#how long does it usually take for you guys to write a chapter

[elluqien710]

my questionable writing speed

For some context, I have considered writing as a passion of mine about 3 years now, depending on when you count. I used to write all the time, but then I got the biggest writing block of my life and stopped for a year.

Then, about a few months ago, I started writing again...so, as in "I stopped writing for a year" I mean, "I stopped actually writing for a year."

....so during my huge writing block, I was watching a lot of youtube videos about creative writing instead of, like, actually writing. Anything.

So it's been a year. I finally started writing again.

I pick up my previously-abandoned WIP---a fantasy/adventure novel that, once finishing the improvised and i-just-went-with-it-with-no-plan-whatsoever-and-thus-has-too-many-plot-holes-to-count rough draft, I had given up on.

But no longer! I had learned a lot about creative writing, and have surely matured as a writer! I read through the plot and the 110,000 word manuscript.

....and it was just as, if not even more, trashy than I had remembered.

After trying to simply adjust the plot, I realized it was beyond repair, so decided to rewrite the whole plot from scratch.

So, here I am. After [insert an embarrassing, considerably longer amount of time than planned] outlining, I started writing the first few chapters.

...and I realized it took me five hours to write a single chapter.

Now, I have no idea how long people usually take to write a chapter, but I was very sure that I used to be able to write 3 chapters in one sitting. Three. In like one sitting.

And so I'm staring at my manuscript, and questioning myself, like, "what the heck happened in the time span I stopped writing?"

I plopped into the middle of the May 2025 drabble challenge by @thedrabblecollective a few days ago, and I worked on one of the prompts.

I was doing 2 drabbles per prompt, so, pfft, it'll be quick warm up, right? A simple and fun challenge that'll take a quick amount of time.

Right?

Right?

Wrong.

Ok, so I finish the drabbles, I look up at the clock, and it's already midnight. Which meant that I spent an HOUR writing 200 words.

This was even slower than my already slow average. As mentioned before, I usually take five hours to write one chapter, which is typically 4,000 words for me. So that's 800 words per hour.

I mean, the 100 word limit, no more, no less, for each drabble was being a challenge for me, but still. I was writing 4x slower than usual.

sorry, I went on a bit of a ramble, but.

WHAT IS UP WITH MY WRITING SPEED I AM AS SLOW AS A LITERAL SNAIL. HELP

[iridescentis]

okay nvm not time to write time to sleep i need to be stopped

[seattlesellie]

ೀ spoiled. ( part one )

📞🕯️🎀 ₊˚⊹♡ “ baby , can you call me back ? i miss you … it’s so lonely in my mansion … “ 🧸🪽🍬

pairing: ellie williams x rich fem!reader

synopsis: the mansion you live in is getting too cold , the silence is way too silent , and not even reruns of sex & the city can help … long story short , you’re feeling lonely . wonder if you can think of someone in your contacts that can help and warm you up , a certain classmate perhaps ?

warnings: girly reader , kind of desperate loser ellie , bratty spoiled rich reader so don't read if that annoys you , allusion to smut , actual smut will be in the second chapter , this is dirty so mdni as usual !

an: i wrote this such a long time ago and it wasn't supposed to be two parts but well now it is !! i will start writing the second part if u guys want to so don't be shy in my inbox. not proofread unfortunately ♡

A perfectly manicured hand rests on the fluffy white and silky smooth duvet. the Egyptian cotton, to be exact, is nothing but lavish, a sanctuary of indulgence in the realm of your own private luxury. Then, you tap your nails atop it, and the fabric crinkles. You gently sigh, but it's more so a grumble, and reach over for the ‘Dunkin’ cup standing on your wooden bedside table. It perfectly matches every single one of the furniture in your extravaganza of a walk in closet, and the bed-frame as well. You take a slow, indulgent sip out of the icy cold drink, take an ice cube out with a straw, and gently suckle on it. You place the drink back on the table, shifting your gaze back over to the flat screen television.

Carrie forgave Mr. Big again, and now she’s seen frantically pacing around the streets of New York City in her shiny Manolo Blahniks. You arch your brows, humming in high pitched amusement. you have the exact same pair!

Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte and Miranda always seem to bring you a sense of comfort. Usually, your bed brings you a sense of comfort as well, and so does an icy drink with specifically eight cubes of ice. Your room smells like French vanilla, a tinge of cinnamon, and the sweetest pie you’ve never learned how to bake. Most of the time, you’d bask in the scent and feel nice, and cosy, and your nose would scrunch and your nostrils would flare out, then you’d open your favorite food delivery app and order a nice ol’ package of nine chocolate chip cookies. Then, you’d pop open a bottle of champagne and indulge yourself in the sweets deliciousness.

But your appetite is less existent than snow in the middle of August.

You’re also freezing cold, fuzzy socks and all — goosebumps rising on your skin and feeling sharp like Japanese knives.

Your best friend of a white home cat, Toodle, elegantly extends his supple frame, his lithe form gracefully ascending to nestle within the cradle of your neck. His bell gently dingles, he yawns and mellifluously meows. Right now, it sounds more like an old mans groan.

“I know, Toots… m’bored too. And cold, Jesus…” you mutter towards Toodles, who, in his usual aloof manner, closes his eyes and surrenders to the soothing hum of his purring. You puff some air out of your mouth, brain wheels turning as to find out what’s the cause of this blue mood. The air conditioning is completely turned off, you’re sure of it, and the fireplace crackles with warmth. Your entire moisturized body is covered up by a ridiculously expensive thick blanket, and it’s not the short VS nightie that makes you feel freezing, you’re convinced of that. For some reason, the frosty sensation persists. You smack your lip-glossed lips before bumping your head against your mountain of pillows, emitting a low grunt of exasperation.

You don’t know the reason for your boredom, or for this bum mood, because albeit you’ve seen this episode about a gazillion times, it never fails to entertain the shit out of your brain.

Maybe it’s due to the fact that you’re entirely alone (except for Toddles, of course, can't forget him) in a 10,000 square feet mansion. or perhaps it’s because the only lit room inside the mansion is your own.

But then you roll your eyes, because your parents are always away (at St. Tropez this time), so feeling alone isn’t a new and strange concept.

Alas, being alone isn’t the same as being lonely.

Your face twists at the depressing thought, ew. You’re not lonely, just… bored, and unamused, and the icy drink isn’t sweet enough and Carrie’s getting on your last nerve, and the 1,000 dollar blanket is starting to itch the hell out of your hyper-sensitive skin.

Which is why you get up from the bed in a moment of eureka, landing your feet against the fuzzy carpet and slide them into your Ugg’s. “Uh huh!” you chirp, you finally got it.

You’re experiencing an old friend of a feeling called (drumroll…) — anxiety, over your unfinished chem project! It must have masked itself in the form of frigidness and discomfort and loneliness.

But the project isn’t even due till next week, and you rarely get stressed over college stuff unless they’re due the next day and you’re sitting, staring down at your laptop screen, trying to communicate with it through telepathy or something of that sort.

Somaybeit’snotanxiety and maybeyou’rejustloney.

You shake away that uneasy and irritating thought, and sit your pretty butt down on the rolling chair. You click your shiny glittery pen (that always sheds some glitter onto your hand) and open up the thick as brick textbook.

You read the first question out loud.

The correct formula for aluminum nitrate is…

Valentino’s Lòco Toile Iconographe shoulder bag in hot pink?

Nope.

You shake your head, you have got to focus. You place your chin atop your palm and click the pen once more.

Al(NO2)3? or maybe it’s Al(NO3)3…

or maybe you’re so far off you need to close the book shut and throw it out of the window. You’ve always sucked at chemistry.

Which is why you were assigned to be tutored by that auburn haired, green eyed, slightly sullen, tatted up girl who went by "Ellie" — or "El", but you didn't know her like that.

Ellie, is the one who stuttered out your name as she realized you weren’t paying attention to her tutoring, as you had your gaze fixated on the black ink etched on her forearm, a half-covered flannel and a canvas of delicate veins. A bug, adorned with intricate botanical details, unfurled its wings across her skin.

“S’uh… A moth, with ferns around it n’stuff. It’s kind of faded now though”

Her voice was raspy and husky, and she stuttered out your name. Usually, you’d hate it when people got nervous around you. It made you feel odd, ostracized, and you always insisted — you were so damn sweet, there’s nothing to be nervous about. You wore sweet perfume, sweet as goddamn cherries and cupcakes, and your voice was soft and you always smiled brightly, and so what if your purse cost more than a college tuition?

But her nerves didn’t annoy you. In fact, you found them charming, and you found her sweet. You found that all of her “Uhhh” ‘s, and her “Mhhm” ‘s, all of her stammering and her lack of ability to keep eye contact with you to be… infatuating.

Then there was that rich voice, and those eyes, that smile, those hands, those damn toned arms, those biceps and the haircut, the way two short strands of hair always framed her face perfectly and her scent — that you could tell was just a cheap cologne, but mixed with her unique fragrance, proved nothing short of intoxicating.

It was also the fact that she seemed to damn know everything — and that she was always ahead of you, and that her face always bore that coy little smirk when you got a question wrong (which you seemed to get more often than not), and that she would grab your Swarovski pen out of your hand and scribble down the answer for you, just to explain it in detail later.

The way she licked over her bottom lip and bit as wrote down.

With her long fingers and all.

When she spoke, her breath smelled of mint and the faintest tinge of weed, which made you think of how lovely it must be to be able to transform into a damn joint just so she could place you in her mouth and suck —

now you’re sticky, and god now you really are distracted, and not by a cute purse or the sound of rain pouring down on your window. Toodles stretches his tiny limbs and you hear his bell faintly dingle again. He climbs down from your princess bed and jumps up to sit at your lap. You caress down his white fur and he purrs.

You wonder if Ellie likes cats.

You know she likes pussy.

You have got to get a grip.

You massage your temples, attempting to focus on the written down questions again, but the words and the numbers seem to mix into a cacophony of odd symbols and letters, and you’re still so goddamn cold.

Albeit your eyelids droop down slowly, eyes spazzing out of focus, the assignment must be done today.

“Just, finish the damn work and go to sleep. Yup.” You mumble to yourself, a habit you picked up as a result of being alone for most of your childhood, and having to opt for the help of imaginary friends to keep you comfort. Alas, you’re older now and only have yourself to talk to.

You try and follow your command.

The problem is, you don’t know jack shit.

You wish Ellie was here, with her hair sticking to her forehead and your pen in her hand and her old chuck’s glued to her feet, as she sits down on the spare chair aside you with her jaw resting on her knees.

You wish you could hear her faint chuckle as you get another question wrong.

As a tutor, of course.

Not even as a friend, because she’s not.

Definitely not as a lover, obviously, because that would truly be so far fetched from reality — although… right now, you can’t help but think of the way her eyes fall down to your chest as a crimson blush creeps up her cheeks.

And you keep thinking about the time you purposely let your bra strap cascade down your shoulder, just because you wondered how she’d react — Which was with averting her gaze to the side and clearing her throat. Now you think of the time you wore an extra short mini skirt, not that different from the rest of them although a bit tinier, and how you kept rubbing your thighs together just to see whether she’d notice or not, which she did…

You groan and slap your palm against your forehead.

Then, you stare at another question and then at your phone. Toodles chimes in with a high-pitched meow.

“Oh my gosh Toots, so true! I should text her the questions, duh”

You’re not delusional at all, by the way.

So you send her your address.

In the meantime, you make sure your studying environment and your room are as tidy as possible. You grab your sparkly pink pen and place it near the textbook, and you grab a matte black pen for Ellie as well, a thoughtful gesture.

You also apply some strawberry scented moisturizer on your body, and spray your sickly sweet perfume on your pule points.

You slip your feet out of your slippers, and you wear your favorite heels. However, you keep your little nightie on. You’re supposed to feel comfortable, this is your house after all, and the heels — are just a courtesy, you are expecting company, and opening the front door with house slippers is entirely rude, and the silky robe… It’s long enough and proper. Ish.

You stare at your reflection down the mirror, and for some reason, you feel utterly nervous. You’re all dolled up for a person who isn’t a stranger, but who also isn’t a friend. When you coat your lips with some minty gloss, Toodles stretches his tail upwards and meows.

“Psh. Do not judge me, Toots. This is normal, I do this all the time”

Which again is a total and complete white lie, because if it was a regular friend coming over, you wouldn’t have even bothered to fix up your makeup, and you’d barely even get up from the comfort of your own bed.

As a matter of fact, not many people come by your house at all. You have your fair share of friends, but you’d much rather hang out by the mall or at one of their mansions, yours always feels just, utterly suffocating — as giant and spacey as it might be. And sure, you’ve had hook ups before, but you always went rigid when they tried to slip past your panties, and you were always… dry, as an autumn leaf.

Ellie makes you feel anything but dry.

Physically — you shake your head and try getting rid of the thought by giving yourself some good old whiplash.

You find yourself pacing around your room, until you manage to cascade downstairs as soon as you hear the bell ring. With each step you take, your heel taps the lavish ceramic pavement.

“Stay”, you gesture towards your fluffy feline companion, who responds with a squinting of his eyes. “Don’t freak out our company”

You look at Ellie’s face from the intercom’s shiny screen. You look at it so hard you nearly forget to press on the button that’s purpose is to let your tutor-guest in. A couple of strands of her auburn bangs stick to her forehead. Ellie scratches her eyes with the back of her hands and she straightens up her spine. As she waits for the gate to open, she puffs some air from her cheeks. She attempts to fix her eyebrows with the tips of her fingers, and seems to be murmuring something underneath her breath.

You’re not the best at lip reading, but your gut tells you she just whispered a “Hi”, and added your name, then — “Hey” adding your name once more.

It’s absolutely impossible for her to not be aware of how stupidly and irritatingly cute she is.

You press on the button and clear your throat. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t practice your greeting in front of a mirror as well. Your robe cascades down your shoulder, you fixate on it and contemplate pulling up the fabric.

Toodles meows once more.

Yup. You should keep it down.

It takes Ellie a good five minutes to walk the full distance from the front gate to your huge white door.

Then she knocks three times on the wood, and you squeak like a mouse although you really were fully prepared.

Your tutor wears a blue flannel with a white undershirt tucked beneath. The first button is opened, revealing a tiny piece of her pale skin. Below, her legs are covered with tight skinny jeans with a tear on the knee (you’re not sure if she fell or if it’s done purposely so), and to your surprise — no Chuck’s, but Doc Martens.

Noted. She has more than one pair of shoes.

When you greet Ellie with a cheerful — yet ever so relieved and breathy “Hi”, you kiss her on the cheek like you do all of your friends, and you can smell that cheap cologne again.

Amber, citrus, musk, lavender.

There’s a hint of actual Ellie in the mix as well — smoke, herbs, sweat… did she run here?

When you hug Ellie you focus on her scent.

When you hug Ellie she focuses on absofuckinglutely nothing — Her body goes rigid and stiff and she doesn’t hug you back until two way too long seconds pass, and she finally manages to place her hand on your waist.

But she doesn’t hug or squeeze, she rests it there.

Then she coughs.

“Hey”

You take a step back and you can tell she’s a bit flushed, or flustered — but you take it as her just running. You lean your hand against one of the thick pillars. Her orbs travel frantically from your eyes down to your… legs, that are completely bare and smooth and shiny, then they run down to your feet, which are covered with heels…

You think she might say something about it, about you, how ridiculous you look, so you’re washed up with self consciousness and shyness which is something you rarely get to feel, unless you’re with that damn girl for some reason.

Then her eyes hyper-focus on… the ceiling?

You grant Ellie a half smile and you really yearn to break the silence — but she’s ahead of you. Again.

“It’s… you have a really high ceiling” she says, then immediately glues her eyes on to the floor.

“Uh, shiny floor…” she chuckles so freaking awkwardly, grazing the bottom of her left legs doc’s on the floor so it squeaks. Immediately, Ellie apologizes.

“Shit, sorry, my shoes fuckin’ muddy. I uh, ran here”

You gingerly smile and furrow your brows. You theory has been proven correct. “You ran?”

“Walked, like, not ran ran”

There’s the tiniest droplet of sweat on Ellie’s forehead, which she wipe’s swiftly and clumsily with the back of her hand when she notices your eyes scan it. Oh, she ran ran alright. You do feel a little bad, picturing Ellie’s shoes hitting below her ass as she runs through the streets of your city, with a packed and awfully heavy mauve backpack — smacking against her back with every step she takes. You almost pout, you’re still leaning against the pillar and you smack your lips together — gloss and all, out of habit.

“Could’a given you a ride, y’know” you light sweetly. Ellie’s scarred eyebrow arches up in response. “You have a license?”

You so want to shove her shoulder playfully, but you’re convinced it’ll make her go absolutely rigid again. Physical contact bricks her up — noted.

“Why is that such a surprise?” you flash her a teasing smile. She smiles back at you.

“S’just, thought you’d have a personal driver. Can’t really imagine you driving that monster of a Rover back there —“

You nod in complete amusement. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Ellie teases, followed by a throaty chuckle. “Plus, took you more of a passenger princess type of girl”

And that sentence shouldn’t make you stutter the way you do next. It shouldn’t, but it does. You back away slowly and Ellie follows your footsteps.

“T-that’s, awfully presumptuous” you chirp. Her boots stomp on the floor and your heels click clack. “Plus, I don’t drive that Rover. My car’s in the garage with the rest of ‘em” you say matter-of-factly.

Ellie scoffs impishly behind you. You walk up the stairs and she follows suit. She’s confident when she teases, you think, which is a tad different than her usual awkward self, but if only you knew she nearly slipped down one of the steps as she noticed the tiniest, delicious, most precious piece of your flesh that was just exposed behind you as a result of your incredibly short nightie.

“Psh, so presumptuous”

As you walk towards your room, Ellie walks behind you although she has more than enough space to walk besides you. You get the feeling that she's nervous, even after her teasing and all, and you don't have to wonder why too much. Your house is huge, intimidating, filled with strange sculptures and paintings by obscure artists regular people have never even heard of. You don't have just one living room, you have three, and in each and every one of them stands a different technology piece of some sort. Also, your heels cost more than her outfit, could be more worth than the entirety of her damn closet, and most importantly — you're walking with a pink robe and some heels on.

When you reach your room, Ellie awkwardly smiles and straightens her muscular back. Then, she holds on to the straps of her backpack.

"First of all" you sigh, and now it's your turn to feel coy. "Thank you for coming over so late. I know it's like, absolutely ridiculous, and you know, you don't get paid for this so...", you flash Ellie an endearing smile, the apples of your cheeks rising sweetly as a humble thank you. "And, second of all... jus'... brace yourself?"

Ellie's brows arch up, but before she has time to ask — oh.

You both step into your lit room. Toodles follows by closely, entering the room as well, whilst rubbing his furry back against Ellie's calves.

"Yup..."

Ellie's fingers instinctively clasp onto the straps of her backpack once more, her eyes widening ever so slightly, but she fights to seem as unsurprised as she can — she fails miserably, because she gasps a little.

Your room is nothing but a... cotton candy dream world. A wall that's painted in pretty dusty pink, a princess bed that's nothing but a regal centerpiece. Above the bed, a canopy of gossamer silk drapes from a custom-crafted wrought iron frame, And the final sophisticated touch, a grand crystal chandelier, suspended from the ceiling. There are also clothes everywhere, empty water bottles, used sheet masks, a stack of books — some half-read, others forgotten, teetered precariously on a random corner. Ellie sticks out like a sore thumb. She stands out like a neon sign in a library, a skateboard at a black-tie gala.

You like it.

She clears her throat, stepping further into your room. "I take it black is your favorite color?" she titters sarcastically.

You giggle.

"Mhm, also I'm clearly very organized, and I hate clothes" you murmur and point out the pile of dresses haphazardly bunched in the corner of your room.

She should feel out of place. She should probably laugh, even sneak a pic — tell all her "cool" friends about how mindblowingly ridiculous the prissy rich girls room is. Instead, she thinks about how cute you must look cuddled up in a bed this big, how adorable it'd be to see your bed-head poking through the sheets at 8am, how sweet it must be to watch you skip around your room, trying on your shitload of clothes, throwing them in the air and huffing like a medieval brat of a princess. She wants to place a fucking tiara on your head. She sees your sticker collection from the corner of her eye, your vinyls, your candles, your crystals and Toodles' sofa.

And she likes it.

You take a deep breath. You shouldn't even care if she likes it or not, you shouldn't be bothered by it at all — you rarely are, but something inside of you yearns for... something.

"It suits you" she murmurs.

And that's certainly good enough, because it does.

You gesture Ellie to sit on the rolling chair next to yours, and her eyes still roam over the space of your room. “My room looks exactly the same, by the way… same uh, size too… n’stuffed animals… Shit, I like the elephant one”, she sarcastically remarks as she sits on the chair and hunches down, manspreading as she often does. Your eyes can’t help but roam down, because her damn thighs flexed under those jorts and you heard her, but you also kind of didn’t.

Ellie clears her throat and narrows her eyes. Jheez, she thinks, you must be absolutely exhausted since your eyes don’t seem to be able to focus.

“Huh?” you say, startled. You’re still standing up on those heels. Ellie sniffles and chuckles and her voice goes all quiet.

“Said pink nauseates me, that I hate those stuffed animals and that your elephant doll’s ugly as shit”

You roll your eyes and your tongue swipes over your glossy bottom lip. You bite it and you sit down on the chair. Ellie’s eyes scan over your chest and she averts her gaze like a deer caught in headlights.

“Hate you, chem tutor” you huff, resting your head on the palm of your hand. Ellie doesn’t maintain a second of eye contact but she chuckles and it’s cocky.

“You need me, and you need an A in chemistry”

You like that side of her.

You let your eyes blink lazily at her, a cheeky little smirk forming on your lips. When you open your mouth again, just to smack it on your glossy lips, you brush your leg ‘accidentally’ against hers, and rigid she goes. “Mhm, I definitely need you, Ellie…”

The apples of Ellie’s cheek shine in bright crimson and her hand flexes. She grabs her pen and clicks on it once. You didn’t mean it like that, she so obviously knows or believes, but it matters nonetheless. You like that side of her so much more.

You cross your pretty legs and let the tip of your heel graze her chair. “So, you want a drink before we start studying?”, you’re way too damn close, she nods — but she doesn’t need a ‘drink’ she needs a damn water fountain that directly flows onto her mouth and satisfies that damn drench. Is it possible for her damn knee to feel hot? Why is her knee feeling hot?

“Anything specific?”

“Jus’ waters fine” Ellie manages to murmur, lips forming a teeny tiny, shy, crescent smile.

“I was thinking more… like, wine? I have a wine cooler n’my room… if you wanted water i’d have to like, go downstairs and… It’s so lonely in there” your voice is saccharine, delicate, and it and coaxes Ellie’s mind.

“Wine’s perfect, I love wine” says Ellie.

She hates wine.

“Mhm, red or white?” — Your question comes when you lift your butt off the chair and walk slowly towards the cooler.

“Uh, r-red. S’much… richer” Ellie falters, remembering vaguely the time Joel had mentioned white wine’s for pussies. When she tried a red one, she gagged.

“Impressive” you note.

Ellie rolls the chair with the help of her heavy Doc's, and watches as you pour the red liquid into two delicate glasses. Your leg, she notices, is clad with a shiny, delicate golden piece of jewelry. Her eyes scan upwards, towards your bare thighs — the flesh is glistening, almost appearing as if it's covered with oil. Her mind drifts elsewhere, to a world in which your nightie is nothing but nonexistent, and those thighs...

Her stomach grumbles, she firmly holds onto it. Why NOW.

"Hungry?" you place the glass on the table, slightly nudging it towards Ellie.

She's starving.

you flash her a devilish smirk, cocking your head to the side.

"Oh, uhh... nope"

Famished.

[ichorai]

i'm not made by design ; jaime lannister ; part three.

part one | part two

pairing ; jaime lannister x stark!reader (she/her pronouns)

synopsis ; wolves and lions tend not to be friends, much less lovers.

words ; 11.9k

themes ; heavy angst, action, sort of barely-there fluff, (actual) enemies to lovers, slowburn

warnings / includes ; war/murder/injury, this part covers a few events from a dance with dragons, politicking, foul language, a lot of generally terrible things going on but what else can you expect from asoiaf, emotional constipation on bw's end, complicated-ish dynamics

a/n ; oh god i'm so sorry this took so long </3 it's so hard figuring out what to write now that i've run out of source material man !!! so i'm rlly sorry if this doesn't live up to the last two parts, i tried my best :( i'm honestly not entirely happy w this chapter but i rlly hope you guys enjoy it regardless! i love these two so much i rlly do :(

main masterlist. read on ao3!

Summers in the north meant many rainy nights. Snow was not foreign during the season either, though it was more of a cold, icy sludge than the usual thick blankets one would expect in winter. Ned wondered how long this summer would last—he’d have to check the granaries and consult the maesters to make sure they were well prepared for a sudden winter, even if it would likely be years until then.

“It’s hot,” came a voice beside him. Ned turned his head to see you making your way towards him, a frown etched across your features. “I can hardly wear my furs without boiling myself.”

A touch of a smile graced his usually-solemn face. “You’re being dramatic.”

You shot your brother a glare. “Perhaps. But it is undeniable that this summer is hotter than the previous ones. We’ve hardly gotten any snow.” You toed at the melting sludge beneath your boots.

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” he told you, not unkindly. “It won’t be like this for long, I’m certain. Winter is coming.”

Now at eight-and-ten, you were practically a woman grown. You were no summer child, Ned knew. In fact, you had been born amidst a harsh and blistering three-year winter. Regardless, in his eyes, you would always be the young girl he had left in Winterfell when departing for the Eyrie all those years ago. 

“I hope it comes sooner,” you grumbled, fanning at your face, which Ned found amusing, considering there was a semi-chilly breeze whistling through the two of you. Then, you casted a sidelong glance at him.

It had only been a handful of weeks since he returned from the south to suppress the Greyjoy Rebellion. The young boy he had brought back as a ward-hostage, Theon, was a frightened, green-eared thing—but little Robb seemed to take a liking to him.

“Theon and Robb were playing at the kennels,” you told him, voice softer. “Tossing bones at the hounds.”

Ned made a noise of disapproval, but said nothing.

“Ned… Theon is the second child you’ve brought home unannounced. You scared Cat half to death.”

Ned’s eyes grew pained. He remembered the way she looked at him once she saw the little boy by his side. “I know. I need no reminder.” 

“At least you bear no resemblance to Theon. But Jon—he looks much like you,” you said. The sludgy snow you were toeing had now completely melted into a shallow puddle. 

“He looks like you, too,” Ned pointed out. He wasn’t quite sure what you were dancing around. 

“No, I’m saying…” You winced at yourself. It was an awkward topic to discuss, knowing Ned was so adamant on keeping his secrets close to his chest, despite your and Benjen’s prodding. “Does he resemble his mother at all?”

Pursing his lips, Ned simply bowed his head and sighed as he always did when it came to matters of Jon. “I don’t want to speak of his mother.”

“Alright,” you relented. But another second passed, and, unable to help yourself, you blurted, “He has the dark hair of Ashara Dayne.”

Ned’s dark grey eyes swung to you. Anger crossed his features, which he had never looked at you with before, not once. His soldiers oft spread rumors of Ashara and him, he knew, but you? He hadn’t expected this to come from you, of all people.

Quickly, you began to stumble over your words. “I just—I remember how you danced with her. And you went to Starfall to return Dawn, didn’t you? And she died, Ashara, so I thought—It was only logical that Jon—”

“What does it matter?” Ned brusquely snapped. “Jon is my blood. He’s your nephew, and that’s all that matters.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” you said, guilt seizing you. You shouldn’t have pried. It was a sensitive subject, and perhaps there was a reason why Ned didn’t want to tell you. With your bottom lip caught between your teeth, you looked ten years younger at that moment. Ned softened. 

“He does look like her,” said Ned after many minutes of silence. “His mother. I thank the Gods for that.”

You leaned against the balcony ledge. “He has Stark eyes, though. Our eyes.” 

“Aye.” 

A strike of guilt warmed your insides as you gestured about vaguely. “He’s my nephew, just as Robb is. But I treat neither of them as such. It’s hard being… affectionate. I wish I had it in me. Lyanna would have been a much better aunt than I. I suspect she would have loved Jon where Cat could not.” 

There was something about Ned’s expression that struck you as odd. His features hardened considerably, and your stomach turned with guilt yet again in fear that you’d said something out of turn.

Finally, Ned squared his shoulders and turned to face you. “You’re a fine aunt. Jon and Robb love you well enough.” Ned shook his head, deciding to change the subject. “The boy, Theon. I can only pray he won’t become a trouble in the years to come. He’s a good lad. But I do hope I won’t have to keep him for long.”

“Robb will be heartbroken once he leaves,” you said. 

Ned’s reluctant smile returned at that. “He’ll live.” One of Ned’s hands landed on your shoulder. “If things were different, Robert would be on the throne with Lyanna as his Queen. Maybe then the Rebellions would never have happened. Balon Greyjoy thought Robert lacked noble support. Perhaps with Lyanna by his side, it would have been different.”

That made you bark out a harsh laugh. “That’s not true,” you told him. “Lyanna would have found a way not to come to her own wedding. She would have rather run off to Yi Ti than marry Robert. And even so… if she had been forced into the marriage, the rebellions would likely still have happened. Balon Greyjoy is a power-hungry man. He would’ve sought another reason to claim independence.”

Ned frowned at that, but did not disagree with you. “And you? Would you do the same if you were betrothed? Run off to Yi Ti never to be found again?”

You shrugged. “It depends on who I would be bound to.”

“Jory Cassel?” Ned lightly suggested, more as a jest than anything. Though, come to think of it, he was a good, loyal fighter, and would treat you well enough. “It would be a fine match.”

The thoughts were quickly dashed, however, when you scoffed and batted his hand away from your shoulder. “Jory would be more suitable for Benjen than I. The two tussle about with their swords all the time.”

“How about—?”

“I don’t think anybody you offer would be any good for me, Ned.”

“Do you plan to just sit in the castle all your life?”

“Yes. If I were to marry a man, would I not be doing the very same, just in a different castle?” At that moment, it looked like you were sulking, as you often did when you were a very young child. 

Ned smiled fondly. “A fair point, sister-mine. Alright, then. As long as you’re happy.”

“You’re my family, Ned,” you told him. “I do not need a husband or children of my own to replace who I’ve lost.”

Going further north was not an option for you, not anymore. It was crawling with Freys and westermen alike. Westward from the Vale was the only viable pathway now. 

The Inn of the Kneeling Man was a famous little establishment—notorious for its location, where your ancestor, Torrhen Stark, first knelt to Aegon the Conqueror. You stared at the old, flaking painting depicting the kneeling figure, his hands bound together. If not for his submission, you likely wouldn’t be standing here at this very spot. 

With a grimace, you made your way into the inn. It was a far cry nicer than any other inn you’d been to the past few moons, and consequently far more crowded. After a quick glance around, you observed no enemy banners or insignia anywhere, and deemed it safe to stay for a bit. The air smelled of fresh bread and crisp ale. You sat down at one of the common room’s tables, your hood pulled up over your hair, which was freshly cropped and dyed as of the previous night. 

“What can I get for you today?” a rotund serving boy asked, smiling at you wide and genuine. All the commotion and bustling made him damp with sweat and rosy-cheeked, but he was happier than ever.

“What do you have?” you asked. 

“We have meat stew, we do. Horse or lamb or rabbit, you can take your pick. Fried onions and eggs and beans, if it please you. We’ve got plenty of ale for you to wash it all down, as well. There are sweetcakes in the pantry, last I checked, but I’d have to look again to make sure. Food goes quickly here!” He laughed good-naturedly, but abruptly paused when he caught a glimpse of your eyes. “Say—I knew a girl who had eyes just like yours.”

You arched a brow. You were sure there were many girls out there that had eyes like yours. “Did you?”

He lowered his voice and glanced about, as if he wasn’t sure of what he could say. “I was traveling with her from King’s Landing, you see. We’ve parted ways since then. I do hope to see her again, once the war is over.”

Wishful thinking, you thought with a sad hum. 

“Who was this girl?” you asked.

“Nobody,” he replied hastily. “A friend.”

“What’s your name, boy?”

“Hot Pie, ser.”

“Don’t call me ser.”

“Sorry. Er—what should I call you?”

“You can call me Ned. That’s a funny name you’ve got, Hot Pie.”

“My mother was a baker.”

The past tense in the sentence was not lost on you. You regarded him in a more sympathetic light.

“My mother was a lady,” you told him in a lowered voice, and his brows raised. 

“Would that make you a lord, then?”

You sucked at your teeth. “Not quite, Hot Pie.” There was a familiar cinch of hunger that took hold of your stomach. “Could I have some of that rabbit stew? And a bit of bread to mop it up with, please. That’s a good lad.”

Hot Pie brightened and nodded several times. “Yes, of course! I’ll bring you the freshest bread we’ve got! I bake them all myself—it didn’t taste that great before I got here, but it’s much better now, I promise.”

The chubby boy hustled away, stopping by a few other tables to take orders and pluck up empty chalices. It took only a few minutes for him to return with the warm stew and bread, and you were quick to start wolfing it down. 

“Sit, Hot Pie. Have some of the bread,” you told the boy. You supposed the best way to get information was talking to someone who worked here rather than a passerby. Hot Pie seemed reluctant to take a break, eager to get back to serving customers, but it was clear that your request was an order, not a offer. The dangerous glint in your gaze made a shiver run down his spine and he didn’t wait to sit down across from you. You wiped a bit of stew from your lips with the back of your hand and asked, “What’s been happening in the Riverlands? I’ve heard talk of sieges during my travels.”

 Hot Pie shifted his weight this way and that. He reached over to tear off a chunk of the fresh bread he brought. As he chewed, he hummed in thought. “You’d be right in that. From what I heard, the Lannisters have come to bring peace to the Riverlands. There have been sieges, but it’s all been resolved now, if I recall. There is still much to be wary of, though. The brotherhood without banners are at large and there are many thieves and crooks out alike. Bad men roam these lands. I’m lucky the cooks in this establishment had the space to take in a boy like me, even if they’ve got me scurrying around until it feels like my feet’re about to fall off.”

You spooned some more stew into your mouth and swallowed heavily. “Yes, I’ve heard of this brotherhood. That’s not what I’m worried about, really. Who’s heading the Lannister sieges? Lord Kevan?”

The young boy shook his head. “It’s the Kingslayer at the head of it all. Jaime Lannister. He just had Raventree surrender to him, I’ve heard.”

There was a brief pause. You could feel your heart seize in your chest, almost painful in its stutter. 

“Ned? Ned, are you alright?”

You hadn’t realized you’d went quiet for that long. Hot Pie was leaning forward in concern, waving his hand a short distance from your face. 

After another moment, you washed the food down with a swig of ale. “I’ll be taking a room for the night, Hot Pie. Will you let the inn owner know for me?” You slipped the boy enough money to cover both the food and the room.

“Oh—yes, of course. Yeah, I’ll get right to that. Just tonight, you say?”

“Just tonight,” you confirmed with a grim nod. “I’ll be off first thing in the morning.”

Pennytree was slowly but surely rebuilding itself. It was larger than Jaime had expected, with its stretches of burned fruit orchards, blackened, crumbling houses, and scorched rubble. But new houses and buildings were being erected, and plenty of them to come, judging by all the wood and raw material he could see stacked in neat, orderly piles.

Despite the obvious signs of life, there was not a single soul to be in sight. Hiding, he presumed. Afraid of me. Perhaps rightfully so.

They set up camp for the night right outside the village. Jaime first sent out half a dozen scouts to make sure no enemies prowled about, then meandered about the wreck of a village, eyeing all the burnt homes and destroyed livelihoods. King’s men had done this, one of the sentries told him. His men.

Not too long after, one of the scouts came back with someone accompanying him. 

“My lord,” the young boy addressed him, pulling Jaime’s attention away from the rubble. “She rode up to the camp, bold as ever, demanding to speak with you.” 

When Jaime’s eyes fell upon the newcomer, his back straightened like a rod. “My lady. I had not thought to see you again so soon.” Her face… What had happened to her? “You’ve been wounded,” he said, feeling like a fool for pointing out the obvious. Of course she’s been wounded, half her face has been torn off. 

“I was bitten,” Brienne told him. Her blue eyes swam with pain from more than just her flesh wound. Her hand was wound tight around Oathkeeper. “My lord, I have a request to ask of you. It’s—”

Before she could finish, another scout that he’d sent off at the same time as the first, grizzled and worn by age and war, came riding up to him with a cloaked figure behind his back.

“Apologies for the interruption, my lord,” he said, scowl deep and voice strained. Jaime could sense something was off. “Found this’un trying to creep into camp. When I tried to shackle the lad, he put a blade to my throat and forced me onto the horse to get to you.”

Jaime’s eyes narrowed, and he reached for his own sword’s hilt. “I would be ever so grateful if you could release my scout—unless you’d prefer to be gutted like a pig. I would be happy to arrange it.”

“You wouldn’t do that. But I do need to be promised I won’t be pierced with arrows once I let go,” said the figure. 

That voice. Jaime knew that voice—he’d recognize it anywhere. That was no man. Before he could think, your name slipped from his throat, more of a question than anything.

You pulled back the cowl and he could see the flash of the blade pressing deeper into the scout’s throat. Jaime stared at you with eyes as large as the moon. It was you—unmistakably so—with harsh eyes of winter and lips drawn back into a familiar snarl. Your hair was different, he quickly noticed—short and coppery-red. Like Robb Stark’s had been… 

But it was you. You, who he had never expected to see for many years to come. You, who he had willingly given up, even if he never wanted to let you go. What the hell were you doing here? 

Two arm’s lengths away from him, Brienne watched you with utter relief in her eyes, clearly having been at her wit’s end trying to find you the past fortnight. 

“Jaime,” you sharply said, snapping the knight out of his reverie. “Tell them to put their weapons down.”

He glanced behind him to see a few knights with their swords and bows at the ready. Immediately, he waved his hand and told them to leave. They glanced at each other, unsure.

“Put your damn weapons down!” Jaime barked, voice now raised. Almost immediately, the knights reluctantly lowered their arms. Satisfied but still wary, you slid down from the horse and pulled the blade away from the scout. 

“Leave us,” Jaime told the two scouts and all his loitering squires. 

“But—” the grizzled scout began to say.

“Leave us.”

