bit about yourself, to be honest. But Spencer doesn't even flinch. At most, he hums like you are saying something he has already anticipated.

“Is that so? Why do you think you can’t?”

It's weird having this conversation in the same place where you’re feeling off. It's almost as if you’re betraying the same job you have been doing for more than a decade. Spencer notices your hesitation. “We can talk at home if you feel uncomfortable right now. I don’t think Emily would mind having your report tomorrow instead of tonight.”

Surely, Emily wouldn’t mind, but something doesn't let you just leave the conversation on standby. For some reason, you feel the need to stay.

You shake your head no and stand from your spot, stopping to glance through the breakroom’s window. It gives a good view of the bullpen. You can see Luke's feet resting at his desk as he banters with Garcia, who is perched by his side. You see as JJ says goodbye for the day, bag in hand, and Tara exits Emily’s office, ready to go home, too. Matt is already gone, and Rossi is locked in his own office.

“I’m not saying they don’t get affected by what we do. I know everybody has their battles and their ways of handling them. But they look like they’re doing fine. And I know I used to feel and look that way, too.”

Spencer watches you carefully in respectful silence. He knows you need to unravel to clarify your head, and for it, you need to say what’s in your mind.

“And now? I feel like I lost my place here. And I’m not blaming anyone but me for it. It's just I can’t see the big picture anymore. I’m not cut for this anymore. And I’m wasting everybody’s time with me failing here.”

For Spencer, here’s where he draws the line. You can have doubts and overthink your present and future, but he won’t let you think you are not good at your job because it’s far from the truth.

“Hey,” he stands and approaches so you can turn from the window to look at him. “You are not failing, okay? Everyone can make mistakes here. All of us have made mistakes working here. Need I remind you who got arrested in Mexico two years ago?”

You roll your eyes. “Spencer, that’s different. A psychopath targeted you.”

“And I let my guard down,” he supplies. “But, I’m bringing this up because even though we could have made other choices working on cases, that does not make us bad at the job. Especially you.”

“Especially me? What do you mean?”

“Yes. Especially you. Come on, I have never seen someone so clever, tenacious, and so connected to people’s feelings doing this job.” You huff a mid chuckle.

“That’s your way of saying I’m stubborn?”

Spencer shakes his head in amusement. You never lose a chance to make a comeback.

“You can deflect joking about it, but I’m telling the truth.”

It seems that cracking jokes will not make Spencer drop the subject so quickly.

“Okay, so - if you’re right about what you said, why I’m seeing this from a different perspective?” You cross your arms over your chest, and Spencer feels your defensiveness.

“Well, due to the fact you asked me, I would say the problem is not you can’t do this job anymore; the problem is you don’t want to do this job anymore.”

You take in his words for a moment. It never occurred to you there was a possibility of not wanting to be a profiler. When the idea of joining the FBI settled in your mind at a young age, the BAU turned into your primary goal. And when you finally made it, you always thought it was where you belonged and that you would die doing this job.

Why would you feel different now?

“I do want to keep doing this,” you defend. “I mean, I’m doing something worthy for someone. We save lives; we’re trying to make a difference.”

Spencer nods, his hand finding yours to bring it to his lips. After lovingly kissing your palm, he keeps his hold to lead you to sit on the sofa settled in the corner.

Almost everyone left for the day, so the probability of someone walking on you both there is very low at this hour.

“I get what you say. That’s a huge motivation for us to do what we do, and I always have admired you for it. About the way you think about this job, like something with a purpose,” he says, softly stroking your hand.

“But there is a ‘but,’ right?” you anticipate, and Spencer gives you a reassuring smile.

“Have I ever told you what Morgan said to me when he left the BAU?”

You purse your lips, trying to remember it. “About leaving so he could be there for his son?” you ask, and Spencer nods.

“Yeah, that. But there is more to it. When I asked him what the difference was between his situation and JJ's or Hotch’s, he told me the main difference wasn’t in the things around them; it was in the way things still keep making sense or not. He wasn’t talking about the impact of doing or not something on others but on yourself.”

Your eyes go downcast to your lap. That is what’s happening to you? Does your job not make sense to you anymore?

“That means-”

“Baby,” Spencer continues, sensing what conclusion you are drawing right now. “It's not about selfishness; it is about being honest with you. You feel conflicted because you are scared of wanting something different and wanting something different means making changes you’re afraid to make. I get it; I usually feel the same about changes; you already know that. But I also think you know things are not going to be the way they used to be, and your heart is telling you to do something about it.”

Spencer is right. It's the way you feel, but the implications of acting about it scare you.

“But what if I’m reading this wrong? If the whole ordeal is only me being insecure because I’m not performing the way I used to? What if I’m overreacting?”

Spencer, who has been playing with your fingers because he knows it comforts you, stops his motion to interlace his fingers with yours giving a soft squeeze.

“Is that so? I’m sure you know it's not that.”

Do you really know? Maybe you do in your heart, but your mind runs thousands of scenarios in which you’re wrong and mess everything up.

“What do I do?” You finally ask. It's a mid-rhetorical and mid-actual question.

“What do you want to do?” he asks back. You groan, pulling your hands off his grasp.

“Jesus, Spencer. Don’t help me this much, okay?”

Spencer chuckles. He knows you are not really mad at him.

“I know you have been thinking about it. Everyone had at some point. Me included.”

You know the idea has been around for a while. You secretly have entertained new scenarios, new things to do, and new experiences, none of which involve staying at the BAU.

A lump forms in your throat. The realization you feared to face is in front of you. Unavoidable.

“You know?” you start. “I always thought the moment I would consider leaving the team would be after a big revelation, a big something. Not a slow building up of inner undetermined nonconformities.”

Spencer shakes his head. “Don’t go so hard on yourself. You say it like it’s only a whim when it’s not.”

You huff. “Isn’t? It's not me running from my commitment to the team? From the things that really matter in life?”

“And you don’t matter? The things you feel don’t matter? My love, to make a decision thinking of you is the bravest thing you can do, believe me. No one should think less of you for doing it, and if they do, fuck them.”

Your eyes widen.

“Did you just say ‘fuck’?”

“Is that really what caught your attention about everything I said?” Spencer asks in disbelief, and you shrug.

“Sorry. I couldn't just let it go unnoticed.”

Spencer is about to say something to protest, but you continue talking. “But okay, okay. I really get your point. It doesn't make it easy to follow, though.”

“I know it's not easy, but it makes sense to you?”

Hell, it does. You exhale sharply.

“Yeah. It makes sense.”

Your thoughts go to the day you crossed those glass doors for the first time, your first case, the first time you had to talk down an unsub. You think about the people you have seen leave and the ones who joined, the drinks at O'Keefe, the not-so-healthy food, and the excessive coffee intake. It's funny that, in almost all of those moments, Spencer has been there in one way or another. You are grateful to the BAU. You have learned, given, and received.

It's scary to think how things will change after you leave, but you know it's time for another chapter in your life.

Treacherous tears start to roll down. Spencer quickly notices.

“Hey, baby. It’s okay,” he coos, wrapping his arms around you to pull you into a tight embrace.

“I know what I have to do, but I’m still scared,” you admit, muffling your words in Spencer’s chest.

“My love, you are not alone in this, okay?” he kisses the top of your head.

Spencer’s voice whispers sweet nothings that are so soothing that you have no choice but to melt into his arms. You don’t know if you alone would have reached the determination to admit it's time to move on.

When you feel composed enough, you part to look up at him. Your cheeks are flushed and tear-stained. Spencer looks at you back with just love in his eyes, as if you are hanging the moon.

“Things will change, you know?” you point, and Spencer nods, not faltering the grip of his arms around you.

“I suppose they will.”

“We won’t be working together anymore,” you continue, and Spencer lets out a melancholic sigh.

”And if you want to know, I’ll miss you like crazy. But as long as you are happy, I’ll be satisfied.”

“You mean that?” You ask him, voice small with emotion.

“Of course I mean it. I love you, and I’ll do everything in my power to see you happy. Even if it means not having you around 24/7.”

This is another proof of Spencer's unconditional love. For him, your happiness is beyond any logistic patch on the road. Somedays, you can’t believe that man is yours.

“Fuck. I’m so damn lucky to have you,” you blurt out, and Spencer's lips curve into a smirk.

“Who’s cursing now, uh?”

You roll your eyes at his comeback. “Shut up.”

A genuine laugh escapes you both and fills the breakroom. You feel relieved and mostly lighter. The dilemma never had to do with you not having options as you thought at the beginning. On the contrary, it involved broadening one's view and considering new alternatives.

“Can we go home now?” Spencer asks, and you sigh.

“I have a report to finish,” you remind him, but before Spencer’s shoulders slump in disappointment, you continue. “But I could use some help to finish it, you know?”

Spencer narrows his eyes at you, faking contemplation of your petition.

“What I’m getting if I kindly offer to help?”

You scoff. “A happy girlfriend is not enough?”

Spencer’s grin is wide. “It’s more than enough, actually.”

After pecking your lips, he grabs your hand to stand from the couch and walks with you back to your desk. So you can finish what will be your last case report working with the BAU.

------------------

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid comfort #spencer reid x bau!reader #dr. spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #aperrywilliams

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vinjinssunglasses · 9 months ago

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♯┆summary; With the mention of a rebellion against your lover and a third party mysteriously arising in the midst of a war, Haruto’s home life.. All piling upon themselves, worry after worry. The last thing you want is bloodshed.

♯┆ tags; established relationship, implied child abuse/neglect, canon divergence,

♯┆ w/c; 3.8k

♯┆ a/n; plot-heavy, somi park training arc 😭 help im so tired. also a pt.2 of my previous shingen fic ^^

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That night you rested in his loving arms, his hair draping over your body. No matter how gentle he were, singing you sweet lullabies when he realised you were still awake, your body simply refused all efforts to relax.

Stress has taken over your mind, and it’s as if your not the one in charge if your body. Has anything even changed? Everything you did seemed futile. Whats the point of even trying anymore?

Your turned your body more into his warm chest, and tried to forget everything. Clear all these useless thoughts, push them to the back of your head and finally let your mind relax. They crawled from the pit you banished them to and caused trouble as if to taunt you.

What did Shintaro mean that day? Rebellion. Shingen, pronounced dead? There’s a reason why he’s the leader, have they all forgotten? Deep down you know he will remain undefeated, yet the thought of him paralysed on the floor, crimson blood pouring out of his body gnaws at you. What would his last words be? Why, what, when, who — is it just impossible for you to rest easy?

Shouldn’t you tell Shingen? Sitting up, his hand draped from your waist to your thighs, and he wearily blinked awake.

“What’s the matter? Can’t sleep again?” Shingen muttered, half-asleep.

“Yeah. I’m going to go get some fresh air and a drink. You go back to sleep, alright baby?” You placed a kiss upon his forehead, and he rested against the pillow once more, taking your word.

The cold breeze of the night calmed you only a little as you walked towards the kitchen. Stars and moon alike, you watched as they formed detailed constellations upon the sky — one of a knife and a moon. That reminded you: Shingen would always call you his star, and you’d call him your moon. His favourite inanimate thing was the moon, shining brightly at night and disappearing by day. He’d say it’s represent him as youth, however not going to deeply into it. Shingen’s expression whenever it came up in conversation were.. unusually troubled. As if it haunted him and had to shut it out for years, just for it to reappear when he least expects it.

It made you wonder what happened, who made him this way? If anything, you wanted to seek revenge, and yet you couldn’t.

Rules must’ve stopped him from falling in love with you in the first place, just like how rules are stopping you now. If it wasn’t so frowned upon, you would’ve taken uo marital arts and higher education. Being born into this life stopped you from being you, stripping you from your talents to being in a uniform, dystopian society called impossible expectations that we name as the ideal life for women and those alike. Same with Gun, your only son, becoming a slave to this system.

Letting out a sigh you didn’t realise you were holding in, you carefully slided open the door, revealing the room you were so used to seeing. Leaning against the counter, taking steady small sips while sneakily opening a tablet of sleeping pills, you could only hold your head in your hand. You’d be damned if anyone realised you snuck in pills like these, yet you needed them. You hated the fact you needed them. Each time you swallowed it down your throat, it only reminded you how you were so dependent on this clan. Having your families reputation boosted this way was the only way to recover it in the first place, realising how much they’ve messed up everything.

You cursed under your breath, and a headache came upon you. It must be from all these unwanted thoughts reappearing.

