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mischievousmoony · 6 months ago

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𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚍𝚐𝚎𝚜

⟢ pairing: frat boy!james potter x fem!reader ⟢ summary: as president of a fraternity, your boyfriend has pledges at his beck and call. so naturally, he tasks them with handing you valentines roses throughout the day ⊹ 1.1k ⟢ warnings: all fluff, american!james (not that it's explicitly stated)

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

It starts with a knock at your door early in the morning. You let your roommate answer it while you continue to enjoy your yogurt and granola at the kitchen counter. You don't think anything of the hushed whispers between your roommate and the visitor until she swings the door wide open, revealing a stranger in a suit and tie.

He's looking right at you, holding out a single red rose in your direction. "M'lady," he says simply.

You hesitantly slide off your stool, wrapping your arms around yourself as you shuffle forward in your fuzzy slippers.

"Thanks," you say, accepting the rose. Just as soon as you do, the boy scurries away.

Your roommate shuts the door as you stand idly by, twirling the flower between your fingertips. "Weird. I wonder what that was about," she muses, but you have an inkling. This has your boyfriend written all over it.

The next well-dressed mystery man finds you in line at your favorite cafe on campus.

He hands you the rose with a slight bow, the same practiced "M'lady" you've heard before, then turns on his heel and walks away without another word.

When one of them shows up in your lecture hall, you sort of want to die on the spot. The sight of a man in a suit at ten in the morning catches almost everyone's attention. Their eyes follow him as he makes his way across the large room and down your row, finally dropping the rose on the desk in front of you with a bow of his head and the familiar greeting.

By lunchtime, you’ve collected a dozen roses. But apparently, that was just the warm-up.

In the dining hall, they come in an endless stream, one after another, only minutes apart. They come while you wait in line to order. While your food is being made. The entire time you eat. Each boy, a stranger. Each one handing you a rose with the same solemn "M'lady" before disappearing.

You try to ask what’s going on, but they never answer. Just a nod, a rose, and then they’re gone.

"Sirius," you huff, placing the bundle of flowers on the desk you share with him in your next class. "What is this?"

If the flower delivery boys won't tell you, you hope your boyfriend's best friend might be kind enough to give you some insight.

Sirius snickers as he plucks up one of the roses, bringing it to his nose to inhale the sweet scent with exaggerated appreciation.

"What pretty flowers you have. Where ever did you get them?" he teases, clearly finding enjoyment in your situation.

"Come on," you complain, swiping the rose from his hands and neatly setting it back with the others.

He chuckles, finding it sweet that you're so careful with the flowers even as you mock annoyance. "What do you think? It's Valentine's Day. Does he need another excuse to shower you with flowers?"

You chew your lip to hide your grin. "They're pledges, aren't they?" you ask, even though you're pretty sure you know the answer.

"Who else would they be?"

By the end of the day, you have an armful of roses. You had to grab a brown paper bag from one of the dining halls just to carry them all, and the flowers are packed in so tightly that the bag barely contains them, the petals peeking over the top and spilling over the edges.

Much to your dismay, a handful of the roses have shed a few petals due to the less than ideal setup. With a determined stride, you make your way to your car, intent on getting the delicate gifts home and into water.

As you near your car, you notice someone leaning against it. He looks just like the others, dressed just as formally as the rest—except this time, there’s a bouquet of flowers in his arm instead of a single rose. And, of course, you recognize him by the back of his head.

You press the button on your key fob, unlocking the car with a beep. James flinches slightly at the sound, then turns quickly—his eyes searching until they find yours. The moment he sees you, his expression softens, a radiant smile spreading across his face.

"Hey, baby," James says, his voice warm with affection.

"James," you greet back with a sparkling smile to match his own.

He holds his arms open for you, and after setting the grocery bag of flowers on the hood of your car, you happily step into his embrace.

"Happy Valentines Day," he murmurs into your hair.

You return the sentiment, giggling as you lean back from the hug to see his face, keeping your arms around him. "It was certainly and interesting one."

"You didn't like my flowers?" he teases. The wind picks up, sending a loose strand of hair into your face, and he gently lifts one of his hands from your waist to tuck it behind your ear. His touch lingers, his hand settling on the side of your neck, his thumb brushing over the curve of your jaw.

"I love them," you say, your voice earnest as you instinctively lean into his touch. "Though I will admit it was a little embarrassing when one of them came into my lecture hall."

"What? When? They were supposed to catch you before you went into any of your classes." James pouts slightly. Even if you are just teasing, he didn't mean to embarrass you with his stunt.

"It's okay." You lean in and give him a quick peck on the lips, an effort to smooth the pout from his face. "I don't want to tattle on any of the pledges."

A quick peck isn’t enough for James, as evidenced by the way he pulls you back in almost immediately, pressing his lips to yours for a real kiss. It's gentle at first, but James can never get enough of you. His arm tightens around you as he deepens the kiss, the cellophane wrapped bouquet in his hand crinkling behind your back.

"Don't crush my flowers," you mumble against his lips. "I only have so many."

James pulls away, a laugh escaping him. "So, you liked them? All the flowers?" he asks, his voice betraying a hint of vulnerability as he asks for reassurance.

"I really love them," you promise. "Although, I'm not sure what I'm going to do with all of them."

"We'll find a vase for most of them." James smirks, his voice carrying a hint of mischief as he continues, "As for the rest... I'm picturing candles and a bed covered in rose petals."

"Oh, are you?" you tease, leaning back in and brushing your lips against his. "I think that can be arranged," you murmur, before locking your lips together again.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

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quinnynation · 7 months ago

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at the restaurant ᯓᡣ𐭩 jake webber one-shot

pairing : ex!jake webber x reader

summary : you've been working at the same diner in kanas since you and jake broke up,; he returns with an apology after all these years

warning/extra tid-bits : mentions of previous break up, language, i think that's all

word count : 1,864

divider credit : pics from pinterest ,, lines from @mikeykuns

The diner that you had met Jake at was just down the street from the small Kansas high-school he attended.

The diner that you had started working at at age 17 was mere biking distance from his house.

The diner where Jake sat you down and told you he was going to college in LA whether you liked it or not was only 30 minutes away from his grandma’s house.

So in hindsight, you should’ve seen this coming.

“Y/n! Hurry it up, we need to clear tables before the dinner rush!” Your boss, Patty, yelled at you before proceeding to let out a few painful coughs; her karma for all those cigarette butts that littered the parking lot.

You nodded, grumbling out a quiet “I got it, Pat.” before tying your apron on extra tight and double checking your name-tag wasn’t out of place. It wasn’t like Patty would care, but after working at the diner for so long; you found that, for some reason, you cared.

Your non-slip shoes carried you across the tiles that always seemed to have a slight sticky feeling to them, bringing you to the table where your ex was sitting.

“Welcome to Patty’s Diner, can I take your order?” You asked, pretending you had no clue who the man sitting in the booth was. You knew it was petty, but you didn’t care. Sure, the two of you had broken up nearly 10 years ago but there he was with that same stupid lopsided smile pretending like he didn’t know.

The worst part was, he looked like his stupid dreams of becoming an influencer came true. His short brown hair now a pitch black mullet, it seems that he’d adopted a new look that screamed “Punk Rock.”

It made your stomach churn in disgust.

“Y/n?” Jake put down the menu that was practically engraved into the back of your brain. “You still work here?” He asked- a unknowing jab to your already sore ego.

You scowled at him before nodding, “...Yeah, Yeah I do.” You grumbled, tapping your pen against your notepad. “Are you gonna order something or not?”

You knew it was rude, and if Patty heard you talking to a customer like that she’d probably send you home- worried you were sick because being rude was not a quality of yours; but you didn’t care.

Jake deserved it after the way he’d left you to rot in this dingy diner.

Jake held up his hands defensively, sighing before looking back down at the diner’s menu. You watched through squinted eyes as he purposefully took an agonizingly long time deciding what he wanted; you knew it was on purpose because he kept tracing his finger around the salad section.

It may have been years since you’d seen the man, but Jake Webber did not eat salads- at very least not when chocolate chip pancakes were also on the menu.

“Chocolate Chip pancakes with a side of bacon, extra chocolate chips.” You sighed, your patience running thin as you plucked the menu from Jake’s hands and wrote down his order on your notepad in one swift motion.

Jake blinked up at you for a few moments before chuckling, “You remembered.”

You rolled your eyes, “If you came in just to flirt with me then you can leave now.” Jake’s smile faltered for a quick moment, “Are you seeing someone else?” He asked- having the nerve to make his tone…hurt?

You didn’t know whether to be insulted he thought you weren’t, or hurt that his original assumption was correct. You were single like- very single- like the type of single that made your friends from high-school ask if you ever planned on dating anyone.

“No.” You mumbled, hating how his smile fell back onto his face. Before he could say another word, you made your way to the kitchen, handing one of the line-cooks the order.

For better or for worse, you told the line-cook to take his time before rushing back out to the dining room. You didn't have any other tables under your belt right now which meant you could give your full attention to your ex.

Jake’s eyes brightened as you slid into the booth, a look of determination on your face. “H-”

You cut him off.

“Did it work out?” You asked the man firmly, using every muscle in your body to stop any emotion from seeping into your tone. Jake furrowed his brows, “...Did what work out?” He asked, making your eyes roll.

“Moving to LA. Did it work out?” You shrug, leaning back and crossing your arms over your chest; an attempt to shield your heart from the words you knew were coming.

Jake stammered for a moment before sighing, “...Yeah, actually. I uh, I’ve got 3 million subscribers on youtube…” He boasted bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck. You let out a breath, tapping your non-slip shoes against the sticky tile.

“That’s nice, I’m glad things worked out for you.” You mumbled, the words were genuine- even if your feelings were hurt. Jake smiled and nodded, “Thanks.”

The two of you sat in silence for a moment before Jake spoke up, “What’re you still doing here?” He asked, not a drop of judgement in his tone. If anything, the man sounded genuinely curious.

You shrugged, looking anywhere but the man’s eyes. “I don’t know, college was draining my bank account and…I just…” You didn’t know what else to say because you truthfully didn’t know what you were still doing in Buttfuck Kanas.

When Jake told you he was going to LA with little to no plan, whether you came along or not- you told him good luck chasing a childish dream. Maybe it was karma that he’d succeeded and you’d be stuck in time in this shitty diner.

Jake frowned, thinking over his words- which was a new development since you’d dated him. Just as he opened his mouth, you heard the familiar ding come from the kitchen; Jake’s order was ready.

You slid out of the booth, quickly hurrying to grab the stack of pancakes and bacon. “Hey, kid.” Patty’s voice stopped you in your tracks, you turned around- hot plate burning your wrist.

“That boy you were talkin’ too, he your ex?” Patty asked, a hazy memory of her comforting you the day Jake broke your heart playing in the back of her mind. You nodded, “Yeah, that’s uh..that’s Jake.”

Patty scowled, reaching for the cigarette in her mouth. You knew what she was planning, yet you stopped her. “Patty!” You scolded, making the older woman raise her hands defensively.

“Do you remember how heartbroken you were when he burned off to LA?” She asked, placing her hands on her hips; not caring that cigarette ash was falling to the ground. You frowned, remembering how Patty had to physically pick you up off the bathroom tile and hold your hair as you dry heaved into the toilet.

“I’ve got it Pat, promise.” You swore, earning a judgemental glance from the grey-haired woman. Patty sighed but waved you off, saying she was still going to upcharge him.

You didn’t argue with her about that.

“The Webber Special.” You joked as you placed the food down in front of Jake, making the man chuckle; it’d been years since he’d been in this diner, let alone ordered what was once known as “The Webber Special”.

You turned to walk back to the kitchen, where you’d wait for more customers to come in but Jake stopped you.

If it was any other customer, you would’ve assumed you forgot butter or syrup, but it wasn’t any other customer. You knew what Jake wanted.

Jake wanted you.

“I’m on the clock, Jay.” You scolded, surprising the pair of you at how easily the nickname slipped out and how quick it made any tension between you two melt away. “Just a few minutes?” Jake asked, tilting his head ever so slightly to the right; his eyes practically begging you to sit back down in the booth.

You sighed, glancing around the diner. The dinner rush wouldn’t be here for another 30 minutes at least and Jake was your only table right now…

So you sat.

You squirmed awkwardly under Jake’s gaze, the cracked fabric of the bright red booth shifting beneath you. Jake noticed and looked away, opting to cut into his fluffy stack of pancakes; you let a breath of relief.

The two of you sat in silence once more for a few minutes, Jake silently eating as you stared at the table- silent judging the streak-marks left from the off-brand table cleaner that Patty had bulk ordered on accident.

“I’m sorry.” Jake looked up, letting his utensils fall against his plate with a soft ‘clink!’. Your brow quirked upwards, “What?”

“I said, I’m sorry.” Jake said honestly, making your heart stop for a moment. “Oh.” You responded, feeling your foot begin to tap against the tile once more.

“I…It wasn’t fair to just leave you like that, it…it should’ve been a collective decision.” Jake went on, making all those emotions from all those years bubble up. “Jake, I-” He cut you off.

“I tried making myself feel better by telling myself that you were probably off somewhere else- with a new guy, hell- maybe even a kid but-” Jake shook his head in disbelief, meeting your eyes once more. His heart faltered when he realized they were watery.

Jake reached out to hold your hand, you were cautious but let him; feeling the same electricity you felt all those years ago.

“You’re here and…you shouldn’t be. I mean c’mon Y/n, you’re not the kind of girl whose meant to just wither away in some dingy diner.” Jake’s words were harsh- but they were true. Patty paid you enough for groceries and rent but you didn’t want to have enough money for groceries and rent.

You wanted to wear fancy clothes, to try new restaurants, to travel.

Letting out a shaky breath, you found you were only able to shrug. “You left, Jake. You left and…I stayed here.” Your tone was hurt, and your words cut deep- but they were true. “I’m sorry.” Jake apologized once more; it was nice, but you didn’t have any proof of the apology being true.

“Come back to LA with me.” Jake proposed, your eyes widened as they locked with his. “Are you crazy?!” You asked the punk, bewildered by his request. Jake shrugged as a joke, his grin widening as your lips quirked upwards without your permission.

“Just for this week, tickets on me.” Jake continued his proposal, making your mind race. You knew Patty would give you the days off; she practically begged you to take Christmas off every year.

You slid out the booth, leaving Jake behind to sit with the consequences of his impulsive thoughts.

Jake smiled weakly at the waiter who slid him his check, feeling awful for scaring you away. Jake picked up the receipt to write in a hefty tip- his brows knitting together at a post-it note being attached to the back.

‘[Number], text me the ticket.’

a/n : the ending is rushed but i hope it's still good </3

#jake webber #jake webber x reader #jake webber smut #jake webber x you #jake webber fanfic #jake webber imagine #jake webber x y/n #jake and johnnie #johnnie guilbert #tara yummy #johnnie guilbert x you #johnnie guilbert x reader #johnnie guilbert smut #johnnie guilbert fanfic #tara yummy x reader #tara yummy fanfic #tara yummy x you #Spotify #echos from 🪐 ・₊✧

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erraticrandomficwriter · 7 months ago

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Below the cut is Season 1 Episode 2 of my Ginny and Georgia Fanfic; My Mother's Daughter

At the bleak hour of 3 AM, Alex jolted awake, heart pounding, and sweat slicking her brow from another nightmare. Try as she might, sleep eluded her. She sighed and reached for her notepad; a song idea had sprouted from the chaos of her dreams, and she wasn’t about to let it slip away.

Alex’s creativity wasn’t confined to just writing stories and poems. She also sang, played the guitar, and wrote songs. Unlike Ginny, who excelled at the piano, Alex kept her musical talents hidden. Georgia probably didn’t even know she could play the guitar. Alex had picked up playing the guitar in music class back in Texas and now imagined the chords since she didn’t have one of her own.

She often felt overshadowed by Ginny and preferred to keep some things to herself to avoid comparisons.

As she was finishing her lyrics, she heard Georgia and Ginny talking in the other room. She tried to ignore it until something about Chewbacca caught her attention. Curiosity piqued, she went to Ginny’s room and saw her sister plucking a hair from their mother’s chin with a pair of tweezers.

“I’m not awake enough for this,” Alex muttered, shaking her head before returning to her room and closing the door.

Restlessness gnawed at her, making her feel as though she couldn’t sit still. She loved her home in Wellsbury but sometimes felt an overwhelming urge to move, to do anything but remain idle.

Abandoning her half-finished song, Alex decided to prepare for school. Getting ready and having breakfast early would give her a legitimate reason to leave the house without sneaking out. With that plan in mind, she set about her morning routine, hoping the activity would help settle her restless energy.

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Alex’s plan worked perfectly. She got ready, had breakfast, left a note saying she had left for school, and was out of the house before anyone else was even downstairs. She found a quiet spot in the school’s hallway and resumed her songwriting as she waited for the first bell. he was so lost in her creative flow that when a small package landed on her lap out of nowhere, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Jesus!” she exclaimed, her heart racing.

“I’ve been called worse,” Press said with a grin, plopping down next to her and glancing at her notebook. “Working on another poem?”

“A song, actually,” Alex replied, closing the notebook and examining the package. “What’s this?”

“Breakfast,” Press said with a shrug, tearing into his own. “If you’re here this early, I figured you might’ve skipped eating.” He handed her a carton of milk to go with it.

“Thanks,” Alex said with a grateful smile, accepting the milk. “I know why I’m here this early, but what about you?”

“The cafeteria makes killer turnovers for breakfast,” Press replied, his gaze fixed on something across the hall as he ate.

Alex knew better than to pry when someone didn’t want to talk. She despised it when people did it to her, so she wasn’t going to do it to Press. Instead, she set the milk carton beside her, opened her package, and said, “I’ll be the judge of that.” She tore off a piece of the turnover and popped it into her mouth, her eyes widening in surprise. “Holy apples, Batman – this is amazing!”

Press nearly choked on his milk but managed to recover with a smug smile. “Told you.” He studied Alex for a moment, clearly debating whether to ask her something.

Noticing his hesitation, Alex waved her hand in front of his face. “What’s up with your face?”

