#if you get the rice paper joke i love you

[sardonicfactory]

when i'm sad i make merch mockups for my s/i and i gotta say that katharina funko pop is one of the most blursed things i've ever drawn

#oc: katharina josephine #s/i #self insert #naruto #my art #if they can sell kids an execution blade i can sell them a freaking bowie knife w a serrated edge #if you get the rice paper joke i love you

[gabessquishytum]

Hob is happy serving up good food and feeding people comfort food from his truck -- he's not looking to be famous; Dream is a Michelin star judge who stumbles upon his truck and loves his food.

Dream is used to liking small portion tasting menus with ingredients sourced from yurts or dug up during an irregular moon cycle. Comfort food that "sticks to your bones" is not what Dream eats, even when he needs comfort!

Dream stumbles on this food truck when he gets lost looking for his car after having a forgettable meal at the hot new speakeasy concept that recently opened.

Eating/tasting is a job and Dream is so tired of his function. So when he hears music and people having fun, Dream figures he can at least ask someone where he is and/or get his bearings. What he see when he rounds the corner are people queued up at a funky painted food truck -- laughing, joking?! with someone who is making his food safety hair net look good, and happily eating. The smell hits Dream in the face -- it's so good.

When Dream makes it to the counter, he forgets that he needs directions, hot chef hairnet, is so pretty - engaging smile, the stereotypical tattoos on his forearms, soft doe eyes -- Dream is momentarily speechless. When the chef ask him what he wants, Dream says surprise me (the same Dream who always has a plan when he's eating for his job); he gets a roguish smile and a wink,,,,, and falls a little in love.

Then he tries the food he's handed falls all the way in love.

Oh, this hit me right in the soft spot!! Absolutely love it.

I can so imagine Dream being used to those nouveau cuisine dishes where you get like, a sliver of horseradish, one grain of rice and a sauce made from gold leaf. He thinks that he likes it, that he's reasonably content. But he's never looked at one of those kind of plates and smiled. Not the way he's smiling at the loaded paper plate Hot Hair Net chef just gave him.

He sits a little way from the truck and eats, slowly, carefully. There's pilau rice, delicious curry, veggies that are clearly fresh. Its warm and filling, and Dream can't quite finish it all. But he's still smiling.

And he still doesn't know where his car is. So he goes to the counter again. The gorgeous chef seems to be packing up for the day and he positively beams at Dream. "Back already? I was hoping I'd get a chance to feed you up, but I didn't think it'd be so soon."

Dream blushes and asks for directions, and Hob says that if Dream can wait a minute, he'll walk there with him. His car is over that way too. While Hob packs up, Dream dares to ask about his ingredients, and Hob absolutely lights up while he talks about where he sources his fresh stuff, how much he values his suppliers, and how excited he is to keep building his business. He's got dreams of a restaurant someday, although he dearly loves his truck - maybe he'll do both!

By the time Hob helps him find his car, Dream is absolutely ready to give his heart and soul over on a paper plate. There are spices zinging on his tongue, and Hob has taken off his hair net to reveal an adorable, sexy little man-bun. He's got measuring spoon tattoos on his hands. Dream wants him.

He's back the next day. And the next. He's driving out of his way to get to Hob. Nothing else tastes good. And when he finally, shyly asks if Hob would like to come over for dinner sometime, Hob lights up. "It's about time you cooked for me! I'd love it. And... I'll bring dessert."

When Hob winks at Dream this time, he follows it up with a kiss on the cheek. And Dream’s not hungry anymore. He's just thirsty 😉

#the sandman #dreamling #cw food

[butmakeitgayblog]

for the reverse trope writing: divorce of convenience (something new or an au of your choice, both sound fun!)

Her eyes watch as the ink bleeds slowly into the paper. They watch neat, slanted script combine in the fragmented loops and dashes that make up that achingly familiar signature. X marks the spot. On the dotted line. Not a single scribble out of place; right where the lawyer had highlighted it in garish neon yellow.

Forever and ever.

They were eleven, and it's promising to always be best friends. The kind that stick together through thick and thin. Like white on rice, as their teacher  often said. 

Forever and ever.

They were fifteen, and it's smiling with the awkwardness of young love. The kind that sets fire to racing hearts from a first kiss stolen behind their school's abandoned gymnasium. 

Forever and ever.

They were seventeen, and it's shaking hands that still can't believe they get to touch their best friends that way. The kind of way that makes them both let out hungry sounds and pretty moans in the backseat of her dad's station wagon.

Forever and ever.

They were nineteen, and it's stiff-jawed goodbyes through desperate kisses. The kind rotten with promises that this isn't the end. That it's just a ‘see you later’, but never goodbye. Not for them.

Forever and ever.

They were twenty-eight, and it's handwritten vows and white satin gowns with matching bridal bouquets. The kind that they picked out together to remind them that all this was worth it, that it's finally the day they'd been planning for since their junior year in college. The culmination of sleepless nights and teary phone calls from three states away.

Forever and ever.

They were thirty, and it's whispering in the nursery  of their freshly furnished house, standing wrapped in each other's arms at the edge of an adorably small bassinet. The kind decked out in purple frills with sunshine yellow along the trim, because they'd agreed from the first plus sign to not know the sex. It's fingers running through brown curls carefully enough not to wake their baby up, while watching lashes twitch in dreaming that hide those baby blue eyes. The exact shape and shade that'd had them both wrapped around a tiny pinky from the start. 

Forever and ever.

They are fifty-four, and it's an empty nest that's too quiet in the house that sometimes feels too big. The kind they'd joked about missing for years, but now that it's here, they don't entirely know what to do with it. 

It's medical bills, and denied claims for benefits, and meetings with stuffy lawyers who explain the finer points of income brackets. It's physical therapy visits and losing her job at the hospital and endless prescriptions that never seem to be covered by their insurance. It's everything, and all the time, because life refuses to slow down for even one damn second, despite a hip that simply will not work anymore. 

They are fifty-four, and Clarke never thought she'd be here. That they'd make this kind of choice. Never thought she'd feel quite this stuck. Quite this useless. Never thought she'd be in this situation at all.

But it's clean and it's neat, just the way they like it. A mutual agreement for them both. A fresh start after the accident, one that'll let them move on with their lives, instead of trying to hang on to this thing that only leaves them drowning. 

At least that's what they'd agreed. 

She watches her wife— her ex-wife, dot the i's of her name with an overly dramatic flourish. Watches her click the pen with her thumb and toss it aside with a sigh from deep in her bones.

She smiles and feels her chest squeeze with that familiar pang of deep friendship and love.

“Cheers,” Clarke says, holding up her flute of champagne. 

She'd had to hobble through four different specialty liquor stores just to find it, but it'd felt fitting to toast the signing of their divorce papers with the same bubbly they'd shared on their wedding day.

Lexa picks up her glass and clinks it soundly against hers, only managing the barest sip around a smile of her own. “Cheers, single lady.”

“Mm. This is good.”

“Even better than I remember from the first time,” Lexa agrees as her gaze makes a lazy rake over Clarke's body.

It's not lost on Clarke how ridiculous it is to be blushing over the signed stack of her divorce papers, but something about the way Lexa looks at her has always set her on fire. 

“So,” she tries, casually, setting aside her cane and leaning heavier against the kitchen table, “what are you going to do next?”

Lexa takes another sip of her champagne, watching her closely over the rim. She swallows with a flex of that elegant throat and shuffles closer, sets her glass down on Clarke's other side, effectively boxing her in. 

“Go to Disneyland.”

The sound of Clarke's snort rings through the kitchen. “Smartass.”

“What about you?” Lexa asks with a bite to her lips, hands still bracketing the sides of Clarke's waist and eyes twinkling with mischief. “Any big plans for the future, newly divorced Ms. Griffin?”

Clarke scoffs. “Nice try. But it's still ‘Ms. Griffin-Woods’ to you.”

“Oh? Is that right?”

“Uhuh,” Clarke nods and loops her arms around Lexa's shoulders. “Sorry not sorry, but I'm never giving that one back.”

Lexa hums and presses closer. Paints her body to Clarke's curves and breathes her in the same way she has for forty years. 

“Greedy, but I think I can live with that.”

“Such a hardship. I seem to remember you loving that about me.”

“Among so many things.”

Clarke moans when Lexa's lips find the hollow dip of her neck, relaxing into the wet warmth of a plump, suckling kiss. Champagne has always made Lexa brazenly affectionate. She tips head back to grant more room and sucks in a gasp at the nibble of teeth. Tangles her fingers in greying, brunette hair that only serves to make her bombshell of a wife look that much more distinguished. 

Well. Her ex-wife, that is…

Hands trail down Clarke's hips and wrap tight around her thighs and before she can yelp a single word she's lifted onto the table. 

Lexa lets out a half-laughed grunt when she gets Clarke settled in place, looking equally as amused as she does grateful that the little maneuver actually still worked after so many years.

“You good, baby?” Clarke chuckles along with her, mindlessly going to rub the shoulder that had started being a pain around birthday forty-seven. “Didn't pop anything, did you?”

“No, I'm good, I'm good,” Lexa says, smiling and shaking off her ill-coordinated prowess like the champ that she is. “That just used to be easier.”

“Is that a crack about my weight?”

“More like a crack about me being old.”

“Oh. Well then yeah.”

“Rude,” Lexa gasps, taking the hips in her hands and pulling them closer. Pressing Clarke firmly against her stomach. “There's still giddy up in this old girl, I'll have you know.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“My, my, Ms. Woods—”

“Griffin-Woods,” Lexa's quick to correct. Suddenly serious in how intensely she stares Clarke in the eyes. “You're not getting that back either.”

They share a look because things like this have never required words. Not for them. But with everything and all of it, with the ink still drying on the paper beside them, Clarke gives in to her last bit of worry. 

“You're still my girl,” she whispers. Swallows. Feels a stinging prickle along her eyes at the sudden need to feel this connection with her favorite person in the world. “Even with me, and having to do all this… You know we're still us, right? You're still my girl?”

Clarke melts into the kiss she knows is coming because she knows this woman better than anybody, and it feels more like a promise that nothing could ever break them than any piece of paper ever could. She wraps her good leg around Lexa's hip and deepens it, kisses back with every ounce of love her heart has to offer. Cherishes each massage of tongue and slide of lips that have met thousands of times before. 

Lexa kisses her once, twice more, and pulls back with a soothing smile.

“Always, love… Forever and ever.”

#sassymajesty #writing prompts #sorry this got long #clexa

[slutforsilverfoxes]

Sleight of Hand

[A/N: I DID IT! I finished my Steve x reader undercover op fic, and I kind of love it??? I hope those of you who were looking forward to it enjoy it too 😈🖤 Thank you to everyone who encouraged me to write this as a full blown fic! Over 5.7k words hehe whoops]

—————

When your former mentor had contacted you about an opening at her coral reef research lab, moving from Camden to Oahu had been a no brainer. You’d packed up your life in New Jersey and been on a plane to the Aloha State within a week. Your favorite cousin, who’s truthfully more like the big brother you always wanted, had been elated to hear the news, welcoming you at the airport with open arms and two simple rules.

“Always answer the phone when I call so you don’t worry me to death,” Danny had said, holding up one finger, “and two,” he added a second, “you’re an adult and you can date anyone on this island-”

“Thank… you?”

“-but stay away from this schmuck.”

The schmuck in question had simply rolled his eyes, draped a beautiful lei around your neck, and greeted you with a warm hug. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Steve.”

Your confident promise to your cousin had been broken a whopping two months later- and no, you hadn’t ignored one of his phone calls.

“Did you get me a beer?” you ask with a teasing lilt to your voice, wringing out your wet hair before dropping down onto the bench beside your boyfriend. A quick glance around reveals that Danny’s over by the shrimp truck with Kamekona, and you lean forward to steal a kiss before putting some space between yourself and your favorite brunette.

“I surely did not,” Steve sasses back and takes a swig of his ice cold beverage. “Alcohol and diving do not mix. But I did happen to get a mango smoothie from that one place down the road this pretty girl I know really likes.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm,” he responds, a goofy grin spreading across his handsome face. “But, uh, she didn’t show, so I guess you can have it.”

You laugh and give him a playful shove, then let out a content hum as you pop the straw through the lid and take a grateful sip. “So good,” you moan in delight, and Steve has to bite his lip to refrain from making a comment when he spots Danny approaching the table with your regular orders.

“Hey, you.” Your cousin greets you with a kiss on the cheek before taking up residence on the bench across from you and Steve. “Why’re you sitting all the way over there, huh? You like that clown better or somethin’?”

“This guy?” you snort, taking your lunch off the tray and rifling through the napkins in search of a fork.

“Ouch.” Steve winces as if burned by your comment, and you surreptitiously squeeze his thigh beneath the table.

“So tell me about this case you’ve got,” you coax your cousin to change the subject, spearing some grilled veggies on the plastic fork’s tines and scooping up a respectable mound of rice on top.

“So there’s a diamond smuggling ring-” Danny starts, and you immediately cut him off with, “Shut up, that doesn’t happen in real life.” You turn to Steve for confirmation, but there’s no provocative arch to his eyebrow or twitching of his lips to suggest this is a joke. “Are you serious right now? BFFR, Danno.”

“I don’t- I don’t know what that means. Why are you making me feel old?”

“Be fucking for real,” you and Steve supply in unison, and you smile proudly at him. “You’re learning!”

“Between you and Gracie, I keep up, okay?”

“Oh, between my baby cousin and my daughter, you- okay, that’s excellent,” Danny proclaims, his tone indicating it’s anything but. “Anyway, they’re using poker games as a cover to uh, collect their product, shall we say.”

“There’s enough rich people on Oahu with actual diamonds?” you ask, incredulous. “And here I am working like a pleb for paper currency.”

“Word,” Steve seconds your statement, raising his beer in a toast. You clink your smoothie against it before taking another refreshing sip and asking, “So how’re you gonna catch them?”

“Well, there’s a high roller tournament on Friday night that we’re betting they’ll hit. We wanted to go in undercover and flush them out but…” Steve trails off and gazes at you thoughtfully, but Danny’s shaking his head before the words have even formed on the brunette’s lips.

“No, absolutely not. Don’t even think about it, Steve.”

“What?” You turn to him, excitement coursing through your veins at the way his eyes have lit up. “Think about it! And tell me what you’re thinking about.”

“You could go undercover with me to the tournament, help me gather some intel. Maybe we get you to confirm the diamonds are actually in their possession and-”

“No!” Danny chimes in again. “What’s the matter with you, huh? These guys have killed two people, Steve. It’s too dangerous for her.”

“First off, fuck that-”

“Language.”

With an eye roll, you amend, “Forget that. More importantly, shouldn’t Danny go undercover? You kind of suck at poker, Steve.” You feel a sharp pinch at your side and you yelp in protest, slapping at the Navy SEAL. “It’s true, you little-”

“You’re not going,” Danny says definitively. “What about Tani?”

Steve shakes his head. “Tani and Junior have already questioned two of the men involved. They’ll be made before they even get to the table.”

You cross your arms and level your cousin with a smirk. “Sounds like you need me, Danno.”

“Then I’m going with you,” he declares.

“Yeah, no, hard pass,” you backpedal. “Even as a former thespian, there’s no way I can convincingly play arm candy for you without it being weird.”

“So, it’s settled then, little Williams,” Steve says with a grin. “You and me. Friday night. The high roller table at the Ilikai Hotel.”

__________

“This whole affair is giving very much Ocean’s Thirteen,” you remark as you lean into the mirror to line your puckered lips with Devil’s Den red. “The diamond heist, the poker game… it’s all so exciting.”

“Except this isn’t Hollywood and a bullet will actually hurt,” your cousin ever so graciously reminds you, trying to tug the slit ends of your dress together and then grunting in displeasure when the action reveals more of your bare back. “You’ve gotta be kidding me with this dress, babe,” he tuts. “Why’s it so expensive if it’s missing half the fabric, huh?”

You shrug and answer with a smile, “Don’t ask me! Your buddy picked it out.”

“Oh yeah, I bet he did,” Danny grumbles under his breath. “I mean, you’d be the most beautiful woman in the room if you were wearing a paper bag, but this- this dress-”

“Danno,” you laugh, completing the finishing touches on your makeup before turning around to squeeze his shoulder. “Remember one of the first things you said to me when I stepped off the plane?”

“Don’t date Steve?” he offers hopefully with a grimace.

That ship has sailed and it’s not docking anytime soon, you think wryly. “No, you goofball,” you respond instead, “that I’m an adult. Everything’s going to be fine!”

“Alright, okay, but just- just promise me you’ll be smart tonight and play it safe.”

With three fingers held aloft, you answer solemnly, “I promise.”

“And don’t let Steve talk you into doing something stupid, okay? No honeypot insanity or trying to sneak into rooms or anything, you got it?”

You press your lips to your cousin’s cheek and then wipe away the smudged lipstick. “Relax, Danny. The man’s a former SEAL. What could possibly go wrong?”

You open the door of the en-suite bathroom with a small smirk tugging at your lips as Danny splutters on behind you in answer to your incendiary question.

As soon as your stiletto touches down on the carpeted floor of the luxury hotel room, you’re hit with an enthusiastic, “Woah, baby!”

“You like?” you ask with a grin, holding your arms out at your sides and giving Tani a spin to show off the dress.

Tani laughs appreciatively and lets out a low whistle. “You are smokin’ hot. I am looking… disrespectfully,” she concludes after pretending to mull over her word choice. She sneaks a glance over at her boss who’s trying and failing to draw his gaze away from the high slit that’s showing off a majority of your leg, then steps closer to you and drops her voice. “And I’m not the only one.” You shush your friend quickly and she ducks away from your playful smack with another peal of laughter.

“Wow,” Steve breathes out, practically sporting heart-eyes as he drinks in the black silk hugging every curve of your body. His piercing blue eyes blaze a trail of heat from the stilettos on your feet to the low bun your hair is swept into, and you feel your skin grow warm under his attention.

“You look pretty wow yourself,” you remark, appreciating the smart tux he’s donned, the perfectly tailored suit accenting every defined muscle on his powerful body. The blush on your face deepens when your gaze meets his, catching a glimpse of a hungry predator on the prowl.

“No, but you, Y/N,” Steve counters, his voice a low growl, “you just- I mean- wow.” He looks ready to pounce, and you’re positive he would forego the event in lieu of spending the evening in bed if there wasn’t a case riding on your performance tonight- and your cousin who you’re keeping your relationship a secret from less than a foot away.

Danny snaps in his face, directing the brunette’s attention to him. “Don’t you gawk at her like that. Paws off my baby cousin, you hear me? Better use the right head tonight, Steven, I swear.”

You dart your eyes over to your boyfriend and make an intentionally obscene gesture with your hands, indicating which head you’re thinking about. He covers up his laugh with a cough, then hurries to reassure his partner. “Danno, c’mon. I’m a perfect gentleman. Aren’t I, Y/N?”

“You’re an animal, is what you are,” your beloved cousin continues his tirade, answering for you. “Just remember I’m watching, huh? I’ve got eyes on all the cameras.”

“Alright, people, focus now,” Lou admonishes gently, handing you and Steve small communications devices that you fit snugly into your ear, out of plain sight. “Y’all remember the plan?”

“Stand there and look pretty. Don’t get shot at,” you dutifully list off your objectives for the op with an exaggerated waggling of your eyebrows while Steve tests the microphone tucked away in his bow tie. “As an unofficial member of Five-0 now, do I get a gun?”

“Are you insane?” Danny cries as Steve asks, genuinely, “Where would you even hide a gun in that dress?”

Unable to resist, you shoot him a coy smile and challenge, “Wouldn’t you like to know, Commander?”

“Woah.” Your cousin holds his hands up between the two of you and declares, “Flag on the play. Don’t- Don’t do that. No flirting. Get in, entice Lee to steal your fake diamonds, get out. Deal?”

“We’ve got it, Detective,” Steve huffs, bending down to adjust his ankle holster.

Junior approaches then with a gorgeous looking diamond necklace and announces, “Got our bait here, boss.”

“Excellent,” Steve says, taking the jewelry from him and motioning for you to turn around. He gathers the necklace in one hand, his fingers drifting across your shoulder and collarbone to grasp one end before he fits it snugly around your neck. The simple touch has your veins flooding with heat, but you tamp down your reaction, keenly aware of the multiple sets of eyes on the two of you. “Tight enough?” he murmurs, and you nod in response, not yet trusting your voice.

“Oh, and one more thing!” Lou reaches into his pocket and pulls out a box, opening it with a flourish to reveal one simple silver band, the other studded with diamonds. “Little extra bling for good measure.” Your cheeks flush at the sight, and you turn your face away from Steve while you slide the wedding ring onto your finger.

One glance at its mate on your boyfriend’s hand has you weak in the knees, and Tani whispers, “Girl, you are down bad.”

“Shut up,” you hiss, fighting the blush threatening to give you away. Steve approaches with one eyebrow raised in curiosity, and you clear your throat before taking the arm he’s offered to you. You tuck your hand into the crook of his elbow, pressing yourself close to him and sending a sharp look to your older cousin when you feel his eyes boring holes into the two of you. “Knock it off, Danny.”

He cups your face between his hands and pulls you closer to press a kiss to your forehead with an apologetic smile. “Be smart. Be safe. I love you. You watch her back, okay?” He directs the last comment to his best friend with all the gruffness of a father sending his daughter off to prom.

“I will, Danny,” Steve answers solemnly, squeezing your hand.

“Alright, buddy. But not too close, okay? Remember, I’m always watch-”

You pull the door shut behind you with a sigh. Steve guides you down the hallway towards the elevators, and your grip on his arm tightens at the prospect of what you’re about to do.

Steve immediately intuits your nerves and offers a soothing, “Hey, you’re okay.” He takes your left hand in his, his right hand coming to rest on the small of your back so you feel completely enveloped by his steadying presence. He lets his thumb drift back and forth across your skin, just above where the fabric drapes at the base of your spine, and your comms come crackling to life. “Higher.”

Steve shifts his hand up with a chuckle, and your cousin begrudgingly remarks, “Better.”

The moment relieves some of your tension, and you shake your head before pressing the call button for the elevator. The lavish gold doors open to reveal an already sizable group dressed to the nines and clearly heading to the big casino-sponsored event downstairs. Steve applies gentle pressure on your back to guide you into the elevator, and as you descend each floor and the crowd grows, you’re forced closer together in the corner. “You’re wearing a new perfume,” Steve comments, his lips right by your ear to avoid your conversation being picked up by his mic.