They all scampered off into nearby pitched pavilions, pace quickened by the tone of finality in Jaime’s order.

Jaime then said your name again, and he could see your chest rise and fall rapidly. Calming your nerves or quelling your anger, he wasn’t sure. Instead of saying a word to him, you looked to Brienne. 

“Gods, Brienne, I am very glad to see you. I thought you died,” you said, so soft and unsure. One of your hands reached up to hover just above her flesh wound, but you did not touch it, knowing it must’ve hurt like all hells. “I’m so sorry I left. If I’d known—”

“No, my lady,” she placated. “I’m glad you left. They would have killed you if you hadn’t. I only barely escaped with my life. I apologize—I wasn’t able to protect you.”

“Would someone care to fill me in?” Jaime impatiently asked, gaze flitting back and forth between the two of you. 

Immediately, your head snapped to him, and he had to resist the urge to shrink away. Monstrous knights and beasts aplenty he’d faced, but none were as frightening as you were in that very moment. In the blink of an eye, you darted forward and your palm struck across the side of his face. Jaime staggered a step back in shock, his one hand cradling his now-throbbing cheek. Many seconds of silence passed, thick with tension. 

Then he smiled. All sharp and prideful.

“I’m sure I deserve that,” he said, voice clipped.

The way you regarded him was not hostile, but rather akin to a wounded feral animal of sorts. “You deserve more than that. Burning down the Riverlands. Taking their castles. Have you no shame?”

“No, but I have a duty,” came his dry response.

You reared back with an incredulous look. “Duty? You wouldn’t know duty even if it spat you in the face!”

“Is that what you’re going to do to me?” Jaime taunted, his infuriating smile only widening. “I like what you’ve done with your hair.” 

Your face flushed with heat. With a frustrated huff, you shook your head, knowing it was futile to argue with him. He had kissed you the last time you saw one another, but that felt like centuries ago. Time had weathered the two of you. Was he even the same Jaime that had set you off on Varys’ ship?

“There is much you need to tell me, but I should tell you this first,” Jaime said, eyeing you curiously, mind still reeling. His voice lowered, making sure only you and Brienne could hear him. “I’m not sure what you’ve heard, since you’ve left but it’s best you hear this from me than some fishwives’ gossip mill. There is a girl posing as your niece, Arya in Winterfell. She’s just been married to Ramsay Snow. Bolton now, actually. Roose’s bastard has been legitimized.”

Your brows creased at the news. “What? Who’s the girl?” You glanced at Brienne, who’d told you that Arya had been traveling with the Hound a while back, but you decided now was not the best time to share such rumors with Jaime. 

A shrug lifted his shoulders. “Some girl. She’s young and scrawny. It’s close enough to what people are expecting of her. And of the small population that actually remembers what little Arya looked like, who would dare to defy the Warden of the North?”

Anger seized your chest. “Who did this? You?” 

“Of course not,” snorted Jaime. “My dear father did. He’s dead now, so don’t go traipsing off trying to kill him. Tyrion already did that honor for us.”

You swallowed heavily. How haven’t you heard that the mighty Tywin Lannister has fallen? With hesitant hands, you reached out to take his golden one. You knew what it was like to lose a father. Jaime could feel his heart palpitate beneath his chest.

“Jaime…”

Whatever you wanted to say—an offering of condolence, perhaps—died on your tongue. You let the golden hand drop back to his side, and folded your arms across your chest, glaring off elsewhere. Tywin Lannister was no man to mourn—he didn’t deserve your grief.

“I do have good news,” he said, desperate to rekindle whatever good nature the two of you once had.

“I doubt it.”

Jaime could only smile at that. “Bitter Wolf,” he said, almost affectionately. “Your nephew at the Wall—Jon Snow, if I remember?”

At the mention of Jon, your head turned back towards him. “What? What about him? Is he alright?”

The knight let the seconds draw out—he liked the way your eyes widened with anticipation. “I cannot attest to his well being. But I can tell you he’s now Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.” He hung his head and laughed a dry, chesty sound. “Bastards are climbing high these days.”

There’s one on the Iron Throne as we speak, he thought to himself. 

“Jon…” you whispered, eyes now distant.

“Stannis is there, as well. Planning on taking Winterfell, perhaps finding another little lordling to plant there. Hells, if he got his hands on you, he’d rejoice…”

Jaime narrowed his eyes in thought. 

“You aren’t planning on keeping me prisoner, are you?” you asked Jaime. If you were to get to Stannis, things would certainly look up for you.

“I promised you I would never, didn’t I?” he replied. “All those moons ago, in Harrenhal. You’re so forgetful.”

You chose to ignore his airy, nonchalant manner. “Could I have a moment to speak to Brienne privately?”

This surprised Jaime. “What could you say to her that you can’t say to me? I thought you trusted me.”

Both you and Brienne stared at him in silence for a few long seconds. Finally, Jaime nodded his defeat. “Fine. I’ll bring the two of you some hot food to fill your bellies. Perhaps then you wouldn’t be so keen on biting my head off.”

“Unlikely,” he heard Brienne mutter as he moved away.

He could just as easily have asked a squire to fetch the food for him, but Jaime thought it wise to let the two of you have a moment to yourselves. He wasn’t keen on being slapped another time.

“My lady,” Brienne said once Jaime left, her voice now strained with urgency. “There’s been—I know this may sound deranged, but I need you to trust me. Lady Catelyn is back. Only, it’s not really her, not as you remember her, she is—angry and torn.”

You reared back at her words. What the hell was she on about?

“Cat?” You tilted your head in befuddlement. “I don’t understand.”

“Her body is cut up and her hair is white and her eyes have been scratched to ribbons. She is a living corpse,” Brienne told you, quick and hushed. Her blue eyes shone with a film of unshed tears. “They call her the Lady Stoneheart. She leads the brotherhood without banners—a group of misfits and bandits and thieves alike, but they rally to her, exacting revenge on everybody involved with the Red Wedding. I tried to tell her of my search for Sansa, but she wouldn’t listen to me. She wanted me to bring her Jaime’s head. And…” Brienne paused for a brief moment to suck in a breath. “She has Podrick. She was about to hang me—asked me to choose between the sword or the noose. And I couldn’t sentence Podrick to his death with me so I…”

“You chose the sword,” you whispered in horror. “I cannot bring Jaime to his death.”

“They’ll kill the boy if we don’t,” Brienne replied, almost pleading.

You gestured about aimlessly. “So what’s your plan? March him right out of his own camp and murder him the second we’re a league away?” You shook your head vehemently. “No. I could not—I will not—kill Jaime. Is she sound of mind, Cat? Will she be willing to hear me speak?”

“I cannot say, my lady. She would not listen to me.”

There came noises from outside the tent and the two of you went silent for many moments before continuing in an even lower volume. “Do not tell Jaime of this. He won’t come if he knows of the truth. We will tell him Sansa is with the Hound holding her hostage—and we need him to come along to pay her ransom with that wretched golden hand of his.”

Brienne nodded. “He must come alone. Lady Stoneheart is not likely to listen to us if he brings a squadron of soldiers with him.”

“We’ll tell him he must come away with no company or Sansa will be killed,” you said, grimacing at the idea of lying to Jaime. “Once we get to Cat, I will try to reason with her. She wouldn’t murder an innocent boy. Seeing Jaime would, hopefully, convince her to release Podrick. And if not… well… I’m sure I could make some sort of bargain with her. She’s my sister.”

This made the tall woman hesitate. Was Lady Stoneheart still Lady Catelyn deep down? “What if she forces you to choose?”

Your expression grew stony. “I would save the innocent squire over the man who fights alongside the monsters that murdered my nephew. But it won’t come to that.”

Brienne’s torn expression was skeptical. You had not yet seen the ruthlessness of Stoneheart; your mind’s image was still picturesque and soft with hope of a distant past. “My lady, I do not know if this is wise.”

“What other choice do we have?”

Once Jaime returned with warm bowls of meat stew, both you and Brienne scarfed down the food at a concerning speed. Jaime watched you with a twisted sense of wonder—part of him thought that he was going to wake up any moment now, and you’d still be gone, off sailing somewhere with the little birds. But you were here—eyeing him intensely over your bowl of stew. It made him feel his chest feel warm and hazy, which was ridiculous, considering the night was frigid. Jaime found himself thinking that he found you frustratingly complex—he was never one for puzzles.

“There’s more if you’d like—” Jaime began to say by the time you had your last spoonful, but you shook your head.

“No time. We have to go.”

Jaime pretended not to be affected when you gave his shoulder a little shove. 

Jaime put up little argument when the both of you told him of Sansa. 

“I’ll come,” he had said, amused at the surprise in your eyes. “I swore an oath. Not that that means much anymore. But I swore, and I intend to see it through.”

“Really?” you asked, disbelief evident in the singular word. “No questions asked, you would follow me just like that?”

“I would follow you off the edge of a cliff if you asked,” Jaime said, so calm it disturbed you. Being away from the tension and stress of King’s Landing really had changed him, it seemed. Distance from his family was, likely, also a contributing factor. “I jumped into a bear cage for the two of you, remember? This isn’t new territory.”

The three of you left Pennytree almost immediately after the meal—Jaime made sure to tell the few men who you passed that he would return in haste. He gave them no explanation as to where he was going. 

Brienne had told you “Sansa” was about a day’s ride away. After many hours on horseback, trying to put as much distance between you and the camp, the three of you stopped by a grove of shady trees for a brief rest to recover the numbness in your legs. The sun was just beginning to rise, and Brienne rode off to do a quick scout of the perimeter.

“Do you still feel the same as when you left?” he asked once the two of you were alone. The green of his sharp eyes seemed to glow in the warm, dim light. “You told me I was a good man. Was that real, or were your words just wind?”

You had been tightening the saddle on the horse, but stiffened at his sudden question, turning to face him. “That was before you aligned yourself with my nephew’s murderers.”

A frown creased the space between his brows. “I was sent away by Cersei’s command. I never wanted to leave Tommen. Do you really think I have a say on who fights who in this five-faced war?”

No longer did the war have five faces—not if your Robb was dead. Anger crossed your expression, and you pushed closer to him in a blaze of fury. “We’ve had this conversation before, haven’t we? You always have a choice, and you’re always choosing the wrong one.”

Jaime’s one hand reached out to brush over your arm, but you shoved him away. His expression crumpled. “I chose you, didn’t I?”

You felt tears touch the corner of your eyes, but you willed them away. He had chosen you, to your simultaneous dismay and relief. Why?

Jaime turned his head to the side and breathed out a heavy sigh when you spared him no response. “I avoided as much bloodshed as possible in this war. I kept Edmure Tully alive thinking of you and your family.”

“What, you want me to thank you for not brutally murdering an innocent man?” Your hands twitched at your sides, and Jaime wondered if you were going to slap him again. If you were, he was not going to pull away.

But you didn’t, and he ignored your question to continue his dramatics. “And now I’m leaving it all—the battles, the fighting, my duty—because I want to be with you. You are more important to me than this war. I want to help you find your niece.”

Guilt stroked its heavy hand over your chest. You took no pleasure in lying to Jaime. Especially not when he’s been so honest with you in the past, even when he shouldn’t have been. The wretched knight seemed to notice the conflict warring over your features, and reached out to gently cup your face with his one remaining hand. 

“My Bitter Wolf,” he murmured, his thumb brushing against your jaw. “I’m choosing you. Does that mean nothing?”

You wrenched yourself away from him, causing him to stumble back a few paces, and your eyes stung with salt. I’m not choosing you, you thought miserably. But you spoke no words, spared Jaime a hurtful glare, and whisked away from him, back to Brienne. 

When Brienne led you into the thicket where the brotherhood had set up their makeshift camp, a swarm of men crawled out from the forest like ants to honey. They nodded to Brienne, grabbing a hold of her. She relented with no fight. They took you and Jaime—while you stared at the ground, Jaime erupted in incredulous commands and angry queries to unhand him. He said your name many times, demanding some sort of explanation, but you ignored him. Jaime thrashed and bucked under the grasp of half a dozen men, breaking the nose of two before a blade was slotted beneath his throat. If it had not been for your calm manner, he would have done much worse damage—and he would have easily bested all six with hardly any effort.

“I suppose this is my fault,” Jaime said, voice low, stilling his motions. “My punishment for choosing you, Wolf? What have you done?”

You shut your eyes for a brief moment. After sucking in a breath, you craned your head back to look at the man binding your wrists together. “Take us to her.”

Behind screens of brambles and by the babbling brook, what looked to be the main area of the camp came into view. A large fire crackled greedily within the center. The brotherhood was much larger than you imagined.

Lady Stoneheart was a sight to behold. Her skin was grey, gnarled, and scarred. Her hair was a mess of ashen-white clumps and tangles. Her eyes were a menacing, angry red. Across her throat was a deep gash wound. But beneath all the blood and decay, you could see her—you could see your sister.

“Cat,” you murmured, taking a step towards her. The man holding you tugged you back forcefully. Again, you said her name, this time a sob bubbling forth. It suddenly felt as if you were seven-and-ten again, with your head resting upon her shoulder, listening to her hum as she embroidered Tully fishes onto baby Sansa’s dress. “Cat!”

You cried, heartbroken that the Cat you had known for so many years was now—

She croaked something unintelligible. Her voice was rough, akin to the sound of steel against stone. Beside her stood a thin, bearded man in an oily jerkin. It took you a few moments to recognize him through your bleary gaze. 

“Harwin,” you said, remembering the son of Hullen, the master of horse at Winterfell. The knight had once been a stable-boy when you were no more than a child. He used to ride with Arya, Jon, and Robb during quintains. One of the few chosen to travel down south with Ned after he was appointed to be Hand. What was he doing here?

The man stared at you with only slight sympathy, but made no attempts to help you. “Lady Stoneheart says you have brought him the Oathbreaker.”

“What?” You looked to Jaime, who was staring at you with an indecipherable expression, then turned your eyes back to Catelyn and Harwin. “No, I—Cat, I didn’t come here for that. It’s me. It’s your good-sister. Please, please hear my words.”

Another gruelling noise fell from her torn lips. 

“She does not want to listen to you. She wants justice,” said Harwin. “Bitter Wolf, I believe it best if—”

Rage began to spill over your expression. You could feel the anger that haunted you throughout your youth begin to resurface upon seeing a reminder of your past, of Winterfell. “I’m not speaking to you!” you just about snarled at him, lips curled. You looked back to Catelyn’s desecrated corpse. “Cat, please. It’s your sister—Ned’s sister. Remember?”

Cat grated out a sound.

“She remembers,” Harwin translated. “She remembers everything.”

You nodded, tears slipping down your cheeks. “Then you must remember the oath Jaime swore before you released us. He is no oathbreaker, Cat. I was there. I saw Sansa—hells, if we could have left we would have. She disappeared, and I know where she is.” You hoped your lie sounded more believable than it sounded; you misliked the way your voice trembled with uncertainty. “She’s in the Eyrie. Littlefinger has taken her there.”

There was a cascade of murmurs across the brotherhood. Stoneheart, however, stared at you with her cruel, torn eyes.

“Let him redeem himself,” you pleaded. “Cat, let him fulfill his oath.”

The sound that left Stoneheart was sharp and angry. Harwin, solemn, said seconds after she fell silent, “‘Not an oathbreaker?’ she asks. Jaime Lannister is the reason why her son was murdered.”

“Robb?” you whispered. “That’s not true, Cat. We were still traveling together to King’s Landing when it happened. I miss him, too. More than anything, more than life itself—but it’s not right to blame him for a crime he has not committed.” Finally, you tore your eyes away from Catelyn to look over at Jaime. For once, he was silent, watching you with creased, heavy brows. 

Stoneheart gestured to a man nearby, wielding a sword. An executioner? You felt your blood run cold.

“Jaime Lannister will not be leaving alive,” said Harwin. 

Having been quiet for longer than usual, Jaime finally decided to speak. “I demand a trial by combat,” he announced, voice clear and devoid of fear, a stark contrast to you. “Clearly I won’t be getting a fair trial otherwise, no matter how many testimonies I receive in my favor.”

Stoneheart twitched with mute fury. Her shredded eyes honed in on Jaime as she garbled out more nonsense.

“Very well,” Harwin translated, expression distinctly Northern in his grimness. “Her champion will be Brienne of Tarth.”

You could feel your heart attack the inside of your ribcage, akin to a panicked bird in a cage. “Unhand me,” you snarled, turning to the man still holding you. 

The man said nothing, but with one look at Stoneheart’s expressionless nod, released his grip. Immediately, you sprang away from your captor and made to stand between your former good-sister and Jaime.

“I know you must think him a monster. Trust me, I did, as well. But he’s not a monster—he’s just a man. A better one than most.” Your voice cracked as you spoke. You didn’t dare look back at Jaime, keeping your eyes fixed on Cat. “I’ll extend you a deal. A promise. I will personally bring him back to you if he fails to find Sansa within a year, and you’ll be able to do what you want with him. Please, Cat. I was your kin by law. You were my sister. Please let him help me find your daughters. Just give him some time to fulfill his oath.”

Lady Stoneheart seemed to consider your words seriously for the first time since you were brought out in front of her. She said something then, cold and emotionless, and you could already tell this was another denial before Harwin could even begin to translate.

“She asks if you have decided to betray your family for the Lannisters,” said Harwin.

Your expression soured in incredulity. “I am a Stark of the North,” you whispered. “I will never turn my back on my family. Sansa is not too far, I’m sure. We’ll be able to find her. She’s suspected for the murder of the bastard king, Cat. If Cersei finds her before us, your daughter will be dead. And Arya—Arya is in the North. In… in Winterfell. She’s to marry the Bolton bastard and will be at the mercy of the Lannisters.”

It was a lie, you knew. Jaime told you it was some girl posing as Arya, not Arya herself. Would Stoneheart know? You could only pray she didn’t.

The name Bolton seemed to stir something in her. Her torn eyelids closed open and shut, open and shut, open and—

“Ahh…ya?” her ragged voice strained. That was the first word she’d uttered that you understood. 

“Yes,” you said, eyes misting over once more. “Arya. The Boltons serve the Lannisters now. With Jaime by my side… he may be the only bartering tool powerful enough to sway Roose, now that Tywin and Joffrey are both dead.”

After another lengthy pause, Stoneheart straightened her crooked spine (which still remained considerably bent), and nodded once, then twice. She rasped out some things to Harwin.

Even Harwin looked mildly surprised when he translated. “She accepts this deal. However, she has one condition.”

“Name your price,” you said.

“Bring back Jaime Lannister in a year. If you don’t have at least one of the girls with you, he will die, and you will die with him.”

Behind you, you could hear Jaime suck in a breath, as you knew without even sparing him a glance that he was about to say something rash. You took a step back closer to him and immediately said before he could get a single offensive word in: “Alright. Yes.”

Finally, you turned to look at Jaime. To your surprise, his eyes were wide and—was that fear you could see? Anxious flecks of gold amidst the arrogant calm of his green? You hadn’t even realized that Stoneheart had said something more until Harwin cleared his throat. 

“You will be given a warm meal to fill your belly, and you and the Kingslayer will be sent off.”

“What of Podrick and Brienne?” you asked, looking towards the large knight—your friend. Your only friend.

“They will be kept prisoners—to make sure you hold up your end of the bargain. We cannot trust your word alone. If Jaime Lannister is not brought back for execution within a year, the woman and the squire will both be met with noose. Bring back the girls, and they will be spared.”

“My word alone?” you parroted in offense. “I am Stark. These are my nieces we are talking about.”

Harwin merely shrugged at this. “The Boltons were one of your family’s bannermen. They are not the paradigm of honor you once thought, either.” With that, he gestured towards a few watching men standing further away from the fire. “Bring them food. They will set off in the morn.”

The brotherhood had given you meager rations for your journey. A handful of salted meat (you hadn’t had the heart to ask exactly what kind of meat), a few chunks of crusty bread, and two leather pitchers full of water that tasted distinctly of old metal. You decided not to think of it too much and accepted what was given to you without complaint. They allowed for you to keep your weapons—they knew better than anyone the two of you would hardly survive a fortnight without a form of defense. 

When the two of you left, you bid Brienne a solemn goodbye and a promise to return. The look she gave you was equally somber, but she nodded in understanding. Jaime made a snarky remark about missing seeing her brutish face first thing in the morning, and Brienne simply pretended not to hear him. 

The plan was to move north, avoiding the Twins crossing, for obvious reasons… and head eastward towards Greywater Watch, the seat of House Reed. Howland Reed was a close friend of Ned’s, a small, kind man from what little you remembered of him… you were sure he was more likely to be friend than foe—though Jaime Lannister in your company made the situation a tad more complicated. You weren’t entirely sure how Howland would react to a Lannister in his halls. Many moons ago, Robb had sent orders to Howland to defend the North by not allowing Tywin Lannister’s army through. But Jaime was not Tywin, and the two of you were no army. Greywater Watch was the most promising place to go. 

Your journey the first few days consisted of many questions from Jaime. How was the trip? What happened to Varys’ ship? Where did you go? Why did you come back? Where are we going now? Why aren’t you eating? Has anyone ever told you you’re terrible at making conversation? So on and so forth. For every ten questions, Jaime counted you bothering to answer only one, and it was often curt, single-worded replies. At least this time he was not shackled with a big brute of a woman prodding his back every five seconds, so he supposed he had less to complain about. 

“I could leave you here now,” Jaime had said. “I could abandon you while you sleep and alert my men of your whereabouts.”

“Do it,” you said airily. “I’ll go back to Stoneheart and ask her to hunt you down.”

Jaime’s sharp face soured. “I wouldn’t leave you. Even though you make things incredibly difficult.”

“Oh, I know,” was all you said in return, and the conversation ended with that.

On the third night of traveling north, the two of you decided to settle down by a bubbling creek. The water was greenish and looked rather terrible to drink, but water was water. Jaime watched you build a small fire. He asked who had taught you to build fires, and, expectedly, was received with silence. To his small delight, you sat beside him instead of across from him. 

It was only a few minutes later when you spoke. “She’ll kill you,” you whispered, just loud enough so that he would hear over the howling wind and crackling fire. It was obvious to Jaime that you’d been thinking about her the entire journey so far. Your eyes flickered upwards to search his face. His beard seemed to give him a scruffy, wild spirit that you rather appreciated. “Even if you bring Sansa back to her, she’ll kill you.”

“What makes you so sure?”

You were so tired of crying. You’d spent your entire life doing so, and it seemed you weren’t stopping any time soon—you felt the tears slip down your face regardless of your contempt for them. Jaime swiped the wetness away for you with a soft touch for a calloused thumb, but you shifted away from his touch. 

“Because she will never forgive you. As Lady Catelyn, perhaps she once would have. But she is no longer my good-sister Cat. Not anymore. I do not blame her.”

There was a long silence. Jaime regarded you with a look that you could only read as warm. “If she kills me once I’ve fulfilled my oath, I would gladly welcome the prospect of dying after doing something honorable for a change. I do not fear death.”

“I do,” you told him. “I’ve seen it everywhere I go. And to see you dead… it would ruin me. You ruin me.” Another pause, then— “I loathe you, I really do.” It sounded as if you were trying to convince yourself more than him. Jaime made a gruff, chuckling noise, even though it was no laughing matter. Your hands curled into tight fists. “I think if there existed a world where I never met you… I would’ve been far happier. How does the saying go? Never meet your idols.”

Jaime stopped laughing and reared back a small distance with quirked brows. “I’m your idol?”

“That’s not the point,” you said, rolling your eyes away from him to the dark sky. “I just think you were much more appealing as an idea in my head. That’s all.”

Jaime thought it very pretty, the way your nose wrinkled and your cheeks warmed the more flustered you got. “No, no, I would really like it if you elaborated on this ‘idol’ matter. Missing a hand, wronged you a dozen different times, and brought shame to everything I’ve ever been named to? That is who your idol would be?”

“I don’t mind the missing hand. How it went missing is a different story. And yes, you’ve wronged me, but I’ve wronged you, as well. I lied to you. Granted, it’s not of the same caliber.” 

“You lied to me, but then you lied for me. I would call it even. Who’s keeping score?” Jaime then regarded you with a queer look. “You’re chatty today. I like you with a loose tongue.” 

You ignored his statement, stoking the fire by tossing more broken branches that Jaime had collected before into the licking flames. “You shouldn’t be so proud of being my idol. From childhood it was because of your infamously worst deed. I used to think you heard my prayers from all the way down south and killed the king just for me. I was no older than one-and-ten. Don’t let it get to you.”

It was already getting to Jaime. He couldn’t seem to wipe the smug grin from his sharp lips. 

“You honor me,” he said, sounding genuine; a rare feat. “I am glad to be your idol.”

That brought a touch of fondness to your wintry countenance. If Jaime wasn’t careful, he would find himself lost in those tired, sad eyes of yours. There was a quiet beauty to them.

“Your eyes,” he said, before he could stop himself. “Your father had the very same eyes.”

At first, he thought you would bite his head right off, with the way you stared at him in that same wounded-animal expression you often wore. Then you quickly looked away, sucking in a small breath. “Do I? He told me I had my mother’s eyes.”

Jaime softened. “I never met your mother.”

“Neither did I. Not really.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. Apologies were foreign on his tongue. 

“It’s alright,” you whispered. “After all, how can you miss something that never really existed for you?”

There was more silence before Jaime said, “I miss many things that never existed for me.” He could feel your curious glance roam over his features, so he decided to change the subject. “Would you like to hear a story?” Before you could say anything—not that you were going to—Jaime said, “My brother was married once before he was wed to Sansa.”

You tilted your head, suddenly interested. “He was?”

“When I was twenty years of age and Tyrion three-and-ten, we were traveling together between Lannisport and Casterly Rock. We came across a maiden. A crofter’s daughter. Tysha, her name was. She was being robbed by a group of outlaws. I chased them off and Tyrion looked after Tysha. He was madly in love with her, you see. He took her maidenhead and the two were later married by a septon drunk off Dornish red. I wasn’t there for the occasion… I had returned to King’s Landing to attend Robert Baratheon at the time. The duties of a Kingsguard.” Jaime smiled at that, sharp as a fox. “A fortnight later, the septon felt awfully guilty and confessed to my father what he’d done. Of course, Tywin Lannister wasn’t happy about his son marrying a common girl. So he had me lie and say that she was a whore I paid for Tyrion to have a few nights with.”

“That’s terrible,” you said, voice quiet. “Why would you do such a thing?”

Jaime could only shrug at that. Whatever residual guilt he had harbored over the girl was still there, though the many years had softened the blow. “I have no proper excuse. I was young. Father was convinced she only wanted Tyrion’s money and not Tyrion. He convinced me to lie that I had set everything up, outlaws and all—and I thought it best at the time, considering Tyrion was so miserable all the time. He missed her.”

“What of the girl?” you whispered, stomach knotted, knowing no story like this had a happy end.

Jaime drew in a shallow breath. “She was brought to Casterly Rock. My father had her raped by the guards to put her in her place. A silver for each guard. Then he had Tyrion rape her, too. Left a gold coin for her because Lannisters are worth more. The marriage was undone, and now hardly a living soul knows.”

There was horror written plain as day across your features. “Your father was a monster. It was no wonder Tyrion killed him.”

To that, Jaime nodded. “It was at times like that I considered myself fortunate to be a Kingsguard, far from him. Either way, I would have been an Oathbreaker from the start. Betray my king or betray my blood?”

“Would you really have defied your father’s orders?” you asked. 

Without needing to think about it, Jaime said, “Yes. If I needed to.”

The wind howled cold whispers into your ears as you pondered on his story. You drew further into your cloak’s hood. “I’ll tell you a story.”

This pleasantly surprised Jaime. “That’s a first,” he said. “Out with it.”

“The first time a boy kissed me, I was seven and he was one-and-ten, if I recall correctly. Perhaps two-and-ten. It was only a moon before the tourney at Harrenhal. He was the son of a blacksmith living in the castle. He would bring me arrowheads he made—they were terrible, blunt little pieces, but I accepted his gifts nonetheless. He kissed me as he handed me another arrowhead. I shoved him away as fast as I could—I was afraid I’d done something wrong, and Father would be cross with me. I was so angry with him… and he was so afraid of me. He asked for my forgiveness—begged for it, even.”

Jaime leaned forward. “And?”

To his bemusement, your expression grew rather embarrassed. “I kicked him.”

“Oh. Well, that’s not too ba—”

“In the face.”

“Oh!”

“Yes, it was not my finest moment. Two of his teeth came out in bloody stumps. I felt sorry for him, but I told him never to touch me again and I ran off. Brandon had to take care of the mess while Lyanna and Ned comforted me. I was sobbing in his arms, afraid the stableboy had gotten me with child. Lyanna had to explain why she was sure I wasn’t with child.” You used the cowl of your cloak to shield your burning features.

As if sensing your thoughts, Jaime flicked the hood back just enough so he could meet your eyes. “And? What came of him? Did your father lop his tiny cock off? Became a eunuch and was sent off to the Wall?”

“No,” you hotly replied, swatting away his hand. “It was just a warning and a slap on the wrist, was all. He actually became a distinguished rider in Winterfell. I hardly ever spoke to him after that—he kept a respectful distance. If I recall, he’s even gotten himself a wife and children.”

A silence stretched thin between the two of you. Then, to your shock, Jaime began cackling up a storm, even bending at the stomach and slapping at his thigh in hilarity. His ribs ached with how much he was laughing.

“It wasn’t a funny story,” you said, almost stern. “I feel bad for him.”

This made Jaime pause. “He forced himself on you, and you feel bad for him? If anything, he deserved a worse fate.” 

“We were children. Things are much simpler when you’re children.” You tilted your head, recalling another memory. “When I was an even younger child, perhaps Rickon’s age now, I told my siblings I was afraid of doors.”

The knight beside you scoffed at that, stifling the remnants of his laughter. “Doors?”

“Well—not the physical wooden slab itself, but… the idea of not knowing what was behind it. It terrified me. But that was all too much and too hard to explain to my brothers and sister at such a young age, so I simply told them I was afraid of doors.” 

Jaime regarded you with narrowed eyes. “Hm. I can’t even picture it.”

“Brandon and Ned never let me sit closest to a door from then on. Benjen always teased me and would sling me over his shoulder and stand the both of us by the doorway, and then he’d ask if I was scared. He was cruel the way brothers are cruel. The way you were to Tyrion, I suppose.”

A discontent noise fell from Jaime’s lips, but he did not disagree with you. 

“And Lyanna… Lyanna tried to help me face this fear by telling me to open a closed door to check what’s behind it.”

Jaime hummed. “Did you find anything?”

“Nothing ever,” you said, shaking your head. “Except one time, Benjen was hiding behind. But he never scared me, not ever.”

“And are you now?”

“Hm?”

“Are you afraid of what could be behind a door?”

There was a pause as you thought. You picked up some more branches to toss into the fire, watching the fire shift and pop with the new food. “Would you think less of me if I told you yes?” you whispered.

How Jaime saw you then was how he was sure a moth saw light. “No,” he said, feeling as if something had caught in his throat. “I do admire your fear, Wolf. It’s something I can learn from.”

Jaime was asleep. One thing you noticed was that he always left you to sleep past the agreed time he should’ve woken you up to swap watches. 

“You need your sleep,” he had said with an easy shrug and a grin once you confronted him about the matter. “You look terrible, you know.”

As irritating as he was, you found yourself grateful for the extra hours of rest. The journey certainly hadn’t been kind on your body; your feet were aching with the grueling pace you had set for yourself. While Jaime was catching up on a few hours of sleep, you would watch the treeline in the distance, listening to the leaves rustle with the breeze and the owls hooting to their hatchlings. The stars were bright that night, pale amongst the sky. You wondered how many there were, and if you could manage to count them all before having to rouse Jaime.

You only managed to get to twenty before you heard a swishing noise from a thicket in the distance. You tensed, immediately reaching for your dagger. The two of you were somewhat protected by a brambled hedge of shrubbery, but that did not mean you were entirely safe. 

A four-legged figure nosed its way out of the green. Your muscles relaxed, but only slightly. An animal was far less dangerous than a man. It would likely scurry off in a moment or two.

You stared at it for a while longer, and the animal drew nearer. A wolf, you realized, noting its bushy, swishing tail. Then, your brows knitted together. It was far larger than a regular wolf, near monstrous in size, looking to be taller than you, even in the distance. It had a glossy grey pelt and glowing, amber eyes. 

This was no normal wolf. It was a direwolf. 

You breathed out a shaking breath. Direwolves hardly wandered as far south as Winterfell, much less down to the Riverlands. It couldn’t have wandered here all on its own. Lady was dead, you knew that to be true. Grey Wind murdered by the Freys. Shaggydog and Summer were likely killed by Theon Greyjoy, or thrown into a cage somewhere in Winterfell. Little Ghost was on the Wall with Jon. That left—

“Nymeria,” you murmured in shock. 

You stood up. Would she recognize you? Or worse—would she hurt you?

It was probably a good idea to shake Jaime awake. You casted a brief glance over at him, curled up by the sack of food rations, his sharp, handsome face softened with slumber. Deciding against it, you began to creep nearer to the direwolf. She stood with her ears pricked, unblinking, not taking her eyes off you.

“Hello, sweet one,” you said, voice low and level, despite the rushed blood coursing through your veins. Nymeria’s ears twitched. “It’s been a long time.”

The wolf lifted one paw, swayed her tail against the grass twice. Then her sharp teeth bared in a snarl, glowing beneath the starlight.

You stepped back, sensing her growing hostility. It felt ridiculous speaking to a direwolf, but you knew how intelligent they were. If there was even a shred of a possibility, it was worth pursuing. 

“Do you know where Arya is? Arya.” 

At the name, Nymeria put her paw back down. Her head tilted, much like she used to do when she was a confused pup learning how to spin for food. Abruptly, she turned and bounded back into the trees. A deep howl echoed through the forest, sounding ghostly in its timbre. Other howls echoed after her—Nymeria clearly wasn’t alone. You were grateful the other wolves hadn’t approached. Just a day ago, Jaime was telling you about many squadrons of Lannister bannermen being mauled by a pack of wolves, led by a large she-wolf. Perhaps that was Nymeria. She certainly fit the description.

You returned to the bramble barrier, finding Jaime still sound asleep. He had turned whilst you were gone, now facing away from the sack. You sat down beside him, and, strangely, found yourself excited for him to wake up so you could tell him what had happened.

There was, you waged, about an hour before the sun would rise. You would wake Jaime then, and the two of you would continue northward to Howland Reed’s castle. If the pace the two of you had set was consistent, you should be there in no more than a fortnight. 

It was quiet for a long while. You thought you could hear someone humming a familiar tune, and after waiting with your ears pricked for a moment, you realized you were imagining it—after all, you knew nobody but Benjen that used to hum that melody. Your heart ached at the thought of your youngest older brother. 

There came a rustle, a step, and the snap of a branch somewhere off to your left. You turned, hand curled around the handle of the dagger, muscles coiled at the ready. Perhaps Nymeria had come back, you pondered, unsure if that was something you would even want to happen. Probably not. 

Another snap. A shuffle. A thud. You narrowed your eyes—wolves familiar with this forest would be far more sure-footed than that. 

After a tense second, you were proved right. Before you knew it, half a dozen men swarmed out of the trees, silent despite their clumsy feet, eyes wide and pale with the moonlight. They all carried weapons—though they were rather unconventional ones; pitchforks, shovels, garden pick-axes. Their tattered clothing told you that they were likely farmers who had turned to the life of thievery in times of desperation. So much for Jaime bringing peace to the Riverlands.

Hurriedly, you managed to kick at Jaime’s leg just as one man was already advancing on you with a snarl, barreling forward and pinning you down onto the foliage underneath. All the air slipped out of your lungs. You were no good at close-hand combat, and hadn’t had time to properly train in many moons—but you relied on your instincts, which told you to claw at any part of his skin you could reach, and lift your feet as high as he could possibly allow, kicking him in the chest. 

By now, Jaime had been hauled off by a bigger, burlier man that stood so tall that Jaime only came up to his chest. There was another going straight for him—but you had more pressing matters to focus on. The man that had been on top of you was drawing back with wounded, ragged gasps, and you pounced forward, brandishing your dagger.

He had time to let slip one plea for his life—but you were quick to plunge the sharp end straight down his sternum with as much force possible, piercing his heart swiftly. Out it came—and down again. And again. Again. Once more. There was blood all over your forearms, some flecks landing wetly on your face. With a clenched jaw, you slashed his throat. Rubies dribbled from the cut, glittering under the moonlight. You abandoned his body, briefly wondering if Nymeria and her pack would come back and feast.

When you turned, there were two more thieves hesitating. They looked on the younger end—just boys. You scowled at them, made a motion as if you were going to attack them next, and they promptly turned on their heels and fled. When you looked over to Jaime, he had managed to grab his sword and had pierced his two assailants swiftly. They fell to the ground with bloodied noises of pain. Jaime flicked the excess blood off of the blade with a disgusted wrinkle of his nose. Then, he looked at you, taking in your gore-soaked appearance. His brows raised when he looked over at the corpse you’d stabbed and slashed.

“What happened to being so concerned over innocent men?” Jaime questioned, half-genuine and half-provoking. 

“I told you before,” you hissed. “There are always a few rotten apples in an orchard. I would have been fine helping the men find food—pinning me to the ground with the intent of robbing us, or worse, revokes them of any right to my pleasantries.”

Jaime smiled at that. “Right—because you’re well renowned for your pleasantries. Is it concerning that I find you even more attractive covered in blood?” he asked as he drew nearer, blunt as always. “I do think I’m falling for you like this.”

“Oh, be quiet,” you snapped. You turned to look at the treeline, where Nymeria had come out. 

“Are you alright?” he queried, expression shifting into one of concern, single hand reaching out to touch your arm, tender from when you slammed into the ground. “Did they hurt you?”

“I’m fine. Most of the blood isn’t mine. I just have to wash it off.”

Jaime nodded, looking strangely prideful. He offered his hand out for you to take. You stared at him for a moment, then brushed past him and made your way to the river. He trailed after you with a barely-repressed smile.

“What were you looking for?” he asked as you began to scrub the blood off you. Thankfully, it came off quite easily since it hadn’t had time to set and dry on you. 

“I think I saw someone I knew,” you muttered. The excitement of telling him the news had worn off with the attack. The water was frigid, and though you were well acquainted with the cold, you were going to catch your death if you loitered longer than you needed to.

