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just-jordie-things · 1 year

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bad at flirting - fushiguro megumi

word count: 6.2k warnings: swearing + second hand embarrassment summary: megumi doesn't know he's bad at flirting, but his friends are happy to help him! ___

Megumi is totally, absolutely, downright terrible at flirting. He can’t lay down a vibe to save his life. Not once has he had the intention of flirting and actually made the person he’s flirting with realize that he’s flirting with them. It might not be often that he’s attempted to get a girl’s phone number, but it’s never worked.

And to make matters worse, he has no clue.

His friends don’t realize just how badly he needs their help until she comes around- and even then, it’s two months of her attending Jujutsu Tech that they realize the poor boy’s been trying to flirt with her.

It’s Yuuji that spots the odd interaction first.

Megumi had been walking with her, clearly listening to whatever she was talking about that Yuuji couldn’t hear from where he was hanging out on the front steps of the main building. But he was close enough that when Megumi noticed him, Yuuji gave him a wave and a grin.

The ravenette gives a short wave back- if you could call raising a hand for two seconds before begrudgingly shoving it back into his pocket a wave- before turning towards her again.

He says something Yuuji can’t quite hear, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, and she replies with a nod and a smile, before turning and walking off on her own.

When Megumi makes his way to Yuuji, the first thing he notices is his rosy complexion.

Yuuji doesn’t think he’s ever seen Megumi blush. The sight makes him snort before laughing.

“What was that all about?” He asks, half teasing as he stands up.

“What do you mean?” Megumi replies, almost dumbly.

“You’re blushing!” Yuuji cackles loudly. “She must've said something”

“Not really,” Megumi shrugs. “Just happens when I flirt” He adds in a mumble.

Yuuji’s entire world shatters around him. His laughter ceases, his jaw drops, and he’s staring blankly at his friend as if he’s never seen him before.

Megumi? Flirting? Blushing? (y/n)? Megumi’s flirting with (y/n)? On purpose?

His brain computes it all at once in a fast, sloppy mess of thoughts. But when it dawns on him, his face splits with a wide beam

“Oh my god you like (y/n)!?” He’s practically screeching with joy.

Megumi tries to scowl, but his pink face betrays him, and it only makes him look more adorable.

“I had no idea!” Yuuji’s bouncing on his feet now, “How long have you liked her? How long have you been flirting with her? What’d you say anyways? Does she flirt back? You got good moves?”

“I guess,” Megumi shrugs, his hands awkwardly fumbling together.

He’s never really had a crush on anyone before, not like this anyways. And he’s definitely never had anyone to talk about a crush with before, so he was fairly nervous talking about it now.

“Liked her for a while,” He mumbles, looking anywhere but Yuuji’s expectant, excited face. “Probably since she got here. So… I guess I’ve been flirting with her the whole time”

“That’s adorable,” Yuuji gushes. “You guys do spend a lot of time together. Have you gone on any dates?”

“Yeah, I train with her all the time,” Megumi replies, all too surely. “And we study, too”

Yuuji furrows his brows.

Oh, no.

“Training and studying?” He repeats, confused.

Megumi nods his head.

No Megumi, no.

“Those aren’t dates,” Yuuji tells him. “Dates are movies. Or ice cream. Or a picnic, or… well, anything other than training and studying. Those are just chores you’re doing together”

“But it’s just the two of us,” Megumi explains. “And I’m flirting with her”

“Okay…” Yuuji still sounds unsure. “Well, how much are you flirting? Give me a line”

“A line?”

“Yeah, like, tell me something you say to her when you’re flirting”

“Okay… uh…” Megumi thinks for a second, before smiling to himself and nodding with certainty that he’d remembered a good one. “She started training with daggers, and I told her she was smart because she’s best with close combat fighting”

He’s grinning, the poor guy is so proud, and Yuuji can’t help but wince.

“So you… you told her she was smart?” He asked, just to be sure he’d heard him right, and Megumi nodded.

Yuuji sighs, and shakes his head.

“No… no Megumi that’s not flirting,” He huffs. “I mean, it’s a compliment, but, like, anyone can tell her a compliment- hell, she probably already knew that dude”

Megumi’s brows draw together, confused at the feedback. It was his understanding that complimenting her fighting style was flirty- it wasn’t just feedback or critique, it was personal, and therefore intimate.

“So… so she probably didn’t pick up on it?” He asks. Yuuji nods.

“She for sure didn’t pick up on it dude,” Yuuji tells him. “But that’s alright, we’ll figure out some other ways of flirting and see what works best for you!” He tells him eagerly.

“Uh… okay… are you sure?” Megumi’s fingers are tangling together again.

“Of course!” Yuuji claps a hand on his shoulder and shakes him in a friendly manner. “What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t make sure you landed the girl of your dreams!?”

Megumi’s blushing again. ___

“It’s simple,” Yuuji’s voice rang in Megumi’s head as he tried to work up the courage to approach (y/n). “Just offer to carry her things, and walk with her after class”

He glanced to where (y/n) was packing her bag up at her desk. Yuuji and Nobara had just walked out of the room- not without giving him a thumbs up for encouragement- and it was just the two of them left.

How hard could this be, anyways? He thought to himself, finally striding over to her desk.

“Hey, (y/n)” He greeted, albeit a bit awkward, but it was a start.

“Hey,” She smiled up at him as she zipped up her backpack. “Weird lesson, right? I’m not convinced Gojo’s taken a single class on how to teach” She chuckles to herself.

“He hasn’t” Megumi answers, recalling a memory of the man tossing a textbook in the trash after Principal Yaga had told him to study up on to make him a more qualified teacher.

“Figures” (y/n) shakes her head, but she’s still smiling, so she must not be too annoyed with their teacher’s weird antics.

“Uh, so…” Megumi starts to work up to his offer, but she looks up at him then, and he has to take a deep breath before continuing. “Can I… can I carry that for you?”

He points to her backpack, sitting on top of her desk where she’d left it to give him her attention, and she follows his gesture as though she weren’t sure what he was referring to.

“My bag?” She questions. “Are you off to the field, too?”

No, I’m supposed to meet up with Maki and Yuuta at the library, Megumi thinks, and he’s not a liar, so he doesn’t lie when he answers.

“No”

(y/n) giggles to herself, before raising a brow at him.

“So you’re going to walk all the way out to the field and then leave?”

His face feels hot. His fingers feel twitchy. Yuuji didn’t tell him what he was supposed to do now, and he felt like an idiot.

“Yes”

Good. That was a good answer.

(y/n’s) still laughing, but it doesn’t sound malicious like he would have expected, seeing as he’s standing before her making a fool of himself. It’s sweet. It’s cute.

His face still feels hot.

“Alright,” She shrugs a shoulder, and hands him her bag. “You on some step-tracking kick?”

Victoriously, Megumi shrugs his arm through one of the straps, sliding it onto his shoulder.

“Uh, yeah, something like that” He mumbles, because he’s a terrible liar. As they leave the classroom together, (y/n’s) still trying to suppress her laughter.

She hadn’t quite gotten a full grasp of who Fushiguro Megumi was. He could be quite odd most days, never acting one certain way. Some days he was mysterious and quiet, some days he was dorky, and some days he would say the most out of pocket things to her that she wasn’t quite sure how to react. Nonetheless, she enjoyed his company, and was curious to get to know him better.

“What are you up to with your free afternoon?” She asks him, breaking the silence they’d fallen into since exiting the class.

“Just studying,” He shrugs. “You?”

“Training,” She shrugs back. “I haven’t really done anything else since I got here. Though I’ve been dying to go see Tokyo, I’ve never been”

She peeks over at him out of the corner of her eye, a part of her hoping to find out if he was free this weekend. Maybe if she played her cards right, she could find a way to spend some more one on one time with him.

“Oh really?” He hums curiously. “It’s cool, I guess. Probably cooler if you weren’t raised there”

Her heart deflates a little, but she bounces back quickly and forces a smile.

“I’m sure,” She agrees quietly, with a small, awkward laugh. “I guess it’s old news to you guys, huh?”

“Nobara loves the shopping district, if that’s what you’re into, you should hit her up for a trip” Megumi tells her with a smile, certain with himself that he’s given her a great piece of advice, and also an outing with a new friend.

She can’t help but smile back at him, but there’s a sinking feeling in her chest that he wasn’t as interested in her as she thought he might have been, and her spirits dampen a little. “Good to know,” She replies. “I’ll have to ask her if she wants to hang out sometime”

She lets out a little sigh, her disappointment evident, but luckily they’ve reached the field, and she takes her bag from him.

“Thanks for carrying it, and walking with me,” (y/n) tells him. “That was sweet of you, you didn’t have to do that”

“I didn’t mind,” Megumi tucks his hands into his pockets. “Good luck in training” He tells her with an all-too confident smile for a guy that didn’t realize the girl he was trying to hit on just gave him a clear opening- and he missed it completely.

“Thanks,” (y/n) hums. “Good luck with studying”

With that she’s heading off, and Megumi’s on his way back to the building, hoping Maki hadn’t left a bunch of threatening texts on his phone about him being late. He’s just about to check when out of nowhere, his other two friends are racing towards him.

“Well? How was it!?” Yuuji’s grinning, certain that Megumi couldn’t have messed up such a simple, classic indication of romantic interest.

“Let me guess, she’s completely into you and you’re going out this weekend?” Nobara’s also grinning, her hands clasped together in excitement.

“Well, no, but she did want to go to Tokyo, so I told her you’d probably love to go” Megumi tells her.

Nobara and Yuuji pause, look at each other, and then their smiles drop and they’re both frowning at him.

“You’re kidding” Yuuji states, like it wasn’t even a question, because it had to be a joke.

“No,” Megumi shakes his head. “I figured it’d help her be closer friends with-”

“Idiot!” Nobara smacks the back of her hand against his shoulder, effectively cutting him off. “Why wouldn’t you offer to go with her?”

Megumi opens his mouth to defend himself, but realization strikes and he shuts himself up before he could even try. She was right.

Stupid! He scolds himself and slaps his palm to his forehead.

“It’s alright! It’s okay!” Yuuji scrambles to reassure his friend. “You still did a nice thing for her and had some one on one time, so… next time let’s just try to get you two alone for a little longer and… and we’ll talk more about how to move things forward, alright?”

He’s nodding at both Megumi and Nobara, hoping that she’d help pitch in to agree that he hasn’t completely blown it.

She rolls her eyes, but ultimately Nobara agrees to help.

(Clearly he needed all the help he could get) ___

Megumi wasn’t always the best at complimenting people, but complimenting (y/n) is what he’d been trying to do the past couple months, so Nobara suggested he focused more on that route. Words of affirmation couldn’t go wrong, right?

However she did tell him he needed to be a little more… romantic in his choice of compliments.

“Compliment her beauty! Tell her she has pretty eyes, tell her she’s the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen, stuff like that” She’d said.

Saying something so intimate made his stomach do backflips, but if that’s what flirting was and that’s what would show (y/n) he liked her as more than a friend, then Megumi told himself he had to give it a shot.

And luckily a few days later, the perfect opportunity presented itself.

It was a nice day out and the two of them had made plans to study. (y/n) had suggested they do so at one of the many picnic tables scattered around the courtyard, to properly enjoy just lovely weather.

So there they were, just the two of them, comfortably quizzing each other, when Nobara passed by, seemingly casually. She makes a face at Megumi that he interpreted to mean ‘don’t fuck this up!’, but when (y/n) notices her, it’s nothing but smiles and waves.

“How does she look so pretty all the time?” (y/n) huffs, admiring the girl but clearly feeling a pinch of jealousy. “I swear, it’s like she doesn’t even try”

This is it! This is an opening! Megumi cheers internally, proud of himself for knowing this was the right time to say something, just like Nobara had taught him.

“It’s not like you’re trying”

(y/n) blinks, her eyes meeting his as she tries to figure out what he just said, because it made no sense.

She must have looked just as confused as she felt, because he’s stammering suddenly, trying too hard to explain himself.

“I- I mean you aren’t- you don’t have to- try, I mean,” He’s stuttering over his words so much she can barely keep up with what he’s trying to say.

He drops his head in his hands, hoping to cool his rapidly heating face, and also hide his embarrassment. He definitely fucked that up. And now he’s making a bigger idiot of himself by hiding behind his hands like a child. He wonders if he could convince his shikigami to kill him so he doesn’t have to look at her and further humiliate himself.

“What were you trying to say?” (y/n) asks, and to his surprise her voice is soft. It’s not cruel, she’s not laughing at him, and she doesn’t seem to be teasing him at all. The question sounds… genuine.

Megumi sighs, dragging his clammy palms down his face and keeping his eyes focused on the ground as if that would keep her from seeing his embarrassment.

“You don’t have to try to be pretty. You just are”

He’s still not looking at her, so he misses the way she grins, although she tries to bite it back. The blush creeping up her neck is threatening to take over her whole face, and she’s positive she’s making a fool of herself for reacting so girlishly to the compliment, but she can’t help it.

“You’re just saying that,” She says, giggling as she shakes her head. “You’re cheesing”

“No, ‘m not,” Megumi mumbles, turning his attention back to the textbook in front of him. “You’re very pretty” He adds in a quieter, almost too quiet, voice.

(y/n) blinked slowly, sure that when she opened her eyes again she would awake in her room, and this would all have been a silly dream.

But there he is, in front of her, furiously highlighting something, with a significant coat of pink over the bridge of his nose. He’ll have to ask Nobara later how the hell he was supposed to keep this up, because there’s no way he could look her in the eyes with how hot his face feels.

Did flirting mean he’d always be a blushing mess?

Smooth talking was not easy. And Megumi had a feeling he hadn’t quite been so smooth. He’d have to find another way to flirt with her without making him shrink into the collar of his shirt.

Sparing his embarrassment, (y/n) dives back into their studies, asking him to quiz her with her flashcards again. It takes a few minutes for him to stop stammering and blushing, but after a while he’s back to his usual self. Maybe just a little more nervous than usual. But (y/n) doesn’t mind. In fact, she sort of likes it.

Yuuji comes by when they’re wrapping up their study sesh, hanging out and chatting with them both while they pack up their things.

While (y/n) is distracted with organizing her flashcards, the pink haired boy gives Megumi a grin, and a wink. Megumi’s stomach drops in fear of whatever that was a signal for.

“So,” Yuuji starts, and Megumi mentally braces himself. “Nobara and I got paired up for a mission tomorrow! So I guess it’s just you two for movie night”

“Movie night?” (y/n) crinkles her brow, not recalling a plan for movie night. “I’m sorry, did we have plans?” She asks sheepishly, embarrassed to have forgotten.

“That’s okay! No biggie, since it’s just you and ‘gumi here” Yuuji elbows his friend in the arm, maybe a little harsher than usual.

Was that supposed to be some signal to say something? Megumi casts his friend a confused look. This was a stupid ploy anyways, there was no movie night.

“Don’t call me that” Megumi rolls his eyes in response, choosing to ignore the hint, whatever it meant.

“Okay,” (y/n) shrugs a shoulder, sending a smile towards Megumi. “I mean, I’m free. Is there already a movie picked out?”

Yuuji turns to his friend, smiling proudly that his plan worked, and he’d scored them some one on one time that wasn’t studying, for once.

“Uh, no, guess not” Megumi replies lamely, unsure of what kind of recommendation to make.

Truthfully, he preferred reading. He didn’t hate movies, and he’d seen many in the past, but he didn’t know what (y/n) preferred, and he didn’t want to pick something she’d hate and make her change her mind.

“Great! I’ll pick one then,” She decides, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

Megumi visibly relaxes. Yuuji brings his fist to his mouth to hold back a laugh, but it’s not very discreet.

“Hope you like horror” (y/n) says

“Yeah, I, uh, horror’s good” Megumi stammers.

She laughs, and Yuuji decides this is a safe spot to end the interaction and all but drag Megumi away. He bids (y/n) a cheerful goodbye as he shoves his taller friend away, leaving (y/n) confused but still laughing at the weird pair.

A moment later Megumi looks over his shoulder and gives her an awkward wave goodbye. She returns it, smiling at him.

He’s a little far to be sure, but she swears, he’s blushing again.

Leading her to wonder if her suspicions were true.

Did Megumi have a crush on her? ___

At this point, Yuuji and Nobara had pretty much threatened Megumi that if he couldn’t get his shit together for this movie night, they were going to take matters into their own hands to put him and (y/n) together.

“We’ve pretty much secured you a date, got it?” Nobara had snapped as she searched through his closet for just the right thing to wear. “Do you know how hard it is to convince Gojo we need to go on a paired assignment?”

“Uh… not hard at all?” Megumi had replied.

“Well… that’s true. But it’s not how I wanted my Friday night to go!”

He hadn’t loved letting Nobara go through his closet and dress him up like an oversized doll, but he also didn’t hate the end product. It was simple, but the black jeans and dark green sweater must have been the right choice, because when (y/n) met him in the common room she’d smiled and complimented him.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you out of uniform,” She’d joked as she plopped onto the sofa. “You clean up nice”

He hesitated for a minute before sitting beside her, suddenly all too aware that it would be just the two of them, for the whole night, on this couch.

“I can’t tell if you’re joking or not” He replied.

(y/n) took the remote and began searching for the movie she’d had in mind, but not before chuckling at him and shaking her head.

“Of course I’m not,” She says. “I mean it. You look nice. You have good style, Megumi”

Alright, so he’ll have to thank Nobara later, and also make sure to never get rid of this sweater.

“Thanks” He mumbles, the familiar feeling of a blush already creeping across his nose.

(y/n) finally finds the movie, and excitedly pushes play before tossing the remote to the coffee table in front of them.

“I love horror movies,” She tells him, settling back into the couch cushions. “But you should know, I also hate them”

Megumi gives her a confused look.

“You love them and hate them?” He repeats, not understanding.

“I think they’re great, but, uh, I hate jump scares” She admits, turning away from him to watch the intro credits.

“Well, everyone hates jump scares,” Megumi tells her, also focusing on the movie. “But you exorcize curses scarier than any movie monster” He adds.

(y/n) bites her lip to keep herself from smiling too hard.

In all honesty, she’d been far too giddy about this movie night. She’d spent too much time choosing just the right film to show Megumi, and just the right outfit to wear to seem as casual as possible. She’d been crossing her fingers that her suspicions were true, that Megumi had the same crush on her that she had on him. But being too nervous to outright ask him, she decided she’d do everything she could to make tonight the most perfect, easy going, fun night she could.

Megumi gets pretty immersed into the film, although with the intro alone he’s pretty much able to guess how the rest of the movie goes, he doesn’t mind. It helps that (y/n) seems very into it, and keeps looking over at him to see his reactions to certain scenes.

About halfway into the movie, Megumi pauses it.

“Do you want popcorn?” He asks, and (y/n) breaks into a smile and nods at him.

Despite him offering to make two bowls and bring it out to her, (y/n) follows him into the small kitchen and waits with him while the bag is in the microwave. She pulls herself up to sit on the counter while they wait.

“So what kind of movies do you like?” She asks, hoping to spend these few minutes getting to know him better.

“Oh,” Megumi laughs under his breath, wishing he was a better liar. He decides a little truth to her question wouldn’t hurt. “Actually, I kinda prefer to read”

“Really?” (y/n’s) eyes light up. “What do you like to read, then?”

“Nonfiction mostly,” Megumi says with a shrug. “I know, it’s boring”

“I don’t think so,” (y/n) says, which he doesn’t expect. “I actually love reading about science, and true crime”

He does his best to hide it, but Megumi’s thrilled. A common interest, Yuuji said to find a common interest and stick to it!

While the popcorn pops, Megumi asks more about the books she’s liked, and even asks for a few recommendations. She promises to text him about them later so he won’t forget, and he promises he’ll read them. (y/n) seems to be happy about this, and Megumi mentally cheers to himself.

Their salty treat is finished shortly enough, and Megumi grabs two bowls from the cabinet.

“You can just put it in one, I don’t mind sharing” (y/n) interjects before he dirties either of the smaller bowls. “Unless that bothers you, of course” She adds.

“It doesn’t bother me” Megumi replies, swapping out the dishes for one larger bowl that could fit the whole bag.

(y/n) hops off the counter and snatches the bowl as she walks back into the living room, Megumi trailing closely behind her.

He takes the bowl back from her as he sits on the couch, and when she sits behind him, he realizes the beauty of sharing the popcorn.

“You better brace yourself, Megumi, because this is when the movie gets really scary” (y/n) says, and she sounds like she’s only half joking.

He musters a small laugh, but she’s sitting much closer to him than she was before so that they could share their snack easier, and his brain is getting foggy from the sweet smell of her shampoo.

Was it flowery or fruity? He wondered but couldn’t tell, and he couldn’t get enough of it.

She wasn’t wrong, the movie did take a turn for the darker, although Megumi wasn’t really one to get genuinely scared from scary movies, (y/n) did flinch here and there at the jumpscares. With the side of her thigh pressed against his, he could feel it every time her leg twitched.

Their eyes remained glued to the screen, lost in the movie as the main character tiptoed around the house with only a flashlight for lighting. Megumi could understand now why everyone hated the main characters of these movies, they were always running off on their own and getting themselves into more trouble than necessary. Although he is reminded of Yuuji.

