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toru-oikawas-milkbread · 3 years

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Critic

Pairing: Issei Matsukawa x f!reader

Prompt/summary: At a 5 star restaurant, Matsukawa Issei had worked for years now, maintaining a pristine and popular reputation that he didn’t think could be shattered so quickly by a simple harsh critic, however the second that there was only a 4.5 star review, his whole world felt like it was falling apart, leaving him wishing he’d never gotten into the culinary world and feeling ashamed even as nobody stood there and shamed him. Desperate to prove you wrong, Matsukawa had damn near begged for a second chance. How could he have known that it was going to lead him to love in the end?

Word count: 8.6K

Warnings/contents: Fluff, light conflict/pinch of enemies to lovers themes, slight slow burn, mild language, discreet mentions of sex, happy ending

Notes: Truth be told, I don’t even know how this happened; I was playing the sims the other night with Matsukawa in which I was a critic and he a cook, and a friend mentioned that sounded like a good fic and well… here I am 😂 8.6K words later. I hope that everybody enjoys this, despite being long it was a rather quick write and I didn’t take time to dwell on anything. The ending feels a little bit fast to me, but who knows, Doctor Iwa had 3 parts, what’s stopping me from giving Chef Matsukawa 3 parts as well? 😉

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The restaurant was crowded this Friday night, a constantly bustling building that Matsukawa had worked at straight out of culinary school. When he was younger, much like his currently unemployed best friend Makki, Matsukawa had absolutely no idea what it was that he wanted with his life; did he want to be a funeral home director? Did he want to be a chef? Did he want to be an artist (though he had never been so great at art which threw him off of that path more than the fact that he wouldn’t make so much money with that)? Did he want to be a lawyer— he simply didn’t know until the week before graduation, which set him up for a longer wait to get into a popular culinary school that he was more than excited to learn at.

So now, at 27 years old, Matsukawa was the head chef of a popular new restaurant that was taking this side of Japan by storm. They had reservations up to a year away now, they had critics come in and rate their food, but Matsukawa’s food he made the critics had never once failed to get a 5 star review, leaving the restaurant a rather famous place to say you went to all because of him. He’d gotten a raise, he’d gotten praise, he’d gotten everything that he wanted recently and life was going just how he was hoping it would.

Until you.

Word hit Matsukawa’s ear that tonight a rather well known food critic was going to be joining them, a reservation made months out and he was going to be making your dinner as he always did. He was anxious to tell the truth— of course he knew those famous food critics, and you were nothing less than that. A popular 26 year old critic who was known for having a tough palate to please, something that Matsukawa had wanted desperately to appease, and yet now that he had the chance to do just that, he was nervous.

What if he failed and lost his perfect 5 star review record? What if he did everything that he could and you were still unsatisfied? Whatever the case, tonight was the night to find out. He swallowed hard as a knock on his office door caught his attention.

“Chef Matsukawa, the critic’s order is in.” Matsukawa gave a nod, standing up and walking over as he took the simple slip of paper. The dish was a popular one at the restaurant, something that Matsukawa had mastered many moons ago and it gave him a sense of pride— or maybe it was ego. He was certain that making this dish was going be as simple as it always was and that he was going to please you in a way that you never thought you’d be pleased before.

Calmly, Matsukawa started to make your food. He took his time with it, though keeping it timely. He wanted to get your food to you perfect— drizzled nicely to show he cared about presentation, hot to let you know that it was fresh, and most importantly, tasting good to please your palate. When he finally finished with the food, he carefully set the dish on the waiters tray and sent him a smile.

“Do what we do with all critics. Stay for the first bite, ask if she’s satisfied, make sure she doesn’t need anything else.” He explained and the boy nodded at him before taking a deep breath and walking out to the dining hall. He’d been rather intimidated by you, anxious to see what you thought of the presentation and taste of the food as much as Matsukawa was waiting anxiously to see.

The chef leaned against the cabinet and watched his workers bustle around the kitchen and smiled at everyone.

“Keep up the good work.” He called as he headed to his office again.

“Yes Chef!”

You looked at the plate that was sat in front of you, examining it rather carefully as you spun the plate slowly and gave a soft hum.

“It looks rather interesting.” You said, and the waiter saw you write down the simple words “Looks presentable and has a delicious smell to it.” It made him smile a bit, chewing on his lip as he cleared his throat.

“Do you need anything while I’m here?” He asked, watching you give a shake of your head as you grabbed your chopsticks and went in for the food.

“You can go.” You said simply, taking a bite of the food after giving it a couple of soft blows. For a moment, you were expressionless as he slowly backed up but didn’t leave. You seemed to be deep in thought as you reached for another piece of the food. The young waiter wondered if that meant that you liked it, but you still didn’t look pleased. You looked as if you were trying to decide if you found it decent or downright hated it, and that worried the boy. As you swallowed, you looked at the man. “What are you still standing there looking at me like that for?” You asked, your tone not all that harsh though making the boys spine seem to tingle.

“I, uh… do you like it?” You gave a blink, eyeing the boy and raising an eyebrow.

“No. It isn’t my taste.” You said simply, and it shocked him— he’d tried some of Matsukawa’s food before, this same dish in fact, and he thought that it was the best food he’d ever eaten— something that beat even his mothers delicious homemade food he always looked forward to tasting when he returned home from college. “At most, I’d say it was a 3 star worthy review. However, if you don’t stop gawking at me like a lost child then I’m going to bump your grade down in service to a 2.” You said with a frown that the boy nodded at. “Now shoo.” Anxiously, the boy nodded and stumbled back to the kitchen.

~<>~

Matsukawa left his office to check on his workers, picking up a pot that was dirty and setting it into the sink to soak for a moment before the dish boy finished with the clean dishes, wondering if the boy who was at your table had heard anything yet. With how long this was taking, he hoped that you were giving a positive review or ordering a drink from the bar, but instead he was in for a surprise as the door opened and in came the young waiter with a distraught look on his face. Nevertheless, Matsukawa smiled at the man as he wiped his hands off.

“Well?”

“She doesn’t like it.” Matsukawa’s smile immediately fell.

“What?”

“She said it wasn’t for her. She said that at the most, it was a 3 star review we were getting when I asked and if I didn’t stop staring at her while she ate, it would be 2 and I got scared and came in here.” Matsukawa reached over and gave the man’s shoulder a soft pat.

“Don’t trouble yourself, you did the right thing.” He frowned as he thought about your review sitting there on paper and on the computer for all to see. A 3 star review— he’d never once gotten a review so low. Who exactly did you think that you were to judge his food? You weren’t the one who went to culinary school and mastered all these different recipes after all, you merely sat there and judged the food he’d taken the time to perfect. “I’ll talk to her— see what I could have done better.” Matsukawa said with a soft nod. “Bring me to her.” The waiter nodded, leading Matsukawa out of the kitchen and through the swinging double doors.

The dining room was crowded, and many people waved to the chef. Matsukawa took a moment to stop and ask a few select people as he passed if everything was alright as the man brought him around the many tables in the dining room.

“She’s there,” the waiter said, stopping. Matsukawa looked ahead, swallowing hard as he saw you. You sat there, a perfect posture as you wrote something down quickly on a notepad with only 2 bites taken from the dish in front of you. Suddenly anxious as he realized just how pretty you were in person, Matsukawa stepped forward as the waiter stayed behind and stopped before your table with a clear of his throat.

Quickly, you peeked up at the man without bothering to move your head.

“Hello,” he greeted with a polite smile. “My name is Matsukawa. The chef.” He said simply.

“I suppose you’re the one who made this mediocre dish then?” You asked, finally setting your pen down as you looked up at the man.

“What about it would you say didn’t fit your standards?” He asked as politely as he could, keeping his hands folded behind his back. “Perhaps you weren’t a fan of the sauce I used, or you require less flavor.” There was an undeniable hint of a smile on your face as he jabbed at your distaste for his food, though it went away as quickly as it had appeared— just staying long enough for him to catch the tail-end of it.

“None of it quite fit my standards. It was rather boring and predictable.”

“So it’s unpredictability that you’re looking for?” He asked. “Fine. Stay awhile. I’ll redo something unexpected for you.” He challenged. You seemed to think for a moment before you gave the plate in front of you a soft nudge.

“I’m afraid that I do not have the time to give you a second chance to redeem yourself, Mr. Matsukawa.” You said simply. He gave his teeth a soft suck as you eyed him. “Check please.”

A week had come and gone since you’d given a negative review of Matsukawa’s food. While your article wasn’t cruel and in fact you had complimented the building, it’s cleanliness as well as the politeness of the staff and gave your visit a high rating, your critique of his food was rather harsh. Matsukawa eyed the word “Bland” with a glare as he moved on to “Predictable” and scowled. It was past midnight and he was unable to sleep, re-reading the column for the 5th time this weekend as he eyed the 4.5 star review the restaurant he oversaw was now sitting at all because of your poor review.

His boss hadn’t been mad, his co-workers weren’t upset or disappointed with him, even his best friend had said that he was sure he did his absolute best and even beyond that to impress you and that you were simply a hard egg to crack, and yet Matsukawa couldn’t help but being hard on himself. After all, it was his food that you judged so harshly with simple words such as “Predictable” that was burned into his brain six times now.

With a huff, Matsukawa stood and shut his laptop, heading for the kitchen for a late night snack. All of his life food had been a comfort, and while he did his best not to abuse that comfort, tonight he was aching for something to fill the hole inside of him— or rather fill the hole that was created on the computer in the 4.5 star review caused by you. A sigh left him as he rummaged through his fridge, finding nothing of interest and frowning.

He peeked back at the time, debating on heading to the small store close to his house that he knew was open late into the night. He was aching for the relief, so instead of stewing on it, he put on some shoes and left the house. He simply walked, wishing he’d grabbed a coat before he left yet finding himself at the small store rather quickly.

He walked inside, smiling at the store manager who sent him a little grin.

“Issei! Haven’t seen ya here this late in awhile.” The elder man greeted, setting down a newspaper he was gazing at as the man walked closer. “How are ya?”

“Good, just looking for a late night snack that my fridge doesn’t have. I figured one of yours would.” He said simply, passing by the cash register as the man continued to speak; it was a frequent late-night occurrence the two had; because he worked the night shift, the elderly man seemed rather lonely and often times called through the store to Matsukawa as he shopped.

“Well, good luck finding what you’re looking for, I’m sure we got something.” The man said simply tonight before going back to his crossword puzzle. After a couple minutes of searching through the isles, there was the sound of the bell ringing that caught Matsukawa’s attention. During his late night escapades, he’d only once ever met anyone else here this time of night despite the place being open until 3 in the morning. “Welcome,” the man said, though the mysterious stranger only sent him a smile and left Matsukawa wondering who it was, but not caring enough to look as he searched the shelves.

A sigh left him as he headed for the fridges and freezers, hoping to find something rather than walking home defeated and empty handed like he had the night that you came to his place of work and crushed his perfect streak of 5 golden-yellow stars that he missed more dearly than his own mother who now lived 2 hours away from him. It felt almost pathetic and rather shallow to dwell so hard on this, but if Matsukawa didn’t have a 5 star review, what did he have?

As he reached for the glass door filled with pre-made food that only needed to be tossed into an oven or microwave that Matsukawa thought he could cook quickly and eat in bed before passing out watching television, a smaller hand pressed to the handle beneath his. Quickly, Matsukawa looked to his right and saw you, a list in hand that you had previously been looking at instead of the door as if you frequented the store. Matsukawa’s eyebrows twitched as he saw you.

“Oh, it’s you.” He said, not caring to hide the annoyance to his tone. You seemed to wince at his tone and pulled your own hand back.

“Chef Matsukawa.” You said. “Didn’t think that I’d be seeing you again anytime soon.”

“That makes two of us.” Things were painfully awkward as you cleared your throat and glanced back at the fridge. “Well, your hand was there first.” He said simply.

“I think it may be best you get what you need and go so you don’t have to stand here with me for longer than necessary.”

“Don’t like being around me?” He asked with a furrow of his eyebrows that you raised a single one of your own at.

“Call me crazy, but I think that you’re the one who doesn’t like being around me so much.”

“You are crazy.” He said, though he didn’t specify— he didn’t need to. You’d been a critic known to be hard on chefs for long enough to know just what the man was angry at you for. It was a familiar feeling, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t make you feel a bit bad. You were only taught to say what you thought and be truthful in your career, however you had failed to think of just how many people would dislike you for disliking their hard-work.

“Would you just get the food and go?” You spoke rather softly and it made his eyes narrow.

“No, you get your food and go. You’re the one with a list, I don’t know what I want.”

“Well then I can go get other things.”

“It doesn’t make any sense when you can just get this and then move on.”

“It doesn’t make sense to stand here and argue with you over who opens the goddamn fridge first either,” you frowned back at the man, getting a bit fed up even as you wished he didn’t dislike you for something as simple as a poor review.

“Just open the damn fridge and get what you want,” he insisted.

“I told you to do the same first.” Matsukawa clenched his jaw and quickly opened the fridge, grabbing the first thing he saw, giving it a little shake and walking away. With a roll of your eyes, you turned to the fridge and opened it to get your own things as Matsukawa went to the cash register and checked out. The elder man he was well acquainted with didn’t mention the annoyance he’d seen on his face nor the argument he’d inevitably heard, only giving Matsukawa his change and bag with a kind “Come again” as the man thanked him and left the store before you came around again.

Did he feel stupid for getting into an argument with you in front of a frozen food section in a store simply late at night because you had disliked his food? Of course he did; he felt incredibly childish. In fact, he felt rather stupid as well because he didn’t even know what it was that he ended up grabbing to eat tonight. He merely wanted to get away from you.

A huff left the man as he got back home to his apartment, unlocking the door and kicking his shoes off after he came inside. Matsukawa flipped the lights on and locked his apartment door for the night, looking in the bag and immediately making a face at the food he’d gotten.

“Mushrooms and tomatoes on wheat garlic noodles— who the fuck came up with that?”

A groan came from Matsukawa as he slowly awakened, the sun in his eyes and his pants still on when he usually slept without them. With a yawn, the man sat up, seeing the empty food container from last night beside him. Despite thinking the idea was atrocious, he still ate it; granted, it was disgusting, but he still choked it down and fell asleep roughly around 3 in the morning.

A yawn came from him as he stood up and walked to the bathroom, giving his eyes a rub before going to brush his teeth. Matsukawa was tired, not ready to go to work this Sunday. After his late night annoyance and run-in with you, he just wanted to sleep, and yet the sun from the shades he forgot to close last night had woken him up at this early hour of 7AM. On a typical day, Matsukawa woke up at the latest 9 in the morning. However, his favorite time to wake was around 8:45 or so. 7Am— now that was simply cruel. He wished the whole building was facing the other way, but he didn’t want to move rooms simply for the fact that the sun was blinding in the morning even if he did shut his shades.

Trudging out of his room, Matsukawa went to his fridge and sighed.

“What to eat, what to eat…” he mumbled to himself. “Hmm… something… not bland.” He mumbled, narrowing his eyes. “Or predictable.” He said with an eye roll. “What a bitch, my food is not predictable.” He grumbled as he got out an egg and some basil. “I could make something unpredictable if she’d let me instead of leaving and then yelling at me about frozen food.” He said. “Maybe… I yelled first. But she argued back.” He justified to not even a pet in the apartment, only to himself. “Whatever, I’m right and she’s wrong.” He mumbled. “I’m never wrong. My food is good, she’s just impossible to please.” He said simply. “What a hell of a time some guy has with her in bed, huh?” He laughed at his own joke and got a pan out, setting it on the stove and turning the heat on high to warm it up.

With a sigh, Matsukawa cooked his breakfast in silence. Thankfully for him, he wasn’t going to need to go into work until later tonight around 4PM so he had all the time in the world. To do what? To grocery shop. Last night had been nothing but a quick trip to the store to get something to eat into his late night hunger and boredom, but today he needed desperately to really shop. For a chef, his fridge was looking barren and he was craving to cook something extra different lately. Perhaps it was all because of your article.

Part of Matsukawa wanted to realize that your words had only pushed him to think harder about what to make and how to be different, but out of pure stubbornness, he refused.

He decided that after breakfast and cleaning the kitchen up, he was going to head out to the grocery store so that he could get home at a decent hour before work and have time to relax a little bit. After all, nothing felt better than relaxing before work at home and running errands early in the morning. In fact, he always felt more tired when he relaxed during the day and ran errands straight before work.

Quickly cleaning the kitchen had included: unloading the dishwasher, loading it back up, and wiping down the cabinets. Thankfully for him, Matsukawa was not a messy cooker and often cleaned as he worked which had always left the kitchen with a minimal mess no matter what he was cooking, but this? An egg for breakfast was both simple and had made less than a mess he had to dread cleaning up.

Grabbing his keys, Matsukawa headed for the front door and put his shoes on, grabbing his jacket and sliding it on as he walked out of his door and locked it up. He headed down the stairs and started to head out of the apartment complex, his hands in his pocket and his wallet with his keys there as well. He planned on going to the same store that he went to last night, his list of needed things in his head as well as his phone if he forgot anything, though he had his doubts that he would. After all, when he cared to remember things he wasn’t quick to forget.

The bell dinged as he walked in, sending the woman behind the counter a smile as he headed around a tall shelf. The store had a few people in it this morning, far more than it ever had late into the night. There were a few children there that he sent a quick smile to as he passed and went to grab the things he needed before he forgot. Matsukawa grabbed a hand basket at the end of one of the isles, setting his tomatoes in there carefully and going to grab milk as well. With a soft click of his tongue, he wandered about the store and looked at every single item on the shelves, trying to remember what he needed without looking.

A soft sound in remembrance left him beneath his breath as he saw the pancake mix, something that he occasionally craved and he had wanted this morning, yet he was completely out of it. The item wasn’t on his list, but who was going to tell him no? Certainly not himself. Blindly, he reached for the pancake mix as he glanced to the side, but his hand bumped another. He turned to apologize quickly as the cold hand retracted, but his eyes were quick to narrow.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.” A sigh left you as you recognized the mans voice, looking at him and pulling your hand back. “Weren’t you just here?”

“I could ask you the same.”

“I came for a late night snack, you had a list. Now I have a list. Different scenarios.”

“Well now I need something I forgot last night.” You said simply. “Didn’t think I’d be running into you two days in a row.”

“Yeah, well you better go away before I disappoint you with how bland and predictable my food choices are.” He said bitterly.

“You have got to let that go, it was a simple review.”

“It was unfair and untrue,” he said, eyeing you with a narrowed look. “I can cook.”

“I never said you couldn’t.” You said with a scoff. “I didn’t rate your inability to cook, I said that it was predictable and bland was an added adjective. It isn’t my fault you took it the wrong way.”

“You wouldn’t even give me a second chance to prove you wrong, that’s unfair.”

“Are you seriously mad at me because I didn’t want to stay around your restaurant for another hour?” You asked with a deep frown. “It was crowded, loud, and I wanted to go home, not sit around waiting for you to make me something unpredictable and prove something to yourself.” You argued with the man, steering several customers away from the isle you two stood in.

“That doesn’t make it fair!” He said.

“Is how unfair I am the only justification you have for hating me?” You asked with a glare. “Because if so, that is so… it’s childish!” You said back at the man who gave a scoff.

“What’s childish is being a professional critic and not giving me the chance to prove you wrong.”

“I am never wrong.”

“Well neither am I!” A cleared throat stole your attention away from the man and vice versa as you both looked aside, meeting eyes with the matronly older woman that stood behind the counter and who seemed bothered by both of your behavior.

“I’ve gotten several complaints about the two of you. Have your lovers quarrel elsewhere.” She said in a rather high voice that made Matsukawa and yourself wince before he spoke.

“We are not lovers.”

“Whatever the case, please. Take this outside.” She said simply before turning away. Matsukawa looked to you, seeing your arms crossed and your eyes down to the ground. He gave a sigh and scratched the back of his neck, feeling a bit bad yet still angry at the same time.

“Look, I… I don’t hate you.” He sighed. “You just… caught me off guard. I was so sure that I was gonna be the first person to finally impress you and when I wasn’t, I guess… I guess I took things too far.” You ran your tongue along your top teeth and looked at the man.

“Perhaps I could give you a second chance to prove yourself.” You said simply and it made his eyes widen. “One more chance. But if you raise your voice at me like that again—” You started with a pointed tone.

“I won’t.” He promised. You sighed and looked away from the man, grabbing a pancake batter mix. “You’ll come to the restaurant then?” You were hesitant and he didn’t know why, but he thought that you seemed a bit anxious. “Do you… not want to come to the restaurant?” He asked. “What, is it too busy?” He asked. “You anxious around that many people or something?” You seemed to clench your jaw and it gave him enough of an answer. “How about I cook for you at my place.” He said simply. “Or you come after hours. Or you get a reserved spot away from people. I really want this second chance.” He said desperately. “I’d do anything to get you to try my food just one more time.”

“Why, so you can poison me?” You seemed to joke and it made the man give a soft laugh beneath his breath.

“If I poison you then how will I get my 5 star review back?” You rubbed your eyes and sighed.

“This Friday night I’m free. I can come to your place if that’s what you want.” You said, and he nodded quickly, willing to do anything to get you to give him a better review. “I’ll need your address.” You said, taking out your phone. “Here, write it down.” He nodded, quickly typing in his address and handing your phone back to you. You turned to walk away before stopping and peeking back at the man. “Matsukawa?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t like mushrooms or chili peppers, and I tend to avoid things that are too salty.” Matsukawa couldn’t help but feeling himself smiling a bit as you gave him rather helpful tips and nodded.

“Dully noted.”

Today was Friday, a day of the week that most people were ready for and yet Matsukawa stood in his kitchen anxious, worried about late this evening. He’d taken the night off at work for several reasons, 1: being that he wanted to make a delicious dinner for you and 2: being that he didn’t want to cram in time at the restaurant before coming home to make you dinner and seeming frazzled.

You had his address, and yet Matsukawa was unsure of what time you were supposed to get here. In the moment, that hadn’t mattered to Matsukawa and all he wanted was to prove you wrong. He assumed that you’d come around the same time you came to the restaurant, around 7:30 in the evening, and yet as 7:29PM rolled around, he felt anxious as he carefully stirred the sauce he was cooking.

What if you didn’t show? What if you did show but hated what he made again? What if you only gave him a 4 star review and it left his star still half empty? What was he going to do with himself if he didn’t have a full 5 star review? It was all he’d worked towards since getting out of culinary school and starting as a line-chef— he had to get this. You were right, it was to prove something to himself. To prove that he was good enough. To prove that he’d made the right choice in life when he’d not known what he wanted for such a long time.

A knock at his door tore him from his thoughts as he looked over at the clock, seeing that it was 7:30PM exactly as the time rolled over. He swallowed, hard drying his hands off and heading towards the door. He didn’t know how to dress tonight, after all this was a far more intimate setting than his restaurant, so he wore merely a long-sleeved blue shirt and jeans. It seemed to be a safe bet and he doubted that you were going to go all out for him either.

Sure enough as he opened the door, you wore a simple white shirt with an unbuttoned gray sweater over it and a pair of dark pants. He sent you a smile and stepped aside. You walked in, a notepad in hand as you looked around the apartment he lived in. He shut the door, looking at you as you slid your shoes off by his door and looked back at him.

“You have a nice living space.” You said, earning a soft smile from the man who led you to the kitchen.

“Thank you.”

“Something smells rather good.” You said and it made him smile again.

“Thank you.” He repeated. “Here, I set the table up nicer than normal. Special treatment.” He said, bringing you to his small two person table that was pushed against the wall with a white tablecloth over it and a single flower in a vase. There was a water cup with ice in it already sitting on the table that had only a single drop of water sliding down the edge from the ice melting inside of it, showing he’d put it there recently. You gave a soft hum and sat on the side that he’d always sat on without his guidance.

“It’s nice.” You said simply, setting your notepad down on the table and looking at him. “How long do you expect until dinner is ready?”

“Just a few minutes.” He said, holding his pointer finger up and heading back to the kitchen. You looked around the apartment again and gave a soft sigh beneath your breath.

“I realized that I forgot to mention a time tonight,” you called out loud enough that he’d here. Thankfully, the table wasn’t too far from the nice looking kitchen that you stole a quick glance in to while his back was turned. “I apologize.”