“I see you’re up late.“ A familiar voice echoed in your ears and you turned to look at the tall figure, Shintaro. Worst timing. You were only wearing a small nightgown, you were dressed too informally to be met with someone of upmost authority. Undeserved authority. Rules were the only thing he cared about. Setting aside his own emotions and others morals, he made sure everyone fit into this idolised society. Its was as if it were our fault we were born and raised into this life. The way he re-enforced these problematic beliefs were like it were law, despite not abiding to the real law in the first place, resorting to violence when and whenever he pleased. His manipulative tactics made it seem as if he were a befitting leader for the clan, drawing everyone in with the whip of his fan and his smooth tone of voice. Shintaro’s undeniably astounding looks have him the upper hand, even the other ladies from other clans chattered amongst themselves when they found out weren’t married yet, flirting with him whenever the opportunity arises. As they say, ‘you should marry into power and wealth.’

It wouldn’t be wrong to say they gained and admired Shintaro more than Shingen’s leadership. Shingen may be blinded at times, yet he had the brain capacity to understand complex situations and arise new rules and regulations when change were necessary. He weighed the benefits for the people, always upholding them as first in his mind, as they were to live peacefully under his guidance. On the other hand, Shintaro twisted the rules to fit his own narrative, manipulating them as to seem Shingen made it this way, to seem as it were his fault the Yamazaki were so divided. You didn’t trust him and avoided all communication and conflict, as he’ll make them turn from you too. It was no use anyway — they already wanted your head on a pitchfork.

“Yes. My apologies for any disturbance I’ve caused, I’ll go back to my room—“

“Wait.” Shintaro started, taking slow steps towards, gazing down upon your avoidant one. The moonlight cast shadows over the room, completely still, and you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. Every ounce of your being anticipates his next move, and your breathing stopped.

“Why won’t you rebel? Can’t you see we’re all unhappy under his rule?” His hand lifted to rest upon your shoulder, the force crushing your collarbone just enough not to break it. The knife was sitting there in its rack, and it felt as if it were staring at you, begging to picked up. If this were to go on, he may as well break your shoulder.

In one swift motion, you ripped the knife out of its rack, its sharp end reaching his lips, glistening in the moons radiance.

“Didn’t you hear me the first time? Unless you want your head splattered on this floor for me to clean up, I don’t want to hear another word.” Stern, serious and strict. Underneath this facade, you were shaking. Knife trembling in your fingers, you upheld your scrutinising gaze, watching as his hand fell to his sides. Shintaro didn’t want to admit that he saw Shingen in your eyes, the same look he gave him that day. The same strength that beat him once before was in you. It dawned upon him that you may have the ability to become as strong as Shingen one day, however that was only a meaningless hunch. Someone like you is simply just a joke.

“I could make you my wife, and give you everything you’ve ever wanted. Unlike him, who only disappoints this clan. Why would you want a leader like him? Talk to the people of this clan, wouldn’t you?” Grasping onto the knife, Shintaro pointed it towards the ground gently.

“Didn’t I say I didn’t want to hear another word from you?”

“One last chance. I’ll give you one, last chance.” He swerved in closer, breathe cold against your ear. Gripping onto his collar, you shivered, pulling him away.

“Get out of my sight, you hear me? Next time, I’ll delve this knife into your throat.” You growled, the thought of it all making your blood boil.

Shintaro sighed, accepting that boneless threat as an answer. “Fine, as you wish.” Yet you knew this wouldn’t be the last time he would do this. Having you in his side would make one less corpse to clean up, and an easier way to excuse the bloody murder he were scheming.

The two of you exchanged one last glance, and the tension eased as you were left alone to your own thoughts. All this time you avoided troublesome matters like this, and it finds you when you least want it. The knife rested in its holder once more, and you took a deep breath. Ignoring this won’t do you any good, yet telling your lover he may perish in cold blood doesn’t seem exactly appealing. In fact the opposite. It pains you to even think about it.

Again, you’re up until morning once more, resting in the sun’s golden rays. Taking a deep breath, you entangle your fingers in your lovers hair, eyes lingering over his facial features. He slowly winked awake and rested his hands over yours, mumbling a ‘good morning’ under his breath.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, I just woke up early, that’s all.” You sighed, pressing a kiss on his cheek. Of course, you didn’t want him to worry, he must be too busy himself anyway. For years you’ve been independent, so it won’t be any different now.

“There’s no need to lie. If there’s something the matter, I promise I’ll make it right.” The gentleness in his eyes soothed you, yet not enough to let those damned words spill out of your mouth.

….,

Word has spread that Gun has taken up Aikido. That day you prepared his lunch, and decided to watch him train. The smile on his face when he saw you sitting in the side warmed you, as you enveloped him in an embrace.

“Mum, youre here.” He cheered, doing small punches in the air to show off what he’s learnt.

“Of course. I’ve just been a little busy lately. Look, I made you tteokbeokki.” You smiled. It was your favourite thing to watch him being happy, knowing it might not last long.

“My favourite!” Gun licked his lips, clasping onto your hands. “I’ll train extra hard today, okay? Watch me, watch me!” He hadn’t seen you in ages. As a young boy, he wouldn’t understand, and doesn’t need to even take notice of your situation.

“It’s time for training.” The Kojima brothers, also one of the many supporting Shintaro’s leadership. As if they’re his personal bodyguards, they spread his propaganda like major gossip. Perhaps the news about the rebellion is being tossed around as the second passes. Shigeaki passes a distasteful glare at you before diverting Gun’s attention to the task at hand.

Since Gun was only young, they decided to teach one of his nephews how to do Aikido as well. They couldn’t personally spar with him because of the height, age and experience difference, and an intelligent opponent like Haruto would be well-suited.

Similar in age, the only difference was their upbringing. Haruto was a secluded boy who was subjected to the cruel opinions that he were useless because of Gun’s existence. Instead, his mother offered reading. In her view, if he couldn’t be the best at fighting, why not intelligence?

It almost reminded you of Shingen’s and Shintaro’s situation. He was born to succeed, while the other was made to cover up after his mess. Since Shingen were the oldest, he were given privileges like fighting and only sometimes playing around. Shintaro, on the other hand, were interested in martial arts yet never got the opportunity to persue it like he did. The notion that he were to protect his brother — no, dedicate his life to him — eventually seeped through the cracks, and jealousy took over. Nobody cared what Shintaro did, whether he ran away or not, he was always in the shadows. Shintaro always presumed he never struggled, having everyone by his side supervising him, yet little did he know he did.

He didn’t know that Shingen didn’t like training for so long, knowing his only purpose being only to prosper and become the heir to the Yamazaki clan. They only praised him for his fighting abilities, nothing else. This clan only critizied his interest in artistry’s and such, To leave a peaceful life and play games with his brother were his goals, yet Shintaro only treated him with coldness. The awkward, suffocating air between them never subsided, and still persists until today.

For centuries it was like this, and old tradition that you plan to cease from existence.

Haruto used strategic methods to trick his opponent, Gun, to the floor. What the Kojima brothers didn’t know was that intelligence and usage of technique was also important in a battle. Jonggun was trained to use brute force, which was in fact also crucial, yet he didnt have the ability to predict his next moment, therefore his next attack was based off of quick thinking. The way he grabbed his arm and flipped him into the floor resonated with you, something inside made you want to learn that too.

Then again, it would be against the rules.

“Auntie, did you see that?” Haurto smiled, pulling you in to a hug. He’s just a young boy too, why can’t he also train to be the best? Why are we, as humans, so dependent on a genetic abnormality?

“I’ll beat you next round!” Gun pouted, sticking his tongue out, teasing the other. Haruto made a snarky remark back, and they quickly started getting ready to spar for another round of Aikido.

Haruto’s mother doesn’t deserve him. No, not at all. You’ve noticed how he always comes to you for his troubles, advice and support. On the outside, she seems like the perfect mother — sparing only kind words to her only son, caring for him — yet in private, what does she do? Those bruises speak for themselves; just what has he gone through? At the occasion his long sleeves that he always wears slips up, a new one appears, and he shakes it off like it’s normal, changing conversation or distracting you while he pulls it down. Guilt washes over you as you couldn’t bear to admit that his experiences would haunt him for the rest of his life. Nobody deserves that.

“Mum! Are you watching?” Gun’s voice, steady with his hands in starting position, bring you back to reality. You clap and cheer with a smile, and watch each and every step. Haruto wins once more, and Gun slumps over towards you, disappointed.

“How about you two teach me how to fight in Aikido style, and I’ll give you the tteokbokki I made. Fair trade, huh?”.

…..,

In Korea, Gapryong’s Fist Gang rests in the comfort of their calm surroundings, under the warm light of a chandelier in the midst of a cafe. Warm light crests a warm atmosphere, the coffees fumes diffusing into the warm breeze the windows let in. Idle chatter

Jinyoung’s mysteriously studying human anatomy, sneering while holding his pencil ever-so intimately. Gapryong peers over his shoulder, taking a quick peek of the monstrosities he’s been hiding recently. Strangely scientifically accurate art pieces of the human skeleton, limbs, organs and veins. His obsession with skulls were disturbing, graphically capturing every hollow, rounded and crisp surface of the cranium. Teeth. After beating his victims, he’d pull out their teeth, collecting them in jars to preserve them. Not just any tooth, the wisdom tooth were his favourite. If he could, he’d slice each finger — in fact the whole hand — and inspect each and every crevice. Teeth were easier to steal and nearly as satisfiying.

No matter how close these four men were, fighting all their battles together, none of them knew the twisted layer under his skin that were slowly taking over.

Jinyoung has suspiciously became quieter recently. Before he’d wear a smile on his face and kick up conversation like it was nothing, offering hand wrestling or the sort. Now? He’s preferably keep to himself, not saying much and focusing on that sketchbook. The scratching across the page, eyes peeled, breath becoming more dragged by the second. Insanity? He’d be the last one you’d suspect. Someone as outgoing as him would never, or so the other three members thought.

Do they even know eachother?

“So, about the Yamazaki Clan,” Gapryong starts, finger tapping against the table. “The police showed up last time, and we had to flee. What a bore.”

“That’s right. I’m sure they’re dwelling in Korea still.” Elite yawned, breaking eye contact with a grin that didn’t seem so frustrated.

“I’m sure we’ll get em next time, y’know?” Gapryong bites his bottom lip, leaning back in his chair.

Silence dawned over the atmosphere, as if someone was wanting to say something, yet left it to the next person. Elite took a sip of his tea, not lifting his eyes off of his cup while tapping his foot on the wooden floor. You could never tell what thoughts were running through his mind. Its was only obvious by his course of actions, what steps he took and what blood he shed. Actions and foreshadowed speech were the way to figuring out his intentions, it were no use to just ask him, being such the perfect liar he is. Precisely, this is the reason they didn’t predict his newest project, designed to leave thousands of corpses, particularly the three bodies he wanted. And he won’t stop until he gets what he wants. Call him greedy as you may, but a guy like him has no bounds to getting what he pleased.

Maybe it’s the trust between them all, why they didn’t suspect him. All these years must’ve meant something to all of them. To Gapryong, it was true friendship — who didn’t like someone to trust and keep company? To Tom, it meant loyalty, a group you could share anything to. Nowadays it felt like that idea has went astray. To Jinyoung, — well, the Jinyoung they used to know — it was exploring the world with the people you value most, laughing all night with a couple of drinks. To Elite… What was it to Elite?

He pulled up his glasses, scanning their troubled faces that avoided the other’s eyes.

Tom sighs, taking it upon himself. “You’ve all heard about that clan recently taking over…” Elite’s breath stopped, batting his eyes in disbelief. Jinyoung paused, letting out a sigh before continuing scribbling. Gapryong frowned, running his hands through his hair, swigging his chapstick out of his pocket.

“That’s right. It’s becoming worrying. I beat down some of the lapdog’s of the organisation, yet none of them will speak, no matter how much you torture them.” Jinyoung spoke softly, voice remaining neutral, yet his heart felt like it was the end of the Fist Gang. No, it can’t be over yet. Not before his plan takes place.

“Then we’ll have to talk their boss.” Gapryong spoke, stern, completely set on the idea. Whether it meant a simple polite introduction or a brutal brawl rid of mannerisms, his determination remained intact. Gapryong wasn’t the type to give up.

“Y’know what? Let’s drink tonight, I want to meet some lovely ladies before I do.” He smirks and passes a seductive wink over to the barista standing behind the till, watching her blush and rush to cover her reddened face. “Who’s with me?”

Tom agrees and Elite pauses for a second, eventually nodding. Jinyoung sits still, despite the wait for his reply. They all expected him to cheer and boost the atmosphere.. Yet nothing passed his lips.

“You’re not coming again, eh?” Tom breaks the silence once more, trying to look in his eyes for answers but to no avail, as his overgrown hair drapes over his face. Jinyoung shakes his head.

“Hey, you’ve been slouching all this time, shouldn’t you stretch? C’mon, it must be tiring. Loosen up a litle.” Tom tried to use the enthusiasm Jinyoung always used to and reach his hand over his shoulder. However before he knew it, his hand was squeezed with a strength he had never felt before. It felt as if his grip has restricted blood flowing into his hands, making them begin to numb.