Encaptured by the tv screen, they’re both blindly reaching for popcorn here and there, addicted to the buttery treat as soon as they’d started eating it. As Megumi reached his hand over to snag another piece, he’d accidentally brushed his fingers over (y/n’s), not seeing that she’d also been grabbing some.

Anxiously, he pulls his hand away, turning to apologize right away. But (y/n) looks over at him with a smile before taking a few pieces and popping them into her mouth, turning back to the movie, clearly unfazed.

From that alone, Megumi feels his face go hot, and he tells himself he’s not going to have anymore popcorn, just to save himself the embarrassment.

But, if he did have a craving for a few more pieces, it wouldn’t be the end of the world if his hand touched hers again… would it?

He felt hot from his neck to his ears, and he’d already lost track of the last few minutes of the movie. Meanwhile (y/n) only seemed to get more comfortable, tucking her legs up onto the couch underneath her, thus making her lean just the slightest bit more against him. She was so close Megumi was holding his breath. She didn’t even realize this until after a few minutes, she noticed he wasn’t eating.

“Am I hogging it?”

She was whispering, even though there wasn’t currently dialogue in the movie, so he wouldn’t have been all that distracted if she’d spoken normally. However, when he looked down at her to ask what she meant, he’s immediately distracted again.

She’s so much closer to him now that when he looks down at her, her face is just a few mere inches away from his. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this close to her, not even when training. His voice catches in his throat, and he spends a good minute just silently staring at her with wide eyes.

(y/n) starts to blush under his intense stare and close proximity, but she doesn’t shy away from him, she simply repeats her question.

“The popcorn,” She clarifies, shaking the bowl with the remnants of their snack. “Am I hogging it?”

Megumi’s eyes briefly flicker to it, but quickly return to hers as he shakes his head.

“No, you’re good,” He finally speaks, and finds that he’s whispering, too. “I mean, I can always just make more, if you want”

He’s talking slowly, like he’s not really sure of what he’s saying, but (y/n) doesn’t mind, or find it all too odd. She’s quite enjoying getting an up close view of his face. She allows herself to really take in all his features, the way his hair almost hangs over his eyes, the slope of his nose, the curve of his lips, the deep blue of his eyes, she’s getting positively lost in staring at him. Even as the main character is screaming for their life on the tv in front of them, neither one of them loses their focus on the other.

Megumi’s mind is running wild, noticing the trail of her eyes everywhere they go. As he’s admiring her, she’s admiring him, and he’s trying so hard to work up the courage to do something when her lashes droop low and her eyes land on his lips.

“And for the love of god, if the moment arises that you should kiss her, then fucking do it!” Nobara’s voice rang in his head.

He’s not sure how he landed himself in this perfect intimate moment, but he knows he shouldn’t waste it.

“I- I think you’re the prettiest person I’ve ever seen,” He stutters a little, but tries to ignore and keep this brief burst of confidence intact. “And, I’m glad you wanted to, um, hang out”

A small smile tugs at the corners of (y/n’s) lips, the butterflies in her stomach fluttering around even more from the flattering.

“That’s funny,” She murmurs. “I was just thinking the same thing,”

Megumi’s flustered, his heart is beating excessively, his face is hotter than it’s ever been, and his tongue is tied, but he smiles back at her, soft and warm and inviting.

“Can I ask you something?” She asks, and he nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Have you been trying to flirt with me?”

(y/n) can’t contain the smile on her face as she asks him her question, too eager for his answer. And when his blush darkens and his eyes momentarily stare down at nothing, her hopes only skyrocket.

“Trying” Megumi mutters the word she used back to her.

“So you have?” (y/n) giggles, leaning in closer to meet his eyes again.

Her eyes are so bright, Megumi can tell, even without the lights on in the common room, even with little to no light coming from the tv due to the dark setting of the movie. She’s practically glowing with happiness.

“Yeah,” He admits nervously. “I have”

(y/n) moves the popcorn bowl off her lap, moving away from him briefly so she could set it on the coffee table, before leaning back towards him, just as close as she was before. His instincts battle as half of him wants to lean back to give her space, and the other half wants to close the rest of the distance between them.

“Is that what all the compliments on my training were about?” She asks with a knowing smile.

Megumi nods his head shyly.

(y/n’s) giggling again, soft and angelic and he couldn’t possibly be upset that she’s laughing at him, because the sound is so sweet he’d do anything to make her laugh more.

“There wasn’t a movie night, was there?” She asks quietly.

He shakes his head this time.

“So… Yuuji just wanted to set you up, huh?” She asks again as she starts to put the pieces together.

Megumi raises a hand to the back of his neck awkwardly, but he knows he can’t really convince her otherwise, so he confesses.

“Yeah… he… said that I wasn’t doing a good enough job and that I needed a push” He admits, turning his head to the side to hide the now burning blush on his face.

“Well, that’s kind of silly, I thought you were doing a great job,” (y/n) says, and Megumi peeks back at her out of the corner of his eye. “But I can’t complain, I’m just glad I got to spend more time alone with you, anyways”

Slowly, he faces her again.

“You are?” He asks, unsurely.

(y/n) nods and gives him an affirmative hum.

“I thought you were just really into studying,” She teases. “I didn’t think I’d ever get you alone for something fun”

Flustering, Megumi tries to defend himself.

“I- I like fun stuff too”

“Like what?” (y/n) asks.

Trying to think on his feet, he thinks back to what Yuuji had described to be actual dates.

“Ice cream,”

He says it so surely, so confidently, that (y/n) has to bite down on her lip to keep herself from laughing this time. She has a pretty good understanding of what he’s trying to say, but he’s just so damn cute.

Megumi cringes at himself, smacking his own forehead and wishing the ground would swallow him whole, because it was impossible to keep his sanity when he was talking to her.

“I didn’t- I didn’t mean it like that,” He assures her. “I meant I like going out. I would like to go out- we- we could go out-”

“Megumi,” (y/n) ends his misery, reaching forward and tugging on his wrist so he’d remove his hand from his face. “I would like to go out with you for ice cream” She tells him with a sweet smile.

He doesn’t know what he did to make this girl like him, because he’s pretty sure he’s made an idiot of himself every time he opens his mouth, but he thanks whoever is watching over him that he’s done something that works.

“Really?”

(y/n) nods, her hand sliding into his, fingers slotting in the spaces between his. Her hand is significantly smaller compared to his, and it’s so warm it’s almost comforting. It is comforting. He can feel his shoulders relax, and his heartbeat finally slowing to a normal pace.

“Really” She affirms.

The tv is flickering with the rolling credits of the movie they’d forgotten, and Megumi finally feels like he could have a grasp on this whole flirting thing.

“Can I kiss you?”

(y/n) smirks.

“It’d be a shame if you didn’t”

He didn’t need much more of an answer than that. With his free hand wrapping around the back of her neck to draw her a few mere inches forward, his lips slant over hers and any embarrassment left in him disappears in a second. (y/n) returns his kiss with fervor, letting his hand go so she could give into the intrusive thoughts that had attacked her all night, running her fingers through his hair, nails scraping slightly at the nape of his neck.

The sensation was enough to give him an ego boost, and Megumi drops a hand to her hip, pulling her closer until her chest leaned into his, and even still he pulled more, and more, until they couldn’t possibly be any closer.

His lips dragged over hers as his nose prodded hers to the side, tilting his head to deepen their kiss further. A hum of approval traveled up her throat and vibrated gently against his mouth, and she could only sneak in a few more kisses until she had to pull on his sweater to make him stop so she could catch her breath.

Their blushing faces are mirrored now, both smiling shyly, and still clinging onto one another.

“Did Yuuji give you advice on that too?” (y/n) chuckled, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. Megumi chuckles, his eyes falling to her now swollen lips.

“If I say yes, are you going to stand me up for our ice cream date?”

The pair giggle quietly amongst themselves, (y/n’s) arms wrapped loosely around his neck, Megumi’s arms wrapped loosely around her waist, neither one of them wanting to part even though their movie had ended and it was rather late into the evening.

“So it’s a date now?” (y/n) quirks a brow.

Megumi smiles, more sure of himself now than he has been in the last couple of months.

“Of course it is”

(y/n) smiles back at him melting a little further into his embrace.

“So then I suppose that makes you my boyfriend” She adds cheekily.

Megumi raises a hand to curl his fingers under her jaw, his thumb stroking lazily over her skin. He watches this movement for a minute as he relishes in the delight of being bestowed such a title.

He decides to steal the moment with a kiss, which (y/n) happily returns. This kiss is softer than their first. It’s also shorter, but just as passionate. He’s smiling again when they part, resting his forehead against hers as he gazes fondly into her eyes.

“I suppose it does” ___

this was supposed to be SHORT what did i DO

xoxo ~ jordie

#fushiguro megumi x reader #megumi x reader #fushiguro megumi #fushiguro megumi imagine #fushiguro megumi x you #megumi brainrot #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction

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dyaz-stories · 22 days

Text

don't get cut on my edges || gojo satoru x reader

synopsis: Gojo is easily bored, you're the latest enigma that's caught his interest. He sets off in trying to figure you out. Lucky for him, you're coming on the week-end trip Shoko's planned for the week-end.

“Was I off script?”

You look up at him.

“You’re always off script.”

word count: 5.4k

genre: college!AU, fluff, slice of life

cw: unresolved sexual and romantic tension, reader has anxiety and is socially awkward, she/her is used for the reader, a little suggestive, overall very sweet and fluffy

a/n: this was fun to write! any feedback is appreciated, and i hope you enjoy my writing here :)

soundtrack

Gojo knows that people talk, knows that they talk shit, knows that there isn’t a soul on campus that doesn’t have an opinion on him. He can tell that eyes follow him around when he walks into a room, that his presence is enough to shift the atmosphere at a gathering, that some people roll their eyes at him while others try their best to catch his attention. It’s a lot to take in, for just one person.

Fortunately, he’s proved to be incredibly gifted in the art of not giving a fuck.

Then again, he’s incredibly gifted in most areas of life. Truth be told, he thinks people aren’t giving him enough credit for that. Sure, they tend to know that he’s a physics major, but that’s just tangential to what they know about the rest of him. He’s not just kinda good at physics, not some dude that goes to college mostly for the parties and then get a meaningless job at daddy’s company, no, he’s the fucking best, and he works fucking hard to be able to claim that title.

But that doesn’t really fit in with the rest of him, and at the end of the day, who cares? He certainly doesn’t.

With all that, it’s not statistically unlikely for him to catch people talking about him.

Well, he’d have to conduct a detailed study to calculate the exact odds, but with how much alcohol is in his blood at this very moment, it makes sense to him that it would happen.

Still, for people to be talking about him at a party he is at, in front of an open window, you’d think they would have some sense of shame. Not that he has any room to talk, because shame is not part of his vocabulary, but like. Come on.

“Gojo really can’t take not being in the spotlight for more than ten seconds, huh?”

That voice, he’s quick to identify, even if he can’t see her face from where’s he’s standing under the porch, belongs to Mei Mei. Aw. Bummer. They’d spent quite a lot of time around each other, have friends in common, slept— Wait, have they slept together? He can’t say for sure anymore. It seems to have slipped from his mind. Oops. Maybe that’s why he’s getting that treatment. Maybe he deserves it.

There’s a scoff, and really, the acoustic of this place are impressive. It feels like he’s straight in the room with those people.

“What else do you expect from someone who’s always had everything served to him on a silver platter?”

And that would be Noritoshi Kamo. Man. That was one of the few kids in the families his parents insisted on frequenting. They used to be sat next to each other at the kiddie table while the adults talked about the important stuff. They never had much in common — not then, not now. And, after all, maybe Noritoshi has a point, after all. His mother wasn’t a mistress, wasn’t turned into an outcast, and he’s never had to pretend he didn’t hear the loud whispers that tarnished her name. Yeah. Sounds like these two aren’t saying anything new after all. Not that he’s gonna change, y’know, but he already knows who he is, and he is all that.

“That seems like a very mean thing to say about a friend,” a quiet voice comments.

The world freezes.

A silhouette appears to go along with the voice, then a blurry face, then the picture becomes clearer. A figure sitting next to Shoko, giving him sweet, polite smiles when he approaches. Not chatty, kinda shy, pretty cute. Would get quiet when he was near, though, so he hadn’t paid a ton of attention. He’s used to giving it to people who asked for it, who wanted it.

You’d never asked.

But you’re… not wrong. He’s not sure why he hadn’t picked up on it himself. It is a mean thing to say.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Mei Mei protests, “I love Gojo, but you know I’m right about this.”

“Yeah, and I’ve known him my whole life,” Kamo adds. “It’s just a fact, we’re not talking shit.”

There’s a silence. Gojo’s invested now.

“I don’t know him that well,” you say. “Like I said. It’s just a mean thing to say about someone you hang out with every day.”

“Come on, don’t act like—”

“I think I’m going to go, actually,” you say. “This feels super shitty.”

“What the fuck was that?” Mei Mei laughs, just a second later — presumably after you’ve left the room.

“She wants to fuck him, I guess,” Kamo says.

Well, you’re making one hell of a headway then, because he’d do you so hard after that.

When he walks back in, you’re chatting with Shoko. You give him your usual, close-lipped smile, don’t quite make eye-contact. If you’re trying to get in his pants, you have a very original way of getting it done.

“Who was your friend again?” he asks Shoko, later that night. She answers without looking up from her phone.

“She doesn’t talk much when there are new people around,” she warns him. “Leave her alone.”

“When have I ever bothered anyone—”

She reaches to smack the back of his head, misses and gets the nape of his neck — that’s the downside about being so tall, there’s just a lot of him to hit.

“Don’t make her uncomfortable. That’s all I’m asking.”

He wasn’t planning on that. He’s just— curious. Intrigued.

It’s unlikely to last, though. He’s been known to get bored easily.

You’re already in the car when he gets in. Well, okay, when he gets shoved inside by Todo, despite his protests that his legs are too long for the backseat. You’ve squeezed yourself in the middle seat, with Shoko on one side, and him on the other now. There’s a bag of snacks in your lap, yet you still try to shift yourself to give him a little more room. It doesn’t help at all, but in your defense, the only thing that could help would be to buy a new car.

“Is everyone ready?” Suguru asks as he adjusts the rearview mirror.

“Sure,” Shoko says.

“Let’s go!” Todo shouts.

“No,” Gojo whines.

“Yeah,” you say, completely drowned out under the rest.

“Good,” Suguru hums as he starts the engine.

Gojo pouts, but he doesn’t insist. Well, he doesn’t make any more of a scene than he already has. Truth be told, he could have taken Todo — dude might be all brute force, but Gojo has brains and brawns, thank you very much.

But he’s curious, still, and he hasn’t been given enough information to quite satiate his curiosity. Everything he’s gathered about you says that you mind your business and keep to your corner.

So why did you say that to Mei Mei and Kamo? It makes no sense, but Gojo’s never met an equation he couldn’t solve.

That’s an overstatement. Obviously there are equations he can’t solve. Yet. He’s sure he’d figure it out eventually. Like he’ll figure you out. See? That metaphor does make sense.

Suguru’s music is playing in the car. The sun is still low in the sky, the day is quickly getting warmer, and the phone says that they’ll be at the beach in two hours.

Satoru closes his eyes. Fun fact about him? He can fall asleep anywhere he wants to.

He wakes up with his face smooshed against the window, a hand tapping his shoulder carefully.

“We’re here,” you say, giving him a smile and then shuffling to leave the car from the other side.

Todo’s already running towards the beach, while Suguru and Shoko are getting the bags out of the trunk. Somehow, Shoko manages to sling a bag over his shoulder, but he takes off before she can stuff the cool box containing all the drinks in his arms.

He then lies to Todo to get him back to the car, so that he can carry the damn thing. Shoko better thank him later for that.

He catches up with you, and he sees your eyes widen a little when he approaches, as you visibly search for something to say. He can’t resist the temptation to shoot you a grin. There’s a light breeze in the air, but he won’t be fooled that easily — with his skin, he’s going to need an insane amount of sunscreen, if he wants to survive the day. Which makes him think, actually—

“Wanna help me apply sunscreen?” he asks.

“Huh?” you say.

He leans towards you, looks into your eyes from over his sunglasses. You appear to be fully frozen in place, only swallowing once as he gets closer. His grin gets wider as he takes in all of you, and he’s once more fascinated by the idea that you had been able to say something to Mei Mei and Kamo but you can barely face him.

His gaze drops to your parted lips.

Then the bottle of sunscreen smashes against his cheek with impressive precision.

“Todo can help you put that on!” Shoko offers as Suguru starts setting up a parasol. “Right, Todo?”

“Of course I will, my brother,” Todo say as he appears, but by then, Satoru has already started running for his life.

“Just kick him in the balls if he pulls something like that again,” Shoko says.

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” you reply, shaking your head in mild horror. “I just— I don’t— know— how to react sometimes. But he doesn’t bother me.”

That statement has her raising an eyebrow at you, filled with doubt, but she doesn’t insist.

“Play nice,” she does warn Satoru once more, later on. “Don’t push it too much.”

“Aw, Shoko, are you saying you wouldn’t approve of me?”

“Do whatever you want to,” she replies, rolling her eyes, “but give her more space. She’s not used to you being… you.”

Satoru rests his chin on his knee. He’s taking refuge under the parasol for now, and you’re already in the waves with Todo and Suguru. You seem comfortable with Todo, laughing at something he said, less so with Suguru. It all looks like a lot of work, all to satiate his curiosity. He’s all about committing to the bit but— he doesn’t know about that one.

This, too, all this thinking and questioning, is a lot of work, though, so he ends up shrugging it off.

“Are we getting in or what?”

“Absolutely not. No— Gojo— Don’t you fucking dare— Gojo!”

Shoko’s full-on shrieking by the time he throws her in the water. You burst out laughing. She comes out screaming for revenge, and Gojo starts scampering around to try and avoid her.

The sun is high in the sky, there’s a light breeze.

The time is good.

“Satoru!” Suguru calls when the watch on his wrist starts beeping, “it’s been two hours!”

It takes a second for the information to reach his brain, but the second he understands it, Gojo’s sprinting back towards the parasol at full speed. You look up, surprised, from the towel on which you’re lying with a book. Shoko doesn’t even bother with lifting an eyelid to see what’s going on.

“You okay?” you ask.

Ah, so she does speak.

“Yeah,” Gojo says, ruffling through a bag. “Just need to reapply some sunscreen. I’m not trying to look like a lobster.”

“Oh,” you say, “so, did you want me to help you with that?”

His fingers finally close around the bottle, and he stills to look at you. Shit. He’s curious again. Shoko’s words are swirling around in his mind, though, and he has no interest in forcing your hand.

“You didn’t look like you wanted to do that,” he says with uncharacteristic caution.

You roll your lips together, glance away from him, and your hand curls into a fist in the sand.

“No, it’s just— Um, I’m sorry about earlier. You— caught me off guard, I guess. I couldn’t figure out what to answer.”

“I usually just go with whatever appears through my head first,” he shrugs as he comes to crouch in front of you — you in the sun, him in the shade.

You laugh softly, but you avert your eyes, focusing on the sand as you trace patterns in it.

“Yeah, I think that’s the preferred method, but it— doesn’t— really work for me. So I have— I have a script, kind of, for interactions.”

“And I was off script?”

You glance back up at him.

“You’re always off script.”

For a moment, he just looks into your eyes, and you look back without any of that earlier nervousness. Then you shrink back into yourself, and the smile that so rarely leaves your lips reappears, like a shield that comes back up.

“Sorry. I know— I know how silly this sounds. I also wish I didn’t feel the need to do that, I just, um—”

“All good,” he replies with a shrug. “Sure. Help me with that.”

He throws you the bottle and you miss it, and he can feel you eyerolling at his back without needing to turn around, but when he shoots you a grin from over his shoulder, he can see how your breath catches in your throat.

Softly, your hand goes over his back, your touch gentle and cautious. It feels quite nice, actually, especially when your nails brush over his skin.

“It’s not too cold?” you ask.

“All good,” he repeats.

Shit. He’s invested again.

“Okay, we have the tickets, we have the water bottles, we have the hats, we have flat shoes, we have Gojo, we have the car keys—”

“I’m sorry, why was I just in the middle of a list of belongings?”

“We have cellphones and portable batteries… I think we’re good,” Shoko concludes, fully ignoring him.

“You don’t think we’re just a touch overprepared?” Suguru asks.

“You can never overprepare, my brother,” Todo says, grabbing his shoulder firmly. “If you want to triumph in the face of adversity, you need to know everything about the enemy.”

Suguru opens his mouth, closes it again. He knows how to pick his battles.

Gojo doesn’t.

“We’re going to a festival, not trying to breech the Pentagon,” he deadpans, and then, from the corner of his eye, he tries to see if you’re laughing. He delights in how you lower your head and try to keep it discreet.

“You never know what—”

“If I have to hear a second more of this nonsense, I swear to God I’ll kill someone here,” Shoko announces cheerfully. “Let’s move.”

Finally, after a good fifteen minutes by the door of the Airbnb you’ve all spent the night in, you start moving.