“It’s no worry, I tried to assume you’d come around the same time you went to the restaurant.”

“I suppose we think alike then,” you said, looking at the small collage of photos on the wall by the table. “That was why I came here this time.” You said, inspecting the multiple photos the best you could as you sat up a bit in your chair. There were photos of places he’d traveled, both of sights alone and some of him and another man with short light brown hair who always seemed to make a goofy face and it seemed Matsukawa followed that and made a face along with him in most of the photos. It had made you give a bit of a smile as you sat back against the chair.

“I suppose we do,” Matsukawa called back. “I’ll be there in just a moment.” He said, grabbing a single plate and carefully putting the food onto it; he made it look as nice as he could, using a clean cloth to carefully wipe away the excess sauce of the noodles before he drizzled some of his homemade sauce over top of the recipe. He gave a soft sigh as he grabbed a clean pair of chopsticks and brought the dish to you.

You moved the notepad aside as Matsukawa carefully sat the dish in front of you.

“I hope that you enjoy this,” he said, carefully setting the chopsticks down beside the plate and standing straight. “I tried to be unpredictable.” You gave a soft hum and picked up the chopsticks, though you hesitated and looked to the other side of the table, noticing there wasn’t a second cup of water, and quickly turning your gaze to your host.

“Are you just going to stand there or are you going to eat as well?” You asked.

“Oh, well I wanted to make you comfortable like you were in my restaurant.”

“I’ve already had the restaurant experience and judged that, I don’t fancy being stared at while I eat either. I’d prefer if you didn’t act like a weirdo and just get a plate.” A soft chuckle came from the man as he nodded.

“Alright, I’ll join you.” He said, going to the kitchen and getting himself a plate quickly. He hadn’t heard you make any comments towards his food yet or the sound of your paper getting scribbled on which made him anxious, though as he walked back to the table with his plate, chopsticks and a drink in hand, he saw that you were merely sitting there with your hands on your lap and the food untouched as you inspected it. “Something the matter?” He asked, carefully setting his things down and sitting across from you.

“No, I simply was raised to not eat until everybody was with their food at the table.” You said, sitting so properly across from him that it forced him to straighten up himself.

“I see.” He said, grabbing his chopsticks and looking at you. “Well, now we all have our food.” You gave a soft hum and grabbed your own chopsticks, gathering up a decent sized bite of the food and bringing it to your mouth. Matsukawa leaned down a bit to take his own bite into his mouth, yet he hesitated to glance at you and see if there was any sense that you liked or hated the food.

But there was nothing. You gave a simple hum and set your chopsticks down, not a sense of love or hate on your face as you wrote something he couldn’t see down on the notepad beside you and it made the man give a soft sigh as he brought the food into his own mouth; you gave the secondary taste you always did, giving a soft nod with yet another expressionless face and writing something down on your notepad before taking a sip of your water and looking across the table at the man who tried not to look disappointed.

“I suppose… there is a first time for everything.” He blinked, unsure of what you were saying to him, but you didn’t specify any further. Instead, you got your chopsticks again and took another bite of the food. He hesitated, hopeful that this meant he made you happy and yet he was unsure of what to do or say as you slowly enjoyed the food he’d made— or so he thought you enjoyed it. Even still you held a harsh critics bland expression as you ate the food he made.

“What made you want to be a critic anyways?” Matsukawa suddenly asked, tossing the subject aside in fear that pestering you about it might annoy you, but the silence felt awkward. You looked across the table at the man and gave a soft hum.

“Well, I didn’t necessarily want to be a food critic,” you said. “I wanted to be a judge, but life took me a different way.” You said simply.

“A judge for what?” He asked.

“Ice skating.” You said, taking another sip of your water. “I was rather fond of it when I was younger. I was going to go to the olympics so I practiced and I practiced hard. My dream was to retire and become a judge, but I got hurt and they told me I didn’t meet the qualifications to judge.” There was a fond smile on your face for a moment that quickly faded as you mentioned having gotten hurt. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to press as to what happened any further. “So, I took the first critic job I could get out of college and here I am.”

“Is that why you’re so hard to please?” He asked simply. “Because you don’t want to be doing this?”

“I was taught that you say what you think and you take no consideration towards the feelings of those you are critiquing. A rather harsh method perhaps, but… it’s all I really know.” You said quietly. Matsukawa couldn’t help feeling bad for you, noticing a mood drop across the table as you poked at the dish for a moment before taking another bite.

“Sorry I took your critique so hard.” He said, catching your attention again. “You’re right, it was childish of me to dislike you because of a poor review. It wasn’t even that, and really— you weren’t mean. Just… I wanted to prove something to myself— so I guess that you really were right. You’re never wrong.”

“What is it that you wish to prove?” You asked, sounding genuinely interested as it was now his turn to look downs solemnly at his plate.

“That I made the right choice.” He shrugged. “I didn’t know what I wanted with my life for a long time. When I decided on culinary school… I never mentioned it to anyone, so don’t use this against me,” he joked and it earned a tiny smile from you that he saw fully this time rather than before when he’d only caught the end of it, and dare he say it had made his breath catch in his throat. “But, I, uh… I wanted to quit.”

“How come?”

“I thought that I wasn’t good enough at it. I thought that I wanted something different, but I didn’t want to let everyone down.” He sighed. “My parents, my friends, I was so close and I figured even if I didn’t do this forever, I’d have this degree and I didn’t want to waste my parents money. Needless to say, I wanted so badly to prove to everybody that I could get a good review out of you to make myself feel better. To make myself feel like I made the right choice. So, maybe I do cling a bit obsessively to the 5 star review I have— I just want to feel like the time I spent in culinary school wasn’t a waste. I thought that if I had this 5 star rating and it didn’t go away that I’d feel better about myself for not wanting to do this in the first place.” You were silent for a moment and he damn near almost flushed as he looked at you. “That was a lot. Sorry to bring that to the table.”

“I did ask.” You said simply. “I understand.” You said. “Not knowing what you want is a hard road to be on. I hope that perhaps some day, you find what you’re looking for.” You added. “Maybe you won’t always be a chef and you’ll find interests somewhere else.” He gave a shrug and took another bite of his food.

“In that case, maybe you won’t always be a critic.” You hummed softly and looked back to your plate with a solemn look.

“Maybe.”

It had been only a couple of days since you’d come to Matsukawa’s apartment and had dinner with him; he felt a bit bad, opening up to you about something he hadn’t ever opened up to anyone about, and yet he couldn’t take it back. Since then, he hadn’t seen you around and he’d now worked a shift at the restaurant tonight on this Sunday where the weather outside was perfect and he only wanted a breath of fresh air.

“Chef!” A voice startled the man and made him jump as a familiar waiter came into his office. “Chef, sir— did you see the website?” He raised an eyebrow at the boy who hurried over. “Sorry to barge in, but I think you need to see this.” He said, looking at the open computer. “Go look, quickly!”

“Okay, okay!” He said, typing up the name of his restaurant and sliding down to the reviews. It felt as if he couldn’t breath for a moment as he saw that all 5 of his review stars were filled with a recent review from Japan’s harshest critic listed below.

“Read it, read it, read it!” The man urged quietly as he himself read it as well.

“Upon a second, more intimate review of the popular Bistro, I have found myself in the wrong for the first time about a chef. Adding to the customer service, the food was rather tasty and held a peculiar zing to it I couldn’t quite put my finger on in the sauce drizzled over top of it. The food was not bland nor was it predictable this second time around. I couldn’t have been more glad to give the chef a second chance to redeem himself for he took it to a level even I was amazed with. Highly recommended restaurant.”

Matsukawa looked down as he covered his face, a grin so large that he couldn’t help but giving a small laugh along with it. Truthfully, he felt like he could cry out of pure joy that he’d gotten such a positive review and it made the boy beside him grin as well.

“That’s great,” he said quietly, giving his eyes a rub and relaxing back in his chair. “That is… that is great.” He said breathlessly, giving a soft shake of his head and looking back to the 5 golden stars. “That’s great.” He sighed, closing his eyes and relaxing his head back. “Oh, this is great!” The waiter gave a soft laugh and backed away to head back out to do his sole job at this restaurant.

“I thought you’d be happy.”

“More than you could know, kid.” He sighed, standing up and heading back out to the kitchen with the boy. A woman passing by him sent him a smile and a rough slap on the arm in congratulations as she smiled.

“Good job chef.”

“Don’t know how ya did it.” A man said as he shook his head. “That woman is a hard egg to crack.” Matsukawa gave a soft chuckle and nodded.

“I agree. Glad I cracked her though.” He said with a small smile. “Alright, are we ready for dinner service?” He asked, clapping his hands together.

“Yes chef.”

Matsukawa couldn’t lie to himself, he hoped to see you again this time. Despite his wanderings of the little store by his apartment however, you weren’t there. It had been well over a month now since you left that review, now onto another restaurant that you gave a less than friendly review with and it made him give a sigh in relief as he’d won you over. He didn’t know how he did it, but he couldn’t have been more glad he finally convinced you to come to his apartment and letting him prove you wrong. Even since reading that article, your simple words made sense to him.

“I suppose there is a first time for everything.”

At first it had confused him, he didn’t want to get his hopes up and be let down, but you had instead shot his hopes through the roof that he could continue to impress other critics— however none were as hard to please as you had been.

With a yawn this morning, he headed to the store, looking for eggs at the early hour of 7AM. He was unable to sleep as he’d forgotten about the damned curtains once again and the sun shone too brightly in his eyes. This time, he did take moving seriously but there were no other rooms available at this time on the opposite end of the apartment and he wasn’t going to move two floors up in hopes the sun wouldn’t blind him every morning.

He sent a smile to the elderly woman who sighed as she saw him.

“No fighting this time.” She said, and it shot Matsukawa’s hopes up.

“Is she here.” The woman hesitated before pointing back to the frozen section. Matsukawa couldn’t help but smile, hurrying back and seeing you there with your back to him as you looked over a small list in your hand with the basket. “Hey,” you turned at his familiar voice and sent him a tiny smile.

“Hello, chef.”

“Please, Matsukawa.” He said, stopping beside you. “I wasn’t sure if I’d see you again.”

“I’ve been rather busy helping my parents renovate their home.” You said simply. “Were you looking for me?” You asked, a bit shocked.

“Oh, well— sort of. I saw your review. I, uh… I appreciate it. A lot.” You shrugged at the man and got into the freezer to grab a frozen meal.

“It was nothing. You simply did the impossible and proved me wrong. Who was I to not swallow my pride and admit when I was in the wrong.” You said simply. “I’m not petty and nor am I incapable of accepting a loss.” You turned to the man with a bit of a mischievous smile on your face and a glint in your eyes that made him flush. “I suppose that’s where we differ, isn’t it, Matsukawa.” You made the man give a laugh as he leaned against the freezer beside you.

“You’re something else.” He said with a soft shake of his head as you shut the freezer you were in front of now. “You know, I… I could help you out if you’re not wanting frozen dinners.” You gave a soft hum in question and looked at the man. “You have my address. I was thinking some time maybe you’d want to have dinner freshly made instead of a boxed dinner.”

“Well, you’ve proven me wrong once— do you need to bruise my ego and prove me wrong more than that?” You said jokingly and it made the man laugh.

“This isn’t about bruising egos, this is asking a pretty critic if she’d like to make one of my lonely nights better and join me for dinner. Unless… she has a partner I didn’t know about and would like me to shut up now.” He said, a bit embarrassed as he had attempted going all out before realizing he didn’t know anything of your personal life except for the fact that you liked ice skating and wished to be a judge of that rather than a food critic.

“I do not have a partner.” You said, almost hesitantly taking the food from your basket and putting it back in the fridge. “Thursday?” Matsukawa couldn’t help but give a grin, looking down and nodding. You smiled a bit and got your phone out, holding it out towards the man. “If you’d like to give me your number, I think I could find time in my day to schedule perhaps more than one future plan with a handsome chef.”

Carefully, Matsukawa took your phone as his warm fingers brushed against your own chilled ones.

“Don’t stand me up on Thursday now,” he said, typing his name and number into your phone before holding it out towards you. “It wasn’t on my plan to get hurt by a pretty critic more than once.” You raised an amused eyebrow at the man.

“You’ve planned on getting hurt once by a critic?”

“Well, maybe not a critic— just a pretty girl. It was inevitable, wasn’t it?” You hummed and held your hand out.

“Then give me your number as well to ensure that I have no excuse to stand you up this Thursday and disappoint you twice.” Matsukawa smiled and got his phone from his pocket.

“I’d like nothing more.”

<>~<5 years later>~<>

A quiet yawn came from the man as he laid on his back in bed, reaching up to rub his tired eyes as the sun wasn’t blinding him like it did in his old apartment all those years ago. As the sun no longer shone in through the window across the room, Matsukawa rolled over to wrap his arms around your sleeping body, pressing a kiss to your shoulder as he pulled you close to nuzzle his face against your bare back with a soft hum.

He was unbelievably warm despite being completely naked and having only the top sheet on your shared mattress over top both of you. A soft groan came from him as you slept peacefully, snuggling closer to him and making him smile as he kissed your back again.

Back all those years ago, Matsukawa could have never seen himself with anybody let alone a critic who he had hated upon first meeting, but as time went on and the two of you got closer and he learned just how similar the two of you really were beneath both of your outward façades, he fell for you, and he fell hard. He had only hoped you wouldn’t leave him there on the ground. Thankfully for him, you hadn’t, and he couldn’t have been more happy as you gave a sound in your sleep and moved.

He pulled back as you turned, snuggling close to him and making him smile as he brought a hand up to cradle your head as you rested your head against his chest. He wrapped his arm back around you, keeping you as close as he possibly could and closing his eyes again.

Life hadn’t gone at all how he’d imagined it. Even now, he was still the head chef at his restaurant and now lived with you and was soon to be married, but he couldn’t complain about a single event that led him to this morning, bringing you closer in his arms and nuzzling close to you.

This was what he had stuck with culinary school for. This morning right here, and he was glad fearing disappointing his friends and family had scared him into staying in school.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu x female reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x reader fluff #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu issei matsukawa #issei matsukawa #issei matsukawa x female reader #issei matsukawa x reader #issei matsukawa x reader fluff #issei matsukawa fluff #issei matsukawa imagines

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imkylotrash · 3 years

Text

Take Me Back To The Night We Met

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x reader

Requests: Hello could I have reader x Kaz brekker with this prompt: "How are you feeling?" "Like someone who was shot." Anonymous And Hello could I have reader x Kaz brekker with this prompt: "So do not wait too long, okay? "What? "To tell him that you love him. " Anonymous

Warnings: Blood

Tagging: @bitchwhytho @music-of-melody @shadowhuntyi @bshelley322 @alice-the-nerd

"You're lucky Kaz is sleeping," you say catching Jesper in his walk of shame. The sun rose up an hour ago but you have a feeling Jesper hasn't slept yet.

"I've done nothing wrong," he says but even he doesn't believe that. You both know he's done a little gambling, a little betting, and he's definitely lost some money. Otherwise, he would've come home sooner ready to celebrate.

"I know your wicked ways by now. You don't fool me," you tease. In all honesty, you couldn't care less if Jesper likes gambling, but you know Kaz hates it - especially when the money is meant for something else.

"Luckily, you're not the one I have to fool," he replies tipping his hat. He's about to walk past you when he spins around.

"Perhaps you could fool him for me? He'd never get upset if it were you." You make a sound that falls somewhere between a snort and a laugh.

"Did you not hear him berate me the other day when I misplaced some of his documents in his office? He went on about that for the entire day," you chuckle remembering just how upset he'd been that someone would dare create, what he considered, a mess in his office.

"I heard him. But if it had been me, he'd gone on for a lot longer than a day," Jesper counters but you're not sure what he's getting at. For as long as you've known Kaz, he's been infatuated by Inej. He doesn't give you special treatment and he certainly doesn't feel what Jesper is insinuating.

"I think you had a little too much to drink last night if you're thinking Kaz would feel any sort of affection towards me. Or that I feel something for him," you say but your blushing cheeks give you away. Jesper sees right through you.

"I'm not going to get involved in that all I'm saying is don't wait too long, okay?"

"What?"

"To tell him that you love him." He pats your shoulder as he passes you, but you're too dumbstruck to react. What do you even say to that? You can't tell Kaz you love him, it would ruin the entire dynamic of your relationship. You work well because you keep it professional. You can't pine over him, it's the kind of thing that will get you killed on a heist.

"I need sleep too," you mumble locking the doors of the club before you head upstairs. Your head hits the pillow just as someone wakes you up again. Three hours have passed, but you feel like you haven't slept at all.

"Sorry to wake you, but I need your help." Kaz leaves your room before you can say anything, which is probably a good thing considering what you and Jesper talked about last night. You get ready and walk to his office where Jesper and Inej are already waiting.

"What's going on?" you ask taking a seat.

"We have a mission. But we're not the only ones interested." That mission becomes your doom. You're in the room that night when Pekka stops by.

"Maybe you need a little incentive to do the right thing." His goons are holding Kaz in place when Pekka turns to you.

"Maybe if I take one of your little crows, you'll know I'm not messing around this time." He's shot you before you even have time to reach for your throwing knives. It's one of the only times you've ever been caught off guard - too busy being mortified by the way they grabbed Kaz.

"You let this go, Mr Brekker. Or we'll have a real problem." You fall to your knees feeling a burning sensation right around your lower ribs. The bullet must've hit something vital because there's no way you would be bleeding this badly if it wasn't fatal. You've been shot before but it's never felt like this.

"What can I do?" Kaz asks immediately by your side. You drag yourself closer to the wall so you can lean on the cold surface.

"Kaz..."

"No! You're not dying, do you hear me? Tell me what to do." You tell him to bring the first aid kit but there won't be anything in there to help you. You don't have to be a medic to know that your laboured breathing means damage to the lungs and nobody comes back from that.

"How are you feeling?" he asks when he returns with the box filled with bandages meant for superficial wounds and creme meant for burns. He won't find anything in there that will help him remove the bullet or stop the bleeding.

"Like someone who was shot." It's safe to say, Kaz doesn't appreciate your inappropriate humour right now. But you've already accepted what he's refusing to. You're going to die and he can't do anything about it because that's the way life is sometimes.

"It's not going to help, Kaz. You really want to help me? Get that vodka I like from the bar." It offers you precious minutes alone where you can feel the anger of having to leave behind the people you love. You don't want to go but by the time, a medic can come here you'll be long gone. You don't want to die in pain while some stranger searches your insides for a bullet.

"Here." You didn't even notice him come back, but he's holding two glasses. You surprise yourself when you're able to lift your arm and accept the glass. It doesn't hurt as much anymore, and you have a feeling that's not a good thing. The burning feeling in your throat from the vodka distracts you if only for a few seconds.

"Sit with me." You look over at the boy you've loved for years now, and you loathe the fact that this is how it ends. You haven't truly lived yet. But there's no point in telling him when you know you won't even survive the night. You have to let go of him so he can find peace once your soul leaves him. You spot Jesper and Inej standing in the doorway to Kaz' office. They're looking over at you with tears in their eyes, and you hate having to leave them all behind. There's so much you still want to do and experience.

"No mourners," Kaz says sitting right next to you. His fingers graze yours in an attempt to comfort you but even now, he feels the terror of past events haunt him.

"No funerals," you finish with a taste of metal in your mouth. You won't make it. A fact both of you know but refuses to acknowledge.

You die and Kaz Brekker never finds out that you loved him the way he loved you.

#shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone blurb #shadow and bone gif #shadow and bone #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker blurb #kaz brekker gif #kaz brekker imagine #kaz brekker #sab imagine #sab blurb #sab gif #sab #tw blood #tw death

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angellesword · 3 years

Text

MAGIC SHOP | JJK (12)

Description: You and Jungkook were best friends who were in love with each other. What would happen when Soojin, your half sister who you’re trying to impress, told you she’s in love with Jungkook too?

Alternatively:

“Would you believe me if I said that I was scared of everything too?”

Pairing: Architect!Jungkook x Architect!Reader

Genre: childhood best friends to lovers, family drama, angst, fluff, idiots to lovers, pining, slice of life au.

Warnings: none other than JK and OC making out, cursing too????

Chapter’s OST: Nobody Compares by One Direction

Word Count: 3.8k

Series: CHAPTER 11 | CHAPTER 13

Soojin wasn't sure what to do when she saw you standing there, only a few meters away from her and Sin-ae.

You obviously heard the secret she just spilled. This was why she didn't understand why you were keeping a neutral face. It was like the new information didn't shock you at all.

Soojin couldn't help but wonder if this was you being a martyr again. She was not a fool. She was aware how desperate you were to become a part of their family.

How could she not know? Soojin literally exploited this desperation of yours for many years.

She hoped she could still use it today. She hoped you were still the same naïve girl from before.

"Hey, sister..." Soojin tested the waters by calling you sister. It always worked. She saw how your eyes softened and sparkled every time she called you that.

Sometimes she found it endearing, but it pissed her off most of the time. You were such an idiot. She mused.

"Hi." You went near them, greeting them flatly that caused Soojin's heart to drop to her stomach. She didn't see it. This was the first time your eyes didn't light up at the sight of her and her kind smile.

Your face also remained impassive despite Sin-ae's hostility.

"What are you doing here?" Soojin's mother barked, her question was making her look dumb.

You were cradling flowers in your arms while inside a columbarium building. Of course you were here to visit the dead.

"I'm here for my father," and that's exactly what you did; you stated the obvious. Your voice sounded like a robot though. Just like your face, there's no emotion that could be traced. "You know, since I wasn't able to attend the funeral."

Soojin almost flinched at the sudden change of your tone. It's stone cold. She could almost taste your resentment in her tongue.

"Ah..." Your sister let out a breathy laugh. Her heart was in her throat. Soojin was never intimidated by you because she had always felt like she was better than you. In all aspects. You were an illegitimate child. You didn't have a loving mother. Your brothers didn't consider you family. Your father loved her more than he loved you.

The only one you had was Jungkook, but he wasn't yours anymore. He was hers.

"W-We thought you went back to New York." Soojin reasoned out sheepishly. She looked timid, exactly how you used to look when you were around the Kims.

It's uncanny actually. At this very moment, you could see yourself in her. Soojin looked so much like you. Was it because she's your sister? Or was it because just like you, she had done something shameful too?

Wrong.

You were wrong. Your very existence was shameful enough. Soojin had only done something that made her feel guilty. That's different. She's nothing like you. She was better—this was what she believed.

"I did not." You responded because what else could you say? It wouldn't change the fact that you didn't get to see your father for the last time.

They took him away from you.

"Well then we won't disturb you anymore." Soojin faked a smile, grabbing her mother's arm and tucking it into the crook of her elbow.

Sin-ae tried to pull her arm away from her daughter's grasp. Turning to you, she huffed and was about to say mean things when Soojin discreetly squeezed her mother's arm.

You saw how she leaned closer to the older woman to whisper something. Only a fool wouldn't know what that 'something' was. It's obvious she told Sin-ae that there's a big chance you heard about their secret.

It's the only logical explanation why the color drained out of the face of your half sister's mother. It also appeared like Sin-ae suddenly lost her ability to speak.

She couldn't even scorn at you. Truthfully, she was looking at you as if you were a ghost that's been haunting her for ages.

"I-It's getting late, Soojin-ah. Maybe we should go." Sin-ae turned to look at her daughter, smiling warmly at her.

Soojin released a deep breath, thankful that her mother understood the situation immediately.

"We should." Soojin directed her smile at you. "See you soon, sister..."

Her smile dropped when you didn't respond, but instead of pointing it out or getting mad, she just chose to walk away, dragging her mother with her.

You surprised them when you unexpectedly spoke right after they walked past you.

"Yeah." Your grip on the stem of the flowers tightened. "See you at the Board of Directors' Meeting."

"She's bluffing." Sin-ae crossed her arms as she lifted her brows. She looked confident while standing still, her eyes were sharp which Soojin didn't fail to notice.

Her mother's aura gave her an illusion of power. Yeah. Sin-ae was right. You were most likely bluffing when you told them days ago that you would see them at the BOD's meeting.

Who cared if you knew about their secret? You didn't have evidence. As stated, Soojin destroyed it all. She also paid those employees who knew about the truth. They wouldn't dare spill.