Jinyoung’s gaze finally lifted over his sketchbook, and they finally got a glimpse of his face. His twitching eyes were an unusual shade of crimson red, each vein eeringly connecting from his sclera to the inside of his lower eyelid. Jinyoung always loved applying chapstick, loving the soft and glossy feeling upon his lips, except this time, they were chapped, with open, bleeding wounds and drool edging at the corner of his lips.

“I’m fine.” Jinyoung muttered, rubbing his tired, bloodshot eyes. No one muttered a word, staring with shock. What could they even say? Their friend — their once friend, as they could barely recognise the man he’s become — is now.. insane? Insane was the first word that came to mind to all of them. And all of them knew they weren’t far off.

….,

“Shingen. Haven’t you heard about that new clan has risen recently?” You ask, while raising your fork to your lips.

“Mmm. It seems so.” Shingen’s voice trails off, taking a sip of the transparent wine provided. “Perhaps it could be a problem. Especially since the Fist Gang and our clan are still under conflict… It is a relief we wasn’t arrested last time.”

“We’ve recovered well. Although a third party seems suspicious. Someone must be backing them, not every odd gang that shows up can be that strong and popular that quick.” You mention, and now that you think about it properly, hidden forces must at play here.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, huh? It won’t be a big deal. Like any other gang, they’ll fall to the hierarchy around here.” Shingen tries to reassure, using his authoritative tone to try and distract you from the concern written all over his face. He already knows they’re wiping out other small gangs and clan, then heading for the big prize. Nobody can be certain that they’re next, therefore it’s no prediction that they’re preparing their forces.

A third force making things complicated at a time like this cannot be a coincidence. At first, Shingen figured it must’ve been that cursed man’s Fist Gang, yet it’s unlikely they would. Someone’s pulling the strings behind the scenes, however there are no leads to show so. Only mere baseless intuition.

It makes you wonder — who? Each are loyal to their own side, especially during a tense time like this. They must’ve known a huge scale war between two major clans were going own, taking this into their advantage. Your eyes look down upon the food in front of you, then to your lover sitting opposite you.

Him, as a corpse? Dead, in front of you, his body cold. His pulse not throbbing anymore, breathe not passing his lips. Blood spilling under his body gallon by gallon, at an alarming rate. You could only cry as his eyes didn’t flutter open no more.

You’re overthinking again. Just another one of your tainted daydreams.

#lookism #shingen yamazaki #lookism x reader #lookism manhwa #yamazaki shingen x reader #lookism hcs #I hate series but I tried #lookism webtoon

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imaginedreamwrite · 1 month ago

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For stalker Saturday

Stalker ! Simon is an underground fighter . he sees reader in the crowd , amazed when he knocks his opponent out. they lock eyes and he’s obsessed

The jaunting of the crowds was enough to give him a boost of adrenaline, the cheering and betting on whether he would come out on top again, had been enough.

But then he sees you, a face among the crowds that seems so out of place here. An angelic and frankly innocent look among so many assholes, you stood out like a sore thumb.

Maybe it was the pair of jeans that had clung to your hips or the campus hoodie you wore that had clashed with the mix of grungy looking bastards. The look of a fresh face, a university student who was naive enough to come mix with this crowd of gits.

It was as if time had slowed down, and he was privy to see the connection between something sweet and innocent he wanted to keep for himself—a slow yet potent obsession starting to dig into his skin.

Simon was drawn back into the fight when the cheering of the crowds broke the illusion of time slowing down. He focused on the fist that was coming toward him, the fighter he was facing had swung toward his head. Simon had ducked and dodged to the left, taking the opportunity to make the final strike.

As his fist connected with his opponents head, the guy swayed before he ultimately dropped to the mat. Simon had stood in the middle of the arena, a few cuts on his face and knuckles, but his attention was on you.

Those eyes, wide and in awe of the fight, a cheap cup of beer in your hands. You looked fuckable, the kind of prize Simon really wanted. He wanted to taste you in front of everyone here, spread your legs and just go to fucking town.

“That girl,” Simon drew himself to the side of the ring, whistling sharply for Soap, his best friend and the one arranging the matches, “get her number for me, yeah? If ya can’t get it, at least a name.”

“Which one?” Johnny turned his head, just as Simon raised a finger and pointed to you, as you and the woman beside you started a conversation. “That bird, get her number. She’s gonna be my little bird and my wife.”

Simon drug his hand against his mouth, wiping blood from a cut from his lips. There was no doubt, you’d be his girl.

#soft!dark!Simon Riley x reader #soft dark!Simon Riley x reader #boxer!Simon Riley x reader #underground boxer!Simon Riley x reader

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nsharks · 6 months ago

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bleeding blue | part twenty-eight preview

France feels just as haunted by ghosts, the kind that cling to silence.

The first break comes when your shoulders burn from the weight of the backpack, the straps biting into your skin. You slip it off with a groan, sinking to the ground, and nurse the canteen of water. Just enough to wet your throat and keep the dizziness at bay—rationing is a habit. There’s no telling when you’ll find a clean stream to refill, and there won’t be time to search until the next safe camp.

Price's plan echoes in your head: Setques by nightfall. That’s ten hours of walking, minimum. Your toes throb at the thought, each step promising fresh blisters, but you force yourself to focus. The faster you reach Switzerland, the safer you’ll all be. If the place they heard of is actually waiting there.

"Hey. Do you want this?"

Blue lowers beside you, offering a near-empty jar of peanut butter she was snacking on.

"Not much left but it's really good," she shrugs.

"I'll finish it off, thanks."

The salty taste is not exactly refreshing, but you choke it down anyway, the boost of protein more of a necessity than a pleasure. Blue pulls at the grass beside you, her gaze drifting to Ari, who’s sharing food with Kyle. You try not to look, but your eyes flick to Ghost anyway. The mask is still on, as always. You want to roll your eyes at how obsessed he is with it, even after you just saw him naked. Despite its presence, you can still see the furrow between his brows as he pores over the map with Price. His chest is thick with gear, and the weight of his pack—far heavier than yours—seems like something he’ll never need to put down. Sweat rings the collar of his black tee, and his biceps flex as he gestures down the road. You’re definitely checking him out when he catches your eye mid-conversation, and without missing a beat, you turn your attention back to Blue.

She is staring at you quizzically.

You inhale sharply, suddenly alarmed of the bruise you know is somewhere under your hair. Can she see it? You unconsciously palm your hand over your neck.

"Do you think he likes him?"

You blink. "W-what?"

She moves her lips around. "Ghost, I mean. Do you think he likes Ari?"

"Oh," you exhale, relieved. "I mean, I don't see why he wouldn't. He's a nice kid."

"He's not a kid, really," she corrects, keeping her voice for just the two of you. "He's thirteen."

"That's a kid, Blue."

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jawsoffate · 2 months ago

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Diabolically Yours | part X (vessel!demon x reader)

Summary: Emma just wanted a simple magical boost to win a writing contest, not a snarky and handsome demon bound to her soul. But after summoning the wrong hellspawn, she ends up stuck with Vessel: a sarcastic, shirtless chaos entity who won’t stop flirting or stealing her snacks. Now they’re magically tethered, emotionally entangled, and dangerously close to something much scarier than a pact gone wrong... feelings.

TW: Contains supernatural shenanigans, mutual pining, steamy tension, and one annoyingly hot demon. Read with care (and maybe holy water on the finals part).

💖 masterlist

Part X: So… Demons Have Sex?

Earlier that week, Emma sat with Isla and Harper at the college cafeteria table, the hum of student chatter and the smell of fresh coffee filling the air. They were finishing lunch when Isla, with a mischievous grin, decided to stir things up.

“So, Emma... how was the date with Oliver?” Isla asked, flipping her hair.

Emma nearly choked on her juice. For a second, she wanted to flee, but her two friends were already watching, waiting for her answer.

“It was... normal,” she said, trying to sound casual while attempting not to recall the grumpy Vessel criticizing her every move at dinner.

“Normal?” Harper raised an eyebrow. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

Emma gave a sheepish smile. Beside her, Vessel twisted midair and crossed his arms.

“Normal? It was a gastronomic disaster,” he muttered disapprovingly.

Emma shot him a quick glance and continued, “He’s nice, you know? Polite, friendly, tried to make conversation and all that. But he eats in this... really loud way. Like, mouth open, chewing like he’s alone in his kitchen at 3 a.m.”

Isla cringed. “Ew! No one deserves that.”

Harper laughed. “Well, at least he was straightforward, right?”

“Straightforward? He was like a chewing machine with a microphone. Worse than trying to ignore a rock band inside your head. Emma, is your friend okay?” — Vessel said.

Emma nodded – to Vessel – and replied to her friends, “Yeah, and he didn’t even notice I was dying of secondhand embarrassment. And every time he talked, all I could think was how nice it’d be if Vessel handled him. But nooo, the demon just kept roasting me in my head, as usual.”

Harper’s eyes widened. “Who’s Vessel?”

Emma hesitated for a moment, biting her lip, trying to come up with a not-too-revealing explanation. “Uh... he’s kind of a voice in my head,” she said, a bit embarrassed. “Like a... I don’t know, a critical inner voice? Always throwing sarcastic commentary.”

“That’s what I’ve become? Your inner critic? I am so much more than that,” Vessel huffed.

Emma shot him another glance and kept going, trying to sound nonchalant, “It’s nothing supernatural, just... a habit I have of overanalyzing everything.”

Isla gave her a knowing smile. “Oh, I get it. Like that little voice that never stops judging?”

“Exactly,” Emma nodded, relieved she didn’t have to go into details. “Sometimes it’s helpful, sometimes it’s just annoying.”

Harper laughed. “Must be hard to date with that voice in your head.”

Emma gave a crooked smile. “It was exactly like that. He tried to be nice, but Vessel wouldn’t shut up about every move he made, and I tried to ignore it. But the conversation just didn’t flow, you know? And the way he ate... well, let’s just say Vessel wasn’t the only one bothered.”

“I told you it’d be a disaster. Torture, really.” Vessel made a dramatic “I told you so” gesture.

Emma shook her head. “Anyway, I think I’ll take a break before going on another date. I need some silence in my head and to finish this book for my final project.”

Isla and Harper chuckled. “We get it,” Isla said. “And if you ever need us, we’re here.”

Emma smiled, grateful she could count on her friends – even if her “inner critic” remained very much present and invisible to everyone but her.

___________________

One week later, Emma had not achieved any sort of spiritual enlightenment, but at least her legs had stopped aching. Sitting on the couch, she stared at the blank document on her laptop like it was a portal to another dimension.

“Okay, here we go: what’s it like being a demon?”

He couldn’t have sighed more dramatically if he tried. “It’s basically like being a government employee in the underworld. Just with fewer vacation days.”

Emma rolled her eyes and started typing. “Right. So you have a boss?”

“I do. But he’s on an infernal retreat at the moment. Inverted meditation, closed-chamber screaming... that kind of thing.”

“Fascinating,” she muttered. “And do you guys have, like... traditions? Infernal Christmas? Dinner with tortured souls?”

“Actually, we do Secret Santa. Last year’s prize was a skull signed by Elvis.”

Emma stopped typing and looked at him. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious. There was a fight over it, too.”

She blinked and sighed. “Okay. Next question: do you really have an HR department? And do angels apply to work in Hell?”

Vessel slowly turned toward her. “Of course we have HR. Officially it’s called Hyperdimensional Relations. It’s a whole floor. Packed with tie-wearing demons and beige-blazered angels. Pure chaos. They do team-building exercises on Mondays and serve terrible coffee.”

“And the angels?”

“Oh, they’re always showing up with resumes, thinking they’re going to be revolutionaries. ‘I want to bring empathy to the emotional torture division,’ you know?” he said, voice dripping with fake sweetness.

“And do you hire them?”

“Of course not. They’re terrible at sarcasm. And they never follow the dress code. One of them tried to wear Crocs into Sector Seven’s volcano. Offensive.”

“Okay, next,” she said, taking a deep breath. “What’s the biggest lie you’ve ever spread on Earth?”

Vessel took a moment, thinking. “That meetings that could be emails are actually necessary. That was us. A modern classic.”

She smacked the keyboard like she’d just had a divine revelation. “That’s just evil.”

“I know,” he replied, shamelessly amused.

“Alright, now we’re getting into more... delicate territory,” she said. “The question is: do demons... have romantic relationships?”

He tilted his head, and she could practically see him raising a brow. “You mean, like, dating? Posting selfies with captions like ‘my literal soulmate’? That kind of thing?”

Emma stifled a laugh. “It’s a valid question! I need this for the book, to develop the character realistically. And that means I need to know about emotional connections, romantic involvement, steamy kisses during the apocalypse... for research.”

“Sure,” he said, clearly unconvinced. “Some demons date. Others have contractual marriages with symbolic sacrifice clauses. And some only hook up with entities who speak ancient Latin and enjoy haunting humans.”