“How observant,” you reply. “My boyfriend bought it for me.”

“He has excellent taste,” he continues the charade, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes at the compliment. With the crowd in the elevator blocking the camera’s view, Steve allows his fingers to glide down your spine until they reach their intended destination, and he sucks in a sharp breath when he realizes you’re not wearing anything under your dress. You smirk to yourself but quickly lose the upper hand, forced to swallow down a gasp when the elevator doors open into the lobby and Steve brazenly palms your ass while calmly stating, “Target acquired.”

“We see him, too,” Junior affirms. “East corner of the lobby, talking to the concierge.”

“Come on, darling,” Steve croons, settling into character- or rather dropping your usual act. “Let’s go win me some more money to spend on you.”

__________

“No entry without invitation, sir.”

You crane your neck to look up at the beefy bodyguard at the entrance to the high roller section. His biceps must be the size of your head, if not bigger, he’s got at least 6 inches on Steve, and his hulking form is completely blocking your view of the room behind him.

“Honey,” you murmur, “you brought it with you, didn’t you?”

Steve gives you an easy smile and pulls a gold-plated poker chip from the breast pocket of his tux. “Of course, my love.”

“Alright, enough with the cutesy nicknames,” Danny gripes, and you’re forced to stifle a laugh at Tani admonishing him in the background. The security guard pulls back the velvet rope to let you pass, and you duck behind the curtain to cross into the high roller area.

The room is a sea of expensive suits and sparkling cocktail dresses. A thick cloud of sweet-smelling smoke has settled in the air from the Cubans lit around the room, and the distinct symphony of ice clinking in glass tumblers joins the hum of dealers murmuring at their tables.

“Why don’t you go get us a drink and I’ll find a table to join?”

“The usual?” you purr in question, running your manicured fingers across the lapel of Steve’s suit.

“That’s perfect,” he assents, squeezing your hip before releasing you to do your own recon. Then you feel his fingers lace through yours and he murmurs, “Y/N, wait.” When you turn back to Steve, he tugs you closer by your connected hands and presses his lips to yours in a kiss that has your head buzzing before a drop of alcohol has even hit your tongue. “Lee’s watching,” he whispers against your mouth by way of explanation.

“Then let’s give him something to look at,” you respond with a glint in your eye, winding your arms around his neck and pulling him in for another kiss. Steve’s left hand comes up to rest on the nape of your neck as the other caresses the diamond fitted snuggly against the hollow of your throat, making sure that it catches the light just so as you lay the groundwork for your operation tonight.

“He’s practically suffocating her,” Danny cries in the hotel room upstairs, hands raised while he stares at the two of you in disbelief. “What’d I say about ‘not too close’, huh? Animal.”

“Okay, lovebirds, get some air,” Lou chuckles over your comms. “Seems like our man Lee has his eye on the prize now.”

Junior leans over to Tani as he watches the two of you part ways on screen, tracking your path to the bar with a skeptical brow. “Is it just me, or was that… intense?”

“C’mon, Junes,” she laughs breezily. “That is theater at its finest.”

“One scotch on the rocks, and one vodka tonic that’s light on the tonic,” you place your order at the bar, absentmindedly letting your fingers drift over the diamonds as you peruse the top shelf.

“Easy there, cowgirl,” Danny coaches in your ear. You look around for the nearest mounted dome camera and make a face at it. “Real mature, kid.”

You feel a heated gaze on your back, and you turn to flash a coy smile at Mister Jason Lee, the suspected brains behind the smuggling operation, before collecting your drinks and making your way back to Steve.

“He’s interested,” you murmur in his ear as you bend down to place the glass between his hands on the table. “But we need to really hook him. Better start throwing some money around, hotshot.”

“Go ahead, baby,” Steve says animatedly, attracting the attention of the other players around the table. He makes a big show of closing his eyes and letting you bet for him, clearly unaffected by winning or losing a few hundred on your blind faith. As you lean over to push a stack of chips towards the pot, you hear an appreciative titter around the table and turn to find Steve with one eye very obviously peeking- but definitely not at what your hands are doing.

“Naughty boy,” you scold playfully, and he offers his palms in an act of mock deference.

“Can you blame the man?” one of the other players barks out through a raucous laugh, and you smile politely even though their leering eyes make your skin crawl. When you bend to retrieve your drink, Steve moves closer with a grin and whispers in your ear, “If one of them so much as breathes in your direction, I’ll break off every one of their fingers and feed them to ‘em, okay, mama?”

Acutely aware that Danny and the rest of the team are watching your every interaction, you suppress a shiver and murmur back, “Sir, yes, sir.”

Steve has mixed luck on his first few hands, but you’re sure to make a big show of celebrating each win with a kiss that has the older women in the room clutching their proverbial pearls and Lee hanging onto your every move. You toy with the necklace as a nervous habit each time Steve places his bet and let your fingers trail across his broad shoulders as he studies each hand, squeezing affectionately every now and then.

“I hate this,” Danny declares, a dismayed frown tugging at his lips as he watches you on the live CCTV footage. On the small screen, you drape your arms around Steve’s neck and press a kiss to his cheek before murmuring something in his ear that’s too quiet for the hidden mic to pick up but has Steve grinning like a fool. “I hate this. Why did I let him talk me into this? Putz.”

“Relax, Danny,” Lou attempts to soothe his ruffled feathers. “They’re doing great.”

“Hey, hey, look!” Tani calls to garner their attention. “They’ve lured Lee in. He’s about to make contact.”

“Good evening,” he opens politely, pulling out the chair next to Steve.

“Evening,” your boyfriend offers in kind.

“Do you mind if I join you for the next hand?”

“Not at all,” you purr. “Perhaps you can help break my husband’s current losing streak.”

“With a good luck charm like you on his arm?” Lee counters smoothly. “Impossible.”

“From your mouth to the cards’ ears,” you laugh airily. “Let me go get you another drink, my love,” you say to excuse yourself, running your hand down Steve’s arm to collect his glass. “Can I get you anything, Mister…?”

“Good girl,” Tani praises you quietly over your comms.

“Lee,” he supplies. “But please, call me Jason.” He raises the remaining amber liquid in his glass with a smile then says, “Perhaps when I finish this drink, I’ll have what your husband’s having. Clearly he’s got excellent taste.” The way his eyes wander across your body isn’t lost on you.

“Arrogant son of a bitch,” Lou scoffs to his fellow team members upstairs. “Not even using an alias.”

Steve notices Lee’s hungry gaze straying from his cards to appreciate your form against the backdrop of the expansive bar and remarks, “Beautiful, isn’t she?”

“Indeed,” he agrees, swirling the expensive liquor in his glass before taking a sip. “Women like that are hard to find. As rare as that diamond around her neck.”

“Laying it on thick there, buddy,” Danny comments over your comms, and you steal a glance over to the table. “Take the bait, Steve.”

“Only the finest for my girl.”

When you return to the table with your and Steve’s drinks in hand, he hooks his ankle around the chair beside him and tugs it close for you to sit by him. “Slick move, double-oh-five-oh,” you murmur appreciatively in his ear before nipping at his earlobe. He seems extra possessive now, his hand either resting on your thigh, or your hip, or the back of your neck, always maintaining some form of skin to skin contact while the other holds his cards, and you can’t help but wonder what transpired between the two men.

Leaning over, Steve presses his lips to the point where your pulse thrums along your throat and asks, “What should we bet, beautiful girl?”

“Hm?” Your gaze is hazy, more so drunk on Steve’s touch than alcohol, and the unbidden thought that you can’t wait for this guy to be in cuffs so you can take your man home crosses your mind. You run your manicured fingers down his cheek and answer coyly, “I want you to go all in.”

The two of you dutifully ignore Danny’s protesting in your ears at your overt innuendo as Steve pushes his stack of chips to the center of the table.

“A bold move,” Lee declares with a whistle.

“What’s a few thousand when I have a million on my arm, hm?” your boyfriend counters with a sly glance in your direction.

“Let’s make this a real game. I’m all in, too.”

The dealer flips over the river card, and Steve’s arm tenses beneath your fingertips. The other few players around the table toss their cards aside with a sigh, but Lee looks over at the two of you with a grin, presenting his hand- a flush- with a flourish. He stands to collect the pot but Steve holds up one finger.

“Not so fast, my friend,” he laughs, his confidence making your body grow warm. Steve lays his hand out on the table with a smug smile. “Full house. Aces over eights.”

You let out an excited squeal, genuinely delighted at such a triumphant win, and pull Steve toward you by the lapels of his jacket to mold your lips to his. He makes an appreciative noise low in the back of his throat and his hand comes up to cup your neck in an overtly possessive manner that has you melting into his embrace. You feel his fingers playing with the clasp resting at the nape of your neck, and then the necklace falls into your lap, the next phase of your ruse in full effect now.

You pull back with a gasp and pout at Steve, your eyes wide. “It broke!”

“Then I’ll buy you ten more,” he answers easily, shrugging off your concern. “Go put it upstairs and don’t give it a second thought, okay?” He presses his lips to yours once more and gives you an affectionate pat below the dip of your dress when you stand that has you blushing. You can practically feel Danny’s laser eyes through the screen where he’s watching you.

You make sure to wobble the tiniest bit when you move, steadying yourself on Steve’s shoulder with a laugh. “What was our room number, honey?”

He shares a knowing look with your mark, then jokes, “How many vodka tonics have you had, hm? How many fingers am I holding up?” He has his fist raised and you smack at his chest with an eye roll. “217, my love,” Steve supplies before taking your hand and kissing the wedding band adorning your ring finger.

You head upstairs to the empty room the team had rented for this very purpose and place the necklace in the carefully concealed safe in the cupboard. When you return to the table, you find Steve alone.

“Where’s our friend?”

“Turned in for the night after that big loss,” your boyfriend supplies, winking at you. “Shall we?”

He offers you his arm, and after collecting his winnings, the two of you make your way to the lobby to lie in wait. “You’re going to be insufferable about that win forever now, aren’t you?”

“You said I was bad at poker,” Steve reminds you.

“You still are,” you fire back. “Dumb luck one time does not a skilled player make.”

“Jeez, boss,” Junior’s voice comes crackling in over your comms. “Want some ice for that burn?”

“Would you just- would you shut up and focus on the room, please?”

After a few minutes of waiting with no sighting of Lee, you lean into Steve’s chest and ask the team, “Anything?”

“Girl, hop off the mic,” Lou admonishes you, and you jump back from Steve. “We can hear you when you talk normally. Damn.”

Leaning back in, this time you whisper, “Sorry, guys.”

“Hey, McGarrett?” Tani speaks calmly but you can hear an edge of tension to her voice. “At your 4 o’clock, there’s two guys in suits who’ve had an eye on your table all night. I thought they were watching for potential card counting but they seem to have taken an interest in you and Y/N.”

“Copy,” Steve says quietly, pulling you closer to his body in a protective move in case all hell breaks loose.

“Let’s just show them we’re not a threat,” you offer.

“You want to go back in?”

“I was thinking of a more… hands on approach.” As the clicking of Italian leather shoes on the polished floor grows closer to you, you spin Steve around and push him against the wall, crashing into him for a heated kiss. His strong hands caress your bare back for a moment before one stays put to hold you against him while the other deftly undoes the knot holding your bun, your hair cascading down to its full length so Steve can use it for better leverage. You can’t help but moan into his mouth as he kisses you like a man starved until you’re shaken from your stupor by yelling approaching the lobby.

“Hey! Five-0! Stop running, dumbass!”

Without opening your eyes or breaking your kiss, you stick your foot out at the opportune time, making contact with the ankle of your diamond thief’s leg so he goes sprawling. There’s a faint splash to your right, and when you pull away for a breath, you can see your necklace winking at you from the lobby fountain.

Danny catches up to the scene and yells, “Hands- hey! Hands!”

Lee raises his hands above his head with a sigh, but your cousin continues on, “You two! Yeah, let me see your hands, too!” You turn to find Danny’s gun aimed at the diamond smuggler, but his fiery eyes are trained on you while Tani and Junior wrestle the other two lackeys to the floor nearby. You exchange a look with Steve, then feel the warmth of his palms leave your bare skin as the two of you slowly raise your hands as well. Clearing your throat, you offer meekly, “We’re really into method acting?”

“We’ll talk about this later,” Danny growls, slapping zip ties on a defiant Lee and ratcheting them tight before hauling him to his feet.

“Hey, man, ease up,” he whines and Danny barks, “You shut up.” He continues lamenting his woes audibly as he leads the thief to the waiting squad car, grumbling, “Had enough of all of you. My baby cousin and my best friend. Christ. What am I gonna tell my aunt?”

Steve whistles low under his breath when Danny’s out of earshot, then mutters, “That could’ve gone better.”

“On the plus side,” you comment, “he still referred to you as his best friend.”

Tani shoots you a sympathetic smile when she passes by with the man she apprehended, but Junior wastes no time leaning in and playfully tutting, “Bus-ted.” Steve raises one eyebrow and he tacks on a hurried, “Sir.”

—————

With Lee and his crew stewing in interrogation and HPD clearing the scene, you’re left sitting on the couch in Steve’s office like kids who got sent to the principal for misbehaving in school. The three of you must look ridiculous from the rest of the team’s point of view- you clad in spare clothes from Steve’s wardrobe in his office that you’re positively swimming in, your 40-plus-year-old boyfriend in a full tux with his bow tie and top few buttons undone, hand pressed over his mouth to avoid saying something that will further incense your cousin, and said cousin still dressed in his shirt and tie pacing the floor in front of you with his hands flying to emphasize every point he makes.

“And you-” Danny pauses his pacing to point an accusatory finger at his best friend. “How old are you, huh?” The finger changes angles to point at you. “And how old is she?”

“Do you want me to actually answer the quest-”

“No, Steve, they’re rhetorical questions! I know how old you are, and I’ll tell you! Too old for my baby cousin, that’s how old, huh? What’s the matter with you?”

“Why don’t you let Y/N speak for herself, Danny? Gotta let her grow up, buddy, c’mon now.”

“Thank you!” you cry. “Can I say something?”

The blonde and brunette duo turns to look at you with the same infuriating, incredulous look before simultaneously deciding, “No.”

“Alright, y’know what?” You slap your hands against your thighs and stand with a huff. “You two-” You point back and forth between Steve and Danny before continuing, “You work out your little marital spat. Daniel, when you’re ready to talk to me like the adult I am, I’ll be with Tani. After I drink some water. Because I’m still buzzed.” With that, you attempt to walk out of your boyfriend’s office with your head held high but are thwarted by the door, pushing on it to no avail.

“It’s a pull-” Danny says quietly, and Steve jumps in at the same time, “Pull, babe, you gotta pull on the-”

“I got it,” you bark at them, tugging on the glass door with a grumble about architectural intuitiveness.

After a long conversation with Steve and a short interrogation with Lee and his associates, Danny finds you nursing a bottle of water in Tani’s office, as promised. She slips out as your cousin takes a seat next to you, pulling you into a hug that you allow yourself to melt into even though you mutter all the while under your breath about his overprotective nature.

“I’m sorry I made you feel like you couldn’t just tell me you were seeing Steve.”

Woah. What?

“What?” Danny laughs. “You were right. We should talk about this like adults.”

“Did I say that out loud?”

“The ‘Woah. What?’? Yeah, you did, babe, it was very much not an inside thought.”

“Excellent,” you laugh, nodding solemnly. “Well, um, thank you for that. And sorry for not coming out and just telling you.”

“Guess I made it pretty hard for you to tell me, huh? What with the two rules and-”

“Yup.”

“But everybody else knew or-”

“Tani knew, cause she’s my girl, y’know. Grace figured it out pretty quickly. Pretty sure Lou’s had a feeling since at least Thanksgiving, honestly.”

Danny sits back with a start, pulling away from your hug. “How long has this been going on?”

With a sigh, you realize it’s time to come clean. “You remember when I wanted to go on that dive with you, and you said I should take Steve since you don’t ‘do water’? Well, Steve took me to this really beautiful dive spot and we kind of made a day of it so…”

“That was like-”

“A while-”

“Like seven months ago!”

“I mean, we didn’t exactly start dating on that day- well, no, we kind of did,” you correct yourself quietly, biting your lip with a grimace, but Danny’s already halfway across the floor back to Steve’s office. Lou takes the opportunity to poke his head in to check on you and you draw out a slow, “So Lou…” He raises one eyebrow in question, and you dare to ask, “Would now be a bad time to tell Danny about Will and Grace?”

—————

Tagging you beautiful people who commented for me to finish writing this 🖤

@the-silentium @ilovewriting06 @jamie2305 @kelssssxd @cassadilasworld

#i would do anything for him #like truly #I might have to keep this dynamic #what should we call reader #little williams #perhaps #Steve McGarrett x Little Williams #hmmm 👀 #i dig it #steve mcgarrett #steve mcgarrett x y/n #steve mcgarrett x reader #steve mcgarrett x you #steve mcgarrett x female reader #steve mcgarrett fanfiction #steve mcgarrett fluff #steve mcgarrett x reader x danny williams #steve mcgarrett imagine #steve mcgarrett x danny williams #hawaii five 0 #hawaii five o #hawaii five o imagine #hawaii five 0 imagine #danny williams x female reader #danny williams #danny williams x y/n #danny williams fanfiction #danny williams x you #danny williams x reader

[constellationsinmytea]

Home - By Your Side

———-

Watercolor, washi paper, vellum, vinyl, cardstock, gold leaf, silver leaf, ink, rice paper, beading, silver thread

Challenging myself this time! I watched all of The Untamed in record time for someone like me, who can’t sit down and watch something to save my life. But this series…oh man. It’s indescribably beautiful. The story and characters are just so incredible, and I think I’m hooked for life. I just finished watching all of Grandmaster too, and now I’m starting the novels. I can happily watch/read this love story in a million different forms. Just beautiful.

Since finishing, I decided I wanted to do some fanart of it - starting with the live action (Untamed) since it was the first one I watched. I started it off as a sketch, with the intention of painting it and layering it with origami paper, a new challenge for myself. It ended up being layers and layers of washi paper, gold leaf, silver leaf, gel, origami, vellum, and cardstock. The strings on the guqin are hand-sewed in, and there is beadwork throughout. With visuals like the ones you get in this show, I felt the art had to go big. It meant this was a three week process, of roughly 1 - 9 hours a day. Another seemingly impossible challenge for myself, but on a steady course of Rooibos tea and protein bars, anything can get done…

All jokes aside, I’m so so proud of this. Thanks for viewing 💕

#wangxian #lan zhan #lan wanji #wei wuxian #yiling laozu #hanguang jun #lan zhan x wei ying #lan wanji x Wei ying #the untamed #mdzs #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #the grandmaster of demonic cultivation #mo dao zu shi #the untamed fanart #mo dao zu shi fanart #wangxian fanart #wang yibo #xiao zhan #fanart #constellationsinmytea #myart #watercolor #papercraft #watercolor fanart #mdzs watercolor #mdzs papercraft

[nevernonline]

✧.* grow as we go; svt smau.

entry #6 quit!

synopsis: over the past ten years you’ve fallen in love many times. one day someone happens to stumble across your journal sitting out on your nightstand and started posting your entries online. after all of your secrets are leaked it’s clear things would ever be the same again.

𐦍 paring: svt members x afab! reader.

𐦍 feat: non-idol! svt, (g)-idle minnie&soyeon, oc’s

𐦍 genre/s: reader is super angsty low-key, fluffy, sexual themes.

𐦍 content: swearing, bullying, crazy ex’s, mentions of sexual , reader talks about parental death, sexual relations, some drinking& mary jane 🍃

word count: 2.8k

masterlist ▸ 5. 005. chronic memory keeper ▸ 007. snake in the grass

Stepping into her kitchen was the most relaxing feeling ever, it had been a while since y/n had the chance to dine in with a recipe she carefully put together or found on pinterest and craft something nice. Spending hours on end not thinking about her own problems and just focusing on a hobby she enjoys. 

After her overly embarrassing text messages hinting to Minghao that she slightly hoped he was single had her desperately wishing they wouldn’t come back to bite her in the ass. 

Cleaning out the insides of the chicken and placing them in a bowl saved for her next soup stock, she massages pads of butter or seasoning onto it’s skin and placed it in her hot oven, before moving onto the thinly silenced potatoes and root vegetables she had prepped that morning, boiling and simmering them. 

A chime from her doorbell stole her away from her stress free time in the kitchen. She was excited to see Minghao but it wasn’t him who was waiting at her threshold. opening it to reveal a small package, wrapped in brown paper and tied with a matching twine bow. 

No note was attached on the outer side revealing who may have left the wrapped item for her to find. So she decided to ignore it, just for now at least and get back to preparing her meal for a friend. 

An hour had passed since the last time someone was ringing the doorbell and left waiting for her to quickly wash her hands. 

“Y/n?” 

Minghao. 

“Sorry, one second I just need to wash my hands.” 

She yelled, leaving the water running and rushing herself to the guest bathroom next to the door, making sure she looked alright and didn’t miss an out of place hair or swipe of flour on her face. 

Opening her front door, she revealed Mingaho standing with a paper bag in his hand as well as a bouquet of her favorite flowers, Hydrangeas swinging to his side. 

She looked him up and down forgetting she invited him here and still not inviting him in. He was dressed in a perfectly ripped pair of jeans and matching long denim coat, underneath she caught a glimpse of a white button down top missing the clasps of the top three buttons revealing his chest. He looked incredible. 

“Can I come in?” 

“Oh, shit. Sorry. Yes, please.” 

“This is for you, some wine and snacks for after dinner. I picked them up from the chinese market near my gallery.” 

“That’s so thoughtful of you, thank you. The flowers are beautiful, how did you know I liked hydrangeas?” 

“I saw on Seokmin’s instagram that he took you to a flower farm last year, I just assumed.” 

“Ah. Well you assumed right, they’re really gorgeous.” 

“What are you making? It smells so good.” 

“Roast chicken and root veggies, with some wild rice and my mom’s very special, very secret recipe sauce. 

Minghao was amazed watching y/n move around the kitchen with ease, seemingly like she was dancing around the marble floor. 

“I have to admit, I really thought you were joking when you told me you could cook. I almost expected you to order food and make it look like you were the chef.” 

“Ouch. That hurts my pride a little bit. Actually, my dad was a chef. He used to own a restaurant. I spent a lot of time there as a kid helping him.” 