With furrowed brows, Jaime regarded you as if you had grown a second head. “Who?” His hand was already falling to the pommel of the longsword. 

You shook your head. “Not a person. A direwolf.”

After you had washed up, dripping with river water but now void of grime, you and Jaime were quick to pack up what little you were carrying with you, to start off northward once again. When you had asked if Jaime wanted to wash himself before leaving, he only laughed at your face. “I’ll freeze my balls off if I do that. I’d rather keep them for now. I can bathe once we get to Greywater Watch.” Where there was one gang of thieves, there were likely a dozen others—it was better to keep moving.

“Only if Howland Reed doesn’t skin your balls off himself,” you remarked.

Jaime didn’t say anything to that, but he glanced over at you with a grin. That was likely the closest thing to a jest he’d ever heard you say.

As you walked, Jaime noticed you were favoring your left side, trying not to put too much weight on your right foot. “Did he knock you there?” he asked, gesturing downward to your ankles.

You scowled at him, as if irritated that he was observing the smallest of your actions. It made you feel terribly intruded upon. “I’m fine,” you repeated. 

Jaime shrugged. “If you say so.” But he stepped closer, occasionally bumping into your right side as if to help you keep your weight off. Arse.

About an hour after the skirmish, Jaime decided he had enough of the silence. He was keen on hearing your voice again, even if it was going to tell him to fuck right off. 

“You can reclaim the North as yours now,” he said. “If you gathered enough loyal men… you could.”

You sucked in a breath. “I have more pressing matters before sitting on a throne.” You didn’t bother to list them, but you thought them glaringly obvious.

Sansa. Arya. Brienne. Pod. Ca—Stoneheart.

“Everyone in my family is scattered and alone and I need to be there for them. What good would it be wasting all my energy battling the Boltons?” 

Jaime wasn’t used to being the smarter of the two. He felt that it was the most logical decision at the moment, considering the two of you would practically be wandering about aimlessly if not for going after your rightful seat. “Perhaps you can be there for your family by retaking your home.” With a softer tone, he added on, “Might I remind you… you have nothing right now. No castle, no money, no weapons, nothing. Only me to watch you.”

This seemed to struck a nerve in you, much to Jaime’s simultaneous dismay and elation. 

“I don’t need you to watch me,” you scathingly said. “You’re just with me because you’re an important political figure that could be of use. And I didn’t want to have to watch my good-sister lop your head off.”

Jaime briefly wondered why, but instead arrogantly retorted, “Well, I’m sure I wouldn’t have let it come to—”

“But I suppose you’re right,” you admitted, interrupting him with a melancholic puff of an exhale, words weighing heavy.

Jaime barked out a laugh. “Say that again. I want to savor it this time.”

“You are insufferable,” you said, though it lacked any true bite. “To save my family, I must leave them. Is that what you’re suggesting?”

“You’re not leaving,” Jaime reminded. “You’re just taking… a short detour.”

“Short,” you snorted. “It would be a miracle if we can take Winterfell back before the year’s mark.”

Jaime squared his jaw, now thinking back to Brienne. “Alright. After Greywater Watch, what then? Where would you like to go? I would…” He stopped walking, and grabbed hold of your wrist. Your eyes flashed dangerously as they met his. “I would follow you wherever you go.”

For once, you had no harsh retort for him.

Instead, you asked, almost as if searching for a reason for him to rescind his statement, “Even if I keep telling you to leave?”

Jaime nodded. “Even then.”

“And when I put a knife to your throat, deciding that I want to take revenge for my nephews?”

Again, there was no hesitation on his end. Jaime hardly thought before he spoke, but it was the truth nonetheless. “I would let you cut me open until you’re satisfied with me, if that’s what you wish. Are you done asking me needless questions or shall we start playing a drinking game with our muddy river water?”

Your features, which had softened considerably, now fell back into their naturally irritated state. You nodded with solemn determination. Jaime thought you looked much like your brother Ned right then. 

“Right. I think that settles it.” You started off walking again, shaking your wrist free of his hold. “We’ll go north, as we have. But—it’s time I stop hiding.”

In the distance, a single wolf howled. 

“It’s time I returned home.”

[coolwyous]

┈─★ 𝙎𝙋𝙀𝙀𝘿. [ch 1: the stupid red mustang]

   ➴ wc + a/n: 4.4k. didn't mean to make the first chapter this long but y'all know how i get <3 hope you enjoy the lil prologue moment!

   ➴ taglist: @urmom2314 @iisayfa @s-p-e-c-t-r-e-s @mei2yok @xochitlisbest

   ➴ prev. masterlist. next.

you can pinpoint, with expert precision, when it was that your entire life began to fall apart. to figure out how it might end, you have to start from the beginning, and a part of you wonders if it was always going to be daniela avanzini that ruined everything for you.

your last few weeks before high school, and you’re stuck in detention. it had all started with a morning full of inconveniences. 

to begin, you usually carpooled with your neighbor, who happens to be your best friend, but she’s been hauled off to some stupid detention center after getting caught with weed, again, leaving you alone for the second half of senior year. friendless, aimless, and useless behind the wheel of a car as you drive yourself every morning, lucky to make it out of that chaotic parking lot alive.

the morning you got detention, you’re already running late, made all the more inconvenient when you’re cut off in the middle of the parking lot by a cherry red mustang. you lay on the horn to let her know she’s cut you off, but the boom of insanely loud rap music blaring out from the windows makes you think the driver isn’t listening.

“fucking idiot,” you snarl, your grip tightening around the steering wheel. the red mustang swings around recklessly to steal the parking spot you were eyeing. perfect. 

the new girl, who had transferred into your grade just after winter break, swings out of the car and heads into the building, unbothered by the interaction. you’re stuck seeking out another parking spot, only adding to your stress of being late again.

you try to make it to your homeroom on time, but you hear the disappointed tisk of your principal’s voice as soon as you think you’re in the clear.

“y/ln, this is the third time this week,” he had told you, writing something on a slip and handing it to you. “you know this means detention, and the next one is a truancy call, right?”

you grit your teeth and send a text to your parents that you’ll be home late. definitely not ideal.

you’d rather be anywhere but this empty classroom, embarrassed to be stuck under the hawk-eyed gaze of the dean. it’s you and a few other kids you recognize from fights or from skipping class. you try to keep to yourself, after all, being late doesn’t exactly fit into what the rest of these troublemakers get up to, but your hopes of focusing on your homework are shattered when you feel someone kick your desk.

then again, then again. you realize the person is bouncing their leg, and it’s causing your chair to shake with every movement.

“avanzini, another speeding ticket in the parking lot or what?” one of the guys grins, to which the dean quickly hushes everyone. you realize he’s talking to the girl behind you, the one shaking your desk. the new girl— avanzini, or whatever her name is. you’re perfectly happy with a small friend group, and hadn't made it a point to introduce yourself to her since she transferred, but judging by the fact that she seems to be a regular detention attendee, maybe that’s for the best.

nearly a half hour passes, but she’s relentless. her leg doesn’t stop bouncing, even once, rocking your chair the entire time. the dean steps out to take a phone call. you’re sick of her incessant kicking against the back of your desk, and finally spin around to snap at her.

“can you please cut that out?”

your eyes meet, and you feel a jolt through your entire body. the way she grins at you, her hazel eyes lighting up, is nothing short of absolutely dangerous.

“i gotta be somewhere real quick. vouch for me?”

“why would i do that?” you ask quickly, shocked by audacity.

all she does is lean in, flashing those bright white teeth at you, unafraid of being in your personal bubble, as if she has no boundaries. “i’ll owe you.”

“i’ll get in trouble,” you state the obvious.

“i’ll owe you a massive favor,” she presses on, and it’s painfully obvious she’s not the type who is used to being told no. 

“just go,” you shake your head. she doesn’t seem like the type you can reason with, this avanzini girl. 

you expect her to leave through the front door, so to your surprise, she bolts towards the window and messes with the hinges for a few moments before she manages to get it open. way too quickly, she slips out of the window without a second look back. you’re almost annoyed, that she sneaks out without so much as a thank you, but maybe she’s not worth the effort to stress over being annoyed with. 

a few minutes pass by, and the dean steps back in. he takes count quickly of the bodies in the room, and notices the spot behind you obviously empty. 

“where’s avanzini?”

“bathroom,” you lie quickly. the other students shoot you approving looks, but you’d rather disappear than to have them acknowledging you. the fact that you’re in this position because of this girl has you even more frustrated than the whole chair-kicking thing. 

the dean steps out once more to search the hallways, and within moments, the girl is tumbling back into the classroom, chest heaving. she’s breathing heavily as if she’s been running, or maybe something had scared her, or even both. she slips back into her chair, dropping her head onto the desk for a quick moment before lifting up to meet your eyes with her own. there’s something so intense in her eyes, something so mischievous and alluring at once, that you feel your pulse quicken.

“i owe you,” she says simply, flashing you a smile, before dropping her head back onto the desk for the rest of the hour. 

after that day, you see the red mustang in your school parking lot, but never cross paths with the girl again.

your best friend misses graduation, and you feel suffocated by the weight of another summer in your city alone, wasting your days trying to keep busy. you disappear once the summer ends, college taking over your life, the city forgotten for the next year until you’re back a summer later. same house, same routine, now a year older and a year wiser, hoping you can make it through the boredom of the summer before you head back to school.

your parents had kept your room exactly how you left it in high school, but there’s something very lame about being stuck a whole summer again in your parents house after a taste of freedom your first year in college. you know it’s only 3 months, and you’re lucky to have a place to come back to, but it’s still fair to be annoyed by, isn’t it?

you had just finished unpacking the last of your suitcases when you hear the thud of something against your window, a few taps in a specific pattern against the glass. living on the first floor, you there’s only one person who would be in your backyard, tapping against your window like that. you gasp and swing the window open, just like how you had done almost every day for the past 13 years.

and slipping into your bedroom is your best friend since you were 6 years old, smiling at you in a way that makes everything feel like it’ll be okay.

“heard you’re back in town,” she says nonchalantly, but you’re already scooping her up in a hug before she can ruin the moment. 

“megan,” your heart thuds at the sight of her. pink bangs covering her tired eyes, oversized hoodie swallowing her frame, she’s exactly like you last remembered her. ”i thought i’d be stuck all summer without you.”

“you know, i was almost scared they wouldn’t let me out. good thing the judge was feeling super chill about bail,” megan grins, giving you a squeeze back, pointing down to the ankle monitor around her leg. “did you miss me, nerd?”

“you’re a whole ass adult now, idiot. this isn’t just juvie upgraded,” you laugh. “how’ve you been?”

“oh you know,” she shrugs. she digs around your nightstand and finds the secret book the two of you had hollowed out to hide your weed from your nosy family, a few pre-rolled joints hiding. she pulls a lighter out from the fold of her beanie, lighting the joint for the both of you. “remember how i told you i moved out after graduation? i have a spot in front of the shop that my boss rents out to me. it’s not too bad. you should come check it out. we can throw a party or something while you’re here.”

“ugh, i’m not gonna know how to act without you as my neighbor,” you groan and throw your head back, reaching for the joint as she takes a few hits and passes it to you. “you’re finally back and you won’t even be next door any more. i might actually miss you, loser.”

“i’ll miss you too. you kept me out of trouble,” she laughs. “my mom was so mad when you moved away for school. knew i was gonna end up doing stupid shit.”

“well, you’ve got me for 3 months, stay out of trouble until then?” you plead. “can’t go losing you. maybe i’ll have to keep an eye on you.”

you and megan had always joked about the curse that had followed her around— this beacon of bad luck, if something can go wrong for her, it usually would. you’ve tried to argue that she’d have better luck if she stopped making all these dumb decisions, but megan’s pretty set in her ways, and even if you worry about her, you know she’s scrappy enough to figure her way out of anything.

“you can come hang out with me at work. it’s slow,” she offers, taking the joint back from you. you watch as she inhales and holds it, doing silly little tricks with the smoke. “the other guys bring their friends all the time when the shop isn’t busy.”

“i won’t annoy you?” you ask. you know the job she’s talking about— megan, who had always been too hyper for any job that didn’t keep her constantly moving, got hired to work at some shady mechanic shop downtown through some burnout friends of hers. this was perfect for your best friend, who was always fidgeting with things, breaking them down, putting them back together, and the owner had even taken her under his wing and looked the other way with her track record. between the shop job and selling weed, megan kept herself decently afloat. 

you wonder if she’d ever be able to channel that energy into something more, but you know that’s a conversation she won’t want to hear.

“hell, you might even make some money. my boss is hiring— he wants a front desk person,” she tells you, nudging your shoulder. “i’ll put in a good word for you.”

“you want to be coworkers?” you question. “what, like we’re friends or something?”

megan pretends to gag, and the two of you laugh and pass the joint between yourselves for the rest of the night, chatting about her night in jail, comparing it to her months spent in juvie as a teenager. you tell her about college, about the friends you’ve made, and you take comfort in knowing that if you’re stuck back home for a summer, at least you get to be stuck with megan too. 

the next day, you’re at velocity automotives, painfully overdressed, talking to the owner and wondering how the hell this place hasn’t gotten shut down yet. it’s messy, tools strewn everywhere, and there’s no clear organization to how anything is set up. without a doubt in your mind, the messiness suits megan, who you see underneath a car in her navy blue coveralls as you talk to her boss about this job she’s setting you up with.

“all you have to do is take phone calls and book the appointments. i’ll handle the rest,” the guy says. he had introduced himself as viper, and at first, you thought he was joking— that is, until literally everyone there keeps calling him “viper,” and you realize he’s dead serious.

“you won’t be here?” you ask.

“i have other businesses in the city. i own apartments, laundromats, storage units.” he squints at you. “can’t be on desk duty the whole time.”

you nod, and hear a clanging noise somewhere behind you that makes you flinch. viper seems completely unbothered and keeps talking.

“it’s an easy job, so don’t expect to be a millionaire.” he goes on. “and the guys will probably hit on you. just ignore them.”

you grimace, but the pay is decent, and the job is easy enough, plus anything that keeps you busy while letting you spend time with your best friend sounds like a huge win. 

“there’s one more thing,” he says. “i need you to stay in the apartment, above the shop.”

the request catches you insanely off guard. “why?”

“some bullshit from the city,” he gripes. “i have to prove it’s a residence or else they’ll make me pay taxes on it as part of the business.”

“you’re offering me a job and a place to stay?” you question. “what’s the catch?”

“didn’t think you’d sound so eager. you’ve got grit, kid. maybe you are skeindiel’s friend after all,” he grins, before issuing another warning. “it’s not luxurious, and those motorheads get loud at night.”

“um, i grew up on sleepovers with megan. that girl snores like she’s dying,” you reassure him. the arrangement is almost too good to be true.

“how soon can you start?” he asks.

“how soon can i move in?” you counter.

viper smiles once more, a gold tooth shining in his grin. “welcome to velocity. i think you’ll fit right in.”

“why the hell are you dodging all my calls?” megan asks you after you finally pick up after her 6th call of the night. she sounds exasperated, and sure, you could have used her help lugging the few suitcases of your belongings up the stairs, but the surprise you’re about to give her is worth the evasion.

“look outside,” you tell her simply, pulling back the blinds on your window.

“what exactly am i looking for?” she asks, and you can see her nose wrinkle confusedly over the facetime call. this is one of the things you love about megan, her simplicity, her occasional cluelessness— hell, she was so focused on working on that damn car from today, she didn’t notice you slipping in and out of the door as she worked, moving all your stuff into the building literally right over her head as she tinkered away.

“hi neighbor,” you grin out your window.

“no way.” megan flashes a bright smile at you from her window as she spins around, her eyes meeting yours. your places are just a block away from each other, and you’re able to see her through the window, clear as day.

“this is so cool,” you say, admiring the place. sure, it’s just as dingy as viper had warned you, but for a studio, it beat a dorm room, and it way beat living with your parents for another summer. “we should go thrift furniture together. my place is empty as hell.”

“did you get a mattress up the stairs by yourself?” she asks.

“uh, no. there was one in there,” you answer awkwardly.

“y/n, fuck no, sleep on the couch or something,” megan’s eyes nearly bug out of her head on screen, making you laugh. “who knows what’s been done on that mattress.”

“okay, like the couch is gonna be any cleaner,” you roll your eyes, but you make a mental note to prioritize a new bed. “hey, what’s viper’s real name?

megan shrugs. “i dunno. never asked. just assumed his mom loved him enough to name him something badass like that.”

“you’re so dumb,” you laugh.

“wanna come over?” she offers, and you hear the flick of a lighter. it’s the megan you know, constantly smoking, to the point that the sound brings you comfort. “you can spend the night, we can get you a blow up mattress or something tomorrow.”

“and watch you play grand theft auto while you hotbox me out?” you laugh, gathering a few of your things into a backpack. “fine, i guess. see you in a sec, neighbor.”

your first week on the job goes mostly without a hitch.

part of that is mostly thanks to megan, who’s made it her personal mission to make sure you don’t quit within a week, and that starts with making sure all her coworkers leave you the fuck alone. 

“how long til you let the first one of us hit?” one of the younger guys asked, tapping his fingers against your desk, knocking the cup of pens off the table with the vibrations. 

“aw bro, if she already let viper hit to get this job, i don’t wanna get in on his sloppy seconds.” the other one eggs on, and you grit your teeth trying to ignore them both as you clean up the spilled pens. you’re hoping the silent treatment will be enough of a hint to leave you alone, but thankfully, you don’t have to wait around and find out. 

megan is slinking through in front of your desk, shoulder checking the first guy out of her way and reaching to grab the second one by his collar. her grease-smeared fingers grip tightly onto his shirt as she yanks him towards her, and you can see the surprise in everyone’s faces at how fast she’s turned this into something bigger.

“talk to her like that again and i’ll crush you under the fucking car jack,” megan threatens, her voice cold and even, her head lazily rolling back and forth to stare between the two of them. 

“damn bro, relax,” the guy holds his hands up, trying to prove he’s no threat. “didn’t know you were sober enough to be listening, skiendiel.”

“wish i could be high enough to tune your annoying ass out,” she grits irritatedly. she drops her grip on his shirt, and by that point, half the shop is busy staring at you, but she clearly isn’t bothered. “if anyone else pisses off y/n again, we’re going to have a fucking problem.” 

“i can fend for myself,” you tell her, mildly frustrated. if she’d just let you ignore them—

“i know,” she says simply, scooping your pens all back into the cup and handing them back to you. “but i made a promise.”

“we were like, 12, meg,” you remind her.

she shrugs, reaching behind you to grab another key off the keyring, starting on her next car. “promise is a promise.”

you shake your head, but leave it at that. you’ll unpack that night another time, your promise with megan to always look out for each other, but for now, you’ll be secretly grateful— the other guys in the shop leave you alone from that day on.

you haven’t figured out the mattress situation, but it isn’t the worst thing in the world. between naps on your couch and crashing at megan’s, you’ve gotten into a cozy enough routine that makes you think your time back home might not be all that bad. sure, viper was unfortunately right about the noise, but you’ve learned to predict the patterns of when the cars will pull up and disrupt your night.

megan’s usually too high to care, or she’ll be too busy playing video games to be bothered, but she’s never really batted an eye at the revving, claiming the noise calms her. you’ll peek out the window just to keep an eye on things, and you’re starting to pick up on a pattern. in the parking lot of the autobody shop, usually around 9pm, you’ll see a bunch of cars pull in and circle around each other.

among them, a bright red mustang.

“hi, thanks for visiting velocity automotives.” your line is too easy at this point, after nearly two weeks of the job being steady and predictable. “what services are you looking for?”

usually, it’s tune ups and oil changes, maybe a tire rotation or a trouble shoot, but about a week after you started, you start to hear the phrase: “i’m here to see megan.”

and that’s it. viper told you that for any appointment where they ask for megan, take down their info, and open the “special schedule.” it’s weird that he’s having you start this, and he changes megan’s schedule while he’s at it, but she doesn’t seem to bothered. it almost starts to feel like it’s code for something, i’m here to see megan, but the girl herself isn’t raising any flags for you.

“what exactly is it that you do?” you ask, hanging back one day to join her for one of those evening sessions. “and how come you only take appointments after 6pm? isn’t it kinda random that you’re the only person that has to work a night shift?”

“i like motorcycles better, honestly,” she tells you, her tongue poking out from her lips in focus as she leans over the hood of her current project, tinkering with the engine.  “i’m just good at mods. viper thinks it makes more sense for me to work nights and do only mods instead of waste time doing oil changes. leave the easy stuff to the idiots.”

“‘cause you’re just that good or what?” you tease.

“i’m just that good,” she grins back. “and he’s paying me good shit too. not a bad deal, honestly.”

“all to make people’s cars look cooler?” you question, watching as she gets into the driver’s seat and cranks the key. the engine rumbles, and then revs like a creature coming to life. megan’s eyes light up like a kid at christmas at the sound.

“make them look cooler, sound louder, drive faster. you’d get it if you cared about cars, y/n, but i guess you’ve always been a loser,” she teases, giving the engine another rev. 

“i’ll leave the car shit to you,” you laugh.

you hear the ring of the door opening, and the response comes out like you’re on autopilot. you’re too busy trying to decipher viper’s weird ass text about ordering more parts (since when was that part of your job?) to bother looking up.

“hi, thanks for visiting velocity automotives,” you say quickly. 

“you.”

the voice is familiar, strangely so. you finally look up, and piercing into you is none other than that intense, sharp hazel stare. she’s grinning, wider and wider the longer the two of you lock eyes. her tongue peeks out quickly to swipe along her bottom teeth, the gesture cocky and eager all at once. 

“and here i was heartbroken thinking i’d never see your face again,” she smirks, leaning over the countertop to tilt her head down and meet your gaze. her keychain dangles from the tip of her finger, inches away from your face. you feel paralyzed, and that stare, confident and unbreaking, makes it even harder to form a coherent thought. 

“service?” you finally breathe.

you remember her clear as day, even with it being over a year now since your detention together. avanzini, with the red mustang and that dangerous crooked smile. 

“i’m here for megan,” she says easily, pointing behind you at the mechanics hard at work within the shop. 

“she’ll only take mods after 6 pm,” you inform her. 

avanzini raises her eyebrow, a perfect arched brow. she gives you a quick once-over, and you feel exposed under her gaze. “will you be there?”

“no,” you say quickly. 

“damn shame,” she clicks her teeth, tapping her fingers on the counter. “set me up for her next opening. please.”

“she can fit you in tomorrow,” you offer, checking the off-hours schedule.

“what’s your name?” she pivots quickly, as if she didn’t even hear your question. her eyes are so, so intense scanning over you, like some sort of predator sizing you up. “you never told me, that day, you know.”

“y/n,” you yield quickly, almost hoping the conversation can end now. “do you want that appointment or not?”

“why won’t you be there?” she presses on, leaning in further again. it reminds you of your first meeting, the way she invades your bubble as if she has no concept of personal space.

“uh, i don’t spend all my time at work,” you state, as if it’s obvious.

“so then what are you doing tonight?” she asks quickly, arching a brow.

“um-” you’re not fast enough to come up with a response before she’s jumping in, cutting you off again, tapping her fingertips inches away from yours to get your attention. 

“come to a car show. by the amusement park next to the pier,” she tells you quickly, one more glance up and down. “dress up. they’ll have drinks and music, and a shit ton of cool cars.”

you don’t know what possesses you to even consider it, but your brain goes foggy with how close she is to you, the pure magnetic pull she exudes. the words leave your mouth before you can even think to catch up with your mouth.

“will you be there?” 

she grins, tongue poking out from behind those perfect white teeth. “of course i’ll be there.”

“i’ll think about it,” you say simply.

“don’t break my heart, okay?” she puts a hand to her chest, pouting exaggeratedly at you. “i’m counting on you. don’t think i forgot about what i owe you. i’m good on my word, alright?”

realizing you only know her by her last name, your next words slip out just as quickly as your first one had.

“what’s your name?” 

“you know my name,” she responds too easily, and your chest pounds in response. 

there’s a beat of silence between the two of you, as she keeps eyeing you, and you wonder what could possibly left of you that she’s looking for. she grins one last time, pushing off the countertop to finally get out of your bubble. 

“daniela. you can put me down for tomorrow, 7pm,” she adds. she swings the keychain one last time on the first knuckle of her index finger, before catching it in her hand and slinking out the door, like a shadow slipping back into the night. “but i’ll see you, tonight, y/n.”

you feel your heart race. if that smile is enough to go off of, trouble might just have found you.

[kingkat12]

pinking up (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: spanking, discipline, humiliation, clit stim, Dr. Pryce jumpscare lol

summary: finally, you're Mr. Godfrey's official submissive-- but what does that entail, exactly?

word count: 10,056

← previous chapter | next chapter →

a/n: I've been wanting to write a scene like this for SO. DAMN. LONG. this story is turning into me writing all my experimental kinks so y'all are in for a ride lol, enjoy!!<333

And suddenly, the warmth in the air made living easier.

Spring comes to a climax around May every year; I always know exactly when it comes, because the first breath I take while exiting my apartment fills my lungs with joy, and not with the urge to jump into incoming traffic, as usual. 

So, when Mr. Godfrey asked me to meet him up on the rooftop terrace this morning, I gladly accepted; all for fresh air, am I right? He usually only asked me to fetch him his coffee, mark up his schedules, and occasionally run down to the bougie bakery down the street to grab macarons, so this was a happy change of routine. However, now that I was his submissive (as he called it), something told me that this wasn't a casual rooftop meeting-- my blood buzzed in my veins out of sheer excitement, and I could feel the tips of my fingers vibrate as I I walked out on the terrace, my Louboutins knocking gently against the wooden planks as I suppressed a smile. 

The sun was veiled behind a thin layer of clouds, but the air was warm, my dearest Spring, heavy with the scent of city heat rising off brick. It mixed with the trail of smoke from Mr. Godfrey's cigarette-- even they damn smelled expensive when touched by him. Fucking Midas. 

Mr. Godfrey stood near the edge of the balcony, one hand resting on the railing, the other bringing the cigarette to his lips. Wind played with the hem of his shirt, white and crisp, with the sleeves rolled up just enough to show the veins in his forearms; I knew I shouldn't be staring at him like this, but I couldn't stop myself. The first two buttons were undone-- slut. Slutty, slutty man. Whore.

Smoke slowly curled out from Mr. Godfrey's mouth, like he was too lazy to properly exhale it. The smoke rose like something sacred in the air, blurring the sharp line of his jaw for only a second before the wind swept it away. He didn't glance at me right away; he simply took another drag like he had all the time in the world. My eyes followed the perfect angle of the Forbes nose-- how was it possible to be so beautiful?

When Mr. Godfrey finally did turn his head, it was lazy. His green eyes flicked down the length of me, and he spoke with a sharp dryness; "You're late,"

I stopped a few steps away from him. "I'm not, sir,"

Mr. Godfrey gave a breath of a laugh, barely audible, more an exhale than anything, before he turned his body to face me fully, his cigarette hanging between his fingers as he pointed them at me; "You are," he said, voice low, amused. "By about thirty seconds. I counted."

I stared at him, unsure whether he was joking or if he truly did stand up here and count the seconds until I arrived. Did he have nothing else to do? What about the oil, the steel, and the whatever-the-fuck he did? "Sir," I tried. "Is this about the new schedule format? Why did you ask me up here?"

Mr. Godfrey took another drag before answering, his eyes squinting slightly against the sun-diffused sky. The cigarette glowed faintly at the tip, then dimmed again as he spoke around the smoke. "Because I felt like it," He let the smoke leak lazily from his mouth like he had no care in the world-- cocky. "I can do that, y'know? I can also summon a shaman or a Tibetan monk if I want to, and someone will fly the guy in. I once asked for a Catholic priest straight from Rome, too, but that ended up with a call from the board asking whether I was having some sort of mental breakdown or religious epiphany... so now I'm asking my secretary to join me on the rooftop. Is that a crime?"

I blinked. How was I supposed to respond to this info-dump? "What was it then?"

"Was what?"

"Was it a mental breakdown or a religious epiphany, sir?"

Mr. Godfrey smirked, handsome as ever, as the cigarette balanced between his fingers. He leaned back into the railing again, looking out on the skyline; "Neither. I don't believe in God, and I just wanted to see how far I could push before someone told me no," He brought the cigarette back to his lips, his green eyes gleaming with intrigue as he watched me through the veil of smoke separating us. "They didn't."

"Right," I breathed, wondering how long to entertain this show of ego-mania. I hated that some part of me enjoyed this side of him, the side that was unimaginably cocky, privileged. There was something about exactly this that made me want to jump him, and I hated myself for it. "Sir... I have a rhetorical question."

Mr. Godfrey glanced at me, and I took that as a yes; "Have you ever been told no?" I asked.

"That's not rhetorical," he muttered, unimpressed.

"Then it's... just a question, sir,"

His mouth twitched at that, not quite a smile. "Careful," he murmured. "You're getting too comfortable." 

I didn't even try to brush off the hit his words gave me, and I instead focused on trying not to let the breeze whip my hair into my mouth-- it was easier said than done. "Am I supposed to be uncomfortable around you, then? I thought our new... arrangement would make things a bit easier."

With that, Mr. Godfrey immediately straightened up. His smirk dissolved, and his cigarette hung forgotten between his fingers, burning quietly as his eyes locked onto mine-- steady now, less amused, yet all the more worrying. "That," he said, "is what concerns me."

I blinked, thrown off by his sudden change. "What does?"

Mr. Godfrey stepped forward-- not aggressive, but direct, to take action. I backed myself up against the ledge, swallowing hard as I felt my eyes widen. Mr. Godfrey now stood next to me, leaning down a bit to get on my level before he lowered his voice; "Do you think this is a shortcut to avoid how uncomfortable I make you?"

I stiffened, unsure how to answer. "You don't make me uncomfortable, sir,"

"What, then?"

"I just-- I don't know, do you want me to be completely frank?"

"Always,"

I let out a shaky breath; I was screwed. "You just... fluster me, sir," I was two seconds from digging myself a hole and dying in it. Why couldn't I ever shut the fuck up?

Mr. Godfrey's eyes sharpened, not having expected that to leave my mouth. His whole frame stilled, the lazy, practiced slouch of him tightening just slightly as the cigarette stayed perched between his fingers, near his mouth, forgotten mid-drag. "I see," 

For a moment, he just looked at me-- really looked. Like the word had cracked something in the air between us. The wind tousled his hair, the soft strands catching the sunlight. He finally took a drag, a long one, like he needed it to anchor him. His cheeks hollowed slightly as he inhaled, and his veins faintly raised on his forearm; I had never wanted someone the way I wanted him. "Every time," he said. "Every time you say something, without fail, I never know what's gonna leave your mouth."

I swallowed hard. "Sorry, sir, I-- I just mean--"

"No," he shot in, tutting his tongue. "Don't ruin it by explaining. I like an enigma." His eyes dragged over me, down, then back up, like he was recalibrating something, seeing me with fresh clarity. Then, with maddening elegance, he turned slightly and leaned back against the railing again, letting the cigarette dangle between his fingers. "I also like control," he continued. "I really, really like it, which is why I wonder why you'd want to give yours up for me."

I held my breath as Mr. Godfrey sighed. He flicked the ash over the edge of the balcony and leaned forward just slightly, watching it disintegrate into the air. "See, I know why I like this arrangement, but you?" He gestured to me, cigarette trailing smoke. "I have no idea. And something tells me you have no clue, either."

Mr. Godfrey brought the cigarette to his lips one last time, inhaled deeply, then stubbed it out on the metal edge of the railing with a slow, deliberate twist. 

Anxious, I tried to wet my lips, but I immediately regretted it; I felt like I had now swallowed fifty percent of my lipstick. As I tried to get the taste of it off my tongue, I also tried to recover. "I don't think I need to know why I want this," I breathed. "Just please don't call a shaman on me." 

I knew what the shaman would say, anyway; 'Your crush has led you straight into the arms of a BDSM freak. Congratulations!'

In return, Mr. Godfrey laughed, shaking his head as the last of the smoke left his system. He was gorgeous like this, free, and unlike how I usually saw him; his brown hair fell slightly over his eyes, and he ran his fingers through it to push it away. I wondered if he'd ever let me do that for him someday. But just as I was about to get lost in my daydreams and pink haze, Mr. Godfrey's voice cut through the fog; "What's your size?" he asked, dragging the words out like he was tasting them.

"... What?" I mumbled, whiplashed. "My size?" What size? For what?

Mr. Godfrey made a low sound, something between a hum and a scoff, and rested his elbow on the railing behind him. It made his dress shirt stretch across his shoulders, every line of him deliberate. "Bra-size," he said, as though it was a casual thing to ask.

I let out a shocked, choked breath; "Sir!" It was impossible to brush this off as a natural continuation of our previous conversation. "That's not!-- Why do you?--"

"Okay, then," Mr. Godfrey straightened up, throwing his cigarette over the ledge with no care in the word, yet his brows were drawn together with dissatisfaction. "I want it in an email by twelve o'clock, sharp."

"Sir!" I tried to calm myself out of the anxious giggles that were escaping me one by one. "Please, that's!--"

"Inappropriate?" Mr. Godfrey met my eyes, the sharp gleam in his gaze searing straight through my vanity. He leaned down, lowering his voice again with a dark tone; "I've seen you cum. Get over yourself." 

... Crap.

I swallowed, feeling my eyes round out. Something about his voice, his gaze, and the scent of him, made my head dizzy-- I wanted to be good for him, though, despite my shock. I wanted him to be pleased with me. I wanted him. Wanted, wanted, needed. "Okay," I breathed, hoping to recover from my reluctance. "Can I ask why you?--"

"No,"

"Oh," Breathless.

Mr. Godfrey stepped back from me, like the storm had passed. He adjusted his cuffs, sighing like I had disappointed him and insulted his whole bloodline; "Next time I ask you something, just answer. That's lesson number one,"

With that, he turned and walked back toward the glass doors that led into the office-- shoulders squared and broad, pace unhurried, exuding that infuriating, spine-melting calm he wore like an expensive cologne. The wind caught the back of his shirt as he went, tugging at the crisp fabric, accentuating the muscles of his upper back, and all I could do was stand there like I'd been hit by a very sexy freight train.

Lesson one?

Alright-- I was ready to be taught. 

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

After having sent Mr. Godfrey my bra-size with utmost reluctance, I sat behind my desk wondering whether a magical carriage would appear before me and take me to a ball. Before the clock strikes twelve. Where was my fairy Godmother to save me from the boredom of today? 

I had hoped that something would come out of my new arrangement with my boss. That he'd perhaps touch me, do something that would send me spiralling, or literally anything-- but ever since our meeting at the rooftop a few hours ago, he had promptly worked on some papers as though nothing had changed, and he'd had about two visitors with whom he seemed to have had pleasant business-appropriate conversations. Oh, how I longed for something wildly inappropriate to happen-- I was almost inclined to get off right now, in perfect view of him behind his desk, just to piss him off.

Mr. Godfrey hadn't glanced at me once through the glass dividers of his office. He was underlining some transcripts, minding his own business, as I repeatedly dug the heel of my Louboutins into a specific spot in the carpet; I had a competition with myself, wondering when the material would be pierced. I didn't have anything proper to do before the staff meeting in about twenty minutes, so I was bored out of my fucking mind. But just as I was about to dare to cross my legs at my ankles, not fully, just to tease both him and me (I bet he'd look at me then, huh?), someone showed up in front of my desk.

"Peter!" I exclaimed, feeling my body fill with delight at the sight of him. 

He stood there like something out of a cozy daydream; broad shoulders beneath a rolled-up shirt, his forearms dusted with faint freckles that somehow made my thoughts wander. There was something unassuming about Peter's good looks, which made them all the more disarming-- wait, why the fuck was I thinking about this in the first place? 

"Hey, kid. I was just coming from legal," Peter said, flashing me a small smile that lit up his whole face. "Saw you from the end of the hall and thought I'd... check in." He sounded a little unsure, like he didn't know whether he was overstepping-- that alone made me want to wrap my arms around him in gratitude. 

At least someone was looking at me, then. My eyes snapped toward Mr. Godfrey to check whether he was witnessing this, but he wasn't; with a sigh, I beamed back up at Peter. "I'm fine! Just happy to see you, honestly. I'm fucking bored to death,"

Peter chuckled as a few dark strands of his hair fell over his eyes. "Snake isn't saving you this time?"

"Sadly not,"

"Right... But honestly, I'm checking in because I wasn't so sure I'd see you back here," he added, gaze flicking briefly toward Mr. Godfrey's office. "After, uh... last time."

When I had gotten yelled at in front of the whole office? Fuck, I had almost completely repressed that. My mind had been too occupied with the fact that I was now Mr. Godfrey's official submissive-- when would that come with its perks? "I'm okay," I said, softening my voice as I tucked my hair behind my ear. "We talked. He basically apologized." In his own way, yes.

Peter's brows drew together. "Apologized?" His tone was gentle, but I could feel him trying to solve something, like he couldn't believe that Mr. Godfrey would ever apologize for anything. I couldn't blame him-- he was right. My boss hadn't said those exact words, but... 

"We solved it," I said with a vague shrug of my shoulders. "He's not going to yell at me again, and I'm going to start forging his signatures. Win-win, if you ask me. Just you wait until he starts letting me sign checks."

Peter rolled his eyes, biting down on another laugh. "You shouldn't be telling me that," he teased, a twinkle appearing in his brown eyes. "I work for legal, after all. You could get in big trouble."

"Crap," I breathed, playing along. "I'm screwed, aren't I?"

Peter leaned in just a little closer, bracing one hand lightly on the edge of my desk. "Guess I'll have to keep an eye on you now," he murmured. "Make sure you don't turn into a full-blown criminal, or something."

I smiled, but I felt a sting in my stomach-- I noticed that shift, that subtle lean of his body toward mine. His tone was still warm, still Peter, but suddenly, I was very aware of how tall he was, how the veins in his forearms shifted when he moved, how good he smelled, how--

Oh my God. Peter was flirting with me, wasn't he? "Noted," I breathed, flicking my gaze up at him as I tried to recover. "You gonna rat me out if I do?"

He smirked; "Nah... I'd visit you in jail, though. Bring you oranges. Handwritten letters. Make sure you don't join a gang,"

"Wow, okay... So you wouldn't be doing your best to bail me out, then? Not much of a help,"

Peter tilted his head slightly, and then came the smallest pause. A sliver of silence between us that wasn't awkward this time, just charged. His gaze lingered, a little lower than before, like he was letting himself look at me in a way he hadn't dared to before. "I'd be whatever you needed," he finally said, low and charming.