Emma opened a new tab and began furiously taking notes. “Okay, okay... and do you guys kiss? Like... with mouths?”

“No, with elbows. Emma, please.”

“It’s a valid question!”

Vessel sighed, long and dramatic. “Yes, we kiss. But since we deal with multiple physical forms, sometimes a kiss feels more like astral fusion. There was this couple once who blew up half a French cemetery during their first kiss. It was romantic. And mildly radioactive.”

Emma stared into space, equal parts fascinated and horrified. “And... do you fall in love?”

“Some do. Others prefer emotional distance. But passion, for us, is... intense. Could involve spontaneous levitation, accidental possessions, cursed poetry and... other things.”

“That’s... intense. And... do you guys have sex?”

Vessel didn’t answer right away. “Ah, finally the question that’s been itching to come out.”

“Research is research,” she said, lifting her chin with as much dignity as she could manage.

“Yes, we have sex. But not exactly like on your plane. Less about sheets and more about collapsing energy fields. Sometimes there are ritual chants. Sometimes, just a sad harmonica playlist.”

Emma spat out the sip of tea she’d just taken. “A sad harmonica?!”

“It’s a kink for some demons, don’t judge.”

She burst out laughing, forehead hitting the keyboard. “Oh my God.”

“He’s a tough one to explain to,” Vessel added.

“This is genius,” she said.

“I should be getting royalties.”

Emma was still laughing as she went back to typing. The once-blank page now came alive with carefully documented absurdities.

She looked at Vessel, floating nearby with his usual expression. “Hey, if you can touch things... can you make yourself visible to other people? Like, not just me?”

“I can. I just don’t like to. Being visible has consequences, you know? Panic, seizures, maybe some interior design damage.”

Emma paused, thinking. “But can’t you control that? Be visible only when you want? Maybe change your appearance? Can demons shapeshift?”

He gave a crooked smile. “Yes, I can. But being visible means dealing with curious stares, screaming, and people wanting selfies. I prefer the peace of invisibility.”

Emma raised a brow. “Do you think you could appear just once when we go out? So I don’t look like I’m talking to myself like a lunatic?”

Vessel paused, considering. “Hmm... difficult. That would require planning. And energy. And picking an outfit.”

“You don’t wear outfits. You wear a cloak. And weird shoes.”

“Exactly. So imagine the effort of planning a whole look just to follow you to the grocery store?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Just throw on a hoodie.”

She crossed her arms. “One day I will make you show up. Even if it’s just on Halloween.”

Vessel smirked. “There it is. An appropriate date. When people will think I’m just another guy in heavy makeup.”

“Then it’s a deal. On Halloween, you’re coming with me. Dressed as... I don’t know. A vampire?”

“Vampires are so dramatic. Absolutely not. I’ll be a retired soul accountant.”

“Oh, that’s going to be so fun.”

“You and I have very different definitions of ‘fun,’ Emma.”

She smiled and went back to typing. “Lucky for you, I’m the one writing this story.”

“Lucky or cursed, still undecided.”

#sleep token #sleep token fic #vessel sleep token #vessel x you #sleep token smut #vessel x reader #diabolically yours #trixies masterlist

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alisonsfics · 11 months ago

Text

his peace

pairing: carmy berzatto x reader

summary: when carmy meets you at an al-anon meeting, he’s surprised why how safe he feels with you immediately. but with that comes the anxiety of scaring you away.

word count: 2.5k

warnings: carmy and the reader meet at an al-anon meeting, but no actual discussion of sensitive topics

Carmy took yet another deep breath. He could hear his heartbeat pounding. He wiped his sweaty palms off on his jeans. He saw someone start walking down the hallway towards him. They gave him a small sympathetic smile, noticing his obvious nervousness.

He tried to take more breaths, as though it would give him a fresh perspective and a boost of confidence.

He ran his hand through his hair and reminded himself why he was there. Before he lost his courage, he walked past the “Al-Anon Meeting Today at 2pm” sign and in the door.

He breathed a sigh of relief once he entered the room. He’d been dreading the inside of this room. He was expecting to be met with cold stares and judgmental glances. Instead, the room seemed peaceful, and no one even seemed to notice him.

He picked a spot along the back wall and stood there. He casually leaned back against the wall, wanting to observe the meeting today instead of participate.

You were across the room. You were at the “snack” table that was topped with bottles of water and little packaged snacks, along with fliers full of resources like hotlines and therapist offices.

You caught a glimpse of the man lurking in the back of the room. You noticed the way his eyes avoided your gaze and focused on the floor.

You slowly walked over towards him. Everyone else was having side conversations before the meeting started. He was the only one who was alone.

You’d been coming to these meetings for a while, but you remembered how alone you felt at your first one. You didn’t want him to feel like that.

He only looked up at you once you were standing a few feet in front of him. He gave you a quick anxious smile. He could feel his palms start to sweat again. “Am I not allowed to just watch? This is my first time. I don’t know how these things go.” He rambled, nervously.

“No no no, feel free. It’s totally up to you. I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m Y/N.” You said, holding out your hand to him. His eyes darted to your hand, which he quickly grabbed and gave a firm shake.

“I’m Carmen. My friends call me Carmy though. It’s nice to meet you.” He said, smiling at you. He didn’t know why, but he felt lighter. Like some of the pressure had been taken off. Surviving this meeting felt like less of a big deal when he looked into your eyes.

His thoughts usually operated at a thousand miles a minute, but they seemed to still in your presence.

“I remember how anxious I was at my first meeting. I’m not trying to force you to do anything. You do whatever feels right. But, nothing bad will happen if you come sit with us. I know you probably have all those worst case scenarios in your head right now, but I promise none of them are going to happen.” You tried to assure him as best as you could.

Carmy slowly nodded his head, thinking about what you said. He considered it more than he thought he would. It sounded less scary when you talked about it.

“I’m just not really ready to share or anything yet. I think I’d rather just stay back here and watch.” He told you, hesitantly. The thought of having to talk to a room of strangers about his dead brother was almost enough to paralyze Carmy.

“You can come and just listen, if you want. No one will force you to share. Again, absolutely no pressure, but I’ll save you a seat and leave it up to you.” You said, giving him a small smile and heading towards the circle of chairs.

Carmy watched as you walked away. Something about you made Carmy feel calm. You were encouraging enough that he felt like he could do anything.

He watched you for a few minutes. You were sat down and quietly talking to two other people next to you. Your warm smile made him feel optimistic. He was already looking forward to seeing you once a week.

You looked up and noticed he was watching you. He softly smiled at you. You went back to your conversation, not wanting to pressure him in any way by staring.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw him walk up to the chair and sit beside you. You looked over at him and gave him an encouraging smile. You knew how massive a small step like that could feel.

You continued to check in with him throughout the meeting. After each person took their turn sharing, you’d look over at Carmy to make sure he was alright. You felt strangely protective over him, considering you’d just met.

After the meeting, he pulled you to the side. “Thank you for encouraging me today. I’ve been really worried about this meeting, but you helped me feel a lot more comfortable.” He said, genuinely. There was a certain sparkle in his eye that he didn’t even know was there. He felt hopeful for the first time in a long time.

“Of course. I’m glad I was able to help. I’m always here to talk, if you want.” You told him. You were met with a grateful nod.

“Do you maybe want to go get lunch? You’re just really easy to talk to.” He asked you. All of a sudden, you had butterflies in your stomach. You couldn’t hide your smile. “I’d love to.” You told him.

You both walked through the city talking about your lives. You both talked about why you went to Al-Anon meetings. You were one of the first people Carmy told about the Michael stuff.

It became a weekly tradition. Every week you both would sit side by side and then go out to lunch afterwards. By the third meeting, you’d gotten Carmy out of his shell enough to share with the group for the first time.

Carmy was trying really hard to appreciate how good it was with you. Especially since he knew he had a tendency to expect bad things to happen. It also meant he was scared of screwing it up.

So, he kept it separate. You and his life at The Beef were two completely different spaces in his head. You were peace, and The Beef was chaos. You were stress relief, and The Beef was stress-inducing.

That worked fine until he was bickering with Richie at the cash register, as usual, and he saw you walk in the front door.

Realizing it was you, Carmy froze. He’d forgotten all about the argument with Richie, and his eyes were glued on you.

You watched as his cheeks turned a soft shade of red. Carmy was mortified that you were seeing this side of his life. The side that involved screaming and chaos and arguments.

“Not right now, Richie,” Carmy mumbled, pushing past Richie and walking into the kitchen. Carmy’s thoughts started racing. He walked past Sydney and Marcus and Tina as they yelled different questions at him.

His mind was on one thing now. He marched towards the office after he spotted Natalie sitting at the desk. He needed to talk to someone about you, finally.

He barged into the office and closed the door behind him. The yelling of the kitchen was slightly muffled, blending in with the thoughts bouncing around his head.

“Carm, what’s wrong?” Nat asked, looking up and seeing her brother out of breath. Carmy immediately sat down on the couch and put his head into his hands.

He could feel himself spiraling and was trying to stop it before it got too far. All his emotions were bubbling to the surface. He truly thought he was going to scare you away.

“Carm, seriously, what’s going on? I’m getting worried.” Nat repeated.

He looked up from the floor, and she could see the panic in his eyes. “I went to a meeting. And I met this girl. She’s really been helping me. I just feel so calm when I’m with her.” He said. Nat noticed a glint in his eye when he talked about you.

“Carm, that’s great. I’m really proud of you. I know it took a lot for you to go. So, what’s wrong?” She asked, sitting beside him. She held onto his hand, encouraging him to explain.

“She’s umm…outside right now. I didn’t tell her about this place, but she just walked in.” He mumbled, glancing back towards the closed door. Nat slowly nodded, trying to piece together what he was so worried about.

“What’s so bad about that?” She asked, cocking her head to the side. Carmy shrugged. He wasn’t quite able to explain why he had this pit in his stomach.

“She’s the one thing in my life that just feels pure and completely separate from all the shit here. I haven’t let her see this side of me, and I really like her, Sugar. But if she sees this side of me, she’ll know how fucked up I am.” He said. His eyes were desperate. He was begging Nat for a solution. He needed to know what to do.

She pulled Carmy into a hug, rubbing his back slowly. “She sounds really good for you, Bear. I think you should tell her how you feel. She’s not gonna run away because you’re complicated. Everybody’s complicated. It’s just life. And if she makes your life better, you should go for it.” She said, giving Carmy the perfect sisterly advice.

“You really think so?” Carmy said, looking back towards the door. She just nodded and patted Carmy on the back. He slowly stood up from the couch.

Deep down he knew Nat was right, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t scared out of his mind.

He walked back through the kitchen, ignoring the chaos surrounding him as he walked towards you. As long as he stayed focused on you, he could drown out all the chaos.

He walked back into the front of the restaurant. You weren’t in line anymore. His eyes searched around for you until he saw you sitting at a small table in the corner.

Richie was still at the cash register taking another customer’s order. “I’m sorry, cousin. We can talk later.” Carmy said, patting Richie’s shoulder as he walked by. He knew if he wanted less chaos in his life, it would take a lot of effort on his part.

He walked over to where you were sitting. When you looked up at him, you noticed his hesitant smile. “Please, sit,” you said, gesturing towards the seat in front of you. He quickly nodded and then sat down.

“Hey, umm, I’m sorry that I kinda ran away earlier. I was just surprised to see you here.” He said, sheepishly. He scratched the back of his neck. You felt a small smile creep on your face. Bashful was a cute look on Carmy.

“It’s totally fine. I was shocked to see you too. I didn’t know you worked at a restaurant.” You said, smiling at him. He quickly looked up to meet your eyes and then shook his head. “I actually own the restaurant. This was Mikey’s before he died, and he left it to me.” He told you.

You noticed how happy he was when he was talking about his brother. Carmy was still bracing for you to storm out the door, and he didn’t even know why.

It was probably because in his life, good things never lasted.

Until you.

He felt a little bit of imposter syndrome with you. Like he’d been pretending to be this person with his life put together. And now, you were seeing what his life really looked like.

“I think that’s really beautiful, Carmy. You know, you running this place to honor your brother. I bet he’d be really proud of you.” You said. You gently reached across the table and let your hand rest on top of his. He quickly looked between you and your hand on his.

“Really? You don’t like…think this place is a total shit hole? With all the screaming and everything. Everything here is fuckin’ chaos.” He said, chuckling to himself. Self doubt had always been something that haunted Carmy.

You quickly shook your head, assuring him. “Just because it’s a little messy doesn’t mean it’s not beautiful. Nothing’s ever tied up neatly in a bow. Especially not when you’re dealing with family. I think it just means you care, not that you’re doing a bad job.” You said, running your thumb along the back of his hand.