“Why did you take a picture of your fractured reflection and write that poem for your self-portrait?” Press asked, his voice steady.

Alex wasn’t expecting that. She looked away, biting her lip in thought before answering, “We’re not close enough for me to tell you that.” She was referring to an incident involving a bee, not what had happened with Kenny. She doubted she’d ever tell him about the bee; she didn’t want him to see her differently after knowing.

Press didn’t push further. “Okay,” he said, finishing the last bit of his turnover and his milk. He got up and threw his trash away in a nearby barrel. When he returned, he held out his hand to help Alex off the floor. “The classroom should be unlocked by now.”

Alex took his hand, tossed her trash, and together they walked to their first-period classes.

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“Where were you this morning?” Ginny asked, sliding into her seat beside Alex in AP English.

“Over the rainbow sipping tea with the Mad Hatter and the Scarecrow,” Alex replied, not lifting her eyes from her notebook.

“Is that a euphemism for something, or are you just avoiding the question?” Ginny pressed, genuinely puzzled.

Alex finally looked up and beamed, “Yes,” before diving back into her writing. She’d let Ginny puzzle over that one.

The bell rang, cutting off any further questions. However, as soon as class was over and they lined up to get their quizzes back, Ginny cornered her again. “I’m serious, where were you? Mom was freaking out until she saw your note.”

“I highly doubt that,” Alex replied coolly. “Besides, you said she saw my note, which clearly stated I was going to school early. So why are you asking me where I was?” Alex’s patience was wearing thin, and Ginny’s persistence wasn’t helping.

“I think what Ginny really wants to know is if you snuck out to hook up with Press before school,” Maxine chimed in with a smirk.

“Oh my deity of your choosing,” Alex groaned, rolling her eyes. Her attention snapped back to the teacher, who announced that only one student had a perfect score and that Hunter Chen was the one to beat. When Ginny and Alex got their quizzes back, both were scored 100%. “Racism is real, yo,” Alex muttered sarcastically as she exited the classroom, echoing Ginny’s words from their first day.

At her locker, Alex suddenly felt someone’s presence far too close behind her. She screamed and scrambled away, heart pounding, only to realize it was Press. He was approaching her slowly, like one might approach a startled deer. “Don’t do that!” she screamed again, not caring who heard.

“Whoa, Alex, I’m sorry…” Press’s apology was genuine. He hadn’t even managed to get out his intended “Boo!” before she freaked out. “Alex, you’re shaking.” He followed her into an empty classroom, watching as she hugged herself tightly, avoiding his gaze. Her behavior spoke volumes. “Who hurt you?”

Alex’s mind was a whirlwind, memories crashing down like a relentless tide. It wasn’t until Press’s words broke through that she managed to tether herself to the present. “What?” she asked, her voice fractured.

Press approached cautiously, stopping when she looked ready to bolt. “Who hurt you? Give me their name, and I swear I’ll make them pay.”

Alex saw the fierce determination in his eyes. She cleared her throat before speaking again. “I already did. Metal stool, below the belt – he won’t be hurting anyone else again.” She could see the anger simmering in Press, barely contained. “It happened in Texas, and I don’t want to talk about it.”

Press paced, trying to calm himself. “Okay.” After a moment, he stopped and asked, “Permission to hug you?”

Alex felt tears welling up. When she practically threw herself at Press, she knew she was clinging to him like a lifeline she hadn’t realized she needed.

So much for keeping it to herself, but Press didn’t run for the hills. If anything, it seemed to bring them closer, and to her surprise, Alex didn’t mind that one bit.

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After school, Alex was brought to the guidance counselor’s office by her Math teacher for a meeting to discuss her progress. Alex repeatedly told them that she didn't need tutoring, but they just pointed at her assignments and insisted. They even threatened to call her mother, Georgia, for a chat about next steps. Alex knew that bringing Georgia into this would lead to a lecture about her school performance and yet another comparison to Ginny. Though she doubted her mom even realized she was doing it, so she begrudgingly agreed to the tutoring. Again, it’s not like she needed it.

Alex plopped herself at a table by the window at Joe's Cafe, waiting for her tutor. She audibly groaned when she saw Hunter walking in. Sure, she knew that Hunter and Press were friends, but since Hunter dated Ginny, she figured Ginny would hear all about this.

"Hey, Alex," Hunter greeted with a friendly smile, setting his bag on the floor and sitting across from her. "I brought some practice pages for you to do so I can get a sense of your starting point, and we can go from there." He placed the papers and a pencil in front of her. "Do you have any questions before we get started?"

"Yeah, can we just pretend we did this whole tutoring thing so we can leave? I don't need tutoring, so you're just wasting your time." Alex’s annoyance was palpable.

Hunter looked at her supportively. "It's okay, Alex. Not everyone gets this, and if you're worried about me telling anyone, I won't."

Seeing the determination in Hunter’s eyes, Alex knew he wasn’t going to back down, so she begrudgingly started working on the sheets while he talked.

Hunter, thinking she was ignoring him and doodling, said, "I give you my word, I won't tell anyone you need tutoring." He added, "Could you at least try to be respectful and not doodle on the papers?"

"I'm not doodling," Alex retorted defensively. "I'm a horrible artist, so I don't doodle. You can ask Press if you don’t believe me. And like I said, I don't need tutoring. It's not that I can't do it; I just don’t care to. If the teacher paid attention, she’d see that I deliberately do just enough to pass. Why put effort into something I don't care about? Before you start lecturing me on respect, that goes both ways. How about you respect me enough to, oh, I don’t know, believe me when I say I don't need this?" She didn’t even look up from the papers as she spoke, and when she finished, she slapped the practice sheets down in front of Hunter— all completed.

Hunter looked shocked, his eyes wide as he saw that every single answer was correct. He flipped through the pages, checking to make sure the answer key wasn’t mixed in. "How...what..." he stammered.

"I told you I didn't need tutoring," Alex said, smugly.

"You sure don't," he laughed. "But I don't get it—why don't you do the work if you can clearly do it? Why aren't you in AP Math, too?"

Alex sighed with an elaborate hand gesture. "Were you not listening? I don't care about Math or any other subject. I do just enough to not get held back and focus on what I like. No point in wasting time on the other stuff.”

Hunter was still processing everything. "You could literally get into any college..."

Alex practically leaped out of her chair to lean over the table and cover his mouth with her hand. "I've heard it all before—no intention of hearing it again. If you promise to hush and never bring it up again, I'll show gradual improvement or whatever. Deal?"

When Hunter nodded, she removed her hand, returned to her seat, and sighed. "So, now what? We can go, right?"

Hunter, needing to collect his tutoring hours, said, "Actually...could we work on something? Anything? Joe needs to sign off that I've been here tutoring, and I’m counting on these hours to..."

Alex held up her hand. "Say no more. Homework it is."

Hunter was surprised she agreed. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

Alex shrugged. "You don't annoy me as much as I thought you would, so no biggie."

Hunter looked amused and confused. "Thanks, I guess."

Alex set her homework down. "I don't particularly care for Ginny's friends, and you're part of that group, so I assumed you'd be as nail-on-a-chalkboard-esque as them."

"Press is friends with them, too," Hunter countered.

"His so-called friends called him a psycho sociopath and told me I could do better. You may be friends with them and Press may be friends with you, but those ladies are so not his friends," Alex said without hesitation.

Hunter took that into consideration. "Noted." He then spotted some music notes and lyrics on one of Alex's notebook pages. "You're a songwriter?"

Alex flipped the page and went back to her History assignment. "We're not friends enough to get into that."

Hunter held his hands up in a playful, dramatic 'I surrender' manner. He could definitely see why Press was so into Alex and hoped it’d work out for them.

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When Alex got home after Hunter’s ‘tutoring session’ ended, she found Press perched on the front steps of her house, waiting. She couldn't help but feel a warmth spread through her chest at the sight of him there, almost like he was a guardian waiting to ensure she made it home safe.

“You’re not gonna go all Edward Cullen on me and watch me when I sleep, are you?” she teased, her playful smirk masking the genuine curiosity and slight nervousness beneath.

Press’s face turned stoic, masking any hint of confusion. “I have no idea what you’re referencing.”

Alex squinted at him, trying to discern if he was serious. A flicker of amusement crossed her mind, lightening the lingering weight of her day. She sat down beside him, chuckling. “What’s up?”

“You weren’t at Brodie’s tonight. Everything okay?” He cut straight to the chase, his eyes searching hers for any sign of distress.

“I had to do some mandatory tutoring,” Alex explained, rolling her eyes dramatically. “It was easier than dealing with the school calling my mom in.”

Press raised an eyebrow. “You’re literally one of the smartest people I know. You don’t need tutoring.”

“That’s what I tried to tell them,” Alex sighed, leaning back on her arms. She could see the concern in Press’s eyes, and it touched her more than she expected. “I’m fine, Press.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he snapped, then immediately softened, rubbing his brow. Guilt tugged at him—he hadn’t meant to sound harsh. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, you did, and that’s okay,” Alex took a deep breath, feeling the weight of unspoken truths pressing against her ribcage. “I’m not lying when I say I’m fine.” She saw Press about to counter, so she quickly added, “F is for feeling overwhelmed. I is for I’m not alright. N is for not being able to sleep, E for every night.” Alex couldn’t take credit for that, but when she heard the song ‘Fine by Kyle Hume’ she felt it in her soul.

Alex flashed a wide smile, masking the turmoil inside. “I’m very good at burying things and saying what needs to be said so people don’t freak out around me.”

“You don’t have to wear a mask around me,” Press’s tone softened, a gentleness threading through his words. He wished she’d let him in, just a little bit more.

“It’s not a mask,” Alex countered with a small smile, though her heart ached with the effort of keeping the walls up. “It’s a face.” She wrapped her arms around his and leaned on his shoulder, craving the comfort of his presence. “I’m never going to tell you the full story.”

Press didn’t move, didn’t look at her. He could feel the unspoken pain radiating from Alex, and all he wanted was to ease it. “Okay,” he said simply and sincerely, and that was good enough for Alex.

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

Up in her room, Alex was getting ready for bed when Georgia came in. She was braiding her hair, trying to unwind from a long day – ironically, because in a way she was literally winding her hair.

“Who were you talking to outside?” Georgia asked, her voice curious.

“Matt Press,” Alex answered, deftly finishing the braid. “He’s a friend.”

“A friend who is a boy?” Georgia’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Are you going to be okay with that?”

Alex turned to face her mother, meeting her gaze head-on. “Yes, I’m okay. And…he kinda knows what happened. When he snuck up on me, I kinda freaked, and he figured it out.”

Georgia’s legs wobbled, and she had to sit down. The revelation was like a punch to the gut, causing a swirl of emotions—fear, relief, and a deep, aching sadness for her daughter’s pain.

Since Georgia was uncharacteristically silent, Alex continued, feeling a need to fill the heavy silence. “He didn’t react like I thought he would…he was supportive and asked for my permission to give me a hug. After everything, I really didn’t think I could get close to a boy, and I’m not saying that he and I will ever get close physically, I’m just saying…it’s good, Mom. I’m good.” There was a mix of hope and vulnerability in her voice, a quiet plea for understanding.

Georgia swallowed the words she wanted to say because, for the first time in a long time, she saw that Alex genuinely meant she was good. Instead, she put on a warm smile, feeling a surge of maternal pride and love, and kissed her daughter’s forehead. “I’m glad. After all, not all men…”

She didn’t need to finish her sentence. Alex responded instantly, the playful sparkle in her eyes returning. “Of course not. Gomez Addams would never.”

Georgia chuckled, a wave of relief washing over her. “My little Addams fanatic,” she said softly, her voice filled with affection. “Goodnight, Lexi,” she added before leaving the room.

Alex glanced at her new mirror and smiled – for the first time in a long time, it was a genuine one. The reflection staring back at her wasn’t forced or feigned, her smile was real and for the first time in a long time Alex thought she might actually sleep through the night because of it.

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At school the next day, Hunter hurried down the hall, weaving through the crowd until he caught sight of Alex. His heart pounded as he approached her, his steps quickening with urgency. He caught up with her and, panting slightly, blurted out, “Okay, so, I really need you to be cool and please, don’t hate me.”

Alex’s brows knitted in confusion. She couldn’t fathom what Hunter might have done to warrant such a plea. Trying to control the flood of anxious thoughts racing through her mind, she met his gaze and said, “I make no promises. What did you do?”

Hunter stopped abruptly, causing Alex to halt as well. He winced, his face a mask of regret as he confessed, “I may have told your guidance counselor that you’re incredibly smart and should be in AP classes.”

Alex felt her blood start to boil, the heat of anger rising from her chest to her cheeks. “You may have done it, or you did do it?” she demanded, emphasizing the words ‘may’ and ‘did’.

Hunter looked away, guilt etched on his face. “I did,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. He could see the fury blazing in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Alex, I just couldn’t let you throw away your chance at college and…” His words trailed off as Alex stormed away, fury in her stride. He raced after her, calling out, “Look, I’m sorry but…”

Alex whirled around, jabbing her finger into his chest as she advanced, forcing him to backpedal until he was pressed against the wall. “No buts. There are no buts in this situation. I trusted you, and you betrayed that trust. You had no right interfering in my life. Do you think I want to be in the same classes as my sister, constantly being compared to her? Now I’ll never hear the end of it from Ginny and my mom! I just wanted to stay under the radar, make my own choices, and you took that away from me!”

Hunter could see that her reaction was about more than just his betrayal. This outburst stemmed from deeper issues, from wounds he hadn’t known existed. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, feeling helpless.

“I don’t care,” Alex snapped, removing her finger from his chest and walking away, her anger leaving a tangible trail behind her. This time, Hunter didn’t follow.

Press entered the hall just in time to see Alex walking away from Hunter. Concerned, he approached his friend and asked, “What’s up?”

Hunter sighed heavily, the weight of his mistake pressing down on him. “I was assigned to tutor Alex and found out she’s a lot smarter than she lets on. I told her guidance counselor.”

Press looked at him like he was an idiot all whole doing his best not to get pissed. “Dude, Alex has her reasons.”

“I get that now,” Hunter replied, his remorse deepening. “She told me she only cared about English, but I didn’t realize there was more to it.” Granted, he didn’t know the whole story but with how Alex had spoken about being compared to Ginny, he could imagine.

Press shook his head at his friend. “You really screwed up, man. Good luck fixing it.”

“You’re not going to help me out here?” Hunter asked, hoping for some assistance.

“Nope,” Press said firmly, walking away.

Hunter exhaled deeply and headed to class, his mind racing with ways to make amends. He needed to fix things with Alex—not just because she was practically Press’s girlfriend and Ginny’s sister, but because he genuinely hoped they could become friends. He just hoped he could find a way.

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

When Alex walked out of her guidance counselor’s office clutching her new AP class schedule, she felt a volcanic eruption of frustration bubbling within her. It took every ounce of her self-control not to tear the paper into confetti and scatter it across the hallway. She knew the inevitable confrontation with her mom awaited her—an interrogation about why she hadn’t been in these advanced classes from the start and why she’d coasted at a level far below her true capabilities. There was no escaping it now; Georgia wouldn’t let this slide. After giving Alex so much slack on bigger issues, her mom was sure to unleash her wrath this time.

As Alex stormed down the hall, she passed the lilac-painted wall where Ginny and her friends—Nora and Abby—stood, chatting. She hoped to glide by unnoticed, but Abby shot out her hand, gripping Alex’s wrist with a firm hold.

“Hey, Ginny’s twin, we’re going shopping, and you’re coming,” Abby said with a faux-sweet smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Hey, the name’s Alex, and no, I’m not,” Alex retorted, yanking her hand free. She added with a sarcastic, high-pitched valley girl tone, “Thanks for the invite, though,” and flicked her hair dramatically before turning to walk away.

“You could have just said no,” Abby called after her, a hint of annoyance in her voice. “No need to be a bitch about it.”

That remark was the final straw. Alex stopped dead in her tracks, fury igniting in her eyes. She spun on her heels and marched back toward Abby, her expression murderous.

Seeing the brewing storm, Ginny quickly intervened, stepping between her sister and Abby. “Don’t ruin my chance at having friends, I beg of you,” she quietly pleaded, pushing Alex away.

“No promises,” Alex muttered, glaring daggers at Abby. She shot her the middle finger before continuing her march down the hall to her locker, where she needed to gather her textbooks for return. She’d be getting new ones the next day.

As Ginny rejoined Nora and Abby, Abby watched Alex’s retreating figure with a newfound respect. “She doesn’t take anyone’s crap. I’m totally in love with her,” she declared with a serious tone, then burst into laughter, with Nora and Ginny joining in soon after.

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Alex sat at the kitchen counter, her focus intently on the card game she was playing with Austin. The quiet hum of their playful competition was interrupted when Georgia and Ginny burst through the door. Ginny, radiating frustration, stormed straight up the stairs without a word. Georgia, visibly exasperated, entered the kitchen, shaking her head in disbelief. "I don’t know what I’m going to do with your sister,” she muttered, her voice heavy with fatigue.

Deciding to face the inevitable, Alex turned to Austin with a sigh. "We’ll play cards again later. I need to talk to Mom."

Austin, sensing the seriousness of the situation, nodded and began to gather the cards. "Okay," he said simply, before retreating up to his room.

Georgia, still releasing deep, weary sighs, set her water bottle down on the counter with a thud. She looked across at Alex, her expression a mix of concern and exasperation. "Please tell me you don’t have a crisis too. Or if you do, let it be a normal teenage crisis, like a zit that makes you feel like you’ll just die if you have to go to school tomorrow."

Alex couldn’t help but chuckle at the oddly specific example but quickly regained her composure. "With the exception of Art, I’m starting all AP classes tomorrow," she announced, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

Georgia blinked, clearly taken aback. She moved around the counter island and perched on the stool beside Alex, her eyes searching her daughter’s face. "You barely get C’s in any class other than English, so please explain how you’re now in AP classes?"

Alex stood up, making her way to the fridge. She grabbed a can of cola and opened it with a crisp snap. "You know I don’t believe in wasting my time," she said, taking a sip. "So I just don’t bother in the classes that I don’t care about." She left out the part about avoiding being in the same classes as Ginny, a detail she wasn’t ready to share.