That's the power of money. It could buy the silence of people.

Apart from this, no one would ever believe an illegitimate child like you. The board wouldn't even consider you as a prospective chairperson. You had the biggest share in the company but you weren't an architect in the firm. Only those who were working at Castle as an architect could be the next chairperson. Besides, why would they want an irresponsible person who suddenly quit her job? This was what you did when you abruptly decided to go to New York two years ago. You left Castle almost immediately, not caring that you still had commitments.

Jungkook, being your best friend, took over all your pending projects just so you could be free. He thought you simply wanted to leave the company. But regret washed over him upon realizing that you quit your job so you could go abroad.

Jungkook often wondered what would have happened if he didn't take over your pending projects. Would you still leave Seoul? Would you still leave him?

Probably.

You never stayed.

You left before.

You left him now too.

The last time Jungkook saw you was when he dropped you off at Castle so you could be present when Taemin's executor read the will. After that, he never saw you again.

Jungkook tried to go back to the motel but you weren't there anymore. He panicked, thinking that you went back to New York already.

But when he called your phone and you answered, he instantly felt relief engulfing his body.

"I'm still in Seoul." You informed him over the phone. You also told him you couldn't go back to his apartment anymore.

"At least tell me where you're staying..." He was begging you again. Jungkook didn't care if you thought he was pathetic. His main concern was your safety.

"I can't. But I'm safe. Promise." You assured him. He wanted to argue but then he was reminded by what you told him two years ago. You didn't want to be fixed. Maybe it's time he put his trust in you.

He should trust your words.

"Okay." He said, his heart was heavy.

You hummed.

"See you soon, Kook." And then you hung up.

You didn't lie though. Jungkook saw you after a few days. He got to know what happened through Soojin. Your sister was pissed because you inherited more than half of Taemin's assets. Jungkook also came to know that you wanted to be the next chairperson of Castle.

Soojin was trying to calm her nerves; however, everything was making her worry. She didn't only have to worry about you. Jungkook was also a threat to her position. The board probably wanted him to be the next chairperson.

Sin-ae assured her daughter there's nothing to worry about.

"Didn't I tell you I can handle Jungkook? He'll marry you so you don't need to worry if the board chooses him as your father's successor. Chin up. We got this. Like I said, the bastard is bluffing. She won't be at the meeting." Sin-ae reminded her daughter for the second time.

Soojin nodded. Her mother's words didn't give her the illusion of power. The confidence she felt right now was already real.

"Alright." Your sister held her head high as she heaved a deep sigh. "Let's go. This day is perfect. I'll either be the new chairperson or Jungkook's wife. I win regardless..."

"Yes." Sin-ae's lips twitched. "That's right. Now let's go and claim what belongs to you."

Sin-ae was wrong. You weren't bluffing. You're determined to be the next chairperson of Castle Architectural Firm.

You wouldn't let Soojin taint the name of your father. She had to pay for her sins, not just for the sake of Taemin but also because she owed it to the family of those workers who had died because of the accident.

Soojin failed as an architect. The least thing she could do was to become a decent human being and face the consequences of her mistake.

You knew you could only make her pay if you had the power, but how were you supposed to be in power when you felt like everyone in this building hated you?

You couldn't get rid of the ugly feeling twisting in your gut. You were certain you weren't imagining the nasty stares everyone was giving you.

You also saw some of the employees whispering to one another while looking at you.

You inhaled sharply and went straight to the comfort room. You couldn't bear it. All your life, the people you loved looked at you like that.

It was happening again. This time, it was so much worse. Even those who knew nothing about your life were judging you. You had a feeling that they were already aware that you were an illegitimate child.

It was kind of a big deal here, especially now that you had inherited the assets bound for the legitimates. People probably saw you and your mother the same way: a leech.

But you just shook your head at this. Who cares about what people think? What's important was that you didn't lose yourself despite hearing rumors about you.

It was just a rumor. You knew the truth. The people who loved you knew the truth. Jungkook knew the truth.

"Tiger." And he loved you.

"Jungkook?" You flinched when you heard your best friend's voice. You saw his reflection in the mirror. He was leaning against the bathroom door.

"Why are you here?" Your eyes widened, jaw clenching. This was a woman's restroom. What if someone saw him here?

"I thought I saw you going here. Just wanna check..." He said this while you peeked through each cubicle. Thank Heavens no other women were here.

"You're not supposed to be here. Let's go." You made your way to the door, attempting to twist the doorknob but Jungkook stopped you.

"Kook." You sighed. "The meeting starts in ten minutes. We'll be late." You said sharply, reminding him this wasn't the time to play games.

"Five minutes." He let out a deep breath too. "Just give me five minutes, Tiger."

Your breathing hitched upon hearing the desperation in his voice. You made a mistake by meeting his gaze. The softness in his eyes never failed to make your knees go weak.

"I just wanna see you..." He drawled, lightly pushing you against the door and caging you in his arm.

Jungkook cupped your face while you pressed your cheek against his hand, instantly melting. Your stomach knotted with desire. It felt good to be touched like this.

"Kook..." Your teeth chattered though, the protest of your brain was hard to ignore. "W-We can't."

And as usual, you gave into what your mind thought was right. You were pushing him away. Again.

Stupid.

"Why can't we?" It was surprising to hear him ask this without the whiny tone. He was calm today, like an adult asking for a reasonable explanation. Jungkook knew he couldn't get what he wanted by whining.

"Make me understand, Tiger. Why can't we?" He was caressing your cheek. Your eyes fluttered shut because you didn't want to look at his doe eyes.

"Soojin."

"To hell with Soojin." You shuddered when he said this. His voice was rough, so different from the Jungkook you knew. You had to open your eyes to make sure it's still him who was caging you.

The Jungkook you knew would never say something like this.

"How many times do I have to repeat myself for you to understand?" He was looking at you through hooded eyes.

Your heart hammered through your chest.

"It's not Soojin who I want. It's you." You felt his finger tracing your bottom lip. The way he was staring at your lips made you shiver. "Nothing compares to you, baby."

Oh.

You realized you couldn't use Soojin as an excuse. It's not working anymore and frankly, it's just pissing Jungkook off. He swore he'd vomit if he heard you say your sister's name one more time.

"W-We still can't." You trained your eyes on the floor. He was about to ask why but you beat him by speaking at once.

"Because you're my rival."

You thought you'd hear him scoff or hiss, but Jungkook just clenched his jaw. Deep eyes boring into you. He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him.

"I'm not." He said seriously. "I quit. I'm not competing against you."

You were the one who scoffed.

"Why?" You looked at him like he was crazy. "This is your father's company too."

Jeon Jong-in worked hard to build Castle Architectural Firm. Why wouldn't his son continue his legacy?

"You never listen to me, do you?" Jungkook let out a small chuckle before booping your nose. It's amusing how fast his expression changed. "Didn't I just tell you? Nothing compares to you, Tiger..."

He was saying that he'd choose you whatever happened, even if it meant losing other things. Because really, what's the use of all these material things when you're not by his side?

"Kook..." You pressed your hand on his chest and then you're suddenly reminded by what you had tried to do when you got drunk days ago.

The last time you put your hand on his chest, you tried to kiss him.

"What excuse are you gonna give me this time, my Tiger?" The corner of his mouth quirked up. Amusement was written all over his face. "Don't tell me you're gonna say you don't think I'm in love with you?"

Jeon Jungkook was the only person you knew who was never scared to admit his true feelings. You just knew he would confess his love at any chance he got. It's like he didn't mind if he got his heart broken. Truthfully, it felt like he would get his heart broken if he didn't confess all the time.

He had always been like this. Always genuine, never scared. He acted based on what he felt and he's never sorry for it.

"Are you?" You weren't sure what took over you when you knitted your brows together and asked this.

Jungkook's eyes grew big and then he let out a dramatic gasp. It was as though he couldn't fathom the words that left your mouth.

"Where is this coming from?" He swallowed thickly, disbelief was still apparent in his eyes. "You don't think I—wait. What?"

Jungkook blinked. Once. Twice.

"Shit. You seriously think I'm not in..." He trailed off, "oh." It's like something clicked. Jungkook's disbelief turned into credence when he realized something.

He stared at you with pursed lips, like he was trying to figure you out. Your expression seemed like you were challenging him that Jungkook wasn't sure what to do.

He felt like you're not going to believe whatever he would say, so instead of blabbering how crazy he was for you, he just used his mouth into something that shocked you.

Jungkook leaned forward and without hesitating, he kissed you.

Hard.

It was as though you were waiting for him to do that because your response was instant. You kissed Jungkook back like a hungry person who hadn't eaten in days.

Jungkook pressed his chest against yours, like he wasn't content with your proximity. He wanted to be closer to you even more.

"You don't think I love you because—" He bit your lip, making you moan. Jungkook pushed your body weight against the wall with his own. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your dress hiking up in the process. "—I didn't kiss you when you were drunk?"

He got it now. You're sulking like a kid because of it? Huh. What did you want him to do? Kiss you and then have you hate him since he wasn't able to control himself?

"You're a fool if you think I didn't want to do it. I was literally on the verge of giving you my whole world right there and then." You parted your lips and allowed his tongue to explore the inside of your mouth.

Jungkook was the very definition of sweet. Everything about him tasted sweet, heavenly, and addicting. It was like he was an angel, but in reality, he made you weak. A devil meant to punish your heart for wanting to take more than you could handle.

Jungkook gave you so, so much more and you couldn't stop taking it all.

"But I don't want to take advantage of you. I want you to really want me, to really mean it when you kiss me." He cupped your ass as he hummed and groaned with desire.

You felt bolder when you asked him; "do you think I mean it now?" In between kisses.

Jungkook swiped his tongue along your teeth. "Yeah," he answered yet he groaned in dissatisfaction. "But I'm selfish, Tiger...I want more than this."

He stopped kissing you, opting to press his forehead against yours. He breathed you in. He was letting the selfish part of him consume him again.

Jungkook wanted you with all of his heart. He was disgustingly in love with you.

"Love is not my priority right now, Jungkook." You said since it was the truth. You had the opportunity to help people serve justice.

"I know.” And he understood it. Jungkook was nuzzling your nose. "Promise me you're not gonna hold back..."

He knew how much you loved Soojin. He was a little worried you're going to back down once you saw sadness in your sister's features.

"I won't." But you weren't that person anymore.

It's interesting, really. Some people swore they'd never change but there's always that one circumstance which would transform them either into a better or worse version of themselves. You hadn't realized yet if your metamorphosis was the former or the latter. All you knew was that you had reached your breaking point—your limit.

"Good." Jungkook smiled softly at you. His eyes were crinkling. "I know it. I called you Tiger for a reason."

He was finally telling you the reason why he crafted that nickname for you. He didn't elucidate any further but you felt like you already understood. Tigers represented courage. To some, it symbolized truth and justice.

"Thanks, Kook." You returned the smile. Jungkook helped straighten your dress. He kissed you one last time before opening the door so you two could face the challenge set for today.

You arrived at the conference room just in time. Soojin and Sin-ae were already present. Your two brothers were here as well. They're shareholders too.

Once the quorum was recognized, the vice chairperson made a simple statement. The agenda for today was also discussed. The topic mostly revolved around the firm's responsibilities and liabilities—both civil and criminal—to the affected people.

There had been major changes with regard to ownership too. It had come to the attention of the board and other stockholders that the Kims were no longer the biggest investors in the firm.

"Quite the opposite actually." Jungkook leaned against the backrest of the chair as he crossed his arm over his chest.

He looked so relaxed, as if the matter being discussed didn't concern him.

Yes, that's actually the truth. Jungkook was just asked if he had the biggest share in Castle Architectural Firm.

"I sold all my shares. I'm just here to officially announce that I'm no longer tied to the company. I quit both as an investor and an architect."

There had been a protest after Jungkook said those words. It's clear that the majority of them couldn't accept this.

"This is ridiculous! Who will be the next chairperson now?" Mr. Han balled his hands into a fist.

Jungkook remembered this man. How could he forget? He's the same scum who disrespected Soojin and basically all women. He's a misogynistic piece of shit.

"It's not my fault you're not informed. All information is laid down for investors like you. I am not competing against the Kims."

It was revealed right there and then that Taemin's illegitimate child and Soojin were the candidates to be the next chairperson.

Of course Sin-ae lost her composure. It's expected. She's dramatic like that. She was shouting and demanding how this became possible.

The charter and the country's law stated that in order to become the company's chairperson of a professional corporation, one should be employed as an architect in the firm first.

Sin-ae talked to the Human Resources Manager before. The employee confirmed that you weren't hired. You didn't even apply.

"Oh I'm not talking about me, Mam." You smirked at your father's wife. "You see..."

For dramatic effect, you stood up and walked around the room. Everyone was either looking at you with anticipation or hatred.

Jungkook was the only one looking at you in awe. He liked seeing you like this, in control and confident. He pouted while watching you. He wished he could kiss you again.

"I know it's not a secret anymore that I'm Kim Taemin's child. But..."

But. There's this word again. More often than not, the word but followed something negative...or shocking.

In this case, it's the latter.

You saw surprise written in their faces as you revealed the truth:

"I'm not the only bastard of Kim Taemin." You stood behind the chair of one of the shareholders and architects here at Castle.

You tapped his back, causing him to sit straight.

"Everyone, meet Jung Hoseok—or should I say Kim Hoseok, the eldest son of Kim Taemin..."

Hoseok smirked too as he said “let the game begin,” under his breath.

#jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x you #jungkook best friend #jungkook best friends to lovers #best friend jungkook #jungkook series #jungkook romance #jungkook fic #jjk fic #jjk #bts jeon jeongguk #boyfriend jungkook #armywriterssupport

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pillage-and-lute · 3 years

Note

How about-Hanahaki disease? Gerald/Jaskier? Happy ending please!

Nonny! Darling you read my mind, I’m an ‘angst with a happy ending’ kinda gal. Just so we’re clear, I know nothing of flower meanings and I didn’t research.

TW: Gore

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Jaskier first coughed up a flower at age three.

Poets loved Hanahaki, it was considered romantic, and those prone to it were tragic beauties, destined to languish, delicately spitting blood and rose petals into a silk handkerchief. No one really wrote about how it could be brought on by deeply unrequited platonic love.

Jaskier coughed a violet into his little fist and brought it to his mother, who turned him away.

Fifteen years down the line and having graduated Oxenfurt with honors, Jaskier was old hat at taking care of Hanahaki. His feelings, although often unrequited, were also often fleeting. A night spent coughing tulips into a bowl and a sore throat the next mroning, but rarely more than that.

If it persisted for a week or more there was tea. Any apothecary in even a mid sized city carried it. It was putrid and thick and slid down the throat like a cup of slugs, but in the morning there were no petals, and after two or three days of the stuff, the disease was gone.

He was almost thankful for being so prone to Hanahaki, it was romantic and lended much to his chosen profession. People gave him sympathetic looks and free drinks if he sang a sad song and discreetly spat a rose petal into a handkerchief. Most of the time he simply didn’t mind it, and considered himself twice blessed with his mobile heart.

Sometimes he had nightmares of what would happen if he found true love.

The notions of true love itself was romantic, but everyone knew that your true love, the one you were fated to, if they didn’t love you in return no tea would save you.

He’d watched a friend, a grad student at Oxenfurt, die of it. It was no delicate coughing into handkerchiefs, no poetic languishing. He’d held her hair back as she threw up petals and blood, crying as she clutched the bucket with skeletal hands because she could no longer force food down a torn throat.

It had been so slow, she’d said between pulling thorned stems from her mouth. More than a decade of loving the boy she’d had a crush on in her small town village. She’d lived through it all, only occassionally throwing up flowers. Always snow white roses, for him, apparently. It would have been wonderfully artistic if Jaskier didn’t know how they looked covered in blood.

Then she’d gone to his wedding to the baker’s daughter and two weeks later he watched her cough out roots wrapped around a chunk of lung and screamed for a doctor knowing it was too late. The blood stain never washed fully out of the floor.

And she’d said it was worth it. That she wouldn’t have stopped loving him for the world, even as she said it through a throat full of thorns.

Jaskier never understood it, leaping from town to town, avoiding long term connections while knowing all the while that if fate wanted him to fall in love he would. Denying Destiny only made things nastier, he knew. And then, in a tevern in Posada, with bread in his pants and a hole in his boot, his eyes met pure gold.

It took a split second, less probably, for him to realize that, although he didn’t love the man yet, for love at first sight truly is a poet’s myth, he could love this man. And if he died for this man, maybe the love would be worth it after all.

The man was a witcher, who punched him in the gut and stank of onion and talked to his horse. Jaskier followed him anyway.

He followed him and coughed up flowers, different blossoms for different people, and he began to fall deeper in love. He wondered sometimes what flowers he would cough, as the bouquets turned into only one kind.

What flower would represent Geralt? Not buttercups or dandelions, certainly. Perhaps if someone else were to catch Hanahaki for Jaskier those would be for him. Geralt wasn’t a dandelion. He was grumpy and spiky and after ten years wouldn’t even call Jaskier a friend.

In the dead of night Jaskier feared it would be white roses, like he’d seen once before.

And then Geralt died in a collapsing building only to be alive and fucking a purple-eyed sorceress after nearly killing Jaskier with a djinn. Jaskier vomited flowers not twelve hours after vomiting blood.

Snow drops, tiny and delicate. And from that point forth he never coughed up any other kind.

It didn’t progress so quickly though. Jaskier had expected to die within a month of Geralt meeting Yennefer. He didn’t. Love and sex weren’t the same thing, and his love didn’t go totally unrequited either. It wasn’t the same sort of love, but in the quiet moments just after dawn it was enough.

Then Geralt made a choice.

He wouldn’t kill dragons, he didn’t hunt sapient creatures, he wanted nothing to do with the dragon hunt, until he caught sight of Yennefer.

And that left Geralt and Jaskier, on top of a mountain, as Geralt screamed into the wind that Jaskier meant nothing to him. Jaskier felt the roots set in.

He wasn’t going to get the story from the others. He could barely breathe, the pain was so sharp and intense and he could feel it growing, feel the flowers growing. Little snowdrops had no right to be so painful.

He wasn’t going to make it off the mountain.

Jaskier took a different trail down, and then wandered into the forest a little way, coughing blood and stems the whole way. He collapsed under a tree, blood staining his doublet. He wished he had a friend to clutch his hand, hold his hair back and rub his back like he’d done more than twenty years ago.

There wouldn’t be a funeral though. No one would know what had happened to Jaskier the bard. Worse, no one would know what happened to Julian, the person, the man. As he threw up a clump of flowers and blood he felt very much like the scared little boy who threw up a flower for the first time.

It hurt. It burned and shredded his throat and he wanted a friend and he didn’t have any. He’d thrown all his eggs in one basket twenty years ago and Geralt had kicked that basket off the mountain.

Jaskier leaned his lute up against the tree. It’d be such a shame to get blood on the lovely girl. He curled up next to it, in a fetal position on his side as the coughs wracked his whole body.

His friend had lasted two weeks, he thought. But her rejection was a wedding. Not her best friend and the love of her life telling her never to see him again. That he was a burden. That if life or Destiny could give him one blessing it would be to take Jaskier off his hands. And Destiny was going to deliver. She had made Jaskier love Geralt, and she would kill him by it.

Still, Jaskier would have given anything for the comfort of his friend right now. He began to cry, snot and tears and blood and petals all mixing. He couldn’t even breathe, his lungs burned so bad.

His vision was blurry.

He could hear noises, tromping through the forest and who knew what awful creatures lurked here. Just like Dame Destiny to have him disembowled while dying of Hanahaki.

It was dark, but it had been noon on the mountain. Black clouds swirled and closed in his vision.

A strangled noise.

No monster made that noise. That was a man-made noise. It sounded very much how Jaskier had felt on the mountaintop. He retched up a flower and tasted pollen and iron.

“Jaskier!”

He didn’t remember hallucinations being part of the final stages, but the brain played funny tricks.

“Jaskier!” There it was again, and he was being bundled up tight to a chest that was not at all comfortable and smelled of horse and leather and sweat and onion. A buckle of Geralt’s armor dug into his cheek. Jaskier’s mouth was full of stems and roots.

GLoved fingers dug in, pulling snowdrops from between his lips and then Geralt kissed him. It was entirely awful and unsatisfying.

Dimly Jaskier came to the realization that it was not supposed to a kiss, but Geralt trying to blow air into his flowering lungs. A nice gesture but unhelpful.

He lolled his head to the side to throw up another clump of root, not wanting to throw up directly into Geralt’s mouth.

A shudder ran through the chest he was pressed against, like a tremor before an earthquake. Then a sob.

It was quiet. The worst sobs are.

Geralt lay Jaskier down on the floor, one hand cupped beneath his head, gently cradling. Then the witcher curled next to him, face pressed against a pale neck streaked with blood, and cried.

Jaskier wanted to comfort him, to stroke a hand through soft white hair one last time and thank him for not letting him die alone. He just didn’t have the strength.

Another wretched, tiny sob, then, “I’m sorry, Jaskier. I’m so sorry.” Oh that wasn’t fair. A tear leaked from Jaskier’s eye.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt continued, face pressed into Jaskier’s collarbone. “I didn’t mean it, I was angry and tired and I’ve hurt you but please,” the voice faded to barely a whisper. “Please don’t leave me, I didn’t mean it, I love you don’t leave me here alone.”

Don’t leave him here alone. Jaskier though. Destiny owed him, owed them both for all she’d put them through. Don’t make him lonely, he prayed. I don’t want to leave him alone.

Geralt held Jaskier tighter, pressing even closer like he was trying to meld them into one. “I love you,” he said. “I’m sorry, Jaskier. I love you.”

The world went white.

Jaskier blinked his eyes open with blood in his mouth. It didn’t seem to deter Geralt, who kissed him so thoroughly his head felt light. Then Geralt pulled him upright. There was blood on the ground around them, some even streaked into Geralt’s hair.

There were no stems though.

The forest floor had been carpeted for ten feet all around them with snowdrops, planted firmly in earth instead of lungs. They were so close together it looked like a sudden snowfall, trailing to fewer and farther between at the edges of their little pool of white.

“I...” Jaskier said, letting Geralt pull him to his feet. He wasn’t sure what to say but it turns out he needn’t say anything. Geralt was clutching him like a lifeline and tucking a snowdrop into his hair.

“I smelled blood,” he said, lips brushing into Jaskier’s brown fringe. “I smelled blood and was so afraid. I haven’t been truly afraid in so long and then I found those wretched flowers.” Geralt took a shaky breath.

“I truly thought it was too late.” He pulled back and looked into Jaskier’s eyes. Geralt’s own yellow ones were dry but the emotion was clear. “I thought I had lost you, my love.” A gloved hand, only slightly bloody stroked Jaskier’s cheek. “I thought I had lost you, my life’s greatest gift. And I wanted to lay down beside you and die as well.”

Jaskier chuckled wetly. “You overdramatic sod,” he said between watery sniffles. “What a ridiculous notion. And I can’t believe it takes me dying to turn you into a romantic.”

“Almost dying,” Geralt said firmly. There was panic written plain across his face, as if he was terrified that time would slam into reverse just to take Jaskier from him. Another embrace, just this side of bone crushing. “Almost dying, my love.”

“Not dead, my love,” Jaskier responded.

As they made their way down the mountain snowdrops bloomed in their footsteps, but they were too busy looking at each other to notice.

#geraskier #hanahaki au #hanahaki disease #tw: gore #angst with a happy ending #yo im actually so proud of this what the heck?#askbox answers

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clouds-rambles · 3 years

Text

Birthday Love Letter

Happy birthday to one of my main comfort characters. I love you so much Xiao and I’ll do anything for you.

You and Xiao have been partners of millennia, as much as Xiao dislikes the constant, yearly, birthdays he can’t say no to you or your gifts. Also suspend your disbelief for some of these things lmao

Pairing(s); Xiao x reader

Warnings; fluff, angst, hurt no comfort

Keep reading under the cut!

My love Xiao,

It’s a shame that I’ve broken millennia long tradition of bothering you on your birthday but as you’re aware our line of work can drive us apart for longer periods of time. And it’s likely you can’t really comprehend the pile of work I have right now in the office since Rex Lapis’ death. As much as he deserves retirement I am very tired of this constant influx of paperwork, I cannot wait to get back on the field again.