The good news is that you don’t have to get in the car, in the smothering heat, to get on the overcrowded streets packed full with the cars of the other attendees. The bad news is that you have to walk there, in the smothering heat, near the streets packed full with the cars of the other attendees. Suguru’s in charge of the map, which everyone seems happy with. Gojo had offered to do it, too, and there’s not a shred of doubt that he’d be able to read it competently, but Shoko had insisted the risk of him taking everyone to the wrong place ‘just because it would be funny’ was too high.

She’d been right but like, that was still rude.

The march in the heat and the waiting in line, while painful and unpleasant, as Gojo makes sure everyone around him is well aware of, go pretty smooth. Everything is planned and accounted for. There’s a game plan once they make it into the festival, too, because of course there is, but that’s when things start going south. First, Todo tries to go rogue when he spots someone wearing Takada merch. She’s not performing here, but he’s heard rumors that there would be a stand for her, and he lurches towards the woman. He’d get lost in the crowd immediately if not for Gojo’s lightning fast reflexes.

Unfortunately, soon enough it’s Gojo’s turn to get distracted. What can he say, there’s the smell of sugar in the air, and he needs to know where it’s coming from. Suguru’s the one to get him back on track, as they all head towards the main stage. Because that’s what Shoko’s grand plan leads to: sweet, sweet, close-up spots to watch the Sorcerers, headliners for the festival and also unarguably greatest band of all times, with minimum wait before their show.

There are a couple other close calls, but the group manages to get close enough to the stage. There are people here already, but they’re here for other artists mostly, and they’ll no doubt move quite a bit before the start of the real show. From where they are, even you and Shoko will be able to— Wait a minute.

“Huh,” Gojo say. “Hey, Shoko, do you happen to see (y/n) around?”

“If you can’t see her from up there, why would you think I— Fuck.”

“A fallen soldier,” Todo sighs somberly. “Sometimes, you have to make sacrifices for—"

“We should go get her,” Shoko interrupts him. She’s biting her lower lip, staring at her phone. She looks quite worried, Gojo notices as he stares at her.

“Why isn’t it enough to just text her?” Gojo asks. It’s not ideal, and it won’t be easy to find the group in the middle of this sea of people, but it’s not impossible.

“I just— I don’t know if she’ll want to deal with all that” she gestures at the crowd “alone. I’m afraid she’ll say she doesn’t mind and then she won’t have a good time.”

Gojo tilts his head. It wouldn’t cross his mind to say something he doesn’t mean. It’s an incredibly weird thought, actually. But Shoko’s better than him at, well, people, and she might have a point. He also doesn’t want you to have a bad time, after all. With one last glance at the stage, he nods at her.

“I’ll go get her.”

“Are you sure?” Suguru asks. “I can go, if you want me to. It’s your band.”

As if it isn’t his, too. But Gojo shrugs. His attention span is fleeting, and he’s got his sights on something else right now.

“Nah, don’t worry. I’ll make it back.”

“Thanks,” Shoko says sincerely.

He waves vaguely at her before making his way back through the crowd, earning his fair share of nasty glances. He still doesn’t care.

A few minutes later, he receives a text from Shoko with a screengrab where you say you’re getting something to eat. Sure enough, he has no trouble finding you waiting in line. You’re typing on your phone, not paying attention to your surroundings, and he’s grinning already. He lets himself half fall on you, arm wrapping around your body as he drops his chin onto your shoulder. You jump, glancing back bewildered, but you don’t stay tense long once you see it’s him.

Which makes him feel things, actually, but he’ll unpack that later.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, brow furrowing. “I thought you guys would be in front of the stage by now.”

“I came to rescue the princess, obviously,” he says, and you laugh. You laugh a lot when he talks, instead of rolling your eyes like people usually do.

Maybe you’re a bit too good of an audience.

“I don’t need rescuing, Gojo,” you answer, and it’s interesting how calm your voice is. “It’s packed too tight for me in here. I told Shoko but…” You shrug. “It’s not always easy to understand how it is. For me.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I don’t get it at all.”

Your shoulder’s pretty comfortable, though. And you haven’t tried to get him off of you yet.

“Do you want to order something, too?” you ask, pointing at the food stand. They sell waffles, and just the smell has his mouth watering. “Strawberries and whipped cream, right?”

Gojo pauses.

“How do you know that?”

“You’ve mentioned it. A few times, actually.”

He’s sure he has, but—

“You were listening to that?”

You blink at him. He realizes how close your face is, with his head on your shoulder.

“Of course I was. You were talking.”

“Shoko didn’t tell you? It’s like, rule number one of being around me, don’t listen to the stuff I say. There’s a lot of dumb shit in there.”

You tilt your head, looking kind of confused.

“I still want to hear what you’re saying.”

Something inside him feels warm all of a sudden. Very warm.

“Yeah,” he says, but his throat is tight. “Strawberries and whipped cream.”

When you step forward to they can take your order, he begrudgingly gets off your shoulder, which allows him to swipe his card before you can get to it.

“I had that,” you protest while he bites into the insane amount of whipped cream in his waffle — he asked for more until the guy behind the counter looked like he was going to murder him.

“I had it first,” he says, and then he sticks his tongue out at you. He anticipates your laugh this time, finds himself waiting on it. When it comes, it sounds just like he wanted it to.

For a while, the two of you sit on a fence. You hand him a water bottle, say that he needs to stay hydrated. With no one else around, you don’t seem to have such a hard time speaking. You’re so quiet when everyone’s there and, well, him and Todo take up a lot of space, when it comes to conversation. Neither Suguru nor Shoko struggle with making their voices heard either, and in the middle of all that, you tend to stay silent. Apparently, that doesn’t stop you from listening.

“Shouldn’t you be going back?” you ask, after a while.

Gojo tilts his head as he thinks about it.

“Nah, I’m good. Let’s find some place where you can enjoy the show.”

“You don’t have to—”

A grin, and then he’s jumping from the fence to come stand in front of you. Even like that, he doesn’t have to look up to meet your eyes.

“And how d’you plan on stopping me?”

Your eyes go wide. He can almost hear your heart racing, and he thinks he’s starting to get a little too high on that feeling. It’s just so easy, so fun, so delicious.

“Okay,” you squeak, averting your eyes and jumping down after him, clearly trying to hide your reaction. “Okay, I’m coming.”

When you start walking by his side, grabbing your hand is just too easy not to do it.

“Wouldn’t want you to run away again,” is what he says as he intertwines his fingers with yours. “Now you’re stuck with me.”

You still refuse to look at him, but there is no actual discomfort in your reaction, just what he thinks is uncertainty about how you’re supposed to behave now.

“Have I gone off script again?” he practically purrs.

You glance up, a flash of amusement on your face. Lots of fondness, too, and this time he’s the one who gets caught up in it.

“You haven’t been on script once today.”

“Good,” he says, managing to pass off the emotion that just choked him for a second there as impatience. “Someone’s got to keep you on your toes.”

“I’m always on my toes,” you mumble behind him, but you can’t explain to him what anxiety feels like, so you just let him drag you away. His fingers are long, his hand engulfs yours easily. You like the feeling of it more than you should.

Your eyes are on Gojo’s broad back as he pulls you through the crowd, which parts effortlessly for him. You’re enjoying this.

You don’t think it’s going to last.

Gojo doesn’t think about that though, just like he rarely thinks about tomorrows. What he’s thinking about, as he keeps far, far away from the stage, is how to find a place with enough air around for the two of you. It’s easy for him to get a good look at the stage, and he earns his fair share of pissed off glares — “Seriously, it should be illegal to come to an open-air stage when you’re that tall” — but it takes more work to get the perfect space for you. Finally, his eagle eyes figure out some place that’s just perfect, and he beelines for it with you in tow.

“There,” he says, pulling you in front of him and putting his head on top of yours, just to check that the line of sight is good enough.

Ha. He nailed it.

“Thanks,” you say. There’s surprise in your tone.

“Is this a good spot for you?” he checks, but really, he just wants to hear you praise him?

“It is, but— I thought you said you didn’t get it? My—” You gesture vaguely. “—struggle. With all that stuff.”

Oh right. You actually listen to what he says. He needs to keep that in mind for the future.

“Does it matter?” he asks with a shrug.

You stare. You open your mouth to speak, but no words come out, and then the crowd starts absolutely howling and you spin around to see the Sorcerersget on the stage. Whatever moment there was there, is forgotten right away. He sees you fish in your bag for your phone, then raise it over your head and tiptoe around, trying to get a good photo.

It’s cute, it’s adorable even, but it’s not very efficient.

“Do you want some help here?” he asks, leaning close to your ear so you can hear him over all the noise.

Your body shivers into him, and he files that away for later.

“Um, yeah,” you shout over the noise. “Here, could you—”

But he pays no attention to the way you offer him your cellphone, and instead he’s bending down, and ignoring your surprised protest as he pushes his head between your legs.

He bench presses a hell of a lot more than he looks like he does, for the record.

With a grunt, he manages to get you up on his shoulders, and some people behind him complain loudly, but whatever, they can wait for you to get the perfect picture. You struggle to stabilize yourself for a dangerous second, and then you stop moving around for a second. Your thighs are supple and warm under his hands and around his head.

One more thing to remember.

“I’m good, I’m good, get me down,” you say quickly, just as he’s storing the thought away.

You seem relieved when your feet get back on the ground, and Satoru lets his hands linger on your waist.

“Was it a nice pic?” he asks. He knows he’s all red in the face, but he’s grinning so wide it almost hurts, actually.

“Perfect,” you squeak. “Thank you. Again.”

Aw. He’s going to get used to that word real quick.

A familiar guitar riff comes from the stage, and you turn away from him once more, but his hands are still on your waist. He uses that to pull you against him and this time, you don’t hesitate to let yourself lean back against him as the two of you move in rhythm with the music.

The concert is a blur after that. There’s a lot of singing, a lot of screaming, basically no time to catch a breath, because the Sorcerers are fucking beasts that don’t let up, not even for a second. At some point, you tell him something, but he can’t really hear, so you crane your neck back and he lowers his head. Your lips brush against his neck, an accident really, but it sends such a jolt of electricity through him, he thinks he’ll go into full overdrive.

The only thing that stops him from chasing after your lips immediately after that is Shoko’s voice, going around in his mind. ‘Don’t push it.’ What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

You move away, and he still has no clue what you were saying. If after that, his hands hold your hips a little tighter, if he pulls you a little closer, he can’t be blamed. If, during one of the more sulfurous song of the show, as you’re swaying against him, humming along to the song, his lips find your neck, he doesn’t want to hear about it.

When he presses a kiss right by your jaw, you turn to look at him. You’re pretty. He’s always thought you were pretty.

Fuck Shoko, he thinks, and he’s ready to put his mouth on yours, to slide his tongue between your parted lips that have looked so inviting this entire week-end, when the riff of the band’s most popular song starts playing, and he loses you attention once more.

Cock-blocked by his favorite band. Fuck his life.

When the song ends, there’s movement in the crowd as the band gets off the stage and people start chanting for an encore. In Shoko’s fool proof, perfect plan, this is when you’re supposed to start leaving. Gojo doesn’t want to — how is he supposed to do anything about how much he wants his mouth on you once you’re back with the other — but this time you grab his hand and pull him away from the stage and he has even less of a clue of what he’s supposed to do about that.

You get to the meeting point before Shoko, Todo and Suguru, which makes sense, considering you were much further from the stage than them. It’s a specific pole that Shoko had pointed to as you were first getting in, and the urge to push you against it and to taste your lips is strong. Gojo isn’t typically one to ignore that kind of feeling. He just goes for it, doesn’t let his brain get in the way too much. He’s not sure what it is with you and your doe eyes and your sweet smile that makes him act different.

Whatever it is, it makes him ask “Did you have a good time?” instead of kissing you senseless behind the pole while watching to make sure Shoko doesn’t catch him in the act.

“It was amazing,” you say. “I don’t think— I don’t think I’d have gotten that close without you.”

“Did I force your hand?” he asks, frowning.

“No, no, that was great, actually.” And there it comes, his favorite words, and then he’ll kiss you. “Thank—”

“There you guys are!”

You have got to be kidding him. The Gods of timing are so set against him, he must have done something to piss them off badly in another life.

“Okay, we should start heading towards the exit,” Shoko announces.

“Nah, we ‘re staying until the end,” Gojo says, burying his hands, balled into fists, in his pockets. He’s being needlessly belligerent, but whatever, she deserves it, whether she knows it or not.

“Don’t be a dick,” she glares.

He smiles at her. And he doesn’t budge.

“We’ll run,” you say, stepping in. “I’m sure we can still beat the crowd if we run.”

She narrows her eyes at you, then at Gojo.

“You’re a bad influence, you know that?”

So many delicious thoughts coming to him, and he can’t do anything about it. Damn it all.

Of course, it ends with the five of you sprinting on the lawn and all the way back to the house. Of course, he doesn’t catch five seconds with you after that. Of course, your face is on his mind the whole night.

Of course, because it’s just his luck, isn’t it, in the morning, Shoko tells him you had to catch a flight early in the morning.

“I told you, don’t you remember? She’s going back to her family for the summer.”

Of course, he doesn’t.

Ah, whatever. It bothers him for a minute, but then the day continues unfolding, and the sun’s warm, it’s the peak of summer, and he only really knew you for a couple of days. He’ll see how he feels about it when college starts up again in the fall. He’s not known for sticking with things, anyway. He’ll probably forget; you probably won’t capture him again like you did; it was probably a fluke.

That, or these will become famous last words.

sequel

thank you so much for reading! i had a ton of fun writing gojo's pov and i hope you enjoyed it too, even if i'm still finding his voice :) please reblog or comment if you've enjoyed this, i'd love to hear from you! getting readers' feedback on my writing is what keeps me motivated to write so if you'd like to read more from me, that's the way to do it!

tagging the people who expressed interest in this: @elidebrey @xstom @chosospookiebear @xmysticredx

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo fluff #jjk fluff #jjk x you #my writing #gojo imagine #jjk imagine #jjk x y/n

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pokegalla · 4 months

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Trade/request by @tryslogic

Pt 2 on the previous and most recent headcanons but with the creepy bois✨:D

(Warning: slight nsfw but more innocently)

How would these guys react to their S/o using their chest for hand warmers?

Jeff:

* He laughs in your face and his long ass smile grows. “Dawwww does the baby want snuggles?” Of course this asshole teases you. You were just giving him quite a nice opportunity after all.

* But fine if you must insist, he’ll rub your head and motion you to go on ahead and dive right in. Even lifting his sweater juuuuust enough to show off that waist and v line- (This bastard LIVES to see that blush from you and not JUST from the cold~)

* His upper body is pretty lanky but he had an impressive waist and hips. And him being full of himself? He knows he’s pretty✨

* Just hey at least you get revenge on the bastard by putting your cold ass hands on him. He almost SHRIEKED before cursing under his breath. But squeezing his chest makes him bonk you for once. “Damn little pervert….💢”

* He definitely ends up chasing you with his cold ass hands the moment you even try to tease him, carrying you and laughing along before a little wrestling match✨

* He’s a little crazy goofball sometimes!

EJ:

* Not gonna lie, even under the mask you can tell he’s making a “What the fuck….?” Kind of face. I mean it IS a really random question to him….

* But he will sigh and give in if you keep persistently asking. He kinda just has to think about how he wants to do it and overthinks for a good minute. Until you just tell him you’ll just do it yourself, stop worrying-💦

* His build is surprisingly more on the toned side. Almost full on muscular despite how lanky he seemed- and praise will get him all flustered and in denial :3

* Though unfortunately and much to your surprise? This bitch is just as cold as you- he was completely unaffected! Though he did acknowledge that you were pretty cold and that you should really get gloves…..Though he does give you a side eye once you start squeezing- (How does he do it without eyes? You can fucking FEEL it-)

* Too many squeezes will earn you hand jail time. Want your hands out? Too bad. They are his now. You fucked up- better own up to it.

* But honestly he just doesn’t want you to let go just yet…

LJ:

* Well…..he doesn’t want to admit it but the question did catch him off guard. Such an odd request. Were you really serious? Aren’t you afraid he’ll bite your fingers off? It’s still a possibility…..

* Nah he’s just fucking with yah again. He bends down to your level and boops your nose. “Of COURSE you can little doll. My body is yours the same way yours is MINE~” he just had to throw that in there to laugh at your flushed face.

* His body was a little mix. Broad chest, thin waist, lithe hips. It was an oddly nice look on him. Though he teases if you stare too long-

* Now you would think he would react with those cold ass hands right? NOPE- and he looks back at you like ha ha you tried but failed✨ though the squeezes surprisingly made him blush?! Well well well how the tables are turned✨

* Ah but it didn’t last unfortunately as he simply stood up to avoid it. Buuuut he took him with you, hand on your behind as his own way of “warming” his hands up~✨ any bonk is futile as he’ll just laugh and give you kisses

* Even a psycho clown can be a softie!

#my writing #self insert #funny #cute #fluffy headcanons #jeff the killer x reader #laughing jack x reader #eyeless jack x reader #creepypasta hcs #sfw #writing trade #request answered

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sparkle-fiend · 1 year

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Inspired by this post by @kedreeva (I’m not sure I quite did the original prompt justice, but hopefully some of the emotion comes across.)

***

It’s been a while since Steve attended a high school party. It feels weird to go to one now, a year out from his own graduation, but Robin was insistent.

“Please Steve? Vickie invited me to come, but I don’t want to show up on my own – what if she’s busy and I end up standing in the corner by myself like some kind of loser?”

She knows that she doesn’t actually have to work so hard to convince him, but that’s part of the routine. Robin begs and pleads, and Steve agrees after making a big show of complaining about it (as if he wouldn’t walk through fire for her).

“Fine, fine! But you owe me one.”

“Yesssss, thank you!”

Now, as he surveys the crowded interior of Robbie Ferguson’s house, he thinks she owes him more than one. This isn’t just a high school party – it’s a band party. He doesn’t see a single familiar face in the crowd of high school students and recent graduates, although odds are most of the people here will recognize him. And the memories probably aren’t fond ones.

“Robin!” he hisses through his teeth.

She rolls her eyes at him. “They’re band geeks Steve, they don’t bite.”

He gives her one of his most annoyed looks, and she backpedals.

“I know, I know,” she says sheepishly, “but look! Eddie is here!” She points toward the corner of the room. Sure enough, Eddie is standing near the punch bowl with Gareth, Jeff, and Dave. He’s abandoned his usual layers in the summer heat, wearing just a red flannel shirt over a black tank top.

Steve is surprised to see him. Even though Eddie was cleared of all charges, there have still been some rough moments; a few holdouts causing trouble (mostly friends of Jason Carver). It’s made him understandably hesitant to go out much.

So to see him here, enjoying a party with his friends – it’s good. Really good.

“I take it that dopey grin means I’m forgiven?” Robin asks slyly. She knows all about his crush, teasing him whenever she gets the chance.

“Nice try,” he grumbles. “You’re covering all my shifts with Keith for the next two weeks.”

Before she can protest this outrageous demand, Vickie finds them.

“Robin, you made it!”

It’s Robin’s turn to be distracted, melting like chocolate under a summer sun as Vickie links an arm through hers – which is Steve’s cue to step aside.

“I’ll be over there with Eddie.”

Robin nods without looking, still gazing lovingly at Vickie. Steve snorts and heads for the punch bowl.

He grabs a solo cup and ladles in some of the vibrant red punch, wincing when he takes a sip – that shit is strong. Someone laced it a little too generously with vodka.

“Steve!” Eddie chirps when he joins the group, raising a cup in salute. “Look who it is gentlemen – our illustrious majesty, the former King of Hawkins High himself!”

Steve tries to hide his wince. He hates being called that, even if Eddie’s bright grin does take some of the sting out of the teasing. He taps the rim of his cup against the one in Eddie’s hand and says, “How many of those have you had already?”

“Too many and not enough milord,” Eddie says, slinging a friendly arm around his shoulders. Steve leans into the touch, just a little, and nods in greeting to the rest of the Hellfire club members. Jeff and Dave smile back politely, but Gareth just scowls - nose wrinkling like he’s smelling something foul. Even after all the time Steve’s spent hanging around lately, Gareth still hasn’t warmed up to him.

As usual, Eddie ignores the tension between them, launching into a discussion about how the newly released Aliens movie compares to the original. Since they recently watched both movies together, this is a conversation Steve can actually participate in.

It’s devolved into a heated debate on the merits of sequels in general by the time Robin and Vickie join them.

“Are we interrupting?” Robin asks drily.

“Not at all,” Eddie replies smoothly. “I know you’ve got some strong opinions on the art of cinema Buckley, what do you think of…”

“Annnnd that’s enough of that,” Steve interrupts. If the two of them start arguing about movies, they’ll be at it for the rest of the night (as Steve knows from unfortunate experience). “Who’s your friend?”

A vaguely familiar blond followed the girls over, watching the boys with wide eyes.

“Oh, this is Claire! She’s a flute player – she’ll be taking over as first chair next year.”

That means absolutely nothing to Steve, although he nods like it makes total sense (ignoring Robin’s knowing snort of laughter).