Georgia slowly rose from her seat, the realization dawning on her. "So this whole time—for years—you’ve been pretending not to be as smart as you are?" She didn’t wait for a response. "Why the hell would you do that, Lexi? And don’t give me that ‘oh, I just don’t care’ crap." She pointed a finger at Alex, her frustration boiling over. "You fooled me good, baby girl, and I don’t appreciate that. Once I figure out how to deal with everything else that’s going on, we will be having more of a conversation about this." With that, Georgia turned and left the kitchen, her footsteps echoing down the hall.

Alex exhaled a long breath, taking another sip of her soda. "Yep, that pretty much went the way I thought it would," she muttered to herself, the weight of the confrontation settling heavily on her shoulders.

With the tension between her and her mom still hanging in the air, Alex planned to retreat to her room for some much-needed solitude. That was the plan until a sudden knock at the front door made her spin around on her heels. She opened it to find Hunter standing there, a hesitant smile on his face.

“Ginny’s upstairs, I’ll go get her,” Alex said automatically, ready to dash away.

“Actually, I’m here for you,” Hunter interjected quickly before she could leave.

“Why? You have more decisions to make about my life?” Alex retorted, raising an eyebrow as she sipped her soda. She stepped outside, closing the door behind her.

“I deserve that,” Hunter admitted, then handed her a paper bag from the Wellsbury bookstore. “This is for you.”

Alex tapped her soda can thoughtfully. “Is this a bribe for my forgiveness?”

“Absolutely,” Hunter replied without missing a beat.

Alex chuckled, handing him her soda can. She took the bag from him and pulled out a compilation book of cartoons of the Addams Family by Charles Addams. Her eyes lit up with excitement. “Oh my deity of your choosing, this is amazing!” She laughed, flipping through the pages before looking back at Hunter. “How did you know I loved the Addams Family?”

Hunter shrugged, a smile tugging at his lips. “Your bag is covered with Addams Family-themed patches. I figured this would be a safe bet.” His eyes were hopeful. “Are we good?”

Alex closed the book, placing it back into the paper bag. She took her soda can from him and narrowed her eyes, a smile playing on her lips. “You’re lucky I love a good bribe.” She grinned, and he smiled along with her.

“Good, I’m glad. I really want us to be friends,” Hunter said earnestly.

Alex’s immediate response was blunt. “Right – not getting along with your friend’s friend and the girl you like’s sister probably wouldn’t bode well for you.”

“Not just that,” Hunter explained, “I think you’re cool and want to be your friend, just because.”

“A non-ulterior motive friend, eh? I’m good with that.” Alex lifted the bag. “Thank you for this. See you in class.”

Hunter smiled and waved as she went back inside the house. He walked back to his car parked down the street and got in, looking at Press who was sitting in the passenger seat. “You were right, she loved the book.”

“Told you,” Press replied, not looking away from his phone.

“I thought you weren’t going to help me though? Why did you give me the book?” Hunter asked, still puzzled.

“I wasn’t helping you, I was helping her,” Press replied seriously. “She could use you as a friend.”

Hunter could have easily teased Press for being sentimental, but he chose not to. Instead, he simply said, “I owe you one.”

“I aim to collect,” Press responded, his tone leaving no room for doubt. He had given Hunter the book because he wanted Alex to feel better and for her and Hunter to be friends. Press was willing to do anything to make Alex happy and he intended to see it through.

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End Season 1 Episode 2

#Ginny and Georgia Fanfic #My Mother's Daughter #Ginny and Georgia OC #Alexandria Miller #Matt Press #Hunter Chen

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bobbydagen24 · 1 year ago

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in Defence of Creek ( warning if your an Avid Creek Hater you may not want to read this 😂😂 )

youtube

ps. Branch will Hair strangle some guy he Barely knew who he didn't even care about for betraying them but doesn't do the same to his Jerkass Brothers who let him down his whole life 🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️.

anyway onto the topic at hand 😂😂😂😂

Creek gets an unfair Rap in my opinion sure he technically betrayed the village but when you examine the story of the first film he literally had no other choice.

as there's no other scenario that didn't end with him being Horribly Eaten as soon as he was picked by Chef for Gristle Jr to eat and taken out of the cage his fate was sealed.

unlike the rest of the snack pack he didn't have the option of sitting around waiting on the off chance Poppy would Rescue them.

we see in the Betrayal scene he was literally in Gristle's mouth before he finally played the only card he could and said he'd do what ever they wanted him to do.

and from then on he was kept in Gristle's locket around his neck which I have to say was Horrible poor guy was stuffed in their with no space or light or even air given how tight it was.

and he was kept there until eventually being moved out of the locket and put into Chef's waist bag just before the snack pack got the Locket from Gristle and were then captured by Chef.

and from that point like Creek himself said there was literally nothing else he could do that wouldn't result in him being killed straight away by Chef.

this is what rubs me the wrong way about the movie trying to make him into a villain he has no real agency in the betrayal it'd be a little easier for me to Judge him.

if he was kept in the cage with the Rest of the Snack Pack so he had the option of just having faith in Poppy someone he claimed to care about.

coming to save them but instead he took the more cowardly action and offered to sell everyone out early on in order to save himself then I feel it'd work a little better.

but having him be plucked from the cage early on and literally only betray everyone when he was on the verge of being eaten just makes him a victim in my eyes.

like I'm sorry but he can't be blamed too much for anything he does at that point he's just a normal civilian who's life was put in danger by negligent leaders ( cough Peppy cough ).

he technically wasn't obligated to die then and there and the whole situation with him selling out the Village is a classic Trolley Problem sure its easy to Judge.

from the outside but when we're on the verge of being gruesomely murdered who's to say what each of us would do in the moment to stay alive.

basically its Chef's actions and she's the one to blame not Creek dude was a literal Hostage who had been kidnaped Humiliated by being shoved in a taco and sprinkled with spicy stuff.

and then nearly eaten and then crammed into a tiny locket for presumably Hours and then crammed into a waist bag like how is this guy not the victim here?

and some people do like to point to how he behaved about the whole thing telling Poppy he's doing it for her but I'm sorry that doesn't change anything in my eyes.

sure its an unusual reaction but its also an unusual situation and I see it more as him weakly attempting to justify it to himself since he does admit he wishes there was another way but is promptly reminded by Chef that there isn't.

his Reaction isn't Great but it doesn't change the situation and make him some pure evil person.

a little autistic maybe? given the weird response to an emotional situation he has but yeah it doesn't make him worse in my eyes.

basically to end things the film as well as the fandom that villainise him seem to basically be saying that he should have just laid down and accepted his gruesome fate the first time.

and the movie even ends on a cruel irony of still being eaten along with Chef.

which for Chef is ironic in a karmic way but for Creek its just kinda sad tbh so the film's saying his death was decided at the start and he's a villain for not accepting it the first time.

and as punishment he meets the same fate in the end anyway.

I thought this was a Trolls film not a Final Destination film lol.

anyway even tho its separate cannon I was Happy when he was Revealed to still be alive in TBGO sure I feel his Return could have been written way better.

but Regardless I'm Glad he's still alive he didn't deserve to die and also the movie cannon never contradicts the tv show cannon in Terms of Creek's survival.

so yeah he could very well still be alive in the movies as well sorry Haters 😅😅😅😅.

#Youtube #trolls #trolls creek #dreamworks trolls #trolls the beat goes on #trolls tbgo #trolls dreamworks #Trolls #Trolls Creek #Trolls The Beat Goes On #Trolls TBGO #trolls creek defence #sorry not sorry haters 😂😂😂😂#trolls deeper analysis

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hxnneydew · 1 year ago

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JAGJABBSJASJA- SCREAMING. God, I love this so much!! Knight!ghost is another level. This entire thing might just be next to shakespeare. Speaking of...some of my fav parts cus this is my fav now!

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

You watch the crackle of the fire, your finger tapping against your cheek. If you are truly to be a thorn, then you’ll need more than a simple favor to gift your knight. There must be a grand gesture, or some higher level of humiliation.

I love this. The acceptance that if she is gonna be a thorn then she might as well make it sharp. She's gaining confidence in her own power and i loveee that!!

“If you haven’t, then you have nothing to fear.” You smile at her, “Just see that he gets the letter, and sleep well knowing you would not betray me.”

Honestly. Girlboss. Such a power move I love her. I'd be shaking if I was the maid and rightfully so

But he should have known. His lips find their corners quirked into a smile at the orders written on the front. “Should this seal be broken, take the hand that delivered it.” He only wishes it was. Carrying out your orders is such a joy. Why would your hands ever need to touch a blade when you wield his so well?

Okay ik there was a threat but dam?? The right to be scared is there. Scary princess = best. Queen. AND THE LAST LINE?! WHEN YOU WIELD HIS SO WELL??? DEAD. HAJABNAA. MASTERPIECE OF A LINE.

Ghost jerks his head down the hall towards Keegan's room. Special privileges afforded to the Princess's guard. The maid turns to look in the same direction. “Two doors down on the left, I'll send ‘im your way.” He offers. The easiest way to get rid of one problem is to solve another, he'd have to be blind not to see the way those two looked at each other.

Oooo keegan and his angel snippetsss yesss. Yes Ghost. Set them up.

God. God. He’s never seen anything like you before. Divinity in the flesh. Perfection in every dip and curve, in the flicker of candle light over your skin, in the press of your fingers against his chest plate. He must have been born a sinner to be tested like this, to be shown what he can’t have, dangled like a carrot while he waits for the stick. He would ruin you.

The "he must have been born a sinner to be tested like this" ?? GHOUL. This entire thing was already so good and then you add that?! Idk but i love that sooo much.

He would break you, pluck every petal until there were no flowers left in the garden, leave your skin scarred with his bites. He could eat you whole, and you’d let him. You’re asking him to. Aren’t you? There’s fear in your eyes, trepidation, that batters him. Aren’t you standing here because he’s led you to believe he would? Because he told you he loved you. Because he kissed you, and held you, and comforted you. Because he’s kept you from seeing that there might be someone else, someone more worthy of you.

UGH. JUST UGH. LITERALLY SO GOOD. I DONT EVEN HAVE WORDS BUT I LOVE THIS TOO.

“I’m afraid I ask too much of you,” You swallow. Ask anything of me, he wants to beg, grant me some kind reprieve from the wanting, give me a task to occupy the hands that want to grab for you. “I’d like you to wear my crest for the tournament.”

Omg princess just give him everything and he'll do it. ALSO CREST?! YES. WHATEVER PLAN I HOPE YOU DO AMAZING PRINCESS.

That roots him in place. A slap in the face to your father, a renouncement of his allegiance to the throne, proclaiming him a dog to only one master. There’s a determination in your eyes, buried beneath the swell of fear, that he’s never seen before. He nods once, of course he will, he’d strip naked in the palace garden if you asked it of him. Strip you bare here and now if you called his name properly.

God, the willingness 😩🥵

There’s something weighing behind your eyes, some scale that’s tipped, a decision made. He’s never seen you look so serious. Where did his soft girl go? Ghost’s brows draw together. His thumb brushes over your cheek, trying to find some comforting action to settle the determination in your eyes. Whatever needs doing he’ll do it, you only need to ask.

Jagajbqjanw. I love how he knows that she's got something planned and that she's more determined.

"I need you to win the tournament.”

OKAY. GHOST BETTER WIN THIS FOR HER.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

No but really this is a masterpiece and i love this.

Your Strength Tags: Knight!Ghost x Princess!Reader, politics, Ghost having dirty thoughts, threats of violence, period typical misogyny, knight!Keegan, König mention Summary: You're nothing more than a doll to be sold and traded, and for too many years you've been content with that knowledge. Now, with Ghost on the line, you can no longer stand by and let your life be dictated for you. It's time to cement yourself in the monarchy. It's time to start acting like a Queen. Prev Part art is "Strength" by Alexander Groznov A/N: This chapter will not make much sense without reading the rest of the Knight!Ghost au. We're in the meat of the story now, and rapidly heading towards the end of the second act, I anticipate maybe 2 more chapters before we get into Act 3 and the end of our story.

You are not strong, not the way knights are. You’re not brave, you’re not clever, you’re not even trusted to leave the castle on your own. Your whole life you’ve been told exactly who and what you are, exactly the purpose you must serve. You are a princess, and the best you can do is pass on your father’s divine right to the next generation. You made a mistake, miscalculated the sway that you had, the power you had over your match making. You pushed too hard-

No. You didn’t push hard enough. The divine right which is your fathers, which is yours by blood, was underestimated. Your faith in your own power led you to weakness, led you to your own ruin by the hand of your heart. You are to blame for your misery as much as your father. No more. As König's pointed out, you're running low on time. You hate to admit that rabid dog might be right, but he is. If you don’t begin acting like a proper monarch you’ll lose everything.

You just- you just have to figure out how to do that. You’ve never coveted the throne, always assumed that whoever you married would have more ambition towards it than you do. You’ve been groomed to be nothing more than a pretty figure, a prize to any man brave enough to claim it. You’re a bird in a cage, meant to be traded for a crown.

Ghost is the only person that’s ever treated you like a human being. The only person that’s ever looked you in the eye, ever spoken to you like you were royalty. You love him too dearly to lose him. At least to lose him like this, without even trying. You can only hope he won’t hold it against you that it took this long to realize he was slipping through your fingers.

Ghost makes you want to be better, be stronger. You shouldn’t have to rely on him, though you know he’d argue otherwise. “Let me,” was a constant refrain with him. You wonder if you took it for granted, or if it was pride in your knight that made you so weak. God. König is right, your compliance, your despair, has ruined you. Your weakness is Ghost’s weakness, and you can’t afford him that.

You take your breaths with purpose, each one a bitter taste of the gilded cage you’ve been enjoying until now.

You take stock of the things you know. There’s going to be a tournament. Ghost is going to participate and you expect he’ll win. The “prize” will be getting carted off to a different kingdom and broken in like a dog. You know that your father is determined to get rid of Ghost, which means Ghost is a threat to him. You know that Ghost is a threat to any man that would harm so much as a hair on your head, which puts your father in that category as well and you can’t mourn the loss of two men.

You know that Ghost loves you, or you think he loves you. He said he did in not quite so many words, and you have to trust that as much truth as your knight hides from you he’s never told you a lie. You know that even if you didn’t love him, allowing anyone this power over your life will never bode well for you. If your father can send away one man he deems unworthy, and dangerous to his crown, what’s to stop him from sending away another?

You worry your thumb nail between your teeth, pacing your quarters as your lady’s maid sits beside the fire with her embroidery. You recognize the soft threaded pattern as your own crest taking shape on a handkerchief. A favor for the upcoming tournament. Your brow furrows. Ghost no longer wears your crest on his coat, but that doesn’t mean he can’t carry it with him. If you bestow it upon him, then there’s little argument your father can kick up without losing face.

“Your pacing will wear a hole in the carpet,” Your maid tells you over the soft pull of her thread. It doesn’t matter if your pacing wears holes in the stone floor, you would take a chisel to the castle walls if that helped your cause. Still, you pad over to her, and she glances up from her sewing as you settle on the chair across from her. You lean against the arm of the chair, push your cheek against your balled fist. Ghost would scold you for your slouching, but your maid only raises her brows. She didn’t used to stay so late in the evening with you. You wonder if your father asked her to keep an eye on you. If he did, you were a fool taking her with you to see Ghost.

Is there truly no one you can trust to be on your side? No one that serves you alone? This castle is full of eyes that watch you as if you were nothing but a thorn in the monarchy’s side. Perhaps you aren’t. You suppose nothing you wish for is in line with your father’s interests.

“Do you know Sir Riley’s family crest?” You ask your maid, turning to gauge her reaction for yourself. She blinks at you in confusion. “They’re a small family I believe,” You reiterate, “I haven’t seen them in our genealogy books.”

“I’ll look into it my lady,” You maid acquiesces.

“See that you do.” You nod. She hesitates before looking back at her sewing. “Now.” You order, forcing the command from your chest. She startles, looks at you again and settles her hoop to the side. She stands and curtsies.

“Of course my lady.” She turns towards the door and your stomach twists uncomfortably at the use of your power. No. No, you must get used to exercising your authority. Divine providence, you’re meant to give orders. You stand as well, and take a few quick steps towards your underused desk.

“One moment,” You stop your maid, scratching out a quick letter. You fold it neatly, and tip a nearby candle over the edge to seal it. Another quick note over the wax seal, and you hold the letter to your maid. “Deliver this to Ghost.”

She takes the letter, her eyes darting to the threat you’d scribbled on the top edge. The color drains from her face and she looks at you with fear in her eyes. “My lady, have I ever given you reason to believe-”

“If you haven’t, then you have nothing to fear.” You smile at her, “Just see that he gets the letter, and sleep well knowing you would not betray me.”

She curtsies, her head bowed, and scurries from the room.

The hand that knocks on his door is trembling, Ghost knows that much by the softness of the pattern. He barely hears it, the slide of cloth over his sword feels deafening when his mind is so full. His senses are on high alert though, and when he tugs the door open he’s faced with one of your maids. Whichever is closest to you. He’s never found it necessary to learn the woman’s name. At best she’s a nuisance, and at worst she hovers when he wants nothing more than a moment alone with you. She holds up a letter.

“My lady bade me to deliver this,” She explains. Ghost nods his head, a short half-thanks as he takes the folded paper. The wax is white, no seal impressed upon it, if he hadn’t been told it was yours he might not have been able to tell from handwriting alone.

The maid hesitates in the hall. Ghost pays her no mind, breaking open the seal and scanning the letter's contents. He can see why the threat was needed. A request of his presence in your quarters is more than treasonous. The King would execute Ghost himself if he knew. An order is an order though, and Ghost follows your tug on his leash with the strictest obedience.

“Keegan on duty tonight?” Ghost asks. Your maid stiffens.

“He is.”

There's a long moment of hesitance, the maid covering her face as she considers his offer. She nods shortly, one tight movement of her head. “Alright,” she says quietly, “but be quick.”