And suddenly my cheeks were burning. My breath caught somewhere between my ribs and my throat. I didn't have anything clever to say to that, not a single thing, and it made me feel like the biggest fucking idiot ever.

Peter noticed, too. His smile faltered a bit, like he was catching himself doing something he shouldn't. "Too much?" he asked, almost shyly, as he rubbed the back of his neck with one hand.

"No, no!" I said, maybe too quickly. "It's-- It's fine."

He nodded, stepping back just a touch. "Oh well," he said, voice gentle again, blinking quicker. "You looked like you needed a distraction."

The care in his voice made me feel something strange-- safe. And it was this exact safety that made me feel nauseous. Not because Peter was making me uncomfortable, but because it felt like a mirror to something I didn't have with Mr. Godfrey. Peter was the kind of guy you took home for the holidays, the kind your mother would adore before even offering him dessert, and I was letting him talk to me like he had a chance to be something like that to me. Would he like to be, though?

... Maybe I should keep that in mind before venturing too far down the road with Mr. Godfrey?

Then, just as I was about to respond, my computer let out a loud, annoying pling that I knew too well. Immediately, I straightened up and tried to swallow my heart, which had made its way up my throat in record time. 

When I saw who the email was from, I was sure I'd throw up all over Peter. In a hurry, accompanied by an anxious, breathy chuckle, I tried to click away the notification.

Peter raised his brows, automatically leaning over the desk to check out what had gotten my stomach in a knot. "You good?"

Finally, I managed to exit the window in a blur. "Yep!" I said, far too brightly. "It was just some reminder. Outlook being clingy."

Unsure whether to believe me or not, Peter backed off, hummed, and ran his fingers through his hair, tousling it a little. "Don't let Outlook bully you. You've got enough going on with that guy," he said, nodding toward Mr. Godfrey's office-- I didn't dare to look that direction just yet. "You sure you're alright working with him?" Peter added.

"Yes," I squeaked, forcing a smile that was way too wide to be natural as my heart pounded. 

Peter looked like he wanted to say something else, but held back. "Well..." he said after a moment. "If bossman gives you a hard time again, I'll come back with a bat."

"Now that would be illegal!"

He leaned in once more, his grin lazy now; "Get back to work, kid,"

I grinned back like a fool, and Peter gave me a parting look; one that lingered, one that made my spine feel like it had turned to honey, before he walked back toward his office. 

As soon as Peter disappeared down the hall, the air around me changed. His absence made everything quieter, sharper-- the hum of the fluorescent lights, the clack of someone's keyboard a few desks down, along with the muffled whirr of the air conditioning above, made me want to curl into myself and disappear. I checked the time; I had fifteen minutes until I had to be at the staff meeting.

Then, when I opened the mail, I pressed my lips into the palm of my hand. This way, I knew I'd at least catch the acid reflux that threatened to claw its way up my throat. It burned, burned, seared through me, but it was the most toe-curling anxiety that oddly made my clit jump-- it filled me with unimaginable masochistic joy. 

From: Roman Godfrey

Subject: Your Posture

Dear secretary,

You slouch when he talks to you. Fix it.

Linearly,

Roman Godfrey, CEO of Godfrey Industries.

I nearly jolted right out of my chair-- my back straightened in an instant as my anxious gaze flickered to Mr. Godfrey, who smirked as he circled something in the transcript before him. Bastard. Had I known any better, I'd have assumed that he was sitting there, amused with his own little jokes. But something told me that this email had a bit of an undertone to it, one his emails didn't have before; was he perhaps not so keen on me talking to Peter?

From: You

Subject: Sudden Awareness

Dear Mr. Godfrey,

Are you watching me, sir?

I will correct my posture. Was that all that bothered you?

Curved,

Your Secretary.

I had half the mind to genuinely lie down and demonstrate just how horizontal I could be, but I suddenly remembered the time I had slithered down from my chair and onto the floor the last time I had sent Mr. Godfrey a risky email. I wouldn't want to repeat that, especially in perfect view of him.

However, my plans were interrupted when I got my reply.

From: Roman Godfrey

Subject: Redirection

Dear secretary,

Do not start feeling special. I am simply making sure that you are fulfilling your duties as my secretary. 

And as for Rumancek, I must remind you that he does not know what you respond to. Do not encourage the illusion.

Vertically, 

Roman Godfrey, CEO of Godfrey Industries.

I bit down on my bottom lip and scooted closer to my desk-- this was way too amusing. Finally, this day was taking the turn I had hoped it would, but I was left with a bit of a sour taste on my tongue. Illusion? What illusion?

However, I checked the time; I had to make my way to the damn staff meeting soon. I needed to wrap this up, yet I also needed to know what he meant.

From: You

Subject: Confusion

Dear Mr. Godfrey,

I would appreciate it if you could specify. 

What do you mean by illusion, sir? Do you believe my kindness to my coworkers is an illusion? I would like to have you know that I am very well liked in the office, not only for my charm, but also for how nice I am. I am nice. That is not an illusion. 

Horizontally,

Your Secretary.

Seriously, what the hell? I glanced into Mr. Godfrey's office and caught him tilting his head as he read whatever popped up on his screen, brows drawn together-- I could only guess it was my email. I wondered whether he had nothing better to do right now but to poke his secretary. Then, my response ticked in within no time--

From: Roman Godfrey

Subject: Clarification

Dear secretary,

I am referring to the illusion that he could handle you. He could not. However, I would like to reiterate: nice? Is the whole office unaware of your foul mouth? I must say I am impressed, yet irked— you manage to keep yourself under wraps around everyone else except me? I am almost offended. You unravel easily. It could be interpreted as a flaw. 

Anyway. Get me a cup of coffee. Thank you.

Parched,

Roman Godfrey, CEO of Godfrey Industries.

My... foul mouth? After that mail, I definitely needed a break from Mr. Godfrey's green eyes and ridicule. I got up within a beat, sending him a stern glare that he didn't see (or acknowledge). I barely had seven minutes until I needed to be at the staff meeting, so I knew I had to be quick.

I must've been gone for about three minutes, maybe less, but something told me that my coffee-fetching had been deliberately timed-- the large box that was suddenly on my desk was perhaps the biggest tell. It was either a bomb sent by the government to eradicate Mr. Godfrey, or someone had brought me a gift.

With careful steps, I approached it, letting my eyes feast on the huge, white bow enveloping it. I put the coffee down before I reached forward to run my fingers through the satin. Some clepto part of me wanted to keep the bow after I was done unveiling the enormous box-- fuck it, I was definitely doing that.

I felt my fingertips tingle to the point of it almost being painful before I opened the box with utmost delight. Baby-pink tulle was the first thing that met my eyes, yet the sight of a cream-coloured handwritten note on top of it got my attention. I picked it up;

Part of your updated wardrobe policy.

Effective immediately.

-- R.G.

With my heart beating its way up my throat, I did my best to bite down a squeal that would've alarmed the whole office. I made sure no one could see me before I pulled the lace into my hands, threaded it between my fingers, and stared at it in awe-- this was lingerie. 

Black, lace, and ridiculously expensive lingerie.

Oh Lord. Was this why Mr. Godfrey needed my bra-size?! How the fuck had he managed to arrange this so quickly? Who had brought this here? Was he perhaps writing this card earlier, instead of fixing the transcripts? My mind felt like it was actively melting.

Gathering the courage, I dared to let my eyes wander into Mr. Godfrey's office, only to be met with burning green. Green, green, green. He stared back at me, didn't move a muscle, not an inch, not a breath-- until he mouthed; now. 

I swallowed hard. Something told me I would get some extra repercussions if the coffee was cold by the time I was done. With a small nod, and possibly a tiny, shy smile, I grabbed the box and made my way to the restroom; finally, something was happening, and it made me so excited that I didn't care that I'd be late to the staff meeting.

Whatever it was, I couldn't wait.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

The fucking staff meeting was the biggest case of the snores ever. Who allowed that to even be a thing? Why did I have to sit for an hour and hear about staff regulations? This could've been compressed into a nice little email I wouldn't read.

As I sat there, all I could think about was how soft my new underwear was. Was I going to get to take this home? Was this a present? Was this all I could wear to the office from now on? Was I then going to get more...? I refused to wear the same pair over and over without washing it; if Mr. Godfrey wanted me to do that, then that would cross into the land of disgusting. Had I signed up for that?

I knew I was overthinking it, but I couldn't help it; my heart was hammering with thrill and excitement as I now made my way back from the staff meeting, knowing I was about to see Mr. Godfrey again. 

The tightening of my throat didn't get any better when I saw that the blinds to his office had been pulled down. Was this an invitation? I barely even dared to knock, but I was sure that he didn't have any visitors, so I stepped in with full confidence.

And... I definitely shouldn't have. I cringed when the door clicked behind me, and I cursed at myself when I saw that he had company.

Mr. Godfrey stood with his back to me, joined by a man in a white coat. They were mid-conversation about something scientific and horrifying on a clipboard. However, my boss didn't react, didn't turn to yell at the intruder to get the fuck out-- no, he definitely recognized the soft click of my Louboutins. But then, without turning his head, Mr. Godfrey gestured loosely with two fingers toward his chair.

Wait?-- His chair?

He didn't look at me. He just kept talking, like he was waiting for my immediate obedience. Who was I to deny him that?

"--It's not about that, Pryce, it's about instinct. You can't brute-force that, but I can feel that something is off about this,"

When Mr. Godfrey said the name, it finally hit me that the other man in the room was the Johann Pryce, the man who was on all the posters regarding the medical research of the Godfrey Institute. This guy was basically God. With zero acknowledgement from any of them, I nodded to myself, proud that I had connected the dots, before I carefully made my way to Mr. Godfrey's desk.

Sitting down in his chair felt wrong on all accounts, but I tried to make myself comfortable as they went on. He didn't have any pictures on his desk; I had noticed that a few weeks ago. This felt like a sterile place I shouldn't be anywhere near without some form of mask, so I remained very, very still as my eyes focused on the untouched cup of tea to my right.

"The gene expression changes post-serum are erratic," Dr. Pryce said, flipping the page on his clipboard. He wore a very particular expression; something told me this man wouldn't know what humour was, even if it hit him in the head. "Unstable tissue formation... Fragmentation around the spinal cord."

"It's not fragmentation," Mr. Godfrey huffed, pointing to the research on the clipboard. "You're over-compensating with the dosage! It's rejection, look-- the body's rejecting the shortcut!"

"You think it's psychological?"

"No, I think it's behavioural. Conditioning. A person isn't just cells, right? They have to believe they're changing, otherwise the nervous system... revolts," Speaking of nervous system-- without as much as a glance at me, Mr. Godfrey made his way toward his desk and proceeded to slide the cup of tea along the desk before it was perfectly positioned before me. He continued speaking to Dr. Pryce, but I couldn't make out any of the words as he dropped a cube of sugar into the tea and stirred. And just as I thought-- he stirred only thrice. 

Was I perhaps hallucinating, or had Mr. Godfrey just... made me a cup of tea? Had he anticipated that I would walk in, after all? 

"Ah," Dr. Pryce said, dry as ever. His voice brought my mind back to the room. "So your solution is... what, spiritual transformation?"

Mr. Godfrey fully turned toward Dr. Pryce, flashing an easy smile I didn't recognise. "If I wanted spirituality, Johann, I'd send the fuckers to church," He tapped the spoon against the saucer with a loud, obnoxious, and jarring clink, and it made my breath hitch at the sudden noise.

Only then did Dr. Pryce looked at me, and I immediately felt like a nuisance. He had a certain look about him that made me feel like a bug he wanted to stomp, and I had to do everything in my power to not cross my legs or sink under the table. "Sorry," I breathed, reaching for the tea to occupy my hands. Why did I have to be such a pathetic mess all the fucking time?

I didn't need to look at Dr. Pryce to know he was rolling his eyes, and probably exchanging patronizing glances with Mr. Godfrey about my incompetence. "Church? Roman, are you having another religious epiphany perhaps? Who are we flying in next time, the new Pope?"

I nearly choked-- I had to do everything in my power not to laugh. Fine, Dr. Pryce got points for that one. 

Mr. Godfrey only huffed, finally glancing down at me with a look of clear disapproval; something told me I had a smirk on my face that I needed to wipe. The more the silence dawned on me, the more I realized how strict he actually looked. Everything about the eye contact made me want to give up and die; Mr. Godfrey didn't blink. He just stared, like that'd make me cease to exist. With chills running down my spine, I gulped and sank into myself, not caring that his guest could see me falling apart. 

"Sorry about her," he eventually said, turning back to Dr. Pryce. "She can be a charming girl, but more than often, I'm reminded that she's straight from college."

Uh... hello? 

I hated when Mr. Godfrey did this; when he spoke like I wasn't in the room. It made me feel less than worthy of life, but also shamefully horny. What the fuck was wrong with me? I could only force a sip of my tea, not wanting any of it to go to waste. 

"She's young," Dr. Pryce's voice sounded, cutting through the tension that oddly didn't make him the least bit uncomfortable. He wasn't looking at me anymore, disregarding my presence. "That's not a defect. It's moldable. Isn't that ideal?"

"Spoken like a man who's never had to house-train anyone," Mr. Godfrey muttered, a verbal flick of the wrist. "Anyway, run another set. Lower the dosage, and send me the report."

Dr. Pryce gave a slow, meaningless nod. It was clear that this situation had bored him. "We'll reconvene Friday," With a quick turn of his head, he turned to me and plastered a polite, eerily polished smile; "It was nice to meet you, miss. You might still be here by Friday, right?"

... Ominous fucker.

The door clicked shut behind Dr. Pryce, and I instantly dreaded what was about to come; it was the most beautiful dread in the world. If only it would asphyxiate me and allow me to faint, thereby escape it.

Alas, the tension in the room was unescapable-- Mr. Godfrey didn't speak right away. Instead, he rounded the desk, slow and fluid, and perched himself on the edge of it, directly in front of me, arms folded loosely over his chest. Without breaking eye contact, his green eyes seared into mine as he pushed the steaming tea aside. "Do you not knock anymore?" he asked, his words cutting through the false sense of security I had sewn into my skin.

My throat tightened. "I..." I wet my lips, horrified that my voice had barely sounded. "I'm sorry sir, I saw that the blinds were down, so I thought--"

"Well, you thought wrong," Mr. Godfrey wasn't angry. Not really. Right? "Do you understand why that matters?"

I nodded too quickly. "Yes, I do, sir,"

"Do you?"

"I--"

"I'll give you the benefit of the doubt," he said, brushing a thumb once along the edge of his folded sleeve as though he was bored out of his mind. "But from now on, if you're not sure if I have company? You knock. Did I tell you to come into my office?"

I wanted to cry. "No, sir," I breathed, mortified. 

Mr. Godfrey sighed and rolled his eyes; something told me he didn't like the sound of me on the verge of tears like a fucking crybaby. Everything about this made me feel ridiculous, and for what? For walking through a door? Why did I put myself through this, and why the hell did I like it? 

"Get up," Mr. Godfrey groaned. "Let's see if you've done the thing I actually told you to do."

... Oh.

Oh, yes, yes, yes! 

I let out a shaky breath as I got up from his (ridiculously comfortable) chair, not daring to meet his green eyes as I placed myself in front of him. My throat bobbed as I swallowed over and over, hoping to also swallow the giggle of excitement that threatened to escape me; there was no way in hell I'd allow myself to show how much I enjoyed this, after I had proclaimed my love for his torture just yesterday. "The set is very pretty, sir," I breathed. "Thank you."

"Yeah?" Mr. Godfrey motioned for me to step closer, to take the space between his legs, and I dared to obey. Now that I was close enough to smell his cologne, his voice dropped and smoothened; "You think it's pretty?"

I didn't dare to look at him. Refused to. I barely even dared to breathe as my heart pounded in my chest. "Very much, sir,"

"Yeah?" His words were low, deep; sensual, almost. "You wouldn't mind showing me, then?"

Static noise-- that was what filled my brain. It completely short-circuited when I realized that Mr. Godfrey's breath was falling gently against my collarbone, and I felt goosebumps cover my skin all over. Slowly, yet confident, he reached down and let his fingertips brush the hem of my skirt like he meant to lift it. His hand hovered, waiting to see if I'd stop him, and--

And I did.

Instinctively, I pushed at his chest. "Wait-- Wait," I breathed, feeling Mr. Godfrey's body still against my palm. "Could we-- Could we at least lock the door first?" 

Fuck. Swallowing became impossible. I looked straight into his green eyes, then at the Forbes nose, and the beautiful upward curve of it. What if he didn't think I was beautiful, too? Why was I panicking about this right now? Mr. Godfrey was just so damn perfect, and I realized a little too late how inadequate this made me feel-- now, I was trapped. 

"Please," I breathed. "I'll do whatever you want, just-- just lock it, please." He had a button on the underside of his desk that I knew automatically locked it, anyway, and I had half the mind to just nudge it myself.

But Mr. Godfrey stayed unbelievably still. He hadn't blinked, hadn't breathed-- I didn't feel his chest rise beneath my palm, his lungs getting filled, nothing. It was as though he had completely frozen, and I should've pulled away right then and there. I should've known better. I should've apologized and stepped back, but my hand lingered-- my hope held me back. I held my palm against the firm heat of him, caught in the moment, caught in him, in the impossibility of being this close to someone so untouchable, and then...

Mr. Godfrey's green eyes slowly, achingly slowly, darted down to my hand as though he was watching a snake crawl up his body. This was awful to him. My touch was horrifying to him. 

Then, with no warning, his hand closed around my wrist with restraint strength; I could almost sense the way he was holding back from cracking my bones. "You don't touch me," he hissed, ice threading through his voice. "You don't ever touch me."

In one controlled, terrifyingly fluid motion, Mr. Godfrey rose from the desk, forcing me to stumble backward. Then he sat down in his chair, and my body spun around with him as his grip around my wrist remained unrelenting, and then--

He yanked me down into his lap. Mr. Godfrey's hands, large and sure, gripped my waist and drew me downward, down, until I had no choice but to fold across his thighs, my breath leaving me in one shocked, helpless whimper.

His lap was warm. Solid.

And I--

God, I was spread over it, just like one of the girls in my favorite porn videos. Was I hallucinating? Perhaps. Bent like this, perfectly arranged, skirt already rucked halfway up my thighs just from the motion, I wasn't sure whether this was a humiliation ritual or a dream come true-- something told me this could be both at the same time.

"You don't get to take liberties," Mr. Godfrey's voice was low, threatening, thrilling. "Not with me. That's not how this will work." He adjusted me slightly, his palm spreading along the arch of my back to press me lower, until the blood rushed to my face and my ass tipped up in the most humiliating, vulnerable angle. I a whimper escaped me, and he huffed like he had already predicted every sound I would make.

"You touched me..." he continued, listening to my breath hitch. "Like you had the right. I thought I had taught you better by now. Are you always so disappointing?"

Oh God. Was this really happening? My eyes burned with the tears of shock that I was biting back. I didn't want to disappoint him; I wanted to be perfect. I wanted to be perfect for him, and what was I if I couldn't be? Nothing was worth it, then. Nothing. "Sir, I'm-- I'm so sorry," I pleaded. 

I tried to turn and look up at him, and I watched as Mr. Godfrey's eyes caught the subtle edge of my underwear beneath my skirt; a flash of lace, the exact colour and style he had picked out for me. Did he like it? I so desperately wanted to know. Did he think it was pretty on me? Did he think I was pretty?

"I'm sorry, sir," I repeated. "I'm-- please, I'm so sorry." Please, please, please don't forgive me. Or do. Or?

With a low, bored hum, Mr. Godfrey dragged a finger slowly up the back of my thigh, just enough to make my lungs stall, until he paused, fingertips curling around the hem of my skirt to pull it over my ass, making me squeeze my eyes shut as I realized he could see everything.

Mr. Godfrey sighed; "I suppose you can take this as lesson number two," His hand smoothed over the back of my thigh, fingers slow, trailing higher until his middle and index hovered over my clothed sex. Something told me he was itching to pull the fabric aside, like he was unwrapping a gift he already owned. With my breath high in my chest, I hoped he might, but I knew he had a history of being reluctant; if I couldn't touch him, why would he want to touch me?

Then, with that same low voice, dripping with what I could only pinpoint as arousal, Mr. Godfrey spoke with the most ominous tone of the century; "Do you like pink?"

What? I had lost the ability to speak. Consequently, a pathetic nod from me followed as I wondered why the fuck he was asking me that in the first place--

I choked back a gasp.

Blinding pain ripped through me, and all the air in my lungs got sucked out.

Mr. Godfrey's palm had came down sharp and sudden across the curve of my ass, and I whimpered from the sheer shock of it. The noise was obscene in the silence, skin against skin. Before I could catch my breath, he did it again, a little harder this time, and the fabric of the underwear didn't do much to soften the blow.

I had gasped, but not from pain, not really. From the sound, yes-- the crack of skin against skin, the raw immediacy of it, the fact that it had happened, that he had done it, without hesitation. Every sick and twisted cell in my body twisted with satisfaction; God, how special it made me feel. Twisted fuck.

Mr. Godfrey's hand laid flat against my skin like it'd soften the sting. He took a few seconds to calculate my reaction, to make sure that I wasn't sobbing with complete and utter horror. His palm stayed there, resting against the tender heat he'd just left behind as though to absorb it and to ground me. "Breathe," he ordered-- something told me that he had done this before. 

And I did; slowly, shakily. The sound of his voice pulled me back from whatever haze I'd started to drift into, from the heat, shame, and terrible pleasure of it all. Mr. Godfrey's fingers stroked down again, a featherlight drag down my inner thigh that made my clit jump. His touch was calmer now, steadying, as though I was some cat he occasionally liked petting.

What was his play here? I couldn't figure it out. 

"Pink it is, then," Mr. Godfrey muttered, as though he was thinking out loud. 

"... My ass?"

He sighed-- I would've believed it was a laugh, had this been any other situation. "No. Not yet, at least, but we're getting there. I'm saying that pink will be our safe word. It's ironic," His fingers dipped down again, tracing the edges of my lace panties. My stomach flipped, and I held back another hitch of my breath; I so desperately wanted him to touch me properly. 

Then-- "Do you want me to stop?" 

"No," came my answer, without as much as a second thought.

A hum followed, and then the next strike landed a little lower, sharper. I arched with it, and the noise I made felt utterly filthy, a sound I never thought I'd ever make between the four walls of an office, yet I couldn't stop it. My hips twitched toward Mr. Godfrey, searching for pressure, for more contact-- anything.

"Count," he commanded. "We'll do five more."

I blinked through the heat in my eyes; every part of my body burned with excitement. Mr. Godfrey's tone wasn't cruel, and that was the worst part-- he sounded like this wasn't strange at all, like disciplining his secretary over his lap was just one of many tasks he planned to check off before leaving work. 

The first strike was anticipated and therefore easier to handle than the previous ones, yet a whimper left my lips; I wondered whether my skin was turning pink yet. "One," I breathed, shivering at the free hand Mr. Godfrey placed on my back to brace me. 

The second blow landed without pause, not giving me time to stabilize. I made a sound, something caught between a gasp and a whimper, and immediately bit it back, horrified by my lack of restraint. I didn't want the whole office to hear me, after all. The sting echoed a moment longer than the first, seeping in slowly; "Two," I choked out. 

By the third one, I was starting to feel sore. The sharp crack filled the room, and I started to squirm in Mr. Godfrey's lap, feeling my skin burn and my brain buzz with twisted pleasure. I knew I'd miss the sting of this. I knew it. "Three," I breathed, euphoric. My body betrayed me; I shivered. Some part of me wanted to beg him to give me his absolute worst, but the sane part of me knew I wouldn't be able to take it.

I allowed a small smile to form across my lips, possibly tilting into delirium-- Mr. Godfrey caught it. "What, are you enjoying this?" he chimed, his fingers ghosting over the faint handprint forming on my ass.

I gave a simple nod, not daring to speak. And then--

"Freak," he hissed. 

I was unsure whether Mr. Godfrey rewarded me or punished me with what he followed his insult with, but it certainly felt like a reward; his free hand moved up along my thigh, and he proceeded to press his thumb against the wet spot that had formed in my underwear, dipping into me just slightly. As though he had set me alight, I let out a whiny whimper, bucking reflexively, shame turning me inside out at the shock of him finally touching me there.

I shouldn't have done that. "You're soaked," he said, like it was the most disgusting, revolting thing in the world, before the next strike came-- I could only tremble. 

"Four," I whimpered. My skin burned, my breath came high and shallow, and my skirt was pushed so far up now it felt less like clothing and more like a memory of one.

Mr. Godfrey continued, pouring verbal venom all over my bare skin as he moved his thumb further up along my sex, slowly circling my clit once. Just for a second, I wanted to be his damn cup of coffee- then I'd at least get three circles, right? "You're wet, you're cocky, and you're sick for liking this," There was no heat in his voice. There was no raised tone, and only that cold, confident cadence he always had in meetings, like every outcome was already decided and he was simply watching me catch up. "You're fucking sick. Do you like hearing that?"

"No," I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut as the humiliation seared into my heart-- I lied. I did. It was freeing to hear it be said out loud, for someone to acknowledge it. None of my exes had, no one had ever seen me the way Mr. Godfrey did, and it was the most thrilling, liberating fucking feeling on earth.

Mr. Godfrey's thumb rubbed another slow, deliberate circle around my clit through my underwear, listening to the strings of broken, pleasured whimpers that left me-- he knew exactly what he was doing. He knew exactly what pressure to use before my legs would start kicking, and he knew exactly how to touch me to keep me denied yet pleasured. "You're pinking up," he mumbled, mostly to himself. I imagined he was inspecting the handprint on my ass, now. "I suppose this is the shade Rumancek's face would be if he knew you were in this position right now."

Oh God. 

No, no, no.

I couldn't think about Peter. If he knew I was happily spread over Mr. Godfrey lap like this, he'd be so, so disappointed, and I couldn't deal with that right now. Just the thought of him knowing me like this, seeing me like this, made me want to both cry and cum at the same time. What the fuck was wrong with me? "Don't," I breathed. "Please don't-- don't say his name."

There was a three-second pause, then a short, angry sigh, before Mr. Godfrey's palm lifted, hovered, merciless--

Crack.

The final one landed with precision, harder than the others. The sound was obscene, and I cried out before I could stop it. It wasn't a dignified cry; it was something raw, shocked, high in pitch, and drenched in shame from the image of Peter walking in on us, which he in all technicality could because of the damn unlocked door. 

"Five," I whispered, barely audible, broken.

Then, finally knowing I was done, it all fell out of me with a hitch; "I'm so-- I'm so sorry, I'm so-- so, so--" All the shame from having misstepped, from having taken the liberty to touch Mr. Godfrey, from the thought of Peter, drowned me.

As my apologies rambled on, Mr. Godfrey calmly reached for my skirt, dismissing my pleas of forgiveness. He pulled it over the pink, stinging handprint on my ass with surgical precision. If anything, he seemed like he had expected this, like this was the common outcome whenever he did this. 

 My breathing was ragged as my stuttered apologies continued, and the room spun with heat and shame. I couldn't ground myself, couldn't think, couldn't snap out of the shock. What had just happened to me? What had I done? How had I dared to touch him? How would I ever possibly explain this to Peter?--

Fuck. Peter.

Mr. Godfrey's tone was completely different when it made its way through the fog in my brain; "You're okay. Breathe,"

His voice wasn't harsh, but it cut through the haze like a whip. I turned my head slightly, just enough to meet his eyes over my shoulder. They were unreadable, still cold, still that corporate green glass, but there was something quieter behind it now. He wasn't enjoying this in the way people thought of enjoyment; he was committed to it. 

To the act. 

To me.

Mr. Godfrey's clinical care made the intimacy more unbearable. My thighs trembled as I breathed through the aftershocks, and my mind was still running crazy as Mr. Godfrey guided me to sit in his lap like delicate glass. I didn't dare to move, didn't dare to touch him to adjust, couldn't function. 

The incoming pleas for forgiveness were stopped when he spoke again, and the following words nearly knocked the wind out of me; "You did well. You did good," 

Was Mr. Godfrey complimenting me? Yeah, I had definitely died or something. Dead by spanking. That'd look good on my grave. I sniffled, not daring to look at him as I caught a distraught tear with my finger. 

Thankfully, he didn't comment on it, but he didn't soothe me either; didn't shush, didn't touch my face, or murmur reassurances like every part of me hoped for in the aftermath of what had just happened. Instead, he reached forward with one hand, slow, practiced, and opened the side drawer of his desk. The soft mechanical click of it, a quiet, domestic sound, accompanied another one of my sniffles.

To my surprise, Mr. Godfrey took out a handkerchief. It was confirmed-- he had expected something like this to happen. He had prepared for it. The handkerchief was one of those fine, silk linen ones folded into a precise square; "Stay still," he said, before bringing it up to my cheeks. I held back a hitch of my breath, and my glossy eyes were wide with confusion as they searched his green ones. Was he... taking care of me now? I couldn't believe it.

Mr. Godfrey hummed, not meeting my gaze. "Are you lightheaded?" He dabbed beneath one eye, then the other, with an unreadable expression. "That's to be expected... but I could pour you a glass of water?" There was a hint of softness to his touch, and the pressure of the handkerchief was almost gentle. Yet, before I could let my mind race, I did my best to convince myself that he wasn't doing this out of the kindness of his heart, and I took him for what he actually was; a man erasing the evidence of something he would never name.

"No, thank you," I breathed. "I'm fine, sir."

"You sure?" 

Something in me snapped; "Why are you asking me that?" Why was he acting like he cared?

With a sigh, Mr. Godfrey put away the handkerchief-- my eyes traced his hand as it slowly went to rest at my thigh. Oh God. Finally, he looked at me, not interested in reprimanding me for my sharp response, but to calculate his next moves. "We never actually discussed any conditions," he said. "But you didn't safe word me, so I can only assume--"

"Why can't I touch you?"

Mr. Godfrey blinked. His gaze faltered for a second. I hoped that he could see the hurt in my eyes, the confusion, yet the gentle, innocent nature of my question. I wasn't here to persecute him-- I simply wanted to understand. 

His green eyes traced my face and the flustered redness of my cheeks; "I don't like it," he answered. 

The words dropped like iron between us.

There was no elaboration. No explanation. Just the sterile finality of a man who had already made peace with his limits and didn't see the need to explain them to anyone, and least of all me. He continued, and his hand on my thigh burned with the hypocrisy; "If that's going to be a problem, you should say so now,"

The silence buzzed around us. An invisible bruise bloomed on my heart, wider than the handprint on my ass. I looked down at my folded hands in my lap. "But you can touch me?" I whispered, hating the way my voice shook from the aftermath of what had just happened.

Mr. Godfrey didn't answer right away. He shifted in his seat, slow, deliberate, and my body moved with his. "I didn't say it was fair," he said. "I said it was the rule."

"Can I... also implement rules?"

It was clear to me that no one had asked him that before. "Well..." I dared to look at him again, rounding out my eyes to hopefully advocate for my case through the sad, drowned puppy-dog look I had mastered. It worked every time with others, so why wouldn't it work with him? Mr. Godfrey's neutrality faltered for a moment, and his brain recalibrated the course before he answered; "Sure, fine. But I can veto them."

"That's unfair!"

"Bet it is,"

Just for a second, I felt our dynamic. Just for a second, I could imagine us breaking out into small hiccups of laughter. Because now, I could see hints of amusement in his green eyes again, could think clearly enough to recognise how intimate this felt, how intimate this was-- he was teasing me, wasn't he? That felt normal. This could be normal, had the both of us been normal too; it killed me that we would never be.

"Fine," I mumbled, hoping to recover from the blow to my heart. "I want two new rules."

Mr. Godfrey nearly laughed-- I saw it in his eyes. "Two?"

"Two,"

"You're getting ahead of yourself,"

"You just pulled me over your lap and spanked me. I'm being reasonable,"

That was what it took. Mr. Godfrey sat back with an acknowledging hiss, raising his brows as though to motion for me to continue; was I really bargaining with a seasoned businessman? And was it working? Damn. 

I cleared my throat, fixating my gaze on the hand he had on my thigh. "After... after something like this happens, I get ten minutes. With you, to-- to just... exist in the same room without you barking orders. To just be normal,"

Mr. Godfrey didn't look thrilled, but he also didn't say no. "Ten minutes," he repeated, flat. "Clock starts the second we're done."

"Deal,"

"And the second one?"

I swallowed hard; I knew that my next condition could be slammed down with a hard, dismissive veto vote. My voice was small and frail when my words finally left me; "I want you to actually look at me,"

That seemed to confuse him. "I am looking at you,"

"No, no, I'm not talking about right now," I mumbled. "But I know that you know that I look at you from my desk, and I want you to... look back from time to time."

I expected silence. Maybe a scoff, or that bored blink Mr. Godfrey gave when he was ready to move on. But instead, something shifted in his expression, like a tiny crack along porcelain. "I don't know about that one," he finally said.

My heart sank. "Why?" 

"Because the more I look at you, the more distracted I get," 

"In what way would that be distracting? It's just eye-contact! It would take less than a second out of your day, and!--"

"I get distracted," he bit back, speaking through gritted teeth like he had to contain himself with all he had. "Because every time I look at you, I start thinking about how I promised myself to make the new hire one I wouldn't want to gawk at all day."

My breath caught. It actually caught. I stared at him, stunned, my lips parting but unable to form anything concise. Was this real? Had he actually said that? "Wait-- are you saying?--" I couldn't even finish. I was grinning, I felt myself grinning like an idiot, and I couldn't stop it. "You think that I'm?--"

"Your ten minutes are over," He didn't smile back. He probably didn't enjoy how any of this made him feel. Was he regretting saying that? 

Then, with no ceremony at all, he shifted beneath me and nudged me off his lap with a firm, unapologetic scoot, like this was a conference call that had just run long. I landed on my feet, still stunned, still warm, and stupidly happy. "Mr. Godfrey, sir, I--"

"Get back to work,"

Fucker. "But... my day is over now,"

Mr. Godfrey groaned, rolling his eyes as he turned his computer back on. "Go home, then," 

Then, to my surprise, one of his hands went beneath his desk, and the lock to the door clicked open with a click. Wait-- when had he locked it? When had he managed? With my heart in my throat, I turned to him, beaming; "You actually locked it," I breathed. 

Mr. Godfrey let out an annoyed huff as he glared up at me. "I'm not a fucking idiot. Of course I locked it,"

I would've squealed, had this been such an occasion. "Thank you," I purred, adjusting my skirt-- God, how I hoped I'd have a mark on my behind. I knew I was going to rush to the bathroom to check it out now, anyway. "Will that be all, sir?"

His green eyes didn't leave me-- didn't blink. "Do you like blue?" he suddenly asked.

"... Are we going through the colours of the rainbow today, sir?"

"Obviously not. I'm just thinking out loud. Maybe red would be more suitable?"

"For what...?"

Mr. Godfrey shrugged like this was the most normal conversation on earth-- you best believe it wasn't; 

"Your next present,"

(a/n: need me a Mr. Godfrey, like... STAT. thank you for all the support my loves, I have been re-reading ur comments over and over and AGHHH life is worth living<333)

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[casualhedonists]

✩ it don’t need your loving, it just needs attention ✩ (chapter two)

pairing: Coriolanus Snow x reader

chapter: 2/?

MASTERLIST

warnings: NSFW (18+), snow being snow, themes of sex work (not the reader), cuckolding, eventual smut, fake relationship, unprotected sex, themes of voyeurism & mild exhibitionism, murder mention (but no actual murder) (not yet at least?), MAJOR manipulation/gross power dynamics + generally darkish themes, some power play, oral sex, thigh riding, eventual piv, i’m new to full on smut bear with me here (and pls tell me if i forgot anything!)

i do not give permission for my work to be reposted/translated anywhere, under any circumstances.

a/n: first off, THANK YOU for the love on chapter 1. wasn’t sure how I’d fare since I’ve done a lot of writing in my life but little to no smut. with that said! longer chapter incoming. also I just know he’d give insane head okay i just do,the guy looks like he fucks and he definitely does

You weren't sure exactly how you slipped away from Snow’s room that night, but you could somewhat piece it together in flashes. First a head rush, then the fire in the pit of your stomach practically having gasoline thrown on it.

You remembered a quiet gasp escaping your lips, then panic, a flash of white, and suddenly you were stumbling away, head spinning as you tried to catch your breath, pacing unevenly down the hallway, any chance of a stealthy escape long thrown out the window.

Back in your room, once the door was bolted and your back was against it, making sure nobody could get in if they tried, you had your first shot at clear-headedness since you’d heard heels scuffing the hardwood.

You’d soaked your panties through and were dripping down your thighs, but you’d be damned if you could get into the headspace to take care of it. Panic flooded your veins, ice-hot as you tried to catch your breath. you slid down the door and sat there, legs numb against the cold wooden planks.

Who was she? A million questions filled your head all at once. Was she from the Capitol? Could she be one of Snow’s friends, one of your friends? The thought made you sick. What if you’d dined with her before? Talked to her? How long had this been happening? Who knew about it? Were you being played?

Had he seen you watching him?

Unable to help yourself, your one-track mind took you back to the way he’d groaned your name, though you were half sure that had been a fever dream of some kind. Still, you kept replaying it. Over and over, like a broken record.

It didn’t make any sense, you were so fucking confused. All this time you’d been hoping he would make a move, you’d practically begged him to. Why hadn’t he? When you were clearly on his mind, and yet he made you believe he didn’t think of you that way at all. Was he just respecting your agreement?

You fiddled with the lace on the hem of your slip as you mulled it over. You stayed sat like this for almost an hour, trying unsuccessfully to wrap your head around it. When you ended up right back where you started, and you were sure enough time had passed that if someone was coming to get you, they would’ve already, you finally stood up. Your caution led you to drag a chair from across the room, propping it up by the door to jam the handle. That left you with the sliver of peace of mind you required to shower off this cold sweat you’d formed.

The next morning, you dreaded breakfast. But you knew you had to face him, as well as the fact that this could very well be your last meal. You should at least try to eat well.