Claire seems happy to meet Steve, but she clams up when the rest of the gang is introduced – which leads to everyone standing around in a moment of awkward silence.

Surprisingly, Dave is the one to come to the rescue. “We should play a game. Truth or Dare maybe?”

The girls glance at each other and nod, and Steve shrugs. It’s certainly not the worst party game they could choose.

With a stop to refresh everyone’s punch, they migrate to the screened porch at the back of the house and settle into a circle on the floor.

It ends up being a lot of fun. The last time Steve played was with Tommy and Carol, and they were brutal about it – daring people to streak through the house or take hot sauce shooters until they puked. This game is much more lighthearted.

Although that’s not to say Steve doesn’t still have a bit of mean streak.

“Eddie, I dare you to sing Careless Whisper by Wham.”

“Ugh, critical hit!” Eddie yelps and falls to the floor, writhing like he’s been fatally wounded. Steve laughs and nudges his hip with one foot.

“Come on, you have to sing – or else you forfeit.”

“Have you no mercy? I thought we were friends.”

Steve just grins and starts humming the melody. Robin, Vickie, and Claire all join in until Eddie concedes; standing up to belt out the hated song with gusto. He makes it to the first rendition of the chorus before he collapses into helpless giggles.

“I don’t know, does it count if he didn’t sing the whole song?”

“It counts, it counts!” Eddie gasps.

The game continues in that vein - until Claire chooses ‘truth’. “Hmmm,” Vickie says thoughtfully. “Have you ever had a crush on anyone at this party?”

It’s the sort of question that could easily be answered with a ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ – no need for any revealing details. But Claire stares straight at Steve, fluttering her eyelashes flirtatiously as she says, “I think every girl at Hawkins had a crush on King Steve. I heard girls talk all the time about what an amazing kisser he is.”

Robin rolls her eyes and turns her head, pretending to gag. A year ago, Steve would have jumped at the chance to flirt right back. Now, it just makes him uncomfortable. Claire is like most of the girls he’s been with before - curious about his reputation, attracted by his looks or his popularity or his parents’ money. Completely uninterested in him as a person.

He wants to glance at Eddie, get a read on what the other boy might be thinking; but he’s afraid of what he’ll see. Or maybe afraid of what he won’t see – that Eddie will be totally unaffected by the fact that some girl is blatantly flirting with Steve right in front of him.

He doesn’t have long to worry about it, because Gareth is up next. He clears his throat loudly and points at Steve. “Truth or Dare Harrington.”

There’s no right answer here – Gareth is clearly eager to fuck with him, whatever he picks.

“Dare.”

The look of unholy glee in Gareth’s eyes should have been Steve’s warning.

“Well now that we’ve heard all about King Steve’s magic mouth, I think we need a demonstration. I dare you to kiss…” he draws it out, moving his finger around the circle like he’s taking his time deciding.

Claire looks eager, Vickie looks slightly uncomfortable, and Robin looks like she’s staring down the gullet of a slobbering demogorgon.

Don’t pick Vickie or Robin, he thinks fiercely. Don’t you do it. If Gareth picks either Vickie or Robin, his ass is toast. He doesn’t particularly want Claire all over him, but it would be the better option by far.

He never even considered the possibility that Gareth would choose… “Eddie!”

Steve must have had more to drink than he thought, because his head is suddenly spinning. He hasn’t felt his stomach drop like this since he was locked in a Russian elevator, plummeting to an uncertain fate.

The group erupts with shouts and laughter. Eddie jumps to his feet, waving his arms around grandly. “I see I’m collateral damage here! Guess I’ll have to take one for the team!” He bows and laughs, the same way he did when dared to sing Careless Whisper.

He’s so… casual about it. Totally unphased.

This is all a joke to Eddie. It doesn’t mean anything – not like it does for Steve. Everyone in the group just laughs and laughs, as if they wouldn’t look at him in disgust if they knew he wanted to kiss Eddie for real.

He meets Robin’s eyes briefly across the circle - the only one here that knows what’s going on in his head. She looks like she’s in pain.

Steve swallows hard and reaches for the cool, casual mask he used to wear so well. This is a game – just a party game. Exactly like the time he kissed Tommy on a dare at Jimmy Allen’s birthday party. He can do this.

He smirks and stands up, keeping his shoulders loose, subtly wiping his clammy palms against the rough denim of his jeans. He and Eddie face each other in the center of the circle.

The older boy has a faint smattering of freckles over the bridge of his nose, and a tiny shaving nick by the corner of his mouth, near the scar that traces his jaw. His lips are so full, the prettiest mouth Steve’s ever seen. He doesn’t dare even look into those dark eyes.

Just a quick kiss and done, easy – no big deal. Steve licks his lips reflexively, wishing he’d put on some Chapstick or something, before he starts to lean forward. But then Eddie pretends to swoon, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead like some southern belle in a movie.

Would he be this dramatic if they were kissing for real? Steve’s imagined it so often, a different way each time – sometimes soft and tender, sometimes silly and fun; just like Eddie.

He certainly never imagined the laughter in the background, or Dave shouting, “Come on man, do it already!”

Steve freezes. At the urging of his friends, Eddie takes the initiative and steps closer – until he’s stopped by a hand pressed flat against his chest.

“Stop. Please stop.” Is that Steve’s voice? He didn’t mean to say anything - but with that crack in composure the whole mask starts to fall apart, like a dam splitting open.

“I can’t do this. Not… not like this.”

Eddie frowns in confusion.

Of course he’s confused – it’s just a game. Everyone was having fun until Steve had to go and ruin it. He choked on the dare, and now he’s even tearing up - like an idiot, right in front of everyone.

There’s no salvaging this. He ducks away with a mumbled excuse about needing some air, practically running from the house. Hopefully everyone is tipsy enough that they’ll all just forget about it in the morning.

He doesn’t make it very far before he hears Robin behind him.

“Steve! Hey… wait up!”

He stops at the edge of the yard, where the house lights fall away into shadow, and waits for her to catch up.

“Are you okay?”

“Sure.” Even he can hear the choked waver in his voice.

“Steve…”

“It’s okay Rob, really.” It’s far from okay, and they both know it. “I think the punch just went to my head.”

They stare at each other, sharing one of those silent moments of communication that Dustin always points to as proof that they share a telepathic bond.

“You should go home then,” she says softly. “I’ll catch a ride with Vickie.”

He’s sure she’ll want to talk about it later, but for now… she’s giving him an out. “Thanks Rob.”

He watches until she’s back inside, just breathing in the smells of fresh-cut grass and a nearby cigarette – deep breaths in and out. Then he finds his car (thankfully not blocked in) and hightails it home.

****

(Continued in Part 2)

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington/eddie munson #my writing #I don’t know if I managed to make it as angsty as I wanted

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banjjakz · 2 months

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Seven Days at Granny Orimoto's Flower Shop ; Yuuta x F!Reader

My name is Okkotsu Yuuta. I am a recent graduate of a martial arts vocational school. I just completed a year-long internship abroad in Africa. Due to my recent re-entry into Japan, I am still in the process of setting up my phone and internet. I apologize for the inconvenience and I am extremely sorry for the burden. As a supervisor and business, you may benefit from the set of skills that I have to offer. I can lift upwards of 25kg. I am neat and detail oriented. Due to past life experiences, I am a fast learner and quick to adapt to new surroundings. I am accustomed to taking orders and delivering results. It is my utmost goal to ensure the comfort and satisfaction of those around me. I am eager to be of service. Please think of me kindly.

Or: An odd boy shows up every night begging for a job offer. Did you mention that he gives you handwritten letters? Do you have to report a workplace romance if the only other employee is your boss, who is currently dying? Asking for a friend.

notes: commission for the lovely mielle! thank you very kindly for 1) commissioning me!!!!!! and 2) putting up with my compulsion to surpass any and all word count specifications

warnings: general off-putting vibes, casual discussions of child death, implied stalking (at the very least), unethical(…? maybe ethically gray?) necromancy, etc. y'all know what's about to go down

♡‬ read on ao3 ‪♡‬

Life as a florist is every bit the dream that you’d hoped it would be.

The thought of working from nine to five in some cubicle for the rest of your life was enough to drive you out of university before even completing the feeble attempt you’d half-assedly made at a degree. While the path to your current state of employment had not been linear, easy, or even recommended, you cannot imagine ending up anywhere else.

You’re lucky enough as it is that Granny Orimoto was willing to take you on – perhaps, at first, out of pity – as a shop-hand. That day, all those months, is still as clear as unmarred waters in your mind. What a pitiful image you must have made: underfed, poorly clothed, with roving, vacant eyes.

Nevertheless, you adjusted quickly and gratefully to your new place of employment. Within months, your sense of self and purpose in life had been restored, watered and nurtured underneath the guiding light of Granny Orimoto’s flower shop. Like a corpse risen again, your days were once more filled with hope and aspirations.

Eventually, Granny Orimoto began bestowing upon you more and more responsibilities. You tend to think of your daily tasks as privileges more than anything else. You’ve graduated far beyond merely ringing customers up on the till – at this point, you’re somewhat of a budding horticulturalist. Or, at least, that’s what you’d like to think on your good days.

Recently, Granny Orimoto has even begun to entrust you to manage the shop on your lonesome for several days out of the week. It used to be the case that she would require you to work only hours that coincided with her own availability, so that you might fall under her constant supervision. Of course, this was back when you could barely keep a plant alive. Nowadays, things are quite different.

Quite different, indeed.

On this slow, Monday evening, managerial status finds its way to you once more. Closing the shop used to feel weird, without Granny Orimoto there to lay into you about your posture, or your clumsiness, or your naturally shy, stuttering nature. Now, it’s starting to feel eerily more and more like business as usual.

When the bell above the front door rings, you don’t think too much of it – this town is a bit of a tourist trap, so there are quite a few out-of-towners who aren’t used to respecting closing times. Usually, you’re too nice to shoo them out, but the weight of the day bears heavily upon your apron-clad shoulders.

But when you spin around on your heel, the polite-yet-firm “we closed four minutes ago” withers on your tongue like dead leaves crumbling away upon the unrepentant, earthen ground.

The most disturbing thing is not that he’s exactly your type of handsome: tall, gaunt, malnourished, with a strange, lost look in his wideset eyes. It would be easier, somehow, if your immediate and arresting attraction to the gangly stranger was the most of your worries.

Perhaps what unnerves you so, is the fact that you are powerless to do anything but devote the entirety of your attention to the odd young man. The terra cotta pot once in your grasp has suddenly been placed on the nearest shelf. The gardener’s gloves on your hands have now been stripped away and flung carelessly to the ground, the delicate flesh of your fingers on display for the world to see.

“Are you hiring?” He asks. The lights flicker. Granny Orimoto should really stop fighting you about calling an electrician – they aren’t that expensive.

No, is what you should say, because you don’t have the authority to answer this question and also the thought of having to train someone else when you are just barely getting the hang of your newfound managerial status is a terrifying prospect.

And yet, what ends up leaving your mouth is:

“Yes.”

His black hair is overgrown and in dire need of a trim. The bangs are in a liminal state: too short to part, too long for comfort. It dangles limply in his eyes. Those eyes. Big and glassy and dark, like a dead doe gazing up, unseeingly, at the sky.

“Okay,” he says. “Is there an application that I could fill out?”

Is he not cold? The weather chills significantly at night, and his layers look rather thin. Or maybe that’s just the way the clothes hang off of him. “No, it’s alright. You can just – um, you’re good.”

“I’m…?”

“You’re good,” you repeat and then you have to fight for control over your own body, so that you can turn around and break eye contact before it actually kills you. “When can you start? Do you have a phone number? Um, so we can get in touch with you about scheduling and training and verify your location and such and so forth.”

Okay, that last sentence was hastily tacked on. You’ll be the first to admit that much. But what kind of girl would you look like, asking a random stranger for his number out of the blue?

You hear more than you see him shuffle his feet, still lingering awkwardly in the doorway. “Um, no, sorry. I don’t have a phone.”

“E-mail?”

“Ah..no…would communication via letter be alright?”

What is his problem?

He shows up, four minutes past closing, poorly dressed and clearly in poor health, as well, to inquire about a job opening, and doesn’t even have a phone or any form of contact to provide other than handwritten correspondence?

Is this a prank? Are you being pranked, right now? You pause your fastidious, frustrated handling of today’s arranged bouquets just to surreptitiously scan your surroundings for any hidden cameras.

It’s like the man of your dreams has walked through the door. It’s almost too good to be true. You know you have eclectic tastes—and this is exactly why you’ve never had a boyfriend, before.

Because what living man could possibly compare to the fictional freakshows you stay up late at night reading about? Who would be worth fawning over, when you are already well equipped with a wealth of off-putting – and, quite frankly, disturbing – characters of ill-repute? Never has there been a living, breathing vessel capable of catching your jaded, heavy eyes.

Until now, that is.

“Sure,” you say, allowing the brain-rot to take control of your faculties. “Give me one second to write down our mailing information.”

But before you can cling desperately to another excuse to evade his magnetic presence, the strange boy speaks up, alluring you with the unsettlingly tranquil timbre of his voice: “That won’t be necessary. I can hand deliver the letters every day, around this time.”

You blink, sizing him up once more. Any normal human being would find this situation incredibly odd and even worth of a police report.

However, you’re comfortable in your own skin and are able to recognize that the screws you’ve knocked loose over time have, for better or worse, permanently altered your threshold for “red” or “green” flag recognition. For all you care, the flag could be purple. You aren’t thinking about flags right now. You’re thinking about his murky bangs, dark and deep, a rich obsidian, metastasizing over the smooth expanse of his alabaster forehead like a natural disaster.

“Okay. I’ll be waiting at this time every night, then.”

For the first time this evening, his gaunt face split into a tender grin, pink lips parting like spliced flesh. Somehow, he’s able to make the act of smiling something gory, something haunting. Your eyes are glued to the bone-white of his teeth. It’s like watching a car crash. You want, desperately, to look away. You cannot.

“I’m glad,” says the strange boy. “I’ll be here every night, right on time.”

A soft breeze stirs outside, just restless enough to tickle teasingly at the windchimes which dangle from the shop’s awning. Usually, the barrier of the front door dulls the melody. Tonight, you can hear the bells loud and clear.

Before you can think to demand (beg) that he reveal additional identifying information about himself – like, say, his name – the boy has all but disappeared from sight. Incredulously, you whirl around on your heel, scanning every visible inch of the shop for any possible clue as to where he went. But your searching is all for naught. It seems that he is, both in presence and absence, a complete mystery to you.

Well. There are certainly worse things that have happened to you. At least you got to chat with a cute, creepy guy for your trouble.

;

The next day, Granny Orimoto abstains from work yet again. Her modest apartment sitting atop the flower shop has kept her out of sight for many days, now. You’re no stranger to her fits and bursts of ill health, but you cannot recall the last time the brusque, full-hearted old lady has been bedridden for such a prolonged length of time.

You almost consider trying to drop by unannounced to bring her some soup and vitamins, but the thought dies immediately upon arrival. Memories of the last time you’d tried to caretake for her and were subsequently thrown out with indignant, irate gusto are enough to curb your momentary sympathy.

This means that you are effectively head of shop, once more. Over time, it gets easier to deal with the random accidents prone to any small, self-run business: leaks, clogs, jams, flickering lights, disappearing items, strange sounds at odd hours with an unlocatable source. All of it, you handle with def improvisational methods.

Even the spontaneously shattering bathroom mirror is no match for your handywoman capabilities! Really, Granny Orimoto should be lucky that it is you who happened to show up on her doorstep just as her health began to take a dive.

These are the kinds of thoughts buzzing around your skull as twilight descends upon the horizon like flies to a carcass. The death of the day is, as usual, a bloody affair: hues of bright vermillion spill across the sky, setting everything in the shop a brilliant, flagrant shade of fresh-burning red. The terracotta pots seem almost to be radiating with internal heat.

Night comes soon enough, bringing with it a brisk chill in the air. The wind rustles the windchimes, a forewarning of what is to come.

And sure enough, at 8:04 P.M., there he is, lingering in the doorway, daring to take not one step past the threshold, just as he’d done yesterday, that first night.

“Good evening.”

Clutched in his fingers is a wrinkled letter, wrapped in plain stationery. He offers it to you with both hands, politely.

The space between the both of you evaporates in the fraction of a second it takes for you to cross the shop and greet him back, accepting the letter with greedy hands and a greedier heart. “Good evening. Thank you for the correspondence.”

“Thank you for receiving it,” he replies, scratching the back of his head in a stupidly endearing self-conscious gesture. “I know the manner of communication is a bit unconventional… sorry about that…”

“It’s okay.” And it really is. You, of all people, are no stranger to unforeseen and harrowing life circumstances. That the young man does not possess a phone or email address is not so uncommon, anyways – you’ve had time to reflect on the situation, and for all his off-putting looks and strangely formal manner of speaking, he could easily be a country mouse who has recently relocated to a more urban area. Who are you to judge?

“Shall I have a response waiting for you tomorrow night?”

He bows, then, for a bit longer and a bit deeper than what is normally appropriate for two virtual strangers. “I’d be grateful. Thank you for the trouble.”

Once more, he evaporates seemingly into thin air, leaving behind not even the faintest trace of his existence. He appears to possess an uncanny ability to slip out of sight just as your eyes fall shut in the millisecond it takes to blink, to breathe.

Taken in stride with his dark-circled eyes and general aura of mysterious tragedy, the whole schtick is a little bit sexy, you have to admit. His vibe is that of a haunted family heirloom: beautiful, priceless, stained in generations of blood and cursed to doom those who dare to draw too near.

Your eagerness is almost feral as you tear apart the seal to the envelope in your hands, greedily pawing at the innards. What awaits you is a handwritten letter, complete with smudged pencil marks obscuring some of the more intricate kanji scribbled onto the page. Some of his radicals waver, lines bending or sprawling in odd and abnormal ways, as though he’d been shaking when we wrote it.

As though he’d been nervous. So nervous, in fact, that upon handing you the thing, he had to immediately abscond from the premises without another word.

Cute.

To Whom it May Concern,

Thank you very kindly for your willingness to take me on as an apprentice to your shop. Please allow me to introduce myself.

As a supervisor and business, you may benefit from the set of skills that I have to offer. I can lift upwards of 25kg. I am neat and detail oriented. Due to past life experiences, I am a fast learner and quick to adapt to new surroundings. I am accustomed to taking orders and delivering results. It is my utmost goal to ensure the comfort and satisfaction of those around me. I am eager to be of service.

Please think of me kindly.

Upon reading the very last word of the very last line, you discover that your bottom lip has been bitten so severely that a fine trickle of blood is descending down your chin.

There is no resume or CV in sight – just this handwritten, strangle little letter in which he divulges some most interesting truths.

Is he playing mind games with you? “Accustomed to taking orders”? “Eager to be of service”? Is he trying to tell you something? Outside of the hiring process, that is.

The note itself is perfectly polite and proper. It’s you whose mind succumbs hedonistically to the gutter. Oh, for shame.

At night, the shop tends to turn into a gnarly jungle of pots and leaves and vines and poorly-placed smatterings of soil; you wade through theses trenches, aided by no more than the moonlight attempting to feebly infiltrate through the shutters – as the lights are out, again. Should probably call someone about that.

In your frantic haste, it’s a miracle your hands aren’t sliced by a spare pair of shears lying forgotten on some counter or another. Before injury occurs, you’ve already located what you’ve been searching for: a usable pen and some clean, uncrumpled paper.

The matchbox in your back pocket proves useful as you strike up a flame and light a nearby candle, paying no mind to the potential danger of the wobbly column of fire in a room full of fauna.

Like a woman possessed, you feverishly scribble away at your reply. It takes you longer to draft this one particular letter than it had to complete your college entrance exams.

But it’s alright – the candle beside you burns throughout the night, neither the wick nor the wax diminishing even a wink.

Dear Okkotsu,

Your eagerness to work hard is clearly evident. Color me impressed.

As fate would have it, I am in dire need of some help with running the shop. The owner has been absent with illness for quite some time and the workload is starting to get unmanageable. The addition of a strong set of arms is more than welcome. Even when it was the two of us putzing around, we still wouldn’t have been able to do some of the heavier lifting.

I’m curious to hear more about your passion to serve. Was this instilled in you during your time at vocational school? What does “being of service” mean to you?

While we are ultimately a public-facing shop, the stream of customers is slow, and your daily tasks will often look like physical labor and horticultural activities. But, from your letter, it sounds like this will pose no object.

Overall, your enthusiasm is appreciated and your hard-working attitude is attractive to future employers.

You could start as early as tomorrow.

Please do respond at your convenience.

It was rather quickly with only a slight bit of panic running through your veins that you tacked on “to future employers.” Even while reading it back, you cringe a little bit. Too forward? Oh well. It’s written in ink and it’s much too late to go for hunting for another clean piece of paper in the shop’s opaque blackness.