Ghost waits only long enough for the maid to step aside before stalking down the hall towards the castle. Quick… If Keegan has any brains at all he'll keep occupied as long as possible. You requested Ghost to your quarters, and he can only suspect one thing. If he's going to have you, he's going to enjoy you.

Keegan is smart enough to stand aside when he spots Ghost stalking towards your quarters. Smarter still to offer a nod and a, “standing watch, Sir.” He'd like the man if he wasn't on your guard, but circumstances are as they are.

“I'll take over,” Ghost offers, “left you somethin’ in your room.”

“Sir?” Keegan raises a brow over his mask.

“Don't keep ‘er waiting.” Ghost pushes. A moment of hesitance before Keegan salutes and turns to make his way back to the barracks. Should keep those two occupied for a while. He turns his attention back to you, to your quarters. His hand rests on your door, his mind debating his body. If this is the right path to take, if he's damned to suffer for this simple action. If he can live another night without seeing your face.

Ghost doesn't wait to be let in, wouldn't dare have you rushing for the door. Ghost gives your heavy wooden door a knock before pushing it open. You rise from where you'd been sitting by the fire as he turns to check the door's lock. You're too close when he turns back, your skin illuminated by candlelight and your eyes so blessed to be laid on him again. You're far, far more bare than he's ever seen you.

“I hope I didn't wake you,” your voice is so sweet it's cloying, drowning him in the syrup that drips from your lips. What he wouldn't give to taste it.

His jaw clenches, words trapped in his chest. What can he say in the face of such a beauty? In the soft glow that seems trapped under your skin, warming you as well as a fire ever could. Distance truly does make the heart grow fonder. He’s never wanted you more than after being deprived of you. You're fidgeting. He wants to correct you, aches to correct you, to remind you that a princess doesn't fidget, just to see the way your motion stops. You're so obedient, so good for him. His perfect girl.

You twist your fingers into the lace netting over your hair, your elegant arms raised to lengthen the lines of your body. Ghost tightens his grip on his sword, his jaw clenched tighter and his teeth creaking under the weight of his nerves as he tries to keep his eyes on your face. You may as well be naked for all that you're wearing. His eyes dart to the gold that seems to be painted onto you, buttery silk that clings to your every curve. Fabric that surely cost more than his life if only for what it so barely covers. Your shy confidence is almost more enchanting than your exposed skin. Give the word and he will ravage you.

You teeter on the edge of self assurance, your hands dropping from your hair to brush shyly over your slip, unused to being so bare around a man, before you reach for him. Nerves root Ghost in place, his muscles tensing as your fingers press gently to the steel plate over his chest. You take a step closer, and his breath stops. Every inch of him constricting to keep him from pouncing on you. Never has a man been so conflicted than when offered everything he ever dreamed of.

“Ghost,” you start, your voice as soft as rain(as soft as he's sure your skin must be). He wishes you'd call his name like this, that your eyes would shine at him from the bed and not from where you stand, so unsure. He’s sure he must be choking on whatever words his throat attempts to force.

It only makes the truth more bitter on his tongue when he thinks of what the kingdom would be told afterwards. Love isn’t the story that the King would go with.

They’d say Ghost forced himself on you, that his jealousy, his own lust for you, drove him to take you. They’ll say he wants the throne. They’ll say you were too weak to fight him off, too trusting, that he took what he wanted and convinced you that you wanted it too. They’ll hang him, behead him, draw and quarter him. You’ll be left alone, sold off to whoever had enough pity in their heart(enough ambition in their cold soul) to take you.

Ghost holds you tightly by your shoulders. Your warmth soaks through his gloves, poisons his resolve. You look at him, wanting, pleading. Scared. He knows you too well.

“I’m sorry,” You tell him, your lips parted on kindness rather than damnation, “You’re in this mess because of me and I-” You press your fingers to your lips and Ghost can’t stop the way he brushes his fingers against your cheek. The soft swell of your lips, the tug of them under your teeth, the gentle sparkle of held tears behind your eyes, what could he do in the face of you? He’ll fold every time, all you need to do is look at him.

Simon. Simon. Simon. He wants to carve it into your skin, trace it onto your cunt before he buries himself in it. There’s no singular wanting, only the desperate howling of a beast denied too much for too long.

His eyes settle on your breasts, his mouth watering at the soft swell of skin. He’s only a man, isn’t he? A man in the presence of a woman he’s wanted since he met her. A man who still fists his cock to the wayward touches you once caught yourself against him with. The press of your body so rarely felt, the soft fat of your hips under his hands as he lifted you onto your horse, your soft sigh over a cup of tea, his brain conjures terrible images with the mundane and yet here you are like a wife greeting her husband. It’s improper to want to lay his head against your chest, to want to feel the shudder of your breath as his hand slots between your legs.

Dreams above his station, thoughts which will never be acted upon, a maiden who so trusts he will never touch her that she would bare herself to him like this.

“-and I can’t lose you,” You swipe your fingers against your eyes, your tears bringing him back to reality.

Can't lose him? Why would you lose him? Even with your father's meddling he couldn't leave you entirely, wouldn't retreat further than the barracks, wouldn't stand where he could never hope to see your face.

“I'm not goin’ anywhere.” He reassures you, gloved hand cupping your cheek. His thumb swipes to catch the tear that slips past your lashes, and you press into the touch. Greedy for it. He wants you to be greedy for him, to succumb to even a quarter of the greed he holds in his heart, the clawing darkness that begs to dig its teeth into you.

“No,” you agree, “you’re not.”

“What do you need me to do?” He asks. You turn your head to kiss his palm, the plus push of your lips against well worked leather a small comfort. Still, you hold yourself there, breathing in the softened material. Something seems to soften in you as well, your shoulders drop, your eyes close, and you look yourself for a brief moment before you return to your determined tension. Ghost wishes it wasn’t cold steel he’d be pulling you against if he wrapped his arms around you, wishes he could offer more than this small comfort.

“I need you to win the tournament.”

#need me a man like knight!ghost #who needs books when I can read about knight!ghost and love.#MMMMMMMM #Ghoul. amazing. I hope your pillow and bed are always comfy for you and you sleep wonderfully.#LITERALLY EATING THIS #want this implanted into my brain #hwjannd a #favs #simon ghost riley x reader #cod x oc #knight!ghost #princess!reader #f!reader

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angrythingstarlight · 4 years ago

Note

Does chubby baker Bucky get pouty or grumpy if the reader loves baked goods prepared by a different chef? (Or even Steve? 🤭)

Pairing: Chubby Baker Bucky x Reader

A/N: Sleepover drabble written on my phone.

**********

You have free reign of the kitchen, always allowed to snack and take whatever you want. As long as it's Bucky's pastries. That's his only rule and it's an easy one to follow because your man makes some of the most mouthwatering and succulent desserts you've ever tasted

Such an easy rule. His only rule.

And you broke it.

It was an accident. The trays were right beside each other. You didn't know that it wasn't his, you weren't even really paying attention when you grabbed the strawberry white chocolate cupcake off the cooling rack.

Your teeth sink into the rich whipped frosting, a faint moan slipping past your lips as the cake melts on your tongue.

Over the bustling sounds echoing in the large kitchen, Bucky recognizes the pleased little sounds you make when you're eating one of his pastries.

He can't help but wonder which of his new cupcakes you're sampling. Bucky loves to see you enjoy his confections, his pride growing every time your eyes glaze over and you tell him how insatiable he's made you for his food.

He hears another light breathy groan from you, his pink lips curling into a smile in response. His head snaps up, he wipes the flour off his forehead, brilliant blue eyes skimming across the room. "Peach," he whispers under his breath. "Where's my girl?"

His gazes lands on you, gently caressing your gorgeous face, he's almost lost in your breathtaking beauty when he spots the cupcake in your hand. His smile drops, he runs his tongue over his teeth, petulantly staring at you.

Bucky doesn't consider himself a jealous man. He's not. Not even a little bit. At least that's what he tells himself when he storms across the flour-dusted floor, stopping in front of you with a snarled huff.

"What are you doing?" His offended gruff tone coming out stronger than he intended. He's not jealous though. Not him.

Your eyes flicker up at him and back at the cupcake crumbling in your palm. "You said I could eat whatever I wanted." You respond cautiously.

Bucky plucks the cupcake out of your hand and tosses it over his shoulder. You both ignore the startled hey from Steve. "Little peach, I said you eat my pastries. Mine."

You blink up at him for a second, a swift glance towards the cooling racks and you understand your grave error. "Oh," you say, dragging out the word. "That was Steve's cupcake."

Putting your hands on his apron, you tug him down to your face. "I'm sorry Bucky," you apologize, twisting your lips to the side to keep from smiling. "I know how you feel about me touching someone else's frosting."

Bucky pouts. "Its not-I don't care," he stammers, as you give him a calm, even look. "Im not jealous." He cringes, that's not what he meant to say. Damn it. You make him so flustered sometimes.

You nod twice, looking at him through your eyelashes. "I know." It's a struggle to keep the amusement out of your voice.

He looks so damn adorable and if the only thing he gets upset about is you eating someone else's baking, well you're not going to give him a hard time.

"It's just-I want to make everything for you and I dont like it-," his explanation ends in a stuttered mumble when you press your lips to his, his eyes fluttering shut.

His kisses remind you of your favorite dessert and you can't get enough, deepening the kiss until the only thing you taste is him.

Breaking the kiss, you laugh softly as you step back, he's still mumbling softly, "-when you eat...." he says, his deep blue eyes blinking open.

You cradle his plump cheeks in your hands, nuzzling his nose. "Bucky, I only want to eat your desserts and besides that cupcake was a little dry."

"Hey!"

Bucky smiles at you, an irresistible grin that's more addicting than the cake he whipped up for your birthday. "My poor peach, lemme grab you one of my cupcakes to rinse that horrible taste out of your mouth."

"Aw cmon now." Steve shouts, turning to the two of you with his hands on his hips.

You squish his cheeks. "And maybe later after you're all done, you can put something else in my mouth." You wink at him, giggling as a deep blush sweeps across his face. "I've been craving something big and thick."

"Really. I'm right here." Steve groans, "I don't want to hear that."

Bucky smacks your ass, grabbing a handful as he pulls you into his chest. You wrap your arms around him as he kisses the shell of your ear, his voice deepening as he says. "Only if you let me eat my favorite tight, wet little-"

"Get a room." Steve's mouth flounders open with shock as he watches Bucky drop to his knees. "Not this room!"

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toiletpudding · 4 years ago

Text

: A NEW FRIEND :

Yandere Sun/Moondrop x Reader

Warnings: Stalking, Hunting, Abducting, Threats, etc.

(Don't ask why readers in there after hours because I have no idea why ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )

Part Two

Enjoy~

+The moment you wandered inside Sundrop was immediately excited to have a new friend.

+Being the caretaker in the Superstar Daycare, and entertaining children on a daily basis he's always making 'friends,' but when he saw you it had evoked a strong feeling in him that he couldn't explain.

+He plucked you out of the ball pit as if you weighed nothing, and that feeling he could only describe as...warm washed over him again at full force. He liked you. And whether you liked him back or not didn't matter.

+Good luck ever leaving again, while Sundrop would never hurt you on purpose, he's very good at keeping you wherever he wants you, even when you tried distracting him with messes he still caught you. Anytime you try to get away he'll just pick you up and carry you right back to wherever, he doesn't even seem to understand what you're trying to do.

+During the day he keeps you somewhere the children and adults can't find or hear you.

+He seems to understand you need to eat atleast, and will bring you junk food and Fizzy Faz.

+Sometimes he'll act a little...strange. He'll say something off, almost threatening, like someone else is saying it, and the only time he speaks in a serious tone is when he reminds you about keeping the lights on. The only rule in the Superstar Daycare.

+One day you made another attempt to escape his grasp, and this time you were so close. You were right by the door when he grabbed you, saying that the area was off limits, before asking about another mind numbing kid activity you two could do together.

+In a moment of despair and boiling frustration at the fact that you were so close to escaping, your hands shot out, grabbing onto the desk that served as the security station. When you did that your hand knocked a small Freddy head that's mouth was open back into place.

...And then all of the lights in the Daycare shut off.

+He dropped you, panicking. He started screaming about "Lights on, lights ON," turning on you and telling you he warned you. You watched in fear and confusion as he grabbed at his face, letting out painful, shrieking growls.

+He fell to his knees, and ripped the sun part of his face off entirely. It was hard to see him in just the glow of the computer screens, but you could certainly hear him as his pained noises faded, and a much deeper snarl resonated from him as two glowing red eyes turned to look at you.

"Naughty....Naughty...you must be punished..."

+At first you couldn't move, utterly petrified at the sight of this creature. Then, when it stood up your lizard brain kicked in, screaming at you to run.

+You heard it laugh as you fled back into the Daycare, running for the jungle gyms that littered the place. They certainly couldn't stop it from getting to you, but it was better than being out in the open and exposed to that thing.

+Moondrop is a strategic hunter, watching as you scramble to get away. He knows you can't escape, there's only one exit, and unlike Sundrop, he knows exactly what it is you've been trying to do everytime you sneak away toward the doors.

You had to be punished.

+He knows every nook and cranny in the Daycare, there's nowhere you can escape to without him being ten steps ahead of you. He's watched you through Sundrop's eyes, watched him play his games with you, and he shares that same strange feeling deep inside. A feeling he wants to explore.

+He'll let you run and hide. Let you think your safe, and after he can no longer hear your panicked breaths and sobs you try to muffle, he'll scare you out of your hiding place. He repeats this for hours. Your fear is intoxicating to him, and he wants to wring as much of it out of you as he can.

+Finally, when you feel as though your heart might burst from fear and adrenaline he herds you out into the open. You're near the security station again, you can see the bright blue glow.

+You make a desperate break for the station, running into a stack of cans. You stumble, your brain screaming at you not to fall. You hear him behind you. He barely misses when he pounces, and you wait for him to shoot one of those long arms out and grab you. He snarls, instead stopping his pursuit of you, and mumbling to himself.

"Clean up, clean up..."

+You ran so fast that you collided with the desk before you could stop yourself, bouncing off of it. You heard a distorted giggle that made your blood run cold, and mechanical whirring as he lept at you again.

+You reached over the desk, groping wildly for the switch. He came down on you, large fingers clawing at your waist and legs, ripping you backwards. Your fingers hooked around the Freddy head and yanked it open with the moment of being pulled back by him.

+The lights blared, blinding you. The last thing you heard before blacking out was Moondrop's rusty voice in your ear.

"Nighty...night.."

+You were still on the floor when you came to. The both of you were. He was cradling you in his lap, the sun part of his face was back on, and his eyes were no longer glowing. Your entire body ached, your pelvis bruised from where you ran into the desk. Your flesh stings from where he was clawing at you.

+Sundrop holds you tightly, mumbling how he told you so, calling you a 'rulebreaker.' You shiver in his hold. You don't know whether it's from fear or shock, maybe both.

+The next night when Sundrop retrieves you from where he keeps your during the day he acts as if nothing happened. You however still trembled, and felt the urge to run everytime your eyes landed on the moon part of his face.

+Moondrop took a great delight in this. Relishing in the bruises you hadn't covered, and your haunted eyes.

He couldn't wait for the next time you two were able to play...

#fnaf moon animatronic #fnaf sundrop #fnaf sun animatronic #fnaf security breach #fnaf character #fnaf fanfic #fnaf sb #fnaf moondrop

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shinichirosbabymama · 4 years ago

Note

Shinichiro Headcanon idea #4 Shinichiro thinking his s/o is gonna break up with him but in reality is just trying to hide his anniversary present

Omggg I’m sorry for the delay! I’m working on an angsty/spicy Shin fic rn that should be done soon so it was nice to write some lighthearted hcs

Pairing: Shinichiro x Reader

Warnings: None

Omg no this poor baby is STRESSED

Shinichiro saw you subtly turn your phone screen away from him ONCE when you were laying down next to one another and now he’s spiralling

He’s never really been the jealous type but now he has all sorts of scenarios in his head

He finally builds up the courage to ask you about it and you deny that ever happened because you can’t think of a good excuse on the spot (:

After that Shin notices that you’re being extra protective of your phone and he comes to the only rational conclusion – you’re in love with someone else

He’s dramatic as fuck about it too – doesn’t speak to you all week and finally agrees to meet with you in a public place

You’re nervous because you have no idea what’s up with him and its your anniversary the next day and he’s barely mentioned it

When you arrive, Shinichiro is sat on a bench refusing to make eye contact and you’re like uhmmmm

‘Y/N…I think we both know what’s going on.”

“Do we?” You’re SWEATING because how the fuck did he find out when you were so careful

“Yeah so just spit it out.”

You stare at him for a moment, suddenly anxious because you didn’t expect him to get so upset about this but finally you pluck up the courage to admit your mistake

“Okay fine. I know we said we wouldn’t buy each other anything but I saw you looking at that chain when we were shopping the other week and it really suited you. I’m sorry I went against what we agreed.”

You reach out to touch his hand at the end of your little speech but Shin is stock still staring at you like a deer in headlights

“Eh?”

“Huh?”

“So there isn’t someone else?”

“What? No of course not. Why would you think that?”

“You hid your phone from me!”

“You got THAT from me hiding my phone?”

You’re really annoyed that he would assume you would cheat like that but he gets all emotional when he realises you weren’t leaving him and you can’t help but feel bad

“Babe I’m really sorry I made you feel that way. I just wanted it to be a surprise. You work so hard all the time and I wanted to treat you for once.”

You take his hand, rubbing sooth circles over his knuckles with your thumb. He’s sniffing and definitely trying to hide a few tears

“I didn’t get you anything because I was so sure we were breaking up. I’ve been crying on the sofa and eating ice cream since last night.” He admitted and you have to bite your lip to hold in your laugh

“It’s fine I don’t mind. We did agree not to buy each other anything after all.”

“Hell no! I still have 24 hours. See ya later.”