“Was? What happened if you don’t mind me asking?” 

“He passed away when I was a teenager. It’s a long story.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be. It’s okay, I miss him, but cooking helps me feel close to him.” 

“Now I’m very sorry I ever doubted your skill.” 

Your laugh made Minghao happy, he knew he probably struck a chord in you but it was nice that even when you were sad you could still find humor in anything. 

“Need my help with anything?” 

“Just for you to either open that bottle of wine or make me a cocktail, dealer's choice.” 

“Got it.” 

Y/n’s dining partner strode off to the chrome bar cart and twiddled his fingers around the various bottles of liquor, some full and some half empty, giving him an indication of the things she chose for herself. 

“Here you are, chef.” 

“Wow, thank you bartender. What is it?” 

“Try it and find out.” 

Y/n took a sip from the slightly pink cocktail glass, swishing it in her mouth for dramatic effect. 

“Okay, so.. Gin, Campari, a splash of grapefruit bitters, and lemon?” 

“Wow, are you like a weird super taster or something? What the fuck.” 

“No, just a girl who loves gin old fashioneds.” 

“You are one surprising specimen.” 

“Shut up. Come on, let's eat.” 

After basically finishing every edible thing on the plate, Minghao offered to clean up for you as a thank you for the efforts of you cooking him one of the best dinners he’s had the pleasure of eating. 

Y/n switched into her role as bartender and opened a beautiful bottle of red wine for the pair to sip on as their night continued on. 

“Thank you for cleaning. I’m sorry again about the whole weird ass texts I was sending you. I was way too drunk to be alone with my thoughts and access to the internet.” 

“I told you it’s alright. I actually found it sort of cute.” 

“Cute? Maybe you are crazier than I thought you were.” 

“No, come on. You know you’re cute. Everyone tells you all the time, I agree with them.” 

“Shut up, THE Xu Minghao thinks I’M cute? I’m so flattered.” 

Minghao playfully slapped y/n’s hand off of her chest, knocking the red liquid around in her cup, causing it to fall onto the white fabric of her pants. 

“Shit. I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s ok, I can just go throw them in the wash. One second.” 

Y/n departed into her room, changing into a pair of pink pajama bottoms, not removing her corseted tank top in the process, fleeing quickly into the laundry room at the end of the hall to wash the stain out. 

Minghao in the meantime caught a glimpse of the twine wrapped package on her coffee table and went over to see what it could possibly be. In the time he spent inspecting it he didn’t notice his female counterpart entering back into the room. 

“Someone left that for me at my door. Weird right?” 

“Yeah, sort of. Should we open it?” 

“I’m kind of scared to be honest.” 

“Okay, I have an idea.” 

“I’m not sure how I feel about that.” 

“Trust me?” 

“Maybe.” 

Minghao stepped back to the now familiar bar cart and grabbed a bottle of whiskey that had been left unopened until this night, placing two shot glasses in front of them both. 

“What does taking shots have to do with us opening the package?” 

“What doesn’t it have to do with the package? It’s brown, similar to the wrapping. It’s sealed, maybe because you don’t like it or it’s not something you’re sure of. And it’s interesting. So we take two shots, then we open it, then regardless of what it is, we play a game. The game selfishly is for me to get to know you deeper. I feel like I’ve spent so much time with you and I don’t know that much about you, other than what was exposed. So, you in?” 

“Yes.” 

Y/n and Minghao cheered to their now growing connection and he placed the small package in her lap, holding onto her knee, getting the feeling that she needed moral support based on mutual gut feelings. 

“Okay.” 

“I’m sure it’s not bad.” 

As y/ns hands ripped apart the brown paper and untied the rope around the mysterious box, it revealed a soft purple journal, now torn apart, pages basically falling out from end to end all over the couch between them. 

“My journal.” 

Her voice shifted, she was no longer happy or full of anticipation, she was confused and slightly disappointed as her precious and private life fell out in front of her, photos, entries, and shards of her life. 

“Oh, y/n. I-” 

“No. Don’t say sorry, please.” 

“Why the fuck do people care? Just like why am I someone's target? Especially if it’s someone I know, what is so bad that you can’t just fucking talk to me about it? Sorry, I don’t know if that makes sense at all, but I just don’t get it.” 

“I think some people are just scared of genuine conflict, so instead of asking they make things about themselves and take the other person's feelings out of the equation to feed their own.” 

“Why give it back now? Am I expected to just ignore my privacy being invaded and be like well it’s over good? This makes me feel even more uneasy.” 

“Maybe they left you a clue or something by giving this back?” 

Minghao collected the various contents that were left as ashes for you, feeding you more alcohol and not talking while he did so. 

“y/n? Here.” 

A small envelope, matching the shade of purple of the cover of your journal was tapped inside the cover, inside a typed note. 

‘Just because it comes back to you, doesn’t mean it’ll always stay the same. See you soon. Xo.’

“What the fuck does that even mean?” 

“I guess they’re trying to tell you more will come out? And that they have no purpose for keeping the evidence anymore.” 

“Can we.. maybe, just for the rest of the night ignore this? I cannot focus on this anymore and it’s ruining my chance to have fun with you.” 

“Please. Let me distract you.” 

“Do you want to change? Or need clothes? I know Seokmin and Joshua left some stuff here in case they ever stayed over.” 

“They wouldn’t mind?” 

“No, of course not. I’ll be right back.” 

Y/n ran back into her room, gathering various styles of t-shirts and sweatpants to make Minghao more comfortable. 

“Here, there's some options. I know you care a lot about your style, so pick what you want.” 

Mingaho grabbed a black t-shirt with a logo from Joshua’s coffee shop on the front and an odd pair of Seokmin’s disney character pajama pants, just to make the air go back to it’s lighthearted space. 

“Oh my god, you look amazing.” 

“ I just wanted you to smile.” 

“Mission accomplished, Mickyhao.” 

“That is an awful nickname.” 

“Shut up, don’t be a dick.” 

“Got it. Okay, so let’s play a little game, y/n. I’ll ask you some questions, if you don’t want to answer you can drink and you can do the same for me. Got it?” 

“Got it. You go first.” 

“Okay, so what stops you from going after the things you want?” 

“Hmm, I’m shy, I guess? I don’t want to risk changing how things already are any more than they have changed on their own. I think confessions and love declarations are unnerving, I could ruin something good just for a single chance. Not knowing shit freaks me out.” 

“So you’re a control freak, got it.” 

“No. Not a control freak, just a loser.” 

“That’s accurate.” 

“You’re stupid. Okay, Minghao. What made you want to pursue art?” 

“I guess it was just always something I was good at? I loved being able to tell the truth about stuff without having to say it outloud, people can perceive anything they want, but I know how I truly feel and nobody can take it away from me. The truth, I mean.” 

“How are you so certain that its the truth?” 

“Well, it's my truth.” 

“Touche” 

“Why didn’t you tell Minnie about Seungcheol? Were you ever going to?” 

“Yikes. I guess, I didn’t feel like it was important. We hooked up way before they ever dated, he was just helping me out with something that scared me, which I didn’t think was a big deal. I knew she liked him, but she told me she’d never confess. I guess I didn’t think it was as big of a problem until it was. Does that make sense?” 

“Yeah it does, how did it happen?” 

“No, no, no. One question at a time. How did it happen for you?” 

“My virginity? I was at a party, junior year before college and I met a girl. She was nice, really pretty, and she seemed to enjoy my company. I guess I just asked her if she wanted to fuck and she agreed, but after she told me she had a boyfriend and that was that.” 

“So she cheated on her boyfriend just to fuck you? Alright, good for you I guess. Bad for the boyfriend.” 

“Have you ever cheated on someone?” 

“Me? God no. I haven’t even had the chance to be with anyone that seriously considers sleeping around cheating. I don’t think I could do that. Why? Have you?” 

“Nope, but I guess I’ve been the person someone used to cheat, so it feels sort of like cheating.” 

“Since we seem to be two overly honest people for this game, want to drink just for fun as well?” 

“Please. Cheers.” 

“Okay y/n, I have a question.” 

“Yes?” 

“What was it about Joshua or Mingyu that attracted you to them?” 

“With Shua it was how kind he was, everyone knows it and can see that. It just sort of radiates around him. I mean he’s beautiful, they both are. In such different ways. I’ll probably always view him as that first boy I loved, he’s really special to me. As for Mingyu, I guess I never knew why at first. He was just my hot friend that I hooked up with sometimes, but the more and more we hung out the more I realized how smart he was and how intriguing his character is.” 

“Do you still have feelings for them?” 

“I’m not sure what my feelings are for anyone at this moment, no.” 

“What about me?” 

“What about you?” 

“Would you ever consider me the way you consider them?” 

“Can I take a shot?” 

“Sure, but you still have to answer the question. Come on.” 

“Yeah, I would. I like getting to know you, I appreciate how fiercely committed you are to riding for the people you love. I like that you’re artistic like me, that we can laugh about wild stuff, but also be honest and talk about anything and everything in between. You’ve really made me happy even in the short time of knowing you. And to say that I’d have to think about considering you is silly, because I definitely already have. Seokmin and Jun think I have a crush on you.” 

“You don’t?” 

“Nobody needs to know.” 

“I do.” 

“You do what? Need to know if I like you?” 

“No, like you.” 

“Wait.” 

“A lot actually. More than I ever considered I would. I think you’re actually a really spectacular person despite everything.” 

“Oh. Thank you.” 

“Can I kiss you?” 

“Yeah. You can.” 

The smell of whiskey on Minghao’s breath made the hair on Y/N’s arms stand up as she fell into his touch, the kiss exploded into more and more touching and exploration of the pair's bodies. And continued on through the night, more than once. 

The next morning y/n woke up with a headache, checking the clock on her phone revealing it was almost time for Joshua to come and whisk her away from her new found bliss in bed next to Minghao. 

“Going somewhere?” 

“What?” 

“You have a suitcase in the corner and you keep checking your phone, is everything alright? I wasn’t that bad was I?” 

“No, but I’m going to see my mom this weekend with Joshua, I almost forgot. He’s on his way.” 

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry.” 

“Stop apologizing. I’ll just shower quickly and sneak out. You can stay as long as you need, I have an extra key in the blue jar next to my door, just lock it up for me?” 

“Sure, but come here quickly.” 

Minghao pulled y/n in for a long sweet kiss, before she ran into the warm water of her shower. 

Minghao propped himself up in her bed, collecting himself before making an attempt at a small getaway. Coming face to face with the unlocking door of the same apartment he spent his night in before. 

“Y/n, hey can I- Oh, Minghao. Hey.” 

“Joshua, Hi. Sorry I was just leaving.” 

“Without saying goodbye?” 

“What?” 

“To y/n, she’s in the shower, you’re just leaving?” 

“I don’t need to explain myself to you, for your information we already said a very thorough goodbye. Have fun on your trip, take care of her.” 

“Hah. Alright.” 

“I’m serious. Make sure she knows I’ll miss her.” 

“I’ll be sure to do that.” 

Minghao grabbed his jacket and slid out of her front door, looking behind him before walking away from y/n already feeling jealous she’d be spending her weekend with Joshua and not him, but he had things he couldn't tell her. Not yet.

"Oh, Joshua. I didn't think you were coming yet. Sorry, let me just grab my stuff."

"No it's fine, I just wanted to grab some snacks, hope that's okay?"

"Of course, take whatever you want. Give my five?"

"I saw your overnight guest on his way out."

"Yeah, he stayed over. I made him dinner, we just got drunk I didn't want him to have to drive home like that. Unsafe, you know."

"Right, well I'll meet you in the car."

"No need, I'm ready. I cannot wait to have the Boston Creme Pie from Boi's, I'm literally salivating thinking about it."

"We should go when we get into town and order an entire one."

"I see why we're friends now. Come on."

Joshua grabbed y/ns luggage, waiting for her to lock up her apartment and the pair headed to his car waiting outside.

bonus:

note/s: y/n love triangle era starting fr. srry this took a second and is a lil chaotic, I've been a lil busy. but!! I already have the next part on hand and will be posting v soon, some shit will be going down at minghaos show, but I didn't tell u that. xoxoxo. ily.

taglist:  @sun-daddy-yoriichi,@hipsdofangirl @kissesfrmwonwoo, @minhui896, @wonwooz1, porridgesblog,, jasssy051, @soonyoungblr, @saucegirlreads, @musingsofananxiouspotato, @young-adult-summer, @punkhazardlaw, @bibs-world @the-swageyama-tobiyolo @wonuulvr @woozixo

#❃ - duffytalks #seventeen fluff #seventeen scenarios #seventeen headcanons #seventeen x reader #svt reactions #seventeen imagines #svt fic #svt texts #svt imagines #svt scenarios #svt x reader #svt fluff #svt fanfic #svt smut #svt smau #seventeen smau #seventeen smut #seventeen au #seventeen fic #seventeen fake texts #svt fake texts #seventeen x y/n #seventeen x you #seventeen x oc #svt x oc #svt x you #svt x y/n #svt ff #svt sns

[glitch-karma]

HEYYYY! HOW ARE YOU??

Could you do smth about Ango, where his s/o picks him up out of his work chair, slings him over their shoulder (The s/o is pretty tall and physically strong) and takes him home. And when they take him home they feed him, bathe him and dress him in something comfy and just take him to bed and cuddle him. Just a motherly person tbh.

If you don’t like this or you don’t feel like doing this please feel free to disregard it. And if you do and up doing it I’ll probably be back! Anyways, have a good day/night!! <333

(I absolutely love your panty pfp btw)

✧One shot

✧Content/Cw's: Fluff, comforting the exhausted boy,

✧Includes: GN! Reader, Reader also works at the special ops, Reader is also taller than Ango(How?🤷) , Established relationship, Pet names, dirty jokes from reader

✧Notes: He really needs a hug man, took me awhile to do this cause I would get a burst of energy and ruin the sleepy vibes lmao

You released a sigh as you stretched out in your office chair. You'd stayed at the office for around an extra hour, but it was definitely time to go home. Coming in early and leaving late was a frequent reoccurrence, but today was super busy. Leaving everyone rightfully tired.

You released an exhausted sigh as you stood up and clicked the power button on your work computer. A yawn escaped your lips as you grabbed your work bag and flipped off the lights in your office. You walked a few doors down the hall, stopping at an opened office door that was familiar to you. "Angoo-"

You stopped as you peeked into his office. He'd already turned off all his lights, but he was vigorously typing in his computer still. A cup of coffee sitting right next to him that looked half empty.

You could faintly see the dark circles under his eyes as he typed quickly. He was definitely focused, but on the wrong things this late. A sigh escaped your lips as you set your bag down beside the door. "Ango." You mumbled, alerting him as he glanced up from his computer.

"Ah, dearest. I didn't think you'd be done with work so early." He said as he slouched back in his chair a tad. "Ango. It's 1 am." He looked surprised as he looked back down at his watch and sighed. "So it is.."

"It's time to go home, I'll pack your stuff." You say, reaching down and picking up his bag and putting stray papers and folders into it as he sat up. "Y/n, I really should finish this before-"

Before he could finish you already had both of your bags in your hands, walking over and sliding his desk chair back. He sat there blinking as you quickly saved and exited out every tab, then pressing the power button. "It's time to go home and eat a proper meal Sakaguchi." He stared at you in shock. "Well-"

Before he could get a thought out, he was scooped onto your shoulder. He struggled a bit out of shock as you positioned him better. "Let's go then." You spoke as you carried him out of the office. After a few seconds of walking, you could feel him ease up as he rested his head against your neck. You smiled in victory as you opened the glass door, walking towards the parking lot.

After securely placing him and your bags in the passenger seat, you hopped in the front and started making your way back home. "So, for dinner I was thinking I'd just make some rice and reheat that eel I made the other day. I know it's your favorite, not sure if it'll be as good reheated but eh, it's late." You smiled as you drove.

You couldn't see it, but Ango's face softened as he stared at you. It was funny how your voice and the way you talked could calm him so. Just a special skill of yours he guesses. "-and I swear I will cook again tomorrow. Feels like we've been having leftovers for days."

He chuckled as he rested back in the car seat. You chuckled as well as you pulled into the driveway. You yawned as you opened up your car door, Ango doing the same. You walked around, grabbing both bags again as you dug in your own for the keys. Before you could find them, Ango pulled out his own and unlocked the door himself.

You both walked in, you setting both bags in a separate room before slipping off Ango's jacket. "Go ahead and sit down. I bought some microwave rice so all I have to do is reheat the eel." You nodded at him as you headed to the kitchen. He watched as you walked away, a little awe struck. Even with your hair messy and your work clothes still on, you were gorgeous to him.

After a few minutes you walked back over and set down the two bowls next to him along with a small plate of cucumber strips. Sitting down and grabbing your own, you both began eating. It was quiet, only the sound of both of your chopsticks as you both enjoyed the meal together.

As both of your bowls emptied, you then stood up with a delightful sigh. "Alright. Now that our stomachs are full.." you spoke as you grabbed a piece of Ango's hair, which was slightly greasy. "We gotta do something about this."

Ango pushed up his glasses as you spoke, slightly embarrassed. You pulled back his chair, grabbing him under his arms and lifting him onto his feet. "Come on, bath time." You said as you grabbed his hand and led him to your bathroom.

He sat on the counter as you switched the tub on, closing the drain and watching it slowly fill. You grabbed a small bag of bath salts next to the tub along with a soap you knew he liked. Putting both in, you swished around the tub to mix it, before standing up and wiping your hand off as it filled.

"Alright, now strip." You said, looking over at Ango. His face exploded crimson as you spoke. You smirked down at him as you threw the towel to the counter. "It's not like I haven't seen it before y'know." You teased.

Ango looked away from you as he took off his glasses. "I know I know." He chuckled in embarrassment. You chuckled as well as you walked up to him. "Here, I'll help with your shirt. Just with the buttons." You said as you began un-buttoning each of the buttons on his shirt. He chuckled as he undid his tie right as you finished.

After, you put your attention back on the bath. It was almost full, but needed a few more bubbles. You walked over and put some more soap in as Ango finished undressing. You then stood up and turned the faucet off. "Alright, it's ready for ya An'"

You could see Ango melt as he got in the warm bath, his face softening. You smiled as you sat on your knees by the tub. You kissed his forehead as you leaned back, grabbing a scrub as you handed it to him. "Scrub all the work stress off your body. After your done I'll shampoo your hair. And condition it since it desperately needs it." You smiled at him as he took the scrub from you.

He laughed as you grabbed the shampoo and a cup. You waited a few minutes, making conversation as he washed the day off his body. After he finished you filled the cup up, dumping it over his head as he backed away from the water a bit. You smirked as you grabbed the shampoo, squirting it into the top of his head. Dipping your hands in the water first, you began scrubbing the shampoo into his scalp, which he seemed to be enjoying thoroughly.

After you finished his hair, you planted a few kisses around his face. Then standing up and begging to drain the tub. "Here, dry yourself off. I'll go get you some pj's," you smile as you hand him a towel. He smiles back as you leave the bathroom, walking into your shared bedroom.

As you walked back, you set the clothes onto the sink counter top. "Go ahead and get dressed, I'll change and meet you in bed." You said as you walked out of the bathroom.

When you walked back out to the bed, you saw Ango setting his glasses on the bed stand. You hopped onto the bed, releasing a sigh as you crawled under the covers. You then turned to the man beside you as he stared into your eyes. You smiled at him as you opened your arms. "C'me here."

He accepted the invitation as his head made contact with your chest. You chuckled lightly as your arms wrapped around him. You could feel his breath steady as it hit your neck. You slowly placed a line of kisses in his head as you stroked his back lightly. He sighed into you as he scoots closer.

"I love you my dear." He mumbled as you could hear the sleepiness in his voice. You kissed him once more as you pulled him even closer. "I love you too. Get some rest, alright? You need it." You said as your own eyes fell shut. The two of you enjoyed each other's arms that night.

#bungou stray dogs #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #ango sakaguchi x reader #ango x reader #ango bsd #Sakaguchi ango x reader #Glitchs✧works

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 13,742 (SHE'S A BIG 'UN!) Pairing: Teen!Daryl x Teen!Reader and Daryl x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Requested by: anonymous! thank you so much for your kind words about my writing, love! I hope this is everything you envisioned and more! fic inspired by a song (Riverside by Agnes Obel) that happens to be on my favorite playlist and is one of my faves to sing and play on the guitar—not even kidding, I was SO STOKED to see this request in my inbox. *heart eyes* I'll probably share a little cover of the song soon just for fun! Era: pre-apocalypse, outbreak day, Post-Negan Alexandria—specifically the time after Rick's "death" Warnings: language, child abuse (physical and verbal), violence, injury, gore, blood, frightening scenarios and imagery Summary: Bonded by shared trauma in their childhoods, Y/N and Daryl share a deep connection. But when life begins to distance them and later the cataclismic outbreak causes everything to fall apart, Daryl wonders if he'll ever see Y/N again and whether she is even alive.

Your name: submit What is this?

“Ya got any nibbles yet?” Daryl drawled, glancing over at where you were perched on a rock, line drifting a little in the faster current in the center of the river. The sun shimmered on your hair when you turned at the sound of his voice.

“No,” you said. “I thought you were supposed to be teaching me how to fish, not how to waste time,” you teased him.

Daryl rolled his eyes at you, but a boyish smirk graced his face. “I can’t make the fish bite,” he snarked back.

“No, but you said this was your best spot. I’m now a little skeptical of your abilities overall,” you joked.

He stuck his pole down in the sand on the riverbank and climbed to his feet. “If yer havin’ problems, dun ya think it’s prob’ly more likely that yer doin’ somethin’ wrong and the problem ain’t my spot?” he asked you.

You shot him a look with your eyes sharply narrowed, but you were smiling too. “Come over here and say that to my face.”

He let out a low laugh. “I just said it to yer face ‘n I’ll say it again.” He continued his way over and stopped beside you. “Gimme that,” he drawled, taking the pole from your hands. His fingers brushed yours and the tips of them were rough and callused. You didn’t mind. Comparatively, your skin felt like silk or like wet rice paper that might tear beneath even his lightest touch. Both of your hearts responded with abrupt jumps and Daryl was very conscious of the fact that his palms immediately started sweating. He ducked his head, suddenly unable to look directly at you, and focused on reeling in your line. The hook popped up out of the water finally and it was bare of bait.