Anyway, enough about me. I hope you’re having a good birthday and I hope before reading this Goldet has already surprised you with the almond tofu you love to eat. I know, I know, you like making the tofu but take it as a gift from me while you wait for me to come back to Wangshu.

I have another gift for you but you can’t receive it until I get back from my work. I promise it’s worth the wait though.

You know Ganyu keeps asking about you. Is it true that you haven’t seen here in the better part of 300 years? As much as I don’t like nagging you, especially on this day, you should really visit her. She talks about you like the children of Liyue talk about their older siblings. As cute as it is in foresight, in hindsight I’ve heard the same story about you three times since being back. And the kicker? I was there when the thing happened. Please Ganyu I’m begging I know the story, I know it well I was there.

Zhongli also misses you, he mentions how often Ganyu and I visit but you’re yet to go. It makes me a little sad, even if you just stop by for a cup of tea I think that will make him more than happy. He’s a mortal now Xiao, I would hate to see you so distraught if you didn’t get to see him before his mortal life is over.

Enough about me nagging. I’ll be home soon enough, as much as you hate to admit it I love your hugs and I’m dearly missing them. You won’t say you are but I know how you melt into my hugs. It makes me want to love and cherish you forever more.

You know I remember your first birthday we celebrated, do you? We had known each other for 100 years, which in reality is a short time, but that was my first 100 years being blessed with mortality. Everything I did was fast for no reason. Not the point. I travelled up Jueyen Karst to pick you a bunch of flowers after taking a decade to pry your birthday out of you and I presented them to you. I remember when we first started really opening up to each other you told me about how you had chosen to preserve the flowers. Do you have them still, or have they decayed completely? I don’t understand much about flowers so I’m not sure how long flowers keep. Have you kept other things I’ve given you. I have, if you look in our room in the Inn you should find most of the things you’ve given me. That’s our little secret though hehe.

I should wrap up this letter before I get too engrossed and write you a books worth of letter.

I love you Xiao, and I hope you have a great birthday and I hope you liked the tofu I made. I’ll see you soon

[name]

The last letter that he had ever received from you five years ago to the day. Five more birthdays he hasn’t spent with you. Five years in terms of immortals shouldn’t feel this long, some centuries have blinked past before he can often not find memories of random centuries. So why have these five years been so painful? Xiao has been alone before, not in a long time but he has done it.

Just the weight of your death weighs heavy on his shoulders, your death is much heavier than the others he’s collected. He had known you the longest, fought the most battles with you, loved you the most, cherished you the most...

Xiao remembers when he got word of your death. Two weeks after his birthday the ex-geo archon himself turns up at the Inn. Zhongli had made it clear that if the adepti wanted to see him or not was up to them, so seeing the ex archon before Xiao was more than baffling.

When the news was delivered that you were assassinated in your sleep by an unknown assailment sounded like a sick joke. And in all honesty it was just a sick joke until your funeral a week and a half later.

So many people turned up wanting to wish the now dead adepti well wishes and comfort in the afterlife. So many flowers, so many people, so much chatter. As much as he hates the latter two Xiao endured the service wanting to say goodbye like everyone else.

Xiao didn’t notice himself hyperventilating until Zhongli had embraced him and helped him settle his breaths. Zhongli couldn’t find himself to utter words of comfort for the person that Xiao has spent millennia with. Yours and his relationship was beyond mortal comprehension since you had spent many hundreds of generations together.

Xiao shakes his head and wipes his eyes. If only he went to see you on his birthday. You were still alive on his birthday just tucked away in the harbour. If only Xiao’s aversion of crowds and people were what kept him away from you over the Rex Lapis crisis. If only he had-

The blaming of the self isn’t a healthy thing to do, Xiao had blamed himself for almost everything that resulted in your death within the first year of your death. There wasn’t much else to blame himself about.

Xiao had even contemplated joining you but was hit by the realisation that one you would want him to keep living and two if he dies there’s no telling what millennia long repressed, festering demons would unleash upon the country he has sworn to protect.

Xiao turns and notices that Goldet had snuck up when he was lost in self pity and thought and had left him some tofu, just how he liked it.

Maybe if he can’t be with you the least he could do is enjoy his birthday just like how you ‘made’ him do all these years.

Xiao cries tonight more than he wants to, and if Goldet heard his weeps, she doesn’t mention anything.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #xiao x reader #genshin xiao x reader #genshin impact xiao #hurt no comfort #fluff #angst #im sorry guys

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wolfish-trickster · 3 years

Text

💞Lovely Valentine💞

Peter Maximoff x female!reader

Word count: 1735 (way longer than I expected)

Summary: You didn't like this time of year. Until one cheeky speedster changes your mind.

A/N: you're X-Men (congrats!), your mutation isn't mentioned, so it can be anything. Let your imagination go wild!

And another too cheesy, too love dovey, too dumb movie appiered in TV. You rolled your eyes and turned it off. You felt a light breeze caress your hair.

"Why did you turn it off?" a familiar voice sounded from beside you.

"What? Did you want to watch something discustingly romantic?" you asked with a mocking tone.

Peter only laughed. "Yeah actually. Maybe you never noticed, but I'm hopeless romantic," he leaned into you holding a hand to his heart.

You felt your cheeks getting 2 degrees hotter as you felt his head on your shoulder.

"Yeah, no. You're not. You always gag whenever you hear a cheesy pick up line!"

"But only because they're dumb, mine are much better! Wanna hear?"

As much as you wanted to say yes, you declined. He didn't need to know how you felt about him.

"Alright, whatever," he looked away from you. Your mind must've played a trick on you, because he looked quite dissapointed to you.

In a blink of an eye he was gone. You just shrugged, not the first time somebody left you alone. Especially on a day like this.

'Pull yourself together Maximoff, you're such a lad with women around you and you can't even make your crush go out with you? You're losing your charm man.'

Peter was sitting at the top of Xavier's mansion. His leg was bouncing from pure nervousness. He must come up with something more than just a pick up line. Flowers? Chocolate? Plushie? Jewelry? He can steal all of that, that's not the problem. The problem is making you interested.

He's known you for quite some time, and he knows you don't really like Valentine's. All of those 'happy' couples making heart eyes at eachother the whole day annoy him too, but you are on a whole another level. He doesn't even know the real reason behind your hatred for this holiday. He must find out.

But first...

You decided to go to your room. Kitty Pride, your roomate, went out with someone, like 50% of the school, so you had the whole room just for you (finally). You were building a house from cards listening to some old tapes Peter gave you when the silver haired bastard ran into your room, knocking all cards to the ground.

"Really? Couldn't you just walk in like evrybody else? I suppose not," you started picking up your cards.

"No, I can't. I had to hurry, ya know?" he bent down to pick up those which fell from your table to the ground and gave them to you, making sure your hands brushed each other.

"And why?"

"To spend more time with you, why else?"

You rolled your eyes, but secretely, you were touched. "You could be doing hundred and one things, or stealing hundred and one things. Why spending time with me?"

He shrugged his shoulders. In a blink of an eye he was on your bed, your headphones on his head as he rolled your walkman in his hands.

"Do you ever NOT use the lightning speed for mundane things? How about walking? You may heard of it," you pulled the headphones from his head.

"It's cooler this way. Hey listen, I came here to ask you something. Why do you hate Valentine's so much? I mean, we've known eachother for a long time and you always lock yourself away from everyone."

It suddenly became very hard to look at him. You never told anyone, no one ever asked. Or cared enough to notice how you always disappear when a couple walks into a room, or how you try to desperately avoid any romantic movie on TV. It made your heart flutter that Peter noticed these things about you.

"I don't know. Probably the cheap things people do on Valentine's. Flowers being the stupidiest. They are all cut and binded with a glittery bow, leaving mess behind for mostly a week and then those lovely roses die. Very romantic. Or the fact that everyone suddenly feels the need to show their undying love to a person they met a month ago. Or the cuddling under a warm blanket. Or having someone to trust with your life. Or someone who will stay by your side and hold your hand against all odds. Or someone who doesn't abandon you," you started to trail off. You were touch starved, kiss deprived, lonely.

Many times you hugged a pillow to your chest wishing it was a human being. Many times you filled a glove with rice, heated it and held it as if it was the real deal. You even planned on buying this big pillow in the shape of a human to cuddle to at night.

This soft vulnerable side was only for you. No one else needed to know the big badass Y/N was romantic at heart. So you pretended to hate the holiday while you secretely read all those disgustingly sweet romance novels and watched cheesy romcoms, imagining it would someday happen to you. Find love with somebody.

Such a shame that somebody you wanted it with was in this room with you, probably ready do mock you for revealing your soft side.

Your eyes were still focused on carpet as you felt Peter sit up besides you on the bed and gently put his hand on your knee. "If it makes you happy, I will never abandon such a great girl like you. I can spend this day with you. And I don't accept any 'I feel better alone' bulshit you tell everyone."

A gentle chuckle escaped you. "Okay, alright. You can stay here. But no speeding!"

Peter rolled his eyes. "As you wish. I wanted to take you somewhere far away from here and show you something, but since you said no speeding," he trailed off teasingly.

"What? Where. Okay, speeding ban is down, take me there please!"

"Hold on tight," he said as he held the back of your head.

Few moments later you found yourself on top of a giant copper building. The view consisted of a classical square with not so many people and a long river snaking between houses in a deep canal. You looked over the railing and found out you weren't just on any building. You were on a top of the Eiffel Tower!

A cough from behind you brought you back to reality. You turned around and nearly died. Peter stood there, his usual band t-shirt, silver jacket and jeans were replaced by a white loose dress shirt and black trousers. His silver hair was still a mess but that's what you loved about him the most, so you didn't complain.

"Appreciate while you can, you'll see me like this only at somebody's funeral," he said jokingly.

You chuckled. "Can I at least take a picture? Pwetty pwease?" you did your best baby voice to convince him to say yes.

"Only if it's a selfie."

"Deal," you fished out your phone from your back pocket and srood next to his side. His arm hugged you to him by your shoulders. As you pushed the button you felt a soft preassure on your cheek for a short while. Did he just pecked you on a cheek? In his faster than light speed?

You checked the selfie and sure enough, there it was. You smiling, him leaning down, kissing your cheek in a slight blur. In the reflection of your screen you saw him with an almost soft smile.

"Why would you do that?" you asked gesturing to the selfie.

"Cuz I wanted to do that. A-and I kinda like you. Romantically, I mean," he said sheepishly. He was kinda cute when he was shy.

"Really? You're not kidding right?"

"Nope, I don't joke about serious stuff."

"Well, I kinda like you too."

He turned his head back to you with a giant smile plastered on his face. "Really?"

"Yeah, really."

There was an awkward silence for a full minute, both of you looking either into each others' eyes or just roaming around the other one's face.

"Well, that's cool," you broke the silence.

"We just told eachother we like the other one and you say that's cool?" Peter asked half laughing.

"I panicked and you didn't say anything so I thought-"

"Yeah, you think too much," he cut you off and leaned towards you. His lips fell on yours. After initial shock you gave into the kiss, your hands held the back of his neck. His hair tickled your fingers and the back of your palm.

He broke the kiss. "Damn, I'm moving too fast again," he shook his head, his nose brushed your own.

"Well, I don't mind moving fast, our lifes are way too short anyways."

"Yeah, but if it starts fast it ends fast. I don't want that. Besides, I had a plan to do this properly," he then ran away from you in a white and black blur and returned now in his usual clothes holding a box of chocolate and a giant stuffed bear. "I didn't know which to give you, so I took both. Like it?"

"Yes Peter, the bear is so cute!" you took him from his hand and squeezed him to your chest. "This will do great for middle night cuddling, thank you."

"What do you mean 'this will do'? You have me for cuddling now! Can a bear hug you like this?" he rushed behind you and hugged you from behind. "Or kiss you like this?" he kissed your exposed neck softly and rested his chin on your left shoulder and looked at you as if you were the only one in the world.

You turned your head towards his and pecked his nose. "Nope, he can't," you kissed his lips one more time before turning around in his arms and started heavily making out.

"By the way," you said as he nibbled on your ear, "did you steal these things?"

"Uuuuh what will you do if I say yes?"

"Nothin', still like you. Romantically."

He chuckled into your skin. "Still romantically like you too."

#peter maximoff #quicksilver #peter maximoff x reader #quicksilver x reader #romance #fluff #Happy Valentine

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mianavs · 3 years

Text

Ameliorate

Your life was always a dark abyss until Matsukawa came in and made everything better

Matsukawa x f!reader

a/n: hands down the most difficult piece I’ve worked on but it’s finally done. not sure how i feel about it but i hope you all enjoy it anyway! kind of a slow burn fyi

tw: smut, oral (f!reader receiving), heavy angst, mentions of death/grieving

wc: 5.8k

It was a call you didn’t want to take. You were at work going over some accounts when the screen of your cell came to life and angrily vibrated on your desk. Sighing, you reached over to swipe on the red phone icon but the caller id caught your eye leaving you stunned.

[Mother]

You almost missed the call, lost in the negative emotions that the title unburied from the dark recesses of your mind. On impulse, you answered last minute and took a deep breath before you spoke to your mother for the first time since you left home four years ago. In the second it took for your mother to speak, you held out for an apology but instead received the news that your father had passed away the night before.

You exchanged few words with your mother, who was as frigid as ever, but nonetheless agreed to return home for the funeral. After informing your supervisor and taking off the rest of the week, you collected your things to leave only to be bombarded by your coworkers offering their condolences. You accepted their sincerity but felt nothing except for a queer emptiness.

Upon reaching the ground floor of the building, the elevator doors opened and a familiar voice caught your attention. You looked up to face your ex-fiancé speaking animatedly on the phone—until he saw you and his smile faltered.

It had been a mutual decision. After two years of dating, he’d wanted marriage and you—well, you weren’t sure what you wanted but marriage sure wasn’t it. The last you’d heard he had gotten married to some girl from HR and he looked happy. You plastered a smile on your face and greeted him with a nod before heading out.

At least one of you was happy.

On the train to Miyagi, memories of your parents occupied your thoughts. Your relationship them had always been strained. As the only child of a prestigious university professor and a retired news anchor turned housewife, they expected a lot from you academically and socially. Throughout your childhood, you struggled under the immense pressure they placed and you , more often than not, disappointed them.

It seemed that no matter how hard you tried to be their perfect daughter, you always fell short and got reproached accordingly. Your above average grades were never good enough. Your clumsiness and constant slouch made you unladylike, and your awkward mumbled speech was shameful. No matter what you did, the scrutiny never stopped and your imperfections only worsened over time. Your grades fell, you avoided going out with your parents to social events, and you spoke very little to your parents.

A quiet girl with no self-esteem, you started high school at Aoba Josai and everything changed when you met Matsukawa Issei. He approached you first during homeroom on your first day of school and never stopped talking to you from then on. He was patient and kind with you but also pushed you to get out of you shell. Before you knew it, he became your best friend and the two of you spent all of your free time together.

Issei’s friendship raised you up in many forms. Your grades increased after all those study sessions with him and Hanamaki. You stopped looking down at your shoes and found that the sky was much nicer to look at. You laughed, yelled, cried, and talked to Issei about anything and everything.

The change had been so sudden that even your parents noticed and treated you better. They stopped criticizing your every movement and that did wonders to your confidence. While the relationship between you and your parents slightly improved, your relationship with Issei bloomed like the cherry blossoms that fell on the day he confessed to you. For the first time in your life, you were truly happy until everything shattered when your parents found out about you and Issei.

You were reckless with the lies you told your parents to sneak out and see Issei. Your mind was clouded with thoughts of your boyfriend that you hadn’t noticed your parents had been awake when you snuck out at night. That night your parents caught you outside on a park bench with Issei’s head on your lap. As a result, you were confined to your room for a week with your mother becoming your personal jailer and after getting a taste of love and freedom—you refused to go back to being that insecure girl.

You rebelled against your parents. You got into screaming matches with your mother and argued with your father. The worst part of it all was the guilt that you felt after you’d yell at your mother or insulted your father. In that moment, you’d see the hurt in their eyes and the hesitation before they sent you to your room. You hated those looks because it proved that they too had feelings and you were capable of hurting them just like they’d hurt you.

Until you graduated, you lived like a ghost in your own home avoiding your parents as much as you could. You filled the emptiness you felt with Issei, who became your whole world. You went to all of his volleyball matches, he picked you up after work, and you spent most of your time at his house and with his family. The two of you planned a future together during your first year at college in Yokohama until the news of your mother falling ill sent you back home.

“Now arriving at Tokyo station”

The announcement interrupted your musings and you pulled out your phone to distract yourself from the bustle of people exiting the train. You scrolled through your social media page until a rare post from an old friend caught your attention. Oikawa had uploaded a photo of a historic site in Argentina and you found yourself searching for Issei’s name among the thousands of likes and comments. While Issei’s name hadn’t popped up, Hanamaki’s did and you clicked on his profile thoughtlessly. It didn’t take much digging on your behalf to find what you were looking for.

Only a couple of posts down was a photo of Hanamaki and Issei from a year ago at a restaurant you would recognize anywhere—after all, you’d worked there for two years. You couldn’t help but admire how good they looked. You memorized every detail of Issei’s face before a thought crossed your mind and your finger hovered over the screen.

A tap on the photo revealed Issei’s account and you hesitated to wonder if stalking your ex-boyfriend’s social media was the right move before you tapped on his username anyway and his profile opened up. It was on private to your dismay but his account picture showed you more than enough. It was one of Issei with one arm swung over a pretty woman’s shoulder. Shutting off your phone, you tried to convince yourself that you didn’t care but the tightness in your chest proved otherwise.

Gazing out the window at the rural towns the train passed reminded you of your father and his love for the countryside. You hated to admit it but, after living in the city for three years, you came to share the same sentiments as your father.

After returning home following the news of your mother’s illness, your father moved the family to rural Miyagi believing the fresh country air would do her good. Moving back with your parents wasn’t as difficult as you’d feared after leaving everything behind. Your mother still nagged you over everything but not as cruelly and would occasionally compliment your cooking when you fed her.

It was the relationship with your father, however, that changed the most which was why his deception hurt you the most. Your father was the one that helped you transfer to the university he taught at. The two of you always left for school together and conversations about school eventually filled the quiet void during those hour-long train rides to Sendai. Your conversations became personal at night over tea or sake and, in those moments, you felt as if you could forgive your parents and develop a relationship with them.

You should have been more suspicious about your mother’s condition. Whenever you asked your father about it, you’d attributed his wavering gaze to concern over your mother. The improved relationship between you and your parents distracted you from the unchanging condition of your mother despite constant medication and hospital visits. It never crossed your mind that the sickness had only been a ploy to guilt you into coming back to Miyagi so your parents could resume molding their matured daughter into what they wanted.

You found out by chance while listening in to a conversation amongst them but that was all it took to turn your newfound affection for your parents into resentment. For the entirety of the confrontation, you bit back tears when their reactions confirmed everything had been made up. After packing up your things and disowning your parents, you left home vowing never to come back.

“Now arriving at Sendai station”

The long drive to your childhood home did nothing to prepare you for the meeting with your mother. She looked tired and beat down; a sharp contrast to the strong woman she used to be.

“You look awful,” She chided, eyeing you with her sharp gaze. “You’re thin and sickly.”

“So are you.” Your retort was immediate and thoughtless but it shut your mother up. After a moment of deafening silence, she offered to help you with your bag but you declined.

“Come downstairs after you unpack. Dinner is almost ready.” With that, your mother left to the kitchen.

You were surprised to find your room in the same state it had been when you left for college. Palming through your old notebooks, opening your drawers to sift through old clothes, and collapsing on your bed to bury your nose in the sheets made you miss the simpler days of high school.

In the end, you were too distracted by your room to unpack but made sure to wash up before heading down to dinner—a habit your mother instilled in you and returned after only being in the house for twenty minutes. You also took your usual spot across your mother while the chair that your father had once sat in stood bare at the head of the table. The empty spot was disconcerting but your eyes remained fixed on the chair while your mind worked to restore the image of your father on it. Your trancelike state stopped when your mother cleared her throat.

“The wake will be tomorrow morning so ready by nine.”

“Do I need to do anything?”

“A small speech is expected of you.” She stated and left no room for argument. “There will also be familiar faces so behave accordingly.”

The meaning behind your mother’s warning dawned on you when the two of you entered the funeral home and were greeted by the one familiar face you didn’t expect to see—Issei.

If he was surprised to see you, he didn’t show it and was all business when he addressed your mother. Your shock only increased when your mother didn’t go off on Issei and instead treated him like an actual human.

When his sharp gaze shifted to your form, the air around you seemed to thicken and breathing became impossible. Standing in front of Issei took you back in time to those days when Issei would wait for you in the mornings to walk to school. You could have lost yourself in his eyes but the purpose of your return tore your eyes away and you bowed in greeting, not trusting your voice. He bowed as well and offered his condolences before turning to your mother and discussing the schedule and other details as they walked into the building with you in tow.

The discomfort you felt during the service increased tenfold with the arrival of the guests. Former colleagues of your father, friends of your mother, and neighbors crowded the small funeral home and they all had their eyes on you. The condolences, hugs, and pats left you suffocated and desensitized. Before long, their words fused together into a clangor that left you disoriented. You thought you were going to pass out until a former professor of yours asked a question that destroyed whatever remained of your composure.

“…so when did they find out the tumor was malignant?”

Tumor?

Malignant?

Your overwhelmed brain pieced together the information until you understood what had caused your father’s death—cancer. In that moment, everything ceased to exist and there was only you and your thoughts. Your blood ran cold and all of your limbs went numb. While your mouth hung open, not a syllable fell from your lips. As opposed to your frozen body, your mind raced and a whirlwind of emotions wreaked havoc on your being. When you came to terms with the fact that you hadn’t known your father’s cause of death, a strangled cry escaped your mouth and you darted out of the room.

The urge to leave and never return overcame all logic but, before you could make it out the door, a pair of large warm hands clasped your shoulders, gently stopping you dead in your tracks. The faint smell of cologne and musk hit you and you knew it was Issei before you looked up.

Warmth radiated from every part of his body and all you wanted was to bury yourself into him and hide from the world. His eyes widened slightly before he looked around and guided you away into a small room away from the guests. There was a sofa that he led you too and sat down next to you. Suddenly, Issei’s hands were on your cheeks wiping away tears you didn’t know where there.

“God…I’m a fucking mess.” You cursed and buried your face into your hands.

“Funerals are…difficult,” Issei offered. “Trust me, I work here.”

“I didn’t know,” you muttered raising your head. “I didn’t even know how my father died. I never asked my mother and she never told me. She just told me he died and I took a train here without thinking.”

“Everyone processes death differently, Y/N.”

“Fuck, Issei—I’m his only daughter for crying out loud!” Your voice broke as a fresh set of tears threatened to spill. “We’ve never had a stable relationship…but still, what kind of a daughter doesn’t know the cause of death of her own father? I just feel like I’m suffocating and I-I…”

Sobs tore out of your chest inhibiting you from speaking and Issei didn’t hesitate to envelop you in his strong arms that rocked you while he whispered calming reassurances in your ear.

“Shhh…it’s okay.”

“Everything will be fine.”

“This will pass.”

Your cries eventually ceased but neither of you let go. It felt easy to cling onto Issei while he held you just as tightly. The return of your wits, however, brought you back to reality and you let him go knowing it wasn’t right to cling onto anyone’s boyfriend—even if he’d been your friend before he’d been your boyfriend.

“Thank you, Issei. I should really head back now.”

Issei’s grip loosened slowly until he faced you with his thick brows knitted with concern. You smiled hoping it was convincing enough to reassure him before the two of you stood up and left the room. Near the entrance of the hall stood your mother angrily pacing back and forth until she saw you and Issei and opened her mouth to speak but stopped. You decided to speak first before she misunderstood the situation.

“I needed some space to calm down and Issei helped me find a place.”

Her piercing eyes took you in and lingered on your eyes; they were no doubt red and puffy from crying. The anger seemed to dissipate and her shoulder’s relaxed before she finally addressed you.

“It’s time for your speech. Are you ready?”