Before you can even process what he’s saying, he’s jumped up and is peppering your face in kisses before walking off in the direction of town

#shinichiro sano #shinichiro sano x reader #shinichiro x reader #shinichiro x y/n #shinichiro x you #shinichiro sano headcanons #shinichiro headcanons #tokyo revengers headcanons #tokyo revengers imagine

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kuroopaisen · 4 years ago

Text

takes one to know one || fushiguro megumi

➵ megumi just wants to buy some flowers from the nice stall attendant he definitely doesn’t have a crush on in peace. gojou has other plans.

wc: 2.4k

warnings: gn!reader, incoherent chaos

a/n: gracie dearest this one’s for you :( you are so sweet and so lovely to me and i’m so, so glad we met in this hellscape (i would personally like to thank psycho-pass for existing) i hope i did your boy well!

By the time he arrives at Jujutsu Tech, Megumi knows the flowers are a mistake.

“For me?” Gojou gasps, hands clasped and mouth agape in perhaps his most punchable smile. “Oh, you shouldn’t have.”

Megumi’s fist tightens around the handle of his bouquet. Today, it’s lilacs, irises and white lilies. It’s also much bigger than usual – too big to inconspicuously leave on someone’s fence or place in the school gardens.

“You can have them if you want,” he murmurs. What else is he supposed to do with them?

The delight on Gojou’s face collapses into a precarious mix of genuine confusion and insatiable curiosity. “Hah? They’re not for anyone?”

“No,” Megumi says. And if they were, I wouldn’t tell you. Although he doesn’t say that last part. Gojou would perceive it as a challenge, and the less he knew about Megumi’s private life, the better.

“So…” A grin splits Gojou’s face. “The person you bought them from must be special, then.”

Megumi freezes for just a second. But he knows a second is enough for Gojou to glean all the information he needs.

“Ah,” Gojou hums. “I see.”

“No, you don’t,” Megumi mumbles, well-aware of the heat rising in his cheeks.

“But why would you go out of your way to buy a bouquet of flowers, hm?” Gojou grins, shit-eating grin back on his face. “They don’t hand these out for free, you know.”

Megumi’s grip is so firm he’s scared he’ll crush the stems.

Although, he still doesn’t know what he’s going to do with them. It doesn’t feel right to throw them out – not when you’d spent time putting it together – but he wasn’t about to revamp his room with a distinctly floral accent.

Is it against social protocol to give the flowers back to you? Not now, of course, but maybe on his evening walk… or tomorrow morning…

He still doesn’t know why he didn’t just walk past you that first day.

But something about the way you were gazing out into the street, eyes wide and hopeful as you watched people ignore you on their daily commute… something about that drew him in.

And once he’d bought something from you once – just a small flower, one he didn’t know the name of, but seemed appropriate behind a cute girl’s ear – he couldn’t very well start ignoring you.

Not when your smile is so bright, your eyes sparkling with gratitude whenever he takes whatever floral arrangement you’ve lovingly bundled together out of your hands.

But now he’s paying the price – in more ways than one.

✧ ✧ ✧

Your flower stall is just a few feet away from one of the trendiest cafes in this area of Tokyo, and whoever oversees your little operation is obviously trying to capitalise on that. Setting up so early must be an attempt to catch the rush of bleary-eyed corporate workers craving their necessary morning coffee.

What use an office worker has for flowers, Megumi doesn’t know. But he has a feeling that you’d probably say something along the lines of “it’ll help brighten the place up.”

As usual, you’re waiting there patiently, eyes hopefully scanning the streets for any potential customers. Your face positively lights up when you finally catch sight of him – something that still makes Megumi nearly trip over his own feet.

“Good morning!” You call out, waving to him.

Megumi raises a hand in response, shuffling towards you with all the embarrassment of a high schooler on their way to their first date.

“Can I interest you in a floral arrangement on this fine Saturday morning?” You grin, eyes twinkling as you make your marketing pitch.

“Sure,” Megumi sighs, scanning the vast array of flowers currently on display. He’s getting better at picking them out, but he still can’t name any of them on sight.

You wait patiently, hands folded on the counter. If you think he’s an idiot, you keep it to yourself.

“Those ones,” he says, pointing at a group of blue heart-shaped flowers.

“The morning glories?” You ask reflexively, reaching over to pluck a bunch out of their display.

“Yeah,” Megumi shrugs. He has no idea what a morning glory is. The term sounds like something Gojou and Yuji would snicker at.

“They’re gorgeous,” you smile, taking a moment to admire them.

“Yeah,” Megumi says again.

Flowers aren’t really his thing; God help him if he was ever asked what his favourite kind was. But there’s no point in saying any of that – not when he’s already spent an embarrassing amount of money at this one stall.

“You’re keeping the business afloat, you know,” you giggle, as if reading his mind.

Megumi blinks at you. “Really?”

“Mhm,” you nod. “It wouldn’t be amiss to say you’re our most important patron.” You beam at him, same sparkle in your eyes as always.

He’d be furious, if you weren’t so nice.

How is he supposed to focus when you’re looking at him like that? How’s he supposed to ask who ‘we’ is? A business partner? A partner partner?

But you look so young. You can’t possibly be running a business. But you might have a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. Or both. Or a partner of an otherwise non-binary gender.

Too many questions, no social capacity to ask them.

“So,” Megumi begins, his voice calm and composed as ever. His mind, however, is scrambling around like a fast-food joint at rush hour, trying to string together a sentence that’s not only coherent but also fascinating.

“How old are you?”

Whoops.

It’s the forbidden question. Or, at least, that’s what people always say. People, in this case, is Gojou. It usually is.

You seem unbothered. “I turn seventeen this year.”

Was it only a forbidden question for people who’re older? But in that case, surely knowing someone’s age was pertinent for the whole ‘respect’ thing. Maybe Gojou just didn’t think he should ever ask anyone’s age because then he’s not beholden to honorifics.

But Megumi can’t imagine him using them properly anyway.

That’s not the point. The point is that you’re the same age as him. You weren’t somehow twenty-seven with a baby face.

“Oh,” Megumi nods. “Me too.”

The smile you give him is almost unbearable. How is it even more of a smile than your usual smile? That doesn’t make any sense.

There’s a certain excitement bubbling in his gut that he doesn’t recognise or like.

Wait, if you’re his age, then…

“Do you not go to school on Saturdays?” He asks.

Is this conversation too dry? He’s not sure. He doesn’t usually make an effort at this sort of thing.

“My school doesn’t have classes on Saturday mornings,” you smile, meticulously wrapping brown paper around the stems of a set of particularly bright morning glories. You always do it so delicately; where on earth do you find the patience?

There’s something… graceful, about how you go about it. Sure, it’s your job, but Megumi still enjoys watching you work because—

“Hello there!”

Megumi knows that voice.

Oh no.

“Hello!” You fold your hands in front of you and give your new customer a bow. But your usual smile has been replaced with an expression of middling confusion as you look him up and down.

Megumi doesn’t need to turn around to know who’s standing behind him.

“Who’d’ve thought there’d be so many kinds of flowers in bloom, huh?” Gojou grins, slinging a lanky arm around Megumi’s shoulders.

Megumi glances to the side.

A pair of startingly blue eyes peek at him from behind black shades.

“What are you doing here?” He asks through gritted teeth.

“Oh, I thought I’d just come out for a morning stroll,” Gojou sighs, gesturing to the sky. “Don’t you think it’s gorgeous?”

Megumi’s ready to commit a murder.

“And look at all these flowers!” Gojou exclaims, bending down to peer at some asters closely. “Did you grow them all yourself?”

“Of course not,” you laugh. “I just sell them.”

Jealous maybe isn’t the right word. But there is a twisting in Megumi’s gut upon the realisation that within minutes of meeting you, Gojou had made you laugh. Megumi, on the other hand, was yet to do that.

“Well, either way, my student is a big fan,” Gojou smirks, shaking Megumi’s shoulder. Megumi’s soul is currently leaving his body.

“I was just telling him that he’s our most valued customer,” you smile, tilting your head at the pair of them.

“Ah, is that so?” Gojou grins. It’s amazing, really, how he manages to capture all the terror of the apocalypse in one smile. “I never really took him as a flower guy.”

“Everyone’s a flower guy, sir,” you tsk, shaking your head. “Even you.”

Gojou places an affronted hand on his chest. “So quick to make assumptions!”

“Not at all,” you smile. “You’d be surprised by what our customer base looks like.”

“You don’t say,” Gojou grins, turning to Megumi.

Megumi considers the consequences of punching Gojou right in the nether regions. He doubts he’d be punished for it by the higher ups; if anything, he’ll probably be rewarded. Maybe even pushed up a grade for his invaluable service.

“Fushiguro!”

Oh no.

Megumi’s eyes widen ever so slightly. His head whips round to Gojou. His teacher is already looking straight at him.

“Ah,” Gojou grins. “I told Yuji to meet me here this morning.” The glint in his eyes strikes terror right through Megumi’s departing soul.

Sure enough, Itadori barrels his way towards them, damn near colliding against Megumi with a ‘thump’.

Megumi can do something but stare into the abyss, hoping, wishing, praying this is just a nightmare.

Unfortunately, it’s not.

You give the newest addition to this strange little posse a customary bow. “Good morning!”

Itadori beams at you, his entire face lighting up. “Good morning!”

A strange panic starts to rise from Megumi’s gut. If he thought about it, you and Itadori would get along well. Too well.

Thoughts of you and Itadori walking hand in hand down the street as you laugh, Itadori offering you his coat on a clod morning as you blush, Itadori walking you home, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully as you lean towards him and –

Megumi blinks the thoughts away. What is wrong with him today?

You and Itadori have just met. And what was it to Megumi anyway? It’s not like he—

“Megumi?” Itadori tilts his head at him.

Megumi stares back blankly. “Hm?”

“I wanted to know how you found this place,” Itadori asks, voice bright but with the uncertain quality inherent to repeating oneself.

“Oh,” Megumi murmurs. “Well, I…”

In truth, he doesn’t remember. He just saw you one morning and decided to approach. He still doesn’t know why. But he doesn’t regret it.

“I roped him in with my charm,” you piqued up, picking up the lull in conversation.

Try as he might, Megumi just can’t concentrate. Itadori’s pressed against him, Gojou’s still got his arm slung around his shoulder, and—

“Ah, Nobara’s here!” Gojou beams, waving a hand over his head.

“What are you doing here of all places?” Nobara frowns, raising an eyebrow at Megumi. “I wouldn’t have taken this as your sort of scene.”

If there’s a hell, Megumi’s sure it’s this.

Conversation is bubbling around him but none of it is registering in his mind, he can see Nobara’s dissatisfied look as she takes in the situation at hand but he doesn’t have the energy to retort, Gojou is playing with the petals of one of the display flowers but Megumi knows he’s not going to buy it and—

“Hey, Megumi?”

He snaps back to reality at the sound of your voice, gentle and concerned.

“Are you alright?” You ask, tilting your head to the side. It’s as if you’re completely ignoring the rabble, as if you see him and only him.

Next to him Gojou, Yuji and Nobara watch with rapt attention.

“Yeah,” he lies. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

You frown at you look at him. Something flashes in your eyes and you suddenly duck beneath your countertop.

Megumi and his gaggle of fools blink in surprise.

In a moment you hop back up, something purple bundled up in your hands. “Here,” you smile, handing it out to him, “this is supposed to help you sleep.”

One whiff and he knows it’s lavender.

“How much?” Megumi asks.

You shake your head. “Oh, no. It’s on me.”

Megumi’s heart flutters as you smile. Despite the chaos going on around him, despite the fact that he knows he’s going to be mocked for this for weeks to come, he’s grateful.

Somehow.

“Sorry about this…” he mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck.

“It’s fine,” you giggle, shaking your head.

Megumi feels Gojou chuckle quietly, his chest rattling. Itadori is unusually quiet and Nobara seems moments away from a laughing fit.

“I should go,” Megumi says quickly and suddenly. He doesn’t give you time to respond, zipping down the street as fast as his feet can carry him. He needs a shower and then a run and then he needs to beat a training dummy up and then—

“Wait, Megumi!”

He freezes in his tracks. That’s… your voice.

And around his wrist is… is…

He turns to look at you over his shoulder, eyes darting for where you hand wraps around his wrist. Why is his heart racing so absurdly fast? Why does it feel like his head’s about to explode? You’re just holding his wrist. You’re not even touching his skin. Not that it matters—

“Will I see you tomorrow?” You ask, not quite able to meet his gaze.

It brings him back to the moment.

“Of course,” Megumi answers reflexively.

You finally lift your eyes up. They seem to be sparkling. “I look forward to it.”

Before he even has time to process it you’ve let him go and trotted back to your stall, tending to your flowers as if nothing’d happened.

This has been too much embarrassment for one day. He’s not entirely sure what’s going on and he’s not sure he wants to know. But man, he needs at least several hours alone to process everything.

As Megumi shuffles away, Gojou bounds after him, still grinning like a fool.

“So, Megumi’s got himself a—”

Megumi elbows him in the stomach before Gojou even has a chance to finish his sentence.

#megumi x reader #fushiguro x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #megumi x you #fushiguro x you #fushiguro megumi x you #I don't know how to TAG #STILL #this is a disaster but now it's everyone else's problem

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erwinsvow · 4 years ago

Text

𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬... | 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐧

author's note: hope everyone enjoys this, just a little idea i had about cute relationships :) no warnings at all!

𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧 always sets down the book he’s reading whenever you walk into the room. you notice it at first because he doesn’t do it for everyone, occasionally ignoring someone’s conversation because he’s so entrapped, but never when it’s you. sometimes you don’t even announce that you’ll be there, but he can just tell it’s you without so much as a glance. it’s like something in him gives a little signal, that you’ll be in front of him and suddenly whatever he’s reading isn’t quite so interesting anymore. he sets it down gently before looking at you with the brightest smile.

𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧 always sends you a text, whether it’s after a date and he’s just dropped you off back home, or it’s getting late and he knows you’ll be asleep within the hour. sometimes it’s like magic—your thoughts drift off to eren and before you know it, your phone is lighting up with his name and a good night text. he has to make sure you’re home safe, or that you got back okay after a late night in the library, and it’s almost intuitive now, fingers typing out the message and hitting send before he even realizes what happened. all he knows is that the response from you moments later will never fail to make him smile.

𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐧 always keeps an arm around you when you’re out together. even if it’s just at the store, or the crowded mall, or the beach during a lazy summer day, he always finds himself pulling you close to his side. at first you thought it might just be because he doesn’t want you to wander and get too far away from him, but you notice how much calmer he seems when his hand finds its place on the dip of your waist, or around your shoulder, how he seems more at ease somehow. you don’t think too much of it, since it’s so comforting to you anyways, but it actually is for him too. the smell of your hair and perfume, the warmth coming from your body, all of it, it’s more comforting to him than anything else. he keeps quiet about it, but you know what he’s saying when you feel his familiar touch on your skin.

𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐨 always brings you flowers, no matter the occasion. you thought boyfriends were only supposed to bring bouquets of roses, daisies, or lilies when it’s an anniversary or after a big fight, but not marco. he always has the beautiful stems wrapped in brown paper in his arms when he comes to pick you up for your weekly date, habitually stepping into your home and watching you get the vase ready. he stops on the walk to wherever he’s going to meet you to pick out the prettiest flower from the bush or the garden, plucking it up and keeping it safely with him until he sees you. you have a whole box full of dried flowers from all these times, because you can’t bring yourself to throw any of them away, not when they mean so much to you both.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐞 always finds a way to make you laugh. whether it’s after the exam you flunked, or when everything in the day is going wrong, or you’re crying at the end of a sad movie, he can bring a smile back to your face. there’s something in the way he speaks, the way he can bring you comfort just with his words and hugs, that you can’t believe you went so long without him in your life. it’s kind of scary to think about sometimes, because you can’t help but wonder what will happen if he’s not there to make you feel better again someday. but connie gets those thoughts right out of your head every time he cracks a joke, or wipes away your tears and grabs two spoons and a tub of ice cream, or lets you know how much you mean to him. it’s so easy to picture the rest of your life with him.

𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐨 always lets you have the last everything. when you two are scarfing down pizza on movie night, he leaves the last slice for you. he lets you eat the last few scoops of ice cream or the last bite of dessert on your dinner dates. he lets you pick the movie you’re watching, or decide where you’re eating. he even lets you have the last word during arguments, because he doesn’t like to take anything away from you. he’s a giver through and through and the best way to express it is through generosity. he forgets how to talk when you start giving back.

𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐫 always finds himself thinking about you. doesn’t matter if it’s day or night, if he’s at work or driving or with other people. his mind always finds its way back to thoughts of you. your smile, your eyes, and your laugh are constantly plaguing his brain, but he never thought of it as a bad thing, or as a distraction. it’s a welcome intrusion from the daily workings he’s always focused on. sometimes he’s upset, or frustrated, and he finds himself sinking into the anger before there’s suddenly a clear, still feeling taking over. he’s remembered that you’re waiting for him at home, or that your voice is just a phone call away, and suddenly everything else is just trivial.

𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐭 always listens to you talk, patiently and carefully. he listens to every word and nods along, offering his advice and comfort when you pause to take a breath from the rambling. you feel like you could go on for hours and hours, about this and that and all these other thoughts you just need to share with bertholdt, and he’s just so considerate with you. he lets you get out every thought, always picks up every phone call and reads every text. you think you’re being overbearing sometimes, but even if you are, you’d never see him express that. bertholdt thinks the sound of your voice, passionate and expressive and wanting to talk to just him, is the sweetest sound in the whole world.

𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐢 always makes you a cup of tea, just how you like it. you don’t know when he memorized the way you take it, but he’s got it down completely, to the point where you couldn’t tell if you or he had made it. it starts with tea and coffee, but before you know it, there’s so many little things he knows about you like the back of his hand. all your favorites, all your orders, the special way you make the bed in the morning and the routine of your day-to-day life. it makes everything feel so endearing, so special, like a bond that just you two have and no one else. nothing can compare to the feeling of levi handing you a cup of tea in your favorite mug. it starts to taste like home to you.

𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐢𝐧 always makes time for you. it’s not easy to be someone with all responsibilities as he has to burden, and there’s always something that has to give in order to fit everything into someone’s life. but that one thing will never be you, not as long as he can help it. you know that he always has something to do, something in the back of his head that he’s thinking about, but you never feel like his attention is anywhere else. there’s phone calls and weekly dates, and a whole host of other things that always guarantee you two will get time together. but, at the end of the day, all it would take is one word from you and he would drop whatever he’s doing, wherever he is to come be by your side. there’s nothing more important to him than being there for you.

𝐳𝐞𝐤𝐞 always presses a kiss to you, wherever and whenever he can help it. sometimes it’s to the back of your hand, gripping it softly in public and meeting your eyes. sometimes it’s to your forehead after a long day, when he’s just seeing you for the first time since yesterday, or to your cheek suddenly on the couch as you browse through the channels after dinner. you wonder why, but never complain, since the affection is sweet and most-appreciated. sometimes he just needs a reminder that you’re real, and right there with him, and there’s no better way than to bring his lips to your soft skin for a moment. he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of the way it feels, and the way it makes him feel when he realizes you’re there with him, forever.

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hk-plus-you · 3 years ago

Text

The Hollow Knight X Reader

They weren’t sure why you did the things you do. Under every category, they were a failure, a burden, something to be tossed out like anything else without use or purpose.

Yet you had found them, carapace warped and mangled, and decided to take them in. They had passed out from exhaustion in some random part of Hallownest and you somehow got them all the way back to your home. You feed them, bandaged their wounds, helped them out of their old carapace when they finally molted and assisted them in relearning how to function again.

You two had even made a small code of one handed signals just so they could speak without a voice. It wasn’t perfect, but you had the patients to always figure out what they were trying to say.

And for the more complicated things that you two couldn’t quite make enough signals for? You offered to teach them to read and write. It had been deemed useless for a vessel like them to ever know. After all, what use would there be in teaching a vessel to write when it shouldn’t have a mind to think nor a will to want to write.

You weren’t a perfect teacher, you had never needed to teach this to someone and you had been too young when you started to learn to remember all the little tricks that helped you. That was okay though, they were determined to do this. Even if it was hard with so many little lines and dots and all the intricate symbols that were hard to remember. It didn’t help that they didn’t have another hand to steady the page. Even after a few days they struggled to write anything legible and still couldn’t do it without your references.

They had expected you to show the same disappointment as their father at such slow progress. Even as they used page after page practicing till their mind ached with fatigue and fingers cramped they couldn’t quite grasp it. They forced themself to go until it was perfect, until they wrote something legible.

At least they tried to, but you plucked the quill out of their hand and told them to rest for the night. They were quick to turn their palm upwards and make a pulling motion, the signal for ‘want’ which you had tsked at.

“You need to let yourself rest, you know. No point running yourself ragged, it’s not going to help you learn any faster,” you had insisted.

They had been struck by how different you were from their father. Anytime they failed or were slow to pick something up it was always the same sigh of annoyance before demanding that they try again until they got it right. He had run them to the point they would struggle to stand on more than a few occasions because of this.

The next day though you sat beside them, giving small corrections and tips. Everything was still messy, scrunched and spaced out randomly or sharply scratched into the page enough to nearly tear through. They sometimes even dripped spots of ink in the middle of the paper after dipping, much to their constant annoyance.

Still, you congratulated them on their progress. Pointing out how far they had come from nothing in just a few short days. If if they couldn’t read it, you could with little issue. So you even decided to break out a sweet treat to celebrate their progress at the end of the day.

It was only candied berries, one of the few luxuries you had in the small town of Dirtmouth, but you always shared with them. It had grown to become their favorite food, something you noticed from the fact they actually slowed down to savor it instead of eating it as quickly and efficiently as they would with their other meals.

When they were done you helped them clean whatever sticky residue was left on their face or hand before you revealed that you had a special surprise for them, something you had been working on for a while. When they asked why, you said it was just because you felt like it.

After making them close their eyes you pushed a large bundle of cloth into their lap, letting them inspect it in their own time. Carefully, they spread the bundle out onto the table to see while you waited for their reaction.

It was a new cloak, one large enough that you could used it as a blanket. It was a simple faded blue with slightly janky stitching. The material was a bit stiff and likely salvaged from something else, with no pockets or extra bits and bobs to make it special. As you explained that you had made it just for them though, they felt like it was the most amazing cloak they had ever seen.

They tapped their chest in the little gesture you two had made to mean ‘help me’. You were quick to have them lean down so you could drape it over their shoulders, while talking about how you would adjust the fit if it was too long or short.

They had thought they’re father had cared, adorning them in the finest of spider silks and having the best weapons crafted for them to wield. Constant care and attention to every little detail of their life so things were always as easy and luxurious as possible.

But as they stood tall in their cloak and knew each imperfect stitch was place by one person who showed how much they cared about them with every little thing their images of their father’s actions shifted a little. He was able to wave a hand and told someone else to do it. Always done just to make the perfect vessel to hold Her. Never a surprise gift ‘just because’.

They slowly turned around, proudly showing how the cloak looked on them. Their face was incapable of showing the joy they felt to wear their new favorite. You laughed and clapped, complimenting them on dashing they looked and saying that they would be the envy of everyone in town. How could they not feel loved by you?

And as they leaned down and lightly bonked their head against yours, they hoped you knew that you were loved by them too.

#the hollow knight #hollow knight #hk hollow knight #x reader #reader insert #my writings

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asimpletroll · 4 years ago

Text

(A) (M) Chisaki Kai X (O) (F) Reader

You?

You were the Omega who had been stinking up his base for the last month?

YOU?

"-so sorry, so so sorry, I didn't see you, I was looking for Eri, Rappa startled her again, I swear I didn't mean to bump you-" You babble at Chisaki, close to your heat and scared of every Alpha in the base at the moment. You don't realize how his eyes have zeroed in on you, you're too busy cowering against the wall, trying to apologize and make sure he doesn't hit you, or worse.

"Be quiet." You immediately shut up, your throat feeling constricted even though he didn't use his Alpha tone or his Quirk on you, you look at him with watering (e/c) orbs as he strides over, taking off his coat slowly. "Your slick is dripping. I'll have someone else look for Eri, you need to get to your nest."

"...I...I live in the barracks, I-I can't-"

"Then come with me." He wraps an arm around you with care he never uses, making sure to keep his coat (you're so small it drops nearly to your knees, and Chisaki is swooning on the inside at how cute you look) between the two of you and wrapped securely around you so that no one else sees your current...predicament.

Chisaki notices your fear increasing, almost every step towards his private wing making you pump out more and more fear in your scent.

Normally, he can't even smell you, which is mildly disappointing to him because you smell citrus-y and a little sweet, but it was always very subtle and clean.

Now, all he could smell was your fear, and the urge to hole you away from everyone and everything was making him very twitchy as he opens the door to his wing.

You instinctively pause upon the threshold, your Omega screaming that this means this Alpha likes you, that it was time to Mate. Chisaki waits for you patiently, knowing the battle you're fighting and being fascinated by the micro-expressions racing through you. Your pupils twitch slightly in every which way, your ears perk and shift a little with noises, and your nose wrinkles a little (like the bunny he had as a child would) as you get particularly stressed.

"I cannot find you someplace comfortable if we loiter for much longer." He finally speaks up and tells you, you flinch a little, but follow his unmentioned command of 'hurry up' and almost bump into him again as he closes the door.

As soon as it shuts, lights flick on, and this time he gently wraps an arm around your waist as you spook. He gently lets you recover from your heart attack adjust to his touch, then guides you past several rooms that reek of other Alphas to you, and the locks on the door along with how reinforced they are tell you all you need to know about what might be in those rooms.

"I am unfamiliar with creating a space for a Heat, but I understand you require lots of blankets and soft things?" Chisaki asks you lowly, he spots the tiny hairs on the back of your neck rising, and your own scent smells sweeter, even with the fear overlaying it.

"Yes." You whisper, and try to hide (due to his lack of comment, you guess you hide it) the fact that you get mildly horny at just his voice.

Chisaki is amused by this, mostly by the fact that your entire face had turned red and was a very clear indicator of your dilemma to him.

"Why are you so afraid, Omega?" He asks you conversationally, as if he had by total and complete accident of course not dropped his voice several octaves just fool with you. You repress a shiver, and he grins under his mask, a very feral and smug grin, as he gently inhales your sweetened scent a bit more.

"M-My parents...they didn't...didn't want an Omega...didn't want me...so they would destroy my nests...even before I was revealed to be Quirkless..." You murmur quietly, timidly almost, to him, and he feels himself harden at how perfect you were for him.

"Why would they do that? Children smaller than four years old require softness or they are in danger of chewing something into pieces or eating it whole." Chisaki keeps his voice low, loving how you try and repress another shiver, and your pheromones almost choke him as he tries to gently sniff them again.

If you two didn't find an appropriate area soon, he may simply take you to his den, which would be twice as dangerous for the both of you.

"I...I don't know...it was...mildly better...after my little brother was born. He was a boy, an Alpha too, and he had a Quirk." You tell him, trying to make your clenching pelvic muscles stop their ridiculousness. Chisaki is too busy rolling his eyes to notice that you're starting to hold on to his coat a little tighter to try and hide the fact that your pants are officially soaked through.

"Oh...they're those types of people..." Chisaki says, his voice the lowest yet in barely-withheld rage, and a pitched whine escapes you before you wrap a hand around the base of your throat. Chisaki almost walks into a wall in surprise, you immediately sidestep as he steadies himself.

"I'm sorry-" You immediately return to the babbling mess you were in the hall, trying to appease him when even you can tell he isn't angry, in fact, if the crinkles by his eyes are any indicator, he's smiling under his mask.

But you're scared. And horny. So you run your mouth without thinking, apologizing frantically before he gently wraps his arm around your waist, he gently tugs you close to him, you keep your eyes averted and lowered to the floor, but he removes his face mask entirely in order to kiss your forehead gently.

You clench the hand around your throat tighter as he re-places his mask back on his face, he then runs a hand through your short hair tenderly. You look up at him from under your eyebrows, your lashes dark and long and thick as they frame your gorgeous (e/c) orbs.

"You simply startled me, there is no reason to apologize." He rumbles to you, his voice much lower now as his Alpha starts to really push for some attention. He watches with amusement and arousal as you clench your legs together, the slick now dripping low enough for him to see it, even with his jacket around you. "But may I ask you something?"

"Y-Yes, sir." You squeak, Chisaki goes from hard to full-blown, raging erection, you can barely hear him inhale, a very subtle noise that doesn't quite click in your mind until he presses the two of you together.

"...have you ever had an Alpha before?" He purrs, your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head and all the fear leaves you immediately as you melt into him. "I'm guessing not."

"N-None o-of them-" You squeak slightly in indignation as Chisaki plucks you up from the floor like a ragdoll, gathering you into his chest and not minding your wet and sticky slick soaking into his chest. "-None of them ever w-wanted a Q-Quirkless Omega."

Chisaki is immediately disappointed, not in you or anything about you, but at the rest of society for letting such a sweet and pure thing sink so low as him.

"They were fools then, and did not deserve you." Chisaki turns down a hall, and it's getting very hard for you to not nuzzle him. His musky, beautiful scent was everything you've ever liked, blended together in such a complex way you couldn't describe all of the unique notes and subtle tones of it. Chisaki notices you eyeing his neck and gently presses your face into it, you let out a startled, but pleasantly so, squeak, and he purrs for real this time at the adorable noise.

Your slick surges and you let out a much higher-pitched purr, leaning in against him as he opens a door quietly, the hall light flicks off and leaves you in darkness before Chisaki gently closes the door with his heel. You've buried your face in his neck, blinding yourself to the fact that Chisaki has brought you to his room, his den and haven.

At least, until his no-longer-gloved hands sneak their way under his jacket, undoing a single button on your shirt to lay themselves on your bare waist. You gasp softly in surprise, moving your face from his neck just enough to give him a startled look.

He nuzzles you, closing his eyes and leaning his back against the door as he openly relaxes, holding you close while gently fondling your slightly-chubby-but-not-noticeably waist.

"C-Chisaki?" You squeak, one of his hands immediately rolls your shirt up and off of you, you squeak again in surprise, but he tossing your shirt and his coat haphazardly onto the floor. You immediately cover your breasts, your face once again blushing strongly, and he quickly does away with his masks as well, hanging them on a hook by the door as he gently turns your face to his by tenderly grasping your chin.

"I want you, Omega. I want you, (Y/N)." He rumbles, striding forward as you turn into a flustered, slicking, horny mess in his arms. His voice is like pure sex but only the deep, tasteful, romantic parts of it.

You mewl a little as he gently places you on his bed, but he rests his arms by your head and kisses you deeply, swallowing anymore noise with tenderness and care. You forget about your embarrassment as he gently move his lips against yours, his cock straining against his pants and pressing up against your legs a bit as he leans over you.

"Do you want me also?" Chisaki murmurs to you once the two of you run out of air to suck from each other's lungs, you immediately wrap yourself around him tightly. "Do you want me like I want you, (Y/N)?"

"Yes, Chisaki, yes I want you-" You don't get another words out as he kisses you again, his hands easily finding and undoing your bra before starting on the buttons of his shirt. Once you run out of air, he starts kissing the underside of your jaw as you pant quietly, he has to pause (his frustration visible) in order to pull his shirt off. You immediately touch the intricate, but traditional tattoos on his arms, pecs, and (you're willing to bet) his back. "You're so pretty, Chisaki."

"So are you, (Y/N), you just don't have art to paw at." He purrs as he descends on you again, you happily undo his tie for him as he kisses you, and the fact that you fumble with it from the distraction of kissing is adorable to him, and he can feel a small wet patch grow do to his leaking precum. You two pause again, and he attacks your throat and neck with powerful sucks and languid swipes of his tongue as you grind your clothed sex against his.

You gasp quietly when he whips your bra across the room, but he gently fondles one breast and you turn into a melty mess again. He chuckles, happily going back to his network of hickies trailing down your throat and across your shoulder. You happily tangle your hands in his hair, pressing him against you further with soft mewls of encouragement.

"A-Alpha, stop teasing!" You finally reach your breaking point, Chisaki almost rips your dress slacks in his immediately eagerness to get them off of you, you giggle a little and he blushes, burying his face in your neck before you tempt him out with kisses to his cheekbone and nose and the tip of his ear.

Then he actually rips them, his face morphing into one of shock and embarrassment as you giggle loudly and nuzzle him. He mumbles a hasty apology before eagerly pulling them off you, taking your panties with and tossing the mess by the foot of the bed before crawling up your body and trailing lazy kisses up from your bellybutton.

"Why are your pants still on?" You tease, kissing his nose before he can reply, he nips your bottom lip playfully, stilling feeling you up as you squirm gently.

"So impatient, (Y/N)." He teases right back, gently tugging on one of your nipples, you steal another kiss from him as he other hand (that is not forming a bruise on your nipple, not at all, no siree) trails down and teasingly circles your puffy little clit. You gasp in surprise, and Chisaki happily presses forward and slips his tongue and one finger into you at the same time. You melt into a happy, horny, submissive puddle under him, causing him to let out a deep and rumbling purr as he explores your mouth with fervent heat and dominance.

He gently explores your opening too, feeling you flutter around that single digit and getting painfully hard in his pants as he stretches you around a second finger. Your slick makes it easier, but it's still painfully obvious that you are still new at this. (So is Chisaki, but he's hoping you're too horny and heat-addled to realize this.)

You eagerly spread your legs a little, beyond ready for this part as your fingers once again find their way into Chisaki's well-kept hair and tangling it. You moan as his two fingers start to gently stretch you, you can feel Chisaki smile into the kiss a little before it goes from 'romantic exploring' into a creature of teeth and tongue and lots of purring from you both.

Unfortunately, Chisaki knows that you still need prepping, and as much as he enjoys the savage kiss, he separates to let you breathe and whimper and mewl as he continues to stretch you. (Both of you think this is taking a while, but this hasn't even been ten minutes since your butt hit his mattress.)

You surprise him when you nip his ear, but he happily turns your head and sucks on the tender skin underneath one of yours, returning you to the panting, mewling puddle. Your slick has surged so many times, his entire hand is covered up to his wrist, and he hasn't even gotten knuckle-deep yet.

"Such a messy Omega, (Y/N), look at what your naughty cunt has done to my hand." Chisaki purrs absolute filth into your ear, and your eyes roll slightly as you let out a porn star-worthy moan, his hips grind up against you exposed inner thigh roughly as he lets out a possessive growl. "Tell me, my messy Omega, who's making you so wet?"

"You, Chisaki, you are, Alpha!" You mewl, he slips a third finger in, starting to actually move deeper into you as you moan again, he happily continues to dirty-talk in your ear, telling you that this would have happened a lot sooner if you had told him that you were an Omega, he would have gladly bent his little nanny over his desk anytime. Or maybe he should've made you Present yourself to him, without any pesky suppressants to quell your scent, then he would've seen what a messy little cunt that hide itself in such a clean, proper suit would've been capable of.

Or maybe he should open the door, let the entire base hear you get railed.

You dissolve under him, not realizing that he's dissolving right with you, pulling his head closer to you as he finally extracts his fingers and simply Overhauls the rest of his clothes off. (Speaking of, where are your shoes? You swore you had them on in the hall, but your feet are bare now.)

"(Y/N), this may sting." Chisaki whispers into your ear, his head nudging your entrance gently, you tuck your face into his neck tightly, but you aren't afraid, simply nervous.

It does sting, but only enough to make you gasp a little, and that gasp is mostly from shock at Chisaki's sheer size. His girth and length were both big, and while he knows you've never had an Alpha before, this still made his already huge ego blimp.

"Chisaki, Alpha, you're huge." You pant into his neck, he struggles to fit himself into you, and you can feel the veins throbbing against your walls as he slowly sinks in, inch by inch, and you mewl once he reaches your G-spot. You pant against his skin as he slowly bottoms out in you, you can feel him twitching inside of you, but you were seeing stars anyway. "A-Alpha-"

"Sh, (Y/N), you need to adjust, Omega." He purrs into your ear, but his cock twitches strongly inside you at the thought of wrecking you severely, to where no man or Alpha could ever satisfy you again. "You're like a vice, Omega, you're squeezing me so tightly. What will happen when I blow my knot, hm? You're so small, I could break you in half with it."