He glanced over at you with one eyebrow raised. “Ya ain’t got no bait on here anymore. No wonder ya can’t get a bite. Somethin’ prob’y already bit it off…”

“Or maybe someone didn’t put the worm on securely enough,” you retorted. He watched with curiosity as you bent and started untying your shoes, slipping one off followed by the sock, which you shoved inside the discarded sneaker.

“What are ya doin’?” he asked, watching as your bare foot sunk into the sand at the edge of the water.

“I’m bored of fishing. I’m going in for a swim. You coming?” you asked him. “It’s hot.” He had already noticed the beads of sweat rolling down the side of your neck and catching in the cotton of your shirt collar.

It was hot. And Daryl was feeling warmer by the second. “Uhh… guess that means ‘m done fishin’ too. Ya go in and any fish that were hangin’ around will be gone.”

“Yep. So, I guess you better just come in,” you said with a smile. You moved your shoes to the top of the rock you’d been sitting on.

Daryl hurriedly and pointedly looked away as you suddenly started slipping off your shorts. He gulped again, averting his eyes anywhere but in your direction. “What are ya doin’?” he asked again, focusing his eyes up toward the rustling leaves in the sun-soaked canopy overhead.

Your response was a light, careless laugh. “I’m not going in swimming in jeans! But don’t worry. I won’t lose any more layers.” There was the sound of soft splashing as you slipped into the river.

Daryl rolled his eyes and hazarded a glance over at you. “I wasn’t worried…” he murmured to himself. He reeled in his own line and set the discarded rods up on the shore before ambling back over to the edge of the water. You were drifting lazily in the current, your hair floating out around your head and wavering in the water.

You were humming something, a low and melodic song that drifted to him and seemed to keep time with the breeze and the little waves lapping at the shore.

“What is that yer hummin’?” he asked you.

You didn’t even look over at him, arms outstretched and toes pointed up toward the trees as you floated on your back. “Some song my mom likes. I think it’s called ‘Riverside.’ Probably why it’s in my head.” You slipped completely underneath the surface for a moment and then stood up again, wiping water from your eyes and pushing your hair away from your face. It clung to the graceful curve of your neck. “Aren’t you coming in?” you asked him.

Daryl hesitated and you watched him wring his hands a little anxiously. You started back toward the water’s edge again with long, lazy strokes. “We’ll be dried off already before we have to go home. It’s a furnace out here today,” you said. “Or maybe even an incinerator.” There were still tiny droplets clinging to your eyelashes, like morning dew.

Daryl hummed a vague noise and chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. “It ain’t that…”

“Mmm,” you hummed back, understanding cresting over you. You walked slightly back toward where he stood on the shore. “Daryl—” you said softly. His name leaving your lips snapped his eyes back to you. “It’s okay. I already know. It’s okay…” you reassured him. Your expression was soft and sad, your eyes clear and shining, and it produced an ache in his chest and a desire to throw all his timidity away and go press his hand to your cool cheek.

Instead, he simply ducked his head for a moment before he nodded and reached for the hem of his shirt, sweeping it off and dropping it on a nearby boulder. He hurriedly toed off his socks and shoes and barreled into the water as if he was hoping to hide beneath it. The river was tea-colored and although a little murky, there was still no hiding his faintly pink scars and recent bruises beneath its waters. Besides, as you’d said, you already knew. You’d already seen them before. Hell, you’d helped patch him up a few times after a particularly bad episode with his drunken asshole of a father.

He dunked himself under and the deeper and cooler layer of water beneath the surface was refreshing and reviving. He came up shaking out his shaggy hair, eliciting laughter from you as the spray showered you again.

“There. See? It’s nice,” you said, smiling at him.

“Yeah… yer righ’. Like always,” he drawled, mopping more water off his face. He tried not to stare at how your shirt was alternately plastered to your curves and then billowing out around you depending on the way you turned in the water. You were ethereal, like if he reached out to touch you his fingers would pass right through you, a shape of only light. He stood still, his toes finding purchase in the sandy bottom only to keep him upright and in place against the current. He watched you take a few more strokes up the river and back, humming to yourself all the while, but you caught sight of his expression again and your brow furrowed. You made your way back over toward him, reading something on his face he didn’t know was written there.

You stopped squarely in front of him and his blue eyes lifted and met your gaze. “Want to see my latest?” you asked him. His brow furrowed in a question, but he didn’t have to wait long. Beneath the surface of the water, you pulled the cotton of your shirt aside and even through the cloudiness and tannin-stained hue he could see the bloom of a bruise near your hip that wrapped around toward the front of your stomach.

He felt a spasm of anger run through him. “What happened?”

“Geoff shoved me into the edge of the counter,” you said matter-of-factly, referencing your stepfather. “Held me there for a minute and—whatever…” you trailed off, dodging his eyes for a moment, a role reversal.

“Fuckin’ prick,” growled Daryl, scowling down at the dark mark on your skin, a surge of rage welling up inside him. When he let himself focus on it, he felt more anger toward your stepdad than he did even to his own father, regardless of whether that was logical or not. It entered his bloodstream and burned like poison, but another glance at your face and it melted away.

You dropped your shirt back into place below the water. “Yeah… Still—” You reached out and touched Daryl’s shoulder with your fingertips, your eyes going to a round scar near the end of his collarbone that looked like a cigarette burn. He almost shuddered under your fingers, but he would have mourned them had they left. No one touched him with anything other than violence, except for you. That alone was enough to make him fall for you… You moved around to his side and your fingers walked toward the back of his shoulder. “Not as bad as yours,” you said sadly, your eyes traveling over the puzzle of marks on his back, in various stages of healed and healing. Your stomach knotted into a pit.

Daryl felt strangely safe with you seeing this most painful part of him. ““I dun think it works like that…” he drawled. “One ain’t worse than the other. S’all bad.” It was almost a gift to be able to share his nightmare with someone else, though he wished you didn’t understand it as fully as you did under the hands of your stepdad.

You moved back around to face him again, and this time you were standing even closer. “You want to know what I think?”

There were no sharp edges to you in that moment—you were all of velvet and folds of fog over a beach of silky sand; he wanted to sink into you. You could be his escape. He gulped, and nodded in response to your question. He thought he could almost feel the warmth of you drifting toward him in the water that ebbed around your body and continued to his.

“I think you’re beautiful. No one tells boys they’re beautiful, but they should—especially you.” You reached up and smoothed a strand of his wet hair away from his forehead with the pad of your finger, your lips curving in a smile as you did so.

The only thing he could do was stare back at you, stunned. He wished he could unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth and say what he was thinking, which was that even if what you had just said was true, he was nothing compared to you. To him, you were the most beautiful damn thing in existence, inside and out. You were his best friend, his complement, a kindred spirit of a kind he’d never dreamed existed until he met you. If he could have summoned up some buried courage from somewhere deep inside him, he would have bridged that small buffer of space between you and kissed the soft pillow of your slightly pouting lips, tasted the river water still clinging to your skin. He would have rested his hands on the indent of your waist as he sometimes imagined doing late at night when he was home and couldn’t sleep and anxiety was eating him alive and every creak in the trailer was perhaps his father coming to drag him out of bed by his hair and beat the shit out of him for no reason and—just the thought of you stilled everything. And sure, he was a teenage boy, and sometimes his mind went to wholly lustful places, but more often he thought about gentle moments with you that were far purer, and for a while everything was good as he sunk into those recesses of his mind, indulging in a dangerous hope, inhabiting an innocent kind of fantasy.

But he didn’t say any of that, or do any of that, and then you were moving away as if you hadn’t just said something that went straight to the center of his heart. He watched as the curve of your eyelashes fanned out as you shut your eyes and floated away from him on your back, paddling softly with your arms and your feet against the current. You were humming that song again and it was like a soundtrack for the day.

Not long after that, you waded out of the river and sat on the sun-warmed stones and dried in the summer sun, side by side. And Daryl felt safe and whole. For once in his life, he inhabited the present moment with no worry or fear of what was possibly coming next.

He turned and glanced over at you where you were lying next to him, your eyes closed as the sun warmed your skin and damp clothes. “Did ya really mean what ya said earlier?” he asked you suddenly, not even really meaning to speak it out loud.

“About the fishing? Yeah, you suck,” you said, looking back over at him, a crooked smile on your lips. He loved that mischievous glint in your bright eyes.

He rolled his eyes at you and directed his attention back up toward the blue sky, framed by the billowing willows and cottonwoods. His fingers drummed anxiously on his stomach.

You laughed lightly and rolled onto your side facing him, propping yourself up on an elbow resting your head on your hand, wet strands of hair still clinging to your neck. “You mean the other thing,” you said. “When I said you’re beautiful.”

Daryl gulped and used all his courage just to look over at you again, still lying flat on his back, his skin against the warm sand and smooth stones. You read his doubt easily and sighed, your expression turning serious again. “Of course, I meant it.” There was no trace of sarcasm in your voice.

Daryl felt an electric shudder run through him and pulled his eyes away from yours, staring up, unseeing, too distracted by your words to fix his gaze on anything. “Ya shouldn’t say stuff like that,” he drawled.

You pushed yourself up on the palm of your hand, folding your legs beside you. “Why not?”

“Because.”

“That’s not a reason,” you countered, your brow furrowed now. You sat cross-legged facing him, dusting the sand from your palm.

“Ya just shouldn’t,” he drawled. He licked his lips nervously.

“Why?” you asked again, more strongly. “You can’t just say that and not explain.”

He leaned up on his elbows, his ribs outlined in shadow on his skinny frame. “Nah, you can’t,” he snapped. “Ya can’t just say that to me and then—then just act like ya ain’t said somethin’—somethin’—” He let out a frustrated noise, unable to find the right words to fit. How could he tell you that those words would consume him, would take up the entirety of his mind? Your brows were still drawn low over your eyes, fixed on him.

“You think I said that without any thought behind it? Is that it?”

He tore his eyes away from you again.

You scooted closer to him. “Sit up,” you said. He was still only leaned up on his elbows.

“Y/N—”

“Sit up,” you said again, and your tone compelled him to look at you. He pulled himself into a cross-legged position, mirroring you, confusion painted on his face. Your eyes flickered over his features. Suddenly, your hand, cool and light, was resting on the side of his neck. “Can I kiss you?” you asked quietly.

“…what?”

Your lips twitched into a small smile for a moment. “I’m asking you, Daryl Dixon, if I can kiss you. Do you want to kiss me?”

He stopped breathing. His heart stopped, suspended from your words, maybe floating somewhere outside his body, up with the fluttering willow leaves or even beyond. The only thing he could do was nod. He watched in amazement as you leaned in toward him, your head tilting slightly, your eyes closing just before the soft pillow of your lips met his. His eyes shut just as the space between the two of you vanished. You kissed him softly, so gently it was as if you were worried that he would break beneath your lips. It was all over too fast—before Daryl could even be sure that it was real, but when you pulled back the weight of your hand stayed on the side of his neck. Your eyes were again traveling over his face, this time trying to read his expression.

“I didn’t say it like it was nothing, with nothing behind it.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

Two weeks later

Daryl stood up abruptly from the steps of his dad’s dilapidated trailer, already nervous just from the sight of your approaching silhouette. As you came closer, the light above the door of your mobile home, where you lived with your mom and stepdad, cast you in a warm, orange glow that somehow seemed a little dingy. Even in that shitty lighting Daryl still thought you were the most beautiful fucking thing he’d ever seen. He tugged absently on the hem of his baggy t-shirt. “Hey,” he said, taking a couple quick steps toward you.

You broke into a wide smile like you always did when you saw him and his stomach somersaulted. “Hi,” you said. “Were you waiting out here for me?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, just—knew ya would be comin’ home kinda late and wanted to make sure ya made it inside alright,” he drawled. You were working a job after school to help your mom and to save a little money for whatever you decided you wanted to do in the future—mainly get the fuck out of that shitty trailer park.

You nodded and bit your bottom lip. “Thanks. But honestly, it’s probably inside that’s more concerning than out here,” you said darkly.

Daryl’s face fell. “He—he been givin’ ya a hard time?” he asked in a low voice.

You nodded, readjusting you bag over your shoulder. “More than usual.” You eyed the dark trailer behind him which you knew held the vast majority of his demons. “What about you? Are you okay?” You didn’t need to mention his father for Daryl to know what you meant.

“Me? Ah, ‘m fine. ‘M always fine…” he drawled. You gave him a sad, soft look. Fuck. Those big doe eyes you had seemed to turn him to an incoherent pillar of stone.

“You don’t have to be,” you said, stepping closer to him. “It’s okay to be—not okay.” He could smell the sweet scent of your shampoo, and he wanted to reach for you and kiss you right there. He couldn’t stop thinking about kissing you ever since that day by the river... He’d been trying to figure out some way to ask you about it, to bring it up, to find out what exactly it meant, but he never seemed to be able to take that scary step.

Daryl was about to reply when the screen door to your mom’s mobile home slammed open and rebounded against the siding. “What the fuck are you doing?” Your stepfather appeared at the threshold, drawing in a long pull on a cigarette. He paused and took a deep drink out of a glass in his other hand. “Get in the fucking house. You know how long I’ve been waiting for fucking dinner?” he spat.

“So, cook it yourself!” you snapped back. “You’ve got two hands!” You knew you’d probably pay for that but you were so incensed by him trying to tell you what to do while he sat around all day getting loaded, drinking and smoking your mom’s money away.

The look he gave you was cold and severe. His eyes landed on Daryl and a smug smirk broke across his face. “What are you lookin’ at, boy? Got something to say?”

Daryl hadn’t realized it, but his hands were clenched into fists and his blue eyes were sharp in a glare.

Your stepfather laughed and leaned casually on the doorframe. “Well, I guess when she comes home knocked up, I’ll know who’s to blame,” he said, taking in Daryl’s furious expression.

You felt your face and chest flush with humiliation. “It’s—it’s fine,” you murmured to Daryl. “I’ll just—I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

“Are ya sure yer—”

“Get in the fuckin’ house!” he roared again.

“Fine,” you said, already turning around to leave. “I’m fine.” And Daryl knew you meant ‘fine’ in the same way he’d just used it about himself.

It was maybe two hours later, while Daryl was sweating on his cot in the back of his dad’s trailer, sleep elusive as usual, when he shot upright at the sound of arguing from next door. That wasn’t uncommon, but this sounded worse than normal. Your stepfather was letting loose with a torrent of abusive language hurled at you at a volume that surely had all the surrounding neighbors awake. Daryl swiped a hand over his sweaty face and listened as your voice sounded back. At first your tone was also confrontational, but that all changed quickly when he heard loud bangs and crashes punctuated by fearful shouts. Daryl kneeled on his cot and squinted through the crooked blind slats at the trailer house you were in as if he’d be able to see through the walls. He could vaguely make out a moving shadow on the blinds of one window, but that was about it.

Your mother worked the night shift at a manufacturing plant. You were in there alone with him…

Another crash and the sound of shattering glass. More yelling from him. Then, a yelp. That was you letting out a yelp of pain and then a cry that stopped short suddenly.

Nah. Nuh uh. Not tonight, fuckface. Daryl’s own father had been passed out drunk by eight pm, but Daryl still yanked the screen out of his window and boosted himself through instead of going out the front, fear of somehow rousing his dad so ingrained that Daryl didn’t even think about it. As his feet landed softly in the dried grass below his window, he could now clearly hear you crying and pleading with your stepdad. Nausea and anger rolled his stomach.

Without even really thinking, Daryl burst into the mobile home and found you cowering on the floor of the kitchen, your back pressed against the cabinets, one arm up as if to shield yourself from more blows. Your stepdad had a fist raised, clearly getting ready to strike another blow even while you cried where you were cornered, eyes wide and panicked, begging him to stop. There was broken dishware and glass all over the laminate floor of the small kitchen area. You had tears pouring down your face. Half your face was already red and swelling and your eyebrow was split open. A cascade of blood flowed down your cheek.

Your stepfather lunged toward you again and Daryl reacted reflexively, rushing in and grabbing hold of his arm before he could bring his fist down to make contact with you again. “Hey! Don’t touch her!” he yelled, tugging Geoff’s arm back and away from you with all his strength.

Even from your place on the floor you tried to stop Daryl from getting involved. “Daryl, don’t!” you managed through a staggered breath, syncopated from your crying. “D—don’t! Just go!”

Geoff spun around, tossing Daryl off and locking his eyes on the teenager, who was simply standing there with his fists clenched, dwarfed by the towering man in front of him. He was a kid of sixteen challenging a violent bully twice his size. Your stepfather let out a cold laugh. “Oh, I’ve been lookin’ for an excuse to get my hands on you,” he growled to Daryl. “Your old man has told me what a piece of work you are, boy.” Behind him, Daryl saw you trying to pull yourself to your feet, grabbing onto the edge of the counter, but you slid back down, clutching your arm around your middle. Your knees seemed to give out and your eyes squeezed shut tightly.

“N—no, Daryl, go!” you yelled desperately, trying to stand again and managing to pull yourself partially to your feet this time, gripping the edge of cabinets hard.

“Shut the fuck up, you little bitch!” Your stepdad whipped around and back-handed you across the face so fast it was over before Daryl could do anything to stop it. You were splayed out flat on the floor now, stunned, your palms and knees pressing down into the broken glass scattered across the peeling laminate. Daryl had had enough.

“Don’t fuckin’ touch her!” he roared, drawing Geoff’s attention again. That was fine. If he could just keep your stepdad’s attention on himself instead of on you…

Geoff only laughed again. The level of enjoyment he seemed to be getting from this was disturbing. It was as if he fed on the fear permeating the air. “What the hell are you gonna do, boy? Yer just a dumb kid who’s landed himself in a man’s game.”

What the fuck was he gonna do? His mind was working so quickly now everything around him felt like it was crawling along in slow motion. You were still prone on the ground, trying to get your bearings. His eyes hurriedly scanned the room for something he could use as a weapon. His eyes landed on the knife block on the counter. Right when he was working himself up to lunging for it, grappling with the reality that he might be about to pull a knife on a grown man, hurt him if he had to, maybe even kill him to protect you, there was a pounding on the trailer door behind him. Then he realized blue and red lights were flashing through the slats in the blinds, lighting up the entire inside, bathing the chaos in garish color.

“Sheriff’s office! I need everybody to come out of the house slowly with their hands where I can see them!” The voice was urgent and demanding.

Someone, one of the neighbors, had called 9-1-1. Daryl had never been so glad of the close quarters in the trailer park before.

Geoff let loose a string of expletives and shoved Daryl aside carelessly, not even sparing you a glance, going to the door and already yelling at the officer who was standing there with his flashlight raised and a hand on his gun. Daryl rushed to where you were stirring on the floor, lifting your head where a small pool of blood had formed from the gash in your eyebrow. Part of your hair was stained crimson. His stomach twisted.

“Y/N—Jesus, what the fuck did he do to ya?” He helped you sit up and fumbled for a kitchen towel hanging behind you on the fridge handle, pressing it to your wound. With the other hand he clasped your face. “Hey—hey, can ya hear me? Y/N, look at me.”

You were disoriented and seemed only vaguely conscious. “D—Daryl?” you finally stammered.

“’M here. ‘M right here. Yer okay. The cops—somebody called ‘em. Yer okay.” Behind him, Daryl could hear your stepdad arguing loudly with the police. The sound peaked and then stopped altogether. They seemed to have hauled him away to calm down, probably to cool off in a squad car. There was another series of knocks on the door.

“I need anyone else in this residence to make themselves known! Sheriff’s office!”

“Here! We need help here!” Daryl called over his shoulder. You seemed to be coming around and you fixed your eyes on Daryl’s face.

“Daryl,” you murmured. A fresh wave of tears began to pour out of your eyes. The swelling on your face seemed to be getting worse by the second. Daryl realized there were specks of glass ground into your cheek and forehead from your fall to the floor and his rage made his hands shake, all while he tried to speak softly to you, tried to calm you.

“It’s okay. ‘M righ’ here.”

Two officers moved into the small mobile home and found the two of you huddled on the kitchen floor. “Is anyone else in the residence?” one of them asked anxiously, edging toward the doorway that led into the rest of the trailer.

“No,” Daryl answered, not breaking contact with you. His hand was warm against the side of your neck. “No, there’s no one. We need—we need an ambulance—a medic, somethin’,” he urged them. They reassured him that one was outside. As soon as they were satisfied that no one else was lurking around or involved in the unfolding nightmare, they helped Daryl get you on your feet and ushered both of you to the door and out into the night.

Daryl had an arm around you, supporting you as an officer escorted you both to the waiting ambulance. The EMTs hurriedly sat you down on the back and rushed to action. Daryl tried to step away to give them some space to help you, but a look of terror seized you and you grabbed his hand and clung to it. “S’okay,” he soothed you. “S’okay. ‘M here. I ain’t leavin’ ya…”

He sank down beside you and wrapped his arm around your back again. Your fingers found his other hand and quickly laced between them. You moved toward him until your side was pressed against his. He could feel you trembling slightly. The medic recommended that you travel to the hospital to get checked more thoroughly for a concussion and broken bones and several times there were mentions of shock, though you seemed to be more aware of what was happening now, less disoriented. Of course, the police needed to talk to both of you, get statements, ask questions… and get evidence.

Evidence. The word stuck between Daryl’s lungs. It held a heavy weight and dredged up the horrific reality. Jesus Christ. He could have killed you. He might have, if Daryl hadn’t—

An officer was talking to you both. “Is there someone else we can call for you? Your mom?”

You gulped. “My—my mom is working… we—we can’t call her. They’ll fire her if she has to leave the factory floor.”

The officer frowned. “Another relative then?”

You shook your head. “My dad isn’t around. And we don’t really have family here.” You drew in a shaky breath. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine… If Daryl can come with me, I’ll be fine.”

“We’ll call a social worker for you. They’ll meet us at the hospital. And then I’ll need to talk to both of you separately. I’ll ride with you there,” he said, climbing into the ambulance and sitting alongside one of the EMTs.

As they closed the ambulance doors, Daryl was vaguely aware of his own father standing back at the edge of the reach of the flashing blue and red lights, watching with a scowl on his face that sent a shiver up Daryl’s back.