He could hear his heart beating as he looked at you. Your hand touching his had goosebumps running up his arm. And when you looked at him with that smile, he felt his heart skip a beat.

“Hey, do you maybe wanna— I uhhh… nevermind, I’m probably reading this wrong.” He said, quickly standing up from the table and starting to walk away.

You giggled to yourself at his shyness. You stood up and grabbed his hand to stop him. He spun around to face you, with hope in his eyes. Because you had stopped him from leaving, which had to be a good sign, right?

You tugged him closer to you. He could feel his eyes go wide. He was trying to read every little part of your expression. You pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. His stomach did a flip. He noticed how the warmth lingered on his cheek.

“Do you want to go get dinner sometime?” You asked, finishing his question for him. His shocked expression turned into a smile. “I would umm— definitely, I would really like that.” He said, fumbling through his words.

Something about you made Carmy forget how to speak. “You’re cute when you’re blushing.” You said, cocking your head to the side and admiring him.

One of his hands flew up to cover his cheeks. Carmy hadn’t realized he was so easy to read. “No no, I’m not blushing. It’s just uhhh— from the cold, y’know,” he said, failing to convince you.

You giggled to yourself. The sound was angelic to Carmy and made his stomach do somersaults. “We’re inside though.” You said, smirking at him as he was caught in his excuse.

“Oh, yeah, would you look at that,” he said, pretending to be shocked. You jokingly rolled your eyes at him. He stepped forward, cupping your cheek and kissed you softly. You rested your hands on his sides as his lips softly moved against yours.

You both pulled away with giant smiles on your faces. “I really like you.” He admitted, interlacing his fingers with yours. You felt your smile grow even wider. “Likewise,” you said, pressing a kiss to his temple.

“I want to introduce you to someone.” He said, leading you back to the office to introduce you to Sugar.

It seemed like a weird choice, but for Carmy, it was him bridging his two lives together. He didn’t want to keep them separate anymore. He wanted you to be in his life, his real life, not the life he pretended to have.

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#carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy the bear #the bear #the bear fanfiction #carmy berzatto fic #carmy berzatto fanfiction #carmy berzatto imagine #carmy x reader

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miirily · 1 month ago

Text

It Almost Worked

It Almost Worked - Chapter Three

Pairing: Megumi Fushiguro x f!reader

Summary: "You clear your throat first. “So. You’re Fushiguro.”

His jaw ticks once, maybe at the edge in your voice, maybe not. “Yeah. That’s me.”

That’s it. No ‘hey,’ no ‘nice to meet you,’ no ‘sorry about almost decapitating you with a door the other day.’ You wait, maybe for a ‘sorry’ or an ‘about the door thing’, but it doesn’t come either. Instead, he walks past you, brushing close enough that you catch the faintest trace of fresh laundry and rain."

Content: MDNI, college!au, mentions of death and loss, loss of parent(s), absent parent(s), angst, hurt/comfort, loneliness, aged-up characters, age difference, fluff, eventual smut (more warnings will be added as the story continues).

AO3 - Masterlist - Previous - Chapter Three - Next

Chapter Three: Only a Minor Catastrophe (word count 9.9k)

Friday arrives before you know it, slipping in on a soft spring breeze that carries the scent of cherry blossoms and the distant sounds of a city stretching awake. The faint light of early morning slips past the curtains as you sit up, blinking the sleep from your eyes. Excitement thrums through your veins, steady and quiet, but pulsing nonetheless.

You hop into the shower to rinse away the last remnants of sleep, the hot water grounding you. There’s something comforting about the routine: Shampoo, body wash, then sun cream, a touch of blush, mascara,and gloss. You pick a loose white shirt and your favourite black wide-leg pants, paired with sleek black Onitsuka sneakers that sit in Yuji’s hallway. Simple. Clean. Comfortable, like Utahime had advised.

By the time you walk into the kitchen, Yuji is just dragging himself out from under his blanket on the sofa, hair a wild halo and eyes still heavy with sleep. You grin, already placing two bowls of overnight oats onto the low table, your favourite recipe: rolled oats soaked in almond milk, topped with a rainbow of fruits, a sprinkle of nuts and a glistening drizzle of honey.

“Whoa,” Yuji mumbles, rubbing his eyes and perking up at the sight. “You trying to impress your big brother?”

You chuckle as you sit beside him. “I need the energy boost more than anything. Can’t pass out mid-shift from nerves.”

He gives you a crooked smile, one side of his hair sticking up like a horn. “You’ll crush it.”

As the two of you eat, a moment of calm settles between spoonfuls and casual banter. It reminds you of yesterday, your so-called day off that had disappeared in a blink. You’d spent hours on the phone with Mina, her shrieks of excitement almost deafening when she heard about your job trial. She’d been practically vibrating through the speaker, demanding every detail and teasing you relentlessly about “the brooding Tokyo boys” you’d apparently run into already.

You’d kept her on the line as you scrolled through apartment ads together, the two of you dissecting each photo and floor plan like it was a murder scene. Most of the rent prices had made your stomach twist—was this rent or ransom?—but then you’d stumbled on that one dorm listing. It looked half-decent. Open space. Shared kitchen. Clean enough in the pictures, though you knew how misleading those could be.

Your thumb had hovered over the “Send Application” button for just a second too long.

You usually got along with people just fine, could carry a conversation with strangers without breaking a sweat, but sharing a bathroom with six others? And if they didn’t wash their dishes? If someone ate your labelled yoghurt?

Still. Tokyo wasn’t cheap, and this was an open door. You’d pressed "Send" before you could overthink it again.

Now, the weight of all that planning feels distant, replaced by a rush of adrenaline humming quietly beneath your skin. This is the first step. Trial day at the café. New beginnings. Maybe even a second chance at the kind of life you didn’t know you needed.

You dig your spoon into the oats again, the almond milk softening everything into the perfect balance of creamy and crunchy. Yuji munches happily beside you, his socked feet propped lazily on the low table, the left proudly sporting a hole like it’s some kind of statement piece. You roll your eyes at the sight, fondness curling into your chest as you stretch out your legs beside his.

“You really need to let those socks die in peace,” you say with a smirk, nodding at the tragic fabric hanging on for dear life.

Yuji looks down, toe wriggling through the hole. “Nah, they’ve still got some life left in ‘em.”

You hum as you take another bite, savouring the sweet tang of banana and raspberry against the mellow oats. The warmth in your stomach matches the morning light spilling through the windows.

“What’s your plan for today?” you ask, turning your head slightly toward him.

He shrugs one shoulder. “Helping Gojo clean up the last of the boxing hall. You know, now that the renovations are done, we gotta prep everything before the kids come in. Equipment’s all over the place. Think he wants to polish the floor too.” He pauses to shovel another spoonful in. “Then we’ll probably grab lunch. He said he knows this new soba spot.”

You smile at that. “Sounds fun. If he lets you not carry the entire ring on your back again.”

Yuji snorts. “No promises.”

He sets down his bowl and turns to you, eyes bright, a smudge of honey on his lip. “I can pick you up after your trial shift, by the way. If you want.”

You blink at him, touched by the offer. “Yeah? That’d be nice. Thanks.”

He grins, proud of himself like he just offered you a ride to the moon. You lean back, your shoulder bumping into his gently.

“So,” you say casually, “did you text your friend? Fushiguro? About working the same shift as your favourite baby sister?”

Yuji mumbles a sound around his spoon and nods. His mouth is still half-full of oats when he finally swallows and replies, “Yeah, I messaged him yesterday.”

You raise a brow, waiting. “And?”

Yuji shrugs. “Didn’t answer.”

Your face twists. “He what?”

“It’s normal,” Yuji adds quickly, waving his spoon like it’ll explain things. “That’s just how Megumi is. He’s not much of a texter. Probably saw it. Maybe thought ‘cool’ and moved on. It’s not personal.”

You scoff, setting your bowl aside. “So I’m getting evaluated in total silence by some guy who doesn’t even reply to your texts?”

Yuji chuckles, stretching his arms behind his head. “He’s not broody. Okay—he is, a little. But he’s not a jerk. He’s just quiet. Serious, y’know? If he really thought it was a big deal, he’d say something. Or at least grumble.”

Still, the knot in your stomach tightens ever so slightly. You try to push it down; after all, not everyone is as loud and open as you and Yuji. That doesn’t make them unkind. And Fushiguro must be decent if he’s friends with your brother, right?

Still.

You glance at your phone charging on the counter, the minutes ticking closer to your shift.

You can do this. Even if it turns out that he has the emotional range of a block of tofu.

Yuji puts his spoon into the empty bowl with a theatrical sigh, rubbing his stomach like he just walked out of a five-star buffet. "Man," he groans dramatically, "chef’s kiss. Best breakfast I’ve had in a long time."

You huff a small laugh, nudging his shoulder with yours again, this time softer. “You say that every time I cook.”

“Because it’s true every time.”

He stretches lazily, arms reaching up over his head as his hoodie rides up, exposing a sliver of his toned stomach. His feet slide off the table with a quiet thump as he leans back with a satisfied grin.

Your eyes drift across the living room, Yuji’s hoodie tossed carelessly on the floor next to his gym bag, a pair of socks peeking out from under the low table, the ever-growing dust bunnies beginning to reclaim the top of the small bookshelf beside the TV. Even back home, that shelf has always made you roll your eyes; it’s meant for books, but is mostly stuffed with PlayStation games, worn manga volumes, and a small army of action figures, some of them posed dramatically mid-battle.

Your gaze lingers longer on the framed photo perched at the centre of the shelf. You, Yuji, and your grandfather, arms around each other, eyes crinkled with laughter. It’s the same photo Yuji uses as his profile picture. You remember that day so clearly, how your grandpa had grumbled about “too many candles,” how Yuji had teased him about being ancient, how your own cheeks had hurt from laughing so much.

You look different in the photo. Not just your hair, longer now, or the style of your clothes. But in your face. There’s a lightness there, a sparkle in those big green eyes that’s hard to find in the mirror these days.

Your thumb moves slowly across your palm, a familiar absent-minded motion. You miss him. Every day, in quiet, ordinary ways. In the way you make breakfast, in how you answer a question, in how you and Yuji sit side by side, your bickering gentler now. Grief doesn’t scream anymore. It just whispers, persistent.

Yuji follows your gaze and his face softens. “Hey,” he says, nudging your knee with his. “He’d be proud of you, y’know?”

You blink and turn toward him, caught off guard.

“This job, school, moving here. You’re doing all of it on your own,” he says, voice quieter now, but no less certain. “He always said you had guts.”

You smile, but it trembles a little. “Yeah… he also said I had no patience.”

Yuji snorts. “That too. You’ve got range.”

You pick at the skin of your thumb again, right at the base where it’s always the driest, where old scars from similar habits lie faint beneath the surface. Your nails are short, clean, but your thumb is a battlefield of nervous energy. You don’t even realise you’re doing it at first. It’s instinct. Reflex. A quiet ache that your hands remember before your mind does.

Your bottom lip tucks between your teeth. You taste cherry, sticky and artificial from the gloss you’d applied earlier. It’s faintly sweet, almost jarringly so. Like a mask trying to cover up something bitter underneath.

The familiar weight settles in your chest, low and heavy and old. Not panic, not sadness exactly, but something like failure. The fear of it. The memory of it. The feeling of being the one who drops the ball, who lets someone down without meaning to. It bubbles quietly, pressing up against your ribs like a wave you’ve held back for too long.

Your eyes drift again to the framed photo. Your grandfather’s eyes, stern, weary, but kind, meet yours through the glass. As a kid, you hated how much like him your eyes were growing to look. That same sharp gaze, the permanent pinch of responsibility at the corners. A life of stepping up because no one else would.

You never got to be a kid for long.

Growing up with a father who vanished in every way that mattered and a grandfather who was too old, too tired, and too damn stubborn to be anything close to gentle... it leaves its marks. Not in bruises, but in the silence. In the way you never wanted to ask for anything twice. In the way you learned to keep your voice level and your needs quieter. In the way you worked harder than anyone expected because you never wanted to be the reason someone sighed or looked tired or rubbed the bridge of their nose in frustration.

You aren’t a people pleaser.

You don’t live to make others happy. You don’t crave gold stars.

But you do crave self-sufficiency. You crave being seen as capable. As not a burden.

You don’t want anyone to have to clean up after you, emotionally, financially, or otherwise. And that makes even the smallest stumble feel like a damn landslide.

Next to you, Yuji starts humming something off-key, probably some anime opening you don’t recognise. His world is simpler, lighter, even after everything. Maybe because he never let it get to him. Maybe because he never carried the same guilt of being raised.

You shake your head gently and exhale, then you straighten, slowly easing your thumb away from your mouth, the slight sting from the picked skin grounding you. You blink once, then again, locking the photo into place in your mind and giving the smallest of nods. To yourself. To your grandfather. To the version of you that still wants to prove something, even if you haven’t figured out what yet.