Coming from the woman that never asked you anything, her question caught you off guard but stirred something in you. You answered by nodding and followed your mother into the packed hall and up to the front where your father lied in his coffin. You stood to the side while your mother addressed the guests and you looked at your father for the first time in years.

The sight should have made you feel anything but the relief that washed over you. He looked at peace and it reminded you of the rare glimpses you’d caught of him talking with his students, fishing in the small pond of your country home, or drinking sake at night. It was with those memories that you replaced your mother and spoke to the guests.

You were composed for the entire speech despite your distraught state only minutes prior. It felt like a blanket of serenity had wrapped itself over your shoulders and shielded you from any remaining guilt. In the end, you wished your father well not because you forgave him but because you wanted to close that chapter in your book.

The rest of the ceremony was easier to stomach without the turmoil in your head. After the last guest left, you and your mother spoke to Issei and his boss about last minute details for the funeral the next day. Your mother offered a brisk thanks before heading out first and Issei’s boss followed, leaving you and your ex alone. The desire to ask him for his contact info was immense, but your better judgement won and you offered him a quick thanks before following your mother.

Very little words were exchanged with your mother that night and you headed up to bed completely drained from the day’s events. You’d just finished hanging up your mourning clothes when your mother knocked on the door and waited until you let her in—something she never did.

Still in her mourning gown, she held out a letter addressed to you from your father and seeing her up close, you noticed the wet cheeks and puffy red skin around her eyes. In all the years you lived with your mother, you had never seen her cry. Crying out hysterically? Yes. Witnessing actual tears or the evidence of tears on her face, however, not even once. Which was why you stood stunned as your mother placed the letter in your hand before leaving you to your privacy.

You tore open the sealed envelope and opened the letter to see that it was dated one year ago.

{Daughter,

If you are reading this, it is because I am no longer on this earth. As the disease weakens my body, I know that I will never see you again and write this to convey everything that I could not in life. I am well-aware that I lost the right to your forgiveness and I do not wish to receive it. Nothing will ever justify my actions towards you. I failed you as a father and caused you to grow up in a miserable home. I held you to expectations that not even I could achieve and I will regret the pain and suffering I caused you until my last breath.

I remember the day your mother brought you into this world. When I saw your frail little body and held you in my arms for the first time, I was struck with an immeasurable amount of fear. I was terrified of being a father and didn’t want you to suffer the way I did. I wanted to prepare you for the world in the way my parents never did for me. However, in the end, my own selfish desires to re-live my life through you tainted whatever intentions I’d had. I will never forgive myself for the irreparable damage I caused you therefore I ask that you do the same.

I wish to end this message by expressing how proud I am of the strong woman you’ve become. Everything you’ve accomplished is derived of your own merits and in spite of the suffering I caused you. Your mother and I are happy to hear of your successes and wish you happiness in your married life. I know you will live a long and happy life because you are not like me. You’re a fighter. You know what you want and take it without regrets.

With this, I hope that you will continue to grow and forget me as I am undeserving of living in your thoughts.}

What began as tears trailing down your cheeks, ended up as wails mourning your father. The proud man that you knew him to be in life came undone in that short letter and every word pierced your heart. In a manner reminiscent of the past, you disobeyed his requests and genuinely forgave your father while engraving each of his words into your heart.

The urge to see your mother led you to tuck away the letter and open the door only to find her already there. Muffling her sobs with her hands, her whole body shook as she gazed up at you. The fragility of her state stirred your compassion and your arms wrapped around her. Collapsing onto the ground, the two of you clung to each other and truly mourned the death of your father.

You woke up enveloped in motherly warmth like you were an infant again. Her eyes that once scrutinized your every move, were softer now as she talked about your father’s last days over breakfast. The hand that had disciplined you in the past now held yours during the Buddhist priest’s chant at the funeral. The circumstances were wretched but you finally felt at peace with your parents.

The funeral and cremation passed with you and your mother holding each other up. As the two of you jointly picked up the bone fragments with chopsticks and placed them in the urn, you came to terms with the fact that the relationship with your mother would never go back to what it was. A sense of filial duty stirred within you for the first time in a while only it wasn’t out of guilt—this time, you genuinely wanted to take care of your mother.

You found yourself outside of the crematorium waiting for your mother to settle things when Issei walked up to you. He’d been at the funeral ceremony, of course, but the crematorium wasn’t a part of his duties so you were surprised to see him. He still wore his black slacks and matching button down but his tie was nowhere to be seen and he’d undone the top two buttons of his shirt.

He began by inquiring about the cremation to make sure everything had gone well. You assured him everything went well before an awkward silence pervaded the space between. Desperate to fill the void with anything, you asked Issei a question only to find him simultaneously asking you one.

“Talked to Hana—”

“How long are yo—”

Your face flushed and Issei rubbed the back of his head as the two of you apologized for interrupting each other.

“You go first,” Issei gently insisted.

“I was going to ask if you’d talked to Hanamaki lately. I saw that you two went out…” The implication of your words caused you to clamp your mouth shut while your face burned even more.

“You saw…us?” Issei sounded amused and you looked up to find that same smirk from six years ago that produced butterflies in your stomach.

“Er…yeah,” you admitted. “I kinda found Hanamaki’s social media and happened a picture of you two.”

“Oh, that picture. That was the last time I saw him since he lives in Tokyo now. We still text though.”

“So Tokyo, huh? Good for Hanamaki.”

“What about you?” Issei asked, his eyes more intense than before. “Your mother mentioned you live in the city.”

“Uh yeah,” You said fidgeting with the material of your kimono. “I live in Yokohama. Got a job offer after graduation and I’ve been there ever since.”

“…Are you going back now?”

Issei avoided your eyes by looking away—an old habit you instantly recognized. Like the old days, you moved in the direction of his face and stood on your tippy toes with a cheeky grin on your face. Surprise flashed on his eyes before his mouth broke into a fond smile.

“I’m staying for a couple more days.” You replied and the next word flowed out naturally like water in a stream. “Why?”

“I wanted to catch up with you.” He admitted before his expression sobered. “Only if you’re up for it though. I don’t want you to feel like—”

“I’d love to catch up!”

And with that, the two of you exchanged contact information before your mother approached you. As you watched Issei walk away, you mother piped up next to you.

“He’s a good man. I regret not seeing it before.” It wasn’t exactly an apology but the effect was the same to you.

“And I regret letting him go,” you lamented.

“You still have a chance.” She replied and you met her gaze.

“I don’t. He has a girlfriend.”

“Then why did I overhear his boss trying to set him up on a date with his niece?” Your mother countered and then started to walk towards the newly arrived taxi.

“Wait, what?!”

Heeding your mother’s advice, you dressed up for your meeting with Issei. He picked you up and the first thing you noticed was the similar colored clothing the two of you wore. Laughing it off, you got into his car and made small talk about the changes in town while on route to the restaurant.

The conversation gave you the perfect excuse to admire him at ease. Issei had always been handsome but you had to admit that he’d really grown into his looks. Any lingering teenage awkwardness was gone and replaced by an air of confidence that he exuded in his speech, mannerisms, and voice. From his defined jaw to the protruding veins on his exposed forearm, you memorized each detail and replaced the memory you had of college freshman Issei with it.

Issei took you to the same restaurant you spent most of your evenings in during high school waiting tables and chatting with the volleyball team after closing time. Unlike the rest of the town, the tables, chairs, and décor remained the same and you were overcome with emotion the moment you walked in. After chatting with the owner for a bit, Issei led you to the table the boys would always take after practice to wait until you got off work.

“I can’t believe this place remained the same after all these years.” You commented after placing your orders.

“I know,” Issei replied grinning. “I can’t imagine this town without it.”

“Just sitting here brings back so many memories of us…” you trailed off when you noticed Issei’s unwavering gaze on you.

“Ah! And the boys too!” You added letting out a nervous giggle before taking a sip of your beer to cool your heated head. “How are they, by the way? I’ve seen Oikawa’s posts of Argentina but what about Iwaizumi?”

The conversation about the whereabouts of the volleyball team lasted until the food arrived. You asked about his family in between bites and Issei answered each of your questions about his siblings and parents.

After finishing your meal and ordering a second round of drinks the conversation switched over to work with Issei eager to find out what you did.

“Financing! Can you believe it?” You laughed. “Specifically, in the mortgage department.”

“Seriously?” Issei chuckled. “Whatever happened to being a novelist?”

“Life happened.” You answered and raised your glass in a mock toast.

“Ah, trust me. I completely understand.” He clinked his glass against yours and the two of you laughed before taking a sip.

After finishing your second beer, the warmth in your cheeks and your animated speech were all clear signs you were buzzed. It wasn’t until you asked the question on your mind since you’d seen that picture that you realized just how buzzed you actually were.

“So…are you seeing anyone?” Your eyes were lowered, but when Issei didn’t respond you looked up.

Issei’s eyes were darker than they’d been. The intensity of his gaze locked your eyes on his leaving you vulnerable. You were suddenly keenly aware how intensely your heart was beating and wondered if Issei could hear it.

“Why do you ask?”

His strained voice sent chills down your spine making you painfully aware of the building tension in your core. You knew what you wanted and you suspected he wanted the same thing but you needed to confirm your suspicions.

“I saw your social media account and the picture you used. The one where you’re hugging a woman…smiling…”

The more words that spilled out, the more pathetic you sounded and you eventually trailed off while averting your eyes.

“We broke up about a year ago.”

“What?!” The word slipped through your lips when your eyes snapped back to see him sheepishly running a hand through his wavy black locks.

“We wanted different things. I felt like I was holding her back so I let her go.”

“I completely understand,” echoing his words, your hand reached across the table to his. “My engagement got cancelled for similar reasons. He wanted marriage sooner than later and I wasn’t ready.”

The two of you shared a moment when, out of the blue, Issei took ahold of your hand and used his thumb to run slow circles on your palm; a gesture he’d always used to signal he wanted to be alone with you. Your breath hitched and a lazy smirk graced his face as he lifted your wrist and pressed a kiss on your pulse point.

“I-Issei,” you gasped and darted your eyes around the room to ensure no one had seen.

“Let’s get out of here. Come to my place.”

His voice was like honey to your ears and you nodded as the tension that’d been building spread to other parts of your body. With that the bill was settled and Issei drove you to his place while keeping a hand on your inner thigh that would occasionally drift and tease your clit.

By the time the two of you made it inside his home, Issei’s tongue had tasted every part of your mouth while his lips left yours swollen. Flushed and whimpering, Issei planted wet butterfly kisses down your jaw until he reached that spot on your neck that elicited a moan from your parted lips.

Issei groaned before sucking on that spot and you to pulled him closer by tugging on his hair—a move you knew drove him crazy.

“Fuck,” his warm breath fanned on your neck. “Fuck—not here.”

He picked you up and you wrapped your legs around his waist. You pulled his lips into another wet kiss that had him groaning into your mouth as his erection pressed against your soaked panties. He set you down on his bed and broke the kiss that left the two of you panting.

His hungry gaze traveled all over your body. Your dress was hiked up and he could make out the darkened material of your panties—the proof of your arousal. With a groan his stripped out of his shirt letting you take in his broad chest that you ached to touch. Grinning from your cute reaction he pressed a kiss to your forehead before snaking his arm behind your waist and laying you down on this middle of his bed. You reached for his clothed erection but Issei gripped your hand and placed it over your head.

“Not yet, pretty girl. Let me spoil you today.”

Issei’s skilled hands worked on your dress and slipped it off you followed by your bra and panties. His eyes raked over your body taking in the flushed skin, erect nipples, and trembling legs.

“Beautiful,” he murmured and leaned over to lick and suck on your sensitive peaks. Each flick against a nipple had you gasping. Each bite had you arching your back. The longer he teased, the more desperate your need to be touched and filled became until you took his hand and placed it between your legs.

“T-touch, me Issei, p-please...”

“That’s my needy girl,” he cooed and pressed one last kiss to your chest before settling between your legs and admiring the way your dribbling cunt clenched around nothing. “Such a pretty cunt.”

He flattened his tongue on your throbbing clit sending shocks of pleasure up your body. Issei’s mouth that alternated between sucking and biting down on your clit had you in tears from the immense pleasure and you lost count of how many times you came on his face. When his tongue delved into your aching cunt, you rutted against his face to push his tongue in deeper.

“Nghhh—Isseiiiii! Need y’now, please!”

Issei’s head rose from between you legs and just sight of his face covered in your arousal had your cunt pulsing again.

“What was that baby?” He teased and licked the translucent substance off his lips. His hands began to work on his pants and your eyes greedily took in his tented underwear. “Is this what you want, pretty girl?”

“Y-yes! Need it!”

It’d been so long since you’d been with a guy let alone one of Issei’s size. In fact, you were certain Issei was the biggest you’d ever had. That being said, the sight of his erect cock had you whimpering from both apprehension and desire.

Issei, always so attentive, noticed your reaction and settled himself on top before pressing a sweet kiss on your lips and assuring you he’d be gentle. You nodded before wrapping your arms around his neck while he rubbed his cock between your folds and against your clit in the way he’d always done before filling you.

Once your slick coated his cock, he lined himself at your entrance and slowly sheathed himself into you. The stretch was still painful even with the prep but as soon as he was halfway in, your walls relaxed and pain turned into pleasure. After bottoming out, Issei waited for your cunt to relax around him before he started moving.

With each thrust, Issei hit that spot near your cervix that built up your release time and time again. Every time your walls fluttered and your cum coated his cock, your nails raked over his back and Issei’s groans filled your ears until he too found his release. The two of you were insatiable and continued your lovemaking until the early hours of the morning.

In the end, you stayed the night and woke up mid-day with your head against Issei’s chest and his arms wrapped around you. Listening to his steady heartbeat and feeling the rise and fall of his chest convinced you of the thought you’d mulled over since your father’s funeral.

You wouldn’t return to Yokohama.

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sweetcathedral · 3 years

Text

Note: Finally revamped this story I had in my docs for a couple of months! I had to buy up all the mangas to fully understand the use of cursed energy & techniques since they contain detailed explanations from Akutami. Also had to take out ‘fillers’ since my intention was to keep it a short story that can either stand alone or could turn into a mini series later on, if I wanted to. My intention with this piece was more about story telling than nsfw, so skip to the last segment for nsfw. Hope y’all enjoy!

⚠️: 18+, backstory, plot, light bondage, fingering, raw, breeding

It was a bright and early morning for you to be running errands, but you were too excited to keep still, since Nanami was able to book a day off for you. You decided to pass the time grocery shopping for the ingredients you needed for lunch and dinner later on. Should I make macarons for dessert this time?

“Are . . . are you, o—okay? . . .” an eerie voice stops you in your tracks.

A cursed spirit hovers over the rails on the bridge ahead of you. You pass through this bridge often and the cursed spirits you encounter were usually no more than grade 3 at most, but this one was a grade 1. Nanami never let you anywhere near a curse that was more than a grade 3, probably because he didn’t want to risk the chance. Although you weren’t a Jujutsu sorcerer like he is, he trained you as if you were one.

You look to see if there was anyone around. No one. Carefully, you approach the curse, who’s taking no interest in you,

“I’m sorry,” you softly muttered. Upon absorbing the spirit through the brush of your finger, a series of feelings and memories flood your mind. Sadness, anger, jealousy, regret, anxiety, depression, mourning, resent. A funeral, a woman jumping off the bridge, failed tests, a child being burnt by cigarettes. The feelings and memories were never this vivid to you. Ah, I should’ve ignored it, you thought to yourself as your vision began to blur. But the last time you ignored one was back home—when your ex decided to take their own life. Everything went black.

It was only a fly head, but as time passed by it slowly grew on your ex, taking a toll on their physical health, then their mental health. After finishing their university degree, the job they finally landed was at a black company. The more hours they racked up at work, the less time you spent with each other.

“Sorry, I’ll be coming home late again.”

“Can we reschedule?”

“I’m afraid I can’t make it today.”

“How about another time?”

“Sorry, I need to take this call. It’s for work.”

Day by day they became distant and unresponsive to you. You were probably just as frustrated as they were. A feeling you’ll regret when the company calls to inform you of your ex’s body being found outside of work. They had jumped off the roof of the building. When you arrived at the morgue, a cursed spirit you haven’t seen before was latched to their lifeless body. The fly head you last saw had grown into a curse during the time they were away from you. Without hesitation, you absorbed it through the palm of your hand and all of their emotions and memories clouded your mind. Pain, stress, pressure, anxiety, depression, resentment, jealousy, anger, frustration.

“We’re on a tight schedule this week. I need this done by the end of the day.”

“You don’t have the luxury of a break right now.”

“What do you mean you can’t get it done? Do you know how important this is?”

“The meeting wasn’t a success. I’m gonna have to demote you.”

“Better than being fired.”

“Hey, if you do this for me I’ll put in a good word for you.”

“Thanks to your hard work I was able to get promoted.”

All of their darkest memories played through your head, all the way until they walked to the roof of the building and jumped off. When you got back home, you broke down and cried in guilt and shame. You should’ve dealt with it before all of their feelings accumulated past the point of saving. The company.

After your emotions calmed down, you changed into a simple black outfit: a baseball cap, tee, jeans and your leather boots. That same night, you decided to break into the company and out of pure anger and regret, you take on every curse you saw in your path.

“Emerge from darkness, blacker than darkness. Purify that which is impure,” Nanami chanted.

The veil spills over the building, where a numerous amount of employees committed suicide. Branding it as stigmatized.

“There was a recent suicide report this morning,” Ino looks over to the stained silhouette on the pavement before following Nanami.

The duo entered the building and scanned through each floor up until the roof.

“Hey, isn't the building supposed to be crawling with curses? Cause there wasn’t any on my way here,”

“Something’s not right,” Nanami thought for a moment, “Ino, did you bump into anyone on your floors?”

“Nope. They emailed the president to make sure that the building was empty,”

“Are you sure?”

“You wanna double check with me?”

Nanami and Ino make their way back down, this time examining every single room and closed door. There was no trace of residuals either. Usually there would be a few fly heads here and there, but it was spotless—a complete ghost town. Nothing?

“NANAMI!”

Without hesitation, Nanami sprinted to where Ino shouted. When he flung the door open, Ino was being engulfed by a large curse, similar to that of a human centipede. This must be the one that ate all the other curses.

“Ino! Hold still!”

Just as Nanami aimed his technique, you absorbed the curse from behind, freeing Ino and pushing him out of the way. Resulting in you being hit by Nanami’s cursed energy across your upper body. They quickly rushed to your side,

“We have to get her to a hospital!” Ino panics as he puts pressure on your wound. You were out cold and unresponsive, but you still had a faint pulse. Nanami immediately takes off his blazer and bundles it up, applying it to your wound.

“It’ll be too late when she reaches the hospital,” he closes his eyes to think for a quick moment. Shit! “Tell Gojo to get Ieiri here!” he tosses his phone to Ino, already dialing Gojo’s phone. Please, don’t die. Your pulse started to fade and your body went cold. Please . . .

Before Gojo was able to answer, your eyes flutter open and you look around to see Nanami and Ino hovering over you in shock.

“Huh? Who are you people?” you slowly get up and notice your ripped top covered in blood, “eh? EH?!”

You patted yourself in a panic. You’ve seen blood before in movies, but never this much blood in real life. There was no sense of pain and the gash was gone, leaving no scar behind. Nanami swings his blazer over you,

“You stained it, but it’s better than nothing,”

“Stained? I stained it?” his blazer was soaked in blood. “Wait, this is my blood?!”

“Um, yeah, . . . you kinda died,” Ino responded from behind him.

“Hellllloooooooo! I picked up, you should be grateful!” Gojo’s voice shouts from the phone.

Nanami takes his phone back from Ino and hangs up.

“Can you stand?” he averts his eyes back to you.

“Um,” you look down and wiggle your toes to see if your legs were injured before standing. No sign of pain, but they were trembling so you kneeled instead.

“What are you doing here? ‘Cause I doubt you work here.”

Feeling caught, you frantically try to make up a quick excuse.

“. . . revenge,” there wasn’t an excuse good enough to hide what you were doing, so you told the truth. The whole truth: from when you first saw the fly head to how you ended up at the company on personal terms.

“You know, you have talent for someone who’s not familiar with curses. Your body unconsciously healed itself,” Ino pointed out. He was comfortablely laying on his stomach, his hands propping his head up and his legs sprawled out on the floor. Nanami was intently listening to you, leaning against the wall.

“Is anyone else in your family able to do that?” Nanami asked.

“No. At least, I don’t think so. I’ve always lived with my grandparents, so I don’t know much about my birth parents,”

Cursed spirits were an everyday thing to you. For as long as you could remember you’ve always been able to see them, it was only until you pointed one out to your grandmother that not everyone could see them. As for your supposed talent, you only learned that you were able to absorb curses a couple years ago. You paid no mind to it, but now that you’ve met Ino and Nanami it’s different now, and confusing.

Ino talked to you about their Jujutsu world. The meaning of curses, cursed techniques, cursed energy, him, Nanami, Gojo, the higher ups, the students, the school, and more. Nanami stood there in silence, listening to your conversation between you and Ino, only interacting when prompted.

“HEY!” a shout echoed through the building, startling the three of you.

“What the—”

“Ino, get her out of here.”

“But isn’t that just Gojo?”

“Leave. Gojo can’t know about you.”

Nanami quickly helped you and Ino up, pushing you through the door before closing them.

“Hey! Who said you could hang up on me like that!” you can hear Gojo through the doors.

“You came here ‘cause I hung up on you?” Nanami asked, not hiding his annoyance.

Ino holds his finger up to his lips, telling you to keep silent as the two of you quietly walk out the building, the sound of Gojo and Nanami’s bickering fading away.

“Man, we’re finally out,” Ino sighs.

“Oh, I still have Nanami’s blazer,” you start to take it off, but Ino stops you.

“It’s fine. Keep it as an excuse for you to see him again. Here,” he pulls his phone out, “if you’re comfortable, I can type out our infos in your phone.”

Without thinking much about it, you hand him your phone. He adds both their contact info before waving his goodbyes and heading back into the building. The whole night felt like a fever dream, but the feeling of Nanami’s blazer around you reassured you that what happened that night was real and that you’ll live to see another day.

“NA~NA~MIN~CHAN~!” Gojou shouts from the door of the lounge. Tch. Nanami sighs from his seat, casually reading the business and stock section of the newspaper.

“What are you doing on your day off? Cause if you—,”

“Nothing.”

“Boo, why don’t—,”

“No.”

“I didn’t even finish what I was saying yet!”

“Declined.”

“. . .” Gojo stares at him in silence before punching his middle finger through Nanami’s newspaper. For fuck sakes. At this point, Nanami’s patience has run out and he rips the newspaper in half, exposing the rest of Gojo’s arm. He kept up with Gojo’s antics for far too long, that even Gojo was surprised he lost his composure.

A series of bickering and material noises can be heard coming from the lounge. As Yaga was about to open the door to see what all the yelling was about, Gojo ran into him, trying to escape from Nanami’s beating.

“Principal Yaga! Perfect timing ‘cause I think you should reconsider my proposal to put that man on a leash!” Gojo points to an exhausted Nanami in overtime mode.

“. . . Get off of me,” instinctively, Yaga had his arms out when Gojo comfortably jumped into them.

“Principal Yaga, apologizes. I’ll clean up right away,” Nanami collected himself and bowed.

“Don’t bother. Satoru will clean this mess,”

“HUH?!”

In the end, Yaga had produced several cursed corpses to monitor Gojo so that he finishes cleaning up and repairing the damages.

“It’s my first time hearing you book a day off. Never took you as someone who lets themselves rest,”

“Working alongside Gojo has made me rethink my decisions,” Nanami doesn’t know why, but ever since he helped you that day Gojo’s been especially clingy to him. Like a little sibling asking to be babied and given attention 24/7, it was annoying and drained his energy every day. Did he find out? The reason Nanami had been keeping you a secret from Gojo and everyone else (except for Ino) was to keep you free from their restrictions and expectations. Knowing Gojo, he would immediately use you against the higher ups, so Nanami chose to stay quiet about you. Keeping you as far away from their world as possible, but conversing with you regularly wasn’t helping nor making it easier for him. He should’ve cut all ties with you the moment you messaged him about his blazer, trying to return it. He had more than enough money to easily replace it, but . . . in all honesty, he just wanted to see you again. Don’t bring personal feelings into work, don’t bring personal feelings into work, don’t bring personal feelings into work, he repeated to himself over and over again.