Speaking of which… you really should call an electrician. And a plumber. And some sort of handy man, to help you clean up all the broken glass from the shattered bathroom mirror. And maybe it may also me a good idea to get in touch with a security footage company and inquire about their installation rates. It certainly can’t be normal; how many things go missing so frequently. Although you’ve spent most of your waking hours with an aging elderly woman up until very recently, you’re quite sure that dementia isn’t contagious.

Ah, well. These are all things to take care of tomorrow. Sighing, you tuck away the letter into your back pocket for safe keeping before you go about locking up.

You try not to think too hard about the lingering gaze you feel on the back of your neck. If anything, it feels better than being completely alone.

;

The fragrant scent of okayu fills your nose as you climb the stairs to reach Granny Orimoto’s apartment.

Usually, you would not dare to trespass inside her abode, despite it’s close proximity to the shop. She is a grouchy old lady who does not take kindly to meddling. And yet, you couldn’t ignore the seed of worry in the pit of your belly, which had blossomed over the course of the past few weeks into full-blown concern for her wellbeing. Besides her once-daily text message in the evening confirming the status of shop operations, you have not seen or heard from the old woman in what must be almost half a month at this point.

So, you’ve bitten back your pride and prepared a meal to personally deliver to her.

You are moderately concerned when there is no response to your three separate attempts at knocking on the door. Granny Orimoto hadn’t responded to any of your text messages, so you’d naively assumed she’d been asleep and hadn’t seen them. But is it possible to sleep through the ruckus that you’re creating?

The tension in your body only heightens when you try to the doorknob and realize, in shock and slight horror, that it’s open.

“Granny Orimoto?” You call out, haltingly yet loudly – loud enough to reach her wizened ears. “Granny, I’m sorry, I’ll be coming in now! Pardon the intrusion!”

Taking care not to jostle the still-hot bowl of rice porridge in your hands, you slip off your shoes at the Genkan and make your way inside of the apartment. Although you’ve only been here once before – and it had been an extremely brief stay before Granny Orimoto had shooed you off the premises – it still doesn’t feel all that unfamiliar to you.

It’s a traditional set-up, that much is for sure. Not much has changed, either. Same old floral blankets folded in various assortments and piles around the tiny room, same old plastic draining rack laid across the kitchen sink.

And, of course, there is that strange pair of guest slippers by the front door.

A bright, childish pink with the width and depth to accompany the foot of a young girl no older than six, these slippers had given you pause the first time you’d set foot in Granny Orimoto’s apartment. As far as you know, the old lady doesn’t have any living relatives with which she maintains contact. She spends every holiday alone, in her room, and refuses any offers of companionship between the two of you. You’ve always assumed something tragic must have happened, for a woman this advanced in age to have no one to visit or host during the New Year.

So why, then, does she keep a pair of children’s house slippers by the front door?

Although they are neatly placed and carefully aligned, the heels of the slippers face the direction of the household – as though they’ve been recently taken off and exchanged for outside shoes. Like someone has been here and left. Were they in that position when you stopped by before? Perhaps Granny Orimoto set them that way during her last cleaning.

Shaking yourself out of your reverie, you move past the entrance area and towards where you know the bedroom awaits. There is no overt stench of death and decay, so you aren’t afraid of walking in on her corpse. You’re, like, 85% sure that you could mentally recover from handling that situation, but it would be unfortunate and would likely mean an endless night for you and the poor EMTs who would be dispatched to the scene.

The bedroom door, too, is slightly ajar, and when you push it open all the way, you’re greeted by a sight that hits you squarely in the chest, knocking the wind from your lungs, stealing your voice, marring your eyes with shock and sympathy.

Granny Orimoto lies on her back, skin so pale that it is a near perfect match to the futon covers draped around her frail body. Even from this distance, you are able to clearly track the pathway of her veins as they course across her, the deep blues and greens standing out abnormally against the thin, alabaster flesh. Her hair, significantly grayer than the last time you’d seen her, has escaped from it’s usual, customary low-slung bun. You’ve never seen Granny Orimoto in any other kind of style – in fact, you’d begun to think – somewhat mischievously – that her hair had been surgically arranged to the nape of her neck.

But now, it sprawls around her skull in scraggly spirals, spilling across the pillow like leaking liquid. Thin and brittle, you’re sure that if she tried to gather it into a bun as she once had, it would split and break into a million fine pieces of ash.

“So, you’ve come.”

That hoarse voice snaps you out of your trance. You hadn’t even noticed that she was awake. One moment, you’d been gazing at her motionless body – and the next, you find her entirely unchanged except for the fact that her eyes are now open, peering at you. Unblinking. It’s disconcerting.

It looks like the effort pains her, to lift one hand and pat weakly at the comforter. “You came all the way here, silly girl. Might as well sit.”

You aren’t being kicked out?

Wow. She really must be dying.

Gingerly, you fold your legs beneath you and linger at the edge of the futon. “Granny, how are you feeling? I brought okayu. If you are feeling up to it, please eat. You must take care of your health.”

“Alright then,” says Granny Orimoto, mildly. “You’ll have to help me.”

“Of course.”

There is ultimately an insignificant amount of spillage down the front of her shirt, in the end. Still, you take it as an opportunity to encourage her to take a bath and change into fresh clothes, which you expect she has not done in far too long. This, too, requires your assistance. You don’t mind it at all. In fact, it brings you peace – to be able to care for the woman who had most probably saved your life by taking you in, all that time ago.

When it’s all said and done, Granny Orimoto lays back in the bed. The sheets could use some washing and the futon itself should surely be hung out in the sun to dry, but you recognize that this might be a bit too much excitement for her today. Having eaten and bathed, Granny Orimoto appears ready to return to her slumber.

You decide not to push your luck by overstaying your welcome. “Please rest well, Granny Orimoto. I will come back soon.”

It is when you are almost past the threshold of the bedroom door that you hear Granny’s whisper, faint as smoke and so soft it almost doesn’t sound like the stubborn, strong-willed woman you once knew:

“You remind me of my granddaughter.”

As though you’ve been struck by lightning, your body is immediately paralyzed, muscles helpless to do anything but twitch in confusion, overstimulation. “Oh…? I hope she is well…”

“She’s dead,” says Granny Orimoto. “The stench of death follows you.”

Ironic, coming from a woman who is quite obviously preparing to approach the far shore herself. “I see.”

“Whatever is hanging around you, get it taken care of. You’ll stink up the shop and the plants will wither.”

“Yes, Granny.”

“Are you taking care of my zinnias?”

“Yes, Granny.”

“Better be. How can you own a flower shop if you can’t take care of zinnias…”

You want to whip around and ask her what the hell she means by that, but the rumbling of her soft snores fill the space before you can get another word in edgewise.

As you make your way downstairs, Granny’s words continue to marinate in your mind – and not just her implication that the shop would be left to you. That she thought it fit to tell you that you remind her of her dead granddaughter was certainly an event that occurred in your life. But what exactly had she been on about, telling you that you smell like death?

In absentminded thought, your hand fiddles around in your jacket pocket with the latest letter from Okkotsu. You can’t stop thinking about his response to your last letter.

To You, Whom it Concerns,

Are you taking care? The seasons are changing during this time, so I hope your health is faring well.

I’m glad that my enthusiasm comes across as clearly as my physical capabilities. Sometimes I struggle to convey my intentions and inner thoughts. It seems like we can understand each other well, even while communicating through letters, which makes me happy.

To me, being of service means unobstructed and clear-minded dedication of the self, body and mind, to another’s fulfillment. Not dissimilar to pure love. This “pure” element is important to me. In fact, I believe total service is a form of pure love. Would you agree?

Maybe this is a bit strange to say, and you might hate me for it, but you remind me of a girl I once knew. She is long gone now. It has been nice to see some of her, again. Of course, it has been even nicer to get to know you.

Regretfully, I cannot begin formal employment just yet. The country re-entry procedures are taking longer than expected and things are a bit complicated right now. It is burdensome, but if you could please kindly allow for some additional time I would be very grateful. I’m sorry to trouble you.

In the meantime, it’s fun to chat together, like this. I’d be happy if we could continue.

Take care not to catch a cold.

The first time you’d read it practically had you squealing into your hands like a schoolgirl. Pure love? Expressing concern for your health? Expressing his desire to continue exchanging letters, even if he can’t formally start the training process?

At this rate, you’re on track towards a confession.

Which, of course, is the ultimate goal. You could never forgive yourself for letting the physical manifestation of all your wildest fantasies slip away. No, you’ve got to reel him in. You’ve got to ensnare him in a web of infatuation, so convoluted and intense that he won’t be able to find his way out. You’ve already decided that he is yours. It’s only a matter of time before things fall into place.

As has become customary, Okkotsu drops by the shop at precisely 8:04 p.m. and not one moment sooner or later. You’ve grown to anticipate the tinkling of the windchimes which herald his otherwise soundless arrival. Like an apparition, his visage manifests in the front door.

There’s something different about tonight: uncertain, he chances a foot past the threshold. “Could I trouble you to come inside?”

Oh. Oh! Are you finally past the stage of contactless letter exchange? You could cry tears of joy. “Please come in.”

“Pardon the intrusion…”

When he breaks past the entry area, it’s as though a wave of heat pulses throughout not just your own body, but the entire shop, as well. A light sweat breaks out at the crest of your brow. Is this seasonally appropriate? You aren’t sure if there is any season wherein a heatwave past sundown is normal.

Okkotsu looks at you like a lost puppy, floundering at what to do, what to say next. You yourself are no less awkward, but you take on the burden of breaking the silence first:

“It’s funny, you mentioned in your letter that I remind you of a girl you once knew. Today, my boss said that I remind her of her dead granddaughter. Wouldn’t happen to be the same girl, huh?”

You’re trying for lighthearted, but the joke falls flat when Okkotsu pales, white as a ghost.

Damage control, damage control! “Oh, I’m – I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no, it’s alright,” he cuts you off, raising a hand. “I should’ve been forthright from the beginning. You aren’t too far off from the truth.”

Huh?

Okkotsu continues, “When I was a little boy, Mrs. Orimoto’s granddaughter and I were best friends. Her name was Rika. When she was six, Rika died in a car accident. I was with her at the time and failed to do anything to stop it from happening, or to save her. I’ve always been very sorry to Mrs. Orimoto, who raised Rika from a young age. By working at her shop, I hoped to repay some of that debt…”

You blink once, twice. Time seems to fall apart and reconstruct itself in the space it takes you to conjure up a response. What can you possibly say, to a story like that?

“You don’t, er, have to say anything,” mutters Okkotsu, as though he’s read your mind. “I know it’s heavy. But that’s the truth…”

“Okkotsu,” you say, voice tinny and faraway to your own ears. “You have a good heart.”

His downcast face shoots upwards, wide eyes seeking out your own with a desperate sheen to their dark, bottomless depths. “Huh…?”

“I mean it,” you press on, stepping closer as you do. He doesn’t even flinch or waver. You know this, because your senses are acutely aware of every fiber of his being. “Not many people would be that brave, or honor that sense of duty. You’re an admirable man. Has anyone ever told you that before?”

It seems you’ll be staying well past closing tonight to mop up the puddle that Okkotsu is about to melt into. His ears burn such a bright red that they almost glow in the dim lighting of the shop.

“I- I--!”

“So that’s the depth of your service,” you muse, your toes stopping just shy of his own, “or your ‘pure love’?”

Okkotsu’s eyes flutter shut. The sound of his gulp echoes like a gunshot. “Ah… er, miss manager, I—”

“Call me by my name. I’ve written it to you for a reason.”

Obeying your direct command, he feebly whispers your name, invoking you like he’s scared of what he’s about to summon. It sets a live wire alight at the base of your spine. Sparks fly throughout your body and it’s all you can do not to pounce on him then and there in this very shop, sleeping Granny upstairs be damned.

“Good. It seems you really are skilled at taking direction.”

His eyes are still closed when you nods, face flushed. Cute. You can’t help but want to tease him more, push him further. “Good job.”

His head all but hangs, now, as he resolutely refuses to make eye contact with you. In front of him, his hands are clasped suspiciously in front of his crotch – a detail which you take in ravenously, hungrily.

Curbing the overwhelming desire to do more, you settle with pushing your sealed envelope into his firm, solid chest with both hands, letting your fingernails press lightly into the muscle. “Here’s today’s letter. Read it and respond well.”

“Yes, I understand,” he says, eyes still shut, head still hung.

It requires you to stand on your tiptoes, when you try to lean into his ear and whisper: “You deserve a chance to make things right. Let me help you with this.”

You let him go, then, because you’re sure he’s about ready to burst at the seams. The last thing you throw his way is yet another bit of praise, because you’re a little bit awful: “I admire your idea of pure love, Okkotsu.”

Before tonight, you’ve never seen a grown man walk straight into a windowpane. Okkotsu reels back, nods and bows to you in acknowledgement before hightailing it out of the shop so fast that, as usual, you fail to actually see him go through the motions of stepping out and leaving. He’s always in such a rush. An odd one, he is.

Good thing “odd” just your type.

From that night onwards, Okkotsu starts making himself more available outside of his usual 8:04 p.m. haunting. Now, he’ll drop by early enough in the afternoons for his shadow to be visible against the door. Still, he resolutely avoids any times when current customers are present. You tease him, lightly, for this, asking how he plans to work partially as a sales attendant if he is afraid to interact with the customer base.

His response?

“I want to work here for two reasons,” he’d stated simply. “For you, and for Rika.”

Normal women would probably find an issue with their ideal man likening them to his dead childhood sweetheart. Fortunately, you are not normal. It’s flattering, even.

Clearly, Rika was another manifestation of his pure love. That you can even approach that category, let alone be mentioned in the same breath as her, is, to you, a vibrant green flag. You must be doing something right here.

So you continue intertwining yourself deeper and deeper with Okkotsu Yuuta: the letters are a constant in both of your daily lives, as well as his visits become more frequent. As an interesting development, he’s started to bring you homecooked food. Usually, it is you who does the caregiving. The first time he shows up with an obento made specially for you – complete with a heart made out of specially cut seaweed set atop the fresh rice – you almost start crying.

Admittedly, it’s all moving very fast. Hasn’t it only been four days, now, since he’d first darkened your doorway, pitifully asking for a job with no form of communication? And now, here he is, feeding you the food he’d prepared for you to enjoy as you go about your closing shift.

“Would you ever want to go out?” You blurt, and then pause, mortified at the overtly forward implication to your words. “Like! To a restaurant! Or a café! You always bring me stuff. Let me treat you.”

“Hmmm…”

Okkotsu’s wide, dark eyes roll upwards in thought. “But I really like staying here. I like eating here. No one else gets to see your pleased, comfortable face while eating except me. I don’t think I can share that. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you respond, dizzy. “You don’t have to.”

This is the right answer. Despite his soft, youthful features, the ginger grin he offers you is undercut by the ominous glint in his intense gaze. “I don’t have to share?” He gathers some pickled plum in the chopsticks, bringing them to your open, waiting mouth. “It’s all for me?”

“I am,” you say, and accept the bitter, delicious fruit on the tip of your tongue. It is pungent. It is sweet. It is overwhelming. You almost aren’t able to swallow.

Time spent with Okkotsu makes life seem so fantastical that it almost blinds you to the world of the living. That night, you cannot find it within yourself to leave the shop and go home after closing, instead opting to chat with this gaunt, ghoulish boy until you are startled awake in the morning by your phone’s automatic alarm.

When you come to, you discover that you’d all but passed out behind the front desk, where the two of you had sat, talking, for hours into the night. Okkotsu is nowhere to be found, but in his absence is a crisply folded piece of paper lying innocently upon the desk. Hastily, you scrub at your eyes and smack your lips, trying to wake yourself up as much as is possible before you unfurl the letter and dive into its contents.

To You, Whom it Concerns,

Do you have any idea how difficult it is to be apart from you?

If I could have, I would have stayed with you all throughout the night. I’m sorry to have left you by yourself. But you aren’t really alone. If you ever feel lonely, in the shop, please remember that I’m always there with you. Watching over you. Can you feel me?

Thanks for listening to me last night. It was a heavy story to tell, but now that I’ve confessed it, I feel so much lighter. And you accept me! Words can’t express how I feel, so please allow me to keep showing you.

Also, since Mrs. Orimoto isn’t well these days, can I ask that you don’t share with her that I’m here? The shock may worsen her condition. When she is no longer bedridden, I will tell her myself that I wish to remain and work in the shop. You shouldn’t be caught in the middle of my situation.

As always, I can’t wait to see you again. I miss you so much already, and I haven’t even left the shop yet. I’m writing this as I watch you sleep. Did you know that you snore a little bit? It’s cute.

Please think of me often.

On the one hand, you want to bury your face in your hands and scream and cry and maybe roll around and die a little bit. A love note! It’s a proper love note, this time. The thought makes your insides feel as though they’re being set alight with a bright, brilliant, inextinguishable flame.

On the other hand, Okkotsu’s mention of Granny Orimoto has brought to mind the fact that you haven’t heard from her in what is now two days. Usually, she’ll send you a message or two at the end of every day, making sure that things are in order and that you haven’t burned down the shop yet. But the last time you’d spoken to her had been when you brought over the okayu to soothe her sickly stomach…

Inexplicably, a chill overtakes your body.

Operating on autopilot, you pull yourself together – running a hand through your hair, smoothing your wrinkled clothes – and make your way out of the shop, to the external set of stairs running along the west wall.

With haste, you climb the steps, nearly tripping over yourself to reach the front door which has been left, once again, unlocked. The sense of wrongness occupying your faculties only heightens when you realize this must mean that Granny Orimoto has not been up out of bed since you’d last visited.

When you stop to toe off your shoes at the genkan, you notice that the bright pink pair of children’s house slippers are nowhere to be found, absent from their perpetual perch by the front door, as though someone – or something – has stepped inside.

Mind whirling a mile a minute, you push into the apartment and immediately reel back at the offensive scent of pure, unadulterated rot.

Oh.

Oh, no.

It could be the spoiled ingredients in the fridge, you think, desperately, as you hustle towards the bedroom. It could be anything. Anything but what it is you’re most afraid of.

Dazed, confused, scared, and still freshly woken up, your clumsy limbs somehow manage to collide with one of the low-sitting tables filling the living space. The abundance of knick-knacks and keepsakes cluttering the surface clatter in indignation, making an obscene ruckus as they fall over and to the floor. Upon closer inspection, you realize, to your horror, that it is an altar which you’d disturbed.

The only things left unshaken by your blundering blight are two framed photos: one of which displays the portrait of a young girl, no older than six, with long, dark hair and a serene smile. She seems to peer at you through the barriers of the picture frame, through the barrier of time. Her gaze hooks into your soul and invites you to step closer, to look harder. The longer you stare, the higher the gooseflesh on your skin raises in alarm. It’s an uphill battle to slide your gaze over to the picture beside her, which displays the likeness of a young boy close to her in age – presumably unrelated to her, given their distinct features, and yet, he is placed next to her on what is surely a memorial altar meant to honor and house the deceased.

While the personal effects and other supplicating items have all been disrupted and thrown off by your collision, the incense in front of the two picture frames still burns brightly, steadfastly. Oddly, it does nothing to quell the horrid stench of decay in the apartment. If anything, the altar seems to be exasperating the smell, which brings involuntary tears to your eyes and a pucker to your lips.

It's less so that the stench itself is what drives you to such a reaction; rather, the sensation invading your olfactory senses fills you with an abominable concoction of violent emotions: rage, pity, sorrow, envy, despair. You are drawn follow the source of these feelings, and your feet lead you to the bedroom, hands trembling underneath the sheer weight of all that you are experiencing as they push the slightly ajar door all the way open.

A gasp escapes you, unbidden. There, in that same, white futon adorned with layers and layers of her signature floral blankets, lies the corpse of Granny Orimoto. You can tell she’s dead because her skin has started to sag and bloat in strange and inhuman ways. This is the least surprising thing before your eyes.

Next to Granny sits a little girl – the spitting image of the girl in the portrait you’d glimpsed mere moments ago. Her gaze had once been trained steadfastly on Granny’s body, but now she looks up at you, unblinking, all-seeing.

“Hello,” says the girl, with a little girl’s voice.

“Hi,” you respond. “Do you live here?”

“Yes,” says the girl. “This is my granny.”

You remind me of my granddaughter.

She’s dead.

Granny Orimoto’s parting words to you echo in your head, rattling your brain, fizzling your consciousness.

“It’s nice to meet you, Rika. Granny Orimoto told me about you.”

Slowly, cautiously, as though you are approaching a spooked animal (ironic, given the fact that it is you who is shaking like a leaf), you crouch down and kneel on the floor, sitting on your haunches in a polite manner, mirroring the girl before you. Granny Orimoto’s body is the only thing separating you as you both sit, face to face, hands clasped in your laps, peering curiously at one another.

“I know,” says Rika. “Yuuta told you about me, too.”

Of course she would know about the conversations you and Yuuta have. This also might as well happen. At this point, after all you’ve just witnessed – first, the fresh corpse of your former employer, and now, the physical manifestation of a girl who died over ten years ago – there is very little left that could happen which would truly shock you out of your wits.

“Yes, he did. Have you been hanging out in the shop? Have you been lonely?”