You made your way downstairs, a few minutes later than usual, enough for Coriolanus to already be sipping coffee, a few pages through his newspaper. You’d not got fully dressed yet, not wanting the contrast to be too obvious, but you’d wrapped a silk dressing gown around you so you were a little more covered up. You knew one thing for certain, you wouldn’t be trying any more of your tricks until you knew just what you were dealing with.

He didn’t look over at you, which you took as a good sign. The urge to hide from him, from what you’d seen and what you now knew, overwhelmed you. You didn’t say a word, and picked silently at your breakfast, but despite your best efforts, not managing to keep more than a few bites down.

“You’re quiet today.” He muttered, and you started.

“Um.”

He lowered his paper.

“Something wrong?”

How about everything?

“Oh, no, I’m okay. Just uh…” you glanced up at him, and met his sharp gaze. Fuck. You’d hoped you’d go unnoticed. You felt like a deer in headlights, like he could read your mind.

“Well?” He prompted, gaze unwavering. You blinked.

“Headache.” You managed to breathe, faking a small, pitiful smile.

He brought his paper back up in front of him, crisply turning the page. You both thanked the new barrier between you for cutting off his stare, and resented it as you looked at the tiny printed words you couldn’t make out from where you were sitting.

“I’ll have Lucille bring you up something.”

“Thank you.” you said quickly, almost too quickly, and you feared he might lower his paper again to watch you as you stumbled over another excuse. But you fell lucky this time.

The week seemed to pass in a blur, Monday’s gala being one of the only times you really left your room when Snow was around, other than meal times, which you spent in a similar state as that first breakfast. You cursed yourself for throwing out your longer dresses, and settled for the least suggestive of them, the white one you’d been thinking of pitching to Snow as a backup plan in your panicked state outside his bedroom. That all felt worlds away now. What you’d seen had shifted the tides, marking a solid, definitive line in your head between the before and after.

The gala went as well as it could given the circumstances. You danced, Snow was charming to you in front of the guests, but held your gaze no longer than usual. It was simultaneously terrifying and thrilling to feel his hands on your waist, knowing what you knew. It felt like you’d been tapped with a cattle prod and had to hide it every time his hand brushed yours on top of the dinner table, as unsuspecting guests smiled at you, the happy couple.

If only they knew that in the same breath, you were scanning the crowd, wondering who the blonde could’ve been, how close she was to Snow, if at all, and hating the way every touch he placed on your hands and waist served as a reminder that he’d been touching her instead of you.

Your stupid brain had formed a highlight reel of what you’d witnessed behind Snow’s door, and it tortured you with every passing moment. To know he was thinking of you. To think that maybe, he wanted you there instead. It put a strange sense of possessive pride into you, that weaved between your jealousy. Because yes, you’d seen another girl on her knees with her mouth around him, but you hadn’t heard any name other than your own while it happened.

You carried this strange hope, dwindling to start off, and then building each day that you were left un-hanged and very much alive, slowly chipping away at your fear of the worst. And yet, you knew the game, unbeknownst to Snow, had been fundamentally changed. You’d stopped your antics altogether, now barely meeting his eye as you passed each other in the hallway, covering up more at breakfast, and only talking just enough to avoid another interrogation. Avoiding touch, and conversation, and all-around keeping yourself away from him.

You were quieter still at night in your room. After a few days, you’d finally felt safe enough to move the chair away and sleep with the door locked as you normally would. But while your games had stopped, your want for him had only been amplified. Fuelled by jealousy and frustration, you had to bite down on your hand so that not even the slightest noise made its way out as you pictured him, not as you used to in your fantasies, but as you’d seen him that night, undone with your name on his lips. It was much easier, in your head, to picture yourself as the one on your knees. Any other fantasy just failed to make the cut now you’d seen the real thing.

Thursday rolled around and you’d made a new habit of pacing the downstairs library when Coriolanus was out of the house. That way, if he got home and stepped inside, you could pretend to be lost in a book. But the hours seemed to stretch out and you became bored, and with no Snow in sight, you decided to head down to the servants’ quarters.

This wasn’t a common occurrence, but it wasn’t unheard of. You were known for your gentleness among the house staff, less harsh than Snow, but firm nonetheless. It had led you to a respectful friendliness with the maids and servants, and once every so often you’d check in on them.

Today’s objectives, however, were purely self-motivated. You found Lucille, who dressed you, at the kitchen table, chopping vegetables.

She stood upon seeing you, and curtseyed (Snow was rather old fashioned that way). You nodded, then took a seat at the foot of the table.

“Do you need any help with that?” You glanced at the cutting board.

Lucille’s eyes widened. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Ma’am.”

You laughed. Lucille chopped and diced, and you asked questions. At first, they were after her family, her brother was sick and despite your offers, she wouldn’t accept help. So instead you listened, and slowly but surely, your questions got a little more directed toward the object of your interest.

You were good at playing the long game, so you started by asking about the company he kept. What she thought of them, with the promise that it would stay between the two of you, cross your heart.

She wouldn’t say much but she knew a little more than you; Snow kept very similar company as you did, and rarely went out for social visits. Any trips were strictly work-related, and when you eased into the topic of his past, Lucille mentioned, in very polite terms, that he had left a small trail of women heartbroken after a short period of time. That not all of them had been pleasant, and that she was pleased you seemed to have a positive effect on him.

She knew about your arrangement, practically the whole staff did, but they were kept on a very tight leash and were thoroughly reminded to not say a word acknowledging it, not even to you. It was with a knowing glance that Lucille told you she was happy you’d stayed around.

You smiled. Knowing that was likely all you were going to get for now, you let her be. By then, it was late enough to have gone dark, and you headed up to bed.

You awoke to creaking outside your door, and the shadow of footsteps from underneath it. You’d been tossing and turning for the last - you checked your watch - two hours. Excellent. You rolled onto your back wondering who it was, and then you heard it again. At first you wondered if it was just a sleep-deprived hallucination, or a sense of deja-vu, but then you focused, and there it was. The sound of heels. Again.

You sat up in bed, pushing your hair out of your face. You were enraged the first time, but if this was becoming a Thursday night tradition, it would be a serious problem. You were tired, you reasoned, you could just try to go back to sleep. Ignore it. Not let him have this power over you, a power that he didn’t even know he had. All the more reason to ignore it, and make it tomorrow’s problem.

But you just couldn’t let sleeping dogs lie, no matter how hard you tried. Your mother used to say it was a problem, always sticking your nose in places it didn’t belong. But it had got you this far, hadn't it?

You knew you were going to follow her to Snow’s room again, it was just a matter of time. You had to at least pretend you had an ounce of self-control, whereas really your head was thrumming and you knew it would take getting hit by a high-speed train to send you back to sleep now.

So you held off. Five minutes passed. Then ten. You had to know, at least, what they were doing. Maybe you could get a look at her face, see who it was, and answer some of the questions you had.

So you went. With a purpose this time, knowing full well what and who you’d end up seeing, trying to take steady breaths and focus on your plan. Check who it was, then leave.

You’d never been that great at execution. Call it hedonism, call it a morbid fascination, or living vicariously, but when you walked up to the door - which was ajar again, strangely even more than last time, by at least an inch or two - you looked inside, and your feet planted. The last shred of your self-control allowed you to take in the room first, the desk and chair that was right within your sight, and as you tucked yourself into the room, half hidden behind the door, you finally looked back at the bed where you’d seen Snow with his blonde girl last time.

Neither of them were sitting now.

Thirty seconds ago, you would’ve believed the hottest thing you’d ever seen was what played out in this room last week. But that was before you saw Snow turned away from you, still fully dressed with his sleeves rolled up, stomach on the bed and face between the blonde’s thighs, eating her out like he was on death row and she was his last meal.

You’d gotten head before. You knew it felt good, but the boys you’d slept with before your arrangement with Snow were selfish and inattentive. They would try, but they were far more interested in getting their dicks wet than showing you a good time. But Snow - you’d never seen anything like it. You didn’t know it could feel that good, or at least, not as good as the blonde girl - who you noted in the back of your mind, wasn’t anyone you recognised - was making it look. Her hips were bucking so hard he was having to pin her down with both hands around her waist.

She was just moving so much, wriggling and crying out and gasping and - you didn’t think you’d ever truly known jealousy until that moment. You couldn’t look away, knees weak and hands shaking, letting yourself get sucked into this headspace again, losing all trace of rationality. You’d think she was playing it up for him, but you knew what that sounded like. You’d faked enough orgasms to know if she was, but this? This was real. As she got close, grinding into him, writhing, running a shaky hand through his hair then getting louder, you managed to snap out of your trance.

In a flash, you ran back down the hallway.

If you thought you were avoiding Snow before, this week was about to give you a run for your money. You took breakfast in your room, and kept only to the parts of the house you knew he never entered. You only touched yourself in the shower, silent cries washed away by the water and steam, paranoia backing you into a corner.

You feigned illness the one time Snow sent a maid to inquire after you. Nothing too major, but enough to put him off. When he left the house, you snuck into the library to smuggle books back to your room, a pile forming as you tried ceaselessly to distract yourself.

You wrote home, you studied art and history. You attempted a few terrible sketches. You tore apart your room, then put it back together.

Before you knew it, Thursday rolled around again. On longer days like this, when Snow had been away working for hours at a time, you’d doubled down on your efforts to get information, and after chipping away for just long enough, you finally managed to squeeze some tidbits out of Lucille. Namely that there was a certain gentleman’s club in the city that he used to frequent before his election as President. Snow’s old driver might know its name, she said.

“But that was long before he met you, ma’am, rest assured.” She added hurriedly.

“Of course. Thank you, Lucille. I think I’ve kept you for long enough. Goodnight.”

Snow had been gone for the whole day, and you weren’t sure if he’d come home yet, so as you headed up to your room, you quietly wandered a little further down the hallway, to check if there was any light beneath his door. There wasn’t. Good. You were glad he wouldn’t be continuing this routine of his. Maybe this Thursday night, you could sleep peacefully.

With a sigh, and mulling over what you’d learned today, you returned to your room, poured a drink, then collapsed into bed.

This night was as sleepless as the rest, and you’d been drifting - not uncomfortably - in and out. A storm was brewing outside, and the sounds of howling wind began to keep you alert. You rolled onto your back and stared at the ceiling, then glanced towards your door. Snow must’ve come home at some point, and very late at that, because dim lights had been turned on in the hallway. Paranoia crept into your mind, slowly poisoning your thoughts and turning you inside out.

It didn’t take long before the feeling pushed you to roll out of bed, slide on a dressing gown, and crack open your door. This time, you couldn’t hear footsteps, or anything that might arise suspicion. You closed the door again. Waited. Then looked around your room, at the messy sheets and the half finished glass of liquor on the nightstand. You rarely drank alone, but these past few weeks had been getting to you, fucking with your head. Coriolanus Snow had driven you to this.

The wind got louder, and you knew you were too wired to sleep, so you stood by your window and finished the glass.

You’d never been good with mysteries. You wanted to know everything, all the time. Know who had power over you, know precisely how to take it away. Know exactly what was happening around you at any given moment. But most of all, you didn’t like being played for a fool.

And sure, the ethics of it had never been discussed between the two of you. Your business was strictly professional, but when you weren’t allowed to sleep around, why could he?

In fact, how dare he?

You poured another glass, straight whiskey. Downed it, pacing your room, back and forth between the door and the window, running your fingers along the ridges of the crystal glass. You thought about him, comfortably in his room, not a care in the world.

How dare he.

You weren’t sure if it was the drink or the buildup of your situation that had your blood boiling, but it didn’t matter. You were incensed. His behaviour was an insult to your name, to your family’s name. Sure, this relationship was a sham, but all the more reason for him to act with basic fucking respect. Sleeping with - and very obviously, at that - a whore, who had a bad habit of leaving the door cracked open, was unacceptable.

You were running hot, and if you knew one thing for certain, it was that when Snow met with fire, he was going to melt. You’d make sure of it.

Your feet took you into the hallway, with the decidedness that this would be the last time.

You rushed down the corridor with a tightly bottled rage that was about to burst, words hot on your tongue and demanding to be spoken, until you turned the corner and saw Snow’s door half open. You stopped in your tracks. Reassessed, then stepped closer, slowly, steadily. Remembering what you were there for.

Then, as you got close enough to see inside - right there, without you even having to step past the threshold, were the two of them, lit by a table lamp, Snow sat on the desk chair as the girl rode him to high heaven, obscene noises getting louder. As you approached you saw Snow’s face again, eyes shut, breath laboured, and you couldn’t believe that anyone just walking by would be able to see this. They were fucking like animals, out in the open. You didn’t know how or why you drew closer still, closing in on them. The girl’s head was dropped down to his shoulder, back facing you, and couldn’t see you unless she turned, but Snow? He was practically facing the door, almost as if he’d been…

No. It couldn’t be. Could it?

But you didn’t have time to think it through, because Snow’s eyes blinked open, and you knew. He was looking right at you, blue eyes piercing into yours, sharp and dangerous like he was going in for the kill. You stood there, jaw dropped, unable to look away. In what world could you walk in on someone like this, and feel like they held all the cards, and you none? That was how he looked at you; like you’d been there watching the whole time, and this was all a show, playing out exactly as he’d planned it. Like somehow, despite all your best efforts, he’d landed on top.

It was like he read your mind, because he wet his lips, unblinking as the blonde writhed on his lap, and fucking smirked.

a/n: can’t wait for them to hate fuck after this (oh sorry forgot i’m the author for a sec) thanks for reading &lt;3

taglist: @superchatnoir07 @itsrainingreid @nycweb-slinger @lookclosernow @etfrin @resibunn @serving-targaryen-realness @harmfulb1tch @demonsnangels @superb-icarus @julesandro @gracieroxzy @slyhersophia @shadowsepiphany @ben-has-arrived @unclecrunkle @zerotwo-sciencequeen @itsleniiilosers @thesiriusmap @ooooglymoooogly @darkqweenn @going-through-shit @loverw1tch @stinkii-boii

if you’d like to be tagged, please leave a comment on the masterlist!! 💌

[letstalkaboutfandomsbaby]

╔══•.·.☆.·.♥︎.·.☆.·.•══╗

buff guy

╚══•.·.☆.·.♥︎.·.☆.·.•══╝

ʚ Part 5 ɞ

❥ CW: chubby fem reader x buff guy, LOTS of dialogue, a little bit on innuendo

❥ A/N: hello!! This chapter got LONG sksksk but it was fun to write and I hope you all enjoy it!!

You go to work as usual on Monday. The day is normal, save for the several texts you receive from Guy throughout the day. It's on your break when you're finally able to see all of them.

Guy: Hi

Guy: It's me

Guy: 1 Attachment

Guy: This was my breakfast

Guy: Do you like photos of food? Would you like me to send more of them?

Guy: 1 Attachment

Guy: This was my lunch

Guy: I hope you are just busy with work and are not ignoring me. That would hurt.

Guy: Please let me know when you get this

"Jesus Christ," your coworker says, scrolling through the messages again. "He's clingy. The food does look good though."

"What should I say?" you ask.

"Well, I would say 'hi', and then maybe 'I am at work, I can't talk right now', and then maybe 'I will text you later'."

You sigh, taking your phone back and writing him what your coworker suggested.

Guy: I understand. Can we talk tonight? I would enjoy speaking with you on the phone

Y/N: Sure, we can talk tonight. Maybe we can chat while I make dinner

Guy: I would like that

You put your phone away, taking it out again once you get home.

Y/N: Hey, I'm home if you want to call

Almost immediately after you send the text, your phone rings, 'Buff Guy' showing up on your screen. You bite your lip, flicking the 'answer' button.

"Hello?"

"Hey." His voice is so deep over the phone, making you shiver. "How was your day?"

"It was fine. Nothing exciting happened. What about you?" He sighs.

"It was boring. I hated it." You hum.

"The mystical life of a CEO, huh?" He chuckles and your stomach flips delightfully.

"Yeah, exactly." The two of you go quiet before he clears his throat. "I... I missed you today." You arch your brow.

"Oh really?" He hums in agreement.

"So much."

"Hmm."

"Did you miss me?" he asks. You pause, thinking.

"Actually, yeah. I did. I missed seeing you when you come in for coffee. I missed making your drink like usual. I spent all day making dumb cream-chinos and lattes."

His breathing turns heavy. You can even hear him swallow.

"Guy? You okay?"

"Yeah, uh... I'm really sorry but I need to go."

"Need to go? Already? We've only been talking for five minutes."

"I know, I'm sorry but... something's come up."

You pout, but you're thankful that he wasn't there to see your sad expression.

"Okay, I understand."

"Wait."

"Mm-hm?"

"Can we please talk tomorrow? I'm sorry for cutting things short tonight, but I promise tomorrow will be different."

"Hmm... okay. But don't make this a habit."

"I promise I won't. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Okay."

"Goodnight."

"Night."

You pull the phone away from your ear, hitting the 'hang up' option. You find yourself alone, disappointed that your call couldn't go on longer than you wanted.

The next day, Guy calls again around the same time.

"Hi."

"Hey, Guy."

"I'd like to apologize again for last night." You hear shuffling on the other end of the line. "I didn't want to end the call so suddenly, but I had things to attend to."

"It's okay."

"What are you up to?"

"Well, I was going to make dinner."

"What will you make?"

"Baked spaghetti," you say with a smile.

"That sounds really good."

"Mm, well, maybe if you play your cards right, I can make it for you some day."

"I would be honored." You laugh, pulling out a pot.

"Hold on, I gotta get some water. I'm gonna put you down for a bit."

"Okay."

You place the phone on the counter, beside the sink. You fill the pot with water, taking it to the stove and turning the stove on. You picked your phone back up again.

"Hey, I'm back."

"I missed you." You snicker.

"It was, like, two minutes max."

"I still missed you." You hum, waiting for the pot to boil.

"So, what exactly do you do as a CEO?" He grunts.

"Nothing important. I mostly hire people and encourage them to actually do their job right."

"Ah, okay. So why did you have a business trip?"

"I am hiring an executive to represent our company in this city, so I'm interviewing people this week."

"Ooooh."

"It's all very boring. Tell me about your day." You scoff, grabbing the spaghetti from the pantry.

"It wasn't anything special. Just made drinks, like usual."

"Was anyone mean to you?"

"No, everyone was nice. The crockety old man who comes in for an extra-dry cappuccino made with almond milk was actually pretty decent today. Apparently today is his anniversary."

"Oh, that's nice. How long has he been married?"

"I didn't care enough to ask."

He laughs, deep. It makes you smile as you add the pasta to the water.

"What did you eat today?" he asks.

"Hmm, I had two coffees at work and..." You think for a moment. "Oh! Yeah, I ate half a sandwich from the shop next door. I'm saving the other half for lunch tomorrow."

"That doesn't sound like much."

"It wasn't, but I wasn't that hungry."

"Please take care of yourself," he continues, "at least while I'm not there."

"What are you, my dad?" There's a pause on the other end of the line.

"Do you want me to be?"

"Oh my god, WHAT??" Your eyes are wide, staring into your living room. "Are you being serious right now? Please tell me you're not being serious."

Laughter erupts on the other end of the line and you groan.

"You're fucking with me, huh?"

"Exactly."

"Fuck you."

"Some day you will."

"EXCUSE ME?! HELLO?! WHO DO YOU THINK YOU'RE SPEAKING TO?!" He laughs again, louder this time and you growl. "If you keep this up, I'm just gonna hang up."

"Haha, no, no, I'm sorry. I'll stop." You sigh, pressing your cool hand against your warm cheek.

"What did you eat today?" He hums in thought.

"I had egg whites for breakfast with some avocado. I had a turkey burger for lunch. And then for dinner I had salmon and a salad."

"Hm. Can I be honest with you?"

"Always."

"That sounds boring as hell." He laughs at that.

"How so?"

"Egg whites? Turkey? Salmon? Where's the fun in that? Eat some carbs."

"The turkey burger came with a bun."

"And I bet it was whole wheat, huh?"

His silence answers your question and makes you laugh hard, throwing your head back.

"Oh my god, I'm right aren't I? Oh my god, that's so funny."

"You're very smart, you know that?" You hum, pulling the spaghetti sauce and shredded cheese from the fridge.

"I'm just good at predicting things."

"And yet you couldn't comprehend that I like you?" You pout.

"That's different."

"Not really." You hear some fumbling and a distant sigh. "I'm sorry, my coworker is calling me. Can I call you back?"

"Yeah, sure. I gotta put my spaghetti in the oven anyways."

"Alright. I'll talk to you soon."

"Bye."

You hang up, sliding the phone across the counter. You strain your cooked pasta, adding sauce before pouring it into a glass dish and covering it with a layer of mozzarella cheese. You put it in the oven for thirty minutes.

Guy: I'm sorry. My coworker got so drunk that now they're sick. I have to attend to them. Can I call you tomorrow?

Y/N: Yeah, that's fine :(

Guy: I'm so sorry about this. Please believe me when I say I would much rather be talking with you than dealing with a puking coworker

Y/N: I understand. Goodnight

Guy: Goodnight

You eat your baked spaghetti in silence.

Wednesday comes and goes, but before you can go to bed, Guy calls you.

"Hey," he begins, "I'm sorry about last night. I hope you can forgive me."

"I guess I can. It was just lonely." You hear him sigh deeply.

"I am so, so sorry for doing that to you, Y/N. I'm so sorry I put you through that. I hate disappointing you."

"You've only done it a couple times so far," you admit.

"I know, and each time is torture."

Silence fills the line before you hear him shuffling on the other end.

"Are you done with me?" he asks. You sigh heavily.

"No. I just need to lower my expectations, I guess."

"Please don't," he pleads. "I promise this isn't normal for me. I don't want you to ever feel like you're settling with me. I want to give you everything you want and need, I want to make you the happiest woman in the world, I—"

"You know," you interject him, sitting up in bed, "you're much more talkative over the phone." You hear him huff.

"It's easier to tell you how I feel when I don't have to face you."

"That's really weird."

"I know," he sighs. "I just... you know, my throat closes up when I'm around you. I feel like I'm going crazy when you're in front of me, especially when I smell you or see you smile. I feel like I'm losing my mind."

You cross your legs into a sitting position.

"Keep going," you say, and he takes a deep breath.

"When I first saw you, I thought I had met an angel. My feelings cemented themselves almost immediately. And then you smiled at me and took my order and your voice was so sweet."

"Are you attracted to me?"

"Immensely."

"In what way?"

"Do you want details or should I be generic and just say you're beautiful?"

"Details."

You hear a deep breath, then a sigh.

"You're radiant," he begins. "You're starlight. I look at you and I see a goddess. Your hair, your eyes, don't get me started on your body."

"Talk about my body."

You hear him swallow.

"Have you seen yourself? You're gorgeous. I love your body, your curves. I can't stop staring at you no matter how hard I try. I..."

"You what?"

"...I think about you, a lot, late at night. I want you so badly sometimes it makes me feel insane."

"You want me... sexually?"

"Isn't is obvious?"

"You're hard to read." He chuckles.

"You know, I get that a lot, actually."

"Gee, I wonder why." He laughs louder.

"I like how sarcastic you are. It's cute."

"Be honest with me." He goes silent as you speak. "Are you interested in me just because you want to fuck me?"

"No," he says sternly. "I could never have you in just that way. I need all of you, every last bit. I want to make you mine."

"Ah, so you're possessive."

"Only of you."

You glance at your clock, realizing the time.

"Oh, shoot. I'm sorry, I gotta go, it's getting late. I gotta open tomorrow."

"I understand. Can we continue this conversation tomorrow?"

"Sure, if you want."

"You say that a lot, you know that?" You pause.

"Does it bother you?"

"No, but I don't want you to do things just because I want to. I want you to do the things that you want to do."

"Trust me, I do. I'm just trying to be considerate."

"I appreciate that." You hear shuffling on the line. "I'll let you go. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Guy."

You hung up, plopping back down into bed, snuggling into your sheets after plugging in your phone. You think about Guy, about the things he said, as you drift off to sleep.

Thursday seems to go by slower than the rest of the week, probably because you were opening. Guy doesn't text you very much either, which you find disappointing.

You initiate the call tonight.

"Hello."

"Hey."

"Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, everything's fine. I just wanted to talk to you."

He gives a breathless laugh.

"Really? You did? You're not fucking with me?"

"No, I'm not fucking with you."

"Wow..."

"What's 'wow'?"

"I'm just... I thought I was annoying you. I didn't expect you to want to talk to me. I felt like you were doing it just to be nice, not because you really wanted to."

"Oh..." You think for a moment. "I'm sorry I gave you that impression, Guy."

"It's okay. I was the one who assumed you weren't actually into me." He clears his throat. "You... are into me, right?"

"Surprisingly, yes."

"'Surprisingly'? What does that mean?"

"Well, I thought you'd be shallow and selfish, because I assumed all gym guys were like that, but you're pretty down to Earth. You're sincere."

"Do you—"

"Yes, Guy. I like it." He chuckles.

"You know me so well already."

"I know some of you."

"I want you to know all of me one day. I want you to know me in your bones."

You gulp, clearing your throat.

"Well, aren't you the romantic."

"Can I ask you something?"

"What?"

"What do you like about me?"

You don't expect the question, but you think about it regardless.

"Well... I've told you before, but you're very handsome. I like your muscles. You're strong, so you can protect me from big scary monsters." He laughs, and it makes you smile. "I like your laugh, and the way you smile. I like that you're straight-forward, because I need that sometimes. I'm not always the brightest."

"Don't say that. You're very smart."

"I didn't realize you liked me for the longest time."

"That doesn't mean you're not smart. I don't like when you talk like that."

You huff, rolling your eyes.

"Say you're sorry."

"What?"

"Say you're sorry to yourself."

You glance around the room.

"I'm... sorry?"

"That wasn't very convincing."

"What is this? 2nd grade? Why are you—"

"Y/N."

You sigh, tossing your head back and staring at the ceiling for a moment before recovering.

"I'm sorry for not being nice to myself."

"Good. Thank you."

"Are you done parenting me now?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Good. I don't need to be scolded anymore tonight."

"I wasn't scolding you."

"Sure, Dad."

"That's 'Daddy' to you."

"OH MY GOD, NO, STOP." He's laughing, loudly. You imagine him throwing his head back, a hand coming to his chest to steady himself.

"Messing with you is so fun." You grumble.

"Meanie."

"Aw, don't be like that. It's all in good fun."

"I know, I know."

The two of you go quiet again. You yawn audibly.

"Tired?"

"Yeah. I was up so early today."

"I'll let you get some sleep. I hope you have a good day tomorrow."

"Thank you."

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

"So what exactly are we?" you ask as you answer the phone on Friday night.

"What happened to 'hello'?"

"Please just answer me."

"I thought we were dating."

"Like, exclusively?" He pauses.

"Have you been seeing other men?"

"No, hell no. Have you been seeing other women?"

"Of course not."

"Then are we exclusive?"

Silence, again.

"I'd like to be," he whispers. You twist your mouth before pouting to yourself.

"I'd like it too." You hear him exhale.

"Then we're on the same page."

"I guess so."

"Y/N?"

"Yes?"

"I wanted to ask you properly in person, but I'll ask now: will you be my girlfriend? Exclusively?"

You feel butterflies in your stomach. God, you felt like a teenager again.

"Yes. I'll be your girlfriend." You hear him grunt, and you twist your face in thought. "What was that?"

"Oh, uh... I did a fist-bump."

You laugh, loud and joyful, and he laughs too.

"Alright, boyfriend. Tell me about your day."

"Ugh, it was boring. I found the proper candidate and offered them the job, but they haven't replied yet. They're going to say yes, but I hate having to wait to make everything official."

"I would hate to have your job."

"Thanks. That makes me feel so much better."

"I'm sorry!" you giggle. "I would just hate to be at the top of a company and have to make all these big decisions and being bored."

"Congratulations. You just summed up my whole job." You laugh again, and you imagine him smiling. "Tell me about your day."

"Ah, it was fine. I have tomorrow off which is nice. I'll sleep in and hang out at home and just relax." He hums.

"Can I take you out tomorrow?"

"Hmm, where you wanna take me?"

"Honestly?"

"Yes, honestly."

"I'd like to go with you to the gym." You furrow your brow.

"The gym? Why the gym? Are you trying to tell me to lose weight?"

"God, no. I like you the way you are. But I like the gym and I would like to spend time with you doing something I enjoy."

"Did you not enjoy dinner or the movie?"

"I did, I did. Please don't get the wrong idea. I just... the gym is a big part of my life and I want to enjoy it with someone I care about. It would be a lot more fun than going alone."

"Hm. I guess I can see where you're coming from. But I'm not going to the gym to 'lose weight'. I'm gonna go there to take care of my health. Got it?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Good. What time were you thinking?"

"Well, I usually go in the morning before work, but if you want to sleep in we can go a little later, since I also don't work tomorrow."

"Soooo what time?"

"What time do you want to go?" You hum.

"Maybe after ten. I'd like to sleep in until at least nine thirty."

"How about you wake up at ten and I pick you up at ten thirty?"

"Oh my god, that would be perfect."

"Good. Can I take you to lunch afterward?"

"I would like that."

"Where would you like to go?"

"Hmmm, I wanna go somewhere to get a sandwich. Do you know any good places?"

"I know just the place."

"Awesome. Sandwich city, here I come." He chuckles at that.

"Are you going to get ready for bed soon?"

"Oh, I'm already ready for bed. Just need to turn off the light and I'll go to sleep."

"Sounds nice. I need to finish unpacking and then I'll get ready for bed."

"Would you like me to let you go so you can unpack?"

"...Not really. I wish I could just talk to you forever."

"Talking to you this week has actually been really nice. You're fun to talk to."

"Thank you."

The line goes quiet before you yawn.

"Someone's sleepy."

"Can't help it! I'm all snuggled into bed."

"Hm, then I'll let you go. Then you can sleep and I'll pick you up in the morning."

"Okie dokie artichokie." He laughs.

"Alright. I'll see you tomorrow. Goodnight, Y/N."

"Goodnight, Guy."

You hang up the phone and plug it in, turning out the light and rolling over.

[sideblog-usernametaken]

Ok so Dandadan analysis time because I've been seeing some of the old conversations about it again. So two things about Dandadan (Not the only things but two important ones):

One of the over arcing themes is bodily autonomy

This series is a romcom

Rant below the cut.

A major reason people don't like Dandadan and/or are willing to dismiss it outright is because of the SA scenes. More specifically, a lot of people believe these scenes are fanservice and have no narrative reason to be there. They do have a narrative reason to be there though. These scenes aren't supposed to be fanservice either they're intentionally supposed to be upsetting/unnerving (I won't get into how here because other people have articulated this better than I can, and they will continue to do so as long as this misconception exists).

When people think of "violations of bodily autonomy" or "violations of consent" they usually think of rape or sexual assault. It is the beginner's example to the concept, largely because everyone with common sense agrees that rape and sexual assault are bad so it's easier to point out why they're bad. This also makes it easy place to start a narrative around bodily autonomy.

The very first scene of Dandadan is of a guy trying to coerce Momo into having sex with him even though she clearly doesn't want to. The same episode/chapter directly puts this kind of behavior on par with rape and sexual assault by paralleling the time Momo kicked him to the time she kicks the rapist aliens so hard she breaks their space ship. It's very clear that the narrative's stance is that not only are rapists bad, the people who aren't legally rapists because they technically got "consent" first (through coercion) should be treated with the same level of disdain. This isn't the kind of thing that you write into a series without legitimately thinking about the dynamics of consent and bodily autonomy.

Continuing on: The series also touches on the double standard between male and female victims of sexual assault. Okarun gets laughed at for having his genitals stolen, and Seiko just does not believe Momo got abducted by aliens. This very clearly parallels how in real life people will believe male victims got assaulted, but their assault is also brushed off as not that important or something they "should've enjoyed" or a sign of weakness. Especially if the assaulter was a woman. Meanwhile female victims are usually accused of lying regardless of any evidence they provide. These two things hold constant in Seiko's reactions throughout Dandadan. She literally rides in a space ship but doesn't believe aliens are real, and even when she's helping Okarun she's usually also doing a bit at his expense.

Going even further, Dandadan also branches out into other forms of violations of bodily autonomy that aren't thought about as often. For the sake of the analysis I'm going to do bullet points regarding each character. Fair warning: There will be major spoilers here so if you haven't read the manga keep scrolling until you stop seeing bullet points.

Acro Silky: It's very easy to point out that she was a sex worker, but what I don't see is people talking about the other ways she had to sell her body to keep her and her daughter afloat. She worked in janitorial services (A lot of manual labor) and as a store clerk (A lot of standing). Individually these two jobs are not necessarily coercive, they're not great but they aren't pulling you into something you didn't know about from the start. The thing is though, none of these jobs pay enough by themselves for Acro-Silky to make a living, meaning none of them are properly compensating her for her manual labor. This is an instance of manufactured consent, while she technically agreed to take these jobs, it's clear that she wouldn't be working all of them unless she had to. This is kind of an expansion of the coercion from the guy in the first scene but on a societal level where Acro-Silky wasn't in the position to be able to say "No" and move on. As a result, her freedom is restricted. She can't spend nearly as much time with her daughter as she wants to and she can't afford to get her nice things either. To top it off, any time she did spend with her daughter she spent physically exhausted because of her work.

Mr. Shrimp: Similarly to Acro-Silky, Mr. Shrimp is forced into work he does not want to do because of limited options and the need to support his child. What sets him apart though is that he's a migrant worker and his employers physically abuse him because they can get away with it. This is an exact parallel to how migrant workers are treated in real life. He even goes to work on a farm and it's potrayed as him making an honest living to support his family which is exactly what the majority of migrant workers are trying to do. Mr. Shrimp doesn't technically "have to" work on a dairy farm now, but he chooses to enthusiastically because it's his only option that doesn't require him tk disregard his morals.

Jiji: Jiji is an example of bodily autonomy violations of minors in regards to medicine. This one is a bit more complicated so stick with me here. When the Evil Eye starts possessing Jiji, the adults around him unanimously agree it needs to be exorcised and start preparing for the ritual. When Jiji decides "Hey, actually I want to try to co-exist with him" Seiko is his only adult advocate, and even she turns around on the idea when the Evil Eye has a close call with Momo. This parallels how in real life adults will make decisions for the children in their care regardless of their wishes, and how even the adults trying to be accommodating will still go against the kids' wishes sometimes. It also does a good job of accurately capturing the nature of these disagreements too, because yeah the Evil Eye is a problem so it's understandable why all the adults want to just get rid of it even if Jiji doesn't agree. But Jiji's stance of "Yeah this will be a pain but it's one I want to deal with" is also understandable. Like, imagine instead of an exorcism we're talking about getting an amputation that would be technically helpful but isn't strictly necessary.

Vamola: One of Vamola's initial goals when she's introduced is to find a strong man and have kids with him. This isn't something she actually wants to do but is something she has been obliged to do because she is one of the few survivors of a planetary genocide. She has been marked as her people's only chance at a continued survival because the rest of her people are too old to have children. Her mother and the rest of the surviving Sumerians gave everything they had to get her off planet safely as "the last thing left on Sumer to defend" so she has unfathomable amounts of pressure and survivor's guilt to go out and have kids. She doesn't get to figure out if she wants to have kids or not, that's just something that has already been made up to her and her only choice now is with who. Luckily, the story currently has her in a position where she can have peers, a (comparatively) normal life, and she doesn't have to think of her mother's request for a while. But even if it's not the primary focus in her life right now it's still there.

Rin: At a very young age Rin was forced into the role of caretaker. With a bedridden grandmother, a deceased father, and a mother who had to work long hours to make ends meet, Rin had to learn to be independent fast. She was basically forced to, otherwise her already unstable home life would break apart even further. To make things worse, Rin knows the predicament that she's in and her mother doesn't yet. Rin's mother thinks she "got lucky having such a good kid" and doesn't realize the pressure has gotten bad enough that Rin is already giving up on her passions to take care of her grandmother to give her mother a break. Mostly because Rin knows their family doesn't really have any other options and she doesn't want to place an even larger burden on her mother by adding more grief on top of it. It's essentially the "parent running themselves ragged to support their kid" story we've seen at least twice now but from the perspective of the child.

Zuma: Similar background to Rin where his father died and he took on a caretaker kind of role for his younger brother. Except his brother dies and this absolutely breaks his mother, to the point she commits suicide and tries to take him with her. Zuma is in the position where he has lost both his caretaker and the person he took care of, and he is fully aware of why that happened. This manifests as rebellion and him forming a gang that protects kids at his school from bullying and harrassment. He's becoming a caretaker again, but this time it is an active choice he has made. He doesn't technically have to start his gang or protect anyone, he has an adult taking care of him now and if he wanted to he could spend the rest of his highschool years stepping back and being a kid again. But he doesn't, and society labels him a delinquent for stepping in when the adults who should have didn't. This is another way that Dandadan shows how minors often have their opinions dismissed by adults who believe they know better.

Much shorter less spoilery rant:

Dandadan is a romcom. I have seen too many people complain about basic romcom shenanigans as if it's bad or generic writing instead of being genre conventions. "Ugh, there's a love triangle," Yes romcoms tend to have those. "Ugh, so many girls are into Okarun," Yes, and a lot of guys are into Momo, they both get romantic rivals because it's a romcom. "They keep going back to the romance and I don't like it," It's a romcom there's going to be heavy focus on the romance, you disliking that is a genre preference not a writing issue.

Like, do people not understand the concept of blended genres? Yeah this is a Shonen battle series but it's also one that has decided to be a largely character driven romcom. This is like someone walking into a horror comedy and walking out complaining that there were jokes and the horror would be better without them. The jokes are the point and the horror is a vehicle to get there. If you don't like jokes, go find a pure horror movie to watch.

[azurefanfics]

Incoming call from Lover Boy <3

Pairing: Jeon Wonwoo x reader

Genre: fluff

Word count: 1.5k

Summary: A late night call from your lover Wonwoo after successfully wrapping up his second Tokyo concert.

Note: To celebrate Nana Tour coming to an end I decided to FINALLY write the fic idea I’ve had since episode 1. Please forgive my rusting writing skills - it’s the first fic I’ve actually written in years!

“Incoming call from Lover Boy <3”

The familiar nickname flashed up on your screen, causing you to pause in your reading, smiling slightly at the phone. It was just a joke at first - changing your boyfriend’s nickname in your phone to see how he would react, but the sheepish pink blush that painted his cheeks whenever he caught a glimpse of it drove you to keep it that way ever since.