The ride to the hospital was silent. You and Daryl sat side-by-side on the stretcher and you leaned into him again. His thumb moved against the skin on your upper arm softly, up and down. Up and down. Up and down. You wavered beside him a little, fighting the upwellings of pain that seemed to shoot through your entire body. The weight of you against him grew. He tightened his arm around you reassuringly. Finally, you arrived and were helped into a room in the ER. Here, you had to separate. You looked almost frantic as a nurse led you away to change into a gown, accompanied by complete strangers; the social worker and the hospital staff. He felt nauseous at the sight of your injuries, the worsening swelling on your face, the limp in your walk, and the desperation with which you glanced back at him. Daryl watched as you disappeared behind a closed door.

He became aware that the cop was asking him something. “Huh?”

“Your relationship to the victim?”

Daryl’s eyes narrowed. “The victim?” he repeated. He hated the sound of that.

The cop cleared his throat. “Sorry. Y/N. Your relationship?”

It was a simple question but Daryl was puzzled about how to answer. I’ve been in love with her for years and we kissed two weeks ago, and maybe she loves me too, but I don’t really know what we are still. Stupid. That was stupid. He’d sound like an idiot kid. He was an idiot kid. But he still couldn’t say that. “I live next door and we go to school together. But mostly, she’s… my best friend,” he said.

The cop scribbled on his note pad, surveying Daryl afterwards. “Alright. And why don’t you just tell me what happened tonight?”

He recounted all of it as accurately as he could remember, starting with waiting for you to come home after work. The verbal altercation outside. The argument inside your mobile home later. Hearing things being thrown, crashing. Hearing you scream. Rushing in and seeing—all of it.

The police officer’s expression was grim. “Has this happened before? With her stepfather?”

“Yeah. But this is the worst it’s ever been. I mean… that I know about.”

“What about her mother? Any… concerns there?”

Daryl shrugged. “Her mom is good people. She’d never hurt Y/N. But I’m pretty sure that piece of shit—uhh, sorry—I think Y/N’s stepdad hits her mom too.”

That was pretty much the end of Daryl’s statement, except for one last thing that scared him so much his blood ran cold. The officer looked him right in the eye and stuck out a hand for a handshake. When Daryl grabbed it, he said, “I think you may have saved Y/N’s life tonight. You and the woman who called this in. It’s just a feeling. After you’ve been a cop for a while, sometimes you just know. You did the right thing, even though I wouldn’t recommend you make a habit of this kind of thing. You could have been seriously hurt too.”

Daryl shrugged. “I didn’t think ‘bout it. I just knew I had to get in there and do somethin’.”

And that was it. He sank into one of the stiff green chairs outside your room and waited. And waited. And waited. Finally, the door opened and he was immediately on his feet. A nurse was standing at the threshold.

“Are you Daryl?” He nodded. “She’s asking for you. Come in.”

He gulped and chewed on his bottom lip as he stepped into your room. You were lying on a bed in one of those gowns that feel like they aren’t quite made of fabric but aren’t paper either. A doctor was beside you, prepping something. Nurses were standing around. Your eyebrow was still bandaged. There were dotted red marks on your swollen cheek from the glass. Your palms had some light bandaging around them too. He wondered how badly you were bruised in places he couldn’t see… Even now there were glaring marks forming on your arms, clearly places where your stepdad had grabbed you.

You seemed more alert, maybe as a result of the passage of time or from the IV fluids minimizing your pain and rehydrating you after such a traumatic shock. But seeing your swollen face was still a punch in the gut. Daryl moved around to your bedside. He felt small and useless in that place, with doctors and nurses rushing around.

“You look like shit,” you said suddenly, and one corner of your mouth tugged upward briefly. Daryl’s expression didn’t change, didn’t ease. “Relax. It’s a joke,” you said dryly.

All he could do was reach for your hand. He held it gently, keenly aware of the bandage around it. His brow was deeply furrowed, casting a shadow over his blue eyes.

“They’re about to give me a shot in my face and stitch my eyebrow up,” you explained. “I could use the moral support.” Your voice had an unusual rasp in it. Daryl sat silently next to you and held your hand as they stitched you up. You barely flinched.

Afterwards, once the nurses and doctors had told you that you could get dressed again and departed, you sat up and glanced over at him.

“That was really stupid, you know,” you said. Tears burned in your eyes again. “Running in like that… He could have killed you.”

Daryl shook his head. “I was worried he was gonna kill you,” he drawled. “I did exactly what I shoulda.”

You didn’t say anything for a long moment. “I saw your dad standing there, when we were leaving in the ambulance. …Are you gonna be okay?” you asked him.

A dry laugh of disbelief left him. “Are ya kiddin’? Y/N yer in the hospital and yer worried about my old man?”

“Of course I am. It could be you in the hospital next.”

Daryl shook his head. “Nah. It’ll be fine. I’ll be fine… He’s probably just worried I’m gonna say somethin’ to the cops about what a piece of shit he is...”

“Maybe you should,” you said. Daryl didn’t respond. You’d had this conversation endlessly together before, much more often about the abuse against him than for you, and it always ended the same way. Neither of you told anyone anything, too afraid of the fallout. But tonight it wasn’t your choice. Someone else had made the call, and it had gone far enough that you knew it couldn’t be undone… You wanted your stepdad gone, of course, but this would be messy.

“What’d the doctor’s say?” Daryl asked.

You shrugged and gulped, avoiding his eyes for a moment. “Fractured cheekbone. Fractured rib. Concussion. But they said I don’t have to stay overnight. And I don’t need surgery or anything, just the stitches. They gave me some painkillers.” You paused and glanced back up at him. You could read turmoil behind his eyes.

Daryl felt lost sitting there, still holding your hand, his eyes drifting over your battered face. He would have taken it. If he could have exchanged places with you, he would have. He would have taken it to stop you from having to go through this. He’d have taken all of it and more. That son of a bitch better rot in jail.

Merle or his dad would probably mock him for being “soft” if they knew the whole of what had happened, or rather how Daryl felt about what had happened, how sick it made him, how it seemed to have opened an achy blackhole in his chest that was seemingly filled with both emptiness and rage. But Daryl thought that even if nothing else in his life turned out, at least he’d been there to keep you safe that night.

He stepped outside so you could change back into your clothes. Your shirt had bloodstains on it that immediately drew his eyes when you stepped out again. His chest swelled with anger again. But you stepped forward and gently grabbed his hand again, lacing your fingers together as you had done all night. “Come on,” you said softly. “My mom should be here soon to pick us up.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

One Year Later You slowed as you caught sight of his familiar broad-shouldered frame across the parking lot. You sighed and continued your walk, crossing toward him. Most of the spaces were empty now. You’d lingered behind after school for a little while at the library. Daryl was parked on his bike, his curtain of dark hair ruffled around his face from the wind. He climbed off as you approached and you stopped next to him, fiddling aimlessly with your keys.

“Hey,” he drawled.

“Hi,” you said, surveying his expression carefully. It was unreadable.

He shifted his weight a little anxiously. “Can I—give ya a ride?” he asked.

“Is that why you’re here?”

He shrugged. “Not exactly…” he drawled.

You sighed, your brow furrowing heavily. “Daryl—you’re making this too hard,” you said softly. “You can’t just keep showing up here…”

“I just wanna give ya a ride. Tha’s all. Since you and yer mom moved I never see ya anymore and—” he broke off.

You shook your head, a distinctly pained expression on your face. “That isn’t why we don’t see each other anymore.” He ducked your gaze, staring down at his boots for a long moment and shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “If you hadn’t dropped out—”

“If ya didn’t hate my brother so much me droppin’ out wouldn’t be a problem,” he interrupted. “We could see each other all the time.” Heat was flaring in his chest and he looked up and met your gaze again. You still had that wholly aggrieved expression on your face, like this conversation was physically hurting you. He didn’t realize that in a way it was. Every time you had to rehash this with him it was a tug of war between your feelings for him and your deeply ingrained past trauma. The scar on your eyebrow was still pink. If your nose or cheek got bumped on accident it still brought you to your knees from the pain if the all too recent fractures. It hadn’t been that long since Daryl had stopped your (now ex-)stepdad from beating the shit out of you. Just the mere mention of your stepfather still triggered a wild panic that you had no control over—and Merle? Merle Dixon reminded you of your stepdad when your mom had first met him.

“Your brother isn’t a safe person,” you started. “And the other people he runs around with aren’t either. I don’t want anything to do with it. Do you really want me around them? You really think that’s a good thing for me?”

“He ain’t a psychopath,” Daryl argued, pacing closer to you, emphatic as he tried to convince you for the umpteenth time. “Sure, he gets in bar fights and pops pills but he ain’t—he ain’t—”

Suddenly, there were tears running out over your cheeks and Daryl stopped short. “Why can’t you see that that isn’t what I want for you? And it definitely isn’t what I want for myself! I don’t understand the choices you’ve made! You could do so many other things and you’re following Merle around getting into shit so far beneath you—”

“He’s my family,” Daryl argued back. “What am I s’posed to do? Just turn away from that? He’s the only thing I got left. He’s my blood.”

You hastily wiped the tears from your cheeks. “So was your dad,” you pointed out.

Daryl flinched at the mention of his father and a shadow passed over his face.

“Family means something else, Daryl. And if you still don’t understand why I can’t be around all the shit you’re getting into then—I don’t know what else to say.” You studied him for a moment and then stepped forward and cupped his face. “You’re worth so much more than all of this.”

He felt desperation swelling in between his lungs. He wanted your hand to stay there on his cheek forever. “Look—ya ain’t gotta be ‘round it. I can just—we can just see each other, just us two, when we can, ya know? We can figure it out.”

You wiped away another tear that had escaped and let out a dry laugh. “What, you want me to share custody of you with Merle?” you said. “Daryl…”

“We can figure it out!” he insisted. “Y/N—the way I feel about ya—”

“Daryl, stop! Don’t say it! Don’t… okay? That’s not a life! Seeing you, what, every other Friday? Worrying myself sick all the time that something horrible is gonna happen to you when Merle shorts a drug dealer or picks a fight with the wrong MC? I just—with what’s happened to me, I can’t. You’re making this too hard showing up here all the time… And I feel like I’m torn in two. I can’t… If this is what you’re choosing, you’re going to have to do it without me. I’m not saying we can’t still be friends but I just—I can’t…”

Daryl saw your walls closing in around you again and his heart sank into the bottom of his stomach and laid there heavily, like a brick. He tore his eyes away from you again and tried to breathe. It was hard to get his lungs working again… “Can I at least just give ya a ride to work? Please?” He just wanted to feel your arms around him again one more time.

You nodded.

_ _ _ _ _ _

“I’m tellin’ you, boy—that’s about the dumbest shit you could do, headin’ that way!” Merle said loudly, following Daryl back over to his bike where he continued strapping down his hastily gathered gear. “Use yer fuckin’ head! All that shitstorm in the city is gonna be spilling out every which way.”

“Shut the fuck up, Merle! I don’t give a shit what ya do, but ‘m goin’ back that way and ya barkin’ at me ain’t gonna change a damn thing!” Daryl roared back.

“Yer gonna wind up dead, goin’ back toward the damn city! And I ain’t gonna cry for ya. ‘M just gonna tell ya I told ya so,” Merle spat.

Daryl straightened up and fixed a hard glare on his older brother. “How the fuck ya gonna tell me ‘I told ya so’ if ‘m fuckin’ dead?” he growled. He swung his leg over his bike. “Do whatever ya want—I don’t give a shit!” He started his bike and made ready to leave.

Merle let loose with a string of expletives. “Go get yerself eaten by one of those freaks walkin’ around, or better yet—shot by some amped up pig tryin’ to ‘keep the peace’! I’ll be settin’ up shop out by the old gravel pit catchin’ myself some fat fish for dinner!” he roared over Daryl’s engine. “All this for some broad who ain’t givin’ ya nothin’ more than a—” Daryl didn’t even respond, just took off, letting gravel fly behind him, drowning out whatever final spout of bullshit Merle was spewing.

Daryl quickly lost track of how many wailing sirens and emergency vehicles he passed, speeding back toward Atlanta. If he hadn’t been on a motorcycle, he would have hardly been able to go a mile before he would have joined the gridlocked traffic clogging the highways or the tangled masses of crashed vehicles, some still emitting steam or even actively burning, flames licking out from under the hoods, billowing black smoke swirling overhead. Disoriented and wounded people were standing aside dazed. He wove his way through all of it, his heart pounding so hard it was running wild. Scenes of horror occasionally flicked past him as he rode; staggering infected still walking with missing limbs, or others bent over unidentifiable piles of gore and slowly chewing, looking up at the sound of his bike blankly. And there were survivors—blood pouring down the sides of their faces or some walking without shoes, clutching dirty bags as they tried to flee from nowhere to nowhere. Shit, they’d really hid just how bad this really was… until they couldn’t hide it anymore. Daryl didn’t really know who the “they” was that he was thinking of—the feds, the state, the media, the military, all of them—but it was obvious no one had been telling the full truth on the nightly news. Fifty percent of the population was dead from the disease and infected straight away, and with what he was seeing now another half of whoever was left would probably be gone within another day. He tried to keep himself focused, keep his head down and his bike speeding along. If he didn’t, waves of panic threatened to swamp him under.

In the distance, black columns of smoke rose up from the city and Daryl could see what looked like dozens of helicopters circling. Everything was chaos. It was like he’d suddenly been transported into some warzone. But he didn’t pay any attention to any of it. His mind was bent solely on getting to that little bar and café where you worked. He took the final turn onto the gravel road so quickly that he nearly skidded out on his bike. He left a hazy brown cloud of dust behind him as he hit the accelerator and the engine rumbled. There were no cars in sight on the rural road that led to the lonely little building, save an old farm truck in one ditch.

Daryl didn’t know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. He couldn’t decide if the quiet and deserted scene was ominous or not.

He raced into the little parking lot, which still had some cars and trucks parked in it like any normal day. The lights were on inside the building, but when he glanced through the big front window as he jogged up to the door his stomach sank. He didn’t see anyone, and the place looked like a tornado had torn through it. He pushed inside and stopped on the mat, his eyes surveying the scene. Stools and chairs were overturned. The bar was in complete disarray with broken bottles of booze smashed on the tile floor. Glass crunched beneath his boots as he took a few more hesitant steps in, the door slamming behind him in the wind. Worse still, there were dark, rusty spots glaring horribly on the tile—blood. Some were small circular droplets but others were large swipes and smears, all in various stages of dried or drying... His stomach twisted. God, no. Please, let her be okay.

Suddenly, he heard some clattering in the back room, and his hand went instinctively for the gun he’d stowed on his hip. He raised it, adjusting his grip so it was secure, and strained his hearing. “…Y/N?” he called out hopefully.

The only answer was more banging from the kitchen area. Daryl moved slowly toward the sound. As he passed the bar, heading for the swinging door to the kitchen, he glanced to his right and saw an unmoving bloody body sprawled on the dingy rubber mat. Part of it had been—there was no other word for it—eaten. His stomach responded with an automatic swell of nausea and he had to shut his eyes for a long moment to prevent himself from vomiting. Daryl was no stranger to blood. Beyond his fucked-up childhood, Merle was quite good at getting into fights when he was high or drunk that Daryl had to help finish. They’d been in plenty of tight spots. But this—this was something else entirely…

He refocused on the noise ahead and pushed the swinging door open with the toe of his boot. The kitchen seemed to be less ransacked than the front room, with the exception of plates of food and dishes left where they lay, as if the whole restaurant crew had just walked out a moment earlier. There were a large number of flies buzzing around, however. The banging was coming from a supply closet and Daryl edged his way toward it, reaching out a somewhat shaky hand to grasp the knob. A sudden, horrific thought seized him: what if he was about to find you as one of those—those things.

No. No… a stronger voice inside him answered. No. Not possible. It isn’t her.

He readied his gun and pulled the door open wide.

There was an infected… zombie? (He didn’t know what else to call them) inside, but it wasn’t you. It ambled toward him as he backed up, its rotting fingers reaching for him. The sickly sweet and repulsive smell of decay was overwhelming and another swell of nausea hit him.

Daryl fired his gun squarely into the chest of the advancing zombie. The shot knocked it back, almost off its feet, but amazingly it only started toward him again. “What the fuck?” he murmured, narrowing his eyes. He squeezed off two more rounds, which both hit the infected squarely in the chest, but it hardly staggered. Panic started to seize him as he backed up and it continued forward. “You piece of shit,” he growled. He emptied five more rounds into the zombie and it fell backwards to the floor. He only had one shot left and the damn thing was still moving. Daryl rushed forward and slammed his boot down on its chest to hold it to the ground, took aim at its head, and fired the last bullet in the magazine. Finally, with a sickening spray of gore, it was still and silent.

Daryl was gasping in tremendous breaths as he lifted his boot from the still corpse and turned his eyes away to scan the scene again. He found himself searching for some trace of you, but what? What was he even hoping to find? He hadn’t seen your car in the front of the lot. He pushed out through the rear door and scrutinized the dirt, hoping to see a footprint that was your size, some proof that you’d gotten out of there safely, alive. He found nothing but some scuffs in the gravel and tire marks from a large truck or SUV.

He cut through the kitchen and into the main room of the café again. His empty gun still hanging by his side, clutched tightly. Daryl’s eyes returned to the stains on the tile floor—so much blood… And no sign of you. He was too late. Whether you were dead or alive, he was too late…

His hurried back to his bike and kicked it in gear, turning it back toward the gravel road and zipping along, kicking up a steady brown trail of dust in his wake. Your house. The little farmhouse you rented. That was his last chance of finding you, or getting you out, of making sure you’d be okay. His mind was racing… he wished now more than ever that he’d listened to you those years ago after he’d dropped out—wished he’d done whatever he could to stay by your side and to be more. Instead, he’d wasted all this time running around with Merle, seeing you only every once and a while when he stopped in at the restaurant for a meal as an excuse to see you again. And now when it really mattered, when the entire world seemed to be ending, he hadn’t been there with you…

He knew something was very wrong as soon as he pulled up to the little house. The screen door out front was hanging on by one hinge. The wood was broken and dangling by the remaining metal screen. He stopped his bike and squinted at the windows, praying that he’d see you looking out of one, scared but here.

His train of thought was broken when a flood of infected, attracted by the sound of his engine, suddenly began pouring out of the house.

Terror seized him. “Son of a bitch,” he swore under his breath. His hand fumbled for a knife he kept in one of the saddle bags, but as he watched the dead continue out of the house and slowly amble toward him, he knew there were too many of them for him to handle. If you had been in that house, Daryl knew you were either dead or one of these things now. The awful thought struck him cold…

He felt tears burn in his eyes as he turned away, speeding in the direction of the gravel quarry to find Merle. The hopelessness that blanketed him was heavy and all-consuming. He had no thoughts, his eyes were nearly unseeing, and he felt empty the entire ride, surprising himself when he arrived and suddenly looked up to see Merle’s bike parked beside a tent. His brother was perched on an overturned bucket, a small metal camping dish in his hands. Daryl pulled to a stop beside Merle’s bike and turned off the engine. His body felt heavy and moving seemed to take a great effort as he climbed off and began to pull his gear free from the back of his motorcycle. He could feel Merle watching his every move, but did his best to ignore it.

Daryl dumped his gear in a pile and began to pull his own tent from its pack. Merle finally spoke.

“No broad,” he commented, his mouth twisting into a half-smirk. Daryl’s fist clenched but he simply continued laying out the poles for his tent. “I told ya,” Merle said. “She dead?”

That was too much. Daryl stood and paced over to his brother, his expression hard, his jaw clenched. “Y/N ain’t just some broad. And if ya ever say anythin’ else ‘bout her, one fuckin’ word, even if ya just say her name, I’ll break yer jaw.” He turned his back and returned to setting up camp. Merle, in classic Merle-fashion, only laughed and let out a low whistle.

“Oh, I’m really scared, baby brother. Shakin’ in my boots,” he said. He shoved another forkful of fish into his mouth. “Guess it’s still just you and me…”

_ _ _ _ _ _

Daryl rose before the sun. The morning air was chill and heavy with moisture as he pulled on more layers and revived the fire, setting a pot of leftover fish and broth over it to heat. He rubbed his hands together and turned an ear toward the forest and listened to the chattering and singing of the birds. They heralded that autumn was approaching. The raspy croak of a raven. The melodic lilting of a thrush.

Dog moved closer to the fire and laid down to bask in its heat. Daryl’s eyes went to the river. This section was unfamiliar to him, but it wouldn’t be after today. He and Dog would spend all day combing the banks, pushing through rushes and cattails, scattering puffs of seeds that would drift on the wind, hoping and yet dreading any sign of Rick. It was a lonely task, but he was determined to do it for his friend, his brother.

The liquid in the pot rolled to a boil and Daryl used his spoon to hunt the remaining chunks of fish from the day before. He tossed one to Dog who gulped it down so quickly he could hardly have tasted it. The warmth of the broth helped Daryl shake off the rest of the morning’s chill.

He gathered his gear and whistled to Dog, and set off down the bank, scrutinizing the little areas of mud flats which tried to wrest his boots from his feet. He saw only sign of deer and rabbit and raccoon. He looked for trails in the long grass that nodded and bowed toward the brown water and he found them—but they weren’t made by boot or foot.

By the time it was near noon and Daryl was preparing to ford across to the other side his heart had sunk and he began to lose momentum. What could he possibly hope to find this far away from where the bridge had blown apart? A corpse.

Suddenly, Dog let out a high-pitched bark and fixed his gaze across the river. His tail began to wag furiously and he let loose with a few more excited yips.

“Shhh!” Daryl quieted him, squinting across the river, scrutinizing the shadows on the other side. That was no bark to signal a walker… Dog sat perfectly still, except for the tip of his tail continuing to wiggle. That’s when Daryl heard it; a soft humming, drifting across the water, rippling to him in faint phrases that were sweet and smooth.

There was something familiar about it. His heart stirred in his chest and rose from the depths it had sunk to. It quickened. Daryl stared, watching the shadows for the shifting of a someone. He saw nothing. But that song… It was bringing uncontrollable sensations of warmth and sunlight and sun-dappled stones, of long summer days and water droplets on skin and—

The next moment, Daryl waded into the water, leaning on the sharpened stick to steady himself, and crossed to the other side. The music seemed to float between the trees. He had trouble determining where exactly it was coming from. His heart was hammering in his chest as he attempted to trace the melody like he was tracking an animal. It grew steadily louder over the sound of Dog’s panting behind him. As he felt he was nearing the point where he’d be able to see whoever was humming, words suddenly drifted to him, in a voice low and sweet, and his stomach somersaulted. He silenced his steps and crept closer and closer, moving from one shadow to another, straining his eyes and ears desperately.