“I’m gonna go get ready,” you say, your voice casual, almost airy.

Yuji makes a small noise of approval, still scrolling through something on his phone, one socked foot bobbing to the beat of his own rhythm.

You slip into the bedroom, your steps quiet. You take one last glance at the mirror, cherry gloss still shining, a soft crease between your brows as you slip into your sneakers.

You’re still grieving, still healing. But you’re also growing.

You just have to keep going.

And that? You’ve always been good at.

>>><<<

You're grateful for that little voice in your head that told you to check the forecast this morning. The sky had been an innocent grey when you left Yuji’s flat, barely threatening. But by the time you step off the train and make your way toward Café Momonoki, the clouds have opened like a trapdoor, unleashing rain in sheets. Your umbrella holds up valiantly, your shoulders and bag staying dry but your jeans betray you, the hems soaked and sticking to your ankles from the short sprint across the street.

Still, as you close your umbrella and shake it off, letting droplets fly harmlessly to the side, you feel oddly calm. Settled, even. Maybe it’s the soft ding of the café door as you enter. Maybe it’s the warm air hitting your cheeks, the subtle hum of conversations, the low music drifting from a speaker somewhere near the back. Or maybe it’s just the smell, coffee beans, vanilla, and something faintly spiced, like cinnamon or cardamom. You inhale and feel the tension you didn’t realise you’d been holding melt from your shoulders.

You scan the space instinctively. The café looks the same as when you first visited, cozy, with high walls and warm wood accents, pale cream curtains drawn slightly to keep the rain-dimmed light gentle.

Your eyes land on Utahime first.

She’s crouched slightly beside a table near the window, speaking with an elderly woman wrapped in layers of soft knits. Utahime’s expression is all warmth and patience, her body angled to truly listen, not just hear. She nods occasionally, a smile touching her lips, her long black ponytail swaying slightly as she moves.

You don’t interrupt. You keep walking quietly toward the counter, setting your umbrella in the holder near the door. Outside, the storm still rages, the echo of thunder distant but steady, yet within these walls everything feels calm, focused. Like a place with its own heartbeat.

Behind the counter, Maki’s the first to notice you. Her eyes lift from the swirl of steamed milk she's perfecting, and a smile blooms across her face. She leans into the young man beside her and nudges him gently with her elbow, something conspiratorial in the motion.

He’s slim and composed, standing with a quiet kind of elegance. His hair is pale blonde, nearly white in the soft café lighting, falling straight around his face in smooth strands. A black medical mask hides the lower half of his face, but his eyes, bright and foxlike, crinkle with amusement as Maki flashes something on her phone. Whatever it is, it earns a shared, muffled snicker between them, the sound blending with the hiss of the espresso machine.

You watch them, momentarily transfixed, your own smile blooming cautiously across your face. You assume, with a certain naivety, that this must be Megumi Fushiguro. He doesn’t look grumpy at all. On the contrary, he looks like someone who’d hand you a perfectly foamed latte with a wink and say something too clever for this early in the day.

You offer him a small, polite smile, just in case.

He notices, and his gaze flickers to you with something gentle in it. He smiles, or at least his eyes do. It's enough to make your shoulders drop half an inch, the tension you didn’t know you were holding easing just a bit.

So this is Fushiguro. Maybe Yuji was exaggerating. Maybe all those gruff, emotionally constipated stories were just brotherly teasing.

But then Maki turns toward you, smile still playing at the corners of her mouth, and completely shatters your assumption.

“Hey, glad you made it through the rain, y/n,” she says, as though you’ve done this dance before. “This here’s Toge Inumaki. Early shift hero.”

Your brain skips a beat.

“…Oh.”

You’re quick, just barely fast enough to tuck the surprise behind your smile, but your voice still comes out a little lighter, higher than you’d like. You nod to Toge with exaggerated casualness, clutching the strap of your bag like a lifeline. “Nice to meet you.”

Toge waves, warm and wordless, and you realise with dawning awkwardness that you’ve just smiled at the wrong boy like you knew his deepest secrets.

Maki puts down her phone and tosses you a neatly folded black apron. “You’ll meet Fushiguro in a minute. He’s in the back changing.”

The apron arcs through the air with practised ease, and you catch it mid-flight. The fabric is soft in your hands, worn in a way that feels comforting, like something that has seen dozens of shifts and stories, absorbed the quiet rhythm of the café already. You nod dumbly, too preoccupied with the wave of secondhand embarrassment still rising in your chest to muster a clever reply.

Maki’s already pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose, expression dry but not unkind. She jerks her thumb over her shoulder in a loose gesture toward the back. “You can toss your stuff in the office and get that apron on. No rush. Toge and I’ll be here for another hour or two. Figured I’d walk you through the basics on the espresso machine before you and Fushiguro take over for the late shift.”

You manage a tight smile, apron clutched in both hands now like it might anchor you to the floor.

“Thanks,” you say, your voice low but steady. “Sounds good.”

You make your way toward the back, your wet sneakers squeaking on the wooden floor, fingers brushing along the edge of the counter as you pass. Every sense feels sharper than it should; the scent of citrus from a just-peeled lemon at the bar, the click of Toge refilling the grinder, the murmur of rain still needling the windows.

You slip through the doorway with a soft exhale, the sound of the café dimming behind you. The back office is small and cluttered in the way a lived-in space often is: Spare aprons hung like sentries near the coat hooks, a half-empty bottle of iced tea on the desk next to a dusty laptop, a calendar with tiny scribbled notes in the margins.

You place your bag gently on a low shelf, shrug off your thin rain coat, and unfold the apron, slipping the strap over your head with hands steadier than you expected. You glance into the small mirror propped against a stack of menus and smooth down your hair, tucking a loose strand behind your ear as you twist it into a low bun.

The sound of footsteps approaches, measured and unhurried, and then the quiet creak of the door opening behind you.

You freeze for a breath, heart flicking against your ribs like a moth at a window. Then you turn.

You strongly will yourself not to let your mouth fall open, not even a fraction, as the guy steps out of the adjacent changing room, shoulders squared under the weight of casual disinterest. He’s focused on his phone, thumb tapping something quickly before he flicks on airplane mode and pockets it.

But you know that face. You’d recognise that tall, lean frame and the way his dark hair juts in untamed directions from anywhere. Especially from two days ago, when he had nearly smashed the café door into your face without a flicker of apology.

Your shoulders tense, instinctively tightening like you’re bracing for cold water. Your eyes narrow just a touch, barely perceptible, but enough that if someone were watching closely, they’d catch it.

Then he looks up.

It’s subtle, the flick of his gaze lifting to meet yours, but it knocks something sideways in your chest. His eyes are a sharp, dark blue that seem to take in more than they let on. There’s a millisecond, a tiny crack in his otherwise unreadable expression, where something like recognition glints there. Surprise, maybe. Guilt? You’re not sure. But it’s gone too fast to name, and it leaves you wondering if you imagined it.

He blinks once, expression quickly smoothing into something unreadable. His face is so still it could be mistaken for indifference, but there’s something alive under the surface, coiled, watchful. Not defensive, not unfriendly. But cautious.

You feel the press of your tongue against your top teeth, taste the faint remnants of cherry lip gloss, and force your hands to unclench at your sides.

He finishes tucking his phone into the deep pocket of his apron and exhales softly through his nose. Still, there’s no apology hovering in the air between you. Not even a sheepish smile.

You clear your throat first. “So. You’re Fushiguro.”

His jaw ticks once, maybe at the edge in your voice, maybe not. “Yeah. That’s me.”

That’s it. No ‘hey,’ no ‘nice to meet you,’ no ‘sorry about almost decapitating you with a door the other day.’ You wait, maybe for a ‘sorry’ or an ‘about the door thing’—but it doesn’t come either. Instead, he walks past you, brushing close enough that you catch the faintest trace of fresh laundry and rain.

He doesn’t look back, just tosses over his shoulder, “You ready to learn how not to burn espresso?”

Your mouth almost falls open then.

But instead, you smile, tight-lipped and dry.

“Absolutely, partner,” you say, brushing past him to follow into the warmth of the café, the air now feeling a touch heavier and your trial shift promising to be anything but boring.

>>><<<

The first hour of your shift passes so quickly, it feels like time’s playing a trick on you.

Outside, the rain has grown heavier, pounding against the café’s windows in angry waves, a rhythmic percussion that should’ve been distracting. But inside, in the warm hum of Café Momonoki, you hardly notice. The glass fogs slightly from the warmth within, cocooning the space like a gentle barrier between your new reality and the drenched world beyond.

You’re behind the counter with Maki, who’s all precision and calm competence, her black apron spotless even as her hands move with ease. She moves like someone who’s been doing this long enough to make it look easy, but not so long that she’s lost the spark of pride in it.

“This one’s a beast,” she says, patting the espresso machine with something that almost resembles affection. The thing is gorgeous; sleek chrome and matte black, a hulking, expensive-looking piece of equipment that hums with quiet power. The machine’s many buttons and dials glint beneath the overhead lighting, like the cockpit of some strange caffeinated aircraft.

You nod, trying to soak in every word, every gesture, fingers brushing over the handle of the portafilter like it’s some sacred object.

Maki talks you through it step by step: grinding the beans, not too fine, not too coarse, letting you feel the texture between your fingers, dark and rich and earthy. She teaches you how to level and tamp the grinds evenly, the pressure precise and firm, “like you mean it, but not like you’re trying to win a fight,” she says with a grin. You chuckle nervously, and repeat the movement. Again. And again. Until your hands start to remember.

Then it’s on to steaming milk. You learn how to tilt the pitcher just right, how to stretch the milk gently, listening for that faint whisper instead of an angry hiss. She shows you how to watch for the rolling whirlpool, and how to stop right when the temperature's perfect, no scalding.

“You’ll feel it,” she tells you, guiding your hand to the side of the pitcher so you can gauge the warmth yourself.

And she’s right. You do feel it. The timing, the texture, the rhythm, it begins to sink into your bones.

Meanwhile, just to your left, Toge moves like a ghost. Silent, composed, almost ballet-like in his smooth movements. You catch glimpses of him out of the corner of your eye as he refills the pastry case, his gloved hands gently placing golden-topped blueberry muffins and slices of cheesecake like he’s arranging gemstones. Each piece is positioned with precision, the display case slowly transforming into a magazine-worthy spread.

Behind the counter, toward the far end near the register, Utahime and Megumi work in unison—quiet, efficient, deliberate. They speak in low voices as they perform the cash transfer, counting, cross-checking, logging each step with professional ease. Utahime occasionally smiles softly, her voice calm. Megumi doesn’t speak much, but there’s a subtle attentiveness in the way he listens, in the small nods and glances he offers her, serious and focused.

Only two customers linger: the elderly woman you saw earlier, now slowly stirring her tea with contentment written in every line of her face, and a young couple near the back, sharing an umbrella propped against the seat beside them and two steaming mugs between their clasped hands. The storm outside has turned the café into a sanctuary, and even the low jazz humming from the speakers seems to soften into something more intimate, more alive.

You’re barely aware of the dampness clinging to the hem of your jeans anymore. Your umbrella rests folded next to the entrance, forgotten, droplets of water slowly trailing down to the floor. Your skin, warmed by the gentle heat of the café and the machine at your side, no longer prickles with cold.

You glance up, catching your reflection in the espresso machine’s polished surface, big eyes focused, expression steady, lips pulled into a small smile you hadn’t even realised was there.

Toge and Utahime call it a day around 1:30 p.m., their voices soft as they prepare to leave after having finished their early shift. Toge shrugs on a black Nike puffer jacket that makes him look even slimmer beneath its bulk. He adjusts the straps of his mask with pale fingers, his eyes crinkling in that ever-gentle, wordless smile of his as he waves at you from the door. You lift your hand in return, mirroring the gesture.

The rain is relentless, sheets of water blurring the view beyond the glass. As Toge steps outside, his shoes splash into shallow puddles, and for a moment you watch his silhouette sprint toward the station, head down, arms slightly raised like wings. Then, just like that, the mist swallows him whole.

Utahime lingers. Her shift technically over, she still moves with unhurried purpose as she takes a seat beside the elderly woman she’d been speaking to earlier. The two exchange soft words, familiar and warm, like old friends with time on their hands. A cup of green tea rests between them, steam curling into the dim light. Occasionally, Utahime casts a glance your way—not scrutinising, not invasive, but observant in that quiet, thoughtful way of someone weighing potential. Her expression is neutral at first, but a soft smile begins to settle on her face each time your eyes meet and quickly dart away. There’s a gentle approval in it. A quiet reassurance. She’s watching you with the eyes of someone who wonders if she made the right decision and knows, already, that she did.