Your phone continued to buzz angrily, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“What’s up?” you questioned, picking up the phone right away. It wasn’t unusual for Wonwoo to call you when he was away, but you knew he’d just wrapped up a concert that night and usually he’d prefer to either celebrate with the boys or just sleep, especially this late.

“Sorry baby, were you asleep?” a familiar face came into view, picking up on the slightly sleepy tone of your voice and voicing out his concerns.

“No, I was just finishing up this chapter, don’t worry. Is everything ok? What happened to drinking with the guys?” you asked, turning your camera on in turn.

“I had a drink already, but I thought I’d turn in early or else I’d be up all night with those idiots. We do fly out at 6 am after all.” The rosy flush that dusted over his features revealed the truth in his statement, as he shook his head fondly at the questionable sleeping habits of his members. “Besides I couldn’t miss out on speaking with you, it’s the highlight of my day.”

This made you smile a little to yourself. Although you’ve never doubted your boyfriend’s love for you, it still felt good to hear that your presence lights up his day in the same way his does to yours.

As you continued chatting about anything and everything - mostly the boys’ antics during the concert - Wonwoo began to remove the remnants of his stage makeup and get ready for bed. You did the same, basking in the moment of shared domesticity despite the ocean between you both. Despite all of the moments you’ve shared together, perhaps watching him sleepily rub his eyes with makeup remover is the most romantic of them all.

Before long, Wonwoo was done cleaning his face and headed back into the hotel bedroom as the two of you chatted. The lights went out with a click and you heard faint shuffling noises as Wonwoo struggled with his clothes. Eventually, he turned on the bedside lamp to reveal himself lying down, shirtless with his glasses on and his head on the pillow.

“You should take your glasses off hun, that’s got to be uncomfortable”, you chastised him, “and that can’t be good for the frames either”.

“No, I want to see you properly”, came the petulant response, “I won’t be able to actually hold you until tomorrow so this is the best I can get”.

“I can’t wait until you’re home.” you sighed. Although it had only been a few days, the pandemic and the fact that you were able to go with them on the last tour meant that times where you’d been away from Wonwoo were few and far between. Although the two of you had been very lucky in that regard, it did make time apart more of a struggle.

“Me neither, it’s not the same sleeping in these hotel rooms without you…”, he sighed. “I’ll be home tomorrow though! Do you have any plans? I know you’re working but maybe we could have a night in? We can watch a movie and order food? Oh! We should try out that new pizza place near ours, you know, the one Mingyu was talking about?”

“Oh yes! He made it sound so good - I’ve been wanting to check it out for a while! We should get extra and then we can have some leftovers for breakfast the next day!”

“…Babe… What are you talking about…. Pizza isn’t breakfast, you monster.” he deadpanned. At this, your cheeks puffed out a little in frustration.

“Breakfast can be whatever you want it to be! You can’t convince me that you had a healthy breakfast every day when you were living with Mingyu!”

As you continued to bicker back and forth about the validity of various breakfast(?) foods, you took a second to admire your breathtaking boyfriend. Even with his face smooshed into the pillow and his glasses askew, his handsome features and plush lips pulled into a subtle smile never failed to make you swoon.

Eventually the conversation turned to your days, catching up on everything that had happened since you last spoke. Although yours was quite uneventful - “just my manager being an idiot, as always” - Wonwoo was full of stories of shopping with the boys earlier that day.

“And then Hoshi just ran away with Coups’ crutches! He was just sat there on the floor pouting!”

As you giggled at his latest story, Wonwoo couldn’t help but join in as well. Your laughter never failed to give him the deepest joy - he would share stories until his throat ran dry, just to see you smile. He’d even endure the endless teasing from his members to buy magazines with his own face on to bring back to you. He didn’t understand why you needed them when you had the real thing - “They’re good to make collages out of, ok? Don’t judge me!” - but he’d dutifully bring them home to you to catch a glimpse of that bashful blush and shy smile of yours.

As your giggles died down, a wave of exhaustion washed over you and you couldn’t hold back your yawn. Despite doing your best to stifle it off camera, your ever attentive boyfriend still caught on.

“Are you tired baby? Sorry for keeping you up, we can always catch up tomorrow instead”, he said apologetically.

“No, no, if anyone should be tired it’s you. You’re the one that just finished a whole concert! Besides, I like hearing you talk. Tell me more about your day”.

At your gentle prompting, Wonwoo launched into another story about Dino’s latest antics. Despite his animated retelling of the members bullying their maknae, you felt calmed by his voice and felt yourself slowly being lulled to sleep. As your eyes drooped further, a gentle “sleep well baby” was the last thing you heard before your eyes shut completely.

—

The next morning you wake up to a text received at 4 am:

‘Sorry honey, we’ll have to take a rain check on our plans today. I’ve been kidnapped’

‘We’re going to Italy. I’ll bring you back some limoncello to make it up to you x’

You wracked your sleep-addled brain trying to make sense of his message before you remembered - Youth Over Flowers! You felt a slight twinge in your chest at having to cancel your date night, but that was quickly overtaken by excitement for your boyfriend, whom you know has never been to Italy before. You had considered visiting together in the past, but you’d never been able to make it work with your boyfriend’s packed schedule. Your boyfriend had rarely been able to go abroad for leisure at all in the past, let alone with almost all his members. The fact that Na PD somehow managed to surprise the boys, despite them losing all hope of the trip actually happening, just made it that much more sweet.

As you set to work looking up restaurant recommendations in Italy to make sure that your boyfriend was able to enjoy his trip to the fullest, a knock sounded on your door. Jumping out of bed and pulling on a dressing gown, you quickly made your way to the door.

“Pizza for Y/N?” It was the pizza place you’ve been wanting to try.

“I don’t think I ordered this? Do you have the wrong place?” you responded, bewildered.

“It was ordered to this address under the name of Jeon Wonwoo. There was a note left on the receipt.” At that your heart swelled, and you accepted the box gratefully from the delivery driver.

As you settled down at the kitchen table with the still hot box, you unfolded the receipt and took in the message your lover left for you.

“Sorry I can’t be there today baby. Please take this as my peace offering while I’m off expanding my pizza horizons in Italy. I hope you have a good day at work, can’t wait to see you soon! 10 days can’t go by fast enough. Please wait for me a little longer love <3”

You smiled softly at the thought of him, bleary eyed, having to pack all of his belongings in a rush, but still taking the time to think of you.

You took a bite of the piping hot pizza covered in your favourite toppings - delicious. Who ever said pizza wasn’t a breakfast food anyway?

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Series Synopsis: A series of (mostly) unrelated one shots, featuring Oliver Aiku somehow getting involved with the love lives of various Blue Lock characters — whether he wants to or not.

Chapter Synopsis: After being yelled at one too many times by their strict Ubers teammate, Oliver Aiku enlists Ikki Niko in helping him get Shoei Barou a girlfriend, hoping beyond hope that that’s enough to get the guy to chill out a bit.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Barou x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 10.8k

Content Warnings: crack fic, barou is also my awkward goat, love at first sight, oliver aiku is such a bitch but he’s funny so it’s kind of okay, reader is kind of an npc in this icl 😓, this is really dumb please don’t judge my writing off of it, everyone is 100% ooc don’t come at me i KNOWWW, split perspectives (it makes sense in the story), everyone gets slandered (mostly by aiku), god bless niko for being chronically online

A/N: there were a decent amt of people who wanted barou’s version plus i felt like writing it so he’s up next!! LMAO it kind of got a bit long just like the sae version and somehow it’s even sillier so…but yeah anyways this is the second entry in “oliver aiku’s guide to getting girls” i hope you all stick around for the rest 🤩‼️

Barou is yelling at them again. Aiku’s not sure what the big deal is this time — so what if Lorenzo spilled spaghetti sauce on the floor? He’s Italian, that’s part of his culture — but if he dares to speak up, Barou will single him out specifically, and then he’ll be treated like a little kid in timeout, which doesn’t sound like an ideal way to spend a Friday night.

It’s the four of them in the doghouse as usual — himself, Niko, Aryu, and Sendou, that is. The most ridiculous thing is that Lorenzo isn’t even there, though he’s the true target of Barou’s rage; unfortunately for his teammates, though, Lorenzo’s off getting his teeth polished or counting his money while cackling or whatever else it is that he does in his free time.

Honestly, none of them are really taking the theatrics seriously. Aryu’s fiddling with the ends of his hair, Niko’s standing there, staring at Barou with large, watery eyes, and Sendou’s glaring back at Barou with his arms folded over his chest. Aiku sighs, because that means an argument between the two is most likely impending, but unfortunately for him, he sighs a bit too loudly, and Barou whips around, jabbing a finger at him.

“What’s so exasperating, huh?” Barou says. “I bet you won’t be sighing when we have an insect infestation because none of you can be bothered to clean up that damn tomato shit that Lorenzo’s obsessed with!”

“It’s marinara,” Niko pipes up meekly. They all look at him with varying degrees of incredulity; he shrugs, adjusting the headphones around his neck self-consciously. “Lorenzo’s trying to teach me how to make it. Supposedly a typical spaghetti sauce has meat and vegetables added, but a good marinara is the base, so — um, anyways.”

Barou’s upper lip is curled into a sneer, and Aiku’s just about to thank Niko for taking the fall and turning Barou’s rage to him when he remembers that that’s markedly not how Barou operates. He’s too meticulous to forget the former recipient of his ire, not so quickly, and indeed, Barou is pointing at them both when he speaks next.

“That stain better be gone the next time I come in this room,” he says. He doesn’t say what will happen if it’s not, but given his authoritative voice and enormous physique, he usually doesn’t have to resort to making threats in order to be obeyed.

“Thank goodness,” Aryu says once Barou has left to complete his evening meditations. “Seems like Barou appreciated our elegant silence, Sendou. We’ve escaped reproach this time.”

“Yup,” Sendou says. Whistling nonchalantly, he sidles out of the room, and with a fluttering wave, Aryu follows suit. Aiku can’t even blame them, considering it’s what he would’ve done if he were in their place.

Glancing at Niko, who is now his greatest friend due to convenience alone, Aiku shakes his head, wondering what choice he made in life that led to his weekend plans amounting to cleaning sauce stains from a carpet with a little boy instead of partying or something.

“You got the bleach?” he asks. Niko nods miserably.

“Yeah, I got it. You’re good with scrubbing?” he says. Aiku’s shoulders cramp preemptively at the mere thought, but he doesn’t protest aloud.

“No other choice, right?” he says. “Off to work we go, then.” 

Your best friend has been begging you for days to try this new restaurant with her, and it’s only now that it’s Friday that you can’t come up with any more excuses to avoid it. The truth is that you don’t really have a reason to refuse her as many times as you have, but the thought of summoning up the wherewithal to get ready and go out for dinner instead of throwing on your pajamas and eating something on the couch with a movie in the background is excruciating. Besides, you know her tastes. She always takes you to insanely fancy locations where anything less than your best will be embarrassing, and the only saving grace is that your outings always end up being insanely cheap, as she refuses to spend more than the bare minimum no matter what.

“You’re serious?” she affirms, standing in front of your closet and sifting through your clothes. You’re sitting on your bed, legs crossed and your laptop on your lap as you try to finish up the essay you have due Monday before getting ready. “You’ll really go with me?”

“I just told you I would, didn’t I?” you say. “I wouldn’t let you go through my closet if I wasn’t being serious. Actually, I wouldn’t have let you into my house at all.”

“Your parents would’ve opened the door for me,” she says dismissively. “They love me.”

It’s true, they do love her as much if not more than they love you, so you have no rebuttal. She grins at you, tossing a shirt in your general direction. It hits the back of your laptop, landing in a heap on the floor, and you’re too busy to pick it up, so you just leave it there, too lost in thought to care. Just the conclusion, if I can finish that then I can do something fun without anything on my mind—

“Hurry up and get ready! We want to get a table, don’t we?” she says. It’s a pair of pants she flings your way this time, and her aim is far more superior, for they smack into your face, temporarily blinding you.

“If you don’t let me finish this essay, I won’t go with you,” you say, and she knows you mean it literally, so she immediately pretends to zip her lips, saluting at you.

“Finish away!” 

“Barou’s totally got a stick up his ass, don’t you think?” Aiku says after thirty minutes have passed and the stain is no smaller than before. 

“I don’t think I’d phrase it like that,” Niko says, pouring another cup of bleach on the carpet. Neither of them really know much about cleaning, so this is the best they’ve got, even though Aiku’s pretty sure Barou would pass out if he saw their method. “But yeah, he can be kind of uptight at times.”

“He’s pretty nice otherwise, though,” Aiku says thoughtfully. “It’s kind of a shame. I bet if he loosened up a bit, he’d be a downright enjoyable teammate. Besides the cleaning and all, he’s a cool guy.”

“I do like training with him,” Niko says. “When he’s not yelling at us, it’s fun. Following his regimen has made me a lot stronger.”

“Agreed,” Aiku says. That’s the one thing he’ll give Barou — the guy is a master with the training equipment. He’s introduced Aiku to machines he didn’t even know existed. “You know what he needs?”

“What?” Niko says. He’s scrubbing at the floor while Aiku’s sipping on a soda; theoretically, they’re supposed to be switching off, but Niko hasn’t complained yet, so Aiku’s not about to remind him that it’s well beyond time for his turn.

“Some pu—” Aiku cuts himself off when he remembers that he is talking to a child. Niko’s like twelve or something, so maybe phrasing it in that way isn’t the most appropriate thing to do. “—I mean, a beautiful and loving girlfriend.”

Niko tilts his chin up at him, which means he’s probably looking at him; it’s hard to tell with his overgrown bangs falling in his face. Aiku makes a mental note to suggest cutting Niko’s hair during the next team bonding night that Snuffy forces them into.

“I guess having someone like that would make anyone happier, even Barou,” he says.

“That’s what I’m getting at! I bet he’s just constantly stressed out, so he takes it out on us instead of finding a healthy outlet. Maybe dating someone will fix that and give him something to do besides soccer,” Aiku says.

“Is that your secret to always being so calm?” Niko says. Aiku nods.

“The more girls you have, the less you can worry about things like training. You’re too focused on making sure they’re all happy,” Aiku says.

“Woah,” Niko says. “That’s a really great way of looking at things.”

“Right?” Aiku says. “With Barou, though, we might be lucky if we can find even one girl willing to put up with him. He’s a bit of a work in progress, you know?”

“Totally,” Niko says. “What if he yells at her the way he yells at us?”

Aiku has a vision of some poor, innocent girl on the verge of tears as Barou rants about how she didn’t fold her laundry the right way or something. For some reason, she looks kind of like Niko — oh, that’s probably because Barou just yelled at Niko for that exact reason — but the image is enough for him to balk.

“She can come to us for comfort,” Aiku says decisively before once again remembering that Niko probably only popped out of the womb a scant few months prior. He needs to be more careful — this isn’t Sendou, who would’ve made at least ten innuendos even worse than his own by this point. “I mean, me.”

“That’s a good plan,” Niko says. “You’re really good with the whole advising and comforting thing. I bet you’d make her feel better for sure.”

Yeah, I’d make her feel better alright. This time Aiku manages to keep it to himself, only coughing slightly and nodding towards the bottle of bleach as an explanation.

“The only question is where in Blue Lock are we going to find a girl, let alone one willing to date Barou?” Aiku says.

“Well, Bastard München is playing PXG this weekend, and Manshine City is playing Barcha, so we’re technically off,” Niko says. “I think if we ask Snuffy, we can probably have a day out.”

“What if Ego gets mad?” Aiku says, although the idea is sound enough that he’s just jealous he didn’t come up with it himself. Niko hums, giving careful consideration to the notion.

“We can just blame it on Snuffy. What’s Ego going to do, fire him?” he says. 

A grin breaks out on Aiku’s face.

“Niko, kiddo—”

“I’m fifteen.”

“—you’re totally a genius. Let’s go!”

“What about the stain?” Niko says. Aiku glances at the still marinara-colored splotch on the carpet, and then he waves it off dismissively.

“If we can find Snuffy before Barou gets back, then it’s no longer our problem,” he says.

Niko looks unconvinced, but he’s sensible as well as genius-material, so he only follows after Aiku — albeit not without a final worried glance at the section of carpet which still smells suspiciously of tomatoes. 

“So what cuisine does this place have, anyways?” you say. You’ve finally finished and submitted your essay, and now you’re taking a shower. Your best friend has closed the lid of the toilet and is sitting on it while playing on her phone, apparently because she wants to be able to talk to you even while you’re showering, and since you have a curtain you don’t mind.

“No idea,” she says.

“No idea?” you say, squeezing shampoo into your palm. “Why do you want to go, then?”

“My dad’s Facebook friends have been raving about it,” she says. “His ex-boss said that it’s the best value-for-money in the entire city!”

“We’re going to dinner based on recommendations from your dad’s Facebook friends,” you repeat dryly. “Wow.”

“Look, he may have chronically underpaid my dad, but the ex-boss has great taste in food!” your best friend defends. “Apparently they fill up super fast, though, so we have to get there right when they open for dinner, or else we’re out of luck.”

“Is this you subtly trying to pressure me to shower faster?” you say.

“It’s not subtle,” she says. You scoff.

“I hope you know I’ll take even longer now,” you say.

“You better not!” 

Snuffy is obviously confused when the two of them approach him — Aiku’s not sure if it’s the question that has their coach confounded, though, or if it’s the admittedly odd combination that’s approached him.

“You guys want a night out of the facility?” Snuffy checks.

“Yes,” Aiku says.

“And…you want Barou to come?” Snuffy says. That could be another reason for the incredulity — ‘Barou’ and ‘fun’ are two words rarely if ever seen in the same sentence, unless your name is Yoichi Isagi, in which case just being on the same field as Barou is your idea of ‘fun.’ For normal people — i.e. those with names such as Oliver Aiku and Ikki Niko — those concepts don’t generally align, however, so Aiku can’t blame Snuffy for the weird face he’s making.

“Yes,” Niko says.

Snuffy stares at them for a moment longer, and then, to make things even stranger, he chuckles in a way that’s almost fond.

“It’ll be good for him to get out of here for a bit,” he says. “You two are great teammates for thinking of him; I’m sure he’ll appreciate it one day, if not necessarily tonight. Go on, then, and have fun if you’d like.”

Aiku waits for the other shoe to drop, but Snuffy just returns to making a cup of coffee. It’s a little odd, given the later hour, but still, Aiku’s not one to count his blessings, so he motions for Niko to follow him, and with Snuffy’s official permission, the two of them march towards where Barou is probably doing his daily “fuck Yoichi Isagi” affirmations. They have that kind of weird relationship, after all. It’s unnecessarily complicated, but Aiku has observed during his time in Blue Lock that almost every single relationship between the members of the program follows such a mold. He’s given up on trying to figure any of it out, knowing it’s well beyond him.

“Are you ready?” Aiku says when they reached the closed door to the training room. Niko rolls his shoulders.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Niko says. Aiku decides he likes him, and that he should try to spend more time with the pipsqueak. Maybe he can be a mentor figure or a true role model for the younger player. He’d definitely do better at the job than, say, Aryu. Or Lorenzo, which is a more relevant concern, since apparently the two are cooking buddies, as per Niko’s marinara interlude during Barou’s earlier tantrum.

With a grim nod at Niko, Aiku swings open the door. Schooling his expression into a cheery grin, he calls out in a sing-song that really doesn’t spell anything but trouble:

“Oh, Barou!” 

You’ve made your best friend drive, since she’s the one who’s insisted on taking you out, which leaves you to play music and accomplish other such passenger-esque duties. You take full advantage of your freedom to be distracted, shuffling through playlists whenever you’re bored and scrolling through your best friend’s crush-of-the-week’s social media.

“He’s kind of ugly,” you say. She clicks her tongue.

“In a cute way, though, right?” she says. When you’re silent, she gasps. “Right?”

“Uh…” you trail off, zooming in on one of the photos. Something about him is reminiscent of a gerbil, and you can tell he’s short even before you swipe and see him in a photo with one of his friends, barely coming up to his shoulder. “There’s someone out there for everyone, I suppose.”

“That means you think he’s repulsive!” she accuses you.

“Repulsive’s a strong word,” you say. 

“Hideous?” she says.

“I can get behind that,” you say. “He reminds me of Tinkerbell.”

“Like the fairy, or our third grade teacher’s gerbil?” she says.

“The latter,” you say. “I’m glad you remembered her. That wouldn’t have been as funny if you didn’t.”

“I didn’t find it funny regardless,” she says, pulling into the parking lot and slowing the car to a crawl as she hunts for a space to pull in.

“Hm,” you say. “I did.”

“You know what? You’re not allowed to slander him until you find someone better for yourself. Girls in glass houses should not be throwing stones, and considering some of your exes, you’re in no position to talk,” she says.

“Low blow,” you say.

“No response? That’s what I thought,” she says. You scowl.

“Just park the car, you dumbass. 

“What the hell is going on?” Barou says, for probably the third or fourth time. Unfortunately, their attempt at kidnapping him didn’t go as planned, for neither Aiku nor Niko could lift Barou for any length of time, so now they were stuck with a supremely irritated striker following after them as they marched towards where the Blue Lock official parking was. 

Snuffy had given them the keys to his car, so at least they had a ride — if he weren’t such a good coach, Aiku would seriously question the man’s judgment. Niko ushers Barou into the backseat, claiming he already “called shotgun,” and then he dives into the passenger seat beside Aiku, fastening his seatbelt with a serious expression on his delicate face.

“We wanted to have a fun night out!” Aiku says, turning the child lock on so Barou can’t escape before reversing out of the garage.

“Huh?” Barou says. “There’s so many things wrong with that statement, I don’t even know where to begin. Also, why are we in Snuffy’s car?”

“He gave us the keys,” Niko says, like it’s obvious. In all fairness, it kind of is.

“He gave you two the keys,” Barou says. Aiku’s a responsible driver, so he doesn’t glance back at Barou, but he’s pretty sure that if he did, he’d be met with the kind of fearsome glare that made medieval-era peasants believe in the existence of creatures like trolls and dragons.

“Yes, he did,” Aiku says. “Told us to enjoy ourselves while we were at it.”

Barou sighs. “Say I believe that—”

“We’re telling the truth!” Aiku says.

“—uh-huh, sure. Anyways, where are we even going?” he says.

“Oh, I can answer that!” Niko says. “It’s this restaurant that my dad’s obsessed with. He’s been posting all over his Facebook about it. According to him, it’s the best value-for-money in the entire city.”

“At least you two are being frugal,” Barou says with a small ‘hmph.’ “How far is it?”

“Not too far,” Niko says. 

“Just sit back and relax, man! It’s a couple of friends going out for a meal. Totally normal!” Aiku says.

“Friends don’t kidnap one another to hang out,” Barou says.

“We didn’t kidnap you. Are you saying we’re friends, then?” Aiku says.

“I’m saying we’re not. You turned the child lock on, so that basically constitutes an abduction,” Barou says.

“I did that for Niko!” Aiku says, mentally patting himself on the back for the quick thinking.

“What? I’m fifteen, not five!” 

By the time your best friend finds somewhere to park, it’s already dark, and the spot is at the very edge of the lot, so then the two of you have to walk for another five minutes. She’s antsy by this point, but she does an admirable job of hiding it, only picking at her nails behind her back where she thinks you won’t see. 

“It’ll be alright,” you say as you reach the door to the restaurant. “I’m sure they’ll have space for two people, at least. Nowhere can be that busy, right?”

“I hope so,” she says, chewing on her lower lip.

You’re proven wrong almost as soon as you both walk into the establishment. Every single table has people sitting at it, and there’s a small crowd of people in the waiting area. Still, you and your best friend push past to where the hostess is standing. 

“Excuse me,” you say. “How long is the wait?”

“At least an hour,” the hostess says, her face wan.

“An hour?” your best friend says. “There’s nothing you can do?”

Of course, both of you know there isn’t, but it’s still disappointing when the hostess shakes her head regretfully.

“Would you like me to put your names down?” she says.

“Give us a minute,” you say. She nods, and you and your best friend walk a ways away. As soon as you’re out of the hostess’s earshot, you frown. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it would genuinely be this busy.”

“It’s okay, I wasn’t expecting it either,” she says, exhaling heavily. “I would’ve been way more serious about being on time if I had.”

“What should we do now? I don’t mind waiting,” you say.

“It’s okay. I’m a little hungry, so we can go somewhere else and come back here another day,” she says.

“Are you sure?” you say.

“Yeah, I am. Let’s go,” she says. 

You’re heading towards the door when a robust voice stops you. At first, neither of you are sure if the speaker is referring to you, but when it becomes obvious he is, you turn around in confusion.

“Where are you guys going?” he says. It’s a man with dark hair and eyes like mismatched marbles, and he’s sitting at a table with two others. There’s a couple of empty seats, and he motions towards them. “We’ve been waiting for you two for forever!”

“Oh, you’re in their party?” the hostess says. You glance at your best friend, who mouths why not? at you, and then you smile at the hostess.

“Yes, we are,” you say.

“You should’ve said so from the start,” she says, shaking her head. “Right this way, please.”

You and your best friend follow after her, both of you more than a little lost at the turn of events, but who are you to turn down the offer? Sure, you don’t know any of the three, but at least this way you two didn’t drive out for no reason, and the restaurant’s crowded enough that if they have nefarious intentions, you should be able to get help relatively quickly.

As you sit down and the hostess offers you menus, you can’t help but glance at the three boys, wondering what exactly it is they want from you. Is this some elaborate scam? An effort to get you to pay for their dinner? You can’t tell. They’re unreadable, and all you can do is hope that the meal still goes as well as you had originally planned — otherwise, you’ll be really mad that you’re not at home instead. 

When Niko had first suggested calling ahead to make reservations, Aiku had privately considered him to be a nerd, and one of the idiotic variety, no less. A lethal combo. But outwardly he had nodded along and told him to go right ahead, mostly because it seemed like the kind of thing Barou would appreciate. Now, though, he’s glad that Niko had that kind of foresight, because the place is completely packed.

“Where’s the rest of your party?” the hostess says when they walk in and give her Barou’s name. Aiku doesn’t really know why Niko made reservations under Barou’s name, nor what the hostess means by the ‘rest of their party’, but she’s pretty, so he gives her a charming smile. She’s working now, so he can’t exactly push Barou towards her, but if he’s talking about himself…

She blushes and ducks her head, although the moment is ruined by Niko speaking up. 

“What do you mean, the rest of our party?” he says.

“You made a reservation for five, didn’t you?” she says, leading them to the table. Aiku exchanges looks with Barou, mostly because the two of them tower over the others, so it’s convenient, but Barou seems as confused as Aiku is. Both of them clearly heard Niko making the reservation for only three people, so how in the world had the hostess written down five?

“Uh,” Niko says, and then for some reason he’s turning towards Aiku for help? Aiku’s kind of distracted, though, both with celebrating the moment he just had with Barou and with discerning the color of lipstick the hostess is wearing (red or pink?), so when she directs her question to him, he admittedly panics a bit.

“Will the rest of them be arriving later?” she says.

“Yes,” Aiku says. Coral! That’s the shade he was looking for.

“No worries,” the hostess says. “Although you might want to tell them to hurry up, just in case.”

“Wait, what—?” Aiku begins, but she’s already dropping menus in front of them and racing off to take care of the next group of customers.

“You fucking donkey,” Barou said. “Who else is coming to this?”

“Nobody that I know of,” Niko says. “I only made a reservation for three. She must’ve gotten confused and written down five or something like that, but why’d you go along with it, Aiku?”

“Um,” Aiku says.

“What unparalleled eloquence,” Barou says. 

Aiku’s mind is racing. Firstly, he’s accidentally confused this poor hostess into expecting two more people, and secondly, how are he and Niko supposed to set Barou up with a girl in this kind of situation? The food may be great, but the ambiance isn’t exactly what they’re looking for.

Somehow, these two lines of thought get muddled into one solution, the catalyst of which is when he sees two girls heading towards the door, obviously disheartened by the long wait time for those idiots who didn’t make reservations.

Wait. If those two are girls, and two plus three is five, then Barou might just end this night no longer single!

Another quick recovery by Oliver Aiku. He’s getting better and better by the minute. 

“Hi,” the man who called you over says. “I’m Oliver Aiku.”

“Hi,” you say. The five-person table is a circle, and Aiku’s across from you; since it’s your fault that you’re sitting with these random guys instead of by yourselves, you squeeze between your best friend and the more intimidating-looking one, leaving her to be on the right side of the youngest boy in the group. “Y/N L/N.”

“Nice to meet you,” he says.

“Likewise,” you say.

“I’m Niko,” the younger boy says. He has dark hair falling into a heart-shaped face, and you can’t fully see his eyes, but you think they might be some shade of bluish green. Idly, you wonder how his vision isn’t horrible given how overgrown his bangs are, but he doesn’t seem to be having any problems, so you suppose he must have some kind of method around it. “And that’s Barou.”

“I can introduce myself,” the one at your side snaps. He’s by far the most handsome of the trio, although you’re sure your best friend would disagree — she has bad taste, though, so that’s irrelevant — with a regal face and sharp eyes. His dark hair is spiky and his eyes are a vivid crimson, narrowed with irritation while his mouth tugs into a perfect frown. “My name is Barou.”

“It’s a pleasure, Barou,” you say.

“Yeah,” he says. “Same here.”

More than being a pleasure, it’s a little tense, so you return to reading your menu, not knowing what else to say, hoping someone else says something soon and rescues you from the ensuing silence. 

This is bad. Almost as bad as Japan’s performance in the last U-20 World Cup, which occurred right before Aiku moved up and joined the team. Almost as bad as that stain Lorenzo’s marinara left on the carpet. It’s that level of catastrophic, because clearly, Barou will take a lot more encouragement than originally anticipated. Kicking Niko under the table, Aiku nods meaningfully at Barou, who is also reading his menu, sitting next to the girl who’s doing the same.

It’s the perfect opportunity for small talk. Occasionally, the girl will peek at him over the top of his menu, so she’s clearly not affronted by him — either that, or she’s deathly afraid that Barou will kill her and is making sure he doesn’t do that when she’s distracted. If the latter is the case, well, it’s not entirely unfounded.

Solving the conundrum which has presented itself is even more difficult than their game against PXG was. How is Aiku supposed to flirt with someone for Barou? She’ll just end up liking him, which is rather counterintuitive, given that the end goal is to get Barou a girlfriend. 

If only Barou weren’t so stubborn! Aiku’s put him in the perfect spot, but instead of just reaching out his hand and snatching the opportunity up with both metaphorical hands, he’s sitting there, utterly absorbed by the intricacies of the restaurant’s entrees, which Aiku surmises are no doubt fascinating to people with such sensibilities.

It’s the girl, Y/N, who breaks the silence again. Clearing her throat and setting the menu aside, her eyes dart around the table before settling on Aiku. A natural consequence, given his dashing looks and genial personality, but not the one they’re hoping for at the moment, not in the slightest.

“We don’t know you, right?” she says.

“I don’t think so,” Aiku says. Has he gone out with her before? He’s pretty sure he’d have remembered if he had, but you can never be careful these days.

“Then why’d you invite us to sit with you?” she says.

Aiku’s in desperate need of an assist, and there’s only one person who’ll reliably send him one. Besides, the kid owes him a favor, so he doesn’t even feel guilty when he makes a face at Niko, as if indicating that he should be the one to answer the query.

“It was Barou’s idea!” Niko says.

“Excuse me?” Barou says.

“What?” Aiku says. 

“Yeah, it was. He felt bad that you guys were going to leave without eating, and we accidentally booked a table for five instead of three, like we originally planned, so he told Aiku to stop you guys before you were gone,” Niko explains.

“Oh, that was very sweet of you!” Y/N says. “Thank you so much. We both really appreciate it.”

Under the table, Aiku gives Niko a thumbs-up. Niko returns the gesture in kind, though neither of them let their true emotions show on their faces, which must be carefully schooled into blankness so that nobody else catches on to their scheming. 

“You’re welcome,” Barou says before freezing as he realizes that he’s somehow fallen for Niko’s lie, despite being there to witness the truth of the events. “Wait, no, it wasn’t—”

“Barou’s super considerate,” Niko continues, cutting Barou’s correction off. Aiku could just about cry. Niko’s a natural-born talent! He could never have predicted the younger boy’s sheer skill at this kind of thing. “Do you watch soccer?”

“Not really,” Y/N says thoughtfully. “I’ve never understood it well enough to become an avid fan, and my father prefers baseball, so it’s not something my family is into. I think it’s really cool, though!”

“Barou plays,” Niko says.

“So do you guys,” Barou says.

“Yeah, but you’re sitting next to her,” Niko says. “And you’re the king, right? Who better than you to explain the sport?”

“She didn’t ask for that,” Barou says, glowering at Niko and Aiku alike. “Why would I do that?”

“I don’t mind,” Y/N says, even going so far as to smile at Barou. With a final suspicious glare at the two of them, Barou begins to explain the rules of the game to her, and Aiku takes advantage of his distraction to high-five Niko.

“You’re amazing,” he whispers. “Where’d you learn this shit?”

“I watch a lot of anime,” Niko whispers back. “This is a classic set up for a twelve-episode romance that teaches the viewers about friendship, love, and what it means to grow up.”

“That’s not what I was expecting,” Aiku says after digesting this latest revelation, finding that it makes a surprising amount of sense. “But hey, whatever works!”

“Exactly,” Niko says. “Do you think it’s weird if I order chicken fingers from the children’s menu?”

“Order whatever you want, kid,” Aiku says. “You deserve it. I’ll even pay.”

“Yay!” Niko says. “Chicken fingers it is.”

Aiku doesn’t even mind treating him. If this is successful, then he’ll buy Niko all of the chicken fingers in the world in thanks. 

You’re more than a little grateful that Niko has given you something to talk to Barou about. Your best friend is busy texting her crush, the gerbil-looking one, who has apparently responded to her story, so you would’ve had to sit there in silence until she finished up or someone took pity on your helpless self. In this way, though, it’s much more natural, and even if it really was just an example of Niko feeling bad for you, it didn’t come across as such.

“You really scored a goal against the Japanese U-20 team?” you say after Barou has finished a long-winded explanation on the rules of soccer and some of the highlights of his career in the sport. In truth, you mostly tuned out the more technical details, but you have to admit that some of the things he’s mentioned about himself are rather interesting.

“Yes,” he says. 

“Wow,” you say. “You must be good, then.”

He shrugs in acknowledgement. “I’m good.”

It doesn’t feel like he’s bragging or anything like that. He’s just acknowledging an inevitable truth. He’s good. The way he says it, no one can deny it — not that you would’ve. Based on his build alone, you’d have expected him to have talent as an athlete; the things he’s mentioned have only been confirmation of that initial prediction, rather than blowing your mind in any significant way.

“Hi!” Your waitress’s arrival with a tray full of drinks cuts your conversation with Barou short, which you’re surprised to find you’re a little put-out by, at least until the grumble of your stomach reminds you of why you came to the restaurant in the first place. “Are you all ready to order?”

“I want the chicken fingers,” Niko says.

“The chicken fingers from the twelve and under menu? How old are you?” she says.

“Twelve,” Niko says. You frown, leaning closer to Barou in order to murmur in his ear.

“Is he actually?” 

Barou shakes his head ever so slightly. “No, but if that’s the only way he can get chicken fingers…”

“That’s a fair point,” you say. The waitress seems to share your doubts, but then Aiku flashes her a warm grin.

“My little brother’s heard so much about your entrees, and he can’t wait to try the, er, chicken fingers. Yes. The chicken fingers. He’s been talking about them all week,” he explains.

“Are they—?” you begin.

“They met like a month ago,” Barou says, rolling his eyes. “No relation whatsoever.”

“I see,” you say. You almost have to admire the lengths they’re willing to go to, as well as how natural they are with it. “Huh. I guess if it works, it works.”

“One order of chicken fingers, then!” the waitress says, jotting it down on her notepad, returning Aiku’s grin with her own. He has that kind of enviable charisma that lets him get away with a lot more than he should, and you’re more than a little jealous. “And the rest of you?”

You all give her your orders, and she promises she’ll be back quickly before running back to the kitchen. Once again, you’re left to your own devices, and given that your best friend is still texting that guy, you decide you’ll try and talk to the others at your table.

“Barou told me you guys are all in some program called Blue Lock together,” you say. “What’s that like? It sounded super intense.”

“It is,” Aiku scoffs. “I don’t even know if we’re supposed to be here at the moment.”

“We got permission from our coach,” Niko says. “But the guy who runs the program is kind of…what’s the word?”

“Freaky?” Aiku says.

“That works,” Niko says.

“I didn’t realize we were dining with rebels,” you say. 

“For the record, I was dragged into coming by those two,” Barou says.

“We didn’t actually drag him,” Aiku reassures you. “I mean, we tried, but he’s super heavy.”

“Too much training,” Niko says. “Barou, you should flex for Y/N — I mean, for everyone.”

“Hell no,” Barou says. “In public? Don’t be shameless.”

“So you’ll do it in private, then?” Aiku says. 

“That’s — that’s not what I meant!” Barou sputters. “I won’t do it at all!”

“Y/N, if you get a subscription to Blue Lock TV, then forget about asking Barou to flex. You can just watch him work out. He does it shirtless,” Aiku says. You choke on your water.

“What are you, some kind of salesman?” you say, coughing to dislodge the droplets of liquid scratching at your throat. “Was inviting us to sit with you a kindness or an advertisement?”

“Can’t it be both?” Aiku says.

“No, it cannot, you fucking donkey!” Barou says. “Please ignore him. I don’t know what he’s talking about.”

“You do train without a shirt on, though,” Niko says. “Quite often. Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, there’s a lot of shirtless content on Blue Lock TV…Chris Prince stripped at one point, I’m pretty sure, and more than one of the Bastard München boys have had locker room features. I guess PXG is the only team without any fan service, since Barcha has Lavinho as a coach, and we all know how he is.”

“Good for them. You gotta give credit where it’s due,” Aiku says. 

“Agreed,” Niko says. “Hey, Barou, didn’t you take your shirt off after scoring in the game against the U-20s, too? Is it like an established habit or something?”

“Enough about my shirt,” Barou says through gritted teeth.

“Or lack thereof,” Aiku adds. There’s a baleful aura emanating off of Barou, and he doesn’t even need to say anything before Aiku winces like he’s been cowed. “Sorry. The opportunity presented itself.”

“Both of you are on thin ice. First you abducted me, and now you’re going on about this dumbass subject? And that’s not to mention the sauce stain from earlier. I bet neither of you cleaned it up,” Barou says. 