It’s been a little over a year since you first met, but even if that was enough time for you to move on he still felt guilty falling for you. To Nanami, it felt wrong liking someone who had just lost a loved one, but overtime the temptation of taking a step forward kept growing on him. Suddenly, the vibration of his phone goes off. Ino?

“Hello?”

“Nanami! She won’t wake up, the idiot went and took care of a grade 1,” Ino panicked.

Tch.

“I thought I told you to keep the area free of curses,”

“I did. I don’t know where this one came from, though,”

“I’m on my way,” Nanami hangs up and excuses himself for the day.

Please be okay.

The sound of quick shuffling and frantic mumblings start to get louder as you come closer to waking up. Someone’s here? Nanami? You open your eyes and look around to see Ino pacing back and forth beside you,

“Ino? What are you doing—?” a flood of memories rush back to you: your unfinished errands, the ingredients, the bridge, the curse, collapsing, an unfamiliar figure. Could that be . . . “Hey, how’d you know where I was?”

“Hm? Oh, your neighbour called me and told me that you collapsed at the bridge. He said that he helped carry you home, but to come check up on you just in case,”

You think back to your neighbours, but no one comes to mind who’d be willing to help you. The neighbours you’re surrounded by are the types to call an ambulance, if they ever came across a situation like that. You don’t even converse with them much, since Nanami wanted your interactions to be kept to a minimum. So over protective. As you get up from your couch a wave of dizziness falls over you, making it hard for you to stand.

“Are you okay?” Ino rushes to assist you and settles you back down on the couch.

“Yeah, just a head rush,”

“I’ll go get you some water,” he runs to the kitchen (not that it’s far).

Ino was like a little brother to you and Nanami, he always kept an eye on you because in his words “if something bad were to happen to you, I just know Nanami would break inside”. You look down at your hands, still trembling from the curse you dealt with earlier, but feeling nothing out of the ordinary. The first time you absorbed a curse that strong was when you first met Ino and Nanami, but there were no signs of repercussions. The amount of energy that cursed spirit held was reversed to heal your wound and bring you back to life. You hear the front door being opened and see Nanami rush into the room, he sighs a breath of relief upon seeing you.

“Welcome back,” Ino says from the kitchen.

You try to welcome him too, but you were scared he was going to lecture you about safety and all that, so you kept quiet. Even though you’re avoiding his eyes, you can still feel them boring into you. He walks over and lowers himself at your eye level, taking your trembling hands into his.

“. . . I was about to lecture you, again, but I’m happy enough to see you alive,”

You finally look up to meet his eyes. Although he’s holding a stern face now, you can tell that he was just worried. Is he still hung up about that accident?

“I’m fine, you know it’s not like last time,” you softly reassure him.

“I know . . . I was still worried, though,” his thumbs brush over your hands.

Ino comes from around the corner with a glass of water, taking a seat beside you on the couch. After both of you fill Nanami in about what happened to you, Ino says his goodbyes, leaving just the two of you alone.

“Man, must be nice coming home to a girl after a long day at work. Good for Nanami,” he says to himself, whistling out the door. He deserves it.

All of a sudden, something latches tightly over his mouth and throat, dragging him into an empty ally. Ino manages to loosen himself out of the grip and turns to see,

“Gojo?!”

“Ya-ho!”

Gojo waves his hand with a stupid grin plastered across his (pretty) face. After finishing (cheating) his duties at the lounge room, he changed out of his usual uniform and made his way back here. His all black outfit consisting of sunglasses, a loose tee, jeans, and oxfords.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“I didn’t know you were the one that’d come check up on her, what a surprise.”

“Wait, how’d you—!” the call flashed in Ino’s mind. “You were the neighbour that called me?”

“Ding, ding, ding!”

Nanami’s already stressed enough. How long has he known?

“If you’re thinking about how long I’ve known, then it’d be ever since the day he hung up on me when you guys were at that black company mission.”

How immature. “Then were you also the one that set up the grade 1 curse?”

“I mean, duh.”

Ugh, crazy. “Just so you know I plead the fifth,”

“Is that an American joke you learned from her? Anyways,” Gojo crosses his fingers and pulls his sunglasses down. “Domain expansion: Unlimited Void.”

“Nanami, wait,” you pull away from him for a moment to catch your breath, but he pulls you back in for a deeper kiss.

Once Ino left and the door clicked closed, Nanami threw himself at you in a heated flash. At first, it was the feeling of his hands tracing your body and now it’s his soft lips leaving marks along your neck and collarbones. He’s sitting on the edge of the couch while you’re facing him, prettily settled on his hips. You slip out of your top and bra, since it was already half way off from Nanami fondling you underneath your clothes. You can feel his bulge as you teasingly grind your hips. His hand grips your hips,

“Keep doing that and I won’t be able to hold back.”

“Then don’t hold back,” you whisper in his ear before taking his hand and guiding it to the wet spot underneath the slit of your satin skirt. Without wasting his chance, he twists his fingers in you, holding you down on his hips and watching you melt into lewd expressions, burying your face in his chest as your hand clenches his shirt. Only gasps and moans were able to tumble off your wet lips as your body twitches from ecstasy.

“That’s a good girl,” his voice reverberates down the nape of your neck. He loosens his tie to bind your arms behind you, switching your position so that your back is facing him now. Knowing what he’s about to do makes your stomach flutter. You raise your trembling hips a little, feeling him brush the tip of his cock along your slick folds before pushing you down on him.

“Haa!” the force of it sends a shuddering wave through your body.

“You told me not to hold back, so don’t you start complaining now,” Nanami grips your face and turns it slightly towards him, kissing your tears away. The feeling of his rough hands slowly drags down to your throat and tightly grips at the sides. He thrusts into you hard as you beg for him to fill you up inside. The tip of his cock kisses your cervix stroking every inch deeper into you.

“Fuck,” he groans. A warm feeling fills you up in your lower abdomen and gushes out onto the couch. You and Nanami fall back, panting to catch your breaths.

“Are you okay? I hope that wa—,” you shut him up with a kiss. Slowly lifting your hips back up, you feel his cum dripping down your thighs. You slip his cock back inside you, his hands embracing you once again as he gets bigger. Unable to focus, you fall into a drunken daze getting lost in his pleasure.

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p-artsypants · 3 years

Text

The Ghost of Smokey Joe (6)

St. James Infirmary

Adrien Agreste was acting bizarre. Before she can get the truth out of him, Marinette finds herself as the sole heir to the Gabriel brand and the mansion, following the murder-suicide of both Adrien and Gabriel Agreste. The mystery continues as Tikki explains that Adrien was Chat Noir...but if Adrien is six feet under, why is Chat Noir still running around?

Relationships:

Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug

Alya Césaire/Nino Lahiffe

Characters:

Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Alya Césaire, Nino Lahiffe, Nathalie Sancoeur, Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth

Additional Tags:

Temporary Character Death, Murder Mystery, off screen murder, Ghosts, Supernatural - Freeform, Haunting, Horror, Psychological Thriller, Eventual Happy Ending, I promise, Song fic, Halloween Flavored, Identity Reveal, Aged Up, Canon Universe, Mabel Voice: He's Resting, SPOOOKKKYYYYYY

Ao3 | FF.net

The night of the visitation, it rained. Like a kick to the gut, a painful reminder of what it was like to fall in love…now was only a soothing presence to losing love.

The old umbrella in her hand didn’t help either. It was his. Adrien’s. The very same he gave her that day over ten years ago.

Marinette had agonized over what to wear for too long. It was a wake, so black, right? She had this outfit picked out and everything. A sharp blazer over her little black cocktail dress, with black pumps. Even though it was a wake, it was a wake for her boss, one of the most influential fashion moguls in the world, and she would be taking his place. She had to look her best.

But then, she changed her mind. It was a social event, yes, and she would be in the public eye and representing the brand, true!

But it felt gross.

The cocktail dress was too sexy for a wake, and wearing that much black made her look goth.

It just wasn’t right.

Then she saw the dress. A rose pink, knee length dress that flared out as it went down. It had little black polka dots on it.

And it was Adrien’s favorite. He said so every time she wore it.

Too peppy for a wake. Too casual, too fun and flirty. But a black cardigan over it, and she felt perfect.

She could almost hear his voice as she posed in the mirror.

“I love that dress on you. You look so cute, Marinette.”

It made tears spring to her eyes.

So no makeup then. Because she knew she would be crying a lot more tonight.

“Don’t forget to pack tissues,” Tikki reminded, helpfully.

“Right, thank you, Tikki.” She tucked the little package in her purse.

With one last pass of the brush through her hair, she was ready.

So now she stood outside of the manor, the gate open.

Well folks, I'm goin' down to St. James Infirmary

See my little baby there

She's stretched out on a long, white table

Well she looks so good, so cold, so fair

The paparazzi stood nearby with their cameras, ready to swoop in like vultures.

She must have paused for too long, because they descended on her quickly, shoving mics in her face and asking questions.

Didn’t they know why she was here? Didn’t they know what she was going through?

An arm reached around her shoulders and started leading her forward. “Alright everyone, that’s enough! Can’t you see she’s not in the mood?” Her rescuer shouted.

The reporters didn’t pass through the gate, as that would have been trespassing. So thankfully, the crowd was left behind as they moved forward.

“Thank you,” she said to the unfamiliar man.

“Of course, Miss Dupain-Cheng.” He nodded.

“You know me?”

“I know of you. Head intern to Gabriel Agreste himself, if I’m not mistaken. I’m from Harper’s Bazaar.”

“Oh...a reporter.”

“Yes, but I really was just here as a guest to pay my respects. I’ve interviewed both Gabriel and Adrien a few times.”

“I see.”

He led her into the house.

Let her go, let her go, God bless her,

Wherever she may be,

She will search this wide world over,

But she'll never find another sweet man like me.

She was early, as Nathalie had instructed. No other guests were here. Just funeral staff, some family, and two steel caskets.

Two steel closed caskets.

Might make retrieving Adrien’s ring a bit of a problem, but not seeing his face…cold, motionless, and waxy would keep her somewhat sane.

The man walked with her right up to the casket, the one with Adrien’s picture next to it.

“It’s a shame. That much skill, the absolute genius spread between the two of them. The world as a whole will never be the same.”

“Yeah.”

“Any idea what’s going to happen next? Not that this is an interview, I’m just curious.”

She shrugged, “well, I’ve been offered the position, and everyone wants me to take it...but it’s so…”

“Overwhelming?”

“Yes.” She rested her hand on the casket. “I wish I could have a moment alone with him.”

“Let me see what I can do.” He smiled, then he called louder, to the room. “The lady would like a few minutes alone, if possible.”

“Is she family?” A staff member asked.

“This is Madam Dupain-Cheng, she’s the successor to Gabriel’s empire. She’s practically family!”

There was no arguing with that, and the group of staff members filed out into the adjacent dining room.

“Thank you,” Marinette called to the man, still not getting his name.

“Don’t worry about it darling.” And he followed them out.

Marinette glanced around the room, just to make sure she was alone. “Tikki?”

“I’m here!”

“I need you to keep watch.” The casket had two doors, one on top that would have been open if this was a regular visitation, and one over the legs. She slid the flower arrangement on top over to the bottom section and ran her hand over the edge. She pulled up slightly, and as she feared, it was sealed.

“It’s locked,” she lamented.

“Let me try!” Tikki zipped around the casket, and a moment later, it clicked and the cap opened ever so slightly.

Marinette took a deep breath as her fingers curled under the lip.

“What are you waiting for?”

“Just…I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to see what he looks like. I don’t want to…” but she put her reservations on hold, and pushed the lid up.

She choked out a startled gasp. “Oh no…”

Now, when I die, bury me in my straight-leg britches,

Put on a box-back coat and a stetson hat,

Put a twenty-dollar gold piece on my watch chain,

So you can let all the boys know I died standing pat.

Instead of the mangled body of her true love, there was only a pile of sandbags.

Tikki, also horrified, went over to Gabriel’s casket and phased inside. Then she popped out, “this one is the same!”

Marinette closed the lid and moved the flowers back into place, her mind moving at a mile a minute. Vaguely, she heard the click of the casket as Tikki put it to rights.

Marinette was panicking, but quickly calmed herself down. This didn’t mean anything malicious, not yet. Maybe they were cremated and the family wanted to keep it a secret. Or because there’s no graveside service, their bodies had already been buried.

Who was she kidding, something was definitely going on.

A mystery that was just aching to be solved, but her first priority was to retrieve Adrien’s ring.

“--A moment alone!” A voice shouted from the dining room.

Marinette whirled around in time to see Felix storming towards her. Did he know? Was she caught?

He brushed past her, “move.” And went directly to the casket, grabbing the lip like she had.

“Please sir! You’ll damage the casket!” One of the funeral home staff rushed and grasped Felix by the shoulder. “It’s shut and locked, it can’t be opened again.”

“I didn’t get to say goodbye!” Felix snarled. “Look at him!” He pointed at the photo on display next to the casket. “He has my face! I deserve to see him one last time!”

“Sir...he doesn’t look like that anymore. It would be very disturbing to see his remains.”

Disturbing indeed, considering Adrien wasn’t in there at all.

Amelie was quick to join the group and she consoled her son. “We talked about this. You knew it was going to be a closed casket.”

“They said the family had time alone. I just...wanted to say goodbye, face to face.” He shook his head and scowled. “He deserved that, at least.”

Marinette made herself small, feeling like an intruder in this family crisis. But Amelie still saw her and brought her in for a hug.

“How are you holding up, dear?” She asked, pulling away slightly.

“I’m…I’ve been better.”

“Of course, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Marinette had met Amelie and Felix more than a few times working at Gabriel. As the years went on, they came to visit more and more often. Amelie was always insistent that she call her ‘Aunt Amelie’ like Adrien. It felt weird to break the habit now.

“Isn’t pink a little too festive for the occasion?” Felix bit. The red from anger in his cheeks had faded. Now he just sounded bitter.

It was Adrien’s voice…but not. It was a shame Felix sounded so much like him.

He looked just like him too, minus the slicked back hair and glasses.

“Adrien really loved this dress,” Marinette whispered. “I know it’s not—I just—“

His face softened slightly, relieved that she had Adrien in mind, and not fashion. “Sounds fine to me.”

Even after the disastrous first encounter they had, Felix and Marinette never became friends. He and Adrien certainly got along, or at least appeared to, but Felix and Marinette were only ever cordial.

It was a wake, after all. He should be nice. He gave her a small smile, one that looked eerily similar to Adrien’s.

Before she could stop herself, she was hugging him.

He didn’t smell like Adrien at all. He smelled like clean cat litter and laundry detergent, not spicy cologne and the smallest hint of cheese. Belatedly, she realized the cheese smell was probably Plagg’s doing.

“Uh…” He said awkwardly, before sighing and patting her on the back.

“I’m sorry,” she pulled away. “Even though…” she trailed off with a blush, embarrassed with what she had done. “You just look like him.”

“I know,” he shrugged. “I worried about coming. I’m prepared for people to see me and burst into tears. Or hug me, like you did. I get it. As much as I would like otherwise, I’m willing to tolerate it for today.”

“That’s kind of you.”

His face softened further. “You loved him, didn’t you?”

Amelie gasped. “Felix! You can’t just ask things like that!”

“It’s okay,” Marinette assured, hugging herself. “You’re right. I was—am. I still love him, even though he’s gone.”

“And…you know what happened?”

She nodded. “It sucks. And I really wish I could allow one terrible action to wipe everything away…but I knew him. These last two weeks he wasn’t himself. He was cruel to me in a way I had never seen. It just…it wasn’t Adrien.”

Felix gave her a critical look. “I always assumed my cousin couldn’t hurt a fly. It’s…bizarre, what happened.”

“It’s not public knowledge,” Amelie reminded. “And it should stay that way.”

“Who are we protecting by lying about it? The ‘Brand’? The family? Adrien himself?”

“What are they saying, anyway?” Asked Marinette.

“They’re saying both Adrien and Gabriel died from an in-home accident.”

“Vague,” said Felix. “Suspicious.”

“But better than ‘unknown causes’ at least,” said Marinette. “Maybe it’s selfish, but I want Adrien to be remembered for all the good he did…” As Chat Noir, her brain added, “and not the demons he faced in the end.”

“Still, I can’t help but wonder what made him snap,” he mused, looking at Marinette. “Do you have any idea what may have caused it?”

Her mind went back to two weeks, when he had asked her to dinner. He was nervous, and told her he had something to tell her.

And then that phone call a few nights ago. What had he said? Something about the basement?

“I’m…not sure. I’d have to think about it.”

“Perhaps you two could consider this mystery another day? Not during the visitation?” Amelie urged.

“Sorry mom, you’re right.” He glanced back at Marinette. “If you have anything on this, I’d love to hear it. I care deeply for Adrien, and honestly, I’m highly suspicious of these circumstances.”

Amelie huffed. “Darling, you heard Nathalie, what she saw, what the police found, it’s pretty cut and dry…”

“People don’t just murder their father’s for no reason! Especially with supposedly flawless mental health!”

The room grew quiet, as Felix’s outburst was louder than intended. Thankfully, guests had yet to arrive.

“Sorry. This whole thing…I’ve had enough of death in this lifetime.” He cleared his throat. “I need some water.”

When he left, Amelie squeezed her shoulder. “Don’t let Felix get to you. It’s just hard for him. He has so much in common with Adrien, it’s a little scary for him.”

Oh. That made sense. Fear he’d snap too?

“It was sudden for everyone. We’re all going through it.”

“They said you were having a moment alone with Adrien. I'll let you get back to it.” She squeezed her shoulder and left her in peace.

So now Marinette was left to wonder what she could possibly do. Where to even start? She didn’t need anymore time with an empty casket.

An' give me six crap shooting pall bearers,

Let a chorus girl sing me a song.

Put a red hot jazz band at the top of my head

So we can raise Hallelujah as we go along.

There were a few more guests now, but it was still a little early. She saw a man in a suit arranging flowers. He had a name tag on his lapel.

As casual as she could, she snuck over to him. “Excuse me, are you the funeral director by chance?”

“Oh? Yes I am. Bill Hunkerson, at your service. How can I help?”

She had to phrase this very carefully, to not be suspicious. “I’m a very close friend of Adrien’s. He was wearing a silver ring when he died. It doesn’t actually belong to him, and I was wondering if I could have it back.”

The man turned pale, but plastered on a smile. “Well, he’s probably wearing it now. Unfortunately, after we close the casket, we can’t open it again.”

She knew that was a big fat lie. And Marinette hated liars.

She lowered her voice. “Well, since his body isn’t actually in the casket, it shouldn’t be that hard, should it?”

The man stared at her, wide eyed, no longer smiling. “How did you—“ He frowned. “Look miss, I’m just doing what I’m paid for. I don’t know anything. That ring is probably gone forever, and I’d stop this search now.” He straightened his tie and bowed his head slightly. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Marinette opened her purse when she was alone. “I don’t know about you, Tikki, but I’ve got a bunch of red flags and alarm bells going off inside my head.”

“This isn’t good! We need to get that ring!”

“We need to find out what happened to Adrien’s body!”

“Yes, of course, that too!”

Marinette gnawed at the inside of her cheek. “Hey, no offense to Plagg, but wouldn’t he know to bring the ring back to me? If he can’t remove it, then wouldn’t he come tell me about it?”

Tikki’s eyes widened. “You’re right! If he died under normal circumstances, yes…but if he was transformed when he died…”

“Then what?”

“Plagg probably would be forced back into the ring. That’s probably why he didn’t come!”

“Now I’m even more worried and confused.” Marinette crossed her arms. “What if Adrien isn’t actually dead?”

“What do you mean?”

“What if…he ran away? And Gabriel made it out like he died? What if Gabriel’s still alive too?”

“It’s a theory, but I don’t know how well it will hold water.”

She studied the room again, trying not to draw attention to herself. She was supposed to be grieving after all.

Felix sat in the chairs over by the stairs, his back to the growing crowd.

Even if they didn’t really get along, two skeptics working together would be better than each on their own.

“Do you mind if I join you?” She asked.

“I suppose not.” He sighed.

Marinette sat in the chair next to him, and sat quietly for a moment, trying to decide how to proceed. She didn’t want to reveal her whole hand, but maybe playing a few cards would be to her advantage.

Felix beat her to it. He let out a weak chuckle. “I hate this family.”

What an awful thing to say at wake. “Why’s that?” She asked calmly.

“They die too quickly. It sounds so awful, I know. But it’s just my mother and I now. Grandparents are long gone, then my Aunt Emilie, then my father, and now them. It sucks and I’m sick of stupid funerals.”

“It must be hard. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well...I’m a pro at it now.” He was resting his cheek on his hand, and was staring at the corner of a wall, just pointedly avoiding eye contact. Still, she could see he had red in his eyes. Though she chose to ignore it. Felix seemed to be the type to hide his tears.

“You know...the last time I talked to Adrien, he told me to check the basement.”

This piqued Felix’s curiosity enough for him to look at her. “Basement? What basement?”

“I suppose here, but I haven’t had the chance to, since you know…all this going on.”

“That doesn��t make any sense. I used to come to this house all the time. It doesn’t have a basement.”

“So…maybe at the company?”

“Could be. I wouldn’t know.”

“Okay, I just wondered...since you were family…”

He growled. “Yeah, some family.”

“Do you...want to talk about it?” She offered, really hoping he would take the bait.

He chuckled again, no humor in his tone. “Might as well, no one around left to hide things from.” He leaned back in the chair. “Gabriel is...was a very private person. I tried to love him, since he was my uncle, but he did a very good job at keeping us at a distance. Adrien was the opposite. We talked often, even when his mom and my dad died and things got rough. Sometimes, it didn’t feel like we were welcomed here. But Adrien so wanted a connection. I could feel it in his hugs when we visited. He was starving, Marinette.”

Marinette willed herself not to start crying.

“Mom and I were told by Nathalie that Adrien and Gabriel were caught in a murder-suicide, as enacted by Adrien, early in the morning on the 23rd.”

“Did she tell you where the murder-suicide happened?”

“Nope, just that it happened in this house. As the only living relatives, she asked if we could come and help with the funeral arrangements.”

“Were you involved in all of it?”

“I thought mom and I did all of it together, but there was one thing that Nathalie insisted on and wouldn’t budge.”

“What’s that?”

“Gabriel is going to be interred in the Agreste family mausoleum, but Adrien…” he sighed with disgust. “As punishment, he’s getting an unmarked grave.”

“What!?”

“That was the compromise. The truth about the murder-suicide, which I am believing less and less, would be withheld from the public as long as Adrien was…effectively erased from the family line.”

She couldn’t help the tears that burst forth. “But that’s not fair! He didn’t do anything wrong! He couldn’t’ve!”

“Yeah kid, I know. I agree.” He scowled. “It makes me sick. I hate it. Adrien was suffering in life, and now he’s going to suffer in death.”

“You don’t think he did it?”

“Do you?”

She shook her head. “I can’t. I know what’s been said, and what people saw...but it just can’t be true.” And she had evidence to prove it, in the form of that empty casket.

“You won’t mention I said any of this to my mom, right? She’s also having a hard time, but she tells me I’m in denial.”

“I won’t say a word.”

Folks, now that you have heard my story,

Say, boy, hand me another shot of that booze;

If anyone should ask you,

Tell 'em I've got those St. James Infirmary blues.

I’m not sure about next week’s update. I’m going camping and I don't know what the wifi will be like. Fingers crossed!

#ml #miraculous ladybug #the ghost of Smokey Joe #fanfiction #adrienette #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste

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selfproducingfanfictionauthor · 3 years

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the worlds collide - i: an old face

Summary: Who are you? Now that the new world has collided with the remnants of the old?

Pairing: BTS x reader (slight Got7/Jackson x reader)

Warnings: Referenced violence, covert sexism, zombies Notes: I knoooow I should be working on lessons to build and looking back at you but this idea just won’t let go. I originally wrote it for my 30 minute challenge but it got out of hand. So here it is, a zombie au! Not sure how long it’ll be yet but we’ll see! UNEDITED. Word Count: 3.2k

At the center of the end of the world, humanity was stripped to what it only needs to exist - strength, camaraderie, and grit.