Maki, meanwhile, is still on shift, methodical in her tasks but never unkind. She takes a brief break from restocking the syrup shelf to guide you once again through the motions of the espresso machine. Her teaching style is firm but encouraging, her voice low and even, her sense of humour always waiting just beneath the surface. At some point she leans against the counter, arms crossed loosely over her chest, watching the front entrance with a raised brow.

A tall man walks in, droplets trailing off his soaked beanie, his AirPods Max clamped securely over his ears, soft bass thumping faintly even from where you stand. His coat is oversized and drips from the sleeves, but he doesn’t seem bothered by the storm. He approaches the counter with a distracted nod, gaze on the laminated menu hanging above your head.

Maki steps aside and motions for you to take the order. Your pulse picks up. Your first solo drink. You square your shoulders, smile politely, and take his order—tall cappuccino, extra hot. Got it.

You move through the steps carefully, your hands remembering the rhythm Maki taught you. Grinding. Tamping. Pulling the shot. You glance at the crema blooming golden in the tiny cup, the hiss and whirl of the steam wand rising beside it. You measure the temperature by feel, just like Maki showed you, and when the milk hits that perfect warmth, you pull it away and begin to pour.

Your first attempt at latte art turns out more like a hopeful swirl than a design, but the foam is thick, smooth, and delicate. You cap the cup and hand it over with both hands.

The man takes it with a nod of thanks, barely glancing at you before retreating to the window, but you don’t mind. Because when you turn back to the counter, Maki is watching you, one brow arched, a small smirk twitching at the corner of her lips.

“Not bad,” she says, and nudges your elbow. “Next one, you’re doing the heart.”

You laugh softly, a bit breathless but buzzing with pride. Your first cappuccino. Made by you, served at your first real job in Tokyo.

Megumi remains mostly silent, a quiet figure moving with quiet purpose, his back perfectly straight as he crouches in front of the pastry display, pen poised between slender fingers. His brow furrows ever so slightly as he jots down the internal temperature of the small fridge, then stands to check the readings on the larger one by the counter. There’s a rhythm to his movements, a certain sharpness that doesn’t feel harsh, only meticulous, like he’s tuned out the world to focus entirely on each ticked box, each wiped surface, each fraction of routine.

From your side of the counter, you try not to stare.

You really do.

But your eyes flick toward him again and again, pulled by the quiet precision of it all, the way he wipes down the marble tables with firm, efficient strokes, the dishcloth folded neatly into quarters in his palm. There’s something composed in his every action, as though he’s decided exactly how much energy to give the world and nothing more. His expression never shifts, his gaze flicking calmly between surface and cloth and waste bin, over and over like clockwork. It’s mesmerising in its own odd way.

You don’t even notice how you’ve zoned out a bit until Maki’s voice filters back into focus.

“…I mean, I’ve still got to figure out how I’m going to balance shifts here with starting my master’s next week. Sports Econ is no joke.”

You blink and glance at her, nodding, piecing together the sentence. “That’s exciting, though. You’ve seem like the organised type.” You offer her a small smile and add, “I’m about to start my first year in Biochem, actually.”

Maki hums, her dark green eyes flicking toward the espresso machine she’s halfway through wiping down. “Biochemistry, huh? I could never.”

You chuckle softly, the inside of your palm still warm from where you'd just refilled the coffee grinder. “I like knowing how things work,” you offer. “Like… really work. But I get why most people hate it. Chemistry is unforgiving.”

“Still,” Maki muses, flicking her cleaning rag over a drip tray with quick, confident swipes. “You must be smart.”

You duck your head slightly, muttering a soft “Trying to be,” before your gaze slips again to where Megumi has now moved to the condiment bar to refill the sugar dispenser.

At 2:30 on the dot, Maki unclips her apron with one sharp tug, folding it crisply before draping it over the hook near the back office door. “Time for my escape,” she sighs with a stretch, her voice light and dry. “You two have fun.”

You laugh softly but it’s Utahime’s voice that draws your attention again. She stands from her seat beside the elderly woman, gently patting the woman's shoulder with a word of goodbye before moving toward you and Maki. “I’ll drop Maki off,” she says kindly, slipping into her coat. She turns her attention to you. “You and Fushiguro will close at six. He’ll show you the full shutdown routine. You’ll get the hang of it quickly.”

You nod, trying not to look like you’re caught off guard. “Of course. Sounds good. Thank you again for today, Utahime-san.”

“Utahime,” she corrects with a wink. “We’re all on a first-name basis here, remember?”

Maki opens the door with her shoulder as Utahime follows her out, the rain still coming down hard beyond the glass. Before the door swings shut, Utahime calls over her shoulder, “Don’t hesitate to ask Megumi if anything feels confusing. And I will call you tomorrow about our further plans.”

And then they’re gone, just the whisper of the chimes above the door and the sudden, soft quiet that settles over the café.

You glance toward the other end of the room, where Megumi has just finished refilling everything at the condiment bar. He doesn’t look over, doesn’t say anything, just straightens his back and picks up the rag to start polishing the glass display case.

Reliable. Your eyes linger on the way his hands move, quick, precise and calm.

If there’s tension between you, leftover awkwardness from your last encounter, he shows no sign of it. But then again, maybe he just doesn’t care. You exhale slowly, gripping the edge of the counter and letting the sound of rain and quiet movement fill the space. Seven p.m. feels both too far away and not far enough.

But the hours drip by with all the urgency of snails dragging themselves uphill in the rain.

Outside, the downpour remains relentless, grey sheets of water making rivers of the pavement and fogging up the windows of the café until they blur the world into vague outlines. You’re silently grateful for the weather as it means fewer customers, fewer variables to juggle. It means you can practise, focus. Breathe.

The espresso machine hums like a living creature at your side. You stand behind the counter, sleeves rolled to your elbows, brows furrowed in concentration as you grind fresh beans for your third cappuccino of the afternoon. The hiss of steamed milk fills the air, sharp and steady, and your hands move with quiet determination. You tamp, lock, and press, your motions still a little slow, but growing smoother each time. Megumi stands nearby, leaning one hip against the far end of the counter, arms crossed.

He watches. Always watches.

Not in an intrusive way, no, but with a quiet sort of attention that never seems to waver. His eyes follow your movements, and every so often, he speaks.

“Steam wand’s too deep. You’ll get big bubbles that way.”

You adjust.

“Stop the shot five seconds earlier next time. It’ll taste cleaner.”

You nod, grateful for the feedback, even if his tone is dry, bordering on flat. There’s no warmth to his words, no real encouragement either. But there’s something in the way he stays close, in the way he doesn’t leave you to flounder, that tells you he isn’t indifferent. Just… guarded.

Still, it’s a far cry from Maki’s easy confidence or Toge’s quiet cheerfulness. Megumi doesn’t offer casual stories or unnecessary compliments. He doesn’t fill the silence with chatter. And the silence stretches long.

Too long.

You fill it out of reflex.

“So… do you usually work Fridays?” you ask as you pour foam into a tall, ceramic cup. The milk is too thick this time, but you pretend not to notice the lopsided heart it leaves behind.

“Sometimes.”

“Is it often this quiet?”

“Usually not on Fridays, no.”

You glance at him. “You don’t like talking much, do you?”

His eyes flick to yours, something unreadable crossing his face. “Not unless I have something to say.”

Your lips twitch. “That’s fair.”

He says nothing.

You try again. “Maki said you’ve been working here a while. Do you like it?”

“It’s quiet. Pays well enough. Better than most places.”

You suppress a sigh. The conversation feels like trying to skip stones across a swamp; every question sinks almost immediately. But something stubborn in you refuses to let the silence take over. You’ve never been good at coexisting with quiet. It leaves too much space for thoughts to wander where they shouldn’t.

“So you know my brother,” you try, offering a cautious smile as you start another drink. A vanilla latte this time, your favourite, one you’re determined to perfect.

Megumi’s brow lifts slightly, but not much else about his expression changes. “Yuji?”

You nod, pouring the espresso into the cup and reaching for the milk. “He told me you were the friend working here. Guess he was right.”

Megumi nods. “We train together. He’s loud.”

You laugh softly. “That’s one way to describe him.”

This time, a faint smirk tugs at the corner of Megumi’s mouth, but it vanishes just as fast as it came. You blink, momentarily caught off guard. So the stone skipped once. That’s something.

As the hour inches forward, you serve a handful of customers, each time thanking the rain for the sparse crowd and the opportunity to focus. You make two more cappuccinos, an americano, and another vanilla latte, slowly building confidence with each cup. Megumi steps in occasionally to adjust the grinder or offer a quick demonstration, but always with that same reserved air, his voice low and calm.

By five, the café has slipped into a rhythm. The chairs Megumi has already put up remain stacked on some of the unused tables, and the golden glow of the overhead lights feels oddly intimate against the backdrop of the storm. You find yourself wiping down the counter just for something to do, occasionally glancing toward Megumi, who is double-checking inventory notes in the back office doorway.

You wonder if this is what working with him will always feel like. An atmosphere just shy of tense, held together by politeness and practicality. Still, something in you isn't discouraged. You’ve seen how people bloom in unexpected soil. Maybe Megumi is just that: unexpected.

You press the cloth down over a stray ring of water on the counter and breathe out slowly, preparing yourself for the next and final task of the day: Closing.

As if reading your thoughts, or maybe just finely attuned to the rhythm of the quiet café, Megumi straightens from where he had been studying the inventory list. He turns toward you, the sleeves of his work shirt rolled neatly to his elbows, revealing long, toned forearms flecked with droplets from cleaning earlier.

“I’ll start with the pastry case,” he says, his voice level and clipped as usual. “You should watch. You’ll have to do it alone when you close.”

You nod quickly, falling into step beside him as he moves toward the glass display where a few last pastries still sit in neat rows, some already missing from their trays, the blueberry muffins picked at, the cheesecake a little sad-looking under the yellow light. The café is nearly silent save for the low hum of the fridge and the occasional groan of pipes hidden behind the walls. Outside, the rain is relentless, crashing against the windows like waves, the grey world beyond smudged and shapeless.

Megumi crouches in front of the case and pulls it open with the same precision you’ve come to expect from him. He moves efficiently, hands calm and sure, his expression one of complete focus. One by one, he removes the leftover pastries with small silver tongs and slides them into translucent containers lined with parchment paper, which he stacks in the small fridge under the counter. His fingers are deft, the kind of deliberate motion that comes from repetition and a sense of quiet perfectionism.

“You throw out the ones that don’t keep,” he says. “There’s a list in the back office—shelf life. Cheesecake’s two days, muffins three, cookies four.”

You nod, eyes fixed on his hands, taking mental notes with sharp attentiveness.

“Every item gets boxed before six,” he continues, voice still low, still neutral. “Labels go on the lids. Date, time, initials.”

He gestures with a chin-nod toward the label maker perched by the pastry fridge. You can’t help but wonder how long it took him to memorise all this and how long it might take you.

Megumi finishes and closes the display with a soft click, standing up and wiping his hands on a clean cloth. He tosses the used tongs into the sink basin behind the counter and then turns to the espresso machine.

“Next.”

You follow.

The warmth from the machine hits you as you step beside him. The scent of coffee is stronger here, nutty, rich, and comforting. Despite the quietness between you, there’s something oddly grounding about Megumi’s presence. Like standing beside a steady clock. He doesn’t rush. He just moves.

“This gets cleaned every day,” he says, pointing at the group heads and portafilters. “Wipe down, run hot water, then backflush. Use the cleaning powder every second night.”

You nod again, watching as he unscrews and pulls out various pieces with practised ease, placing them in a container for soaking.

“This—” he holds up the steam wand “—you wipe after every use. End of the day, purge it and clean with the small brush. If you skip this, it clogs.”

His gaze flicks to yours briefly, sharp and direct.

“Noted,” you say softly.

Megumi moves down the line, showing you what gets a surface wipe, what goes into the industrial dishwasher, and what gets hand-washed in the smaller sink. You mentally catalogue each step, the rhythm of this end-of-day ritual beginning to settle into your bones.

As the minute hand ticks toward six o'clock, the sky outside deepens to a bruised indigo. The café has fallen into a hush so still it almost feels sacred, like the quiet breath of a space that’s just finished telling its story for the day.

You roll up your sleeves beside Megumi and grab a clean towel, stepping in to help him wipe down the counter and finish loading the dishwasher. There are no more customers now, no distractions, only the two of you in this small circle of golden light and steady motion.

And though he hasn’t smiled again, and hasn’t offered anything resembling warmth, Megumi doesn’t stop you when you step beside him. Doesn’t flinch when your hands move near his. You’re not sure if it’s a truce, or just routine, but either way, it’s something.

At exactly 6 p.m., Megumi strides toward the entrance and flips the door’s hanging sign from open to closed. The faint clack of the lock echoes through the empty café as he turns the key and slides it into his apron pocket, rain still thrumming steadily against the windows like a thousand fingertips drumming in unison.