Aiku and Niko both look like they have been caught committing some crime. Barou’s about to snap, it’s very obvious, but you find his friends’ antics to be so amusing that you hesitantly pat him on the shoulder.

“Ah, I think they’re just teasing you. It’s common amongst people who are close to one another! I always make fun of my best friend for her taste in men,” you say.

“And I make fun of yours right back,” your best friend says, not even looking up from her phone. You roll your eyes at this.

“See? It’s really alright,” you say. “At the least, if you’re upset because we’re here, then don’t be. Neither of us mind. I mean, she’s not even paying attention to us. Too busy texting that Meriones unguiculatus of a man she deems crush-worthy.”

“Fuck you,” your best friend says. She ordinarily would have no idea what Meriones unguiculatus means, but given the context, you’re sure she’s figured it out.

“Don’t be mad because I’m right,” you say. “Anyways, like I was saying, it’s all good.”

There’s a strained moment where none of you know what Barou will do, but then he nods, crossing his arms and sticking his nose in the air.

“Fine,” he says. “I’ll let it slide, just this once. But the two of you better behave from now on, you got it?”

Aiku and Niko both seem to be so amazed that it’s a wonder they don’t salute at Barou’s barked-out order. Shaking your head and laughing, you decide it might be for the best if you try to talk to Barou yourself and leave his slightly problematic companions out of the conversation.

“So,” you say, to him and only him. “What’s the story behind the sauce stain?” 

“Holy shit,” Aiku says.

“I know,” Niko says.

“She’s a genius. A god. A fucking Barou whisperer,” he says.

“I know,” Niko says.

“What are the odds that we managed to find the exact girl that could put up with his bullshit?” Aiku says.

“Pretty high!” a new voice chimes in. It’s Y/N’s friend; she never introduced herself, and it doesn’t seem like she’s inclined to, but she inconspicuously slides her chair closer to where he and Niko are talking. “You guys are trying to set your friend up with Y/N, huh? Good luck. She only likes ugly dudes.”

“Barou’s…kind of ugly?” Niko tries. Aiku snorts.

“Let’s keep it honest here,” he says. “Anyways, what were you talking about earlier? Barou’s a nutcase. It’s, like, a miracle that Y/N’s managing to have a conversation with him.”

“Maybe he’s like that with you, but to me, he seems to be the type that’s totally respectful to women,” Y/N’s friend says, brandishing her index finger in the air as if she’s making a particularly salient point. “The bigger the muscles, the bigger the heart, isn’t that ”

“Is that a real saying?” Niko says.

“No, I just made it up,” Y/N’s friend says. “But it kind of fits in this instance, don’t you think?”

“You’re not wrong,” Aiku says. “But do you mean to say Barou would be this nice to any girl?”

“It’s not like I know him personally. Shouldn’t you be able to answer that better than me?” Y/N’s friend says.

“There aren’t any girls in Blue Lock,” Niko says. “This is the first time we’ve seen him interact with one, so we actually have no idea.”

“Ah,” she says. “That explains a lot. Anyways, yeah, if I had to guess, he would be.”

“Hm,” Aiku says. This throws a definite wrench in their plans — up until this point, he had been convinced that there were sparks flying between Y/N and Barou, mostly because he had never seen Barou so gentle and quick to calm down in his life. Yet, if Y/N’s friend is telling the truth, and he has no reason to think she isn’t, then this is actually just his true personality.

On the one hand, it’s comforting to know that Barou isn’t constantly on the verge of an aneurysm, and indeed can even be persuaded towards kindness in his day-to-day life. On the other, it doesn’t solve their problem, which is getting him to calm down when he’s interacting with his fellow Ubers teammates.

Aiku comes to a decision relatively quickly. It’s his experience as a captain which lends him that swiftness; on the field, split-second decisions are the only way to go. He’s good at taking information and rapidly synthesizing it to come up with workable solutions, and though this isn’t a soccer match, the stakes are almost just as high.

The facts of the situation are as follows: Y/N does not seem to mind talking to Barou, and given that they’ve been engaged in conversation almost this entire time, the inverse is also likely true. Furthermore, she’s proven able to persuade him not to freak out at himself and Niko when they were pushing his buttons, which is something no one has ever managed before and is somewhat the end goal of the outing. Of course, she apparently only likes ugly guys, and Barou’s far from ugly — as a fellow member of the non-ugly community, Aiku is confident in saying this — but things like that are subjective, so he decides he shouldn’t worry too much about that aspect.

Then there are the theories, namely Y/N’s best friend’s one about how any girl might have a similar effect on Barou. This could be true, or it could also not be, but Aiku only has one data point and a limited amount of time to work with, so despite the likely veracity, he has to set it aside as false for the time being. It’s not like there’s an endless supply of girls just hanging around for him to test out Barou’s reactions with, so in this moment, he’s deeming Y/N L/N as a special case, an outlier, and this can only lead to one conclusion:

Barou is totally into her. 

“Two younger sisters, really?” you say. While your best friend has been talking to Aiku and Niko in hushed tones, you’ve been preoccupied with Barou, who’s proven himself to be nothing like his first impression. You had expected him to be fussy and rude and intimidating, and while the latter adjective certainly still applies, he’s kind instead of spiteful and almost shy instead of brash.

“Yeah,” he says, and there’s a smile in his voice, although his face does not shift in the slightest. “They’re much smaller, so I look after them a lot — when I’m home, anyways. Obviously, I haven’t seen them since I’ve been at Blue Lock.”

“How sweet of you,” you say. “I bet your mother appreciates you a lot.”

“I try to help her whenever I can,” he says.

You’re about to internally swoon, but then you stop yourself. So what if he’s athletic, helps his mother, is tall, handsome, kind, muscular, and supposedly good with kids? That doesn’t mean anything. He probably has a girlfriend, anyways, given all of these positive attributes—

“I have to go to the bathroom,” you say, standing up. Your best friend looks over at you in concern, for she knows of your distaste for public restrooms, and then she, too, stands.

“Want me to come?” she says.

“Yes,” you say, striding off without further explanation. As soon as the two of you are far enough from the table, you give her a distressed look. “I need help.”

“What’s up?” she says.

“I think—”

“Are you into Barou?” she asks, cutting you off. You blink at her.

“How did you know?” you say.

“You’ve spent almost the entire time talking only to him. It’s a little obvious,” she says.

“Oh, no,” you say. “He’s definitely caught on, then!”

“It’s not a big deal. According to Aiku and Niko, he’s single, so that’s one thing you don’t have to worry about, and besides, if that’s the case, then he’s fair game, isn’t he? There’s nothing wrong with being interested in someone,” she says. 

“He’s single? How?” you say. “You’re telling me no one’s been interested in him yet? That’s impossible.”

“There is the whole ‘locked away in a facility with zero girls’ aspect to be considered…” she says.

“Well, that’s true,” you say, feeling dumb for having forgotten that. “Do you think he’s interested in me?”

“He’s been talking to you back, right? That’s a good sign, especially since he’s been ignoring his friends to do so,” she says. “There’s a decent chance. If anything, does he seem like the kind of guy that would be mean about rejecting you? You should just ask him for his number when we get back.”

“Me? Ask for his number?” you say.

“I’ve heard girls have high success rates when they approach guys that they’re into. What’s the worst that can happen? Either way, the three of them are heading back to some weird facility after tonight, so we can just leave and never see them again if it’s awkward,” she says.

You mull this over. Nothing she’s saying is wrong, and anyways, it’s been a while since you dated someone. Besides, you’ll probably not meet someone like Barou again for a long, long time, and when you really think about it, you’d rather live with a rejection than a what-if scenario floating around in your mind for the rest of your life.

“Alright,” you say. “I’ll do it, but that means you have to dump the gerbil dude and move on.”

“Did that earlier. I couldn’t stop thinking of Tinkerbell the gerbil whenever I saw his profile picture; it totally killed the mood. Thanks a lot,” she says.

“It’s my pleasure,” you say. “Now, let’s go back. I have a number to get!”

“Um, hold on,” she says. “I do actually have to pee, and the bathroom doesn’t seem too dirty.”

You sigh, because now that you’re this pumped up, you don’t want to delay any longer, but you’re not about to abandon her, so you nod towards the door.

“I’ll wait here, then. Be quick!” 

“Well, well, well,” Aiku says. “Who would’ve thought we’d get to see the day?”

“What are you talking about?” Barou says when he notices that both Aiku and Niko are looking at him.

“What aren’t we talking about?” Aiku says. 

“It’s Y/N,” Niko says, defusing the volatile atmosphere rather efficiently. Aiku hands him a French fry off of his plate as a form of praise; accepting it happily, Niko chews and swallows before continuing. “You like her, right?”

“What? No,” Barou says quickly — too quickly, which means the answer is the opposite of what he’s just said. Aiku steeples his fingers together, because he couldn’t have imagined things going any better, and he feels like he’s entitled to a villainous pose or two every now and again. 

“You’ve been talking to her the entire time we’ve been eating, and you didn’t yell at her when she told you to calm down,” Aiku says.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Barou says.

“I guess it’s for the better,” Niko says. “Her friend told us she has a boyfriend.”

Aiku’s about to reprimand him for making things up, but before he can, he sees out of the corner of his eye that the tips of Barou’s ears have turned a surprisingly light and rosy pink, and then he can only shake his head in amazement. Niko’s really fucking good at this. Aiku almost wonders if he should ask the kid for anime recommendations or something.

“Really?” Barou says. 

“Really,” Niko says.

“That’s — I mean, it’s none of my business, so why are you telling me?” Barou says.

“You’re awfully upset if that’s the case,” Aiku points out.

“I’m not upset!” Barou says. “Just…I wasn’t expecting her not to be single, that’s all.”

“Expecting, or hoping?” Aiku says. Barou glares at him but does not respond, which tells Aiku all he needs to know. “It’s okay for you to have a crush on her. She seems nice enough.”

“Yeah,” Niko says. “If you guys get along, then there’s no harm in just asking her out. We’re going back to Blue Lock after dinner anyways, so it’s not like you’ll see her in the future if you don’t want to. Can you live with yourself if you don’t give it a shot?”

“Aren’t you a king?” Aiku urges. “What kind of king doesn’t put his best foot forward at all times?”

“The kind of king that respects other people’s relationships, you chewed up wad of spearmint gum,” Barou says.

“Oh, I was just making that up,” Niko says. “I wanted to see how you’d react. She’s definitely single.”

“You—!”

Aiku and Niko are saved from another one of Barou’s tirades by the arrival of Y/N and her friend. With a final malevolent sneer, Barou continues to talk to Y/N, who seems eager to pick up where they left off. Aiku high-fives Niko under the table.

“You’re a genius, buddy,” he says.

“Does this mean you’ll buy me dessert, too?” Niko says.

“If you’ll share with me, then sure.”

“Deal.” 

“When should I ask him for his number? It’ll be awkward if I do it in front of everyone, I think,” you say.

“Why would it be awkward?” she says. “I’m not about to judge you. I already know you’re going to do it.”

“I was talking about Aiku and Niko,” you say, though you’re specifically referring to Aiku — there’s a sense of naïveté to Niko, so the thought of being so bold in front of him doesn’t make you squeamish, but it’s a difference case with his counterpart. Oliver Aiku has a sort of suaveness to him that makes you feel as though he’s not been rejected once in his life, and that’s more than a little terrifying. What might such a master say about your feeble attempts at flirting? You don’t want to imagine it. The mere beginnings of the thought are preemptively giving you hives, so having the thought fully formed, or heaven forbid the actual event occurring…you shudder at the plethora of side effects you’ll no doubt undergo.

“That’s fair,” she says. “I can distract them, if you want. While we’re getting dessert, I’ll tell Aiku I’m having car trouble and ask if he can take a look. He seems like the kind of guy that would fall for that. I don’t know what to do about Niko, though…”

“He’ll probably go with Aiku, but even if he doesn’t, I think it’ll be fine if it’s just him there,” you say. “He’s pretty harmless.”

“You better not wimp out, then! If I have to embarrass myself by pretending to know nothing about cars, then the least you can do is actually ask for his number,” she says.

“I’ll do it!” you say. She obviously doesn’t believe you, so you pout. “Promise I will.”

“Fine,” she says. 

“Fine,” you say.

“Fine!” she says again. “Just give me a second before we go back, then. I need to think of what kinds of issues my car will be having…” 

“Hey, Aiku,” Y/N’s friend says. The entire table falls silent, including Aiku himself — he’s more than a little confused about what she could want with him. After all, he’s not done anything that would seem like he’s trying to pursue her, so there’s no reason for her to believe he’s interested, and it’s not like they’re close enough for her to be talking to him in specific.

“What’s up?” he says.

“My car is making a weird sound when it starts. I was going to wait to ask my dad when I got home, but if you know anything about cars, could you maybe…?” she says.

Aiku knows nothing about cars, and he’s about to tell her as much, but then Niko of all people is answering. He hasn’t heard the boy talk this much since they met, which means he’s really getting into this.

“Sure, we can both take a look while we wait for dessert to come,” he says. It’s suspicious, because if Aiku knows nothing about cars, then Niko’s understanding has to be in the negatives. The kid doesn’t even have his driver’s license yet, so how would he be of any help? Unless this is another skill he’s picked up from watching anime, in which case it seems like that’s another hobby Aiku needs to take up.

“Thanks,” Y/N’s friend says, clearly relieved. “Y/N, do you mind staying back so no one takes our table?”

“Barou, keep her company,” Niko says. “We don’t want them thinking we’re the dine-and-dash type.”

“It’s okay with me,” Y/N says before Barou can argue, which effectively shuts Barou up. Aiku’s beloved teammate only grunts in agreement, watching the trio out of the corner of his eyes as they scurry out of the restaurant and begin to wander about aimlessly in the parking lot.

“Can you, uh, describe this noise to me?” Aiku says. It’s not like that knowledge will really change much for him, but he thinks that it might be better if he at least pretends to put forth some effort into assisting the girl. After all, it’d be bad for business if he gets flamed as the rude, unhelpful type.

“Huh? Oh, I made that up,” she says.

“As I expected,” Niko says.

“What? Why would you do that?” Aiku says. Then he comes to a realization, and it’s like a bucket of ice water has been poured over his head. “Hold on just a second, I’m not the one looking for—”

“That was a great method of leaving Y/N and Barou alone,” Niko says, cutting Aiku off before he can continue to embarrass himself. “Now they can figure things out between themselves.”

“Right?” Y/N’s friend says. “There’s only so much they can do when we’re all sitting there.”

“Yeah, awesome idea,” Aiku says, relieved to hear that she’s on their side. Girls take their friends’ opinions seriously. If Y/N’s best friend approves of Barou, then that’s a plus in Barou’s favor, and given Barou’s uniqueness, he needs all of the pluses he can get.

“And just so you know, you’re not my type, so don’t take any of this in a weird way. I just want Y/N to be happy,” she continues.

“Duly noted,” Aiku says. 

“Sorry I wasn’t faster in cutting you off,” Niko whispers when Y/N’s friend pulls out her phone and begins to play on it again. Aiku shrugs.

“No worries. Nobody’s perfect,” he says. “Although, honestly? If this night ends up the way we want it to, then I’d say you’re pretty damn close regardless.” 

“I’m really sorry,” Barou says as soon as your best friend, Aiku, and Niko have exited the building. 

“For what?” you say. The crowd is dwindling, for the restaurant is nearing its closing time, but it’s still busy enough that you have to stay close to him in order to be able to hear what he’s saying. Or maybe that’s an excuse you’ve made for yourself; either way, he doesn’t pull back, so you remain in the comfortable space between you both.

“Aiku,” he says. “Also Niko, but mostly Aiku.”

“Why? He’s not done anything too horrible,” you say. “He’s pretty funny. And Niko seems like a nice boy.”

“They have this idea in their mind,” he says. “It’s totally stupid, but that’s why they’re acting like this. They’re not usually quite as idiotic.”

“What do you mean?” you say. You almost want to tell him to hurry up so you can ask for his number before the others come back and your best friend gets upset with you, but you’d rather listen to him talk, and anyways once you ask him for his number there’s a chance things will go wrong, so you want to soak in these last few seconds before that happens.

“I mean, you know,” he says, and then he’s turning a color you never would’ve expected from someone as reputedly tough as him. “Just that they think I like you.”

“Like me?” you say.

“Yeah,” he says. “Like I’m into you or something.”

You had hoped for it, but not seriously considered it — although, the teasing and whatnot do make a little more sense now that he’s added this context to it. If Aiku and Niko think he might be into you…you know you shouldn’t be fanciful, that it’ll eventually lead to disappointment, but you want to. You really want to, so when you next speak it’s tentative but optimistic.

“If you are,” you begin, nervous more than anything, though you’re certain the only cure is getting this over with, “I am, too. Into you, I mean.”

Barou’s lips are still parted as if he’s about to say something, but no words escape him. He just sits there and stares at you, as if you’ve said something profound or shocking or both. Probably both. You giggle, shifting in your seat and adjusting your position, because seeing him like this is endearing as much as it is uncomfortable.

“If you’re not, it’s alright, but my friend told me I should ask you for your number or something, so I don’t have any regrets when we leave,” you say. “She’s right, too. I’d have felt horrible forever if I never said anything.”

He’s still silent. You question if you’ve somehow caused him to malfunction, so you nudge his foot with your own under the table. This does nothing to break him out of his daze, and then you realize he’s probably trying to figure out how to best reject you, so you sigh.

“It’s okay to say no. There’s no expectation on my part. I just wanted to get it out there,” you say.

“No!” he says.

“Well, I mean, you didn’t have to be exuberant about it,” you mutter to yourself before smiling. “That’s okay, though! Thank you for listening and talking to me—”

“I mean, yes. No. I don’t know which question I’m supposed to be answering!” he says. “I do like you. That’s what I’m trying to say, but you just said so many things that I didn’t know what to respond to.”

“You like me?” you say. You had never in your wildest fantasies imagined someone like Barou being into you. It was the kind of thing that just didn’t happen, and yet, somehow, it had. Barou liked you. 

“I guess so,” he says. “That’s how Aiku would phrase it, I think. I enjoy talking to you, and you have nice table manners. You kept your hands and surroundings clean, and you didn’t spill anything, which is more than can be said about a lot of people. I really appreciate that kind of trait in a person.”

“Uh, thanks?” you say, because you’ve not really been complimented on your table manners before, but it’s kind of sweet. “Yeah, thanks. I’d compliment you back, but there’s so many things to say that I wouldn’t know where to start…”

“How about with your phone number?” he says. You’re pretty sure that that’s uncharacteristically bold of him, because his eyes widen as soon as he comprehends what he’s said, but he doesn’t take it back. Instead, he waits, his hands folded carefully in his lap as he watches you, probably wondering what you’ll say in response to the request.

Smiling at him, you pull out your phone and open your hand, waiting for him to give you his. 

“You got her number?” Aiku says as they’re driving home. Niko’s in the backseat this time, mostly because he offhandedly mentioned feeling nauseous after eating and Aiku has no interest in getting vomit all over him. “Way to go, man.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Barou says, gazing out of the window mysteriously. “I can’t exactly take her on dates or anything while I’m stuck in Blue Lock.”

“If you get Snuffy’s permission, you could,” Aiku says.

“We probably shouldn’t abuse that,” Niko says. “Otherwise, Ego will come up with some insane punishment for all of us. The guy’s a super-freak. I’m sure he’s got some crazy stuff stored away.”

“Very true,” Aiku says. “Don’t worry too much, though, Barou. If she’s the one, she won’t mind waiting.”

“How can I know if she’s the one when we’ve only met once? You’re delusional,” Barou says.

“It’s pretty simple,” Aiku says. “Do you want her to be?”

The moonlight hits Barou in a particularly elegant way at that moment. Aiku’s suddenly not surprised that Niko’s anime intelligence worked so well — Barou seems straight out of a girlish romance novel or TV show or something along those lines just then.

“Yeah,” he says. “I do.”

“Then that’s that!” Aiku says, pulling into the garage and putting Snuffy’s car in park. “Trust me, there was major chemistry there, so I’m sure she’s of the same opinion.”

“It’ll work out,” Niko agrees. He’s clearly feeling much better now that they’re not in the car, his steps light and bouncy, his lips curving upwards at the corners. “You’re a great guy, Barou. We were talking about it earlier.”

Barou scoffs. “Of course I am.”

“Classic Barou,” Aiku says, throwing his arm around Barou’s shoulder. “So humble.”

“Get off of me,” Barou grumbles, shoving Aiku away, though there’s a marked gentleness to it that tells Aiku their plan worked. He’s excited to see the long-term effects — if only one dinner with Y/N was enough for Barou to relax this much, then the duration of their relationship might be akin to a vacation for the rest of the Ubers.

That night, Aiku and Niko are brushing their teeth in the bathrooms together, since nobody else is up and there’s a certain camaraderie built between them after their adventure.

“We did good today, Niko,” Aiku says after spitting his toothpaste into the sink. 

“Agreed,” Niko says.

The door slams open right after he does, which is horribly ironic timing, because it reveals a furious Barou. He’s already enormous, but his fury causes him to swell until his proportions are vaguely Hulk-like and entirely terrifying. Both Aiku and Niko glance at him in confusion, because he should have no reason to be upset, and then, right before he can start yelling, it hits them like a truck.

“Hey, you donkeys,” Barou hisses. “Did you think you could distract me by taking me to dinner? That stain is still there. Can neither of you do anything for yourselves? I’m going to kill you both, mark my words!”

Aiku groans. Niko face-palms.

Fuck. 

[fakescenariosbeforesleepblog]

Be my desire.

Aegon Targaryen × Reader x Aemond Targaryen

Aemond finds out what his brother has been hiding from the world, now he can't get over it, he needs to own it, to own you.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them. I found the pics on Pinterest, so thanks to the Pinterest users Mimi archives nat.

Warning: grammatical, spelling errors and I think that's all.

I know I haven't posted a new chapter of the other fic but I've been busy, I hope I can write something soon.

Aemond is like a shadow who follows every or... Almost every step Aegon gives.

In the last few weeks Aemond has lost the path his brother usually does, there's something new but secret that Aegon has in his usual routine, spending a good amount of time out of the castle, aemond has been looking for him around the city, his investigation hasn't brought any good result, there's no signs of Aegon, even his guards don't know where he goes.

«Sorry my prince, but your brother makes it difficult to follow him»

Aemond is frenetic and paranoid, why? Where? What is his brother hiding? Is he planning something? What in the seven hells is going on with him?. Aemond hates to not know what his brother is doing. He has started biting his nails, constantly overthinking about the secret life of his brother.

His suspicious change one night, when he's sitting close to the window of his chambers and sees a certain prince running to the city. Aemond doesn't think about it twice, he simply runs to the secret halls of the castle and follows his brother, he can see him walking around, for a minute Aemond thinks Aegon already knows someone is following him, so he leaves him to walk a little bit further, taking some distance would be good, he thinks.

Moments later, Aegon gets inside a tavern, drinks a couple of beers and stays there observing some guys fighting, for Aemond this is like the top of boredom, he was yawning, feeling stupid for thinking his brother had something better to do, in a blink of an eye, Aegon disappears, aemond goes outside as quick as he can and just sees his brother cloak walking to the street where the pleasure house is.

But once there, he can't find Aegon anymore, Aemond knocks every door of every pleasure house to ask for his brother, but apparently no one has seen him, all that changes when finally, a woman opens the door and thoughtlessly invites him to get in because 'his usual girl is waiting for him'. Aemond decides to follow, and once both are out of a door, the woman knocks and yells.

«Y/N, He is here, are you ready!?»

There's silence, the woman rolls her eyes, knocks with more strength on the door and leaves. Aemond doesn't know what to do, he's regretting being in that place, he's about to leave when the door finally opens, a beautiful silver haired lady, appears, with a big and bright smile that is quickly erased as soon as it looks at Aemond.

- Wrong door, sorry.

That's all you say, you're closing the door when Aemond pushes it and gets inside.

- Where's him?

He asks coldly, you're standing there in a beautiful lilac silk dress, you're afraid, you have never seen a man with so much anger emanating from his body.

- Wh... Where is who?

- Prince Aegon. Where is he? Who are you?

Your silence only makes it worse, Aemond observes every centimeter of your body, your figure, you're young enough as them, he wonders why are you there, are you a bastard? Why do you have that hair? He can't deny it, you're beautiful, your exposed tiny waist makes him imagine how his arms would look or feel around you, your cheeks are rose and your lips are juicy, your hips and thighs are bigger, like huge pillows where he could rest his head after a long day. Those thoughts vanish when your voice catches his attention.

- Prince Aegon is not here, I'm y/n, his protege and lady-in-waiting.

- Where did you get that silver hair? Are you a Targaryen bastard?

- No, I'm from the free cities and my parents were farmers, they sold me as soon as they saw my hair they thought I would bring them bad luck, since then I've been a slave and now... I work here, in the pleasure house, but I'm only here to fill my Prince's desires, I'm not allowed to attend someone else. That being said, I think I have to ask you to leave, I don't want trouble.

You're standing on the door and Aemond can't believe what you said, asking him to leave, no one has the courage to talk to him in such a way.

- What if I tell you the prince is my brother? Will you still have problems with him? What does my brother do to you?

He's seriously thinking what kind of monstrosities Aegon could do to such a pretty thing like you. He has heard rumours about his brother but never believed them, until now, the worry in your eyes makes him wonder what could happen.

But you're not afraid about what Aegon would do to you, you're afraid about what he can do to any man that dares to be in the same room as you, alone. The last one who had the stupid idea of trying to take you by force is now under the water. Now you're worried about what he could do if he sees his own brother.

- Please, I have to ask you to leave, it is for your own good.

Aemond laughs loudly, silly you, you don't know anything about him, he could easily win a fight against Aegon. While he's laughing you can hear someone walking quickly in your direction, the hallway is dark so you cannot see who is it. The fear in your eyes and the shivers in your body are an alarm for Aemond who stops laughing.

- Y/N?!

- Aegon!

You're running to him when a long hand takes you by the arm, your body is now pressed against Aemond's body and a dagger is over your neck, you can feel a bulge growing right behind your butt and the dagger almost cutting your skin.

Aegon is terrified by the scene, it is as if the most precious and valuable thing was in danger.

- Brother.

That's all Aemond says, suddenly the horrified expression in Aegon's face changes to another more relaxed.

- How did you find this place?

- I've been following you, I thought you were doing something wrong but now I see it's just you and a new whore.

While Aemond says the last sentence he makes you be closer to him, he just wants you to feel the desire you're waking up in him.

- She's mine, she's not like the other women before, she's my woman.

- You already have a woman, your wife.

- A choice I didn't make, Y/N is the woman I'm choosing, the one I want, she's my secret and now that you know it, I would like you to stay away from her.

The dagger disappears from your neck and releases you, you walk quickly to Aegon, hiding your face in his neck, he instantly hugs you, kisses the top of your head.

- As you wish, brother.

He makes a small reverence and then looks at you, smiling, you can see the evil in the way he takes your hand and kisses it.

- My lady.

You hide your hand quickly and Aegon hugs you tightly, Aemond simply disappears in the shadow, you and Aegon continue doing your usual activities, before he leaves he almost begs you to not let Aemond come in never again, you were concerned about his strange petition, why is he so worried about Aemond? He talked about his fears days later.

After some weeks you find yourself in almost the same situation, you came into your usual room when a tall man with a patch over his eye took you by surprise, you gasped, unable to scream, he quickly pressed his mouth against yours, you pushed him away and before you could slap him, he took your forearm.

- Don't touch me! Don't! Leave me! I'll tell Aegon about this!

You yell at him while he has you between his arms, smelling your hair, feeling your body fighting Against him, what are you doing to him? Something about you is making him crazy, it has been a torture to be away from you. Sleepless nights, days wasted because he only thinks about you, about your body, hating how you quickly ran to Aegon, how quickly you perceive him as an enemy and Aegon as a hero, in Aemond's opinion, his brother is nothing more than a drunk spoiled prince, but you, you have your own perception of him, Aemond can just remember the way you looked at his brother, full of devotion, desire and mostly love, love, love.

He lets you go and you run close to the balcony, he stays there, observing you, still savouring the taste of your lips, you look lovely with those scary Bambi eyes. The urgency to let you know he doesn't want to hurt you is growing inside him, what kind of spell you put over him?

- I apologize, it is not my intention to scare you, my lady, please come here.

You neglect, standing up but still away from him.

- He doesn't want you here. You have to go.

- Why does he want me away from you? What are you two hiding from me?

- We're not hiding anything, he simply doesn't want you to steal me from him, I'm his only escape.

- I fear I do not understand what you're saying.

- He thinks you only want to take his place in everything and trust me, my prince, Aegon would gladly give you his place just to be free from the court but he can't. I'm the only thing he actually chose and wanted, he wishes to keep me away from you and all those things that torture him every day.

Aemond never thought he could be so obvious about his ambitions, it's good to know Aegon doesn't wish to rule, but something in the way you're watching him, with hate, disgusted, is killing him, he feels frustrated, he's clearly a better man for you, all his life he has been trying to prove he's better than his brother and constantly finds himself angry, frustrated because no one can see it.

- Hmm, if he doesn't want me close to you or touching you, I won't, I will be at a fair distance, but he didn't put a rule about looking at you. Didn't he?

He's right, Aegon never mentioned something like that, it's not a sin, men look at you all the time, for you that's fine as long as you can keep peace in Aegon's heart.

Since then, when you're with the rest of the girls in the house, dancing, singing or Walking around, you can feel his eye on you, at first it was uncomfortable but later, you started to enjoy the power you have over him, the way he devours your body without touching, that frustrated look and him incapable to be around you, you know he will not resist his urgency but you're ready for it, you don't hide secrets to Aegon, you told him what was going on and what would you do if it happened.

Meanwhile you enjoy your nights in the comfort of Aegon's arms, he's the one you love, you don't care about Aemond, you know he's just a brat trying to steal someone else's toys, some nights you wake up anxious, you're playing with fire, you can enjoy the company of one man and torture the other one, but eventually this little game will bring trouble, tragedy and pain.

Aegon always caresses your back and your hair, bringing you peace to your heart, whispering in a soft voice how much he loves you and how he will protect you as long as he's strong and healthy.

Gods punished you for playing a dangerous game with the Targaryen brothers.

As soon as you heard about the tragedy the king suffered in battle, you knew it, you felt it. Aemond Targaryen appeared in your door once again and this time there was no one who could protect you from the prince and his desires.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Clandestine. Part Four.

Part One. Part Two. Part Three.

Chapter Synopsis - Death puts everything into perspective.

Pairing - Stewy Hosseini x Female Roy!Reader

Warnings - cursing. lots of talk about grief.

Word Count - 3k

Author’s Note - now I might just be the last person on tumblr still writing for stewy, but I am determined to finish this series. let’s ignore the fact it’s been a year since I updated it, shall we? one more part of this to go!! thank you, if you’re still here for my succession stuff <3

Series Masterlist. Main Masterlist. Inbox.

You’re floating around in a daze.

It’s been a week since Connor’s phone call. A week since the formidable Logan Roy died on the floor of his private plane, surrounded by his closest employees. A week since you’ve seen Stewy.

You’ve been crashing in Roman’s guest room, neither of you wanting to be alone. You go to your Dad’s apartment, have meetings with old white men that all look the same, pop into the office every now and again and go home to your brothers. You were barely speaking to Kendall before all of this happening, never mind now. You can’t remember the last time the two of you said more than three words to each other.

You’re sat at Roman’s dinner table when a strange feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. You watch him picking at his salad for a minute before you say anything.

“Have you… spoke to Kendall? Like, over the last few days?”

Roman looks confused by the question, but doesn’t voice it.

“Yeah, here and there. You guys are in a fight, right?”

“Uh, yeah. We were. I guess we still are. I’m just… worried about him. God knows his mental health has been in the gutter recently anyway, but now Dad’s dead, and… I don’t know. It just can’t end well, right?”

“All we can do is keep an eye on him, I guess. He won’t fucking accept it even if we try and help, so.”

“Yeah.”

You move the chicken around on your plate with your fork, neither of you having much of an appetite recently.

“So, you never told me what your fight was about. It all seems like this big ass fucking secret that only Roman doesn’t know about.”

You’re a little taken aback by Romans candour. Usually he’s pretty avoidant, happy to live with the not knowing. He’s done with that, apparently.

“You’re not the only one that doesn’t know, Rome. Ken is the only one that does.”

“Why?”

“Why?”

“Yeah, why? Why does everyone include Kendall in everything and leave me on the fucking sidelines? Why am I always the one who doesn’t get the joke, who doesn’t know the secret?”

“Rome-”

“I know he’s your favourite, but Jesus. You could at least try and include me sometimes.”

“Roman.”

“What?”

“Kendall only ‘knows the secret’ because he… walked in on the secret. Not because I sought him out and told him, or anything like that. I promise.”

“The fuck are you talking about?”

With what has happened over the past week, your perspective on almost everything has changed. Keeping your secret is no longer top priority - or priority at all. You’re realising that you don’t care, because it doesn’t matter. Not much really matters.

“I’m in love with Stewy.”

Roman’s silent for a moment, processing.

“Hosseini?”

You can’t help but laugh.

“Yeah, Rome. Hosseini. Do you know any other Stewys?”

He shakes his head, still visibly confused.

“Are you gonna tell him?”

“Tell him what?”

“That you’re in love with him.”

“Oh. Oh. Yeah, um… he already knows. We - we’re in love. With each other. We’re dating.”

“You’re dating him?”

“That’s crazier than me being in love with him one sided?”

“Uh, yeah.”

You chuckle, looking at him for a moment before a grin breaks out across his face. He’s always been the most easy going of your brothers, the most understanding. You’ve always felt a comfort in talking to Roman - he’s more open minded than he appears. He’s a surprisingly good listener, even when you think your problems are trivial or stupid.

“For how long?”

“Fuck, I don’t even know. Two years, give or take?”

“Two years?”

“Are you mad?”

“Mad? I’m mad impressed, Princess. I didn’t think you’d be able to keep a big secret like that from me for that long.”

“So you don’t hate me?”

You’re suddenly vulnerable, terrified that your big brother is going to think less of you. Your brothers are all you have, all you’ve ever had. The four of you learned to survive with each other, with no help from parents or nannies or any kind of adult. You have nothing if you don’t have your brothers.

“I don’t hate you, dummy. I could never hate you.”

You stand up and make your way over to him, perching on his leg like you used to when you were kids. You wrap your arms around his neck, exhaling when he wraps his around your middle.

“Love you, Rome,” you whisper. “Even if you are a pain in my ass.”

“Yeah, love you too,” he murmurs. “Even if you do keep important secrets from me.”

“I promise I won’t keep anything from you ever again.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Promise. No more secrets.”

You pull back but stay sat on his lap, feeling six years old again, taking solace in the presence of your big brother.

“So Kendall… walked in on you?”

“He saw us leaving the gala together and got suspicious. He showed up at Stewy’s apartment the next morning, banging on the door and asking where I was.”

“Oh shit,” he laughs.

“It’s not funny,” you retort, but you’re holding back your giggles as you do it.

“And I’m guessing he didn’t take it well.”

“Not at all. He was cycling between yelling and swearing and then sitting really quietly just… staring into space. Then he got personal, which was expected, but that pissed Stewy off, so the whole thing got awkward again. It was… horrendous.”

“He’s horrible at feelings.”

“Says Mr Communication over here.”

He shoves you off his lap, chuckling when you slide onto the floor. You punch him in the arm as you get up, returning to your original seat. You sit in silence for a moment, neither of you quite sure how to continue.

“What now?”

“I… don’t know, Rome. I just don’t know.”

“I mean, the world hasn’t stopped spinning. Maybe it feels like it has for us, but everyone else has carried on.”

You’re confused by your brother’s sudden wisdom, until it clicks for you.

He’s free.

Sure, he’s grieving. You all are. But he’s lighter. Laughs a little easier. Gives out advice quicker.

He’s free.

You all are.

The shackles your father had placed on all four of you are broken. You are no longer bound to him or Waystar or his insane ideals as to what family should be or do or say.

“I need to get out.”

“What?” Roman asks as he cocks his head, quirking a brow at you in curiosity.

“I don’t want to be a part of this anymore. This… constant cycle of destruction and deception and stabbing people in the back. It won’t stop now that Dad’s dead. It’s the very foundation that his business is built on.”

“So you’re gonna… leave?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna sell my shares and I’m gonna get the fuck out.”

Roman laughs, now, all big and bold and beautiful. You don’t know what’s funny, but you can’t help but laugh with him.

“I am too.”

“Wait… what?”

“I’m doing the same.”

“Roman.”

“I’m serious. I don’t know who CEO is gonna be, but it isn’t gonna be me. It’ll be Kendall or Tom or someone completely different, but we all know neither you or I are capable.”

“Jeez. Thanks.”

“You’re telling me you could run the entire Waystar business?”

You roll your eyes, kicking him under the table.

“Obviously I fucking couldn’t. But at least pretend to have a little bit more faith in me.”

Your brother chuckles, leaning back in his chair.

“We’re not built for it, you and me. We’re meant for something different. Something better, Princess.”

You nod, chewing on your bottom lip.

“What about Kendall?”

“What about him?”

“I feel like we’re… abandoning him.”

Rome looks solemn, suddenly, thinking about your older brother.

“He’ll come around, you know. And he’ll understand. That’s the thing about Kendall - he can’t hold a grudge to save his life. He tries, but he can’t.”

A tear rolls down your cheek, lump in your throat choking any words that try to escape.

“Hey, hey,” Roman soothes as he walks over, standing above you.

He swipes his thumb across your cheekbone, wiping away your sadness.

“He loves you more than anything, you know.”

You shake your head, so your brother doubles down.

“He does. You’ve always been his favourite. He’d do anything for you - anything at all. He’s mad because you and Stewy kept a secret from him, not because you’re together. Trust me.”

“He looked at me that day like he hated me.”

“He couldn’t hate you if he tried. He’s just… emotionally unavailable. Everyone knows this.”

“I miss him,” you whisper, lip trembling. “I miss my brother.”

You’re taken aback by how much you miss Kendall, suddenly. You miss him so much more than you miss Logan, or your Mom.

“Give him time. That’s all he needs. He misses you, I know he does. But you know what he’s like when he feels betrayed. He shuts down and gets all aggressive.”