Finally, there. The figure of a woman, knee deep in a bend of the river that had been out of his view from the other side, with a fishing rod in her hands. She hummed and sang aimlessly as she recast her line into deeper waters, bouncing the tip of the rod to attract fish and then letting it all still. She was all patience, a statue as the current swirled around her. She seemed part of the river herself, dressed in olive tones and muddy browns, adopted into the scene as a quiet wild thing herself. Her back was to Daryl, but the longer he watched from his place tucked beneath an ancient cottonwood tree, the more certain he was, until he couldn’t wait any longer.

He stood and quietly stepped out from his hiding place, striding toward the small opening that was soft with grass at the edge of the water.

He watched as the figure suddenly jerked the rod and began to steadily reel in line. The tip of the rod was bent beneath the weight of a fish that eventually broke the surface in a riot of splashing. Daryl was now at the very edge of the water behind her and paused as she grabbed hold of the fish and carefully removed the hook.

“Yer better at fishin’ than I remember,” he said suddenly. His voice was gravelly from disuse.

The figure spun around in shock and fixed her wide eyes on him. He saw her brow furrowing and her eyes hurrying over him, from his heavily patched pants to the poncho draped over him to his curtain of wavy brown hair.

She was stunned into silence, the fish still dangling from her hand, the rod in the other.

“Y/N—” He could see the distinctive scar that cut across your eyebrow, the spot that still never grew any hair.

You stared up at him where he stood on the bank, feeling your shock finally pass and be replaced by a wild wonder and disbelief. Your eyes flickered over him again and your lips parted slightly, as if you were about to speak, but nothing came out.

He shifted nervously and held his hands up palms out in a sign of goodwill. “S’me. S’Daryl,” he drawled softly.

He was surprised when this elicited a sudden laugh from you, and he saw tears burning in your eyes when you finally spoke.

“I know it’s you, Daryl Dixon,” you laughed. The tears broke out and ran down your cheeks.

Daryl’s heart thudded away in his chest. You saying his name seemed to bring back a dizzying rush of memories and sensations and hopes and he felt like his damn knees almost gave out. You were alive. And you were here, standing right in front of him. And you were just as beautiful as he remembered. Maybe even more so… The passage of years seemed to have imbued you with a steadiness and a strength that was unmistakable.

Dog suddenly bounded out from where Daryl had made him wait, barking and prancing around him happily, tail a blur of movement. “Friend of yours?” you asked.

“Huh?” Daryl was still just staring at you, dumbfounded. “Oh—yeah. This is Dog,” he said, grabbing him and making him sit, patting him on the head and turning his blue eyes back to you, where they fixed on your face and didn’t stray.

“Dog?” you repeated. “Well, it’s accurate anyway.” There was a pause that seemed filled with tension. You were staring right back at him, your eyes still a little glassy. “…Are you going to help me out of here or do I need to embarrass myself trying to climb out?”

“Righ’. S—sorry,” he said hurriedly. He went to the riverbank and took the fish from you, tossing it on the bank where Dog immediately inspected it and gave it a few eager licks before testing his teeth on its head. “Dog! Leave it!” Daryl scolded him. “Sorry… he likes crunchin’ the heads for some fuckin’ reason,” he murmured. He extended a hand to you and helped pull you up onto the bank. Even when your feet were firmly planted on solid ground, he didn’t step away and he didn’t let go. The two of you were just looking at each other up close, both afraid to glance away in case the other would vanish.

Daryl cleared his throat, which felt constricted. “Ya were singin’ that song. From that day at the river,” Daryl drawled, his deep voice resonant in his chest. “I heard it and—I thought it couldn’t be—” he broke off, suddenly struggling with emotion rising up in a turbulent torrent. “But I knew it was…”

You nodded, unable to speak. You studied his face. He had scars he didn’t have before and he was weathered from the passage of years, but you thought he was even more beautiful than ever.

Finally, perhaps realizing the time he should have let go of your hand had long since passed, Daryl gulped nervously and stepped back, and his fingers slipped from yours.

“Come on. This way,” you said, gathering up the fish and retrieving a bag from nearby. Daryl followed you on a game trail that led through the trees. In a short while, you both came to a little cabin, not more than a shack really. You began setting down your gear and reviving some flames in a fire circle ringed with smooth stones.

“This is yer place?” he asked, peering around. Minimal gear and belongings were organized carefully inside.

You were stirring the coals with a stick. “For now, it is,” you said. “I keep on the move. Follow the game and stick close to the river and its tributaries.” You tossed more dry wood on and the fire danced and crackled.

“Smart,” Daryl said, one corner of his mouth twitching up reflexively as he watched you busy yourself about camp. He sank down onto a round of wood and pet Dog who sat next to him.

You straightened up, dusting your hands off, nodding. “Are you hungry?”

_ _ _ _ _ _

Night had fallen in earnest and you and Daryl were still side-by-side, warming by the fire as the blue shadows wrapped around you like a cloak. You’d covered a lot of ground, sharing the larger points of what you’d both gone through since the outbreak. Then a lot of time had passed in silence, both of you turning memories and questions over in your minds, but as Daryl watched you sip some hot tea from a tin mug, he couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“I looked for ya,” Daryl said suddenly. “When it happened, that day. I went to that little farmhouse ya were rentin’. And I went to the restaurant and—I was too late. And—” he shook his head and gulped, remembering the fear and panic and horror of those early days, “—it looked bad. I—I thought ya might not have made it…”

You read pain in his eyes and nodded, your eyebrows drawing down low over your eyes, which seemed striking to Daryl even just in the glow of the firelight. “I had been at the restaurant that day—when they started calling for all the evacuations and then the bombing started… Things went bad so fast. Some people came in and just started looting the place, being violent, and then some of the walking dead got in. I made it out with some of the other servers, the kitchen staff, but—we didn’t stay together long. I honestly don’t remember too much from the first few weeks. I probably blocked it out,” you said with a wry laugh.

Daryl turned to face you more fully. “I shoulda been with ya,” he said forcefully. “I shoulda been there when it all happened. ‘M sorry I wasn’t.”

You gave him a questioning look and shook your head. “It isn’t your fault you weren’t. I was the one who couldn’t—who stayed away, who put the distance between us.” You ducked your gaze now, showing the dark fans of your eyelashes to Daryl. The fire cast shadows of them on your cheeks, gray half-moons. “I have a lot of regrets about that,” you said, lifting the mug to your hands, breathing in the fragrant steam. “I should have—” you sighed heavily and shut your eyes for a moment. “But I was just scared. After that night, I was scared of everything back then.” You stared into the coals of the fire, watching the heat move over them like waves in the ocean.

Daryl nodded and chewed on his bottom lip. “Ain’t like ya didn’t have a reason to be.” He shifted next to you, shaking his hair out of his eyes. It made you smile. He used to do the same thing when you were kids. “Besides,” he went on, “ya were right ‘bout it anyway. Got into a lot bad shit because of Merle and his crew. And even after shit went to hell, Merle kept findin’ ways to make things worse, and for a while I just went along... until I met some people who showed me that ain’t how it has to be.” He shook his head, obviously upset at his past self. “Stupid…”

You nodded. “Well. It doesn’t matter now.”

Daryl watched the look in your eyes grow a bit distant and vague as you returned to watching the fire lick over the logs. Night was getting on. Dog was dozing by the fire, flopped over on his side to warm his belly.

The last thing he wanted to do was leave, but he was suddenly struck by the thought that he would overstay his welcome. He stood and your eyes flew to him. “Well—s’late. I should prob’ly get outta yer hair,” he said. “My camp ain’t that far from here.” He paused, coming to a sudden realization. “Though it is on the other side of the river…”

“Oh—” you responded, looking up at him, your eyes big and—was that disappointment? “You’re going?”

Daryl scratched at a non-existent itch on the back of his neck. “I dun wanna—overstay my welcome is all…” he trailed off.

You were suddenly on your feet too. “You’re not.”

He gulped. There was suddenly electricity in the air.

“You should stay,” you said. “I have spare blankets and stuff inside. And… it’s been over a decade since we’ve seen each other,” you added with a laugh. “And you already want to go running off into the dark?” You felt the air crackling like it did before a lightning strike.

Daryl chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully, nervously for a moment and then shook his head. “Nah, I dun want to…”

And you smiled at him. You fucking smiled. And Daryl’s heart skipped a beat the same way it always used to when you smiled at him. “Good. Come on,” you said, tipping your head toward the little building. You shifted some things around and produced a second bed roll. “I usually layer with this one when it gets really cold, but it’ll work just as well as a spot for you tonight.”

“Hold up,” Daryl said as you started laying down the spare blankets. “Put mine by the door over here.” You straightened up and were giving him a queer smile he couldn’t entirely decode. “What?” he asked, shifting his weight anxiously.

“Still trying to protect me, Daryl?” you asked softly. That was exactly what he was doing. He didn’t know if he should apologize or— “I will, but you should know I’m a lot less helpless these days,” you said.

“Oh, I—I didn’t mean to imply that—” Your laugh interrupted his stammering.

“It’s alright. I know you can’t help it. That’s just who you are,” you said. “Some things don’t change. Besides, it’s sweet…” You finished laying out the spare bedding and straightened up to look at the two bed rolls next to each other. “Sorry it’ll be a little close in here.”

Daryl was thinking it wasn’t close enough. Since he’d let go of your hand by the riverbank he was mourning the loss of your touch. Every second he was just trying not to do or say something that would be off-putting. You were practically strangers now, weren’t you? But in his mind, all he could think about was hugging you tightly and not letting go, of breathing in the scent of you—wondering if it was the same as it had been then, like warm maple syrup. You still felt like home. You still felt safe. And he wanted so badly to collide into you, to kiss you and put all those feelings that had had nowhere to go for 13 fucking years into it, to sweep you into him, to tell you over and over again how much he’d missed you, how he’d thought of you every fucking day—at his lowest and at his highest. How could he still feel so instantly connected to you after all this time? Fuck, what if you didn’t feel the same thing? Should he—

“Daryl?”

“Uhh—sorry. What?”

You had a questioning look on your face. “Are you alright? You look a little flushed.” You actually reached out and pressed the back of your hand to his cheek and then his forehead. Goosebumps rose on his skin at the contact. You were absently biting your bottom lip and the drawing of his attention to your mouth was only making him feel warmer.

“Nah, ‘m—‘m good,” he said as you withdrew your hand, still looking concerned.

“Are you sure?”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, ‘m good…” You seemed to yield to his reassurance and peeled off your outer layers before settling down on your bed roll. His eyes roamed the shape of without the bulkier layers and he gulped again. You looked up at him expectantly where he was still standing a little awkwardly just inside the door.

“Does Dog want to come in?” you asked.

Daryl’s hands were fiddling anxiously. “Nah. He’ll guard the door all night outside.” You nodded and then propped yourself up on your elbow.

“Are you… uncomfortable? I mean, being in here with me?”

Daryl shook his head in a hurry. “No. No, it ain’t that… S’just—tryin’ to wrap my head around this. Last time I saw ya, ya were waitressin’ at Lou’s, ya know. Pouring that shit coffee into my mug and giving me this damn look like—like ya wanted to tell me to go to hell and ya wanted to hug me at the same time.” You let out a small laugh. Daryl went on. “And then all these years I thought—I dunno,” he murmured. “Part of me thought ya were gone that day, but another part of me just held onto hope. Or maybe I knew somehow that ya were out here somewhere… I know that dun make any sense.”

You were giving him a half-smile, a soft look in your eyes again, illuminated by the brightness of the lantern you’d lit in the corner. “I knew you were alive. I knew you’d beat all this shit. You’ve always been a survivor.”

Daryl sank down on the bed roll you’d laid out for him finally, prodding the makeshift pillow into the form he wanted before lying down on his side. You were facing each other, only six inches apart. “Yeah, well, so were you.”

You let out another dry laugh. “No, I just got lucky. My best friend was fierce.” There was something in the way you were looking at him now that was drawing him in. He felt the pull of you like a magnet and that electric tension was hanging in the air again like humidity. It was there—humming, buzzing, and then it was gone all of a sudden as he ducked your gaze and rolled onto his back.

Fucking coward, he thought.

You shifted beside him and clicked off the lantern, plunging the interior of the little cabin into blackness. Outside, a few lazy crickets chirped. The silence stretched for a minute before he dared to speak.

“Y/N…”

“Hmm?”

“I dun ever wanna lose ya again…” He heard the rustling of fabric as you moved beside him, and he sensed somehow that you were closer.

“I don’t want to lose you either,” your voice came back in a whisper. There was something strained in it and he turned toward you again.

He leaned up on his elbow. “…are ya cryin’?”

“No,” came back your stubborn answer, but he could hear it in your voice.

Daryl knelt and fumbled for the light, managing to hit the switch in the dark. There was no denying it now as he saw the tearstains on your cheeks. You sniffled and drew in a shaky breath, looking up at him with an almost ashamed glance. “…Why’re ya cryin’?” His expression was pure worry.

You shrugged and laughed sardonically. “I don’t know! Just—this! You! Here! And I—Daryl, I can’t even tell you how much I missed you. It was like walking around with part of me gone. And maybe that’s—maybe that’s fucking stupid because we were kids… We were fucking teenagers, but I don’t think that’s just it! I think when you meet someone that’s your soulmate, who understands you on some deep level you can’t even describe, it doesn’t matter if you meet them when you’re ten or when you’re forty!”

His brow was drawn over his blue eyes.

“And I—I think I’m still as in love with you now as I was back then and I’m really sorry if that’s weird for you to hear, and maybe I shouldn’t have said it but—we’re practically strangers now but—”

Then he was kissing you. His fingers were in your hair and he was tugging you into his body, and you were sinking into him, surprised at first but then softening beneath his hands, melting into it. He kissed you desperately, like he needed you to breathe instead of air. His hand clasped your face and then drifted to your shoulder and then to your waist and you were arching into him, gripping on to the lapel of his shirt and pressing your other hand flat to his strong chest and almost melting into a puddle of sensations as his strong arms were around you, holding you up.

Your eyes flickered between his, still a little wide, but now crinkled slightly at the corners in a smile. “I wanted to kiss ya since the first second I realized it was you standin’ in the river,” Daryl said. “I just thought—s’been so long… maybe I was the only one feelin’ what I was. But s’like we ain’t spent a day apart. Even though I know I’ve sure put a lotta damn mileage on since the last time I laid eyes on ya…”

You ran your fingers through his hair and he leaned into your fingers, his eyes closing. Every worryline on his face relaxed. “Shush. You’re still beautiful, Daryl Dixon.”

His blue eyes opened again and he clasped your face gently, studying all the ways you were the same and different. His thumb swept lightly across the pillow of your lower lip. “Ain’t nothin’ compare to you.”

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl x y/n #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles #daryl angst #twd angst #teenage!daryl dixon

[eoieopda]

the one with jihoon and the gold medal

pairing: lee jihoon x gn!reader type: drabble | genre: fluff | rating: pg15 | wc: 800 au: best friends to ? summary: jihoon is the featherweight champion of pining. he’s also pretty adept at getting you home from the bar at the end of the night. cw: reader is drunk, jihoon is down bad, and the ending is up for debate. a/n: i wrote this in jihoon’s pov, and i left it very ambiguous about what reader’s feelings are. i’d love to hear your thots 👀 🔞 MINORS WHO INTERACT WITH ME AND/OR MY CONTENT WILL BE BLOCKED, WHETHER OR NOT THE CONTENT IS NSFW. I’M AN ADULT WRITING EXCLUSIVELY FOR OTHER ADULTS.

There are two things that Lee Jihoon knows for sure he can’t do.

He can’t drive, which has no meaningful impact on his day-to-day life. The world doesn’t start or stop turning because he doesn’t have his license, despite what his friends seem to think. The fact that he can’t drink would — theoretically — be a little less shitty if he could drive, though. 

Because that’s not the case, he’s always the only sober person on any given night out. Worse, he can’t even get his shitfaced friends home without attempting to wrangle them on public transit. That, for the record, is a nightmare far above his fucking pay grade.

So, more often than not, Jihoon doesn’t stick around for the drinks that always follow dinner. He shows up, eats his weight in white rice, and when there’s nothing left on the table but a mess of empty dishes, he bails. He’s got a routine down, executes it flawlessly every time.

Almost every time.

Tonight may have slipped away from him, but it’s not his fault — it’s yours. If you hadn’t squeezed his forearm while laughing at one of his jokes, Jihoon would be home free by now. But you did, and he’s not, and he’s somehow finding it difficult to categorize this as a failure.

No, the way you get the tiniest bit more affectionate when you’re tipsy feels a hell of a lot like success. Just for a little while, Jihoon can let you tuck yourself under his arm; and he can pretend he’s not trapped in the silent hell that is yearning — and oh, god, does he yearn. You, however, come with a price tag. 

For the astronomical cost of the most meaningful friendship he has, he could clue you in on the pining. Check the temperature, see if your heart sounds like a cartoonish, old-timey car horn whenever you see him. That’s a bigger risk than Jihoon’s willing to take, and even if it wasn’t, he wouldn’t know where the fuck to start.

“I ah-wooga you”? 

Absolutely fucking not.

Jihoon doesn’t realize he’s gazing at you until you toss a crinkled-up chopstick wrapper at him. It bounces off of his unsuspecting chin, drops down into his lap. He blinks while he buffers, then he stares at you with an incredulousness that’s entirely manufactured, mouth hanging open. More than anything, he’s impressed by your aim in this state.

“Since when can you astral project, Jihoonie?” You ask with a laugh that’s likely a lot louder than you realize.

He’s impassive on the outside, but on the inside, he’s a puddle of goo. When you’re buzzed, he’s not oppa anymore — just Jihoonie — and it makes his knees wobble. To distract himself, Jihoon picks up the ball of paper and fires it back at you with shocking precision. Your eyes cross, almost in slow motion, as you watch it hit the tip of your nose.

Bullseye.

Pretending to be chill about any of this, Jihoon shrugs and says, “None of your business,” just to see if you’ll pout — and you do, you do, you do. He’s doomed, he realizes with a smile he can’t fight off. Oh, well.

You pick up your drink and down what little’s left of it before gesturing his way. The ice cubes clink against the glass. Uninhibited, he thinks, just like you. Donning puppy-dog eyes, you announce, “I think I need to go home now.”

There’s no question included because there’s no reality in which you’d ever have to ask. Jihoon is on his feet before you can punctuate that statement, hand held out to haul you up to yours. You squeak — an acceptance of his offer, he dares to presume — and then you take his hand.

You don’t let go once you stand up, which he attributes to your unsteadiness. Still, it doesn’t make him any less grateful for the way your fingers take up residency in the space between his. 

Even if it’s all he can be, he’ll be your anchor. If it means physically steering you towards the train station and hovering nearby when you attempt to befriend every living being — human or otherwise — that you encounter along the way, so be it. If he winds up loving you harder with every staggered step you take in the wrong direction, well… What else is new?

“Ready?” He asks with a tilt of his head towards the bar’s front door.

“Set, go!” You shout, and you sure as shit do.

At a rate of speed he could’ve never predicted, no less.

It’s a mad dash to the exit — one he wasn’t ready for, and one that nearly makes him fall over — but he keeps pace with you, like always. His foot crosses the threshold first, as a matter of fact, so he turns his head to brag to you about it. You’re already looking at him, grin beaming like a fucking spotlight, and he doesn’t need to state the obvious. 

Jihoon knows he’s the winner.

#re: the one with jihoon and the gold medal #jade writes #jade’s drabbles #ljh #svt #lee jihoon #seventeen #jihoon #woozi #svt drabble #svt fluff #svt imagine #svt scenarios #jihoon drabble #jihoon fluff #jihoon imagine #jihoon scenarios #woozi drabble #woozi fluff #woozi imagine #woozi scenarios #jihoon x reader #jihoon x you #jihoon x y/n #woozi x reader #woozi x you #woozi x y/n

[anaslair]

I’m a straight Bengali girl (daughter of Aphrodite), who’s a little chubby and has a lot of acne scars (both of which I’m insecure about, though, I’ve been staring to like my acne scars lately). I wear glasses and without them, the world around me is very blurry. I’m pretty shy and nervous, so I sort of have trouble speaking to strangers or people I don’t know well. But once I’m comfortable around you and we mutually see each other as friends, I’m able to show you my chaotic side and feel comfortable saying some pretty wild things. I also make quite a few sexual jokes. Though I am more comfortable to speak freely with my friends, if I’m in a relatively big group that consists of my friends, I get really nervous speaking in front of all of them, so I opt to talk to individuals rather than the collective. I crave for physical affection but I never ask for it because I’ll feel bad if I get rejected of such, so I’ll wait til someone decide to give me affection. I’m a huge romantic fan and love reading romance stories or fanfic, and I love men who are completely obsessed with you. If I’m going to be honest, I feel more attracted to depressed or sad men rather than happy or cheerful men. I love eating food, but don’t really like eating in front of people much cause I always feel like I’m being judge for the way I eat even if that’s not actually the case. I can’t help it, so I prefer to eat alone. My favourite food is chicken curry and rice! I have trouble keeping eye contact so I usually look somewhere else while talking to people, but I do occasionally (while in the conversation) do make eye contact. There are times where it takes time for my brain to process some situations or dialogue, and I have an awfully memory. I also hate reading out load cause my brain takes time to process the words on the paper for me to read out load, so it makes me say the words out load slowly and almost choppy, you know? I love my friends very much and always love to hang out with them, even if we are simply in a room together only doing our own thing. I just like being in their presence. Though, once my social battery runs out, I’d like to be alone in my room (though, I I have a romantic partner, I wouldn’t mind them being with me). I’m always open to be their for my friends if they are down and listen to their problems, but not good at verbally comforting them, so I’m open for providing them physical comfort such as a hug or rubbing their back if that’s what they want. If I don’t anything embarrassing, I will constantly think about the moment for years and best myself over it and mentally redo that whole conversation or action in a way better way that I should have done to have not embarrassed myself earlier, you know? I very kind and often give people the benefit of the doubt, and I’m sort of a pushover, but I’m still able to say no to situations that make me uncomfortable.

I love reading, drawing, and creating ocs and world building. I’m such a mythology nerd, especially when it comes to Greek mythology (I have many books about these myths). I absolutely hate bugs and because of them, I hate being in forests and such cause I always get swarmed by them. I’m also afraid of the dark, so when I sleep, I leave my door open and the hallway light on.