The girl sticks out her bottom lip. “Yeah. You guys didn’t pay attention to me. Even when I was really loud, or turned the lights off, or broke the mirror. Sorry for breaking the mirror. I was mad.”

“It’s okay to be mad, but we mustn’t break things, or hurt others. I’m sorry for not noticing you sooner. Do you like plants and gardening? Like your granny?”

Rika nods. “Mhm, yeah. But Granny never lets me into the shop. Granny says all I do is mess things up. Granny says I’m no good. Granny says people died because of me. Did you know my dad is dead, too?”

“I’m sorry,” you say.

“It’s okay,” says Rika. “I wanted him to die.”

You blink. “Did you want Granny Orimoto to die, too?”

She takes a moment to contemplate before answering. “Granny had to die if I was going to play with Yuuta again.”

“What do you mean?” You ask, desperate to understand. When she begins to explain, you lean forward, forgetful of the fact that it is an old woman’s corpse which lies beneath you.

“Granny has already lived for so long. I wanted to come back. I died before my seventh birthday. Yuuta and I were supposed to spend it together. Yuuta never forgot about me. Yuuta talks to me every day. Yuuta went to Africa. Have you ever been to Africa? I went with Yuuta because he made a shrine for me there. Now Yuuta is back in Japan. Yuuta promised that we would play together again. Yuuta said he needed some time to prepare things. Yuuta is good at things like that – Yuuta can fight and do magic. Yuuta does jujutsu. Do you know jujutsu?”

“I know it,” you tell her.

“Yeah, Yuuta has powers. Yuuta knows a lot about dying and things like that. So, anyways, Yuuta said he would use his powers to help me come back so we can play together again. Yuuta said that me and granny have to switch places. I said ‘OK, Yuuta!’ and then Yuuta said he needed seven days. What day is it today?”

Somehow, you know the answer, even without looking at your phone’s calendar. “Monday.”

“Oh, so it’s been seven days. Yay! We can play together again. Do you want to play with us, too?”

“I would like to play together, yes.”

Abruptly, Rika unfurls from her graceful little seated position and makes her way over to you, crawling over Granny Orimoto’s corpse. You try not to think too hard about the graphic squelching that occurs underneath the childish palms of Rika’s tiny hands.

“Yay! Let’s go downstairs. Maybe Yuuta will be there.”

You don’t have the heart to tell her that Yuuta only swings by when the sun is out of sight. Her arms raise, clearly indicating that she’d like to be carried, and you are content to oblige her, as you scoop her up in your arms and make good on her direction. You exit Granny Orimoto’s apartment with Rika in your arms, her little feet dangling from your hip. The bright pink pair of slippers almost fall off as you make your way down the stairs, and you take care to remind her to make sure not to lose them.

When you get back to the shop, you must admit that you were mistaken in thinking Yuuta would not be there. As though he’d been anticipating this – which, you realize, he absolutely was, as this marks seven days from the first time he’d set foot in the shop – Yuuta stands by the front desk, wringing his hands before him nervously, sweat visible at his temples.

The both of you lock eyes, and he smiles, warm and fuzzy and entirely ill-fitting for the increasingly absurd scenario in which you find yourself. But you have little time to interrogate him about what the hell is going on – for Rika leaps from your arms and hits the ground running, screaming at the top of her little lungs, Yuuta!! Yuuta!!!, excited and so full of life, in only the way that children can scream in pure joy. Pure love.

He crouches and readily meets her, scooping the little girl up in his arms and sweeping her into the air, spinning round and round with Rika in his arms. Rika-chan!! Rika-chan!!! he cries – literally cries, that is, as you cannot help but spot the stray tear or two running down the swells of his flushed cheeks.

It is right as you are starting to feel a bit voyeuristic that Yuuta slows to a stop and finds your eyes once more. He comes to you, then, with Rika still perched on his hip, a chafingly tender smile splitting his face into two.

“I knew it was you,” he whispers with charged intensity, voice potent with unspoken feeling. “I knew you were special. I’ve always known. You never judge me. You always listen. You accepted me. And you accepted Rika, too.”

Have you? Accepted them, that is.

You shock yourself when you realize that you really have accepted all that’s transpired. Granny Orimoto saved your life when she’d taken you in and, for that, you must always be grateful. But from what Rika shared with you about how she’d been treated as a small child, and from what you’ve observed from Yuuta’s generally traumatized disposition and extreme reluctance to come face-to-face with the old woman, you realize, now, that there is a reason why Granny Orimoto had no living family to speak to or rely on when she was in her final days.

Whether or not her death had something to do with Yuuta’s apparent preternatural abilities (you remind yourself to ask about that later), it remains clear that she’d been in ill health long before you’d arrived at the flower shop. With no one to talk to. No one to care for her. You’d always felt pity. But, now, you realize that it may have been a situation of her own doing.

How could you argue with the living, breathing testament to that fact, who stand before you in fresh-faced, smiling glee?

“Of course I accept you both,” you say, earnestly, and mean it. “Rika is too cute not to love!” The young girl giggles, bashfully burying her face in Yuuta’s neck.

“And what about me?” Yuuta’s brows are quirked, his smile dipping into something a bit more cutting, a touch more heated than his simple joy from moments ago. “Am I cute enough to love, too?”

The answer is simple and requires no effort on your part: “I love you, Yuuta.”

You had more to say after that, but it proves a bit challenging to monologue your undying devotion to this man while said man is currently enveloping your mouth inside of his own. He kisses like a black hole: devouring, dark, impossibly comprehensive, and providing you without hope for possible escape.

He really is your type.

;

After those first seven days, Yuuta finally begins training at the shop. And Rika joins in, as well.

The three of you make an odd, adorable little family unit. After Yuuta had taken care of cleaning and renovating the apartment space upstairs, the three of you moved in without further delay. Your days are filled with home-cooking, raising Rika, maintaining the shop, and working alongside the man who has quickly made himself to be your life partner in every endeavor.

In fact, so much of your life is consumed with this newfound domesticity that there is little reason for you to leave the shop in the first place. Whenever you stray too far outside, you are prone to headaches, dizziness, fatigue, and even fever. It’s best to stay where is familiar, you reason. And Yuuta’s cooking is too good for you to want to eat anywhere else. He makes sure you eat three times a day, at least, and insists you finish your plate every time. Perhaps this is why you can’t stand life outside of this four, cozy walls – where else could you possibly find contentment such as this?

The business is re-named to “Rika’s Flower Shop,” which all three of you find quite agreeable given the current state of affairs. More customers than ever flow in, attracted by the colorful designs hand-painted by Rika herself on the building exterior. You generate enough revenue for additional renovations to be made on the shop. There is enough room in the budget to hire some part-time shop hands – local university students in the area looking to support themselves.

Everything is coming to fruition. For once, you truly feel as though life is blossoming.

And you can attribute all of it, every last bit of happiness, to them: Granny Orimoto, Rika, and Yuuta. The happiness is so overwhelming that you don’t ever want to leave their side, not even to run to the konbini, or to visit the post office. Why would you need to leave, when everything you’ve ever wanted is right here?

You have a family, a home, a life. You’ll remain in this shop with your loves until the day you grow as old and sickly as Granny Orimoto, and you’ll likely die upstairs, lying next to Yuuta, the both of you wrinkled and gray, curled together atop the futon, exactly where Granny had wheezed her last, bitter breath.

You wonder if Rika was there to watch it happen. You wonder if Rika will be there to see the both of you off, too.

You hope so. You really, really hope so.

You’re sure death will be every bit the dream you’re hoping it will be.

#okkotsu yuuta x reader #okkotsu yuta x reader #jjk reader insert #jjk x reader #okkotsu yuuta reader insert #okkotsu yuta reader insert #jjk ao3 #jjk fic #okkotsu yuuta fic #okkotsu yuuta fanfiction #okkotsu yuta fic #jjk fanfiction #my writing #mine #commissions

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heliads · 6 months

Note

Back again!!

This time, could I pretty please request by most beloved pilot Natasha Trace with a female reader? The reader is also a pilot with the Dagger Squad, and she and Phoenix are already dating. Reader is always super sweet and cheerful and friendly, so her callsign is Sunshine, and nobody in the Dagger Squad including Nat has ever seen her get angry, but one night when the Squad’s at the Hard Deck, Sunshine hears some guys talking crap about her friends and goes off on them, shouting and cursing them out in front of everyone, while the Daggers just watched with dropped jaws and Phoenix has the world’s biggest gear eyes and gives her girlfriend a big kiss once Penny throws the guys out.

Hopefully this wasn’t too much, I kind of went on a ramble (😅). Thanks so much in advance, and I hope you’re doing well, my beloved!! 🖤

'sunshine storms over' - natasha 'phoenix' trace

masterlist

According to the well-known and well-cursed laws of physics, an object, once in motion, will remain in motion unless acted upon by an outside force. Similarly, in the hallowed halls of Top Gun, a pilot will remain in their plane or briefings unless they receive a suitably alluring reason to leave. The reason doesn’t even have to be good half the time. Sometimes, the reason can be something as simple as drinks half price at the Hard Deck, and then every damn pilot in the whole place will suddenly find themselves leaving as quickly as they can.

Natasha Trace enjoys physics a normal amount, but she can certainly attest to its relations to drinks-happy fighter pilots. It’s been a long week, as most at Top Gun often are, so everyone’s more than eager to leave. She swears she’s caught Rooster falling asleep during long meetings at least twice already, even despite him pledging early this Monday morning that he’d be totally focused from then on out.

In his defense, the warm rooms of the lecture halls combined with the lights off is an equation for disaster. The projected flight plans aren’t quite bright enough to keep the pilots awake, and when they’ve been locked in one of those rooms for a couple of hours into the late afternoon– well, Natasha herself has been at risk for nodding off, so maybe she can’t judge too harshly, either.

Unlike Rooster, though, Natasha’s got a pretty good reason to stay awake. Pretty and good are also two remarkable attributes of this lovely, lovely distraction that Natasha is fortunate enough to call her girlfriend. When Nat was called back to Top Gun for the first of many top secret missions, she expected to find herself subjected to difficult flight conditions, extreme danger, and plenty of risky maneuvers. She certainly didn’t expect to get a girlfriend out of the bargain a month or two later, but she’s not going to complain.

Certainly not when her girlfriend is Y/N L/N. Nat has felt the blow of being a female pilot in a room of men far too many times to count, so when she walked in on her first day and saw Y/N already there, Nat had known that she was going to be alright. As time went on, Y/N had steadily grown on her, and then Natasha had come to realize that she wasn’t just grateful for the other woman’s friendship, she wanted something more, something like love, which Y/N was all too happy to give.

It’s a little self-serving to call your current relationship a power couple, but for once, Nat is pretty sure that the other pilots would agree with her. She and Y/N are the top scorers on the various training scenarios every single time. If you’re going to check a results sheet, odds are you’ll see Phoenix and Sunshine in the best slots. Rooster and Hangman always say that they’re the best, but the names never lie.

Usually, that kind of relentless domination would irk the other pilots, but Natasha and Y/N are friends with all of them, so that takes the edge off a little. Besides, it’s basically impossible to hate Y/N. Her callsign, Sunshine, is probably the most deserved nickname a pilot has ever been given in Top Gun history. Y/N’s all smiles even on the longest and most tedious days. She’ll be beaming ear to ear when she shoots you out of the sky, or when you play the piano for her at the Hard Deck. Both are fine by her.

During the first few hours of Natasha’s return to Top Gun, she was disheartened to see so many of the other pilots brushing off Y/N’s skills due to her bubbly personality. It’s not as if every great pilot has to be completely coldhearted, but apparently it was just too much to comprehend that someone could be nice and capable at the same time. Certainly Hangman seems to believe it still, but that’s beside the point.

Natasha had been ready to defend Y/N from the very first moment, but, as it turned out, she hadn’t needed to. Y/N got in her plane and outstripped all of them by a long shot. She even had Maverick complimenting her when she touched down. After that, no one said a word, and it became universally acknowledged that if you were planning on facing Sunshine in a dogfight, you’d be walking out with a new loss under your belt. So it goes.

Nat’s come to love that about Y/N, the sharp contrast between her cheerful personality and her cutthroat fighting style, how she’d been able to prove everyone wrong without losing her cool. To this day, Natasha has never seen Y/N get angry. She’s been decidedly neutral when she thinks someone is wrong, but she’s never been truly irate.

Certainly never with Natasha, at least. When Top Gun’s usual slew of meetings is over for the day, Y/N finds her way over to Nat, smiling delightedly at her girlfriend. “Are you up for drinks later?”

Natasha laughs. “Oh, you have no idea. I think this is the longest week of my entire life.”

Y/N grins. “What, you don’t like being stuck in sweltering rooms until you pass out? I can’t believe it.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Easy there, Captain Sarcasm. I know you were nodding off too, don’t try to pass this off like it’s just me.”

“I would never dream of it,” Y/N promises solemnly, then giggles again.

Rooster comes up behind the two of them, slinging arms around both of their shoulders. “Did I hear someone offer to get drinks?”

“You did,” Y/N says in a sing-song voice, “I won’t force you to come if you don’t want to, though. I’m sure Cyclone would be delighted if you stuck around a little longer to go over the flight plans a few more times.”

Rooster groans loudly. “I’ve heard more about flight plans than I ever want to again. No thanks.”

“You’re a professional pilot,” Natasha points out. “What else would you hear about?”

“Friends who are nice to me?” Rooster offers.

Natasha chuckles. “You ask for too much. See you at sundown?”

“Count on it,” Rooster promises. “I’ll rally the Dagger Squad. Be there or pay for everybody.”

Natasha waves him off, leaving the two women alone again. She sighs contentedly at the thought of the night ahead. After all the work they’ve been subjected to over the past five days, the thought of an easy weekend with friends sounds sublime.

And, arriving at the Hard Deck just as golden hour turns into blissful twilight, Natasha thinks she couldn’t be more right about that. Y/N’s a perfect picture as always, not a hair out of place, her off-duty uniform crisply ironed. She smiles when Natasha twirls her, and allows her girlfriend to lead her inside where the rest of their friends await.

The Dagger Squadron has sunk many a night into the Hard Deck’s cheery warmth, and by all accounts, this evening is shaping up to be another lovely endeavor. Bob and Payback have started up a round of pool, and Rooster’s already eyeing the piano. He might be held back from bursting into song by Hangman, though, who’s just getting started on his usual blow-by-blow of the day’s dogfights. Coyote is listening in, looking ready to rescue Rooster should the situation get urgent.

After stopping by Penny at the bar to grab some drinks, Y/N and Natasha make their way over to their friends. Natasha is just starting to lose herself in the usual blur of singing along to the music piping through the fading speakers, laughing at Fanboy’s increasingly dramatic pool trick shots, and dancing with Y/N, when something just has to go wrong.

It feels unfair on a night like this. However, that doesn’t stop the fact that some ass from across from the bar feels the overwhelming need to pause by their happy group on the way to get another round of drinks for the rest of his douchey friends, eye all of them with obvious disdain, and say loudly, “Gee, they let anyone in here, don’t they?”

Dead silence from the Dagger Squad. By Natasha’s side, Y/N arches a brow at the guy and asks slowly, “What do you mean by that?”

Natasha exchanges a panicked glance with Rooster behind Y/N’s back. Y/N’s grin hasn’t slipped, but it’s gained an unsettling edge that Natasha has never seen before.

The guy, however, doesn’t know Sunshine as well as the rest of them, so he has no idea that he’s headed into dangerous territory. Instead, he just guffaws. “God. Navy. None of you get sick of keeping your heads up your own asses, do you?”

Y/N’s eyes flash. It occurs to Natasha that for once, the other woman isn’t happy anymore. More than that, she’s angry. She’s furious.

“I know some pathetic excuse for a man didn’t just try to insult us,” Y/N begins, voice like a razor. “I know you wouldn’t do that. Were you dropped on the head as a child? I mean, it would make a lot of sense, but it still doesn’t excuse how unbelievably stupid you’d have to be to say that.”

The man stares at her. “Don’t talk to me like that.”

Y/N folds her arms across her chest. “Would you prefer that I be nicer? Funny, because I’d much rather call you out for being a fucking asshole with shitty fashion sense and even worse taste in drinks. I’ve seen high school recruits with more muscle mass. If you’re going to be a douche, do it in the privacy of your own home so the rest of us aren’t fucking bothered by a waste of space like you. You make me want to get blackout drunk just so I forget that creeps like you exist.”

The guy is gaping at her now, but Y/N’s on a roll. “Get the hell out of here or I’ll kick your ass. I’d ask if you thought two black eyes would fix your face, but I think that’s a mess nothing could improve.”

The guy looks like he wants to say something back, but Y/N takes a threatening step for him and he practically runs to settle his bill and head out. Y/N watches him like a hawk until the guy heads out the door again, leaving the rest of the Dagger Squad to look around at each other in complete and utter shock as if they’d seen something impossible. Which, up until less than five minutes ago, they had.

Y/N glances back at Natasha and begins to look a little chagrined. “Was it too much? I just got so mad hearing him talk about the rest of us like that, is all.”

Nat shakes her head frantically. “No. No, it was– it was great. I think you should do it all the time.”

Y/N cracks a grin at that. “That might be a little extreme, but I have to say, it felt good. I like scaring men.”

“I like it too,” Natasha breathes, and swoops Y/N into a kiss that lasts several heartbeats.

Friendly chatter returns to the Hard Deck by the time they break away, but for once, Natasha couldn’t care less what everyone else is doing. All that matters is the woman in front of her, Nat’s girl. She’s always known that Y/N was intimidating, especially in a jet, but this is something altogether different. Judging by the way Natasha’s heart keeps tripping over itself whenever she thinks about the incident, she’d have to admit that it’s a good sort of difference, too.

requested by @faerieroyal, i hope you enjoy!

top gun tag list: @luckyladycreator2, @atarmychick007, @ramenyul, @mayfieldss, @nonsensical-nonce

all tags list: @wordsarelife

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joelswritingmistress · 5 months

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You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 20

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible.

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader

“So, he was just standing there?” Dr. Miller sawed through a piece of steak as we sat across from one another at the same restaurant we had eaten at the first night I had stayed over at his house. He popped the bite into his mouth and washed it down with a sip of wine.

“Yes.” I nodded, toying with a sweet potato on my plate, “Isn’t that odd?”

He shrugged and placed his elbows on the table while folding his hands together and resting his chin on them. “A bit,” Dr. Miller agreed with a more nonchalant attitude than I would have imagined. “But he did just come from class. I park there from time to time if there aren’t enough spots out front. People cross through behind the building.”

“But he was, like, lurking.” I scrunched my nose and shook my head. “You don’t think he saw us, do you?”

Dr. Miller shook his head. “No.” He sipped on his wine again and winked at me. “It feels good to almost get caught, though. doesn’t it?”

I smirked and managed a little laugh. His calm take on the issue was enough to bring me back to reality - and rational situations. “It was exciting,” I admitted, “All of this is.”

“You have your other class tomorrow night,” Dr. Miller remarked, matter-of-factly. “I have one after that. I don't want you to be alone on campus.”

“I could have my friend James walk me,” I suggested. “He's campus security.”

Dr. Miller scrunched his nose and sawed off another piece of steak. He didn't immediately respond.

Is he jealous? I smiled to myself in hopes that he was, though that hadn't at all been the intent of my comment. I had a friend who was part of the security team, so it made sense.

“This guy-” he began but I cut him off.

“He's a very platonic friend,” I explained. “Nothing like that.”

“Yeah, I'm sure he feels that way.” Dr. Miller rolled his eyes with a little smirk.

“He does.” I let out a laugh. “We've always just been friends. Never anything more.”

“Guys always do the just friend thing first, ya know.”

“You didn't,” I reminded him with a playful smirk. My hand rested on top of his on the table and it drew a wider grin from him.

“I think our relationship is a bit of an exception.”

“I would agree.” My smile lingered and I looked him in the eye. “Hey, if it bothers you about James, I can just-”

“No.” Dr. Miller cut me off now. “Don't be silly, I'm just being childish. As long as you trust him, you should have him walk you out.”

“And then what?” I asked.

Dr. Miller squinted as if he didn't quite understand what I meant.

“Do I just drive home..”

His grin returned and he looked down and back up, sipping from his wine again. “If you'd be my willing prisoner you'd make me the happiest man in the world. Then I'd always know you were safe.”

Willing prisoner. That I was. And of course Dr. Miller methodically chose those words.

“Your Rapunzel?”

“Something like that,” he said.

I wasn't sure how I would ever get out of this if the relationship ever went south. I wanted to be Dr. Miller’s willing prisoner. That wouldn't change, I was certain.

What if he paid for the castle with blood money? I didn't know what I would think then. What if he's mafia or something.

Dr. Miller reached into his pocket and pulled out his key ring. He then removed a single, gold key and handed it across the table.

I swallowed hard and meekly took it from his hand.

“In case you ever get back there before I do.”

“Are you sure?”

“If I wasn't I wouldn't have given it to you. Come and go as you please.”

Wow. A key to that giant mansion. My key. I wasn't sure how I was supposed to feel, but I was nervous - and excited.

“I don't even know what to say.” I looked at him with the key still in my palm.