You let out a sinful noise that Chisaki can barely recognize as an orgasm as you sink your teeth into his neck a little. You wrap your legs around his slim waist, anchoring him to you as your walls try to milk him through your orgasm.

"I can't wait for that sound to be my name, to hear you scream so hard the walls rattle-" This kick-starts his dirty-talk again as you slowly calm down, occasionally he shifts his hips, stimulating you just enough for you to know he's teasing you again. You actually clamp down on him and he buries his face in your shoulder with a groan that could make millions, and he slowly grinds against you.

"Naughty Omega, you naughty, naughty Omega." He rumbles from your shoulder, you pant happily in his ear, every deep, slow roll of his hip making you see stars all over again. "I should punish you for that, you naughty thing."

"Then punish me." You pant in his ear, the lick up the shell of it as he groans again, pushing a little harder against you this roll, "Punish me Alpha, make me regret teasing you."

Chisaki rumbles, he drags his hips out, and you expect another languid roll that hits all the right places, but he slams into you like a bullet-train instead.

You try to gasp in surprise, but he smirks against you skin, and that is the only warning you have before he starts pistoning his hips into yours at barely-human speeds.

"Gladly, Omega."

You open your eyes, sprawled out across Ch-Kai's chest, your face nuzzled under his chin softly as he continues to sleep while fully sheathed in you. You blink slowly and lazily a few times, trying to remember what day it is, and yawn quietly as you ponder. Kai shifts under you slightly as he stirs, you gently press your face back into the comfortable position you two had.

"How long have you been awake, (Y/N)?" He purrs at you, gently nuzzling you back as you yawn quietly against his throat. "Not long, sleepy-head?"

"Of course not, or I would've brought food." You sit up a little, your fresh Mating Mark stinging slightly as part of the coverlet falls off that shoulder. Kai gently licks it, you hum and kiss the side of his face gently. "If my math is right, today is Kurono's turn to make breakfast, he usually does something simple, like Omurice."

"Yes, but breakfast requires getting out of bed." Kai mutters, gently pulling you back down on his chest, you muffle a laugh at him as he settles his chin on the top of your head. "What? Eri was right when she called you the perfect cuddle-partner, as it turns out."

#soft #chisaki kai #kai chisaki #bnha villains #overhaul #bnha smut #mha smut #villain smut #overhaul smut #omegaverse #bnha omegaverse #a/b/o

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drarrily-we-row-along · 4 years ago

Text

Day 125.4: Accidental Bonding (Part Four)

(You can start at Part One, if you’d like.)

"Come on," Harry begged, the following Friday. "Please come to dinner." The bond had only seemed to strengthen in the past eighteen days and Harry found his mind turning to thoughts of Draco almost constantly whether they were together or apart.

And touching the other man was almost second nature at this point. They spent all day every day touching the other without thinking; they sat with their ankles pressed together under their desks, hands brushed against shoulders and backs as they walked past each other, they frequently held hands without even talking about it first, and Harry couldn't remember the last time that he'd woken up without being wrapped around Draco's body or vice versa. Yes, the bond wasn't showing any signs of weakening.

"Your friends hate me, Potter," Draco reminded him as he pulled a wine glass down out of the cupboard.

Harry sighed, "But they wouldn't if they got to know you."

Draco leveled him with a glare, the kind that Harry had learned to recognize as a shield of sorts that the other man used when he was feeling insecure. "They have good reason to hate me," he said as he filled the glass.

"Not anymore," he protested.

The other man rolled his eyes and took a large swallow of his wine.

"Come on," he said again. "If you're there no one will flirt with me."

Draco face twisted in disgust, it was unpleasant for both of them if someone touched one of them with certain intentions.

"If they're rude, you can leave right away," he added.

"What's in it for me?" Draco asked.

He thought for a moment, "A foot rub," he offered, remembering the night that Draco had drunkenly been complaining that his feet hurt and Harry had drunkenly offered a foot rub. There'd been something immensely satisfying about it, he assumed it was something to do with the bond and not with the look of rapturous delight on Draco's face.

(Read more below the cut)

Draco's eyes narrowed, "And I can leave immediately if they're unkind."

"Yes."

"And you'll give me a long foot massage?"

He laughed, "Yes."

"Fine."

Harry grinned at him. "Excellent. Let's go then, they're meeting us at The Night Owl."

"How did you know I'd say yes?" he asked, looking affronted.

"I didn't," Harry lied, even he'd had a strong suspicion he could convince the other man. "They could eat there without us if you didn't want to go."

He didn't seem entirely convinced but he allowed Harry to take his elbow and he apparated them to the apparition point closest to The Night Owl.

Ron and Hermione were already sitting at a booth when they arrived, and Harry slid his fingers through Draco's as he headed over. "Hey," he greeted brightly.

His best friends both looked up, smiling at Harry before doing a double take when they saw Draco standing there beside him.

"Malfoy," Hermione said, eyebrows lifting. "What a surprise!" she said, glancing at Harry.

He could feel Draco's nervousness like it was a tangible thing. "Yeah," Harry said, widening his eyes meaningfully at her, "I told you he might be coming."

"Yeah," Ron said, "But we didn't think he actually would."

"Well," Draco said, detaching his hand from Harry's, "This has been fun but I'm going to-"

"No," Harry said, turning toward him and grabbing his hand again, "It's fine," he said, glaring at his friends, who he had told to be on their best behavior and to just give the other man a chance.

"Yes," Hermione piped up. "Stay, please. We were just surprised."

Draco looked at Harry for a long moment, obviously arguing with himself before nodding once and sliding into the booth.

Harry slid in next to him, the first (and hopefully largest) hurdle out of the way.

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

Dinner went surprisingly well. Hermione and Ron obviously struggled a bit but Harry had asked them to give him a chance and they seemed to be trying.

Everyone seemed to relax a bit once they'd had a few drinks and when Draco got up to use the loo, Harry turned to his friends, "So?" he said eagerly, "He's different, right?"

Ron and Hermione looked at each other before Hermione said carefully, "I think it's too soon for me to tell."

"Yeah, mate," Ron agreed, "I know you've always had that thing for Malfoy but," he shrugged, "it's hard to know what's real and what's an act."

"You do know that he like cut ties from his parents, right?" Harry asked incredulously, "he believes that all of that pureblood nonsense is garbage."

"Does he though?" Hermione asked, "Or is that just what it behooves him to have you believe?"

"He lives in a tiny flat!" he protested. "He said that he was so compelled by your arguments about house elves that he couldn't bring himself to have one for his flat."

"Are you sure?" Ron asked, "Or does he just hide it from you? House elves are wicked good at magic."

"He knows how to cook," Harry said, "From scratch. And he knows cleaning spells," he added. "Why would he have to know cleaning spells?"

Hermione looked at him thoughtfully, "Maybe you're right-"

"Just give him a chance," he said. "You won't-"

"Better talk about something else," Ron interrupted, "He's headed this way."

"Well, I tried to get Lugnok to speak with me about the discrimination that Goblins have been facing for ages in the wizarding community, but he wasn't very forthcoming," Hermione started as Draco slid into the booth once again.

"Oh," Draco said as he pressed his shoulder against Harry's and they both relaxed into the pleasant hum thrumming through the bodies, beginning at their shoulders and radiating outward. "I read the last article that you published in The Daily Dilemma," he said excitedly. "It was fascinating," he added.

"Really?" Hermione asked, sounding surprised.

He nodded, "I always wanted to learn more about Goblin magic but good information is so hard to find. When I was young, I'd hoped that it was something they'd teach at Hogwarts-"

"Yes!" Hermione agreed emphatically. "I have been trying to convince Minerva of that for years."

"We don't know nearly enough about magic that other beings possess and honestly," he said, lowering his voice slightly, "I don't know why any other magical being puts up with us. I can't understand it." He shook his head, "I mean for all intents and purposes, their magic is stronger than ours and they've got better control of it. A house elf, for example," he said, "when they want to apparate somewhere it's just a snap of the fingers. And their blind apparation is loads better than ours," he shook his head, "And that's just one spell."

Hermione nodded, "It's never made sense to me."

Draco swallowed, "I'm sorry about that, by the way," he said, not quite meeting her eye, "for making fun of your organization." Then his mouth twisted, "For a lot of things, really," he continued. "Many that were worse than that."

"Thank you," Hermione said after a moment. "I appreciate your apology."

He nodded once. "You probably know this already, but Henri Laurence is a real advocate for changing the way we treat other magical beings. He could probably help your causes."

"Who?" she asked, brows furrowing as she tried to place the name.

"Henri Laurence," he repeated.

She shook her head, "I'm not familiar with that name."

"He works in transportation," Draco replied.

"Why would I talk to someone in transportation?"

He gave her a wry smile, "Henri works closely with a lot of department heads to schedule their trips. He's very amiable and everyone loves him," he added. "More than one political career has risen and fallen by his words. He also works with the Minister quite a bit, the Minister is quite fond of him."

"I never would have thought to start there. Thanks for the tip," she said, giving him a cautious half smile.

"Of course," Draco said automatically. "I'd be glad to give you names if you're ever wondering the best way to get things into people's ears. I'm afraid I can't do introductions, though," he said with a self depreciating laugh.

"Thank you," Hermione said, sounding genuinely grateful. "That would be so helpful."

Draco gave her a little smile and Harry felt hope bubbling merrily in his chest.

----------

As the evening drew to a natural close, Harry couldn't help but think that everything went exceptionally well.

Draco was still talking about Hermione's current project with the Goblins at Gringotts as Harry headed back toward the bedroom, Draco trailing along behind him. "It's invaluable," he said as he started to strip so he could put on his pajamas. "This research could change the way that we think about other beings. We could really have the opportunity to understand them better and then maybe we'd understand our own magic and our own limitations better."

Harry nodded, "You sound just like her. I thought you two might hit it off."

"Did you?" Draco asked curiously as he crawled into bed.

He nodded, sitting at the bottom and pulling Draco's left foot into his lap, pressing his thumbs up the curve of Draco's arch. "You're the only other person I know who likes to talk about Magic Theory."

He let out a low moan as Harry's thumbs rubbed the ball of his foot, "Potter, you are really good at that," he said, thoroughly distracted from the conversation they'd been having.

Harry laughed.

"I'm serious!" the other man protested. "If the whole saving the world, one idiot at a time thing fails, you can go into foot massages."

Chuckling, he shook his head, "Can you imagine?"

"Yes," Draco replied, closing his eyes and settling further into the mattress, "I'd come see you every day."

"Ah, in that case," Harry teased, "maybe I should think about it."

"You do that," he said, in that distant voice that meant he wasn't listening to him anymore.

"Read something," Harry said.

The other man opened one eye to look down at Harry, "What?"

"Read me something," he said. "Grab a book off your nightstand," he said, nodding to the pile, "And read. But don't pick something boring."

Draco reached over and plucked a slender book off the nigh stand, "I think you'll like this one. He gets everything wrong but it's delightful." He cleared his throat, "In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit..."

Harry listened as he read, a smile tugging at his lips, his chest filling with warmth.

This was nice, Harry couldn't help but think. Living with someone, sharing meals with someone, having someone in your bed when you went to sleep and when you woke up. It was nice to have the sound of someone else's voice and the feeling of someone else's hand in yours.

He wondered if he'd miss it when the bond ended in twelve days.

More importantly, he wondered if Draco would miss it.

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

Part 3 | Part 5

#100 drarry drabbles in 100 days #one year of drarry drabbles #drarry #slow burn apparently #falling in love #enemies to friends to lovers #forgiveness #accidental bonding #drarry ficlet

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delimeful · 4 years ago

Text

Helpless (3)

warnings: misunderstandings, spiders/arachnophobia, mild violence

Halfway through the woods, Patton heard the distinct sound of someone mumbling.

He paused mid-step, tilting his head to listen with a fair bit of curiosity. The mumbling was quiet enough that he couldn’t make out any individual words, but he could more or less tell which direction it was coming from.

Whatever the source was, they sounded a little frustrated.

He hesitated. Virgil was always emphasizing how careful Patton needed to be in the woods, though how much of that was due to actual danger and how much was the drider being a worrywart over Patton’s ‘chronic inability to defend himself’, he wasn’t sure.

Either way, this didn’t sound like a dangerous wild animal, so it would probably be okay to take a little detour and see what the matter was!

He followed the noise off the trail into a thick copse of trees, eventually coming upon intricate silvery threadwork that wound between them. He was proud to say he only barely shuddered as he ducked past them, his fear of spiders mostly overcome by his affection for his friend.

The webbing got thicker the further he went, and eventually he came upon the source of the mumbling, which appeared to be a whole person, stuck against the outer edge of one of Virgil’s larger webs.

They looked up upon spotting him, eyes bright for a moment before taking him in and visibly dulling with disappointment, which, aside from sorta hurting Patton’s feelings, seemed an odd response for someone in need of help.

“Hello there,” he greeted, waving. “My name’s Patton, I live over at the nearby town. You seem to be in a bit of a prestickament!”

“No, I did this myself,” the stranger corrected, already looking past Patton with disinterest. “It is an attempt to meet with someone I would like to speak with, and they seem the skittish sort, so I would appreciate it if you moved on.”

Patton hummed, more than a little confused. Something about this seemed familiar. “What are you going to do if this person doesn’t show up, though?”

“My arms are free,” they responded, frowning at Patton’s persistence as they wiggled the fingers of their free hand demonstrably. The other hand was occupied with a worn-looking journal. “I will be able to eat and drink, and thus am in no danger.”

“My friend says these woods can get mighty cold at night,” Patton countered, undeterred. “Can’t you meet your friend in town, instead? Why does it have to be a drider’s web?”

And, oh, that was it! Virgil had just been telling him the other day about someone who’d gotten stuck in one of his webs just like this, a mage who had been all-too-delighted to see him. Patton had hardly registered how they’d met, since he’d mostly been very upset to learn that some people would try to use his friend’s body parts as potions ingredients.

“That’s because the drider is the one I’m hoping to speak with,” the stranger replied, as though it should be obvious. “I sincerely doubt they would appreciate an invitation to town.”

Patton stared at the little notebook for a moment, and abruptly put the pieces together. This must have been the stranger that freaked Virgil out so badly!

And he was lying in wait in one of Virgil’s webs… In that case, there was no way he could leave things like this.

“I don’t think the drider is around,” he offered cheerily. “Sometimes they migrate to different areas for different seasons! You won’t meet anyone while hanging around, so I’ll help you down!”

He circled around the tree where most of the webs were rooted, approaching the stranger’s edge of webbing, and found to his surprise that they really were stuck. How they planned to ambush Virgil while stuck in a web, he wasn’t sure, especially since the gambit hadn’t worked on the first attempt either. Magic, maybe?

“How do you know that?” the stranger asked, craning to look at him with sudden interest. “About drider migration cycles.”

Patton shrugged as he plucked at the threads of the web, testing each one to see where they led. “I’m a good listener, so I pick things up here and there. What do you do?”

It seemed to be the right question to ask, since the stranger perked up, distracted from his inquiry.

“I am a researcher,” they informed Patton. “I’m seeking out information on the more reclusive creatures that live in these lands, like driders! This is the first one that I’ve met in person, so if they’re leaving, I need to catch up right away.”

Patton slid the sheath off of the little paring knife he’d taken to carrying and started sawing at one of the threads. “Are you going to try to capture him?” he asked, keeping his voice as even as he could. “You know, for your research.”

“I’m not a bounty hunter,” they replied indignantly. “The behavior of any being would be unnatural and stilted while imprisoned, especially a sapient one. My research is meant to increase humanity's understanding of driders, not to put them on display for entertainment.”

Patton blinked at them, slicing through another strand. “You… aren’t looking to hurt them?”

“No!” They honestly sounded offended by the idea. “I don’t think I ever could, anyhow, the one I met was very large, and they would likely be able to incapacitate me without any trouble.”

“Weren’t you scared?” Patton asked, remembering the terror that had swept through him during that first encounter, when he’d thought the drider was a giant creepy crawly death dealer. Even after he realized, when Virgil yoinked him with his two front legs, Patton had been a little nervous.

“People are only scared of what they don’t understand,” they informed him, chin lifted stubbornly, “and I know more about driders than any other human. I don’t see any reason to be afraid.”

“Wow… You’re really passionate about this, huh?” Patton grinned as he sliced through the last of the support webbing, and with a few snaps, the researcher fell to the ground, only a few strands of silk clinging to them.

“Of course!” they replied, pausing to pull some of the softer webbing bits off of himself and folding them into a pocket of his bag. “The information compiled on them is often vague or outright misleading, and due to their reclusiveness and occasional aggression, nobody else has been able to correct these false accounts.”

They paused, studying the woods around them. “I am… uncertain on how I’m going to discern which area the drider has chosen to migrate to. I don’t suppose you have any idea?”

Patton patted their shoulder. “Don’t worry about that. I think there’s a friend of mine you should meet properly.”

—

“Virgil!” Patton called brightly. “I’m here!”

He had been leading the way through increasingly dense and shadowy foliage for a fair while, now. Logan glanced up from their connected hands to see exactly where he was being pulled to, his heartbeat picking up in speed despite the possibility that this was a cruel prank or even a mugging.

Sure, Patton had described the drider that he’d met a couple of days ago quite accurately, but that was no assurance that he was actually familiar with the being. Most of the townsfolk seemed peripherally aware of ‘Virgil’’s presence, after all, so Patton could have glimpsed him before. It seemed more likely than them being friends. Driders were notoriously solitary, and ‘Virgil’ had seemed quite averse during Logan’s encounter with him, after all.

There was a crack from above, like a branch snapping.

In the next moment, a heavy weight had dropped down from above, knocking Logan to the ground and forcing all the air from his lungs. As he gasped futilely, he realized there were two hands pinning his arms to the ground, and some very familiar fangs put on full display, mere inches from his face.

“Leave him alone,” a very angry drider demanded, his regular voice layered with harsh, gravely rattling.