My matchups are usually long like this so that’s why they may take a little while to come out 🥸 pls bear with me guys 🫶

Hope you like it anon!! Have a great day and tysm for requesting!!! <3

I match you with…

Luke Castellan!!

(Let’s all collectively join hands and pretend he didn’t die 🫰)

After the second titan war was officially over, Luke went through a lot before finally being able to return to camp

He did literally stab himself to end Kronos’s reign of terror, so after a long fight discussion amongst the gods, it was decided he should be given a second chance at life. A brand new start

Not without cleaning his mess first though. He was assigned by the gods to send a load of monsters he recruited for Kronos back to Tartarus, while simultaneously healing from his fatal wound

Even under Apollo’s direct care, the injury left a huge, nasty scar on his body

Honestly, he preferred facing whatever punishment Hades had for him in the Underworld than helping any god. But he owed everyone (specially Annabeth and Thalia, his real family) an apology and to make things right

So he killed a shitload of monsters, (complained the whole time)

When he finally got back to camp, he almost couldn’t believe how much it had changed. The place was PACKED with new campers (and they were not all cramped in his cabin like usual 😱)

And there were twice as many cabins too??? for the smaller gods???

Was he at the right place?😀 Was he actually dead?🧍‍♂️

Took a lot of explaining for him to believe he wasn’t

The thought of demigods not having to go through what he went through was incredible, but hard to believe

A bit bittersweet for him too

On top of that, it took a lot of time and effort to regain everyone’s trust on him

Even with all the new space available in the Hermes cabin, he had to sleep on the ground for a long time before his siblings let him have a bed 💀

He had to prove himself for a long time before everyone started opening up to him again

Slowly but surely, it started to happen!! Annabeth and most of the campers got back to speaking terms with him, Thalia visited sometimes and Percy was still a little sus every time they interacted (specially when Annabeth was in the room🤷‍♀️) but it eventually got better

It wasn’t the same as before of course, which made him feel…lonely most of the time. It wasn’t perfect, but he was grateful for at least not being completely ignored

Travis and Connor even stole a new pillow for him after a while of him sleeping without any 👏

Soon enough, life was almost normal again (as normal as a demigod’s life could get)

He did live with an imense sense of guilt and had recurring nightmares about what happened, accompanied with sharp pains on his chest, right where he stabbed himself

But it was a small price to pay for all the pain he caused, he thought

Eventually, he became head counselor of the Herme’s cabin again and Chiron gave him permission to teach sword lessons to the newest campers.

Life was as good as it could get for him, for sure

Though it definitely got a million times better with you in it

You were one of the new campers, practically Luke’s age when you arrived, which got yourself urgent self defense lessons with Mr. Castellan himself

He was the ideal person for the job, being the best swordsman on camp and all

Chiron also knew Luke had a way of making newcomers feel welcomed, being used to do it with practically every new kid in camp before the war

So, as Luke made his way to your first lesson, he tried to come up with a way to politely ask you how you survived all this time without proper training-

Only to give it up as soon as he laid his eyes on you

Of course you were a daughter of Aphrodite, you were drop dead gorgeous. Probably survived all this time outside camp by using the power her kids inherited, charmspeak

All of that was going through his head while he intensely stared at you without saying a word 🗿

Making you nervously eye him back 👁️👁️

Noticing you were getting anxious, he snapped out of it, the very tip of his ears getting slightly red

Quickly introducing himself as your new self defense teacher, he offered a hand for you to shake

To which you did after a bit of an awkward pause, nodding at his words. He seemed like a confident, nice guy

He took it you were a bit shy so he made sure to try and not to make you uncomfortable while teaching you some basic sword moves and techniques

You were doing your best to keep up but honestly felt like straight up dying everytime Luke asked you to repeat a move

The sword was heavy and the afternoon was hot, making you sweat profusely

That’s when everything went downhill :)

Your glasses just wouldn’t stay still in your face, the sweat making them slip down your nose every time you tried a new move

Right as you were about to swing your sword for the millionth time, your glasses fully fell off your face, making you flail the big weapon around uncontrollably

Coincidentally chopping a good amount of Chiron’s tail off, who was just passing by to check on your progress

Chiron promised he needed a new trim anyway, but that didn’t stop you from apologizing almost a thousand times and sitting down with your face buried in your hands

The situation amused Luke profusely, but he could also tell you were seriously beating yourself up about it

So after thinking for a while, he gently tapped you on the arm, showing you small scar he had on his forearm

He told you it was from his first ever sword lesson, but it wasn’t caused by a sword

When you gave him a confused look, he told you it was a consequence of accidentally poking a Pegasus’s bottom with a sharp weapon

You tried not to, but you laughed right at his face

Which made Luke smile as well, you had a cute laugh

After that, you slowly started opening up to your sword teacher, who actually got attached to you pretty quickly

Y’alls friendship was honestly precious oml, he absolutely LIVED for the fact that you were completely unhinged when y’all were alone, which got both of you a lot of inside jokes

When you first made a sexual joke in front of him he was completely shook

You were in the middle of training, making him accidentally cut a whole training doll in half after you said it

Who knew that something like that could come out of a shy person like yourself

He laughed and threw a dirty joke right back at you, but his ears were completely red in the process

The first time he had one of his pain streaks next to you he got really stressed out, not really wanting to talk about the origin of his injury

Partially because it was tremendously hard for him to talk about his past, but also because he was afraid you’d hate him for it

But you never pressured him to say anything, just sat beside him with a hand on his back for support, furrowed brows in concern as you waited for his pain to pass

He absolutely adored you for that

He didn’t feel alone anymore

He’s a naturally attentive person so he can always tell when you’re uncomfortable in social situations, always making sure that everything you’re saying is getting the correct amount of attention, even if he was the only one listening to it

Everyone knew he kind of had a soft spot for you (totally unrelated to the crush he was developing on you)

He always went easy on you at sparring lessons, just to absolutely humiliate whoever was next against him by winning in seconds

He sneaked food into your cabin when you absolutely could not stand eating with everyone else at the dining pavilion

(anyone else would probably get caught in the act and get absolutely wrecked by the harpies, but he was a son of the god of thieves so 😋)

Kept you close during capture the flag, not only to keep an eye on you but also because he absolutely LIVED for the fact that you were more scared of the bugs than the monsters who lived inside the woods

You dealt with the monsters and he jabbed all the bugs on the way, you made a pretty good team

It was pretty obvious he had a thing for you, everyone knew about it but you apparently

I mean, he stole got you a whole deck of mythomagic cards because he knew you were totally obsessed with mythology, the guy was pretty much down bad for you pls 😩

And honestly, you felt the exact same way

It was pretty clear in the way your face got full on red every time he had any type of physical contact with you

He adored it and absolutely did it on purpose just to get a reaction out of you

He wanted to let you know how he felt, he really did

But on top of not wanting to risk your friendship, he was deathly afraid you’d absolutely despise him after you found out about his past

It was only a matter of time anyway, but he was going to avoid it as much as he could

Although you found out way sooner and it went WAY better than he expected

It was a warm night and you were awfully quiet, more than usual

It wasn’t because your social battery went out. No… he knew something was up by the way you hugged yourself tightly, touching your face from time to time

He asked if you wanted to hang out by the beach for a bit, to which you silently agreed

Y’all sat in silence for a while, Luke giving you concerned side eyes from time to time

He eventually spoke up, saying you could talk to him about anything you wanted to, he’d listen

Your eyes watered a bit. You breathed out and eventually told him that some days, you had a bit of trouble accepting your current weight and your acne scars

You told him you were working on it but some days were harder than others

Honestly, he was bamboozled lol

He could never imagine someone as beautiful as you had those kind of insecurities

Before even thinking about it, he said you were absolutely perfect in his eyes

It was the first thing he thought when he met you actually

You almost choked on air bro WHAT

Your face was COMPLETELY red, about to explode🚨

Ears fully red after realizing how he slipped, he quickly continued, telling you that he also understood how you felt

He touched the scar he had on his face, lowering his hand to touch the one on his chest right after

You knew something bad had happened to him. But you also knew he had to tell you on his own terms

You just softly repeated what he told you

“You can talk to me about anything you want to, I’ll listen”

His eyes met yours and you were surprised by how much sadness they held in that moment

He shifted his gaze from you to the sand, taking handfulls of it just to let it fall from his fingers as he told you about his past

He told you everything

“You can… cut contact with me if you want to, I’ll understand-“

He was suddenly interrupted by you hugging him

He was surprised to say the least, arms slowly closing around you after some time as he let out a shaky breath

You both sat like that for a while before you told him that none of what he said changed the way you felt about him, everyone deserved a second chance

Wait

The way… you felt about him?

Oop

He pulled apart from you gently, still holding you close in front of him

“Exactly how do you feel about me?”

You had no choice but to confess, face fully red and straight up stuttering the whole time

He smile was HUGE oh my gods that little shit was enjoying every second of it

When you finished, you were trembling a bit, afraid you just ruined the best friendship you ever had

Imagine your surprise when he slowly leaned in, kissing you

#percy jackson x reader #percy jackson books #pjo hoo toa #percy jackson imagine #the heroes of olympus #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #chalice of the gods #percy series #matchups #fanfic #fanfiction

[poeticallyspiteful]

hi!!! new follower here but could u pls write something for rafe where reader is not having the greatest day (sick, period, just plain sad etc etc) and rafe doesn’t really know how to make her feel better, so he goes and buys a plethora of gifts for her ranging from flowers to chocolate to (maybe) lingerie etc etc etc u get the vibes

*maybe reader sees his google history and it’s him looking up what to get someone when they feel like crap hehehehe*

all for you

rafe cameron x reader

fluff

cw: the common cold, one sexual innuendo/joke, mentions of a hypothetical meth lab…anyways, ooc rafe (as always??)

summary: reader feels sick, rafe don’t like it, yadayadayada they very cute and stuff <33

notes: HEY BABE, thank you so much for the request and i rlly hope you enjoy!! this was so fun to write and i think it turned out real cute <33

16+ please!!

“rafe, what—”

“shush.”

rafe kicked the door shut behind him, arms too full of shit to use his hands. four different types of soup sat piping in a paper bag hanging off his right hand, picked up fresh from ‘the wreck’, while three boxes of the softest kleenex known to man sat in a plastic back wrapped around the same wrist. this load was nothing compared to his left arm, which supported two overflowing bags full of goodies and medicine to help mend your ailment:

the absolute terrifying blight of the common cold.

but to rafe, this was enough to warrant a soup kitchen delivered to your door. it’s not like the extravagance was a burden on him anyways; he could’ve bought every pint of ice cream and every bag of cough drops in the store and it wouldn’t make a dent in his back account.

“rafe, honey,” you laughed, wiping under your stuffed up nose. “i just asked for cough drops. what’d you do, looks ‘em up on web md?”

rafes eyes went wide, and he looked at you like bewildered deer in headlights. “h-how’d you know that?”

you snorted. “it was a joke, but the reality of it is much more funny.”

“mhm,” rafe hummed sarcastically, tossing three flavors of cough drops onto the comforter. “and for the record, i got your cough drops; the top brand for sinus and cough relief, according to google.”

you had called rafe at 9:30 that morning, asking him to bring you some cough drops as your throat was hurting, and your roommate had left for a vacation two days ago. and of course, rafe being the doting, overprotective, boyfriend he was, was tripping over his own feet to get to his car.

you gave a lopsided frown. “this is too much, baby, you don’t have to spend all this money on me.”

rafe shot you a look somewhere between amusement and concern. scoffing, he started organizing his purchases on the bench by the foot of your bed.

“you should really stop saying things you know aren’t true,” he chided, carefully pulling open a cup of chicken and rice soup and stirring. he looked up at you through hooded eyes and grinned at the sheepish smile on your face. “i’ll spend as much money on my girl as i please.”

“well you please a lot.”

rafe laughed softly, towering over you as he lifted the spoon to your lips, gentle as ever. “do i now?”

you felt your cheeks burn, and not just because of the soup, which you accepted gratefully.

“thank you,” you mumbled, face getting impossibly hotter as he sat down on the bed and continued to spoon feed you, brushing hair off of your forehead all the while.

“you’re very welcome, sweet girl,” he whispered, voice still raspy from sleep in a way that made your stomach erupt in a swarm of warmth.

hesitantly, you leaned into his chest, accepting his arm around your shoulders and the kisses he left in his path up your jaw and the side of you face. with one final brush of his lips on your hairline, he spoke.

“i’ve got lots more soup, and some snacks, ice cream, enough drugs to start a meth lab—”

“rafe!” you giggled, but he shushed you, laughter bubbling in him just the same.

“it’s all good, lovely, no underground drug rings here,” he reassured, entire body loosening as it settled into his happy space; you.“‘s all for you.”

all for you.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x you #rafe obx #rafe cameron fluff #cute #fluff #fanfic #outer banks

[leiawritesstories]

LEIA CONGRATS ON 500 🥳🎉🎉💓❤️💘❤️💖🩷💓🩷💞❤️💖

you know what my prompt is 🤭

THANK YOU SO MUCH MARIA MY LOVE 🥰💕❤️😁😍

context: maria and my dm's are insanely chaotic. somehow we were talking about almond milk? and one of the things she sent me went like this: "now i need a fic where rowan's a foreigner learning the common tongue and he asks aelin for some nut milk." that's the prompt hehehehehe

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: inappropriate jokes, swearing, innuendo, badly concealed horniness

Enjoy!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Romance books were horrible liars, it turned out.

Not a single one of the many, many romances Aelin had read in her lifetime had prepared her to meet the love of her life in a random aisle in a grocery store. No, all the books she read either involved small town meet-cutes, dreamy historical romances, arranged marriages that became love matches, and the occasional toe-curling bodice ripper. Love In Aisle 24B? She was convinced that would never happen.

Yet here she was, hand in hand with a man who was every single one of her dreams brought to life, leading him into her house.

But she was getting ahead of herself. Where to begin....?

~

Rice, flour, spinach, carrots, hot cocoa mix, espresso pods, almond milk. That was Aelin's list for her quick stop at the grocery store on her way home from work. She loathed shopping at five PM, knowing that the place would be overrun with harried parents, just-off-the-clock workers, and every single person in the vicinity who'd opened their fridge and realized they needed food for dinner.

Luckily, a parking spot opened up just as Aelin pulled into the parking lot, and she waved gratefully at the mom in the minivan who'd just vacated a spot that wasn't terribly far from the store entrance. She parked, got out, locked the car, and steeled herself for the chaos of dinner-crowd shoppers. It's just a quick trip, she reassured herself as she strode through the parking lot. Fifteen minutes, tops.

Entering the crowded store, she grabbed a basket and headed for the produce section, easily finding the spinach and carrots. Check, check. She wove through the maze of people and carts, muffling more than one curse, and ducked down an aisle to grab a bag of rice. Check. The baking supplies aisle was mercifully much emptier, and she found the brand of flour she liked and placed the familiar paper sack into her basket. Check. Hot cocoa mix was only a few paces away--and no, she didn't care that it was impractical for the late spring. It was always hot cocoa weather at Aelin Galathynius's house.

She braced herself as she stepped into the coffee and tea aisle and found it far too heavily occupied for her liking. Rolling her eyes, she decided to go grab almond milk and loop back to pick up espresso pods on her way to the checkout lines. Those would probably be their own nightmare, but she'd deal with that when the time came.

Aelin dodged shoppers pushing overfull carts and mothers desperately trying to keep a hand on their rambunctious children and made her way to the aisle with the non-dairy milk. Blessedly, it was empty, and she strode over to the almond milk section, found her favorite brand, and placed three cartons in her basket because it was on sale. She paused for a moment at the end of the aisle, sighed, and trudged back towards the coffee.

Just as she was about to turn into the coffee aisle, a hand tapped politely at her shoulder. "Excuse me?"

She turned, finding herself face to face--well, almost, since he was a good six inches taller than her--with a mouthwateringly gorgeous man wearing a shy half-smile. "Yes?"

"I do not mean rude, but you have the..." The man pronounced the words carefully, his voice bearing a distinctly foreign accent. Clearly he was still learning the language of Terrasen. "The...meelk? The milk! Milk of the nut."

Aelin spluttered a cough, stuffing down the lewd comment she immediately wanted to make. "I--um...I'm so sorry, I have the what?"

The man blushed, only making him more endearing. He pointed to the almond milk in her basket. "The nut meelk."

Understanding clicked in her brain. "Oh! The almond milk." She enunciated the words carefully.

"Al-mond meelk," he repeated, smiling in earnest. "Thank you, ma'am." He gave her an eccentric little dip of his head. "Please, show me where to find?"

"Of course!" Smiling back at him, she led him to the non-dairy milk aisle. "Here it is." She showed him the brand she bought. "I like this brand, but there are more options here."

The man picked up a carton of the same brand she bought; it looked comically small in his large hand. "Thank you," he said again, relief coating his accented words.

She grinned. "You're welcome..." She let the pause trail on, hoping he would give her his name.

"Pardon!" he exclaimed, then mumbled a few words in his native tongue. "I am such rude. I am Rowan."

"So rude," Aelin instinctively corrected. "We say so rude." She shook his offered hand. "My name is Aelin."

"Aelin," Rowan repeated, the syllables of her name turning thick and sweet as honey on his accented tongue.

Her blood turned to fire at the sound of his voice.

"Gods," she gasped, glancing at her watch. "I really need to get home, this was just supposed to be a quick trip."

Rowan stepped aside so she had a clear path. "Do not let me stop you," he grinned. "Thank you again, Aelin."

"You're very welcome, Rowan." Flashing him another grin, she headed towards the checkout counters, pausing briefly to grab espresso pods. The checkout lines were unbearably long, so she joined the much shorter line for self-checkout, waited for a few minutes, and went up to the machine when it was her turn. Efficiently, she scanned her items, placed them in her shopping bag, paid, and tore the receipt from the printer.

She was nearly out of the store when a commotion at the self-checkout caught her attention.

"I--I not understand!" Oh gods, that was Rowan's unmistakable accent. "No money?"

"Sir," the store employee all but snapped, "the sign says 'card only.' Can you even read?"

Rowan faltered. "I--"

"Show some decency," Aelin drawled, calmly stepping between Rowan and the irritated teenage employee who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. "You should be able to tell from the man's accent that he's not from here."

"Well--um--" The teenager floundered. "Look, I'm not--"

"Capable? That much is clear," Aelin scoffed. "I'll help Rowan here finish checking out, and you can run along back to restocking ketchup or whatever the hell else you do." Turning to Rowan, she explained, "This machine only has a card reader. Do you have a credit card?"

Softly, he murmured, "No, not in wallet."

"It's all right," she reassured him. "I'll pay."

"You no need--"

"Don't worry about it." Aelin tapped her credit card on the card reader, took the receipt, and handed it to Rowan. "There. Quick and easy."

He picked up his almond milk--the only thing he'd had to buy--and followed her out of the store. As soon as they stepped into the parking lot, he swiped her bag of groceries from her, laughing at her shocked protest. "Let me, let me," he said. "As thank you."

"Such a gentleman," she teased. "All right then, you can carry my groceries to my car." He walked beside her through the parking lot, waited for her to unlock her car, and then carefully deposited her groceries on the back seat. "Thanks, Rowan," she smiled, truly meaning it. A thought flashed through her head. "I'm sorry if this is rude, but...do you have a car? Or how else are you getting home?"

He shook his head. "My..." He spoke a word in his language. "Not know how to say. Like brother, but...of father's brother?"

"Your cousin?"

"Aye, my cousin. He has the car. I took bus from apartment to store."

"Can I drive you home?" she asked.

Color splashed across his cheeks. "No need, please, I will take--"

"The bus is never on time during evening rush hour, and you'll get stuck in traffic when it does show up," she snorted. "I promise I'm a safe driver, Rowan, and before you pull your stupid chivalrous act, no, it's not too much trouble." She leaned against her car. "I live here. I can drive you home without getting stuck in terrible amounts of traffic."

He folded. "Okay. I will drive with you."

His oddly formal language made her smile. "You're rather cute with your blush and your accent, y'know, Rowan," she teased.

"Cute?" Impossibly, Rowan blushed harder. "If I am cute, Aelin, then you are perfect beauty."

That fire in her blood burned brighter. "I'll show you beauty," she murmured, more to herself than to him.

Buckling his seatbelt with ease, he leaned over and whispered in his language into her ear. Though she couldn't understand him, she knew the thickness of his voice had nothing to do with the words he was saying. "Was that a promise, Rowan?"

His emerald eyes deepened to smoky pine. "Yes." As she started the car and reversed out of her parking spot, his hand drifted casually--naturally--to her thigh, its weight warm, welcome, and teasing.

She was in such deep shit.

~

Instead of asking Rowan for his address, Aelin asked if he was okay coming to her house, and when he breathed another Yes into her ear, this time pairing it with the faintest brush of a kiss on the side of her neck, she shivered and headed home as fast as she legally could. She parked, got out, grabbed her groceries before he could insist on carrying them into the house, and took the bag inside, placing it on the counter.

Rowan hadn't followed.

So she went back out to the car, walking around to the passenger side. "Rowan? Is everything okay?"

He nodded. "So okay," he promised. "I...I needed a breath."

The corners of her lips quirked up. "Can I show you my house?" Feeling bold, she linked her fingers with his. "The kitchen, the living room..." A pause. "My bedroom."

That got him out of the car and on his feet, a smirk tinged with desire curling his lips. "Please do."

She led him up the front steps and into her house, kicking off her shoes in the entryway. "The kitchen is right here, if you wanted to know." She gestured to her left. "You can put your almond milk on the counter." And put your rowillymilk in me, she added under her breath.

He left the carton on the counter, slid his arm around her waist, and leaned down to kiss her. Aelin rose onto her tiptoes to meet his lips, the kiss starting soft and quickly turning deeper, passionate, filled with the inexplicable desire that crackled between them. Effortlessly, Rowan lifted her into his arms, not breaking the kiss as he took a couple of steps and stopped, remembering he didn't know where anything was. He pulled away, breathless.

"Aelin--"

"Upstairs," she panted, her chest heaving. "Come here."