“Well, if you decide to come back tomorrow night after class, you'll need it.” He added. “The house alarm code is the same as the one for the gate.”

“2-”

“Shh..” Dr. Miller waved his hand and I quickly apologized. “Don't apologize,” he quickly told me. “I just..”

“I get it.”

Our waitress tried to convince the two of us to order dessert, but when we both declined she set the check down. Dr. Miller reached for it immediately and eyed me when I began digging in my purse.

“If you pull out your wallet I won't let you stay over,” he teased, half-kidding.

“I haven't paid for a thing.”

“As you shouldn't - not with me.”

“Well.. thank you.”

“You're welcome.” Dr. Miller paid in cash, closed the check presenter and reached for my hand.

I felt like royalty on Dr. Miller’s arm. It wasn't the money or the appearance; it was simply being with him and letting everyone know it. I tried not to smile in the cheesy way I wanted to.

When we crossed onto the sidewalk outside, Dr. Miller turned to look at me with a little wink. Before either of us could say anything, someone called his name.

“Joel?”

We both glanced down the walkway to see a woman of about forty walking steadily in our direction. She was stunning and blond with a fitted black, long sleeved dress topped over black heels. Under her arm was a sleek, feminine briefcase. On first impressions she appeared as if she was some hot shot lawyer - or possibly just stole 101 dalmation puppies.

“Christine.” He gave a cordial nod but then his jaw tightened and his nostrils flared just a bit.

I stared at the woman, who had a few inches on me, even without the heels. Joel looked at me for a moment and then back to the knockout before us. I prayed this wasn't another woman he was seeing, shattering every single dream and daydream I'd had over our relationship.

The woman eyed me up and down and I knew I was being judged. I didn’t know if I should introduce myself or just stand there silently. It was more in my nature to do the latter.

“This is still your hot spot, I see.” She gave a subtle nod toward the restaurant we had just walked out of. Her eyes met mine and I had the urge to look away but I didn’t.

Dr. Miller tipped up his mouth in an attempt at a small smile but his expression betrayed him. “It was nice seeing you, Christine.”

“You haven’t changed.”

I glanced down when Dr. Miller locked his fingers with mine and began pulling me toward the car. Chrstine stood on the sidewalk for a few lingering seconds, watching us go, before making her way into a lounge called Michael’s on the corner.

Once the two of us were secured behind closed doors and windows, he glanced over at me as he started up the Mercedes. “Remember I told you I was briefly married a while back?” When I nodded, he let out a huff of a breath. “That’s my ex-wife. Christine.”

“She looks like she could kill people with just one look.”

My comment made him laugh and his eyebrows rose and fell. “She’s fierce.”

“I could tell.”

He slipped his hand into mine again and we locked eyes. “That was a long time ago,” Dr. MIller reiterated, “I’m sorry for how awkward that was. We haven’t been on the best of terms, even after all these years. I didn’t want to her the satisfaction of knowing anything about you - even your name.”

“Okay.” I nodded, taking a deep breath.

“Hey.” Dr. MIller leaned in and touched his lips to mine. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For having an awkward interaction with my ex.”

“You’re forgiven.” I smiled and it seemed to satisfy him as we pulled out of the parking space. When Dr. Miller’s car cruised by Michael’s, I tried to catch a glimpse of Christine inside to see if she had met with someone but it was impossible to tell. I would have felt just a tad bit better knowing she was with another man.

“She’s remarried,” Dr. Miller added, apparently sensing my lingering discomfort.

“Oh.” I raised my eyebrows, trying to sound like I didn’t care; though it did ease a little bit of my sudden insecurities.

When his hand squeezed mine, I glanced over at him. “That’s the past.” He pulled the car to the side of the road and put it in park to continue speaking. “And you are the present..” Dr. Miller smiled, “And hopefully the future.”

I brought his knuckles to my lips and left a single kiss there. “I’m sorry. Is jealousy written all over my face?”

“That was well over a decade ago,” he reminded me. “There’s nothing to be jealous of.”

“She’s gorgeous. And apparently still interested enough to care what you do.”

“She hates me.”

I went to speak more about it but Dr. Miller silenced my concerns with a kiss.

“You’re not fair,” I laughed against him.

“I gave you a key to my house, didn’t I?” He asked.

I smiled wide and gave a shrug before nodding.

“So, can we just forget these awkward little incidents, with Christine and Trevor, and just let me return the favor at home? Since I came embarrassingly fast in the back seat on campus.”

I gave a little laugh and then nodded.

Dr. MIller grinned back. “I’ll let you pick the room. We have a lot of them cover.”

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

@untamedheart81 @suttonspuds @cesspitoflove @michilandcof @grogusmum @morallyinept @akah565 @brittmb115 @magpiepills @poodlebae @gobaaby-blog-blog @mermaidgirl30 @mandijo17 @jiminstinypinky @shotgun-shelby

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socially-awkward-skeleton · 1 month

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15 Lines Tag Game

tagged by: @carlosoliveiraa @clicheantagonist @inafieldofdaisies @adelaidedrubman @la-grosse-patate @g0dspeeed @direwombat @aceghosts @sofrosine @nightbloodbix @kyber-infinitygems @corvosattano @voidika @roofgeese @thesingularityseries (thank you all so much!!)

Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture their character/personality/vibe. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you’re free to include those as well.

(i failed to follow the rules and did 17 each, i'm indecisive)

tagging: @dickytwister @amalkavian @transcaster @shellibisshe @unholymilf @thedeadthree @confidentandgood @strafethesesinners @harmonyowl @florbelles @josephseedismyfather @josephslittledeputy @cassietrn @marivenah @finding-comfort-in-rain @strangefable @efingart (no pressure of course, I'm late to this, sorry for any double tags)

“When you've seen the things I've seen, a little pig sticker cutting through a few layers of flesh doesn't mean much.”

“Blood on my hands or not, I don’t need to be saved. Not by you or anyone else.”

“I’ll bite you if you try and feed me.”

"Then let me do what I do best. I don't need the help, all they'll do is slow me down, make me take my eyes off the ball. You gotta let me win this fight the only way I know how."

"I'm not so delicate."

“Because I prefer to look into the eyes of the person I'm meaning to kill. Makes it more personal. I want them to remember the face of the person sending them to their maker.”

“I put my fucking neck out there every day for all of you – I have been from the start. Who else is having these crazy motherfuckers digging around in their head? Do you have Joseph Seed telling you you’re some fucking sign of the Apocalypse? No.”

"If I don't keep my promise it will be just another regret in a long line of them. My life started with regret – should've been a boy, never should've been born at all – my life will likely end with regrets too."

“Just a weapon. A square peg jammed into a round hole for so many years that my edges finally ground down, and now I fit only one thing."

"I might not have the scars on the outside of what my father did to me, but I think the ones I do have are the big scarlet letter about the kind of monster he turned me into."

“It’s a sad state of affairs when I'm someone people are happy to see after any absence.”

“Well shit, if you’re damaged goods then I must be fucking ruined.”

“I did what I had to do. Just following orders.”

“Some people just aren’t meant to be saved,” Kit muttered.

She smiled, an empty grin that creeped across her face but left her eyes cold and dead. “Trust me, Jacob should be the least of your worries.”

“You know that old saying that God never gives you more than you can handle?" She scoffed, hands held at her hips, posed like a superhero. The demigod she had become. "He must have had quite the plan for me.”

“I’ve made my mistakes. I hurt people. Innocent people . I can’t have you on my conscience too.”

1) “I don’t give up on anything, but I refuse to be a distraction."

2) “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

3) “Oh, don't worry, sir. I only save the bleeding heart act for the innocent.”

4) “He’s a charming fellow.” The venom in Rory’s voice wasn’t lost on anyone.

5)“Just have to use my feminine wiles and sweet talk the prick, yeah?"

6) “I’m not particularly fond of having to be like that. I do what I have to. Intimidation, fear – they’re good weapons. But I’m not some sadist, I don’t enjoy it.”

7) “That's just life though, isn't it? It's the fucking pits, and then we die, and that's that. No point letting it ruin what bit of good there is.”

8) “I know. It was him or me.”

9) Laughing, she picked up her cigarette from the sand and took a drag. “I certainly wouldn’t lie about something like that, Captain.”

10) “Two on however many. I’ll take those odds.”

11) “What? You want my life story?” Her eyes narrowed, challenging him just enough. “Is this our first date?” she asked, lifting the MRE packet. “Really splurged on dinner.”

12) “Whatever it takes.”

(and some lines from the COD MW fic i'm working on)

13) “I know, I know. Bureaucratic bullshit, not my fault, can’t let it bury me. Got enough going on inside this head already, yeah?”

14) “Tell me I can help at least. Tell me I can do something. Don’t just let me sit here in this empty house, alone, not when I can be out there making things right. Tell me you’re going to need me on this one, John.”

15) “Love you too, prat.”

16) “Oh, please, no.” She shook her head. “None of the formality. I might sound like I have a stick shoved up my arse, but I assure you, that’s not me.” She held out her hand to shake, and was met by a firm squeeze by Garrick’s hand. “The pleasure’s all mine.”

17) “I’m not sure the simple act of trying to keep you alive is being ‘too good’.”

#tagged #oc: kit cross #oc: rory sinclair #oc aesthetics

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logically-asexual · 6 months

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okay consider this.

an alternate version of the same situation of the paris special. betterfly is fighting monarch in gabriel’s house in our normal universe with ladybug and cat noir with him.

he attempts to improve their odds by sending a kamiko to one of the heroes to enhance their powers, but their emotions aren’t strong enough and the kamiko just escapes and goes to nathalie who is in her room literally on the other side of the wall.

her emotions then were so strong and so close that they like.. pulled the butterfly toward her. nathalie had just come back an hour ago from the train and is only beginning to process the fact that gabriel lost his opportunity with the time miraculous. she’s feeling like a hundred things at once, but mostly anger and despair.

it’s still not quite an akumatization because even though nathalie’s emotions were negative, she’s not becoming evil. instead she’s just in a super confused state of being overwhelmed with her enhanced emotions but frozen because betterfly isn’t giving her a magical ability because he’s just as confused as her.

maybe he’s never made a connection with a negative emotion before or maybe he has but it was at some point in his dark past before he lost emilie and chose to become a hero. either way it shocks him. even more so when he recognizes nathalie behind it.

in his world he knows nathalie but she distanced herself from him also during his bad-decisions phase and he knows that the woman did feel a lot but was good at hiding it, and he had only been able to witness her showing any frustration or excitement very few times long ago.

in the meantime nathalie gets over the paralysis and is just hurting because the weight of all these feelings now has been made worse and they’re desperate for betterfly to give them a magical power and a mission to be their outlet, but none of those come. and she thinks (and says into the connection with who she thinks is monarch) what the FUCK gabriel how dare you.

ladybug and cat noir are still in battle with monarch while betterfly has just been standing there one the side. “nathalie” he whispers,, mostly to himself?

and she’s crying and pulling out her hair and she goes “why would you do this to me?”

something happens in the fight that forces betterfly up from his trance (he has to avoid a piece of furniture or something about to crush him) and he blinks for a second before breaking the connection and calling the butterfly back.

and then?? i don’t know? shadybug and claw noir show up and with their help monarch manages to escape? ladybug and cat noir run after them but betterfly stays behind? or maybe he does go with them and they get the whole shadybug and claw noir redemption thing sorted out and then he comes back? i don’t know the point is later everyone is gone and betterfly decides to go seek nathalie.

he knocks on the bedroom door but she doesn’t answer so he just comes in and finds her curled up on the bed crying. he says her name and without looking up she tells him to get lost. and she addresses him by gabriel again so he asks how does she know who he is. which confuses nathalie enough to look up at him and she jumps back when she sees that’s not gabriel. or at least not the one she expected to see. she only sees a stranger because of the magical disguise.

this is getting long i’m going to pause before tumblr crashes on me

#gabriel agreste #monarch #betterfly #hesperia #nathalie sancoeur #gabenath #miraculous ladybug #mlb paris special

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fahbev · 1 year

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Unstoppable Force meets Immovable Object

(That title kinda sucks and is subject to change) If you saw my last post, you can skip ahead. It’ll be pretty obvious where the new stuff starts.

If you aren’t familiar with the “humans are space orcs” genre, I highly recommend searching up #humans are space orcs. I wanted to focus on the implications of being a “space orc”, and the kind of complex it would give someone long term. I also wanted to explore how it would affect different characters differently; so here I present two case studies;

A hippo and a moose walk into a bar. Metaphorically.

The human Sofia sits at the bar. The seats within six feet of her are all empty. She guzzles her fifth citrus drink - apparently most species are affected by it similarly to alcohol, and some weaker species would be dead by the fifth drink. Sofia remains unaffected. She could drink 30 and be unaffected. All her drinks combined are about half as potent as an orange slice. It doesn’t even taste good. She slams her empty goblet on the table, all for show. The conversations nearby hush even further, and the fearful whispers start up again. Good. She should be feared.

The door opens. In comes a gust of wind, and a hulking figure. No one in the bar is talking now.

Sofia slowly turns to face the door. She sizes up the newcomer. They’re big, not twice Sofia’s height, but a few feet shy. Not that it matters, when she’s wrestled creatures the size of bears before. The armor plating though, it sported a recognizable pattern. The forelimbs too, that were an odd combination of insectoid legs and tentacles, were a dead giveaway. This was a rragletatch. One of the most feared species in the multiverse, from one of the deadliest worlds known to the galactic community. They’re as rare as humans too. She smirks. Finally, a worthy opponent.

Some chatter starts up again as the rragletatch begins to walk up to the bar, pretending to ignore Sofia. It was still eerily quite, considering this was a bar, and people were drunk. A few gasps and screams echo when Sofia abruptly stands up, knocking over her stool. Her smirk widens into a grin. She stalks confidently up to the rragletatch stranger, and stands close enough that they can’t ignore her. Several people began filing out of the building, while others chose to stay. “So.” The alien greets her.

“You’re one of those infamous rragletatchen I hear of, no? The ones who are supposedly suuuuper scary?”

“Yes, I am rragletatchen. You’re human, right?”

“Damn right.”

“well then.”

A long pause. Practically the whole bar was listening in anticipation.

“Fight me.” Sofia’s expression didn’t waver. On Earth, she never could have looked so intimidating while staring so far up at someone.

“No.” what? “Oh? You scared? I thought you were supposed to be tough or something.” The stranger didn’t look scared, but they must be. Why else would they not want to fight?

“I’m not scared.”

“Then square up bitch. See who’s stronger. Finally put it to the test.”

“No.”

The whispers now were not of fear, but of confusion.

“I will not engage in needless violence,” the rragletatch continued, “contrary to the stereotype of my kind, I will not harm others if at all avoidable. Attack me if you will, I refuse to fight you.” The rragletatch stood still in a wide, but open stance, as if preparing to be hit. Sofia felt a flash of guilt. Something about attacking an opponent who refused to fight back felt wrong.

“You don’t want to see? Find out who the real champion is?” Sofia pushed aside her feelings and stared up. Unafraid, taunting as ever.

“No. My parents, grand parents and great grandparents before me have embraced a sacred philosophy of pacifism. It saddens me that my kind is known only for cuttthroat violence, only because of our home and biology. I refuse to hurt you. Do you truly wish to hurt me?”

Sofia was a bit shocked to say the least. When she realized her jaw was open and her head cocked, she quickly schooled her expression. That question though... she thought she did. But usually she just liked to brawl. Scare people. Assert dominance. When faced with an unwilling opponent who would not be scared of her... she realized she did not wish to cause harm. She never liked hurting people, that was never the fun of it.

“No.” Sofia sighed. She slouched from her offensive stance and backed over to her seat. “Come, sit with me.” It was phrased like a command, but really it was an offer. Everyone knew Sofia would have a hard time forcing this stranger to do anything. The rragletatch followed reluctantly. Sofia picked up her stool and plopped herself haphazardly on it. The stranger sat more eloquently on one of the many seats next to her.

“I’m Sofia.”

“Yal-sre.”

People moved their seats even farther from the Death-Worlders, or as some call them, orcs. Suddenly, Yal-sre relaxed their whole body.

“Wow.” Yal-sre almost whispered

“What?” Yal-sre made a sound that, in aliens with exoskeletons, tended to equate to a soft laugh.

“To be completely honest, I thought you were going to kill me.”

Sofia barked a laugh.

“hey! I’ve never met a human before! I didn’t want to judge based on reputation due to my own, but you came on pretty aggressively!”

“Yeah, I’m the apex predator ‘round these parts, and I plan to keep it that way. Still though, I ain’t gonna fight you if you don’t wanna.”

“That’s a relief.”

Neither knew what to say next, and suddenly the nearby silence was so loud. Fortunately, a few conversations began to pick back up now that they were talking peacefully.

“What’s your planet like?” Sofia asked.

“My planet, Challrk, is beautiful. It has vast plains of purple vshink, glowing with bioluminescent insects. Sure, they bite. Sure, I’ve been stung, bitten, chased and harassed by many a critter, but Challrk is a truly incredible place. It has high mountains that stretch beyond the atmosphere, and colors some planets can’t imagine. Our sky is orange and pink, if you can believe that. What’s Earth like?”

“Earth. It’s a rough and tumble place, you can’t survive there without being Hardy. I’ve been chased by swarms of wasps and stung repeatedly more than once. I stepped on a bee and couldn’t walk properly for days. I’ve been stung by jellyfish, and went back into the bay knowing they were there with no protection. Unafraid. Earth is rough, our fauna is often hostile and transmits thousands of deadly ailments, much of our flora is poison. Our weather conditions alone could wipe out an entire species instantly. Earth is extreme.”

“i’m sure that’s true, but that’s what you’ve been told. By people who have never been there. People who are scared because they couldn’t survive there. But what is it actually like? What do you remember?”

“I- I remember the heavy storms. I remember punching a goose and having to go to the hospital. I remember- I remember the blue skies. Fluffy white clouds, flocks of songbirds. I remember walking barefoot because I loved the green grass under my feet, not because I was trying to face danger. I remember a loving family, playing with friends. Warmth and love. I remember going in the bay because I loved the feeling of swimming and playing in the water, not because I wanted to be tougher than the jellyfish. Earth is- Earth is a BEAUTIFUL place and it makes me ANGRY” Sofia slammed both her fists on the table, “that all it’s known for is being dangerous.” A few satisfying screams and gasps rang off in response. Sofia looked over at Yal-sre. When they didn’t say anything, “I can’t read your face or body language. Can you give me a description?” This was actually a normal question to ask, in places where species were mixed.

“Uh, understanding, I’ve been there. Pleased that we’re getting somewhere. Uhhhhh, still kinda scared of you though. Sorry,” Yal-sre answered. Sofia gaped for a second, before she gave another rough laugh, knowing she probably sounded unhinged to the alien. “Ah!” Yal-sre yelped, “What- what are yours?” Sofia laughed harder. “laugher can mean many things, in most cases it means ‘amused’. Right now, I am laughing at you, meaning I’m being rude because I find your fear amusing. If there was any non-human who wouldn’t be scared of me, I thought it would be the damn rragletatch. You guys are supposed to be tough shit, but you’re pathetic.”

Yal-sre paused. “Well, yeah. Some of us are tougher than others.”

“Hm, yeah I guess it’s kinda the same with humans. That makes sense. Obviously if you put a fearless human who’s tougher shit than most together with the most timid rragletatch, of course you’d be scared.”

“I’m not the most timid! I’m normal! I’ll bet most humans would be scared of me too, after hearing how “dangerous” we are for so long.”

“Maybe. Humans are tough, but I’ll admit they’re not all like me.” Yal-sre did an odd motion with their... shoulder?

“Translation? I don’t speak shoulder,” Sofia attempted to mimic the motion.

“Understanding, but now amused. Anyway, does it bother you?”

“Does what?” “The fact that everyone is afraid of you? ... even me?”

“I like being feared.”

“Do you?” Sofia took a long sip of her drink - which probably made it look like she was drowning her sorrows - to avoid answering the question. When she was done, she placed the goblet face down on the bar to signal to the bartender that she was ready for a refill. The metal was dented... she had put it down too forcefully.

“Oops.” Though it had been an accident, her voice held no remorse.

NEW STUFF STARTS HERE!

“And yes. I do like being feared.”

“If you say so. I can’t speak to human psychology. Say, did you drink that entire thing?”

“Yup. I had four others too.” “Really? You don’t seem drunk at all.”

“It’s just citrus. Doesn’t affect me. Back home we give much more concentrated juice to our young children, it tastes way better too.”

“Oh, I get it. On Challrk we give concentrated fentanyl to our kids.” Sofia gave Yal-sre a look, even knowing it might not translate across body languages. Yal-sre seemed to get it though; “Yeah, yeah, I know. But it doesn’t affect us! It’s the same as your citrus drinks, fentanyl occurs naturally in the blood of prey animals, and their blood is very nutritious and tasty to young rragletatchen.”

“yeah, that makes enough sense.” Sofia drummed her fingers on the table, “Isn’t it weird? All aliens have biology differences, nothing seems crazy anymore because everyone is so crazy to each other. But when it’s us, suddenly it’s just more proof of how hardened and tough we are. Being immune to citrus or fentanyl doesn’t make us any scarier. Not really.”