With the undead nipping at your heels day and night, the only thought that remained were thoughts of where the nearest exist is, how to store food, how much farther for the next stronghold, and how long will that stronghold last. To survive, you stripped away everything unnecessary from your former life. All the bashfulness, the shame, and coated yourself with an armor as thick as the new callouses on your fingers - you still remember the first time you’ve went topless around Namjoon, and neither of you flinched.

Frankly, you’ve forgotten how to be anything else but this brought you to your new role in the new world. You’re no longer a girl, or a woman - you’re a survivor.

And with your old life etched in the sinew of your muscles, of your arms and your legs, you became a valuable member of the group. Along with Jungkook and Hoseok, you carry the front, bashing heads of zombies left and right, clearing the way to a new possible food source and haven.

It was a tiring existence, the type of tired that can’t be washed away by sleep. If that’s what you can call those pockets of peace you have when you’ve finally trusted them to watch your back.

It took long for you to finally drop your guard around these boys that you now call your family. Understandable, given that men didn’t really have a great track record for women to trust them even prior to the apocalypse. But you’ve met them in a tight circumstance, that had them trusting you before you even bothered to try.

(It was Jimin who first reached out, somehow unchanged by the cruelty of the new world. Always soft, always yearning.)

The seven of them had been friends before shit went down, and you were just a lucky one to be part of their orbit.

You remind yourself of this now that the new world has began.

This is the longest you’ve stayed in one place since two years ago, and it’s starting to feel like a place everyone could plant their roots in. The town’s largely untouched by the apocalypse, its strategic location in the mountains and quick response had them building trenches and walls, to keep the hoard from closing in.

It’s an extra precaution thoughtfully made by a self-sustaining community. For once, isolation brought forth more benefits than mishaps. They’ve barely lost people, largely untouched by the terrors of the world outside theirs. Innocent. Their lives went on. No nightmares, nothing.

The first time one of the pleasantly-dressed girls approached you with what could’ve been friendship, you flinched.

The boys were taken to it so easily, perhaps being as weary as you are didn’t make them jaded as it has made you.

Namjoon was swept away by the village committee, his brains and leadership evident with how he led you to safety. Jin and Jimin’s apprenticed under the village doctor, Yoongi’s turned to farming along with Taehyung, while Hoseok and Jungkook’s muscles are put to test building houses at the craft shop.

Everybody’s found a place except you, because while this town’s been untouched in all the good ways, it’s also been untouched in a sense that it kept to all the antiquated ways of the old world.

And, you hate how much you resent it in your deepest of hearts.

It’s as if they thought that putting you in a dress will wash away all the blood in your hands, as if you didn’t shed as much as all the boys did if not more. You’ve been turned away from all the things you could do, and are now being forced into things they want you to.

It’s suffocating, being torn with the desire to put your foot down and the fear of being perceived as ungrateful.

“They don’t understand, do they?”

You blink out of your thoughts and turn to a familiar face making himself comfortable beside you.

Jaebeom’s pushed away the unfinished basket to the side and pulled up one of his long legs to rest his elbow on.

By his side is his gun, locked and loaded, always ready even after months of quiet. You didn’t even hear him come in, but instead of being unsettled, you’re a slightest bit relieved to know that at least someone hasn’t gotten rusty.

The scar on his eyebrow stands out underneath the moonlight, and on the porch of your little house way’s away from the center of the town, you two make a fine pair of outsiders.

“No, they don’t.”

Even in times of peace, loss is inevitable.

Namjoon mulls over this as he looks at the list of names up for the next supply run. Two names have been crossed, and two funerals were attended last week. One had a body, another didn’t.

Old man Jungho died of a heart attack after his son died outside, and along with the grief, Namjoon could feel the pressure placed on his shoulders by a community unused to “unnatural” losses.

He’s developed a cycling procedure that makes it slightly fair to everyone who volunteered. Marked with blue ink are the ones who were in the previous run, those in black are the ones who are up for the next one.

With the latter list down by two, Namjoon turns to a different corner of his notebook to see your name. Until now, he’s had every excuse not to put you out there but now…

“Fuck,” Namjoon sighs and rubs his face with his hands. He doesn’t know why you’ll want to do this again. He’s tried asking you but somehow, you’ve grown farther and farther away.

When he tried to find you in the village garden with Yoongi, suddenly you’re out getting water. When Seokjin did your monthly checkup, you’re as impenetrable as the walls, when Hoseok tried to approach you with improvements for your home, you brush him away saying you’ve dealt with it with Jaebeom.

Jaebeom.

Whom you’ve only met a month in after you’ve settled into town. Who somehow’s been rumored to visit your house after dark, when the boys you’ve spent two years with haven’t even gotten the chance to step into your home.

Namjoon lets out a shaky breath. You’ve been so unreachable it’s made him cry out of frustration when the nights are dark and the seven of them feel your absence the most in their own quaint home.

They miss you, so much. Even Yoongi who’s as taciturn as they come has tried reaching out to you, working endlessly hard in his own little garden at the back of their house to produce strawberries that you love so much.

“Who’s on the list?”

Hoseok steps in the kitchen and jolts Namjoon out of his longing. He’s wearing his “fight” pants and boots, his gun taken out of the secret cellar and empty go bag slung on his shoulders.

Namjoon pushes his notebook towards him and watches as his friend’s face grow dark at the sight of your name.

“No.”

Namjoon sighs at the conviction in his friend’s voice. It draws in Jungkook from the living room, wearing the same pants and same tension in his shoulders every run.

It’s different when it was just the seven of them, now, they have to lead a bunch of unseasoned people outside the walls just so they don’t go in blind when - not if - shit hits the fan. The loss of the Youngho weighs heavily on Jungkook. They were of the same age, but not the same life experience and ultimately, that was what killed him.

“No, what?”

Jungkook takes in the tension of the room and glances down at the open notebook. “Oh.”

He mouths your name silently, treasuring each syllable. How long since he’s called you? How long since you two talked? Back outside, he liked to believe you and him had a special bond born in the midst of danger and trivial common hobbies from the old world.

He still has that photo card of an old gaming character you two loved.

“I can’t play favorites.” Namjoon states, teetering between duty and keeping you safe inside the walls. If you knew, you’d probably hate him for this, but you don’t.

“You can - you have!” Hoseok slams his hands on the table, the sound echoing inside their house. Everything falls silent followed by footsteps from the second floor. “What makes it different now?”

“The difference is the fact that we lost someone!” Namjoon bellows, his anger and stress rolling off him like waves but Hoseok doesn’t stand down. He knows its selfish, but the only thing that has him going now that you’ve pulled away is the knowledge that you’re safe.

“We always lose someone—“

“It’s not just us anymore, you know that, Hobi.”

Hoseok bites his cheek at Namjoon’s use of his nickname and he could feel the rest watching him like a hawk. All at once the fight goes out of him. It’s true. In exchange for safety, the get a community - for better or worse.

A hand lands on his shoulder and he turns to Taehyung, who in turn offers a strained smile. “At least, she has two of you to keep an eye on her out there. Like old times.”

Hoseok never thought he’d feel nostalgic about the times they’re elbow-deep in zombie gut but — “Yeah, like old times.”

Except, it isn’t like the old times.

Jungkook’s always been an awkward guy around girls, especially pre-apocalypse. He was all long limbs and Bambi eyes, not quite steadfast on what he was as a man and easily shaken by every attractive girl’s attention.

And although he’s grown a bit, confident in his looks and skills in this new world, he still hasn’t mastered the art of rejecting someone.

(He’s never had to, not when it was you.)

And so, he’s stuck at the last meeting with his back against the wall and one of the town’s remaining daughters - Hyerin- crowding his space as opposed to being beside you across the room.

He doesn’t even know that Hyerin signed up for the run, especially with how he’s told her that it’s dangerous and that she hasn’t had the proper training to go out there. It rankles him all sorts of wrong when she said that her father said that “it isn’t as dangerous as they made it out to be” as if they’re lying about the dangers they’ve faced.

And sure, they’ve cleared out a large space around the town of zombies but things can always go wrong, and if there’s anything Jungkook has learned is that things have a habit of luring you to a false sense of security before fucking everything up.

Hoseok’s giving the briefing to their small group of ten, and he could see his friend’s eyes linger a second too long whenever it passes you. You with your hair pulled back and back straight, it almost brings him back.

But then you smile at something Jaebeom says and Jungkook feels his chest tightening on cue. You haven’t smiled nor even looked at him since the start of this briefing. What had he done wrong? What have they done wrong that drove you away?

“We might encounter people on this run, and I want you to remember - people are more dangerous than zombies.” Hoseok reminds the group, “They can think, they can plot - and are much harder to predict. We’ll need someone to bring up the front before we flank the space—“

Before Jungkook could raise his hand, yours shoot up along with Jaebeom’s.

“I’ll do it.”

From the back, Jungkook could clearly hear the murmurs of the men in the group. Someone, someone stupidly brave enough speaks up, “I think you should let the men handle this, darling.”

Jungkook sees you put your hand on Jaebeom’s arm before turning to where the voice is. It’s one of the older folks, large and burly with eyes alight with mockery.

You smile sickly sweet, “Oh? I’m not the one who puked on the side of the road during the last run, am I?”

The man sputters and laughter erupts around him, his friends who were equal parts terrified at the sight of a half-torso crawling towards them last month. It’s easy to laugh when it’s not your ass on the line.

Before he gets another word in, you remind him, Hoseok, Jungkook and everyone in the room how dangerous you were on the outside. And how dangerous you still are here.

“And for the record, could you stomach killing a man when you can’t even finish off a zombie? I can,” you pause the silence being answer enough, “So, no, I’m not leaving this to the men.”

“Antagonizing them isn’t earning you any points.”

Keeping your eyes on the road helps you steady your nerves. Outside, you could see the remains of pushed over cars as your caravan makes its way away from the forest and down the mountain.

According to the last team’s run’s intel, there were traces of people loitering down the town proper and so Namjoon’s sent a team before you get caught unawares.

Hoseok coughs, “Y/N. Are you listening?”

“I didn’t know there were points to earn.”

One line, and its scathing but, Hoseok thinks, at least you’re talking to him. He was afraid he’s forgotten your voice.

He may have abused his power a bit to split you up from Jaebeom but it still makes sense, given that you two have worked together longer outside. You with your speed and him with his agility, you make a pretty good team.

And with your pretty face, people tend to underestimate you until its too late.

Hoseok pauses and mulls over your statement. Adjustment is hard, he knows, pandering to people who don’t know how hard it is on the outside but it’s needed. He doesn’t understand where your dislike of it comes from, so much so you’ve decided to ostracize yourself not only from the people in town but also from them.

(He’s a man. Of course he doesn’t understand. Old or new world, men can only touch the surface of what damage the world has done to women.)

“Y/N, it’s just so we could live with them peacefully. No trouble.”

You finally turn to him and he shivers from the coolness in your eyes. “When have I caused them any trouble? I help out, don’t I? I’m a functioning member of the community - is it required to be all chummy with them?”

Framed like that, Hoseok doesn’t have any answer but a semblance of the truth lying in a question, “Why don’t you talk to us anymore?”

Outside, the caravan reaches its destination and people pour out of the old trucks.

“Is there anything to talk about?”

Of course, of course there is, Hoseok wanted to say. But job calls, and when the sight of tracks greet your group, everything goes back to the back burner.

By the looks of it, there were at least four people about. All with large feet which most likely mean they were males.

Hoseok made a executive decision and sent back all of the group except you, Jaebeom and Jungkook. Given the situation, your group had too many people for this run turned reconnaisance and moving that many people will slow down any retreat you might need to do.

So he sent them back up with a message to Namjoon about the situation. He’ll get a lashing later but he’s sure the guys will understand. A small group is more manageable, but a group with established trust and dynamics (at least with the three of you) is more than ideal.

Your tracking leads the team to one of the larger convenient grocery stores in town. It’s long been looted and cleaned out, but somehow, one of the older craftsmen in the village figured out how to run the generator. Now, it’s store room is being used to hold and freeze any meat and fish you can’t afford to salt. How long you’ll have it running with the generator, who knows?

At what previously was an aisle for chips and snacks, you and Hoseok tread lightly, guns cocked and hands steady, your ears straining to hear any off-beat step as you get deeper into the store. Somewhere across the room, you know that Jungkook and Jaebeom are doing the same, closing off the larger exit.

It’s four on four, the odds may not be on your favor if it comes down to it but it’s not on theirs entirely either -whoever they are.

The morning light filters through the broken glass windows and reflects on your gun as you step forward to the large space at the end of the aisle. At the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook, -free of that girl hanging off his arm- tilt his head towards the large freezer ahead of you.

Behind him, Jaebeom moves to the right, taking position for a surprise attack while you three continue to advance. The freezer’s door is slightly ajar and you could almost make out the conversation and the shadows moving about inside. There’s unfettered laughter and guffaws, pulling you into a false sense of familiarity.

That laugh…

You were so in your head that your next step crushes a stray glass and echoes in the store. For a moment, it rings in the air, suspended like Hoseok freezing to look at you, before suddenly everything just- drops.

Out the door, someone tackles you to the ground, grabbing your gun and tossing it under the shelves. Your head bounces against the tiles and it steals your breath in pain but without missing a beat, you drive the heel of your palm to the man’s chin, hard enough to unbalance him off your waist.

The man rolls to the side and tries to grab your foot before you break free and kicks it to his face. With satisfaction, you hear him grunt in pain before grabbing at you again.

To the side, you see Hoseok trying to reach you, his gun similarly tossed away by the paler and taller man clutching his shoulder, slumped against a turned over cart. You’re ears are ringing, and you might’ve hit your head but vaguely you could hear someone punching someone at the other side of the aisle.

Everything happens so fast - and ends so quickly.

Your vision clears up as a cock of a gun rings clear, pausing everyone’s movements.

In front of you is a face you’d never thought you’d see again. He’s darker, with what seems to be a permanent five o’clock shadow on his jaw, but his eyes light up at the sight of you and a smile stretches on his lips, his hands up but uncaring of Jaebeom’s gun against his head.

“Y/N, long time no see.”

You gasp, frozen on the floor. “Jackson.”

End Notes: Hearts are appreciated but comments are gold. Let me know what you think and if you want to be included in a tag list!

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novelconcepts · 4 years

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fic: the thing about gravity

The thing about gravity is...

Well, the thing about gravity is, it’s inescapable, isn’t it? By definition. Gravity: noun. The force that attracts a body toward the center of the earth, or toward any other physical body having mass. You don’t fight gravity. You plan for it, or plan around it; you don’t fight.

The thing about gravity is, it doesn’t let go just because its convenient. It doesn’t let go because time marches onward, because the seasons change, even in the event a person wants it to.

The thing about gravity, Jamie sometimes thinks--more and more, if she’s honest with herself, as the years roll by and the memories grow thinner--is in its inevitability.

Maybe this wasn’t what Dani would have wanted. Maybe not. But there’s something about it Jamie hasn’t been able to let go of. Not the year Dani left her. Not the year after that. Not sitting at Flora’s wedding, regaling a room of mostly-strangers with the tale of their life together.

Not now.

There’s a lot in life a person chooses, thinks Jamie, watching herself move around the bathroom in a mirror scrubbed clean as ever. Her hands are precise, her motions certain; if they tremble upon the toothbrush, the lipstick, the washcloth, it’s nothing of alarm. Nothing of note. Just part and parcel of moving forward through the years.

Moving forward, as it were, alone.

She hates that word, Jamie does. Alone. Didn’t use to. Used to be, alone suited her just fine. Maybe better than anything else. Alone left no room for other people’s manipulations, for sharp words or hot water spilled on soft skin. Alone could allow for accidents, but not embarrassments. Not shame. Just the art of learning the next path forward on your own time.

And then came blue eyes, thumbs tucked into fists, a brandished fire poker. An adoration Jamie had never before thought she needed. A kiss in a greenhouse, watched by ghosts.

She wouldn’t trade any of it, even now. Not an inch of what she was able to buy, borrow, and steal with Dani. It was theirs--the messy nights, the languid mornings, the hot tears, the tight embraces. It was theirs, every fern and ficus, every flower, every burned stew and perfect, beautiful laugh. She didn’t get enough time with Dani--Christ, could anything ever be enough, with Dani?--but she knows it was more than they were promised. More than anyone’s promised. She’s grateful, as the lines spring up around her eyes, drawing webs of exhaustion into her skin. She’s grateful, as the strength seeps out of her knees and her hands begin to ache in the cold. She’s so goddamn grateful.

And still. Still, that pull. Because gravity doesn’t fade with time. Gravity doesn’t release simply because other people say it should.

In a way, Jamie finds this reassuring. This one thing, this one immutable fact of reality. Even as Miles raises sons of his own, as Flora develops a line of children’s dolls far more advanced than anything she grafted as child, as Owen begins preparing to pass his restaurant down to those younger and more spry. Henry’s gone now, long gone, and Jamie sometimes wonders if he felt it, near the end. If the pull tugged at his trouser leg in those last moments like an errant child.

Probably not. Henry had his own kind of gravity, didn’t he, made up of those kids and their parents and their bundled-up tragedy. Wasn’t like this. Wasn’t like this at all. She hopes he was happy when he went in his sleep, buoyed on soft dreams of a lost lover’s caress. Hopes he left those kids knowing they’d made it through all the shadows and into the sunlight on the other side.

Owen laughs a lot, when they see each other, about who’s likely to go next. He thinks it’ll be him. She asks him once what he believes he’ll see on the other side, and he’s silent for a long stretch. Long enough for her to know his kind of gravity hasn’t let go, either.

“She’d want to be,” he says quietly, gesturing toward the ceiling of his flat. “You know. Up there.”

“If anyone could get in,” Jamie mutters, and they’re both grinning. He’s regrown his mustache, a fit of youthful pique that makes her feel like they’re both thirty again. She reaches up, almost expecting to find soil caked into her hair.

“I’ve never known what to believe,” he says. “Not the way she did, not with any kind of...faith. But I like to think we get back what we put in. That if she believed she’d go to heaven, to her Heaven, then that’s what she got.”

Jamie waits. She knows him too well, knows he’s getting around to it. And, after another thoughtful sip of wine, he does.

“I don’t know what to believe,” he repeats, and there's the faintest tremor in his voice. “But I know what I would love. I hope...I hope she’s left a place for me. In whatever way you can.”

Jamie reaches over, squeezes his hand. He presses the other to his eyes, inhales deeply.

“Well,” she says at last, “you’ll have to ring me when you find out. I plan to beat you there.”

And they laugh, laugh like old times, like bulky jackets in the rain and spitting bonfires and cake that maybe needs strawberry, maybe needs lemon. They laugh, him believing she’s joking, her knowing she isn’t.

Fact is, with some kinds of gravity, you can feel it. Tugging at your clothes. Whispering around your hair with the breeze. Guiding you forward like a soft hand at the small of your back. Maybe not everyone is granted this kind of luxury, but Jamie thinks Dani was. Thinks it explains everything, really.

And hasn’t she been smelling Dani more and more, after all these years? Not just when she stumbles upon an old package in the back of the closet, a shirt she somehow missed after all this time, but just...sitting. Just sitting with a book, or waking in the night with the sensation of an arm around her waist. It’ll come without warning, a hint of Dani, and then gone.

And hasn’t she been hearing Dani, in the strangest of ways? A snatch of song hummed from a lifetime away. A single peal of that deliriously-breathless laughter. A sigh, the way she only sighed when Jamie kissed her collarbone. Never for any reason she can clarify, never from something so lucky as a tape or a video, just...a signal. Brief. Echoing.

It’s madness, she thinks at first, and then, slowly...no. Not madness. Memory. Memory returning, a little stronger, a little clearer, every year. As if some great cosmic force is actually funneling Dani back to her, instead of clearing out the last of the cobwebs.

A gift. The greatest gift. She can’t say whether she’s earned it, and she certainly isn’t going to try explaining it to anyone else, but...

She wakes one morning, and thinks, is this how she felt? Is this how she knew? There was a note when Dani went, a single page dictated in her slightly-slanted script. Not an explanation or an excuse; simply I love you, and I loved you, and I will love you. There will be other nights, Jamie. Live.

And Jamie did, she thinks with a stab of impatience even now. Jamie did live. For years, for decades, she’s gone on without that smile. Without having Dani there on the other end of the phone, without Dani’s hands on her hips when they danced, without Dani’s ring clinking lightly against her own as they bumped hands across a dinner table. Without Dani, she crawled out of bed each morning and walked through another day. And another. And another. She attended weddings and funerals without Dani; held Miles’ son without Dani; hugged Flora tight as she wept over some accident or other without Dani. She walked the world and she hurt and she cried and she lived without Dani.

And now...

Now, that old gravity. Coming to call.

It isn’t a bad thing, Jamie thinks all the way over on the plane. She’s a picture of parallel storytelling, dressed in her oldest brown flannel shirt, a pair of jeans with holes in the knees, a pair of Converse high-tops that never quite fit right again after a trip into a lake. Her back is bowed, and her hip clicks when she walks from the taxi up the winding drive. It’s not the same, exactly, as last time.

In a way, that’s the greatest mercy. She never could have done this, if she’d thought she’d walk that same path as the same woman who did it so many years ago. The path is the same, perhaps, but the woman is changed. The woman has learned so much about what it is to live in a world that doesn’t have Dani Clayton in it.

She doesn't go to the lake. She goes instead to the house, to whose front door Miles has so kindly granted her a key. He thinks she’s after pure nostalgia, searching for monsters or memories he doesn’t even know he’s missing. Just an old woman, trying to tie her life together with an attractive bow.

Bless him. He doesn’t need to understand this. If any of them ever do put it together, it will be Owen, and Owen alone. She thinks he might be a little upset with her, but not unforgiving. She thinks, if it had been Hannah, he’d do the same thing.

Bly yawns open to her, a great good place brimming over with great complicated history. She walks its rooms slowly, hands brushing over tables and wallpaper and the spot where she always leaned her hip and tossed chopped vegetables into Flora’s hair. She remembers: fixing this lamp, retiling this bathroom, sweeping this front hall. This was hers, before she ever thought to have anything else. A great good place to keep safe and sane.

The kitchen is hard. Upstairs is harder. Her knees creak, and she has to pause for breath before laying her hand on that doorknob. She tells herself it’s old lungs, too many cigarettes, too little clean country air. She tells herself it’s anything except the truth.

For moment, she’s granted one of those gifts. A windfall of blonde hair on the pillowcase, a bare shoulder, a single freckle she’d gone nearly wild upon finding on otherwise clear skin. She closes her eyes, breathes in the stale air of a room gone unused for decades, and thinks it might be the moment right here and now. That fist of gravity, tightening like a reflex around her heart.

But, no. Not yet. There’s one place, one more sight to see.

The sun is nearly set by the time she reaches the greenhouse. She leans her weight against the doorframe, peering inside. It hurts her a little, to see the chaos that has unfurled in her absence. Miles is a good man, but he’s never been much for plants, for quiet cultivation, for long stretches of silence alone in a humid space. Without Jamie’s tending, the life in this room has sprung up in all the wrong places, gone absolutely bananas in all the wrong ways. It isn’t pretty, it isn’t neat, and she almost hates it.

Organic, she thinks wryly, tapping a fist once, twice, against the doorframe. It’s all just bloody organic, and who am I to try to prune any of it now?

She walks the room like she walked the house, slow, methodical. Tipped-over planters, she sets to rights. Weeds gone feral, she brushes her fingertips across. It’s not pretty in here, but it is most certainly alive. More alive than it ever was in her care, maybe. There’s something to that.

A blanket is still spread across the little sofa she used to nap on when the days got especially hot and lazy. She settles herself in, drapes the musty plaid over her lap, leans back against the arm. If she squints, she can almost see another frame wedged in beside her, stiff and trying not to take up too much space.

Oy. Dead boyfriend. It’s over.

It’s a laugh that tastes more like a sob--just one of those dumb little things, one of many that still can set her off at a moment’s notice, and is it still called a haunting if you wouldn’t give it up for the world?--and she bites into her knuckles to muffle the sound. The sky outside has gone a rolling purple, nearly at day’s end. It was a nice sunset, she thinks. A good send-off.