And she led him up the stairs and into her room and kicked the door shut behind them.

~~~

TAGS:

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@morganofthewildfire

@backtobl4ck

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@chronicchthonic14

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@darling-im-the-queen-of-hell

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

#my writing #answered prompt #leia's 500 followers thing #rowaelin #rowan x aelin #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction #throne of glass fanfic #throne of glass fanfiction #rowaelin spicy times

[simizzy-writes]

happy birthday, Law!

Pairing: Trafalgar D. Water Law x GN!Reader

Warnings: none. just super fluffing fluffy~

A/N: the cliche is birthday sex i'm sure, but mannnn this doc just needs some fluffy feels in his life. happy birthday, you sexy thing!

+ consider supporting me on ko-fi +

He should be thankful for birthdays. 

Law knew better than anyone that a long life was never a guarantee. But celebrating his birthday never felt quite right after that terrible, terrible night. When he lost everything. Maybe it was survivor's guilt. In fact, it most definitely was. 

But despite his own feelings on the subject, his crew always made the effort to celebrate. Maybe it was just an excuse to party, but Law never made an attempt to stop their generosity. He did have one rule, however. 

No gifts.

This rule became established after receiving one too many tacky shirts that never fit, a polar bear pajama onesie, absolutely atrocious alcohol Penguin swore was sake and not swill, a tacky gold necklace that said "Love Doctor" in gold filigree….the list went on. 

So, he let it be known that if anything were to be given to him, let it be in the form of food. Onigiri, preferably. That had yet to be fucked up. Key word being yet, but he remained hopeful that it never would. 

"Happy Birthday, Captain!" 

Bepo eagerly bounced over to Law, paws carrying a large, handmade birthday card. Stickers and awkwardly cut shapes were stuck all over the front, and he could see that most of the glue was still wet. A tiny drop fell from one colorful corner of the paper to the floor. 

"We all signed it," Bepo beamed. He handed the card over to his captain, and waited with hopeful eyes for Law's reaction.

The birthday boy opened the card carefully, trying to avoid wet glue and glitter from getting on his hands more than necessary. True to the Mink's words, the inside was covered in diverse signatures. Happy birthday wishes, smiley faces, jokes about him getting old…a little bit of everything was written throughout. Law smiled, and thanked his dear friend. 

Bepo enveloped him in a - literal - bear hug, and informed him that mountains of onigiri were being prepped in his honor in the galley. 

"Your favorite! We made sure to make all of your favorite fillings, too," Bepo said. "We were thinking about having a picnic on the main deck since the weather is supposed to be good tonight. Shachi said that there might even be a meteor shower!"

Law nodded. "Sounds like a plan." 

He noticed small bits of rice stuck to his friend's fur. With a smirk, he asked if Bepo was the 'quality assurance' tester in the kitchen. The polar bear blushed, and sheepishly said that he couldn't resist.

"[Name] is the best cook! They always lets me taste-test when they're on cooking duty," Bepo sighed dreamily. 

Law was aware. Normally, the duties that were assigned on the Polar Tang rotated to ensure fairness, but it was kind of an unspoken agreement that you would cook more often than not. You were an exceptional cook, and spared no expense to make sure that everyone had delicious meals every day. 

His birthday onigiri was in capable hands tonight.

—

"Don't drop them!"

"If you watch where you're going I won't!"

Penguin and Shachi bickered back and forth, trying to balance two large and heavy trays out of the kitchen. The silver trays were piled high with fresh onigiri. Little pieces of heaven stuff with tuna, salmon, roe, kombu seaweed, yaki….and much more. Ikkaku and Uni balanced even more trays of onigiri as they followed the other men out of the kitchen. 

You sighed as you wiped your hands on your apron. How long had you been in this kitchen? Too long, but it was a worthwhile endeavor today. Well, it was worthwhile everyday but today was special. It was your Captain's birthday, and you couldn't resist going the extra mile to make sure he had enough of his favorite food. With that in mind, you smiled as you looked at the remnants of today's work. 

"Do those need to go out to the deck?"

You turned, and saw Law standing in the doorway. He pointed to a tray that had a handful of onigiri on them, but you shook your head. 

"No, those ones are for me. They have umeboshi in the middle."

The mere mention of pickled plums made his expression sour, and you laughed. 

"Don't worry, the rest are filled with only your favorites," you said. You removed your apron and set it aside, and you picked up a separate tray that had some uniquely shaped onigiri on it. Some looked like Bepo, others were shaped like whales and penguins. "These are special. Happy birthday!"

Law took the tray, and smiled at how cute they looked. "Seems like a crime to eat something like this. They look great. Thank you."

You felt shy under his gaze, and offered him a bashful 'you're welcome ' in return. A moment passed before you cleared your throat and informed him that you had something to give him.

"I wasn't aware that there was a rule about not getting you any gifts," you explained. "I had already picked out a present for you before Ikkaku told me about it. Um…After dinner, I can give it to you, if you want? When the others aren't around?"

His gray eyes twinkled as an amused, crooked smirk pulled at his lips. He was intrigued, of course, and forgiving towards your trespass against the 'no gifts' rule. You had only been a part of his crew for about a year, having joined after his last birthday. There wasn't a way you could have known, he supposed.

"Alright," he said. Law asked if you needed help with anything else, and when you assured him that you didn't, he made his way up to the deck. 

You gathered up your tray of heathenous umeboshi onigiri, and followed after him.

"[Name]!"

A harsh whisper of your name stopped you. Ikkaku was by your side in a flash, eyes wide and excited. 

"You got the captain a present?! What is it?!"

You hushed her. "Zip it! Don't let the others hear you!"

She placed a hand over her lips, but impishly pestered you to continue. With a sigh, you shifted awkwardly under her gaze.

"Alright, alright. Yes, I got him a present. It's nothing special, really - "

"Oh, stop. He'll love it as long as it's from you!"

Before you could ask her to elaborate, Ikkaku squealed in delight and continued:

"Are you going to tell him? You know, about your feelings?"

"What?! No! Why would I do that?" You were aghast at the mere suggestion of even telling Law that you liked him. You know, like-liked him. Wink wink. 

How on earth could you possibly navigate a conversation like that with him? He was so stoic and reserved, apathetically amused by the world around him despite how fucked up it was. Surely, he wouldn't have any interest in hearing how much you enjoyed his company, or how much you liked how intelligent he was. Or how, despite his great efforts to seem aloof, he really did care about people. Then, of course, there were the more…physical traits that you could appreciate. That went without saying. 

You shook your head. No! No way! You didn't dare admit your feelings. Not today. It was Law's birthday, and you were perfectly content celebrating the absolute treasure that he was - sans confession. 

Ikkaku pouted. "Aw, that's no fun…"

You poked your tongue out at her and scurried up the stairs. "Too bad, so sad!"

—-

The evening was a delight. The crew drank, laughed and devoured your carefully crafted onigiri. You believed Law's birthday to be a success, and you hoped that felt that way as well.

He was off to the side and away from the ruckus of his crew. His gray eyes watched the ocean waves, seemingly lost in thought. The sun had set a while ago, and the moon's glow made everything twinkle like silver. You couldn't take your eyes off of him, and it delighted you to see how handsome he was like this. Your fingers held the box in your hands carefully, and you wondered if you should even bother giving it to him. 

"Don't you dare back out," Ikkaku whispered. 

You jumped out of your skin, placing a hand over your heart. "Oh, my God, Ikkaku! You scared me!"

"Sorry," she giggled. "I could see the look on your face. You were second guessing yourself, weren't you?"

You nodded, bashfully looking at the box in your hands. Ikkaku smiled, and hugged you affectionately. 

"Don't worry," she said. "He'll love it. I promise you that whatever it is, it can't be any worse than the pimp chain Shachi got him a few years ago. Can you imagine the Captain wearing a necklace that said "Love Doctor" on it? Ugh."

You laughed. The imagery of such a thing was pretty ridiculous. 

Ikkaku gave you one last squeeze before she directed her attention to the rest of the crew. In a stern and commanding voice, she announced that the next step for the night was to get the kitchen cleaned. Groans of disapproval filled the air, but she wasn't having any of it.

"The sooner it gets done, the better!" She said, "Let's go, let's go, let's go!"

She winked at you, and herded the men off of the main deck. You could hear Penguin complain about cleaning up your mess, followed by a loud smack and a pitiful cry of pain. 

"[Name] spent all day in that kitchen making dinner for the Captain and for you. Don't you dare complain!" 

You laughed to yourself, a certain warmth filling your chest at how much you truly loved your fellow crewmates. But now, it was just you and Law. 

He seemed to be expecting you, as he turned to face you. He leaned against the deck railing, watching as you fiddled with the box in your hands. You approached him carefully, tentatively. It was cute, in a way. 

"So…" you began, "Happy Birthday, Captain. Here's your present."

You held your breath as he took the box from you. The tips of his fingers brushed against yours, and you could feel your soul just about leave your body at the sensation. 

Law eyed the box curiously, tilting it back and forth in his hands. Maybe he was teasing you by leaving you in suspense, but your heart could hardly take it. 

In a rush of words that almost sounded distinguishable, you babbled on about how you didn't have any idea what to get him. You thought about clothes, another hat, jewelry, something physician related…You rambled about how nothing quite seemed to suite him, so eventually you settled on this because -

"I thought that it would make you smile!" You exclaimed. "But then Ikkaku told me that most of the gifts you've gotten were kind of tacky and like a bad joke…I had already bought it by then, and I couldn't figure out anything else - "

"[Name.]"

You let out a nervous squeak as he stopped you, and for a moment you hated how amused he looked at your expense. He held your gaze as his fingers tore the wrapping paper inch by inch until the top of the box was exposed. You pressed your fingers to your lips, anxiety fraying your nerves terribly. 

Law removed the lid, and lifted out a mug from the crisp and clean tissue paper buried within. It was a simple white mug, but when he turned it over in his hand, Law's eyes widened. 

This is it, you thought. You squeezed your eyes shut, face buried in your palms as you waited for the dreaded moment where Law would scold you for giving him a terrible gift. 

" 'World's Okayest Doctor'," he read aloud. 

You groaned and shook your head. "I'm sorry, it's probably the worst gift ever. I just thought it would make you smile! Of course you're a terrific doctor - "

He said your name again, making you stop short. You peaked at him through your fingers, and were amazed to see the smirk on his lips.

"Nothing could be worse than the "Love Doctor" necklace Shachi gave me," Law said. "Thank you for this."

You nodded slowly, carefully moving your hands away from your blushing face. "Y-You're welcome, Captain."

—

You were always awake before the others, save for Jean Bart and Law respectively. Or whoever was on night watch. But it was rare that anyone was in the kitchen before you on any given day. So, the fact that the light was on made you curious.

You padded into the galley, rubbing sleep from your eyes. What would you make for breakfast today…? 

With a deep breath, you savored the smell of coffee. Already it perked you up, and you knew that only one person on the Polar Tang would make coffee this early.

"Good morning, Captain," you said. 

Law was leaning against the kitchen island, the morning's paper in his hands. Across from him was a freshly brewed pot of coffee. "Good morning," he replied. He turned the page of his paper, eyes focused on whatever bullshit filled the space. 

You hummed, admiring his bed-head and wrinkled pajamas. He always seemed so put together, so in the rare times you got to see Law in this state, you pressed it upon your conscience as much as you could. You wanted to remember it vividly and fondly. 

Reaching for a clean mug in one of the cupboards, you went about pouring yourself a cup of coffee. "Did you sleep well?" You asked.

"No better than usual," he said. Perhaps one night he would be blessed with a full, restful sleep. But he wasn't holding his breath on that.

"I see. Well - "

You stopped short as you turned to face him. Maybe it was silly to be rendered speechless over something so simple as Law drinking coffee, but it was a bit more than just that.

His gray eyes were on you, watching you carefully over the rim of his mug. But not just any mug. It was the mug. The mug that you gave him. 

You couldn't stop the grin that lit up your face. Your cheeks felt warm, and your heart was giddy. 

"Is that a new mug?" You asked, pretending as if you hadn't given it to him the night before.

Law nodded slowly, appreciatively. "It is," he concurred. "I got it as a birthday present, actually."

You giggled, holding your own mug close to your chest. "Oh, really? That's awesome! Are you really the "world's okayest doctor"?"

Law smirked at you. "I like to think so."

"Then I guess I'm in good hands, then. I-I mean, we are in good hands! As in the crew. All of us. Are in good hands - your hands. Yeah."

You stumbled over your words, blush deepening. You sipped at your coffee, wincing at how hot it was. That's fine - let it burn away your embarrassment.

"I think it's my new favorite mug, actually," Law mused casually. The mischievous spark in his eyes was not lost on you, and you swore that his teasing would be the death of you.

—-

Off in the doorway, unbeknownst to either of you, a bet was being made amongst certain members of the crew.

"I bet a hundred berry that [Name] confesses their feelings by his next birthday," Shachi whispered. 

Ikkaku shook her head. "No way! I bet two hundred berry that they confess before Christmas!"

Penguin scoffed. "You're both going to lose. Clearly, it will be the captain that makes them confess, and I bet three hundred berry that he'll get them to do it by the time we stop on the next island."

Shachi and Ikkaku gasped at his audacity. "Bet!"

A sleepy Bepo was left out, confused and hungry. "What do you think [Name] will make for breakfast today?" he asked. "I hope it's more onigiri."

Happy Birthday, Law! 💕

#trafalgar law imagine #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar d water law #one piece x reader #one piece imagine #x reader #one piece

[wonderlandleighleigh]

anything with lily!!!

At four, Lily looks quite a lot like Esther did, though Esther has their mother's blue eyes, while Lily's are her father's hazel, and one of Lenny's very favorite things is to watch the kids together.

It'd be easy, with the big age gap between Lily and her siblings, for the older kids to ignore her, but they never, ever do. Sure, Ethan (15 and making noises about dating), Kitty (14 and starting to get way too fucking smart) and Esther (eleven, and as outspoken as ever), have their their own things going. Baseball practice and the school paper and orchestra rehearsals, but when they're home, Lily is their favorite person.

On Sunday nights, they watch the Wonderful World of Disney together, and takeout, Ethan old enough to be in charge when Midge and Lenny have work. After dinner, they all sprawl out with their homework on the living room floor and play music while they work, and Lily plays with her dolls, pulling her siblings into the narrative every so often.

They've loosened up at family dinners, too, though Joel, Moishe and Abe are still not in favor of having all the kids sit with the grown-ups, but Lenny loves it. Especially because Lan is there, too, and the kids are all goofy and weird and snappy and clever.

"We should get a boat," Lan tells all of them. "Lenny and Ethan fishes and we can swim!"

"You're not swimming in the Hudson," Abe tells the seven-year-old. "We don't know what's in the Hudson."

"Probably a lot of people your grandparents didn't like very much," Ethan jokes.

Mei laughs, startled, while Joel narrows his eyes at his oldest son.

"You gotta?" he asks.

"It was a good joke," Ethan argues.

Joel rolls his eyes and turns to Midge. "You got anything to say to your son?"

"Oh, so when he makes wildly inappropriate jokes about mafia hits, it's my fault?" Midge asks.

Joel nods. "Yes."

Midge nods back. "Actually, that's fair. Ethan. Not at the dinner table. Save it for dessert."

"Sure, Ma."

"Real nice," Joel grumbles.

Lily giggles, though everyone knows she's too young to understand exactly what she's laughing at.

"Oh, is something funny?" Noah asks his little niece, reaching out to tickle her. "I'll give you something funny."

Lily giggles and squirms, and Astrid laughs, while Chaim (eight and too smart) reaches out to help with the tickling.

"Not too much, she'll throw up," Rose warns, looking mildly amused at the spectacle.

"Yes, let's not end the night with vomit," Midge agrees.

"This is why the children should eat in the kitchen," Abe grumbles.

"The kitchen in our apartment isn't big enough for all six kids to eat comfortably without one of them sitting on the counter," Lenny tells him. "And this is too much fun."

"Sure. Fun," Joel grumbles.

"Cheer up, Joely," Shirley tells her son, patting his hand. "These dinners aren't half as horrible as they were when you and Midge first separated."

"And nothing ever will be," Moishe agrees. "And it's...not so bad having all the kids around. God knows Esther holds her when in a debate."

Esther smiles proudly, and Lenny knows that she'll make a hell of a lawyer one of these days. He nudges her and grins with pride. "Lookit you, impressing the hardasses at the table."

Esther giggles and shoves at his face as he ruffles her hair.

Kitty beams happily and rests her head on Midge's shoulder. "I like eating with everybody. It feels nice."

Midge strokes her hair away from her face and kisses her temple. "Well I like having you all around the table."

"Where's Auntie Susie?" Lily asks, now perched on her uncle's knee and eating some of the leftover rice on his plate.

"Auntie Susie had to go to one of her client's gigs tonight," Midge explains. "But she said to eat an extra apple tart for her for dessert."

Lily's eyes go wide with excitement. "Two apple tarts?"

"Oh, she'll definitely throw up from two," Astrid chimes in.

"We'll split a second one, kiddo," Noah promises. "And then we'll look at the big plant book Papa Abe got you for Hanukkah."

"Flower book!" Lily squeaks happily.

"Midge, you gave birth to a nerd," Joel teases.

"The best nerd," Midge beams, glancing at Lenny.

He grins back and steals one of Esther's carrots, getting him whacked in the arm, making him and the rest of the able laugh.

#fic #au #tmmm #Midge x Lenny #and all the kids #and the fam

[joys-of-everyday]

So er... how does the cultivation work actually?

Firstly, a meta point on soft vs hard world building. MXTX’s novels lean more towards soft worldbuilding, building on existing tropes and leaving details to the imagination. I love soft worldbuilding. It’s fine if it doesn’t make sense! As long as its internally coherent, you can have wonderfully magical, realistic worlds that make absolutely no sense on inspection. As for SVSSS, the worldbuilding is meant to be shitty. That’s the joke.

Oh and something something, I’m not a history person, nor an economics person, no this is not thoroughly researched (this was an afternoon with too much time on my hands), take my words with a pinch of salt.

So phew, caveats aside, let me jot down some thoughts on how the cultivation world might work.

Two key questions:

Where does the food come from?

Who builds the roads?

1. Where does the food come from?

More generally, where do cultivators get goods from? Like clothes, paper, the rice LBH is making his congee with, the oil they are using for papapa, important things like this. Now either sects produce their own goods, or they procure it from outside.

In the first case, they own land. If they own lots of land, then they employ people to work this land. They have factories and manage communities and things like this. And before you say ‘sects don’t care about secular affairs!’, official sect business and getting revenue for the sect can be two different things. Look at any religious institution anywhere. As a good example, Buddhist monasteries (which is very loosely what cultivation sects are based on right???) have historically owned vast amounts of lands. They received a proportion of harvest in exchange for protection against external threats.

In the second case, there’s a cushion between the peasant and the sect – some power which organises all the goods that the peasants produce and hand them as a lump over to the sect. We have indication from this in text – i.e. the existence of prominent families.

So rich families exist. Why are families rich? Because they own resources. Usually, the form this resource takes is land. On the other hand, we don’t see those families becoming regional powers – local lords and things like this (unless you count Huan Hua Palace???), and in fact they seem to have almost no military power at all. Having resources isn’t all fun and games – this stuff needs protecting. So a reasonable system to have in place is that prominent families and sects have deals – protection in exchange for goods. (This is basically the same system as above, except with the prominent families as buffers so that sects have less boring legwork to do.) An alternative to all of this is some central power which collects taxes and redistributes goods appropriately, but we see no indication of one so lets leave that aside.

Overall, it’s probably a mix of the two and depends heavily on the sect.

Example: maybe Cang Qiong relies on a bunch of deals with local families (e.g. the Ming family and their tea fields), while Huan Hua is more heavily invested in managing their territory. A very small sect on the other hand might have its members working the land as part of sect duty.

2. Who builds the roads?

The whole point (arguably) of central power is its ability to do things on a scale that individuals cannot. This includes building works: roads, canals, flood controls, defensive walls etc. And also things like enforcing law, setting standards for trade, defend against external threats, etc. etc. all that fun jazz.

Now the world of SVSSS is fractured into regional powers, so that makes coordinating all of this quite hard.

For small things – patching up a bit of road or building a bridge or whatever – the people who own the land can probably do it themselves. Off the track sects and villages would struggle a little, but maybe they had the cultivation equivalent of GoFundMe or something. Cities seem to have their own governance (Jinlan had a city governor) so they can deal with day-to-day law. If this seems a bit laissez-faire, remember that governments being so involved in everyday life is a more modern thing.

For big things, that was probably what sect conferences were for. We see all the sects came together to defeat Tianlang-Jun, and probably for SQQ’s trial. These conferences were no doubt absolute chaos, but having four (4) major powers probably subdued it a little. So overall, all locally managed, until the issue is too big for local management, in which case it is thrown into an Endless Meeting (we’ve all been in one of those haha).

To wrap up, we have that the cultivation world is this blob of different regional powers interacting with each other, generally managing their own affairs and occasionally coming together to deal with the Big Problems.

This seems... horrendously unstable and likely to descend into a chaotic war within generations lol

Anyway, all just stray thoughts. If anyone else has other ideas, would be interested in hearing!

#svsss #svsss ideas #mxtx #worldbuilding #gcse history level economics lets go!!!!

[hekateinhell]

Wait there is drafts we have of VC books??

How'd we get the Lestat & Louis XV draft?

You would have to go to Tulane University in New Orleans! Their Anne Rice collection contains many drafts/notes/outlines of VC, as while as her personal diaries, and it's all freely accessible in person — you just have to make an appointment in advance!

The unfortunate part is that all of this is on paper only, some it even in her own handwriting (which I needed my friends to translate for me) and nothing else, so it cannot be accessed online.

I did ask the very kind librarian that we coordinated with why all of this can't just be digitized for ease of access, and he said that they simply don't have the resources for a project like that right now — apparently there's 400 boxes of Anne Rice stuff in their collection (but if they let me sleep in the library, I would get the vampire shit done in less than a month free of charge, no joke).

So if you look on the Tulane Special Collections website, this is all that appears in the entry for Lestat and Louis XIV :(

I'm hoping to share more little stuff here and there, but also I want to be careful about possibly violating a copyright. So like I can share some quotes or a pic of a paragraph or a page, but I can't post the whole seven unpublished chapters of a novel. Ideally, I would love to transcribe it and email it to Tulane, and maybe they could share it on their site as a digitized document that anyone can access!

#my dream to have all this stuff as easily accessible to me as the book pdfs in my phone #you ask and hekate answers #vc #the vampire chronicles #skateboard of shakespeare