You look up at Roman, gentle smile making its way onto your face.

“When did you get so smart, huh?”

“I’ve always been smart,” he laughs. “Everyone underestimates me.”

“That they do.”

“Well, not anymore. We’re getting out.”

“We’re getting out,” you repeat, finally allowing yourself to feel happiness at the prospect. “We’re gonna get the fuck out.”

“Talk to Stewy about selling your shares and let me know what he says. The sooner, the better.”

“I will. I’m excited, Rome. The world is our oyster.”

“Me too,” he chuckles, ruffling your hair. “We’ll go to the funeral, and then we’ll never have to see any of those assholes ever again.”

“I can’t wait to not have to look at Karl’s stupid fucking face every day.”

Roman keels over laughing, wheezing as he clutches his stomach. You’re crying with laughter too, both of you lighter and freer than you’ve ever been.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“You sure about this, Rome?”

“One hundred percent.”

You hug him tightly as you say goodbye, smiling when he presses a kiss into your hair.

“I’ll let you know what Stewy says tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay. See you tomorrow, Princess. Call me if you need anything.”

“You too. Anything.”

He ruffles your hair before sending you on your way, waiting at the front door to watch you go.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“Stewy? You home?”

You drop your bags by the front door, kicking off your shoes and jacket as you do it. You’re about to yell again when he comes running around the corner, sliding across the wood floors in his socks.

“Baby.”

He breathes it, as if he can’t believe you’re really standing in front of him again.

“Missed you, Hosseini.”

You fly into his arms, burying yourself as deep as you can in his chest. His old, worn t shirt is soft and grey and smells like the love of your life and all of his memories spent at home. He tightens his grip on you, pulling you impossibly closer.

“How are you?” he asks without letting go, resting his chin on the top of your head.

“I’m okay. I’m good, actually. Really good.”

“Yeah?”

Now he pulls away to look at you, confused by the sudden change of heart. When you left to go to Roman’s a week ago, you were a shell of a woman, a little girl without a dad. Now, you’re back, brighter and more alive than ever.

“Yeah.”

You look at him, really look at him, for a moment, before taking a deep breath and saying the words you’ve been dying to say.

“Marry me, Stewy.”

He staggers back as if you’ve hit him, eyes blown wide.

“W-what?”

“Marry me.”

He inhales, exhaling shakily before stepping forward to cradle your face in his hands.

“Aren’t I supposed to be asking you that?”

“Maybe,” you laugh. “But I guess I got there first.”

“Honey, forgive me if I’m a little confused, but… you just came back after being gone for a week because your dad died and now you’re… proposing?”

“Me and Roman are leaving Waystar,” you explain. “We’re selling our shares and getting the fuck out.”

“Shit. Really?”

“Really. The only thing stopping me from leaving years ago was the fear of disappointing my dad, and now he’s gone. So… there’s nothing keeping me there. I wanna do something else. Something for me.”

“Yeah?”

He’s grinning, beaming at you from ear to ear. Light is practically pouring from him, radiating in all directions.

“Yeah,” you half yell, leaning up to press an excited kiss to his lips. “I’m done, Stewy. I’m free.”

He picks you up, wrapping his arms around you as the two of you spin. You shriek with laughter, the world blurring as it whizzes past you. Eventually he puts you down, both of you breathless.

“Life’s too short. I need to start living it.”

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you so much. More than anything.”

You kiss him tenderly, gentle and sweet and filled with so much adoration.

“So, back to my original question…”

“Wait,” he interrupts, halting your speech. “Let me do this the right way.”

With that, he runs off towards the bedroom, leaving you stood in the hallway as confused as ever. You wait patiently, desperate to be privy to his plans.

When he returns, still in his pyjamas, he kisses you softly before getting down on one knee, ring box in his hand.

“Honey. You are the love of my goddamn life. I bought this ring after we’d been dating for… three months? Call me crazy, but I knew. I just knew. It was always going to be me and you. Always.”

Your hands are shaking, breath caught in your chest as you try to soak in every second of this moment.

“So…. how do you feel about becoming Mrs Hosseini?”

“I can’t think of anything I’d love more.”

“Is that a yes?”

“The biggest, most sure yes of my entire life. Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you. Yes.”

He swoops you up into his arms, kissing you with more passion than you ever thought possible. You slip your tongue into his mouth cheekily, tangling your fingers into his hair to pull him closer as he groans.

You finally pull away for air, both of you panting like you’ve just run a marathon. Your eyes well up suddenly, a tear falling without you realising.

“You okay?” he murmurs, thumbs rubbing circles into your cheekbones.

“I’m so happy,” you whisper. “I feel like today is the first day of the rest of my life.”

“So do I,” he agrees, looking down at you with so much love you it makes your knees buckle. “Baby… if you’re getting out, then I’m getting out.”

“Wait, what?”

“If you want to get out of Waystar, I’m not gonna stay. If you’re washing your hands of it, then I am too.”

“But… your money.”

“Honey, those shares don’t mean shit to me. The only thing that matters is you.”

You look at him intently for a moment, searching for any traces of doubt. All you find is pure adoration.

“Stewy?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you gonna keep that ring in the box forever?”

He throws his head back as he laughs, opening the velvet box to show you what’s inside. He slips it onto your finger with ease, the diamond sparkling perfectly on your hand.

“It’s so beautiful. I’m the luckiest person in the world, Mr Hosseini.”

“I think I have to disagree with you there, Mrs Hosseini.”

“Say it again.”

“Mrs Hosseini.”

“And again.”

He kisses you, mumbling against your lips.

“Mrs Hosseini.”

“Mhmm.”

“My wife. The prettiest girl in the world. Mrs Hosseini.”

You can’t help but grin into his mouth, buzzing with the energy of it all.

“Now, I was about to make dinner before you came home, but we can go out and celebrate if you want?”

You shake your head, snaking your arms around his neck.

“All I want right now is a night in with you - that’s all the celebration I need. Let’s make that pasta you like, and then we can watch old sitcom reruns on the couch.”

“Sounds perfect.”

Stewy slides his hand into yours, his thumb playing with the shiny band of the ring on your finger.

“It’s gonna be like this forever, you know. We get to do this for the rest of our lives.”

“It’s all I’ve ever wanted,” you breathe, resting your head on his shoulder as you make your way to the kitchen. “You’re all I’ve ever wanted.”

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

As the sun sets through the floor to ceiling windows, you and Stewy dance across the kitchen, slipping and sliding across the tiles.

Your heart skips a beat every time your ring catches the light.

Your heart skips a beat every time you look at your fiancé.

Your heart skips a beat every time you realise that you’re not dreaming.

This is your life. And you’ve never been more excited to live it.

@justacaliforniandreamer @616wilsons @shawty-writes-a-little @isuspectitwasthenargles @thinemineours @buckysbae @jolie989 @allcheesemelts @nosebeers

[twiixr4kidz]

Hii can you do like reader sleeping on seven evil exes lap hehe I Also love ur writing!!♡

tysm!!! also apologies for how late this is i was on a hiatus ;^;

sleeping on the evil exes!!

matthew patel

he tears up a little bit

one second, you're awake and talking to him and the next, you're knocked out and drooling on his leg

he thinks you look adorable (he didn't take a picture of you what are you talking about)

he's also like, uncontrollably giggling and smiling over the fact that YOU!! FELL ASLEEP!! ON HIM!!!!!!!!!!!!

lucas lee

on the outside, he's like "hell yeah this is awesome" but you know DAMNNNN well he's screaming internally

lucas has this habit of acting like a badass on the outside but any time you do something, he's filled with an overwhelming amount of joy

he sits there with you sleeping on him for as long as he can

eventually his legs start falling asleep, so he sneakily moves your head off of his lap and onto a pillow

he also covers you up with a blanket or his jacket or whatever is around just so you don't get cold

todd ingram

treats you like a sleeping kitten

if only you were awake to see the smile on his face when he realize you were asleep, you probably would've melted

he'll run his fingers through your hair as he mumbles something under his breath about how he wishes this moment could last forever

eventually, he falls asleep sitting up

bro is hella dedicated to keep you nice and comfortable!!!

roxie richter

she honestly doesn't notice at first

she's just talking to you, telling you about her day or something that happened in this show that she's been watching, and you're not responding

at first she's like "what the heck, y/n?" and then when she realizes you're asleep, she's like "OHHHHHH" and then she's like "OH?? OH MY GOD???"

note, she's whisper-screaming to herself because she doesn't wanna wake you up

she's the kind of girl who can fall asleep anywhere, so she gets comfy next to you and crashes too

kyle katayanagi

very similarly to roxie, he's probably telling one of his crazy party stories when he realizes you're asleep

instead of stopping, he lowers his voice and keeps talking

he'll just keep telling stories until he falls asleep or until you wake up

his hand is resting on your arms as he draws circles with his thumb on it

he's really enjoying the fact that you trust him enough to just pass out on his lap like that

and you're definitely gonna get an earful of it when you wake up, because who is kyle if NOT a tease??

ken katayanagi

he's usually reading, so it takes him a moment to realize you're out

he smiles to himself, softly saying how you should've gone to bed when he said, but he still thinks it's cute

ken'll start reading to you too

he isn't sure why he does it

maybe it's something about the soothing, intimate nature of reading a book to somebody, or maybe it's just because he's ken and that's what he does

he'll bring you to bed when he's done with the chapter

he wants you to sleep well and NOT have a sore neck when you wake up, how sweet :))

gideon graves

he's a very busy guy, so this isn't new

actually it happens quite a lot

he'll get home late and you'll be falling asleep on the couch waiting for him

he greets you sweetly, sitting down next to you and putting on your favorite show to watch together

he knows that when you rest your head on his lap, you're going to fall asleep and he's more than okay with it

as much as he does love it, he tries not to get home so late that it happens in the first place

[killmeleatherface]

It Had To Be You

Part 4

Dr Michael Robinavitch x f! resident (turned attending) OC

This is part 4 to my ongoing series.

Here’s the last part

AN: guys I need to tell you that I am literally writing everything on my phone. Everything!! Editing, formatting, finding pictures. I also just started writing and using this format a couple weeks ago so please forgive me. I’m so jealous of all the other creators in this fandom who have really well put together layouts, with borders, gifs and alt text. I literally don’t know how to link or make a Masterlist or tag yall so if anyone would be willing to help out, I’d appreciate it and be grateful 4 u 4ever. Love yall, you keep me inspired!!

TW: age gap relationship, babies, pregnancy, cheating, fighting, yelling, kissing, medical setting. Let me know what else I’ve missed!

—

“Please, Andi, talk to me. Please.” Robby follows you into the break room. You’re trying to ignore him, no matter how hard he’s persisting. You haven’t responded to a single call, text, or peace offering.

You still ignore him now.

“You dyed your hair.” He says to the back of your head. He’s trying to incite you with anything.

You did dye your hair, back to black. Well, not back to black, more as you had time to dye it black again. You’d had box dyed black hair until your third year of medical school where you officially gave up on touching up your roots and let your natural hair have its time. As long as you’d known Robby you’d had your natural dark brown and honey toned hair.

“There’s a strawberry filled donut I stashed for you in the fridge. I know strawberry is your favorite.”

It is.

He sits down at the table behind you now. He’s never done this before and he’s grasping at straws. He’s never had to try so hard for someone. He’s never tried so hard to regain control of a situation. Coming to the end of the chapters on the novel he’s currently working through called ‘How to Not Force Your Sub To Do What You Want When You’ve Fucked Up’

It’s almost cute. Fuck these hormones. And you were barely into your second trimester. You’re so, so insanely mad at him. He kissed someone else! And not just someone else but his ex girlfriend someone else. And okay, she did kiss him first. Ugh, were you softening that much? You were so lost. You were so sad. You needed someone. But you didn’t wish to need someone. You couldn’t help it.

“Do you want me to run to that good Chinese food spot up the street and get your usual? Egg drop soup, cashew shrimp and steamed rice?”

Somehow that sounds both outrageously delicious and nauseating.

He’s wearing you down, you didn’t know how much more you had to fight it.

This was Michael Robinavitch. Yes, he made a mistake. A huge mistake. And it really freaking sucked. But this is also the same Michael who’s made you fall in love with him, inside this hospital and outside in restaurants, parks, movie theaters, your apartments. He brought you chicken noodle soup on your seldom sick days. He’d buy tickets for the upcoming horror movie he knew you’d be dying to see and would take you on a date night even if it meant seeing a 2 hour long movie starting at 9 pm when he had to be up at 5 am. He’d truly do anything to make you smile, making you happy, make your head spin, make you laugh, make you cry. He’d single handedly touched every single crevice of your being and never let go. He was a part of your being, whether you wanted him to be or not.

He finally stands up out of his seat when the last doctor leaves the room and walks toward you.

“Andi, I’m begging you. I have no idea how clean this floor is but I will literally get on my hands and knees and beg you to talk to me. I promise you I’ll do it.” He says as he slowly starts bending to his knees. He has a bad knee that still bugs him sometime so he does some slight wincing as he descends.

Who knows if it’s the baby hormones, the exhaustion, the loneliness, or just the plain fact that you’ve loved this man for almost a decade and you’re now carrying the child you made when you were hopelessly and endlessly in a rose tinted magic bubble.

Yup, definitely the pregnancy hormones.

“Michael, stop. Get up. You’re embarrassing yourself.” You turn around to face him. He quickly comes back up to eye level with you.

“Andi, please. I will go to the ends of this earth for you to forgive me. Actually I know that will take time and I’ll do whatever I need to do so, but at least, right now, let me back in. I will say it in as many languages as you understand, I’m sorry.” He’s close to you. You can tell he’s trying his damndest to not touch you. He’s fighting hard against his basic instinct to grab hold of you and pick you up and hold you and never let go. But he knows he can’t.

Your arms are crossed and you’re giving off cold signals. He can read you like a medical chart he’s seen a hundred times before. You both know you can’t hide your feelings to each other. It’s been way too long, you’ve been a part of each other for who knows how long before you realized it yourselves.

“Michael.” You say, uncrossing your arms and leaning against the counter.

“Okay.” You finally say.

“Okay? Okay? Okay! Okay!” He repeats as if it’s the first time he’s ever hearing this word.

“I have an OB appointment upstairs today. I wasn’t going to say anything, but if you can make it, you can come.” You offer. It’s small, you know, but it is his baby you’re carrying after all.

He lights up with this. “Yes. Yes of course I’ll be there. Thank you.”

—

“Theres your baby!” The ultrasound technician decrees, pointing to the grey screen in front of her. Robby is at your side admiring it.

“Looks like you’re about 12 weeks, but baby is big. Congratulations again!” She says gliding the wand over the cold gel on your belly.

She presses a few more buttons on the machine and takes the wand off, wiping your belly with a towel and help you sit up. She reaches behind the machine and rips paper, coming back up with 3 white squares, offering them to you. She smiles and says, “Well, here’s pictures for the happy parents! Make sure you make your next appointment before you leave and take your prenatal and drinks lots of water.” She pauses as she says the last part, recognizing you’re both still in black ER scrubs. “Andrea, when you’re forcing yourself to be on your feet for 8+ hours at a time, against doctors orders, at least wear compression socks and keep your blood sugar up.” You smile and both say thanks as she steps out of the room.

You both sit there in silence, Robby standing up to come next to you.

“That’s our baby.” He whispers, almost to himself.

“Here, take one.” You say as you’re ripping the bottom ultrasound picture off, handing it to him. He immediately reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet, stashing it away in there.

You really had a baby growing inside you. I mean, you saw the pregnancy test, and later the blood test. You want this. It’s just a shock. You have a living being you’re responsible for keeping alive. You’re going to be a mother.

“Listen. I don’t know what your plans are tonight, but I would really like to take you to dinner. It’d be nice to talk, outside of work, I mean.” Robby says.

You don’t want to say yes, but you are starving, which has been a rare occasion the last 6 weeks. It’s a peace offering you decide to take.

—

You end up at your favorite diner a few blocks away from the hospital. Pancakes and waffles both sounded perfect to you and Robby happily obliged.

After you’d gotten your plates of food. Robby a turkey burger with no cheese and fries with no salt, you sat in silence again, the only sound that of plates and silverware.

“Thank you for letting me come today. I really appreciate it. I can’t believe that’s ours” he finally says, wiping his mouth.

“Yeah, I know. I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around that myself.” You offer. You’re trying, too.

“When did you find out?” He asks.

You’d been prepared for this, telling the story to your mom. You just hadn’t been as prepared as you thought.

“I, uh, not so long story short, found out the morning I left.” You say, finally looking up at him. He stills.

“You knew…you knew you were pregnant before you decided to leave the state without notice?” He leans back in disbelief.

You don’t answer. You don’t need to. It’s the truth and you both know it.

“Fuck!” He screams. The tables around you look at the two of you, but you just smile back. Whatever he had keeping himself together all this time broke.

“Michael, you need to calm down. People are looking. You don’t need to make a scene.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Fuck it. I need to go anyways.” He moves out of the booth to stand up. He slings his backpack over his shoulder and digs out his wallet, throwing three twenties on the table.

You’ve barely touched your food, but you’re suddenly not hungry anymore. You look up at Robby and for once, he can’t make eye contact with you. He puts his wallet back in his pocket and starts walking away.

Wow, he’s really leaving.

You think about staying, but something changed in you after seeing that sonogram and you want to turn over a new leaf. So you pick up your bag and follow him.

You catch him outside the diner with his hands in his pockets looking up at the sky. He either doesn’t notice you or chooses to ignore you. Either way you sidle up next to him.

“Michael.”

“You really took off knowing my baby was in you and you didn’t even tell me.” He takes beat. “Actually, what was the plan there? Stay in Oregon forever? Never talk to me again? Never tell anyone about the baby? It’s really fucked up.”

Shit. While you weren’t clueless to how you were making others feel, hearing it put in the blunt way Robby puts everything makes you feel like the asshole.

“I don’t know. Of course not. I panicked.” You offer.

“You panicked?! We’re supposed to be getting married, telling each other everything, and you panicked?” He’s losing it.

“Hey! You don’t get to yell at me. I’m not the only one to blame here. You did cheat on me if you haven’t forgotten.” You start to talk away when he has no response.

“Wait, Andy, wait.” He calls and follows up to you.

“Stop. Stop. Okay, can we agree we both fucked up? Me a little more, but you were also irresponsible and hurtful too.”

You think about this. Were you? Or was he just trying to make himself feel better? Whatever. You we’re tired. Of working, of being pregnant, (although you loved that little baby more than anything in the world already), of fighting, of standing. Man, your feet hurt. You should get compression socks.

“Okay.” You state.

“I’m gonna make you a one time deal. And you either take it or you don’t, up to you, but it’s all or nothing.”

He looks at you to continue.

“1. You tell me everything that happened up to and during that day with Collin’s.”

He winces.

“2. We’re delaying the wedding for now. I don’t care what our friends or family say. I just…I can’t marry you right now.” You say looking away, hoping the tears won’t come.

“3. From now on, it’s complete and total honest. Total transparency. No matter what. Even when I’m mean, or crying irrationally, or anything else caused by these stupid hormonal imbalances.

And 4. We’re going to start dating again. I know that’s weird and I know we’ve known each other forever, but I deserve it. You’re gonna wine & dine me. You’re going to woo me, you’re going to sweep me off my feet.

Deal?”

In all honesty you think he would’ve agreed to sell his soul to the devil if it meant you were back in his life.

“Okay I have a question. Is that allowed?” Robby asks.

“You may ask, yes.”

“Are you still moving in with me? After your place sells. I mean that was the plan.”

Ugh, you were hoping this part would come later, or somehow never at all.

“Actually, my dad bought me a place. Well, he bought a place and I’m going to rent from him…”

“Your dad bought you another place? I thought you wanted to do the next one yourself so you could finally establish your independence. It used to be a dream of ours to invest in our own place to make our own.”

“Well, Michael, things change.” Guess you’re still not 100% ready to be nice to him. You can start tomorrow.

Robby seems hurt by this. But what are you supposed to say?

You were supposed to look at new places together. Somewhere to buy and start a life together, right before the wedding. Somewhere you’d pick out paint colors and bathroom tiles. You wince at the idea now. Oh well, maybe someday?

“Oh. I see. Alright then. Um, deal.”

“Do you want to come up? Have some tea? Talk some more. I need to get off my feet.” You offer.

This is new territory for Robby. He’s usually in control. In any other circumstance he would’ve had you bent over his knee begging for mercy a half hour ago. Now, he’s like a lost teenage boy, not knowing if he should make the next move. It’s like he’s continuously short circuiting.

But he also doesn’t want to give up.

“If I come up there I want you to know it’ll just be to talk. Nothing else.” He says out loud as if he’s promising both of you. As if he had a chance.

—

You’re laying on your couch in silence, feet propped up, per Robby. But you don’t fight it by any means. You are beat and want to rest. Your head is laid back on your sofas arm rest when Robby’s footsteps approach, baring a steaming mug.

“Here, no sugar, lots of lemon.” He hands you the mug that you smile and take, immediately bringing to your lips to blow on.

“Okay, ask your questions. Let’s get this out of the way.” Robby turns to face you on the couch, arm resting on the top, in a way that makes him try to seem relaxed.

You know what he means, but you’re not prepared. You don’t want to hear all the details of whatever was going on with Robby and his ex. But also, you may go clinically crazy if you keep swirling the scenarios around in your brain.

“Michael, just tell me. From the start to what happened the day I left. I’m too tired to wonder.” You offer, finally taking a sip of your tea.

He sits up, turning to put his mug on the coffee table. He leans forward and puts his hands on his knees, rubbing his face up and down.

“Okay. But I want to start and just say it, uh, it’s not as bad as you think.” He looks at you.

“How do you know how I bad I think it is?” You squint your eyes.

“Andi, I know you. I love you. I’m insanely in love with you. I know what you’re thinking, trust me.”

Without reply from you, he continues on. He’s nervous. So nervous in fact that he stands up with a startling force and begins walking behind you.

“I guess I’ll start the first time Heather texted me. It was a few months ago and it was at work about work. And then she’d text me be safe and have a good night on my way home. And then she accidentally texted me before bed one night and that went on a few nights. Nothing on my end, I swear. You can look at my phone, everything is still there.” He’s pacing now.

“I didn’t think anything of it, and then she started talking to me about her divorce from Alan. She’d just talk and I’d listen, I guess I figured she needed a shoulder to cry on. And then she started bringing us up, me and her. It really caught me off guard and I immediately told her there will never be an us again and I left. I told her she really crossed a line, I swear. That were coworkers and that’s it, that’s all we’ll ever be. That was, uh, the night before you left.” He stops.

The night before you left? You think back to having a day off and cooking Robby his favorite meal. The day was unusually light at the Pitt and he had texted you around 4 that he thought he’d actually be home on time. You were elated and immediately went to the specialty grocery store 30 minutes away. It wasn’t often you guys could have a special night in where you could actually relax. And stay awake. You wanted to celebrate, even though you had no idea about the already developing celebration in your belly. Actually the smell of the raw steak you were cooking made you gag that night and that’s what prompted you to take a pregnancy test the next morning. It turned out to be an eventful night for both of you, even if it was without the other.

And then he didn’t end up coming home until you were fast asleep that night. Steak and asparagus in Tupperware, gone cold hours before. Half burnt candles that caused wax to melt all over your hand carved wooden table. You didn’t care. To be more specific, you had stopped caring around 10 PM that night when the only text you received was at 8:30 PM with a simple “Sorry.”

Robby is looking at the ceiling, still standing still. You realize his eyes are closed shut and he’s trying not to shed a tear. As you’re looking at him he brings his head down and opens his eyes, beginning to walk but stopping a few steps away from in front of you.

“That night I was crushed. I hadn’t done anything and thought I might have mislead her and felt terrible. You know, I don’t know if I’m allowed to say this, but I’ll always have a sort of soft somber spot for. She was with me when Adamson died and then our baby. And before you say anything, it’s not a spot of love or yearning, because I will never feel anything close to that unless you even come close to leaving again. It’s more a spot of incredibly fucked up trauma that you shove in the back of your mind and feel bonded over in a weird way.” He stops, looking at you. He wants an answer. And the truth is, you get it. You hadn’t been at the Pitt when he and Heather were together, but what happened between them radiated for years. You know it crushed him, and it’s allowed to. Everyone is allowed to love and experience loss and be hurt and grieve. It’s totally normal. You can’t be mad at him for having feelings.

“I get it.” You offer.

“And then I don’t know, she overheard me tell someone the wedding is getting closer…or was. And that must have freaked her out because that’s when she kissed me by the lockers. Which I guess you saw and…know the rest of. But go ahead, ask me anything you want. Look at my phone. Do whatever you need to do or say or scream, I’ll take it.”

This man was bearing his soul to you. He was broken and offering whatever shards of himself he had, no matter how hurt he was. He stopped, looking up at the ceiling, forcing his eyes shut. You realized he was trying not to cry.

Robby never had a reason to lie to you. In fact, he was brutally honest. About wanting to be with you, but not wanting to risk each others jobs. About quietly loving you from afar for as long as he had to until it could be out loud. He told you when you’d made a mistake at work, big or small. He wanted you to learn. He didn’t believe in keeping his words quiet, especially with you. From the day you started working with him, until the day you stood before you, you’d never had an actual reason not to trust him. Yes, you had questioned yourself about him the weeks before you left, but now you knew it was baseless accusations.

You go to put your legs down on the ground and put your mug on the coffee table. You stand up and something falls out of your pocket. The sonogram. The little bundle of two people. Something you’ve wanted and hoped for, for so many years. And so many years you had wanted it with this man. It was all happening, just not the way you’d hoped.

Something in you clicks right there in your living room. Michael made a mistake. You also made a mistake. You could’ve been hurt, you could’ve been in an accident. He was your fiance, and before that, your partner for years, when you left without a trace. You fled the state with his child in your belly and his ring on your finger. You finally realize that you hurt him too.

You walk around to the back of the couch and stand in front of Michael. You reach your arms out and wrap them around his waist, and he tenses instinctively. He wasn’t prepared for the touch from you. You squeeze him harder and he responds by relaxing and wrapping his muscular arms around your head and shoulders.

“Okay.” You say to his chest. You nuzzle your face into his shirt and breathe deep, relishing in the familiar scent of citrus, an oaky wood and laundry detergent.

“Okay?” He asks.

You pull back and look at him, really look at him, and put your hands on his chest.

“Let’s start over. We’ve both fucked up and we’re starting fresh. Right now we promise mistakes forgiven and put behind us.”

Robby pulls you back to him and kisses the top of your head.

“Okay.” He says.

[justnatoka]

Hello, how are you? I saw that you have the requests for the lost boys open, a few hours ago I saw a video about a girl who works in a coffee shop and when delivering the coffees she always draws a heart next to the customer's name, a man gets confused and thinks that the girl was flirting with him, the girl, somewhat nervous, explains to him that she has a boyfriend and she always does that with each customer

I found it funny and I wanted to know if you could do a chapter of that that involves the reader and the boys (or whichever one you prefer)

Sorry if it's not understood, I don't speak English and I'm using a translator

Misunderstandings and macchiatos

Dwayne x GN! Reader

A/n: I'm sorry it took so long to write this, anon! I found the video you were talking about! To be honest the guy felt kinda creepy, so I made the interaction more fun and harmless. I also decided to write this with Dwayne, but don't worry, the boys are there to cause chaos too. ;) Hope you enjoy!

Word count: 2.6k

Summary: It all started with a misunderstanding; a little heart drawn on his cup, like you did with all your customers. But amongst the stress of your failing relationship and the regular appearances of him and his friends at the coffee shop, something seems to develop between you and Dwayne.

Working at a coffee shop that was open until the early hours of the morning was an interesting experience. It was mostly calm; a few students here and there leaning over their school work, a couple regulars picking up to go orders before they started their night shift.

The only time it got rowdier was when the surrounding pubs started closing. Many of their patrons stopped by for some caffeine to help work through their intoxication, and also to chat you up in the process. You didn't mind it, they were harmless enough; and most of them backed down when you told them you had a boyfriend.

All in all, the early morning hours weren't exactly the busiest shift in the shop, and that was fine by you. You were a night owl, you would have been up anyway, so you figured you might as well make some money while doing it. The shop was nice, the regulars were kind enough; all things considered, you liked working there.

Then one night a new group of people came in. The four guys definitely didn't look like the types who usually walked through that door. They were young, around your age, and looked more fit to be in a biker gang than the cozy little coffee shop. They were attractive though, and you couldn't keep your eyes from wandering over them while they looked around.

"So there really is a place like this around here, huh," said the shorter one with curly blond hair and the most extravagant jacket you've ever seen.

"Told you," came the short reply from the tall brunette.

The guy with the bleach blond mullet was standing nearest to the door, hands in his pockets, his eyes taking in the interior with seeming disinterest.

The last one, that could have easily fit in a rock band with his outfit and wild hair, finally noticed you behind the counter. His eyes lit up and an easy smirk grew on his face.

He sauntered over, casually but purposefully leaning on the counter as he greeted you.

"Hey there, gorgeous," he flashed you a charming smile.

He didn't even look at the menu once before asking,

"I wanna try something new. Anything you recommend?"

You put on your best customer service voice as you replied,

"It depends. Do you like sweet stuff or something with a bit more spice?"

His grin widened, eyes sparkling with a playful glint.

"Depends. Are you sweet or spicy?"

You were sure your face was turning into a deeper shade, but before you could respond, he was yanked back by the collar of his jacket. Looking over his shoulder, you noticed the tall brunette, who now had his hand on his friend's shoulder.

"You don't get any caffeine. Remember what happened last time?" His voice was really pleasant, despite the slightly chastising tone in it.

"Come on man, it wasn't that serious," the blond protested.

"You didn't sleep for three days and were so hyper we had to tie you to a chair," his friend sent him a flat stare.

"Yeah but-"

"Then you broke the chair and ran off," the shorter one quipped up from behind them, hiding his amused grin behind his glowed hand.

"And we had to look for you all night. We found you behind a dumpster passed out when your body finally crashed," blond mullet added, sounding every bit like a tired parent.

He didn't have any more protests in him, so he just started pouting from the fact that his friends ganged up on him.

The shorter one chuckled and patted his shoulder. "Just give up, dude."

Eventually, they moved to one of the tables. Only one of them, the brunette, ended up ordering actual coffee. The shorter one got a pastry – that he took painstakingly long to choose, weighing his options as if the world depended on it –, rocker guy was still busy pouting, and blond mullet didn't seem to have much interest in the place in general, so he didn't order anything.

As the other three made their way over to the seating area, the brunette lingered for a moment.

"I'm sorry about Paul," he said with an apologetic smile. "He gets easily distracted by the pretty ones."

Since you've been trying really hard not to stare at his exposed chest while he was talking to you, it took you a second to register that he actually called you pretty.

"Oh, it's no problem really," you reassured him, all too aware how flustered you got from his easy compliment.

His smile widened. Damn, he was handsome.

You handed him the pastry his friend ordered and another one with lots of whipped cream and chocolate shavings. When he looked at you confused, you motioned over to their table where the shorter guy – Marko, as you later learned – was in the middle of trying to cheer Paul up.

"Give it to your friend so he stops sulking," you explained.

He flashed you an appreciative smile.

"Thank you."

And with another warm look your way that left your insides squirming, he walked off to join his friends.

You watched as he placed the pastry in front of Paul. You didn't hear what he was saying to him, but you could guess by the fact that Paul suddenly turned to you with the biggest puppy dog eyes you've ever seen before he dove into the sweet treat with a silly smile.

While you busied yourself with making his coffee, you couldn't help but think of this guy's easy smile and gentle eyes. His charm wasn't as loud and obnoxious as his friend's, it was much calmer, an effortless grace that seemed as natural to him as breathing. That's what made it all the more unassuming, and that's why it took you by surprise and took your breath away.

You started to feel like your thoughts didn't even make sense in your own head, so you just gave it a little shake, trying to rid yourself of them. It didn't even matter, you shouldn't think that way anyway. You forced yourself to reign in your emotions and focus on the task at hand.

As a last step, you took your favourite pen and wrote his name on the cup, trying not to think about how it rolled off his tongue as he gave it to you earlier.

You walked over to their table, placed the cup in front of him, and with a little smile and an "Enjoy!" you returned to the counter.

It only took a couple of minutes before Dwayne was standing in front of you again with his cup in hand and a smile you couldn't quite place.

"I had a feeling you liked me," he said, the slight teasing tone not lost on you, neither the gentle warmth in his eyes as he looked at you.

You were stunned for a second, but then confusion took over your features.

"What makes you think that?"

Now it was his turn to frown in confusion, his radiant smile faltering just a bit.

"You drew this on my cup," he stated, holding up the cup for you to see. There, next to his name was a little heart. And it dawned on you.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, if that was misleading. I do this for every customer. And I have a boyfriend."

Your voice got quieter towards the end, overwhelmed by the embarrassment of the situation. Now you were just standing in awkward silence, staring at each other.

"I can make you a new one without the heart, if it bothers you," you offered, not being able to stand the tension anymore.

"No, that's not necessary," he replied, his previously playful smile turning more polite and reserved. Then he just turned around and walked back to their table.

You wanted to bang your head on the counter, cringing from the utter embarrassment. However, you also thanked whatever deity was listening that he didn't make a scene. He took the rejection with a calm grace, didn't get upset with you, and respected your boundary when you told him you had a boyfriend. In a roundabout way, it made you like him even more.

The thing is, you really did have a boyfriend, but it was... complicated. If you wanted to be honest with yourself, your relationship has been dying for a while. He has been growing distant, and no matter how many chances you gave him, no matter how you tried to keep the relationship together, it only led to frustration on both sides, and the space between you just kept growing wider. You didn't have feelings for him anymore, not really. But you've been with him for so long, the prospect of being alone filled you with anxiety. So, you were stuck.

Despite the mortifying little incident, Dwayne actually started coming back regularly. Sometimes he came alone with a book, sometimes with one or more of his friends.

Marko joined him a lot; he seemed to develop an addiction to the pastries you sold, and he made it his mission to try every one of them.

Paul also visited, chatting with you – or more like talking your ear off about whatever shenanigans they got up to on the boardwalk recently. He seemed to have taken a liking to you, and he quickly became your golden retriever best friend.

Blond mullet guy, David, also showed up sometimes, mostly to just sit in silence or have quiet conversation with Dwayne. As much as he didn't seem interested with the coffee shop at first, it seemed to have grown on him. Dwayne told you later, a conspiratorial glint in his eyes as he did so, that he liked the calm atmosphere of the place, and came here when he got tired of the chaos.

You grew used to them being here, to him being here. Through your small interactions you got to know Dwayne better and became quite fond of him. He always managed to put a smile on your face regardless of what mood you were in, his calm and confident personality made you feel at ease when you talked to him. He was kind and attentive, noticing when you were stressed and lending you an ear when you wanted to talk it out, but also respecting your silence when you didn't.

You eventually confided in him about your relationship problems, and he gave you his full attention as he listened. And when he came in one night to you crying behind the counter, he lent you his shoulder, trying his hardest not to look angry as you told him how you caught wind of your boyfriend, now ex-boyfriend, kissing some girl at a party. The bastard didn't even have the audacity to end it with you, it was one of his friends that told you he cheated. At least it gave you the final push to call it quits.

Dwayne definitely had a new name on his shitlist.

Getting over it wasn't easy, despite all the problems you had in the later stages of the relationship. You've spent years of your life with this person and you had some good memories. Dwayne was there all through the grieving process, through the anger and tears, the stress and the eventual acceptance, being nothing but supportive and sweet.

As you navigated your newly single life, you became more and more aware of your growing feelings for him. Now you didn't have to shake off your wandering thoughts, didn't feel the need to chastise and shame yourself for your wandering eyes.

At first, the gravity of your affection for him felt too heavy, and you still needed time to heal from your previous relationship. But as months passed, and your feelings only grew stronger, it became easier and easier to like him. And once you felt ready to move on, you pulled your courage together and took a leap of faith.

All four of them came in that night, which wasn't often, and it almost made you chicken out. But you've already decided that it was going to be that night, and you didn't feel like you could hype yourself up again if you decided to not go through with it.

Your plan was simple. You left a little message on the cup under his name. It was just a "Call me" and your number, but you still felt like your heart was about to explode as you handed him it to him. He walked all the way over to their table, sat down and took a sip, before Marko pointed it out to him with a cheeky grin. You felt light headed as he looked at it, before turning his head to you.

The boys quickly finished their food and drinks and filtered out the door, all of them giving Dwayne knowing smirks and pats on the shoulder as they went. Now it was just you and him in the shop, and you thanked the gods that it was a slow night, because you didn't think you could bear to have this conversation in front of other people.

You felt your face burning as he walked over to the counter, all warm smiles and quiet confidence. He knew what he wanted, and now that you gave him permission to do so, he will take it. The thought made your stomach clench in excitement.

"I had a feeling you liked me," he started, and you couldn't help but chuckle as you remembered that first night, the sound making his smile widen even more.

"What can I say, it's hard not to like you," you replied, sounding more confident than you actually felt.

"I could say the same about you." As he said it, he reached over the counter and took your hand in his, thumb caressing your knuckles gently.

You met his eyes with a sudden shyness, but all you saw in them was such fondness, it almost made you melt into a puddle right then and there. He seemed to be lost in your gaze just as much, and for a while you just stood there, holding hands and taking each other in, communicating through your eyes all that you felt. You had no idea how much time has passed.

Your breath hitched when he started leaning in, but the moment your lips met his, you instantly relaxed. It was a bit awkward with the counter between you, but you paid in no mind. All that mattered was his touch, the movement of his tongue as it caressed you lower lip, the pressure of it against your own as you gave him access. The kiss made your head spin in a way you've never felt before. It was addicting. And when he pulled back, you chased after him, grabbing the lapel of his jacket and bringing him back for more. He just chuckled against your lips at your eagerness.

When you finally broke apart, you were out of breath, your face flushed and your lips kiss swollen. He didn't even seem a little bit phased. But the wide grin on his face told you he liked what he was seeing.

"I'll call you later, sweetheart," he said, his voice like velvet, eyes twinkling, smile as radiant as ever.

All you managed was a nod.

He brought your hand to his lips and pressed one last kiss against your knuckles, before he made his way to the door, his gaze locked with yours until he was finally out if sight.

As soon as the door closed behind him, the sound of loud cheers erupted outside. You just chuckled and shook your head, wondering what you've gotten yourself into.

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