Logan wheezed in response, absently noting that there were multiple small black eyes visible against the dark marks under the more human set of eyes and wondering just how the two different ocular sensory organs overlapped.

“Virgil, stop!” Patton’s hands appeared at the edge of Logan’s vision, pushing back against Virgil’s shoulders until he eased up, lifting his crouched spider half up only slightly, as though prepared to lunge at Logan again at any moment. “He’s fine! He won’t hurt you!”

Virgil’s glare finally flicked away, though it turned more bewildered-angry than murderous-angry once landing on Patton. Logan wasn’t sure, but he thought the smaller eyes remained locked on him. “This is the mage I told you about! It’s not safe, you need to get out of here--,”

“Mage?” Logan asked, his voice still coming out a little winded. “What are you talking about?”

“He’s not,” Patton said at nearly the same time, “I promise, he just wants to know more about you! Right, Logan?”

“I’m certainly not a mage,” he agreed, rubbing at his arm. The full force of a drider grabbing him… that was going to bruise. He wondered if there was a way to measure that power. “I’m not sure how you got that impression, I don’t have any of the tools mages often carry.”

Virgil looked back and forth between the two humans with clear consternation, and Patton was the one who answered. “Well, most people are afraid at just the sight of him. And… you weren’t.”

“Of course not,” Logan said, still trying to grasp the connection between his lack of fear and his alleged magehood. “I was enthralled. He’s very beautiful.”

Above him, Virgil made a choked-off noise and shuffled back, giving Logan space to sit up and regain full faculty of his senses. Virgil had turned his face away, and Patton was muffling a smile behind his hand.

“Was that… invasive?” Logan asked hesitantly, glancing between the two of them. “I apologize, this is my first research voyage, so I may have become... over-enthusiastic.”

Virgil flapped a hand at him, as though trying to physically dispel his words. “What exactly does a ‘research voyage’ entail?”

Logan straightened up, trying to look as professional as possible while still sitting on the forest floor. He suspected there might be detritus in his hair. “It’s a journey undertaken by apprentice-level researchers to expand their knowledge in their specific field. Often, once they have thorough evidence and a compelling thesis, they will return to their teacher and present this in order to advance as a journeyman.”

Of course, Logan had no intention of doing that. He was going to spend as long as he could traveling and learning and compiling his knowledge, until nobody could argue that he wasn’t suited to the world of scholars.

“And your field is… spiders? Monsters?” Virgil asked, eyebrows raised dubiously.

“I am attempting to correct the misconceptions that are so rampant in bestiaries,” Logan corrected. “So many depend on them, but I’ve found very few actually capture the intricacies of the cultures and habits of nonhuman magical beings. They read more like old wives’ tales, passed down and warped with time, and both the scientific community and the beings in question suffer for it.”

“Huh.” Virgil tilted his head slightly, and Logan realized that at some point his smaller eyes had closed, the dark creases vanishing amidst the pockets of shade under his eyes.

“That sounds like the bestiary way to help people!” Patton added, and Logan watched in disbelief as Virgil’s expression relaxed further, the drider snorting softly.

“So all I’d have to do is… be a drider in front of you?” he asked, one of his back legs tapping against the ground in a remarkable imitation of the way a nervous human might tap their foot. Logan nodded. “I guess… it could work. And it’d be nice to have someone else around who won’t scream at the sight of me.”

“New friend!” Patton cheered, looking perhaps more delighted at the idea than Logan’s presence really warranted. “Only the spidaring are cool enough to be friends with Virgil.”

“Is the wordplay going to be a regular thing with him?” Logan asked, his face pinching sourly.

“Better get used to it. He’s punstoppable,” Virgil replied, grinning toothily when Logan shot him a betrayed look. Logan thought he seemed pleased, going by the subtle twitching of his pointy ears.

Logan hid a small smile of his own. Perhaps following Patton wasn't the unwisest decision he'd ever made, after all.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #arachnaphobia tw #ts patton #ts logan #ts virgil #drider #drider au #my writing #helpless #writing #am i missing tags?

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wri0thesley · 4 years ago

Note

Hey Nat, I'm kinda blaming you for my budding infatuation with Nanami and I was wondering if I may request Nanami and his s/o having their first kiss? It doesn't have to be long but I'm just feeling soft and with the way you write him it sounds like a treat once this reserved, professional man finally allows himself to give in

oh anon i am so... so very soft.... you cannot blame me for the nanami desire. he is simply irresistible.

date night - nanami x reader (3k)

you’re nervous about your first date with nanami.

warnings: none. fluffy, soft. neutral reader, some mentions of food and alcohol.

You cannot help but be nervous about tonight.

Your friends have made fun of you, talking about your hot date – Gojo thumping you on the back, Shoko looking at you with her tired eyes but a smirk on her face. Neither of them really get it, you don’t think – to them, Nanami is their former junior who is just a little too serious for his own good. A gloomy, stoic presence who they trust implicitly due to the good head on his shoulders, but who they do not really see as ‘a potential romantic match’. They know that you’ve been harbouring a crush on the former salaryman for months, and they’ve already tried to warn you off him.

“He can be so boring,” Gojo had said, swinging an arm around your shoulders. “Let me set you up with someone instead!”

Your face had heated up at the idea that Gojo didn’t trust you to make your own romantic decisions, but he was already halfway through listing the name of every eligible bachelor he knew (and a few who he said ‘weren’t eligible, but they probably could be, for you!’). You’d been able to do nothing but listen politely as you’d walked with him to his classroom, occasionally gathering strange looks from the students that were milling around in the corridors.

“Think about it!” He’d cried to you as he’d stepped into his bare classroom (you hardly ever see him doing any actual classwork in there; mainly, you see him lying on top of desks and making fun of his students) and greeted the three first years waiting for him. “You don’t wanna be stuck ironing Nanami’s socks for the rest of your life!”

You hope his students don’t hear him, as you decide to go for a walk outside to clear your head.

You and Nanami have been dancing around the idea of maybe possibly being something more than friends for weeks. You’ve felt it, in the brush of his hand against yours, the way that his eyes seem to soften and his tiredness seems to lift when you’re near him. You’ve felt it, as you’ve passed him a cup of coffee and he’s relished the warmth emanating from the cup. In the soft way he speaks to you.

You’ve felt it when he’s held your hand as the two of you have walked together, not saying anything. In his scarf wrapped around your neck, smelling like him.

What you haven’t done, is go on a date.

And perhaps this isn’t a date the way you’d once have dreamed about it. You’re going over to Nanami’s place; he’s going to cook a meal for you, the two of you are going to catch up after he’s been gone on a mission for almost a week - the two of you are going to watch a foreign film he’s been able to get hold of, that you’ve been saving to watch with one another. You’re going to perhaps have a glass of wine together, or two--

You kind of do want to be stuck ironing Nanami’s socks for the rest of your life.

It sounds so silly when you say it aloud! You haven’t even kissed him, just brushed fingers and held hands and saved each other’s lives whilst on exorcisms together. But whenever you close your eyes and imagine your future, Nanami is always there, right beside you.

You breathe in deeply. You have to ignore what Gojo and Shoko and everyone have been saying. They’ve known Nanami for longer than you – they were his upperclassmen, after all, and you suppose it’s traditional to make fun of and quash your younger classmates a little. You just need to think about what you want, and what Nanami himself may want. Plucking uselessly at your clothes, nerves fizzing in your stomach, you elect to ignore the anxiety gnawing at you until you’re at least outside of Nanami’s front door.

Then, you tell yourself, then, I’ll allow myself to panic a little bit. Seeing Nanami’s calm, handsome face always calms me down. The minute he answers the door, I’ll forget that I was even nervous, and everything will be just as it should.

It doesn’t stop you worrying, as you get dressed and try and fluff your hair and rearrange all of your accessories whilst you get ready. It’s just an evening at his house, you try and keep telling yourself. He’s not expecting me to show up like a runway model, he’d probably hate that anyway--

Still. Having a crush on somebody is never easy, and Nanami can be so utterly unreadable at times, that you get dressed and undressed twice more before you settle on something in between casual and formal; that looks like you’ve made an effort, without looking like you agonised for hours to figure out what the level of effort should be. You’re clutching a bottle of wine and standing outside of his door three minutes early, wondering if he’s the kind of man who gets annoyed if you are there too early.

The door swings open, and Nanami is there, leaning on the door frame. He’s breathtakingly handsome, in casual clothes – an expensive looking sweater in soft grey that gives just a peek at the column of his throat, cuffed jeans. You’ve never seen him look so . . . relaxed. And the fact that he’s looking at you, his lips barely tilting, his tired eyes just a little turned up at the corners.

“You look nice,” he tells you, and you thank God that you went with this outfit. You hold out the bottle of wine for him, and his smile breaks wider as he looks at it. “You didn’t need to bring me anything, you know. I’m happy to be the provider this evening.”

“It’s-- it’s polite!” You insist, and Nanami steps aside to allow you into his house. He’s very proper, and you’d wanted to impress him – you think the young lady who had served you in the specialist store you’d anxiously entered had sensed your worry, and had been very kind as she’d picked something for you she was certain you’d like.

“You made a good choice,” he tells you, as he invites you into his hallway and you gratefully pull off your shoes. “This one looks fine--”

“I didn’t really choose it,” you admit. “I let the experts do it.”

He laughs, the sound like an early spring morning. You don’t think anybody else hears him laugh like that, and the comfort that the two of you share makes you feel soft and warm.

“Even more admirable, then,” he says. “Most people we know would just barrel in guns blazing and insist they knew the right way to do things.”

You both share a secretive smile, your cheeks warming. You can feel tension draining out of you the longer you spend in Nanami’s company. Something about him just sets you at ease.

When you’d first met him, you’d been frightened of him. He seemed so gloomy and intense, so utterly focussed on his goals – when you had tried to speak to him, he had brushed you off with short one word answers and you’d caught him looking at you when your back was turned as if he was waiting for you to slip up.

But as time had worn on . . . as time had worn on, Nanami’s edges had softened. You’d realised that he was willing to talk, when the participant had proved themselves to be worth talking to. He’d told you once, shrugging, that most jujutsu sorcerers just tended to be . . . odd.

“Not you, though,” he’d said, and your heart had leapt in your chest. “Well. You’re not odd in any way that isn’t charming.”

He’s not usually the kind of man who heaps praise on other people; that little compliment, you had carried with you like a flame in your heart. The first time he had held your hand, he hadn’t said anything. The first time he had walked you home, and met you for coffee in a morning a half hour before you were due to be at the scene of an exorcism; Nanami Kento shows that he cares about you in a hundred different little ways that aren’t as simple as telling you it out and out. You admire that about him. You’re so used to putting your foot in your mouth.

“Come sit at the table,” he says, and you follow him obediently. His house is tastefully decorated, somewhere between modern and traditional; he has shelves of books everywhere, and that makes you smile. You’ve heard him say, sighing; “When I’m done with all this, I’ll finally have time to get around to reading them.” The shelf in the very corner of the dining area is the only one that looks well-thumbed; even from here, you can see that it’s where he keeps his recipe books.

“I hope you��ll like it,” you settle into the chair that he pulls out for you. He moves into the kitchen with purpose, grabbing serving dishes and utensils and juggling them with a precision that makes you admire him all the more. “I’m very glad you were on time. It’s the kind of dish that needs to be eaten at the exact right moment.”

He whips the cover off the main dish.

You knew that Nanami was a foodie. His instagram is full of pictures of various places and treats he’s eaten – with a particular focus on adorable baked goods, especially bread, that had made you feel warm inside when you’d noticed. Still, the spread that he’s laid out before you would not look out of place in the most high-class of restaurants; the kind that you’d never had the money to afford to eat in, and you’d have been afraid of showing yourself up at the tables of. You stare at it, mesmerised; the vegetables, so bright and colourful and steaming, lovingly presented – the glaze of the meats, the bowls full of side-dishes that you can’t quite recognise.

There’s an anxiety in his face when he looks at you.

“Sorry,” he says, quietly. “I think I probably over-estimated. And over-compensated, I suppose, for not taking you out to a restaurant--”

“No,” you say, quickly. “It looks delicious. I’m glad you invited me. It’s just . . . a lot.”

“Yes,” his eyes rove over the table. “There are only two of us.”

“It’ll make good left-overs,” you suggest, and he brightens.

“That should have been my line,” he tells you as he retrieves the wine you’d brought. You can see that there was already a bottle chilling in a bucket by the table, but Nanami’s face is affectionate as he pops the cork and pours some into the wine glass by your plate. “I’m supposed to be the responsible one.”

“Sorry for stealing your thunder,” you take a sip of the wine.

“Just as long as you don’t make a habit of it.”

The food really is delicious. You could easily have had seconds, or even thirds – on an ordinary day. A day in which your stomach isn’t churning from how alone the two of you are. There’s a buzz in the air that isn’t quite tension; more, it’s a promise that there’s more yet to come. You and Nanami laugh over dinner, the conversation surprisingly easy when the knot in your insides is so tight. He talks about his old job, and you talk about your own adventures before you’d ended up in Tokyo – he smiles, and laughs, more than you’ve ever seen him do.

He seems so much more at home here. That’s silly, considering it is his home – but somehow, there’d always been an image of Nanami in your head as serious and unforgiving with his tie very tight and his suits perfectly pressed even when he was relaxing in his own rooms.

That image is quickly wiped away, by the way he looks as he rolls up the sleeves of his sweater to take the dishes away.

“Let me help you wash up,” you try and say, but he waves you away.

“I’ll leave them for after you’ve gone,” he says. “I’m not going to ask a guest to do that. Or maybe I’ll even be bold; leave them for in the morning.” His smile makes you feel weak at the knees, this time – a spot of pink high on those sharp cheekbones. Is he blushing, or has his face gone rosy from the wine?

The two of you migrate into the living room. His television is large, but not ostentatiously so; a row of DVDs are neatly in the cabinet beneath it, mainly drama films, period films and some foreign prestige box sets. The movie the two of you have been talking about is one of those – a Danish film about an ageing detective who takes on one last case. You had originally planned to see it together, when it made it to Tokyo cinemas; but one thing had lead to another, and before you could both get the schedules to work out it had gone.

He places the DVD into the player and you can’t help but stare at him; how the soft material of the sweater clings to his broad shoulders, how the jeans seem to emphasise his ass – he’s always in slacks, you’ve never really had the chance to ogle it before, but seeing it in front of you now you suddenly understand why he keeps it covered. Who knows what riots it might incite, if it were just out and about for anyone to see?

“You’re staring,” Nanami turns his head slightly, catching your eye. Heat rushes to your face – but he keeps your eyes pinned with his own for a moment, before deliberately dragging them down the length of you, sat on the sofa. You feel hot and warm and bothered by the way he smiles afterwards, as if he is saying that he likes what he’s seeing too. “You don’t need to be sneaky about it. I don’t mind.”

You swallow, your throat suddenly going very dry. Nanami moves across the room, sitting on the sofa beside you. Heat seems to be radiating off of him; there’s a comfort in having him next to you.

“You look uncomfortable,” he says, five minutes into the movie. He leans back, an arm coming to rest on the back of the sofa behind you. “You can lean on me, you know. I don’t mind.”

He looks inviting. His head is tipped to one side as he meets your eyes; there’s no challenge in his. Just a softness. A quiet affection. Perhaps a touch of nervousness – of trepidation, that you’ll refuse the offer. You hesitantly sidle closer, leaning your head against his side. His scent wraps around you; freshly cleaned laundry, peppermint, coffee, spices, some of the wine from earlier--

You fair go dizzy at it all, but not as dizzy as you go when the arm on the back of the sofa wraps around you, his fingers resting on your shoulder. How are you supposed to concentrate on anything, with him so close to you? With everything about him making you feel like you’re on a roller-coaster climbing upwards and upwards, hurtling towards the inevitable?

You try – oh, you really do try – to keep your eyes on the film and the subtitles scrolling across the bottom of the television. But the aged detective is not half as interesting as Nanami; as the way he focusses on the screen, as his face bathed in the light. As his hand, as it gently starts to stroke over your shoulder, as if he’s barely aware he’s doing it. As his tongue, as it darts out to nervously lick at his lips.

“You’re staring at me,” he says, and you flinch that he’s noticed. His head turns, pinning you with the full force of his gaze. “Are you not enjoying it? We can turn it off?”

How do you answer that?

The real answer: ‘I’m not enjoying it because I can’t concentrate on anything other than you, and how badly I want to be brave enough to kiss you’, feels too bare and bold. You bite your lip.

Nanami leans in closer to you, so close that you can see the flush on his cheeks. The slightly ruffled hairs falling over his forehead. You can count his eyelashes, almost--

“I’m not sure what’s going on either,” he admits, softly. “And I can speak Danish.”

The arm not around your shoulders moves, resting on your waist. You can barely breathe. He’s so close to you; so gorgeous, in the light. All of that former salaryman indifference seems to have gone; he’s not cold any longer, but boiling hot. You’ve been watching it slowly strip away from him since you met him, you think, but tonight might be the first time he’s been Kento Nanami with no pretension.

Nervous about his food, even though he knows he’s an excellent cook. Blushing as he realises you’re checking him out. Almost trembling, as his hand slides up and he cups your cheek like you’re made of porcelain and he’s afraid he might drop and shatter you at any moment. You blink up at him, honey-slow, so dazed by his touch and his presence you can barely make sense of what’s happening.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Nanami says, as a warning. Even now, he seems to think you might pull away. But you cannot, you do not; you just press yourself closer into him, your voice coming out very soft and small as you whisper;

“Please do.”

He does not need to be asked twice. His lips are so soft against yours. The wine clings to them, intoxicating and heady. The hand on your cheek tips your face further up, so he can keep his mouth pressed against you so sweetly. You pull back, your heart pounding.

“Ah, I’m sorry,” he’s saying, almost immediately, nervous that you have changed your mind – but all you do is free your arms, so you can wrap them about his neck and pull him in closer, to devour him the way you’ve wanted to for months.

The movie plays on, forgotten.

#jjk x reader #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami kento x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #nanami fluff #writing #food for ts #alcohol for ts #Anonymous

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