“It’s because our planets are no-fly zones. And- I guess there’s a bunch of reasons. Just because we can be dangerous doesn’t mean we’re aggressive though.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“Okay- actually, in a minute I will, but first- I can tell that you want to seem tough. I’m sure you’re plenty tough to back it up, but I just want to assure you that you don’t have to pretend. People will think you’re tough and scary no matter what you do. For better or worse.” “Body language: unimpressed.”

“Okay I’ll- I’ll stop now. ‘Speak for myself’, as you said.”

“You’d better.”

A small, shy noise from behind the counter. Both “space orcs” turned to look. The bartender’s ears were flattened.

“Excuse me, Mx. is that another refill?” The bartender cautiously reached out to flip Sofia’s goblet back over.

“... get me a kids’ drink this time, surprise me. This shit tastes like garbage anyway.”

The bartender looked surprised. Sophia was surprised herself, that she was able to read them.

“Right away Mx. And for you... oh- I-” the bartender took two steps back upon recognizing Yal-sre. “Right, I forgot why I was here. It definitely wasn’t for a drink.” Yal-sre stood up, seeming much more intimidating than when Sophia had approached them.

“Oh.” The bartender backed away farther, making themself smaller as well, “Is there anything else I can get you?”

“Actually, Aolli, I think there is. If you come with me out back, there are some answers I’d like to order.”

The bartender - scratch that - Aolli gulped, and dipped their head. Sophia was again impressed by the very Earthly body language. “Coming right up, Sir.”

Pt 2: https://www.tumblr.com/bahfev/715216491195269120/unstoppable-force-meets-immovable-object-pt2?source=share

#humans are space orcs #OC: Sophia #OC: Yal-Sre #alien bar #the poor bartender #OC: Aolli #UFMIO #Unstoppable Force Meets Immovable Object #this is unedited #Okay its slightly edited #humans are terrifying #I don’t envy Aolli #Imagine trying to serve alcohol to a hippo who’s sitting next to a moose #and the moose wants to take you to a secluded location #to get “answers”#Sophia: now THIS i’ve gotta see #poor Aolli is gonna be followed by the hippo too #and the hippo’s a lot meaner

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minecraft-axolotyl · 14 days

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"Go To Hell" - WIP (Gale x Tav)

I have this curse of "I can't write anything in order" (It's ADHD) so I haven't posted a lot of my writing on here yet, despite the 50+ pages of lore I have for my Tav and Gale's story XD

So instead I wanted to share a piece of this scene I'm working on! (based on Gale's First Night in Camp dialogue)

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With little else to do aside from pacing across the grove all night, SJ decided to check on him.

Gale let out a deep sigh, warming his hands over the campfire as she approached.

“Go to hell.” He said, slowly, never taking his eyes off the flames.

She hadn't expected Gale to be optimistic about their decidedly terrifying situation, but a more polite greeting to the person who saved his life would have been nice.

Blinking at the sudden attitude, SJ replied with, “Been there, done that. Wouldn't recommend it.”

“Ha-” he turned his head to look at her with a half smile. “You're a good sport.”

“I do try. Mind if I join you?”

“By all means.” Gale gestured to the space at his side, moving away to make room as she sat down beside him.

The smoky aroma in the air, combined with the heat radiating off the fire seemed to calm the tadpole's insistent writhing.

“Anything in particular I did to deserve that lovely greeting?" SJ asked, attempting to distract herself from the sudden itching sensation behind her right eye.

“Nothing, I assure you. I'm just… poorly making a point. A rather trivial statement in other circumstances. But we've seen hell, and it isn't trivial.” he replied, staring miserably at the fire.

“So your point was best made by telling a tiefling to go to hell?” she chuckled, hoping to make light of something whatever was bothering him.

Gale opened his mouth to explain, but quickly abandoned the thought in favor of another.

“Perhaps one day I'll be able to speak to you without making an ass of myself, but it appears that day will not be today.”

“Well there’s always tomorrow.” she shrugged, already wondering what might come of their mission to rescue the archdruid. “That is, assuming we survive the night.”

“Hmm. True enough. What a difference a day makes.” he added, wistfully.

“Tell me about it. Why do you think I'm out here? I can't sleep with this... thing, in my head.”

As she spoke, SJ could already feel her eyelids grow heavier. A weariness began to seep into her body as the warmth of the flames caressed her skin. Despite the many unknowns of their unwelcome passengers, it seemed odd that the tadpole would respond to a change in temperature outside the body.

“What are you still doing up?” she asked, through a yawn.

“The fire was starting to dim. After the debacle with those goblins, I thought it best to keep as much light around us as possible.”

“I can keep an eye on it,” she offered. “if you wanted to get some sleep.”

Gale considered the statement, before shaking his head. “A ballet of flames invites reflection. I’d rather stay, if it’s all the same to you.”

It didn’t take the connection of a mind flayer tadpole to know what was really bothering him. Their shared affliction had been on (and in) everyone’s minds since escaping the Nautiloid.

“Afraid I’ll turn while you’re sleeping and eat your brain?” she smirked.

Gale wasn’t quite as amused. His eyes locked onto hers, nervously studying her face as if she was about to transform right in front of him.

“I’m just joking... I’m fine.” she said, firmly.

“Oh I’m sure you are.” Gale replied, his expression relaxing as he turned towards the fire once again. “Illithids aren’t exactly known for their wit. Famously humorless creatures.”

“Then I’ll be sure to crack a joke or two every once and a while, just so you know you’re safe around me.” SJ said, nudging his arm with her elbow.

Hidden in the firelight reflecting off his face, she could have sworn she caught him smile.

#galeposting #gale of waterdeep #bg3 gale #bg3 tav #gale x tav #bg3 spoilers #gale dekarios #bg3 oc #bg3 writing #gale x f!tav #gale x female tav

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misspearly1 · 2 years

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Yours

Pairing: Joel Miller x You (F!Reader)

Summary: Feeling one particular emotion at the wrong time and place, how does it affect the friendship between you and your fellow survivor Joel Miller? Your only good friend and trusted ally amongst a group of twenty, who remains oblivious of your silent crush - how does the man react when you're running away from packs of Hunters and you are… aroused.

WC: 3.2k

Warnings: 18+ Content. Minors DNI. Smut. Hunters doing hunter shit (no one gets hurt). Little bit of angst (With a happy ending of course). Unprotected PIV sex in a risky, unsafe location. Oral. (M receiving) Face fucking, deep throating. Dirty talk. Praise kink. Slight Ownership Kink possibly? Breast/Nipple play. And lastly, lots of fluff.

AN: Yass, I’ve missed writing out oneshots and really enjoyed exploring this short story. It’s nice to take a break and use a different era/setting, so I hope ya’ll enjoy this as much as I did. (May pick it back up in the future, idk yet) <33

Emotions are a funny thing right? They’re just feelings, a chemical synapse in your brain responding to everything around you in some type of way - they’re funny to you because you can’t explain those feelings sometimes, and this is one of those times where you can’t explain why or how you feel the way you do.

The harrowing experience in which you are going through right now is just like every other day in this dark world; passing through a town, and surprise surprise, you get ambushed, split up from your group and therefore have to fight your way out. Same shit, different day.

This would count as the third time it has happened in the last four month traveling on the open road with your small group of survivors, and honestly, you’re starting to get used to it.

The Lakeside Lodges used to be your camp once upon a time, but just like every other camp as it seems, it fell to the hands of Infected and you all had to move on. Your fellow survivors aren’t all that bad, there are a few questionable people of course, there always are, but the vast majority are safe to be around, and besides, you can take care of yourself if any one of them tries to overstep.

The rules are as follows; no stealing, no fighting or killing each other and if you see something first, it’s yours. You just have to yell it out like the boss can hear you - and so far, there hasn't been any push back with those rules set by Deacon - the leader of the group. He does a decent job at keeping the rowdy ones in line and a lot of people look up to him. Not you, but mostly the men in your group.

They respect him, but you, on the other hand, respect his sister. You don’t dislike Deacon, but you don’t exactly place him on a pedestal like the others do. If anyone should be in charge, then it should be his sister Melissa, or maybe Joel Miller. Truthfully, Melissa would be the better choice and the only reason you nominate Joel is because you have a crush on him. He has leadership material for sure, but he’s not interested in leading twenty people into a new world.

And you know this because you’re his only friend, well, sort of. You annoyed him enough to give in and open up a little, but not too much. The man is overall a quiet person, keeps himself to himself and doesn’t bother anybody. Initially you thought he did that to avoid a fight, but after seeing him fight on many occasions now, you know it’s because he could quite easily kill any man in this group, therefore he doesn’t get involved with anyone to avoid making a mistake that gets him banished.

Today is day three of your hellish escape out of this town with groups of hunters and the dead around every corner, but lucky for you, Joel was at your side when your group got scattered. You weren’t on your own, which would seriously lessen your odds of survival, but the reason you are having a meltdown right now is because of that one emotion you feel during a time like this. Arousal - you are aroused, and that’s why it’s so damn funny to you.

It’s funny because it’s confusing and silly. You should be terrified for your life right now. Joel and you ducked into a hotel with Hunters hot on your heels, but the way the man was grabbing at your arm, pushing you in front of him, as if shielding you from any harm, was driving you up the wall. Why? Why does this guy, who is so quiet and doesn’t get involved with anyone, stick his neck out for your safety?

You assume that it’s because he cares. In his own little ways maybe, but it’s in moments like this where you really get to catch a glimpse of how far you and Joel have come together. It’s called friendship, people that you can trust. And Joel is your friend, but boy do you want it to be more than that. You want him to take you in his arms, seal his lips over your with a fervent kiss then fuck you senseless. Stop thinking about him like that! Now is not the time! You yell inside.

“Keep movin’, girl.” Joel urges you forward quickly, but carefully too so you don’t trip and fall. “Keep going, just keep going.” He repeats and your mind thinks of him saying those words in an entirely different scenario. Sighing frustration, you needed to get a grip of yourself and act proper, especially at a time like this when you can hear the Hunters boots ascending the stairwell. There’s only five of them, easy numbers to take, but Joel seems adamant to put space between you both and them for some reason.

Upon reaching the end of the hall, he looks into the empty rooms and sees that one of them has a giant hole in the ceiling. “Alright, up there.” He ushers inside fast. “We’ll lose them up here.”

“Joel-” You try to protest, finding reason for his absurdly different fight tactics. “-Why are we trying to lose them? We should fight.”

“Not now, Y/N.” He brushes you off, then forcefully turns you around to face the cabinet underneath the hole. Gasping from the contact of his hands boosting you up by your ass, suddenly you don’t feel the need to protest anymore and love his new fight tactics. Jesus! That small amount of contact was sparking pleasure, but it wasn’t enough. You wanted more.

Turning around and reaching out for him, he climbs the cabinet with ease and takes your hand to be pulled up through the hole, however he loses his footing and causes you both to stumble backwards, the action pushing your breasts into his chest as his thigh jams between your legs. “Oh!” You moan, and your cheeks instantly begin to burn, however Joel doesn’t pay any attention to it.

“Shit, that was my bad. Are you hurt or good to keep moving?” He asks, completely oblivious to the fact you had just breathed a moan into his face, enjoying the contact of his leg grinding against your core. “Y-yes.” You stutter, hoping to keep your silly emotions hidden from him. “I’m good. Let’s move.”

Moving out of the room and into the hallway at a slow pace, you could hear the Hunters searching for you and Joel on the floor below, however there was a much more prevalent danger lurking on this floor. Infected were standing dormant, awaiting stimulus in their surroundings. “Oh shit.” Joel grunts softly, pulling you close to him and dipping into another empty room.

As much as you like how protective he was being right now, it wasn’t like him and you had enough. “What is wrong with you?” You ask, trying to reason with him. “We’re putting ourselves into more and more danger here. We need to kill the threats and get out of here.”

“Y/N - not now.” Joel persists, gesturing with his hand to get you to stop prying. “You wouldn’t understand anyways, darlin’.”

“Understand what?” Asking him another question, even though you can visually see that he is pissed off, you felt comfortable enough with the man to know he wouldn’t direct that anger at you, but he doesn’t answer. Watching him look around the room for anything he can use to fight with, you watch the man you’ve seen fight enemies with his bare hands look frantic and distressed. It was worrying.

Why is he so worried? You wonder. We’ve been in worse situations before. After hearing the distant sounds of Hunters climbing through the hole you and Joel climbed through, he looked at you with heavy eyes. His expression cycled through the emotions, as if there were too many to handle all at once. “Jesus, Joel.” You whisper, shaking your head at him. “Talk to me, what is wrong with you right no-”

“I don’t want to lose you!” He yells - actually yells, not caring about who or what he alerts. An imaginary gust of wind blows through the room between you and Joel as you just stand there, staring at him. Those words drifted around the room, clung to the air and held a heavy amount of weight. He doesn’t want to lose me? Your eyes widen with the meaning of that statement. A smile on your lips appears. That imaginary weight hanging in the balance drops and love wraps itself around your body like a warm blanket. Joel doesn’t want to lose you, because he loves you.

Gliding across the room, your lips crash onto his in a searing kiss as you push him backwards. The sounds of Hunters fighting Infected fading out in the background as you push him into a closet. Joel pushes back, but only far enough to reach for the doors and close them, completely encasing you in darkness, wrapped up in his big, strong arms, wrapped up in his love.

“Y/N.” He groans your name in a whisper, a soft breathy sigh, hinted with desperation. Fighting for leverage by grabbing your hips, the man pulls you into him as he bucks his hips forward, showing his dire need in this exact moment. Silly, silly emotions in a time like this, but it’s apparent that you’re not the only one with untimely emotions. Joel is hard, painfully hard, it’s currently poking into your lower stomach. And you - you are soaked through with desire.

“Joel.” Breaking off from his passionate kiss, you hold a finger to his lips and whisper. “Stay quiet, handsome.” You plant a kiss on the corner of his lips then fall to your knees, the action drawing out a shaky ‘fuck me’ from him before he tosses his head back, biting the back of his hand. Your delicate hands roam the expanse of his clothed crotch, palming his bulge with intention before working the belt buckle open.

Wishing that he could see you within the darkness of this small space, Joel focuses on your touch and pictures your beautiful face behind his closed eyes. The zipper to his jeans open and his cock springs free, audibly slapping his stomach. He breathes heavily with anticipation, feeling you pull his jeans down until they pool around his ankles, and then, your warm breath fans over him. The sensation of your soft lips and shallow breath trailing up his inner thigh making his cock twitch, you stop at his hip and plant a kiss on the skin.

“Y/N - please.” Pleadings choking up his throat, he can physically feel you smiling into the kiss on his other hip before you reassure him. “We’ll get there, baby.” You say sweetly while dragging your tongue up his rock hard cock then back down again. “I want to take my time with you.”

“I'm afraid we won’t have enough time, darlin’.” He grunts, still biting the back of his hand to muffle his moans, however he couldn’t stop the sharp gasping noise he made when your lips landed on his balls. You took the sac in your mouth, swirled your tongue around and very carefully sucked, just enough pressure that it was all pleasure for him. “Goddammit!” His growl hums through his hand, biting the flesh so hard it was close to drawing blood. “When the time comes, girl.” Joel's voice whispers down from above, laced with warning. “When the time comes, you’ll feel my payback for days, darlin’.”

“Oh, I look forward to it.” You moan, then correct yourself. “In fact, I’m desperate for it, Joel. I’m desperate for you.” Licking a path up his cock again, this time you give the man what he so dearly wants and take the head of him your mouth, extracting a pornographic noise from his lips. You hum eagerly when burying your face into the hairs of his mound, holding yourself there for a few seconds before pulling back with an obscene gasp for air.

“Show me how desperate you are, Joel.” You heave a silent request for him to take over, to fuck your face like he owns your mouth like it’s his own personal warm hole. “Take me, baby - I’m yours.” You mewl, practically begging him. It was disgraceful of you, on your knees with your mouth open, ready for him.

“My pleasure, doll.” Joel grunts before threading his fingers through your hair, gripping it tightly before thrusting his cock inside your mouth. You choked, feeling the tip of his prod the back of your throat in the most delicious way. There was no time to wait and so he began fucking your mouth at a steady pace, giving you a break for air each time he pulled his hips back. “Play with yerself, babydoll.” He groans through gritted teeth, eyes rolling to the back of his head from the wet glucking noise of you taking him whole every time. “Go on, get that pussy ready for me, Y/N.”

Moaning around him, the bliss-filled tears stain your cheeks as you slip your hand down your body and inside your jeans fingers landing directly over your clit. You jolt from the delectable sensation and coat your fingers with your slick before delving two inside your quivering hole. “Oh that’s it, darlin’. Good girl.” Joel praises, smiling from the sounds he could hear. “You’re drenched, I can hear that wet little pussy, baby.”

Moaning again, you nod when he buries your face into his mound and Joel keeps you there while using his other hand to palm your breasts through the fabric. “Know how many times I caught myself staring at these? Huh?” He asks, then pinches your nipple, drawing out a cry from you. “Oh, there she is.” He mocks a sickly sweet compliment. “There’s my girl.”

Hips pulling back to give you a break for air, Joel twists his body and brings you with him, now with your back placed to the wall. “Keep those open.” He kicks your feet apart, then warns. “You’re gonna take my load, baby. I’m close.” You manage to utter a teasing reply before he forcefully opens your mouth and buries his cock inside again, muffling your moans of pleasure.

Sampling a taste of him, you swallowed beads of pre-cum and used your other hand to cup his balls, fondling them gently to get him there. You jaw aches and the back of your throat felt bruised, but if you could, you’d allow Joel to fuck your mouth mercilessly for as long as he possibly wanted. His pleasure is yours, and although you like receiving, you love to give a whole lot more. Just hearing him grunting above and feeling his hips snap forward was driving you over the edge into the pools of ecstasy. You wish you could see his cock, but just feeling him in your mouth suggests that the stretch is going to be impressive when the time comes.

“Shit!” He breathes sharply, resting his forearm against the wall while fucking your mouth. He slipped his hand behind your head, protecting you from the contact as his pace picks up. “Oh God. I’m gonna cum. Holy shit, holy shit! Baby, I’m cumming!” Joel yells, bursting ropes of his warmth on your tongue and you gulp it back, emptying your mouth to take more. The noise of your actions was loud, you could hear it yourself and you knew Joel could too. He even praised it. “Yes, baby, yes. Keep going, just like that.” He cries, thighs jerking from the sensitivity. “Take it all, Y/N. Nnugh! Good girl, there we go.”

Pulling back and only hearing you catch your breath from below, Joel does the same and breathes through the aftermath of his orgasm. He misses the sight of your face, hates the darkness in this closet that keeps him from seeing you. Nothing outside this small space could be heard and he takes a gamble that the danger has disappeared. Standing up straight, he kicks the door open behind him with his foot and light floods the room. And he didn’t think you could look any more sexy than what you are.

Sitting on the floor with your knees to your chest, spread out with your hand inside your jeans, where there was a clear damp patch in the crotch area, but your face…Oh God, your face drives him - a sound minded man - absolutely stir crazy with hunger for more. A mixture of his cum and your spit smeared across your chin, your pretty eyes blotchy with tears as your cheeks blossom red - you look beautiful. Beautiful and desirable. “Oh.” You say, crooking one eyebrow with a smirk on your lips. “Looks like someone isn’t finished yet.”

Looking at his growing cock, it hardened again and you were right, he isn’t finished. Not at all. “C’mere.” He whispers softly, reaching down to help you off the floor. Kissing you on the lips while walking backwards until he meets the base of a bed, Joel slips his hands to your front and impatiently opens up your jeans. The man didn’t even wait until they were at your feet before sliding his cock through your slit, coating himself with your desire. The position was something you’ve never done before, he was rolling his hips forward, using your thighs that were squeezed together to give him pleasure, which was stimulating your clit.

“I need you.” He mumbles into your mouth, desperate to feel your warmth wrap around him. “Take your shirt off, baby. I’ve fantasized about how your boobs look for too long.”

Taking your shirt off along with your bra, Joel wastes no time with ducking his head down and taking your pert nipple into his mouth, sucking on the sensitive skin harshly with a gentle bite. “Joel!” You mewl. Tossing your head back as he grunts like some wild animal chasing his own high. Dropping an arm to your leg, he brings it up high, spreading you apart so he can take what he really wants. A broken whine escapes you as he inserts the tip of him inside, round and bulbous, stretching you open nicely for what's to come next.

“I don’t ever want to lose you.” Joel repeats his statement from earlier, burying himself to the hilt inside your heat. Relishing in your moans of pleasure as you clench around him, he presses his forehead to yours and whispers. “That’s why we’re leaving the group. We’re never going back to them - they’re gonna get us killed and I can’t lose you, darlin. I can’t.”

“Joel.” You sigh a breath of relief. After planting a kiss on his lips, joy floods your chest with a smile spreading across your lips. You look him in the eyes, feeling his warmth inside of you, wrapping you up in his love, and therefore bringing you to repeat your statement from earlier too. “I’m yours, Joel.”

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