When they find her--when Miles finds her, to be most specific--they’ll think this is how the story ends. An old woman in a greenhouse, asleep. An old woman in a greenhouse, enveloped in endless dream. Miles will cry. He will hoist her into his arms, stand with her the way she once could stand with him on a long night spent dozing by the fireplace, and he will carry her with all the tenderness a ten-year-old boy can never manage.

It will be a fitting end, for the gardener.

It will not be the last of Jamie Clayton.

When she wakes next, the arthritis in her hands has gone. Her knees bend--a bit of resistance, perhaps, but nothing insurmountable. Her eyes peer through the shadows with a keen awareness she’s almost forgotten.

The ring on her finger gleams--not the tarnished luster of decades’ wear, but like the first time Dani slid it over the knuckle, brought it to her lips, baptized it with a nervous breath. She touches it lightly. Glances back over her shoulder at the old woman beneath her thin blanket. Takes a good, long look to cement gravity’s hold.

Live, she thinks, god, yes, Dani. I lived. And when all was said and done, wasn’t I always going to choose you? Wasn’t I always going to come home?

And here, the part of the story she’s been afraid to flip to all these years. The part she can’t plan for. Can’t spin into something fairy-tale or ghostly. It simply is, simply will be, and whatever happens now, Jamie’s stuck into it. Jamie is in the grip of gravity, as she’d always sort of thought she might be.

A soft rap, knuckles--or a mug--against the greenhouse door. Jamie closes her eyes. Can’t quite bring herself to turn, not yet.

Even if, she tells herself. Even if it isn’t right. Even if those eyes aren’t hers. Even if those eyes aren’t there at all.

“Seems an awful long way,” a voice says, mildly amused, “to not even say hello.”

The strength goes out of her all at once, even as she’s spinning, even as her hands are reaching, and Owen was right. Owen was righter than he’ll ever know. It’s what you believe, it’s what you need, it’s what you hope in every stupid aching molecule because sometimes, sometimes the world is not so random and cruel.

Dani could have stepped out of that night, her sweater tucked down past her wrists, her hair pulled back out of her face, and her face. As bright and shining with possibility as ever Jamie remembers. Her eyes, blue as the summer sky. Her lips, finding Jamie’s like there wasn’t so much as a day gone without.

“Didn’t know,” Jamie realizes she’s gasping. “Didn’t know if it would--if you would--”

Dani presses into her forehead, nose nuzzling gently, lips stealing her breath. A ghost story in the flesh--and yet, somehow, a fairy-tale, too. A woman, and a memory, and a heartbeat made of something so precious, Jamie’s sure she isn't worthy.

“You cheated,” Dani says, laughing into the side of her face, kissing everywhere she can reach. “You weren’t meant to follow me.”

She doesn’t sound angry. She sounds as in love as she was the night she tried to coax Jamie into just one more kiss in that hallway.

“You asked me to come back,” Jamie reminds her, hands anchored around Dani’s back, feeling young and strong and better than the last few decades could dream. “You asked me to stay.”

Gravity’s like that. Gravity’s bigger than one person’s selfless heart, bigger than one person’s desperation. Gravity pulls, and maybe it takes time--maybe all things have their time, their place, their two months of blossom for every plant--but, eventually, gravity always wins out. And Jamie could ask questions: how it all works, why Dani’s still Dani, how much of it they’ll remember as the time slips away into nothing. She could make a story out of it.

Instead, she pulls Dani close, winds the fingers of her left hand with the fingers of Dani’s right, and thinks every ghost story needs an ending like this. An ending steeped in love, in mystery, in shadow, in forever.

The thing about gravity is, no matter how long it takes, it always pulls you toward home.

#the haunting of bly manor #the haunting of bly manor spoilers #fanfiction #dani x jamie #jamie x dani #all right look it's not like I'm going to be banging one of these out every night (probably)#but sometimes it just lives in my head and needs to leave #had an ask once that's been begging to be expanded on ever since #also oops made myself cry with this one

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ladyreapermc · 4 years

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Fic: Your Move (Chibs x fem!Reader)

A/N: Unsuprisingly, I’m writing for SoA. It was just a matter of time until this new obsession caught up with me. This is my first attempt to write an accent phonetically, so I apologize in advance for the mess.

I also wanna thank @toomanystoriessolittletime and @penwieldingdreamer for beta’ing this for me and @ly--canthrope @wishuhadstayed and @chibsytelford for welcoming me to the SoA fam and encouraging me to write for it.

Summary: When you returned to Charming after your father passed away, you planned to only stay long enough to settle his affairs, but memories of the past and the prospect of a certain Scot in your future made you stay longer than planned.

Wordcount: 4,5K

Warnings: mentions of alcohol and inebriation and that’s it.

You knew the Sons of course.

There was no way to live in Charming your entire life and not know about them or at least some of them. You went to school with Jax and Opie and you remembered having such a crush on them, like most girls your age. They were the cool guys with their air of danger and the prospect leather cuts they wore every single day.

Your father warned you to stay away from them, as most parents would. The thing about the Sons was that they were a necessary evil to your small town, but it didn’t make them any less dangerous. Your father made sure to steer clear of them unless he absolutely needed it. You watched him seek out Clay Morrow once in a while if there was a problem in the diner, but it always pained him so much to do so.

You could see in his eyes, the exhaustion and barely contained shame whenever he had to have a sit down with the President of the MC. Always at the diner because he refused to go anywhere near the Teller-Morrow Garage.

He invested every cent he had to make sure you had a good education and could leave Charming for good. Do something he could never do in his own life and you appreciated that with all your heart but once he passed away and you had to come back to settle his affairs, sell the diner and the house and everything else, you found yourself caught up in the memories and the charms of the small town.

Everyone seemed to know you. Sometimes by name, most times as Allan’s kid. They paid their respects at the funeral, even the MC. You saw Gemma and Jax at the back and when your eyes caught the bright blue of the man Jackson had become, his lips tilting into a small, sympathetic smile in your direction, you didn’t feel the same butterflies as you used to when you were a teen.

He and his mother came closer after everyone else was gone. He still had that same sad smile placed in his face as Gemma pulled you into a hug that you didn’t really feel comfortable with, but didn’t know how to refuse.

“Allan was such a good man,” she said, pressing a kiss to your cheek and you could feel the lipstick imprint Gemma left behind. “Anything you need, sweetheart, just give us a call.” She handed you a Teller-Morrow business card, her number scribbled on the back.

“Thank you.” You nodded as they stepped away letting you go back to your grieving.

The diner was quick to sell. Your father, once he got sick, already found a buyer on call, you just needed to finalize the deal. The house was harder to do so. Not because you didn’t have people interested in it but because you couldn’t bring yourself to put it on the market. Not when there were so many childhood memories in it. This was the house you grew up in, where your father raised you to be the woman you were now. It was hard to let go of that, so you found yourself searching for reasons to delay your departure.

Separating possessions that would stay, be donated, sold, or thrown away. You started doing small repairs around the house, just like your father taught you because he wanted you to be as independent as possible. Taking off old, worn-out carpets and wallpapers, fixing the yard and clogged pipes, and closing off holes in the plaster walls.

Before long, a month had passed and you were still in Charming, only making weekend trips back to your apartment to bring more of the essentials with you. Even your cat had found residence in your father’s house, taking long naps in the porch bench, apparently much more comfortable with the small-town life than you expected.

Still, you had a hard time admitting that you didn’t intend to leave any time soon. Being in the house was a constant reminder that your father never wanted this life for you but at the same time, after spending the last 10 and something years in a big city, you had never felt more at home than when you got back here.

You were even painting again, something you haven’t done since you settled for a career as an art teacher. You were even more surprised when you opened up the yard sale and a couple of people ventured into the garage while you were distracted and asked about your paintings.

“They’re not really for sale,” you replied to a woman around your age, her dark hair falling over her shoulders in waves and she was so familiar, but you couldn’t place her in your memory.

“You should really think about selling them. Maybe even opening a gallery? They’re gorgeous.”

Her words stayed with you after the sale was done because it had always been your dream but in a big city, renting space was expensive and there were tons of small art galleries other there. It was hard to compete. In a town like Charming? It would be a place one of a kind.

The next morning, you found a small store for rent in the main street as you walked through the wide-open space, the morning bright light filtering through the half-closed blinds from the window, you could already see your works hanging around, the small counter with the cash register to the left and the backspace for your studio so you could work during slow days.

“I’ll take it.” The words were out before you could even think it through but once they passed your lips, you knew they were the right thing to do. You just needed officially move back to your hometown after so long away.

You took a week to go back to the city, pack up your belongings, and put in the moving truck. A few boxes of more personal stuff you loaded in your own battered old Chevy to bring with you on the drive back.

The car gave out in the middle of the night, still on the highway, miles away from Charming. The engine coughing and spluttering but refusing to start, no matter how many times you spun the key in the ignition. You had to settle for your fate and call a toll truck.

It was almost like destiny that when you pull out your phone from your pocket, the TM card fell out too and you didn’t even realize it had been there all this time. Gemma’s number in pen was washed out but the printed one for the garage was still visible so you dialed it. It wasn’t like you had another garage’s number on speed dial.

You waited at the side of the road for about 50 minutes until the headlights of the toll truck lightened up the night before pulling by your car and you couldn’t help the nervous flips of your stomach as the man stepped out of the car, in tight jeans and leather cut. His longish dark hair combed back, peppered with grey strands at his forehead and the goatee gave him such a distinguished look that you had a hard time not staring. You couldn’t remember the last time you were this attracted to someone at first sight.

“Ye called for a toll, lass?” he asked in a smooth drawl and thick accent that made shivers run down your spine, and for a second you couldn’t find your words.

“Uh… yeah, yes. I did,” you finally managed, glancing back to your car. Seemed to be the safest thing to do. “The old piece of junk died on me. Sorry for the hour.”

“No problem,” he waved off your apology, setting up to get your car secured in the back of the truck, before opening the door for you. “Come on, I give ye a lift.”

He helped you into the truck’s cabin, taking your hand in his gloved one like a perfect gentleman and closing the door behind you before he got behind the wheel and started the engine.

“Thank you so much, mister…”

“Nah, lassie. No mister required,” he offered you a soft smile and from this close, you could see the pale line of the scar in his cheek. “Chibs is fine.”

“Alright. thank you, Chibs,” you replied smiling too as he pulled into the road and turned the radio into a classic rock station.

You remained in silence for most of the ride, sneaking glances at the man next to you. Had he been in Charming all those years ago? Before you left? Why didn’t you remember him? How many times had you seen the Sons riding through the main street in their Harleys and leather cuts? You would probably have seen him before. Then again, back then your eyes tended to seek out Jax’s slender form due to your stupid teen crush. Maybe that was why you missed him.

“Mind if I smoke?” Chibs asked, startling you out of your thoughts.

You shook your head, feeling the heat of embarrassment burning your face as you tried to ignore the way his lips closed around the cigarette and how his long fingers operated the lighter.

The flame lit up his face for a brief second, reflected in his deep, dark eyes and you had to look away, clearing your throat. You never felt this awkward and uncertain in the presence of man, so you raked your brain for something to break the tense silence.

“Why Chibs?” You blurted out before you could stop yourself and he chuckled, the sound low and husky and it went straight to your center, making you press your legs together as discreetly as you could.

“It a Scottish slang,” he started, glancing your way as he took a deep drag of his cigarette. “For knife.”

“Oh,” you replied dumbly, mulling over his words. “Because of…?” Unconsciously, you reached for your cheek and froze in shock at your own insensitive action. “Oh shit! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean…”

“It’s alright, love,” he chuckled again as he slowed down the truck and you didn’t even notice he was dropping you off at home until you recognized the construction in front of you. “I dinna mind. And yes, that’s why. Bu’ Filip works too.”

“Thank you, Filip,” you spoke softly, meeting his eyes and he smiled around his smoke and nodded. “I’ll drop by TM tomorrow morning to settle everything?”

“Aye. I’ll let Gem know.”

You hesitated to step out of the truck, and you didn’t even know why. You just didn’t want to leave. Not yet, but there was no reason to stay. So you resigned with doing what needed to be done and watching as he drove away before finally getting inside the house.

Next morning, you took your dad’s old Jeep – and how lucky it was that you hadn’t sold it just yet – and headed to TM to settle payment for the toll and get the cost for the work.

While Gemma was ruffling through some papers trying to find your invoice, you let your gaze wander through the open side door towards the garage, noticing the men in overalls talking and joking while working.

“He’s not here,” Gemma said, startling you to turn back and meet her narrowed eyes. You wondered how she could possibly know. “Jax.”

“Oh!” Relief washed over you and you managed a timid smile. “I wasn’t…”

“And he’s back with Tara.”

There was a clear warning in her tone, almost as if saying you shouldn’t dare to try and intervene between the couple, not that you would want to. She finally handed you the paper so you could sign it, authorizing the service.

“How soon can I expect the car?”

“Maybe a week? Might be more,” Gemma replied, pulling the paper back and giving you a long look. “There were some boxes in the truck… You’re uh, staying in Charming, then?”

“Yeah…” it was the first time you said it out loud and it felt almost like a confession. “I am. The moving truck should be arriving soon so can I drop by later to pick them up?”

“I’ll get one of the prospects to bring them to you,” the older woman declared after an assessing look. Like she was measuring you up, making sure if you were worthy of her town.

You just offered a quick thanks and headed off, resisting the urge to glance behind your shoulder at the men working on the cars or the side building that housed the club. Even if you could feel the baby hairs in your nape prickling due to an intense gaze at your back. If it was Gemma or someone else, you didn’t find out.

The entire thing slipped from your mind by the time you got home and found the moving truck already waiting for you. The rest of your day was spent moving boxes and furniture to their designated spaces, making sure the movers didn’t break anything with their careless demeanors.

It was late afternoon when they finally brought everything in and took off, leaving you to sort out the mess. Just the sight of scattered boxes all through the wooden floor of the two-store house was enough to make you regret your decision. It would take you days to get everything in order and that on top of making sure your gallery was up and running too.

“Better get to it,” you whispered to yourself, tuning in the radio and letting the melodic beats of Pat Benatar set the tone for your work. And if you sang along and danced around the house through it all, well there wasn’t anyone around to see it, even if no curtains were covering the windows just yet.

The knock on the door made you jump midway through setting the cutlery in place and you lowered the radio before making your way through the maze of boxes, your lips tugging into a surprised smile when you found Chibs standing outside, cigarette in his mouth, sunglasses covering his eyes.

“Hia, lass. Gem asked me to deliver some boxes?” he explained, and you smirked, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over your chest as you examined the biker in front of you.

“Gemma asked you?” you repeated, brow arched. “Sounds more like a prospect job…”

“Might ‘ave volunteered,” Chibs admitted, his smirk matching yours. “Memory’s a little fuzzy on the details.”

With a chuckle, you stepped aside to let him in offering quick instructions of where to put the boxes while you watch him move around. This time, there was no leather jacket below his cut, only a sleeveless shirt, and you could appreciate the flexing of his muscles and the ink adorning his skin as Chibs worked.

“That’s the last one,” he said, setting the box down by the door and meeting your gaze.

“Thank you. I really appreciate the help.”

He waved off your gratitude and silence fell over the two of you, thick and heavy like a blanket of all the things unsaid. In your brightly lid living room, you could properly see Chibs’ face and his dark eyes watching you as if waiting for something, a sign maybe, but you didn’t know what to do. Had you always been so bad at this? Or was just his presence that seemed to strip you from all functional reasoning?

“I, uh…” you looked around, searching for what to say or do. “Wanna drink?”

“Sure.”

Chibs followed you into the kitchen and you were very aware of his presence behind you like a shadow as you stopped by the fridge, pulling out two beers and offering him one. You drank in silence, watching one another and you wished you could explain why this felt so strange. You wished you could make the tension and awkwardness fade away, but you didn’t really know how and Chibs didn’t seem inclined to help.

Then again, he did take the first step, coming all the way here with your boxes to see you and he wasn’t even trying to hide or deny it. It was your move but just his mere presence made you freeze and you didn’t know what to do, how to show him you were glad he came and wanted him to stay a little longer.

All you could do was watch him, the way his lips fit around the tan glass of the bottle as he took a gulp of the drink, his throat working as he swallowed. You wondered if Chibs knew how effortlessly sexy he was. How just having him leaning against the counter watching you with that heavy-lidded gaze was enough to make your knees weak and your breath speed up.

“I should head off,” he finally broke the silence, setting his empty bottle on the counter and you felt your heart sink. “Get out of yer hair…”

“Right…” you followed him to the door, hands in your pockets. “Thanks again.”

“No problem, love.” Chibs paused outside, his eyes lingering on you. “Ye know, the clubhouse has a bar. Ye could stop by some time.”

“Yeah,” you hurried to say with a nervous smile. You almost thought he had given up on you but here he was, throwing you a line. “Sure.”

“Good,” he smiled too. “‘Night, love.”

You watched once again Chibs driving off from your place until he disappeared around the corner before you stepped back inside, leaning against the closed door. It was your move and knew. You just had to figure out a way to actually take that step.

A week passed since Chibs’ invitation and you had yet to find the courage to meet him at the clubhouse. At first, you told yourself it was because of the move. You were busy getting the house in shape and then your gallery but you knew you were lying to yourself.

You were just afraid. Torn between wanting to learn a little more about the mysterious Scot that didn’t seem to leave your mind and knowing that going there, getting mixed with the Sons was getting yourself involved with a crowd your father worked so hard to keep you away from. Those two sides seemed to be at war, and you didn’t know what do to.

You knew, however, that the longer you waited, the more you made it clear to Chibs that you might not be interested, even if you were definitely were. So you needed to make a decision. Soon.

When you finally worked up the nerve to go to the clubhouse, you spent hours deliberating on an outfit. You wanted to look good but not like you were trying too hard because you knew what you were going to find there.

Several of your high school friends had sneaked in at some point to check out the Sons’ official hangout and report back. You knew there would be the club members, of course, and other friends, but most importantly, there would be other women, croweaters.

The expression always made you grimace in distaste, the implications clear in the pejorative tone used and it made you stop and consider if you weren’t exactly like them, chasing away a biker you knew nothing about.

The thought was almost enough to make you give up, turn around and go back to your car but you were already there at the garage, might as well bite the bullet and do this. With a deep breath, you crossed the parking lot, the heel of your boots crunching the cement as you walked toward the clubhouse, hands in the pockets of your jacket, out of sight so no one could see them tremble with your apprehension.

When you walked into the smoky room, you were almost expecting to see all eyes on you, the outsider in their territory, but no one paid you any attention as you surveyed the space, searching for Chibs. He was nowhere in sight and the longer you stood there, awkward and afraid, the urge to flee grew in your chest. You shouldn’t even have come.

Turning around to walk out, you ran straight into the solid chest of the man you came here to find. Chibs held you steady with a hand on your elbow, watching you with curious eyes.

“Leavin’ so soon, lass?” he asked, his voice a smooth drawl and it set your body on edge, in a good way.

“Yeah, I, uh,” you glanced around at people dancing and drinking and making out in front of everyone, verging on indecent exposure. “Didn’t really seem like I belonged.”

“Give it a chance, love,” he said with a smirk and offering you a hand. “Ye might actually enjoy yerself. How ‘bout a drink?”

“Ok,” you accepted after a moment’s hesitation, taking Chibs’ hand and letting him lead you to the bar.

A drink turned into several and before you knew it, you were playing pool against a guy named Tig, barely being able to stay upright but still managing to be the better player of the two of you to Chibs’ great amusement and loud heckling.

“You’re sure he’s not just letting me win?” You asked Chibs as he brought you another shot of whiskey, chuckling as you winced and pulled a face after downing it the shot. You had just won yet another round against Tig and his annoyed, barely conscious face was very amusing.

“‘M surprised he managin’ to hold on to his cue,” he commented as he took your cue and handed it over to the first person around. “How ‘bout some air? Sober ye up a bit?”

Chibs led you into the cold night air of the yard and to the picnic tables outside. Out there, you two were completely alone except for the stars and the random passing car but it was late enough that the town was mostly silent, the only sounds coming from inside the clubhouse, the music leaking out muffled due to the soundproof walls.

There were just the two of you, sitting side by side as Chibs lid a cigarette, and before he could even take a drag, you snatched out of his lips, bringing it to your own, making him smirk. The alcohol had dissolved most of your reservations, leaving only you desire for the man next to you.

“Bigge’ men 'ave lost fingers stealin’ ma smoke, lass,” Chibs commented, turning his body towards you.

“Good thing, I’m just a little lass, then,” you teased, trying to mimic his Scottish drawl as you shifted your position until you were straddling the bench and facing him.

“Wee lassie,” he corrected, watching intently as you took a drag of his cigarette and puffed out the smoke.

You liked this, being alone with Chibs. Having his dark eyes focused on you and only you. Being close enough that you could smell the whiskey, leather, and the heady sweat of his skin. Feel the heat of his body. You reached over to trail the black Reaper etched on his biceps, daring to touch without asking permission first.

As Chibs allowed the touch, you grew bolder and moved closer, letting your fingers travel higher, over his shoulder and on his neck, until your thumb brushed his jaw and cheek, touching the rough stubble beginning to grow there.

His own palm had settled over your clothed thigh, large and hot, making you acutely aware of how close you two were and how it would barely take a move for your lips to find his. You wanted that more than anything. Chibs had to know that, right? He had to see it in your eyes.

“Ye should head home, lass,” he said instead, pulling away from you and you felt the loss of his heat. “'t’s gettin’ late.” Then you felt the burning shame as he refused to look at you.

“Yes,” you croaked, eyes darting around at anything other than him. “You’re right.”

You had put yourself out there for this man and he was shipping you off like unwanted cargo. You didn’t even know why.

“I’ll get one of the prospects to drive ye, just…”

“It’s fine,” you didn’t let Chibs finish, getting to your feet and stepping back. “I brought my Jeep. I can drive myself.”

You walked away before he could say anything else because you could feel the familiar lump in your throat and the burning behind your lids. The last thing you wanted was to cry in front of him. You already made a fool out of yourself enough for one night.

You were almost at the car when you stumbled on your own feet. Fortunately, you never met the ground as a strong arm surrounded your waist, keeping you upright and pressed against his strong chest. You could feel his breath tickling your nape as both of you stood there, neither daring to move.

“If I ‘ere a good man, I’d let ye walk away,” Chibs sighed and you sagged against his warmth, letting him inhale your scent on your neck before you turned around to face him, hands resting against his chest.

“Maybe I don’t want you to be a good man,” you whispered, looking up at him. “Maybe I just want you to kiss me.”

His lips were softer than you expected, just a gentle press against yours the whiskers of his goatee tickling your skin. It was almost as if Chibs weren’t really sure if he should do this. Like he was giving you the chance to pull away and change your mind.

Your fisted his vest, pushing closer to him, pressing harder against his lips in search of more. Letting your own lips part in invitation and soon enough, his tongue was exploring your mouth, tangling with yours, bringing forth the taste of whiskey, nicotine, and something dark and addictive that you could have for the rest of your life.

One hand on your hip, the other on your nape, adjusting the angle of your head so he could better deepen the kiss, Chibs pressed you against the cool metal of your Jeep, his body crowding yours, one of his thighs between your legs as he devoured your mouth.

Everything seemed to fade away then but the taste of his lips and the touch of his hands on your skin, burning a bright fire within you as his calloused hand sneaked under your shirt, exploring your back, his rings catching lightly on your skin, making you shiver as he nipped at your bottom lip and allowed you a second for breath.

“Go home,” Chibs grumbled, his lids even heavier than usual as he peered at you with what you could only describe as bedroom eyes. “Before ye do somethin’ ye might regret at the light of day and without the haze of alcohol.”

You paused, considering his words, licking your lips as if to chase the aftertaste of his kiss.

“And if come tomorrow morning, stone-cold sober, I still want this?”

“Ye know where to find me.” Chibs let his lips brushed over yours one last time, just a small temptation of what he could offer before he took a step back and pulled the car door open for you. “‘Night, lass.”

“Good night, Filip.”

xxx

#sons of anarchy #chibs telford #chibs telford x reader #chibs telford x you #sons of anarchy fanfic

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