The golden lighting of the café casts soft shadows across the warm wooden tables, now bare of plates or cups. The elderly woman, the couple, even the man with the beanie, all long gone, leaving only the soft scent of roasted beans and steamed milk lingering in the air. It feels like the café is exhaling around you, letting itself rest.

You glance toward Megumi, who already moves with mechanical efficiency. He’s gathering salt and sugar shakers with one hand while wiping down the tables with the other, shoulders loose, posture straight. He never hurries, yet he never wastes a second either. You follow his lead, moving toward the condiment bar near the counter. A clean towel slung over your shoulder, you spray and wipe with quiet focus, collecting stray lids, wiping syrup smears from the counter edge.

Across from you, Megumi stacks chairs onto freshly wiped tables, two at a time, steady and silent, the legs clicking softly against the wood. The broom follows next, the slow scratch of bristles against the floor marking time.

But the silence is starting to itch again.

You pause for a second, your hand stilling on the syrup bottle.

“So,” you begin, tone deliberately casual, “what do you train together?”

Megumi doesn’t look up at first, his brow furrowed as if the question doesn’t land.

You clarify, shifting your weight. “You and my brother. Yuji.”

That gets his attention.

He straightens just a little, one brow lifting as his gaze flicks to you. “Oh. Karate,” he says after a pause, voice low, a little rough, as if unused to casual conversation. “Started last year.”

You hum quietly, letting the knowledge settle. The idea of Yuji tossing punches beside this quiet, storm-eyed guy tugs a soft smile onto your lips.

“Thought it might be something like that,” you say. “He’s been so into training lately. Makes sense now.”

Megumi doesn’t respond immediately. He just keeps sweeping, finishing his methodical work without lifting his head. The soft scrape of the broom fills the space again, and it feels like maybe that’s it, that the quiet will fold itself back around you like a second skin.

But then, just as you’re rinsing out your cloth at the sink, he speaks again.

“Tell him I said hi,” he says simply, almost offhandedly, like it’s nothing.

But there’s a slight tilt to his voice. Not warmth exactly, but something genuine. A flicker of ease. Of acknowledgment.

You glance back at him over your shoulder, surprised and maybe a little touched. The masked storm of his demeanour has a seam in it now, just faint enough to see through if you squint.

You nod, smiling faintly. “I will.”

The clock ticks gently overhead. The rain outside begins to taper, thinning from a roar to a hush. You dip your cloth into the hot, soapy water once more and wring it out slowly, the weight of it familiar in your hands.

You both move behind the counter again in silence, the café now cloaked in that end-of-day hush, where everything feels slower, like the world itself is winding down with you. The air smells like faint vanilla and warm wood polish, the soft pitter-patter of the dwindling rain outside muffling the sounds within the café like thick velvet curtains.

Megumi slides open the register drawer with quiet fingers and begins counting the cash inside. He mutters the numbers under his breath, his voice low and steady, barely audible over the hum of the espresso machine powering down. Every few counts, he jots a figure down with a ballpoint pen, his handwriting precise and angular. He doesn't rush, doesn't even glance your way, just sinks into the kind of quiet focus that feels natural to him.

You, meanwhile, stretch on your tip-toes, tongue poking out the side of your mouth in sheer determination as you try to refill the café’s massive coffee bean grinder for the early shift. The bag of beans is heavier than you expected, and it shifts in your hands mid-pour. You gasp, just a breath, and in the same instant, the bag jerks slightly to the side.

A sharp clatter rings out as beans tumble, not into the grinder as you intended, but everywhere.

The sound is deafening in the quiet café, beans ricocheting off the metal grinder, bouncing across the counter, skittering across the floor. Some even ping against the register drawer. You take a step back like you’ve been struck, heart stuttering in your chest. The bag hangs limp in your hands. Your breath catches.

Megumi turns sharply, startled by the sound, his head whipping toward the noise.

His brows draw together in a frown, eyes flicking from the spill to you. Your shoulders lock tight. Shame rises like bile in your throat, hot and humiliating. You feel heat creep up your neck. He just swept. He just explained everything. He’s probably regretting letting you touch anything at all.

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

Megumi’s expression flickers, just once, and then smooths out, schooled into impassivity. He clicks his tongue softly, and the sound feels like a pinprick, sharp and small but somehow cutting.

“It’s fine,” he says evenly, already moving toward the spill. “Don’t worry.”

But then, almost like he’s trying to lighten the tension, maybe to cut through the absolute mortification that’s written all over your face, he adds dryly, “Only a minor catastrophe.”

It’s clearly a joke. A weak one, yes, but an effort. Something not cruel.

But you can’t even register the attempt. Your mind is buzzing too loud, a storm of panicked thoughts crashing over you—you screwed up, you ruined the clean floor, now he’ll think you’re careless, maybe even Utahime will find out, maybe they’ll decide you’re not worth training—

Your hands begin to tremble slightly as you set the bag of beans down carefully like it might break.

“I’m sorry,” you say softly, voice caught in your throat. “I didn’t… I’ll clean it up. I didn’t mean—”

Megumi straightens with a slight tilt of his head, his gaze finally settling on you, not frustrated, not annoyed. Just observant. Quietly so.

“It’s not a big deal,” he says again, his voice firmer now. He crouches beside the counter, already collecting the scattered beans with both hands. “Seriously.”

You swallow thickly and kneel down beside him to help, the beans clicking softly against the floor as you begin gathering them into your palm. You risk a glance sideways. Megumi is scooping beans into a nearby dustpan with steady hands. His jaw is relaxed now, the earlier frown gone. Not once does he sigh or complain.

Maybe this isn’t a disaster. Maybe it’s just part of the job. Still, your heart’s beating a little too fast, and your breath comes a little too shallow.

Megumi doesn’t look at you like you’re a burden. He doesn’t sigh or scold you. He doesn’t make you feel like you ruined anything, not truly. He just picks up the beans with calm hands, his movements quiet and measured, and even offers you the dustpan when you fumble with your own. There’s no edge to him, no frustration bleeding through. He’s just… helping.

And yet, you begin to feel like shit.

Minor catastrophe. The words clang in your mind like metal on metal.

It was a joke. You know that. The same way you know Maki would’ve cackled and slapped your shoulder, or Yuji would’ve knelt down beside you and called you “Bean Queen” for the rest of the week. It was meant to soften the moment. It was Megumi’s version of cutting you some slack.

But your brain latches on anyway.

Because your hands slipped. Because he just swept. Because you want to be good at this, efficient, focused, and reliable. You want to be the person others don’t have to pick up after. But here you are, on your knees, gathering beans like a clumsy kid on their first day.

By the time the counter is spotless again and the grinder refilled, properly this time, you can barely look him in the eye. He says nothing about it, and that silence is almost worse than if he had. You’re too inside your own head to say much more than a muted “thanks” when he hands you the last scoop.

Megumi rises, dusts off his apron, and gestures toward the register. “I’ll show you how to close it out.”

You nod, your voice swallowed in your throat.

He takes you through the process with the same focused clarity as earlier in the day. He points at the numbers on the slip, where to enter them on the form. Shows you the drawer's locking mechanism, and how to print the final report. You do it step by step, your fingers mechanical, your brain fogged with the residual shame of messing up something so basic.

When it’s time to put the cash away, Megumi walks you to the back office, unlocks the small gray safe tucked beneath a cabinet, and steps aside so you can store the bills and coins yourself. It’s a gesture of trust, and you feel it. But still your chest stays tight.

You don’t say much. Just nod again, biting the inside of your cheek to keep your expression neutral, your shoulders slightly hunched as you lock the safe and hand the key back to him.

You’re quiet now. Not sulking, just retreating.

And Megumi notices.

He doesn’t say anything, but he watches you. The slight draw in your shoulders. The dimmer light in your eyes. The silence that suddenly feels less peaceful and more protective.

But then Megumi moves toward the changing room without a word, the hem of his black apron fluttering lightly with his steps, quiet and deliberate. The back office falls into a hush, only the soft thrum of rain outside and the gentle hum of the refrigerator filling the air now.

You let out a long, barely audible exhale and begin untying your apron. The knot behind your back slips loose too easily, like everything today. You fold the soft black fabric, slower than necessary, eyes downcast, lashes lowered to hide the heavy look building behind them.

You keep your head bowed as you slide your phone from your back pocket and wake the screen.

The brightness almost stings your eyes after so long.

The group chat with your friends is on fire—photos, voice messages, excited rambling. Mina had apparently gone to some pop-up shop in Sendai and is now flooding the chat with overpriced accessories and a blurry video of someone who might be a minor YouTuber. Normally, you’d smile at their chaotic banter. Maybe send a voice message back.

But not right now.

Not with your heart still pressing painfully against your ribs.

Your eyes drift to a single message from Yuji, time-stamped half an hour ago.

“sry 🥲 gojo left the damn windows open at the gym n we’re drying the floor still… can’t make it to the café”

You stare at the words for a long beat, thumb hovering.

You bite your lip hard, the cherry gloss now all but gone, replaced by the faint taste of bitterness. Normally, this wouldn’t faze you. Wouldn’t. You’d understand, hell, you do understand. Yuji's always running around, always doing five things at once. You’d just shrug it off, maybe toss him a teasing “you owe me” later.

But today?

Today, you bite back the sting rising behind your eyes.

You’d looked forward to his familiar smile, the dumb jokes that never fail to make you laugh even when they shouldn’t, the comfortable warmth of his voice on the walk back. You wanted to talk about your first shift, even the stupid coffee bean spill. You wanted to share that moment with someone who would laugh and say it wasn’t a big deal.

But he won’t be there.

Your throat tightens. You blink up at the ceiling, your vision blurring just a little. You press your lips together and tilt your head back slightly, swallowing past the ache.

The sound of the changing room door creaking open again pulls you back down into the room. You turn quickly, tucking your phone into your coat pocket, willing yourself to look composed again.

Megumi steps out, dressed in plain black jeans and a dark gray hoodie now, damp from the humidity in the air. His hair is still slightly tousled from when he’d raked a hand through it. His eyes meet yours briefly, and then shift away, polite but unreadable.

You give a small, forced smile that barely lifts your mouth. He doesn’t call you out for it.

Instead, he picks up his umbrella from beside the door and reaches for the café lights.

“Ready?” he asks simply.

You nod, and your voice, when it finally comes, is barely above a whisper. “Yeah.”

The quiet jingle of the café door chimes softly one last time as you and Megumi step outside, the humid breath of early evening air curling around your faces. The storm has passed, at least most of it. Now, a light drizzle dusts the pavement, faint and rhythmic, like the last murmurs of a conversation that had gone on too long.

Behind you, Megumi locks the door with two sharp clicks, testing the handle before slipping the key into his coat pocket. You glance down as your black Onitsuka sneakers squeak against the damp concrete, the sound embarrassingly loud in the hush of the nearly deserted street. You wince at it.

You reach up and pull out the tie holding your hair in its low bun. The strands, slightly damp from the thick air, fall heavily over your shoulders. You run your fingers through it absently, trying to shake out the stiffness, the tension that’s been coiled there since the moment the beans spilled across the café floor.

Megumi adjusts the straps of his black backpack, his shoulders shifting under the weight. For a second, just one, his gaze flickers across your face. You feel it. That brief, flickering pause. Like he’s about to speak.

His mouth twitches, uncertain, and he looks like he wants to say something. You can see it in the crease between his brows, in the way his fingers twitch slightly at his side. Maybe to tell you that the spill wasn’t a big deal. That you did okay, more than okay, for a first shift. Maybe even to ask if you were alright.

But then, as quickly as it came, the softness vanishes from his face. His posture straightens like a line drawn in ink. His jaw tenses, and he runs a hand through his unruly hair, pushing it back in one sweeping, habitual motion.

“Thanks for your work today,” he says, voice flat but not unkind. “Maybe I’ll see you around. If Utahime hires you.”

You open your mouth, words catching behind your teeth—that’s it?—but you never get to say them.

Because he’s already turning. No wave. No glance back.

His steps are quick and measured as he walks down the street toward the subway station, the hood of his jacket pulled up against the drizzle. He doesn’t ask which direction you’re headed, doesn’t even pause to check.

Your teeth grind together so hard your jaw aches. And then, finally, the dam breaks.

The tears spill hot and fast, stinging as they mix with the fine rain on your cheeks. You don’t sob. Don’t shake. Just… leak, like something cracked and no one cared to fix it. The kind of tears that slip past your defences quietly, unseen but relentless.

You wipe at your face roughly but it’s no use. Your throat closes tight and the sting of disappointment burns behind your ribs.

You had done your best. You tried. But all you feel is foolish. Invisible.

Alone, again. And in the soft hiss of rain and the quiet rumble of a passing train in the distance, you wonder, not for the first time, if this new beginning might end the same way all the others have: with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes, and a silence you don’t know how to fill.

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